CHAD & CRAIG

Chad and Craig were a gay couple Sean had known for some time. Chad was the dominant one of the pair, with blond hair and a prettyboy face. He dressed himself in a way that was once referred to as "preppy". He was 27, but like Ed, he looked considerably younger. When he smiled, he had the look of an angel, but he also had the mischievous tendencies of a devil. In the last year or so, he had gotten heavily into the role-play of "man & boy" with Craig, who went along with it for the most part.

Craig was a year younger than Chad, but his angular features and knowing eyes made him look two years his senior. He had center-parted muddy brown hair and was without question the submissive one. Underneath the demonstrative role-play, though, the two really did love each other. They had been together for eight years and were often thought of as one person. You didn't say one name without following it with the other's.

Chad stood in the baby blue sailor's boots, with his hands on his hips, tapping his foot. "How many more of these goddamn things are we going to try on, Sean? I mean, Jesus."

"Not many more", he assured him. "Walk over here and turn around a second."

Chad just glared at him. "No. Not until you tell me what this bullshit is all about."

Well, that response ruled out the baby blue boots as mind control wear pretty effectively. Craig was sampling a pair of cardinal red rubber boots a few feet behind Chad. "These feel pretty good", he commented.

Chad turned to him, "Um hello! Did I ask for your input?", he said in a voice laced with sarcasm.

Craig lowered his head. "Sorry, sir."

Sean rolled his eyes. How the hell Craig put up with him, he'd never know. Chad spoke up again. "Sean, you wanna tell us why we've been trying on, like, every pair of rubber boots you've ever made, or do I just take my boy and walk out now?"

"Okay", Sean conceded. "But you're not going to believe it, fellas." So Sean told them. He told them about the purple boots, about Ed, about Ed's rather extensive testing, and about the unfortunate incident in the elevator with the good-looking dairy guy. Both Chad and Craig stood with mouths agape when Sean was done talking.

"You cannot be serious", Chad said.

Sean made an "X" across his chest with his index finger and held up his right hand in the Boy Scout's salute.

Craig wrinkled his brow. "I don't suppose it occurred to you to just ask the guy in the elevator to do a quick soft shoe or something." Chad was so intrigued by the idea of this unheard of means of taking complete control over someone that he didn't even chastise Craig for speaking without permission.

"So, what are we trying on all these other boots for, Sean?", Chad demanded. "It sounds like it's the purple ones that we need to try out."

"Just covering all my bases, I guess", Sean explained.

"Do you have any of the purples we can try?", Chad inquired.

"As a matter of fact...", Sean said, reaching behind the curtain that led to his backroom. He pulled out two pair of new purple boots and tossed them over to the boys. "I made more than one pair when I put together the pair for Ed. It was a special batch in that I'd never done boots in this color before, so I made sure to make extra--"

Chad wasn't listening. He was too busy yanking on his pair of purple boots over his white socks. He looked over at Craig, who was just looking at the shining purple rubber footwear at his feet. "Well, go on, Craig, put 'em on!", Chad ordered.

"Yessir", Craig said back, and tentatively pulled off the red boots and with some trepidation stepped his bare feet into the purple ones. As soon as Craig had pulled on the purple boots, he let out an involuntary sigh of pleasure. "oooohhhh, wwoooow..."

Chad turned around to face him. "What?" Craig just grinned and swayed a bit, taking a couple small steps forward, tottering there, and then steadying himself. He started to giggle a bit. Chad was frustrated by this. "What? What is it? What are you feeling?!"

Craig stepped forward like he was drunk, placed his hands on Chad's shoulders and said, "Ohh, sirrr. Aren't these great??" And he started to giggle again. His face was flushed and he leaned against his boyfriend and rested his head on his shoulder, patting him on the back as he flexed his toes inside his boots. He snorted with barely contained laughter.

Chad turned back toward Sean, pissed. He seemed oblivious to his lover dangling off of him, as he said, "So what's up with this shit? What, it only works on subs, then? I have to be a bottom boy in order to appreciate this?"

Sean rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Chad, you still have your socks on?"

"Yeah, so? I always wear socks. Always." He sounded defensive, but Sean wasn't concerned about Chad's own personal foot fetishes right then.

"Take 'em off.", Sean ordered. Chad said nothing, but looked at Sean curiously. Sean added, "I think it may have something to do with the feel of the rubber against bare skin. And Craig wasn't wearing any socks. Take yours off."

Chad had an expression that conveyed the feeling that Sean was onto something, but he didn't move right away. After a moment, he peeled Craig off of him, pulled off the boots, then his socks, and slipped the purple boots back on. He inhaled so deeply that the air pressure in the room nearly changed.

"Uuuuuhhhhhhh....", and then in a squeaky out-of-breath voice, "...holy shit, Sean...these arrrrree... fanTAStic...!" The usually abrasive Chad looked like he was made out of melting butter. He shrugged his shoulders and let his mouth drop open, slowly taking a few careful steps in a small circle, clearly experiencing some type of euphoric sensation with each footfall.

Chad turned to face his giggling loverboy, and began to lift a pointing finger at Craig. Even though Chad was delirious with joy himself, it was obvious he wanted to command his personal sub on top of it all. But Sean elected to cut in. He had seen Chad control Craig enough times that he knew that such a display would be no test of the purple boots for these two. He had something different in mind.

"Hold it right there, fellas", Sean said. And they did. Right there. In the exact poses they stood, with Chad beginning to point a commanding finger, and with Craig slightly bent in laughter, they froze in place like a picture caught in freeze frame. The boots were definitely working just fine.

"Chad, Craig, turn around and face me." Both did as bidden, turning to face Sean and standing straight with their arms at their sides. Their expressions had gone pretty much blank. "We're gonna do a little role switching, gentlemen", Sean informed them. "Craig, what is your relationship to Chad here?", Sean asked, already knowing the answer.

"Chad's my boyfriend and my lover", Craig said flatly. "He's my Sir, and he's in charge of me. Whatever he says goes."

"Not today he's not", said Sean. "Craig, as of this moment, you are now the dominant one of this couple. You are the one in charge. You give the commands, you are He Who Must Be Obeyed. Would you like that?"

Craig smiled. "Yes, sir."

Sean turned to Chad, whose look was still blank, but was starting to register a hint of fear behind his expressionless eyes. "Chad, you are now the submissive one. You will obey without question or hesitation anything that Craig tells you to do. You will follow your orders with relish and gratitude." Chad's jaw seemed to tighten for a split-second, then it went slack, leaving his lips parted slightly. "You understand, Chad?"

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, and from now on", Sean said, "you will only address Craig as 'Sir', 'Master', or 'Master Craig'." Sean turned to Craig. "Craig, what name do you want to give your boy Chad?"

Craig smiled wider. "Blond Bottom Boy."

Sean snorted a quick laugh. "You've thought about this before, haven't you, pal?"

Craig kept smiling. "Oohhhhh, yeah."

"Chad, you heard the man."

Chad spoke with conviction, saying, "My name is Blond Bottom Boy. Yes, sir. Thank-you, sir."

Sean waved his arms in a grand gesture and said, "Have at it, boys." And they just stood there. Doing nothing. Craig kept smiling, Chad kept staring. Sean scratched his temple. He supposed with both of them in the purple boots, someone else had to give the kick-off command. Okay, he could do that. Sean went over to Craig and began to whisper suggestions in his ear. Craig began to laugh a bit louder and Sean stepped back to enjoy the show.

Craig turned toward Chad, who was still looking straight ahead as before. Craig started to speak, then looked back to Sean with a giddy expression, wondering whether or not to continue.

"Go on", Sean encouraged him, waving his hand.

Craig spoke in what he hoped was a commanding voice. "O-okay, Bottom B-boy, turn and face me." Sean stifled a chuckle. Craig clearly needed some work in the domineering department. Despite the stutter, Chad turned as bidden. Craig's confidence seemed to increase a bit with Chad's response. So he continued, "I'm going to kiss you now. Full, long, and deep. As I do, you will kiss back--and more, you'll surrender completely to my kiss. You'll feel me draw out every last bit of willpower you possess with my kiss. And I pull away from you, I will have taken your willpower with me. You will be utterly subservient to me."

Bottom Boy nodded, "Yes sir, Master Craig", he said dully.

Craig grabbed Chad by the head and kissed him passionately, his tongue plumbing the depths of his boy's mouth. Chad simply complied at first, not resisting, but not contributing, either. But as Craig's kiss continued, Chad was caught up in it. Next, he was relishing it as much as his Master, and giving as good as he got. Then his body grew limp, his contribution to the embrace weaker. As Craig pulled away, Chad's body had all the strength of a wet rag. He fell to his knees before his new Master, clinging to his legs.

Craig was standing considerably taller than before as he looked down at his slave. "Bottom Boy?"

Without lifting his head, eyes still on his Master's purple boots, Blond Bottom Boy said softly, "Please, Master. Take me, I am yours."

Craig's face lit up. "Cool. Let's have some fun."

Sean was leaning back in his swivel chair with his feet up on the counter, tossing a small rubber ball up in the air. Up. And down. Up. And down. Not for the first time in the last two hours, he glanced with tired eyes at the couple at the far end of the counter engaged in hedonistic playtime. Sean caught the ball as it fell again, and this time lobbed it off the head of Craig, who only just noticed the impact.

"You done yet?", Sean asked.

Craig looked back at him with the dopiest expression of bliss Sean had ever seen. "Jusst a feeww more timmes, Sawn", he slurred out. Sean pushed himself up in his chair and looked down at the figure of Chad kneeling on the floor. He was still servicing his Master's cock with all the greediness of a nursing piglet. He slurped, licked, and sucked like a champion. Both the area around his mouth and Craig's waist were bone dry. Due to the recently christened Bottom Boy's proficient tongue and ravenous appetite, not a single drop was spilled.

"You have got to at least be sore by now, Craig. Give it a rest, for God's sake", Sean demanded.

"Oh-oh-ohhh-kayy", Craig conceded. Placing a hand on his boy's head, he eased him off his penis. "Th-that'll do, Bottom Boy. You can stop now."

Bottom Boy Chad looked up at Craig with hurt in his eyes. "Master, do I have to?" He punctuated his question by quickly licking his lips.

"Oh, brother.", moaned Sean. "Look, I think we've proven our point about the boots, so why don't we just--"

Craig held up a quick finger, halting Sean's words before they became a direct order he couldn't ignore. Sean rolled his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Craig tenderly held Chad's chin. "You must stop because I have something else planned for you, Bottom Boy. It's time for you to live up to your namesake."

Chad's eyes lit up with sheer joy. "Oh, Master! May I??"

Sean propped his elbows up on the countertop and raked his fingers through his hair. "Is this gonna take long?"

"You may wanna go out and grab an early lunch", Craig warned him.

Sean didn't hesitate. As he departed the shop, he hollered a command over his shoulder, "Neither of you, master or slave, is to leave this shop until I return." He got two "yes, sir"s in reply as he departed the shop, flipping the Out To Lunch sign as he went.

Sean returned nearly forty minutes later, crumpling a napkin between his hands and still reveling in the lingering flavor of his pastrami on rye. He assumed he'd find his purple-booted sex fiends passed out on the cot in the backroom, exhausted by their bout of excess. He was wrong.

Craig and Chad were atop the shop's counter, feverishly grinding away. Craig was astride his slaveboy and was pumping for all he was worth. Chad was taking it, well, not like a man, but a lot like a meek and subservient schoolboy. Both of them were stark naked except for their purple boots.

Craig was pretty far gone into his role as dominator. "Take it, boy! That's it, slave! Tell your Master who you are!"

Chad shouted out his replies with as much conviction as he could muster, given the punishment he was taking. "I'm Blond Bottom Boy, Master! I'm your Bottom Boy! Give it to me, sir! Fuck me deeper, harder! I'm yours to do with as you will! Please, Master, use me!"

Sean tossed his napkin into the waste basket. "Okay, enough's enough. I wanted a test of the purple boots on established and engrained personalities. I did not want to find you riding your boyfriend and whooping like the Marlboro Man!" Sean marched over to the screwing duo on the countertop.

Craig was nearly out of breath, but he tried to gasp out, "Just...a little...little more...more time..."

"No", Sean said flatly. "You're both done. Freeze." And they did. Both of them stopped in mid-grind. "Both of you, massive ejaculations. Shoot absolutely everything you've got in you when I say 'now'." Both their eyes widened in anticipation. After another beat, Sean ordered, "NOW."

Chad and Craig let out heaving moans as they fired out every last bit of cum they had left. Craig fired right into his Bottom Boy and Chad hosed down the counter. After a few remaining bucks and spasms, Chad's head hit the counter and Craig collapsed on top of him. Sean walked over and looked at the snoozing couple still attached at Chad's rectum. He looked at the oozing puddle of semen slowly spreading across his countertop beneath Chad. "Hnh", he grunted. "Didn't think he'd have that much left in him."

Sean moved around to the far end of the counter and decided to finish his test with the suggestions he had wanted to give nearly three hours ago. "Gentlemen. You can still hear me. You will remain sound asleep but you will understand and follow every word I say. Craig, dismount Chad." Bracing his arms on the counter as if doing a push-up, Craig dislodged himself from his lover's behind. "Now both of you", Sean continued, "get down off the counter and have a seat on the floor." Like obedient zombies, their eyes still closed, the boys did just that. "The two of you will remember everything you experienced here today. The sensations, the experiences, everything. As you sit here asleep, I will remove your boots. You will not want them back, you will not ask for them back. When you awaken after the boots leave your feet, you will both be exactly as you were when you arrived at my shop this morning. Your personalities, your names, all will be just as it was before--altered ONLY as they would be in response to the memories of what you've done today. Nod if you understand." Two nods. Sean reached down and pulled off first one pair of boots, then two. He tossed the boots into the backroom, then approached the nude sleeping boyfriends.

"Guys? You awake yet?"

Chad and Craig slowly blinked their eyes open. Chad straightened himself up a bit, resting his shoulder blades against the side of the counter. Craig hunched down, a look of anxiety coming into his eyes. The two looked at each other.

"Chad--?", Craig started. "Are you mad?" He pointed at Sean. "H-he made me do it."

Chad grabbed Craig by both sides of the head and planted his lips on Craig's forehead. "Mmm-WAH! Baby, you were awesome! That was incredible. GodDAMN, we have got to switch roles more often. Fuck me, but variety is the spice of life, man!"

Sean tossed their clothes at them. "Get dressed, assholes."

As Chad yanked on his trousers, he asked, "Dude, what the hell is IN those boots? Are they coated with some kind of drug? Is it some kind of accupressure thing in the way they fit or what? How do they work??"

"Well", Sean admitted, "I get most all the materials I use for the rubber boots from a pal overseas named Liam. This time, he included a detailed processing formula in order for me to get the right color of purple I wanted for these boots."

"So you did add a drug then?", asked Chad.

"No, there's nothing really different in these boots than in any other colored rubber boots I've made. Nothing except the dye color...and one other...special ingredient Liam insisted I use. I thought it was a gag, but..."

"What kind of special ingredient?", asked Craig.

Earl stood there holding the purple rubber boot between two fingers, as if it were a turd. "What the hell is this shit?"

Sean maintained his poise, pretending not to notice the redneck's obvious contempt. "A preliminary stage, nothing more, sir." Sean noted Earl's animosity lessened just a tad when addressed as 'sir'. "You see, wearing these at the outset helps me to get an idea for what part of your foot is being most aggravated, what part needs the greatest support, and the like."

"I kin tell you where the damn bunyun is. I kin point to it."

"Of course you can, sir.", Sean continued. "But your description would not be enough to help me make the proper mold to precisely massage and protect your bunion. Nor would it help me to design and craft a work boot made specifically and especially for you and you alone."

"This cheap shit rubbery thing ain't nothin' like the kind of boot I need to wear anyway. Don't see how this can tell you shit--" He was about to toss the boot away with a dismissive grunt.

"Of course it's not", Sean went on. "But the soft rubber material helps me to properly capture the exact shape and contour of your feet. Only after I have the mold perfected do I begin to apply the far sturdier materials you'll need for a decent work boot for the type of demanding work you're called upon to do each day."

Earl wasn't exactly sure what all that meant, but he could follow just enough to sense his ego was being massaged. And the fruity shoe guy did keep calling him 'sir'.

"This gonna be expensive? 'Cause I ain't paying a lot for--"

Sean cut him off. "This will be the first time I've designed a work boot with this kind of demand for precision of a near medical order."

Chad leaned close to Craig, whispering, "Pile it on any deeper, and he's gonna need some knee boots himself."

Sean concluded, "If the boots are not everything you expected--and needed--you don't have to pay me anything. If they do provide what you're looking for, we can discuss a price you feel is appropriate."

Earl scrunched his brow. "Huh?"

"Fair. You pay me what's fair. If you want 'em."

"Alright", Earl conceded. Earl knew that either way, he'd win. If the boots didn't work, he'd pound the shit out of the faggot shoemaker. If they did, he'd say they didn't, walk off with the boots, and probably still beat the queer's ass. All in all, not a bad deal all around, he figured.

Earl stood in the largest pair of purple boots Sean had made. Earl's socks were stuffed inside his shoes in the corner. He had been told he needed to have his socks off in order to get a proper mold of his feet. Whatever. But this...feeling...on his feet, that was making its way up his legs and making him feel really nice all over was not what he had expected.

"These purple things", Earl observed, "actually feel pretty good." He just stood there, with a pleasant expression as if someone was steadily massaging his feet.

"Why don't you walk around in them?", Sean suggested.

Earl did. As he walked up and down the shop, he let out little grunts and moans of pleasure. He was truly loving those boots. Chad and Craig were leaning against each other, trying to contain their laughter for what they knew was coming. When Earl turned back and walked toward them again, he was almost smiling. Almost.

Sean knew he could fix that. "Earl, hold it right there." Earl froze in mid-step. "Give me a big smile, would you?" Earl's tense expression relaxed and a genuine, warm smile came onto his face. He actually looked pretty appealing when he did that. Chad and Craig were about to bust a gut, and braced one another for support.

"Earl, before we tend to anything as vital as those dreaded bunions of yours", Sean said, "we need to determine a few other things, okay? You up for that?"

"Sure", Earl answered, slowly.

"To better test these boots on you, let's see you skip around the room, Earl."

Earl was a bit confused. "What, like a little girl or something?"

"Exactly. Like a little girl." Earl didn't need to be asked twice. Instantly, he was skipping about the room, hands flopping about at his sides, head held high with a dopey grin on his face. He looked like he could do that all day.

"He needs a field of tulips under him", Craig remarked.

In the next fifteen minutes, Earl skipped, waltzed, tiptoed, hip-hopped, and pirouetted up and down the shop. He went down on all fours and barked like a dog, then squatted on his haunches and bucked like a chicken. Chad and Craig were loving every minute of it.

"Where did you get this guy?", Sean asked.

"Lives on the same street Craig used to", Chad offered. "Gave him a hard time a lot since he suspected we're gay. Practically all he talks about is his lousy job, gay-bashing, and his damn bunions." Then, as an afterthought, he asked, "You remember the big deal down at Dimensions on Fountain Street last summer?"

Sean recalled the news reports of how three young men were attacked and badly beaten when leaving the popular men's alternative nightclub. He nodded to Chad, indicating his recollection.

Chad pointed to their squatting subject, clucking about the room. "He brags that he was involved in that. He and a gang of his buddies."

"Is that right?" Sean's face darkened. "Fellas, stand up good and straight. And unzip." Chad and Craig exchanged worried looks which Sean caught. "Trust me." Then, to Earl, "You can stop being a chicken, Earl. But come on over to these gentlemen on your knees now. And wet your lips while your at it."

Fifteen minutes later, Chad and Craig were leaning back against the counter groaning with pleasure as the burly Earl gave them both the best head he was able. Which, as it turned out, was not bad at all. Chad looked over at Sean as Earl dislodged himself from Chad's dick. "Dude, that was amazing! Who knew a knuckle-dragger could give such good head?"

"Yeah, well, that was just the matinee", said Sean. "The gala performance starts now." The duo zipped up and watched intently for what was to come next. "Earl, stand up if you would please", Sean said. Earl did, and stood before Sean at attention. "Earl, you mentioned there's a gay gentleman who works at your job site now?"

"Yeah, that's right."

"From now on, Earl, you are that man's protector. Anyone gives that man the slightest grief, the smallest insult, the tiniest harassment, and you are on them like a ton of bricks. You got me, Earl?"

"Anyone fucks with my man Peter, I kick their ass."

"That's my boy, Earl", said Sean.

Chad looked heavenward. "Peter, no less."

Sean silenced him with a wave. "What's more, Earl, you will be unable to tolerate any hatred of gays of any kind, in any form, anywhere or anytime."

"Homophobia", suggested Craig.

"He probably doesn't know what that means", muttered Chad.

"Sshh!", hissed Sean. "Earl, any derogatory word about gays will actually make you physically ill. The words fag, queer, or any other such insult will churn your guts with nausea. You must confront--and STOP--anyone who utters these words. Do you understand?"

"Sure do, sir", slurred Earl.

"You now and forevermore feel a compulsion to stand up for and protect anyone in the gay community, Earl."

"Hey", asked Craig, "you gonna make him gay, Sean?"

Sean looked disgusted at the suggestion. "What? And have someone like him polluting the populace? I may be a mind-control boot fetish pervert, but I got my pride."

Chad waved a hand at Sean. "Oh, hey, I got a good one. Earl, buddy, when you leave here, go and get a tattoo across your backside that says 'Please Insert Dick Here' with a big red arrow pointing to your asscrack!"

Earl just stood there, silent.

"Earl?", Sean asked, "didn't you hear Chad just now?"

"Yessir, I did, sir."

"Are you going to do what he said, Earl?"

"Nossir, I'm not."

The trio exchanged worried looks. Was the boot magic wearing off on this thick-headed hick? "Why aren't you going to it, Earl?"

"Cuz it weren't you what asked me to do it, sir", came the reply.

Again, the three friends exchanged glances. Sean gestured to Craig. "Craig, tell Earl to do something."

"Earl, come over here and...do a handstand", Craig ordered.

And Earl just stood there.

"Shit, Sean", Chad said. "It only works when you tell him to do something. The boots won't work unless the guy that made 'em gives the actual commands. Well, that sucks. So much for my big idea of selling these things at jacked-up prices. That'll hardly work if you're the only one they work for."

"Unless I prepare a cassette recording with orders and stuff on it", considered Sean. "I did get you to obey Craig, after all."

"But a tape for every customer, and every conceivable occasion? Is that even possible?", Chad pressed.

Sean began to pace. "Maybe a series of tapes then, I dunno."

"Maybe it isn't just who makes the boots. Maybe it's the sperm", said Craig. The other two gave him concerned looks. "No, think about it", he said. "Sean, it was your used condom that you threw into the dye mix batch, right? So maybe that's where the control comes from. Whoever's seed is in the mix will have control over the person wearing the boots made from that batch."

Chad shrugged. "Makes sense."

Sean nodded. "Yeah, it does. You guys willing to volunteer a sample for final product testing to make sure we're right about this?"

Chad made a dismissive noise. "Like you have to ask."

Sean turned back to Earl. "Earl, do the handstand thing like Craig told you to."

"Yessir." And off he went. He had good balance, for his large a build.

As Earl handwalked his way toward the door, Sean added more suggestions. "Earl, take the boots home with you. Put them in the back of your closet and forget about them--don't even notice them--until you're told otherwise. Whenever I call you and give you the signal 'Purple Earl', you will return here and follow my commands to the letter. Do you understand?"

"Yessir, I understand", Earl answered, still swaying in his handstand by the door.

"Earl, stand up normally", Sean told him, and he did. "Go on home and forget everything you experienced after trying on the purple boots. You recall only that I took measurements for some modified work boots for you and that I said I'd get back to you. Oh, and one more thing before you go, Earl. Are you married?"

"Nossir."

"Then get the tattoo."

Word of the mind-controlling purple boots spread like wildfire. Sean started by seeing walk-ins but soon had to switch to appointments-only. He wanted the chance to meet each buyer, to speak with them in person. He wanted to be certain the boots weren't going to wind up in the hands of someone out to do deliberate damage (physical or otherwise) or to seek some kind of revenge. He didn't want something that can be applied to trigger so much joy used for hateful purposes.

Two weeks in, Sean looked up to see his mid-morning appointment arrive. This was someone who had called previously, eager to acquire a pair of the purple boots. His voice on the phone was gruff, his tone demanding, his wording terse. Sean had an inkling what this guy would look like. He was right.

Into the shop strode a figure straight out of Easyrider magazine. He was head-to-toe in leather, complete with Marlon Brando cycling cap and open-fingered leather gloves. Sturdy, polished chains dangled from his shoulders and draped around his torso. Other, smaller chains that looked no less formidable for their size, were wound tightly around his wrists, legs, and ankles. His beard was cut close to his face and appeared immaculately trimmed, but still seemed to have a coarseness akin to sandpaper. He leaned on his knuckles at the counter and glowered down at Sean.

He made no attempts to hide or sugar-coat why he "had to" have a pair of the purple boots. "They're for my boy", he grunted. "Need something to keep the slave in line. Sometimes even after all the training, he gets uppity. Wants to be fed and watered more than once every couple days. Greedy like that."

Sean listened, never blinking. "Uh-huh."

"Whines and complains after just thirteen hours nekkid in his restraining cage, too."

"Uh-huh."

"Sometimes", and he leaned in close, the stink of endless cigarettes thick on his breath and in his beard, "he won't even finish eatin' all'a my shit for me."

"Imagine."

"I hear these purple bondage shoes of yours can take total control of a boy so he can't get willful even if he wanted to. So, what can you show me?"

Sean met the man's eyes with a level gaze. "The door."

After the leather psychopath was out the door, following much swearing and cursing, Sean made a decision. "It's definitely time to start screening my clients--with a required waiting period for background checks."