Objectification
"You are LockCare Services Field Technician 6870."
Master sat behind the desk, his voice barely more than a breath.
"And you are also my slave."
He paused, his gaze resting on my face.
"But you are not a Master for any client to depend on."
I knelt in front of him with my head lowered and my hands resting on my
knees, listening to his reprimand.
"6870 understands."
But Mr. Yan's face still appeared in my mind.
I remembered his large, heavy body and the vulnerable smile he had worn
when he told me, "I don't have a Master."
He had looked like a man admitting that he had done something wrong.
I could not help saying quietly:
"But Mr. Yan... he really was hard not to feel sorry for."
Master looked at me.
I immediately closed my mouth.
A moment later, I added:
"Still, at least we completed our first appointment."
Master closed the payment record on his desk.
"I refunded the client's money."
I looked up.
"What?"
"If a client violates the rules, we can deduct the relevant fees under the
agreement," Master said. "But this time, you were the one who did something
wrong. The appointment had to be voided. Preventing any further loss was
already the best outcome."
I closed my eyes.
I had made the journey, used the supplies, and completed our first
appointment.
In the end, we had earned nothing.
Only then did I realize that I had somehow turned something that should
have been simple into something complicated.
I crawled to Master's feet, placed both hands around his lower leg, and
began massaging him.
Through the fabric of his trousers, I could feel the tense lines of his
calf muscles.
---
"Are we really going to keep running this company?" I could not help
asking.
Master looked down at me.
"Why?"
"It just seems... much more troublesome than I expected."
Master reached down, caught my chin, and made me raise my head.
"Did you think starting a company meant serving customers and waiting for
them to praise you?"
"Or do you no longer want to work for me?"
I immediately shook my head and shuffled forward on my knees.
"6870 is deeply honored. And very excited."
"And... 6870 actually enjoyed the service itself. Mr. Yan's reactions made
6870 feel very satisfied."
Master's thumb slowly moved across my chin.
"You were born to serve people."
I did not dare argue.
Master continued:
"I will train you."
"Until you become a properly qualified slave employee."
He tapped one finger lightly against the desk.
"No."
"You may become this company's first showcase model."
"A model?"
When those words fell from his mouth, my fingers tightened unconsciously
around the edge of the desk.
Master did not explain immediately.
He simply stood.
"Get up. Let me look at you."
Using the desk for support, I rose to my feet.
I was still wearing my work uniform.
The dark teal fabric had been darkened by sweat. The back of the shirt
clung to my skin, while the ventilated mesh along the sides of my trousers
still held some of the coolness left by the night wind.
My badge hung crookedly across my chest. The tool pouch pressed against my
waist, and a little dust from the stairwell had collected on my white
socks.
I had thought I looked miserable.
But Master examined me carefully.
"Good."
He tugged gently at my collar, then pinched the fabric of my trousers
between his fingers.
His movements were slow and unhurried.
"But it isn't enough."
"We can add a shorts version later. A field technician cannot be allowed to
die from the heat just to look attractive in summer."
"The long trousers also need to be changed. The ventilated area should be
larger."
Master placed one hand on my shoulder.
"The design has to convey objectification."
I repeated the word silently.
"Objectification?"
Master stood in front of me. Keeping his palm on my shoulder, he slowly
turned me toward the printed logo taped to the wall.
"No visible thoughts."
"Obedient service."
"A clearly defined function."
"A clean, standardized, numbered human tool, dispatched for use."
His voice remained calm and even.
"That is the appeal."
I looked at the logo on the wall.
LOCKCARE SERVICES
The corners of the paper were already curling, and the tape had not even
been applied neatly.
The company did not have a real office yet. It had only been registered
using a virtual address, while the living room of our home had been
converted into a temporary work area.
But when Master spoke that way, I suddenly felt as though it had truly
begun to resemble a company.
At least it no longer seemed like something Master and I had invented at
home for our own amusement.
Master continued:
"Your job is not to empathize with every client."
"And it is not to enter into their loneliness."
"Your job is to look usable."
The cock inside my cage gave a violent twitch.
The reaction was so obvious that even I could not pretend it had not
happened.
Master saw it.
His gaze briefly moved downward, and the corner of his mouth shifted.
"Turned on?"
I did not answer.
Master placed one hand against the back of my neck and pressed downward.
I followed the pressure and knelt.
He bent over and looked at me.
"The way you behave is still too much like a pet."
"You are too absorbed in the pleasure of being confined by me, commanded
by me, and contained by me."
"You are still some distance from behaving like something that can
actually go to work."
Master said:
"Low cost."
"High repeat business."
"Controllable risk."
"Reliable delivery."
"Those are the things that will keep a company alive."
He released me.
"Clean the living room. Put every tool back where it belongs. Take a
shower, then sleep on the couch."
I looked up.
"Then let me wash Master's feet first."
"No."
Master picked up his phone and walked toward the bedroom.
"I still have work to do."
He stopped at the door and looked back at me.
"Besides, I have many plans for you."
"In the future, you will not have so much time to serve only me."
With that, he entered the bedroom.
The living room became quiet.
I remained on my knees until I heard the bedroom door close.
Only then did I use the edge of the desk to pull myself to my feet.
Beneath the paperwork on the desk, Master had added one my feet.
B line:
FIELD TECHNICIAN CROSSED SERVICE BOUNDARY. REFUND ISSUED.
I stared at it for a while.
A dull pressure slowly formed in my chest.
Then I began cleaning.
---
The following morning, I woke on the couch.
There was a voice message from Master on my phone.
His voice was low and carried obvious exhaustion.
"6870, handle today's client service properly."
"There is one more assignment."
"Wear a butt plug throughout the entire service."
I held the phone, feeling as though someone had gently squeezed my heart.
He added:
"If it starts to hurt, use yellow."
"You do not need my permission for red. Remove it immediately."
I listened to the message twice.
He was still looking after me.
He was still leaving a line that I was allowed to draw.
"Do not make me clean up another mess for you today."
I typed:
"I guarantee that the assignment will be completed."
After washing, I made sure that my bowels were empty.
Once I had confirmed that there was no problem, I took the black silicone
plug from the drawer.
I applied lubricant and slowly pushed it into my body.
When it was completely inside, I held the sink and remained still for a
while, waiting for the discomfort to settle.
Only then did I put my uniform back on.
In truth, I did not enjoy wearing it for long periods.
What it gave me was not simple pleasure. It was mostly a heavy awareness of
a foreign object inside me.
But it was Master's command.
When Master was there, the sensation became a kind of security, as though
he had taken control of a part of my body that could otherwise become
unmanageable.
Without thinking, I touched the front of my chastity cage.
The moment my fingertip made contact with the resin, it pulled away a long,
thin strand of clear fluid.
When the strand broke, part of it remained shining between the seams of the
cage.
I stood in front of the mirror, took a confirmation photograph, and sent it
to Master.
A few seconds later, he replied with a single word:
"Mm."
I took a deep breath and began organizing the toolbox.
When I called to confirm today's second appointment, the person on the
other end remained silent for a moment.
Then he suddenly said:
"Change the address."
"Come here instead."
"Two o'clock."
The call ended.
A new location arrived almost immediately.
The city center.
An area where expensive office buildings stood among mixed commercial and
residential apartments.
I stared at the location for a while.
But whatever.
Today, 6870 was a professional technician.
---
At two in the afternoon, I entered the building.
Because of the plug inside me, sweat was already beginning to form across
my forehead.
Just as I reached the elevators, a security guard called out to me.
"What are you here for?"
The muscles between my thighs tightened instinctively.
I took out my badge and tried to keep my voice steady.
"On-site maintenance."
The guard frowned and asked for the room number before finally allowing me
through.
I entered the elevator.
The mirrored doors reflected my appearance.
On the outside, I looked professional.
The cage in front and the plug behind reminded me that I had gone out
carrying Master's command inside my body.
I repeated silently:
This is legitimate work.
I am LockCare Services Field Technician 6870.
The doorbell rang twice.
The door opened.
The man behind it was completely different from Mr. Yan.
He was in his early forties, with carefully combed hair and the tired
appearance of someone who spent considerable effort maintaining himself.
He was not especially handsome, but he knew how to take care of his
appearance.
A little greasy, perhaps.
But not unattractive.
I straightened my body and delivered the standard introduction.
When I finished, he leaned against the doorframe and spoke lazily.
"Ah... none of that is necessary anymore."
"We ended it."
"We stopped playing a few days ago. The relationship was unstable. There
was no point."
The room behind him looked less like a home than a temporary warehouse.
Rows of metal shelving stood against the walls, covered with merchandise,
packing materials, and delivery boxes.
The air smelled of cardboard, plastic bags, and cheap fragrance mixed
together.
I spoke in my most professional voice.
"I understand. In that case, a partial refund can be arranged. After the
deposit and field-service travel fee are deducted, the remaining balance
will be returned through the original payment method."
He did not respond.
He only looked at me.
His gaze moved from my face to my badge, then to my waist and my toolbox.
Finally, it stopped near the front of my trousers.
After a long time, he suddenly smiled.
"There is no need for a refund."
He stood a little straighter.
"But since you are already here..."
I transferred the toolbox to my other hand.
Inside it, the glove box, cleaning solution, and spare brush heads knocked
softly against one another.
The sound was very small, but it brought part of my attention back.
"Wear that uniform and let me have some fun with you."
"Sir, the company does not provide sexual services. At present, we provide
only chastity-device cleaning, inspection, maintenance, and keyholding
services."
"I know."
He smiled casually.
"That is why I am not asking you to do anything else."
"Just let me play with you for a while."
His voice was light.
As though he were discussing something too insignificant to matter.
---
"Didn't you say you came here on your Master's orders?"
"You are a slave, aren't you?"
"You want your Master to make money too, don't you?"
I did not answer immediately.
This was not a presence I recognized.
He did not have Master's pressure, the kind that made me feel secure.
Nor did he possess Mr. Yan's awkwardness, the kind that made it difficult
not to feel sympathy for him.
Perhaps I should not be so oversensitive.
Had we really started a company just to keep every rule perfectly clean?
The first appointment had already been refunded.
If I returned empty-handed after the second appointment as well, I did not
know how Master would see me.
I heard my own voice say:
"There is only a very limited amount I can cooperate with."
"Do not go too far."
The moment I said it, I knew something was wrong.
But the man had already stepped aside.
He raised one eyebrow.
"Fine."
I carried the toolbox inside.
The man leaned against a shelf and gestured toward the space beside it with
his chin.
"Stand there."
I stood in front of the shelving.
Behind me, metal racks were piled high with merchandise.
The dark teal uniform looked very clean beneath the cold white light.
My white socks and work shoes formed a clear dividing line. The tool pouch
hung at my waist like a piece of standardized equipment.
Suddenly, I did not know where to put my hands.
A dirty heat stirred somewhere deep inside my body, only to be pressed down
again almost immediately.
I did not want to admit that it was excitement.
I suddenly remembered what Master had said the night before.
No visible thoughts.
Obedient service.
A clearly defined function.
A clean, standardized, numbered human tool, dispatched for use.
But when Master said those things, I had felt safe.
Now, I was standing just as straight.
The man moved closer.
"Pull your trousers down to your thighs."
As soon as the words entered the room, the smell of cheap fragrance seemed
to become stronger.
The refunded first appointment was still weighing on my mind.
Master's words, "Your job is to look usable," were still in my ears.
I unfastened my tactical belt.
Then I lowered my work trousers to the middle of my thighs.
The black chastity cage and the base of the plug were exposed to the air at
the same time.
The middle-aged man's expression visibly changed.
He stepped closer and touched my badge first.
His fingertip flicked the metal plate, producing a sharp, clear sound.
"Field Technician 6870."
"Your company certainly knows how to have fun."
My arms hung at my sides.
I did not answer.
His gaze moved downward and settled on the black device.
"You work while locked like this all the time?"
I took a deep breath.
"This is a private arrangement. It has nothing to do with the service."
"A private arrangement?"
He sounded as though he had heard something extremely amusing.
---
The next moment, his hand moved down.
I held my breath.
His fingertip touched the cage.
The contact was a little rough.
I heard my teeth click together.
"Kneel," he said.
I slowly bent my knees.
Not eagerly.
But not entirely unwillingly either.
He moved around to my side, crouched, and pressed lightly against the base
of the plug with one fingertip.
"You are even wearing a butt plug..."
He laughed aloud.
"Your company's service is interesting."
I clenched my teeth.
He began turning the plug.
I twisted away and stepped backward.
"Don't touch me."
I heard myself say it.
The man's movement stopped for a moment, as though he had not expected me
to object so suddenly.
But he quickly moved closer again.
He pulled down his trousers, exposing his half-hard cock.
With his other hand, he tried to catch the back of my neck and push me
forward.
The heat and smell of his cock suddenly came close to my face.
Just as the thick head was about to touch my lips, I threw myself backward.
My shoulder struck the shelving.
Several boxes fell to the floor, producing a series of chaotic sounds.
"No."
I pulled up my trousers while retreating.
"That is enough."
"I came here. I did what I was supposed to do."
The words sounded as though they were meant for him.
They also sounded as though they were meant for me.
I did not want to feel like someone who had run away.
The man remained where he was, expressionless.
Several seconds later, he spoke with sudden calmness.
"Are you leaving the toolbox behind?"
Only then did I realize that I had almost forgotten it.
I picked up the toolbox and looked at him.
In that glance, I suddenly noticed a deep restlessness inside him.
It did not seem like something that had begun today.
But I no longer wanted to remain there.
"I will not return here again."
I said:
"I wish you well."
Then I turned and left.
The door closed behind me.
I repeatedly pressed the elevator button.
The elevator was taking too long.
I stood outside it with sweat covering my palms.
My badge hung crookedly across my chest, and my grip around the toolbox was
painfully tight.
When the doors finally opened, I immediately stepped inside.
The mirrored doors reflected my face.
My forehead was covered with sweat. My lips were slightly pale, yet there
was a strange brightness in my eyes.
I did not like that brightness.
As the elevator descended, every small vibration made the plug inside me
feel more distinct.
I could only stand perfectly straight and try to look normal.
The elevator reached the first floor.
---
The doors opened, and I carried my toolbox into the lobby.
I had barely started walking when the security guard looked up.
"Finished already?"
My steps stopped for a moment.
I forced myself to nod.
"Small problem."
The guard looked at me.
"You don't look very well. Are you all right?"
"It's too hot."
"It is hot."
He glanced outside.
"But that uniform makes your company look pretty good."
I gave him a stiff smile.
"It's not easy work."
The guard did not understand what I meant.
He only replied:
"As long as it pays."
I nodded.
"Mm."
When I walked out of the building, the sky was still bright.
---
The city-center streets were crowded.
Delivery riders passed close beside me. Men and women along the road were
walking, making phone calls, and waiting for cars.
No one knew what had just happened to me.
No one cared.
I climbed onto my electric scooter.
The shame rose from deep inside my body, mixing with the panic I had just
felt.
Together, they became a kind of disgusting excitement that was difficult
to admit.
Part of me was even still thinking:
Still... I suppose this one counts as earned.
Only when the wind struck my face did my mind clear a little.
I sent Master a message.
I briefly explained what had happened.
After the message was sent, Master did not reply immediately.
I waited for two minutes.
The screen did not light up again.
Perhaps he was dissatisfied that I had decided not to cancel the
appointment myself.
But I could not deal with that now.
I put the phone back into my pocket and continued riding toward the
company.
---
By the time I returned, the sky had gone dark.
After getting off the scooter, I picked up my phone and saw Master's reply.
"You're out. That's what matters."
The next message arrived several seconds later.
"Don't go back."
"Stay safe."
After another pause:
"Busy. We'll talk when you get back."
The final message said:
"Do not use a client's reaction as a measure of your own value."
"And didn't I tell you to send me a confirmation photo of the plug after
the service?"
I stared at the screen for a while.
That final request for a confirmation photograph brought my thoughts back
into focus.
Master was still Master.
The door was unlocked.
I pushed it open, and the first words left my mouth immediately:
"Today was seriously--"
I stopped halfway through the sentence.
The person sitting in the living room was not Master.
It was Mr. Yan.
He was dressed neatly today.
A white T-shirt.
Gray sweatpants.
His hair looked as though he had arranged it especially carefully, and he
had even changed into a clean pair of white sneakers.
The moment he saw me enter, he stood.
"Brother, you must be tired."
