“Hey, dude,” Holden began. “How…how’s it hanging?” 

Jack whirled around and slammed his locker door shut behind his back. “‘How’s it hanging’?” he spat. “Really? ‘How’s it hanging’? What’s hanging is our friendship. From a noose.” 

“...Ok, I probably deserve that.”

Holden’s tone snapped Jack out of his instinctive hostility and brought him back to reality. “I… Holden. I want to… t-to formally apologize to you. For everything.” Jack fumbled with his phone and pulled up the long list of things he needed to atone for that he’d written the night before last. “For how I took you for granted, even though you were the only friend to stick by me as I drove everyone else away. For the insults. For the trouble I got us into. For all the times I forced you to cover for me, or do my work for me, or make excuses for my behavior. For all the times I used you as a scapegoat. For the shitty way I treated your girlfriends. For making you look worse by associating with me. F-for always putting you down to make myself feel bigger. You–you’re a better person than I ever could be. I… I don’t deserve your friendship.” Jack sniffled. “And most of all, I’m sorry to Xena, for what I said on the way home from Anthony’s party. And for insinuating she wasn’t pretty. I wish I could have told her that, before you coup’d her.”

“Jack, I’m right here,” Xena said gently, holding Holden’s arm. “You can still say that to me directly.”

Jack turned to her, startled. “But… it’s not like you’re ‘Xena’ anymore. You’re not in a state where you can accept my apology sincerely.”

Holden laughed, incredulous. “Bro, do you think I made her into a mindless puppet or some shit? Xena’s the one who gave me both coupons in the first place. She trusted me, and wanted me to help her take control of her life. We worked together on all the changes to her personality and appearance.” 

Xena nodded, solemnly. “It’s true. I always wanted to be cute and outgoing and a little slutty. But I was so depressed and anxious that I couldn’t see myself ever getting there on my own. Holden helped me overcome that.” She looked up at him, adoringly. “And once he made me brave, I was able to confess my feelings for him.”

Jack felt dizzy at this revelation. “Oh, I’m so glad your girlfriend wanted to be mindfucked. Can’t go around enslaving people nonconsensually, after all. Unless they’re your best friend. Then it’s fine.” 

Jack saw the look of shame on Holden’s face and Jack felt the unfamiliar urge to console him. “Shit, dude, I’m sorry,” he muttered, burying his face in his hands. “Looking back at what a horrible person I was, I can’t say you made a bad choice. This is just…a huge adjustment for me.”

Holden sighed, ruffling Xena’s pink hair. “Listen, dude. We’ve been best friends our whole lives. And that will never change. But after middle school, you got…mean. It’s like you just stopped growing up. And whenever anyone tried to talk to you about it, you’d laugh them off. Think it was a joke. You wouldn’t get therapy, either. I just… I couldn't think of anything else I could do. It was an objectively shitty thing to do, and I hope you can forgive me overriding your autonomy. But I’d do it all over again if I had to.”

There was a moment of awkward silence. “Jack, I accept your apology. And I’d really like to be your friend, if you’re willing,” Xena finally said. “You’re the only other person I know who’s been claimed. It would be nice to have someone to talk to about it.”

Jack broke into a feeble smile. “...Yeah. I think I’d like that.”

Despite the cataclysmic shift in his personal circumstances, Jack’s weekday routine had barely changed. Go to school, attend practice, do homework–the only thing different was the house he returned to at the end of the day. His weekends, however, were a different story. Instead of going out with friends, insulting people in online first person shooters, joyriding his dad’s Corvette, and inviting himself to others’ parties, Jack…cleaned. And cooked. And did laundry. 

And it all felt so damn good .

How could a little piece of paper change so much and yet so little at the same time? Jack thought, while scrubbing the tiles of the Ableton's bathroom with a brush and bucket filled with a mixture of water, baking soda, and hydrogen peroxide. Everyone seemed to take the arrival of coupons in stride. Heck, Jack hadn't thought much of it when Holden first showed him what he’d done to Xena. It was only after being claimed himself that Jack had the motivation to consider the oddness of the situation. Shouldn’t there be panic in the streets? Martial law? Mass government confiscation of coupons? Why does everything feel so… normal?

Jack frowned, losing his train of thought. What was he thinking about, again?

Oh, right. The floors. No one had asked him to do this. Normally, he wouldn't even notice the tile grout needed bleaching. But last night, not only did he notice it, but felt a burning desire to drop everything and scrub it right away. He resisted the urge all night, only to succumb to temptation early that morning. Even now, he needed to stay alert to prevent himself from slipping into a blissful state of mindless flow. He may be grateful to Sam for forcing him to be a better person, but that didn’t mean he had to meekly go along with whatever she ordered. He couldn’t just give in. He had to at least try to fight. To disobey. 

The next thing Jack knew, he was in an apron, making breakfast. "God damnit," he muttered, flipping the pancake in the pan. 

"Hey, pretty. Making breakfast?" Sam yawned, walking into the kitchen. She was wearing a matching set of blue and white striped pajamas. She saw what was in the pan he held and chuckled. "Jack is making flapjacks. Ha, ha." 

Jack blushed. What kind of insult is ‘pretty?’

She leaned into him, head pressed between his shoulder blades. Jack's heart skipped a beat. "I'm so sleepy," Sam murmured. "Would you make me coffee?"

This was it. His time to rebel. "Make it yourself."

She paused. "Rude. Suit yourself."

Interesting. Since she had phrased it as a question, he was able to refuse. This was key information. He would have to remember this for later.

He also now felt very guilty for not making her coffee.

"Can we watch a movie together?" Sam asked. It was Saturday night. She was on her bed, browsing Netflix on her laptop.

"I'm busy," Jack replied. Between moving in with Sam, apologizing to everyone he knew, and basketball, his homework was seriously falling behind. Currently, he was slogging through a Calculus problem set.

"Pleaaaase."

"Oh my god, you are being so fucking annoying." The inevitable truck of regret barrelled into Jack’s brain, and he cursed himself. "I meant. Just let me finish this assignment."

Sam crossed her arms, thinking. A devious smile appeared on her face. She pointed at Jack. "Whenever I snap my fingers and say the words 'Kitty Cat Jack’ you're going to become a cat.”

"Sam," Jack warned. 

“A needy, cuddly, ball of fluff, who has no memory of ever being human."

"Don't you fucking dare."

"Then come and cuddle. Unless you want to be my little kitty cat."

"No, I'm busy! Sam–"

"Kitty Cat Jack!" she shouted gleefully, snapping her fingers.

Kitty fell off the chair and crashed to the floor. Disoriented, he whirled around. What was he doing up there, sitting so off-balance? And what were these dreadful bindings all over his body? He flopped over, clawing at the accursed shackles.

"Mrow! Mew! Mowwww!"

Owner was laughing hysterically, which wasn't helping at all. "Oh my god, oh my god," she choked out, through bouts of giggling. Finally, she collected herself enough to get up and assist him. "You don't like the clothes, kitty kitty?" she cooed, between guffaws. Kitty couldn't understand what she was saying, but was glad when she helped release him from the majority of his bindings. 

He was about to tear off the last shackle before Owner stopped him. "Oh, nonono. Ignore the underwear. Don't pay any attention to it."

Finally freed, Kitty paced around his owner, rubbing against her. He started to scratch his claws on the rug, and his owner hopped back into bed. "Here, kitty kitty," she beckoned, patting the spot next to her. "Wanna watch Mean Girls?" 

Curious, he hopped up onto the bed and padded over to her. She reached out and scratched behind his ears. He immediately pressed into her hand, purring. 

"Aw, you like that?" she murmured, moving her hand up his scalp. He melted into her, purring even louder. "Come and snuggle, kitty."

Kitty tried to climb into her lap, but was confused when he didn't fit. He eventually gave up and lay down on the bed next to her, resting his head on her shoulder. She continued to pet his head and he dissolved into bliss, mindlessly kneading the blankets with his paws. 

Owner fiddled with the Glow Square, and eventually humans appeared on it. Owner snuggled into him and watched the glow-humans. Kitty didn't really care. He was just happy to be with her.

Kitty blinked his eyes sleepily. He must have dozed off for a bit, because the Glow Square had been put away, and now Owner was lying down next to him, stroking his head. 

"Jack? I want you to slowly come back to yourself, remembering everything and keeping whatever good emotions you might be feeling right now. And if you never want to do this again, the trigger will be disabled. But if you enjoyed this, the trigger will stay and we can do it again sometime."

Sam yawned and closed her eyes as Jack came back to himself. He paused, processing, then quietly stood up and walked to the bathroom. He stared into the mirror, gripping the sides of the sink. 

He had enjoyed himself. He’d felt safe and loved in Sam's embrace. His head felt quiet and calm. He wouldn’t mind feeling like that forever. 

The “Catboy Incident” as Jack referred to it internally, seemed to have awoken something in Sam, because a few days later, she gave him her first new directive in weeks. 

Jack was in the living room, mending a pair of socks while watching football, when Sam burst through the front door. “I bought you a present!” she sang, waving around a small package. Tense, Jack set aside his sewing. This couldn't be good.

She ripped open the white bag and pulled out a black leather choker. She held it up, and when it caught the light Jack could see it was embossed with the words:

PROPERTY OF SAMANTHA ABLETON

“I am not wearing that,” he spat.

"You are,” she said, gleefully. “And you won't cover it up. And you won't lie about what it means.”

Jack’s protest caught in his throat, and he floundered, helpless against the contract’s binding. He was going to have to wear it.

Well, it could have been worse. At least the embossing was subtle. In dim lighting, it was hard to tell the collar had anything written on it at all. And the black leather did have a certain rugged masculinity to it–

“Chin up,” Sam cooed, putting one finger under Jack’s chin and lifting. He felt his body respond to her touch, his head obediently tilting back with her hand’s guidance, baring his throat. He swallowed, and his Adam’s apple bobbed, exposed. He knew if she were to wrap her hands around his neck and squeeze, he wouldn't be able to do anything to stop her, despite being taller and stronger.

She unfastened the collar and wrapped it around his neck, and he felt her fiddling with the buckle until the band was tight. She pulled her hands away, and Jack saw she was flushed and grinning. “Well? How's it feel?”

Gingerly, Jack raised his hand and felt the leather against his neck. It was snug, but not suffocating. The material was cool and smooth, but firm and sturdy. It felt like both a piece of armor and a loving embrace. “Humiliating. Unnecessary.”

Sam studied him, and Jack felt like he was shrinking under her scrutiny. “Tell me the truth,” she finally said.

Jack felt like the words were dragged out of him with a fishhook. “It is humiliating, but I like it. I like when you order me around. I like that I'm powerless to stop myself. I like trying to fight your orders and failing.” Jack was babbling, words spilling out faster than his brain could keep up with. “It's comforting to know you're in charge of me, and it's hot knowing you could take what you want from me, use me however you wish. I like that others will see my collar and know exactly who I belong to. Oh, god,” he finished, burying his head in his hands. Some of that was news, even to him. But he knew it was true as soon as he said it.

I just told Sam I get off on her ordering me around, Jack thought, miserably. Time to die.

Sam was silent. Probably considering how to go about castrating me, Jack thought, despairingly. How to erase my personality so she never has to sully herself with my messed up perversions ever again.  

Eventually, Jack raised his head. Sam was looking down at him, breathing heavily, her face bright red. Oh, god. She's furious.

“Look at me,” she commanded. He did. Her gaze was captivating. Hypnotic. “You are going to forget everything that just happened, from when I ordered you to tell me the truth, to now,” she said. “As far as you're aware, our talk ended after you put on the collar. Any embarrassment or bad feelings you felt during that part of our conversation will fade away, but any good feelings will remain, even though you won't remember where they came from. Do you understand?”

Already, Jack felt the memories of the last few minutes begin to slip away, along with the pain and humiliation of his deepest, darkest secrets being wrenched from him. “Yes,” he said, in a daze. 

“Good boy,” she purred, and god , he wished he could remember just that, just her calling him a good boy , because it felt so, so, good –

Jack blinked. Sam was standing in front of him, as if expecting something. “What?” he muttered, blushing. Damn, why was he so horny all of a sudden? “I put the stupid collar on, didn't I? What else do you want?”

For a second, Sam looked caught off guard, but her face smoothed over so quickly Jack assumed he'd imagined it. “Make me a smoothie, she commanded, flopping down on the couch next to him. Jack groaned, and tried to ignore the pleasant tingly feeling he felt in his core as he got up and stomped into the kitchen.

Over sixty senators took part in the plot to assassinate Julius Caesar, but only one knife dealt the killing blow. Holden was beginning to feel like that knife. 

Sure, the entire class agreed to the plan, and Sam had been the one to execute it. But Holden was the one who came up with the idea, and the one who provided the coupon. None of this could have happened without him, even if it wasn't his doing alone.

That first day after Sam had claimed him, Jack came in looking like he’d been run over by a train. Meanwhile Sam couldn’t stop grinning like the cat that caught the canary. Holden almost expected to see feathers in her teeth. He was worried, then, that he'd gone too far. But in the days that followed, Jack stopped all his bullying behavior, and even went around apologizing to everyone he'd hurt. It was like a collective held breath had been released in the school. People still avoided Jack, but they no longer flinched away from him when he walked by. They were able to relax in a way that was never possible when they had to walk on eggshells around him. It seemed to Holden that his plan was a success, and that he'd be able to dust off his hands and enjoy the rest of his senior year with a newly contrite best friend.

But the changes didn't stop.

The first warning sign was when Jack showed up wearing that black leather choker. It was not Jack’s usual style at all, so it stood out to someone who’d known him for a long time. “What is that?” Holden asked, when seeing it for the first time. 

“Oh. This?” Jack reached up to his neck. “It's a collar. It's to show everyone who I belong to.” Jack grimaced, crimson-faced. “Ugh. Sorry. Sam forbade me from lying to anyone about it.” He swallowed, causing the leather to briefly catch the light, and for a second Holden could read the phrase PROPERTY OF embossed on its surface. 

“Oh. No worries, man. Sam can do whatever she wants with what's hers. I'm not judging.” Though he knew, intellectually, that his words were true, Holden couldn't help but feel a strange sense of disconnect between the facts and his feelings. Why did it feel so wrong for Sam to dress Jack up like he was a doll?

He may be her property, but he's also my best friend.

Holden and Jack had met in kindergarten. Little Holden had been jealous of Little Jack’s impressive collection of MiniMonster trading cards. “Here, you can have these,” Jack had said, imperiously shoving a fistful of cards into Holden's hands. “My daddy has a lot of money. He’ll just buy me new ones. I bet there are even some rare ones in there.” 

When you're a kid, you make friends for stupid reasons. After that, Holden and Jack had been ride or die. Holden probably spent more time at Jack's house than his own, playing video games together and hanging out. They'd intentionally chosen to go to the same middle and high schools together, though by the end of middle school Jack was starting to show signs of the adult he was going to become. Mean, cruel, vindictive. Still, Holden held on to hope that he would change. Hope that lessened every year until it died.

But was this really the only option?

After the collar incident, Jack started gradually changing his style of dress. Holden struggled to describe it. Was it possible for a man to dress slutty? Jack’s button-downs were exposing increasingly more collarbone, and his pants were getting tighter, showing off things Holden did not want to see. His hair, which he used to slick back with gel, was now carefully parted and styled so it fell into his face, softening his features. Whenever Holden asked about the change, Jack would either gaslight him (“I’ve always dressed like this, dude”) or answer with infuriating vagueness (“Sam took me shopping,” he’d said, a dazed look in his eye).

There were other things, too. The way Jack raised his hand so hard he nearly fell out of his seat when Ms. Wegburn asked for someone to help clean the art room. The weird, dreamy smiles he sometimes got after Sam threw her bag at him to carry, or told him to buy her lunch. The fact that he no longer talked about how excited he was to go to Yale. 

“Maybe this was a terrible idea,” he admitted to Xena as they cuddled in bed together, his cum still wet on her back. Like Jack, Xena now lived at her owner’s house–after all, it would be weird if she didn't. The Xus were pretty laid back (a rarity, among Asian parents) so they took the addition to the household in stride. It had taken a bit to explain their relationship to Holden’s Nainai, who only spoke Mandarin, but she understood as soon as she saw the coupon ( which was written in English , Holden thought at the time, with a sense of growing unease that nonetheless quickly left his mind). “Or at least, Sam shouldn't have been the one to give the ticket to.” 

Xena looked up at him, resting her chin on his chest. “Would it help if I talked to him? He might feel more comfortable opening up to me, since I'm also under the coupon’s contract.”

“Maybe,” Holden said. “Though Sam could have just ordered him to lie.”

“I don’t think she would do that,” said Xena, eyes wide. “Sam’s a bit of an oddball, but she’s not mean. I’m sure she’s just teasing him a little. Or maybe he likes it like I do.”

Holden doubted it. Knowing Jack, he would never enjoy submitting to anyone. “Well, there’s nothing I can do about it now,” he sighed, twisting one of Xena’s nipples in self-pity. She moaned and  unconsciously began grinding against his cock, which was quickly hardening again. 

Grabbing his toy by the wrists, he flipped her onto her back, rubbing his cock against her entrance. “What, you want more? You are fucking insatiable.”

“I’m insatiable for you ,” she said, wrapping her legs around his back and guiding him inside her. Holden had to bite back a groan. They’d fucked an uncountable number of times in the past month, but the feeling of her hot pussy clenching around his dick never got old. 

Holden began to plow her in earnest, growling in appreciation at the sight of her big tits bouncing with every thrust. “I’m insatiable because– ah!– because you made me this way,” Xena moaned, frantically rubbing her clit.

Holden grinned, wolfishly. “That’s right, slut. I made you like this. You’re mine .”

That always made Xena wail. Tonight was no exception.

From the moment Holden slid that piece of paper across the table to her, Sam knew she was going to have no compunctions about using her power selfishly. In fact, it was the reason she wanted it in the first place. 

But despite that, she had never intended to take advantage of Jack sexually. She gained satisfaction from dominating and embarrassing Jack–a satisfaction that was, admittedly, at least partially erotic–but felt like forcing him to have sex with her would have been a step too far. An arbitrary moral boundary, to be sure, given their entire situation was nonconsensual as hell. But one she needed to not feel like a terrible person.

Jack’s confession that he enjoyed her control, however, threw all that restraint out the window. 

Now, she couldn’t stop fantasizing about grabbing him by the hair and whispering in his ear until his mind was a pile of mush. She wanted to watch his furious expression slacken when she snapped her fingers, the intelligent light behind his eyes dimming into hazy docility. See when his movements, normally so graceful and restrained, became unconscious and clumsy as he lost awareness of his body. She loved the raw emotion she could provoke from him, unfettered by his carefully cultivated outward persona, as he fell into a deep, unconscious desire to please. To serve.

It was intoxicating to her. 

So, she began to let herself indulge. It started small. Tweaking his style of dress, the way he did his hair. Taking him shopping and forcing him to model cute clothes for her in the dressing room. Giving him the unconscious urge to put his fingers in his mouth while concentrating. Making it so that any time he had an erotic thought, he would text her a cat emoji without realizing. But it wasn’t enough. She wanted more.

The last of her resistance crumbled one Thursday evening, about a month after she first claimed him. She was studying in the school library after hours, waiting for Jack to finish practice. But she was having a hard time concentrating. Focusing is hard when you're frustrated and horny.

She wanted to touch him. She wanted to feel his body with her hands until she knew it better than he did, then use that power against him. She wanted to see the look in his eyes when she found his sweet spots over and over and over again–how? How did she know? Then she wanted to make him forget and do it all over again, over, and over, and over, until his body learned who it belonged to even before his mind did–

“Hey, practice is done,” Jack said, ambling up to where she sat, bag slung over one shoulder. “Ready to go?” 

Sam jolted. She hadn't even noticed him come in. “Uh, yeah,” she said, scrambling to throw her things in her bag. “Just give me a minute.”

“No rush. We've got time,” Jack said, pulling out his phone and beginning to scroll. 

Time. As if. They were going to go home, and she'd still be horny and distracted. All the time in the world wouldn't help her with that. 

All I need is a taste, Sam thought. She zipped her bag and looked up at Jack, who raised his eyebrows. “Ready?” he asked. 

Sam bit her lip. Just once. Just a little. He doesn't even need to know.

“You must be tired after working out, hm?” she found herself saying, taking a step forward. 

Sensing something off, Jack took a step back, uncertain. “Yup, I'm beat. Let's get home.”

“You're feeling so tired,” Sam repeated, staring into Jack’s eyes, watching as they began to flutter. “ So sleepy. You need to rest for a moment. Don't you?”

“Mmm,” Jack sighed, shoulders slumping, bag falling to the floor with a thud. “Yeah. Sleepy. Just gonna…take a quick break.”

“That's right. You're so tired, so sleepy. Everything feels all soft and muddled, and it's so hard to think. Almost like a dream,” she continued. “Which means this must be a dream, hm? A nice little dream that you won't even remember when you wake up.”

Jack blinked slowly, eyes unfocused. “A dream…not gonna remember…”

“ Very good. This is all just a dream,” she said, pushing Jack back until his hips were against the table. He stared down at her with heavy lidded eyes, head wobbling slightly, mouth parted. Unconsciously, she licked her lips. Just a little bit. Don't go too far.

Sam slid her hands under his shirt, tracing up the side of his ribcage and resting on his chest. She felt his breath hitch when she grazed his nipples, and she immediately wanted to touch them again, to rub and tease until he moaned from pleasure or overstimulation or both. Slow down. Not yet. 

But why not? she thought, fingers walking down his sternum, feeling the rise and fall of his chest deepen with every touch. He's mine. Mine now, mine forever. I can do whatever I want with him.

No, no, she reproached herself mentally, stroking his abdomen, causing him to shiver beneath her. He's yours, but he's precious. A little glass doll. Push too hard, too fast, and you'll break him. Remember how he puked after factory-resetting his personality? Take it slow. Savor it.

Her hands trailed down past his navel and onto the skin above his pubic bone. We're alone, she thought, sparing a second to glance around their secluded corner of the library before unbuttoning Jack’s pants and sliding her hand in. He moaned as she pressed against the bulge of his underwear, hands gripping the side of the table like his life depended on it. She felt him stiffen under her touch, and she smiled. “A very good dream,” she reminded him, to which he nodded, vacantly.

“Good,” he slurred, rolling his hips against the palm of her hand. “Feels…good…”

“Aw, you're that desperate for my hand around your cock?” she teased, slowly rubbing him through the fabric of his boxer briefs. “That desperate for a handjob? Poor thing. Come to think of it, you haven't had the chance to get laid since becoming my toy, have you?”

“Noooo,” he whined, trying to grind himself harder against her hand and keening in frustration when she wouldn't let him control the pace.

“You must be so pent up,” she purred, grabbing his crotch and tugging gently, making him gasp. “You're having a wet dream about your captor giving you a handjob. Isn't that embarrassing?” Not waiting for him to respond, Sam hooked her fingers around the band of his underwear and pulled them down, causing his erection to spring free. 

For the first time that afternoon, Sam hesitated. She’d never held a penis in her hands before. Her only previous sexual experience (Devon Shielder, the mosquito) hadn't let her play with his–he just wanted to stick it inside her as fast as possible. So, it was with a sense of trepidation and curiosity that she reached out her hand and wrapped it around Jack’s cock.

Immediately, she knew she liked it. His dick was hot to the touch and pleasantly firm, with just the right amount of give, and she found herself sliding her hand up and down it automatically, enjoying how the skin felt as she did so. The only thing she didn't like was how coarse and itchy his pubic hair was. “You're going to shave down here from now on,” she grumbled, moving her hand in slow, delicate strokes. She found  the tip of his cock was damp with precum, and she wet her palm with it for lubrication before returning her hand to his shaft. In response, Jack melted into her touch, letting out little breathy whimpers, unrestrained in his dreamlike state. Experimenting, she held a little tighter, moved a little faster, until his little noises peaked. “Please,” he moaned. “Please.”

Sam never felt more powerful or turned on than she did in that moment. “Please, what? I'm already jacking you off. You want even more?”

“Want to cum,” he panted, burying his head against her shoulder. “Please. Please let me cum.” 

That sent electricity down her spine and straight into her clit. She shuddered with arousal at how needy and submissive he sounded. “Admit you belong to me, and you can cum.”

“I’m yours!” he gasped. “I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours.”

Dimly, as Jack spasmed and spilled into her hand, Sam remembered she was supposed to be exercising self control. Mentally, she shrugged her shoulders. Oops.

Practice must have been intense that night, because Jack was so tired he didn't even remember how he got home. Still, he felt unusually satisfied–must have been a good workout. If it weren't for how itchy and annoying his pubic hair felt all of a sudden, he'd feel amazing.

He'd have to start shaving down there.