Owning a stable means your rentables have to earn a profit for you. The first step is inspecting what you own.
Amity’s Rule
Inspections – Evaluating property for rent
Inspecting stables for rentable income
Amity’s network of Femdom friends is the one new Dommes are always eager to join. They want their rentable men to command higher fees to pay for their own upkeep and so their owners could grow their lifestyles. A few experienced women held a private meeting to show them how to make good buying choices and when to expel useless ones from their inventory. The new owners had to keep an inventory of their property’s skills and post-rental surveys for clients to rate their sessions with stars, a tried-and-true way to choose which boys to keep and which to replace. Amity suggested her friends inspect several new women’s stables in person and everyone agreed. Seeing and testing merchandise in their own habitat was the best way to mentor new Dommes so they could train their purchases and get rid of the hangers-on.
Inspections – Evaluating property to grow rental fees
Four network Dommes visited estates all over the country. They inspected the men, judged their skills and gave their owners specific suggestions for improvement. Then Amity arrived at Briana’s Ranch where she was about to face the ultimate betrayal. Her exclusive, the one she calls My Cop, was put to the test. Weeks later, the unthinkable happened and put Amity’s life in danger. She wasn’t sure that anyone – including her Cop – could protect her and everyone who lived in Amityworld.
Then one night, gunshots rang out and Amity and her world would never be the same.
Inspections – Evaluating Property Prologue
HER STABLE WAS lined up in the grassy area behind the mansion Parker inherited from her parents. It was set back a mile from the closest road and the layout of the land she owned made sure there were no nosy backyard neighbors. The renovations on the old house were finally done and the secluded estate would be Amity’s home base for the next week.
Parker was one of the young Dommes invited to her Parlor, a two-day educational experience for women new to Amity’s circle of friends. Attendance was required along with Amity’s approval before any new Domme could attend the upcoming auction in Memphis. At the Parlor, they learned how to inspect and bid on men for their stables; what behavior was and was not acceptable at auctions; how to write slave contracts; and most important, what would get you thrown out of an auction and worse, Amity’s entire network.
By the end of the two-day Parlor, Amity knew Parker had the makings of a good owner and the potential to be a great one. The network was happy to welcome new members but only those women who met their standards. The rules weren’t written down; they weren’t formal but they were enforced. The network Dommes sensed—their inner voices told them—which newcomers were quality women and which were not.
Authentic Dommes know how to use their power. That was the only kind of women they’d welcome into their exclusive circle.
When Parker began buying at auctions, a few of the experienced Dommes talked privately about her purchases. Most were good investments, they said, but a few were iffy. They came up with a plan to offer advice gained from their proficiency in buying merchandise that increased their stables’ value. For many owners, a slave’s value was his rentability. Private clients would pay to schedule time if a slave had the talents the client wanted.
Having the right variety of skills in your stable is what makes it lucrative. After all, slaves have to be fed and housed and their owners have lifestyles to maintain. And grow.
The women in the private meeting discussed how they could help young Dommes make better buying choices. Some suggested keeping a stable inventory, a list of skills they owned and talents renters requested most often. Others thought post-rental surveys where clients rated their experiences with stars was a solid way to decide to keep or get rid of a particular boy. Still others proposed reviewing video of client sessions to see which slaves needed more training and which gave the clients the best experiences.
After an hour of back-and-forth, Amity made a recommendation. Why not visit new Dommes, evaluate their property and test their stock in real life? Then they could advise the owners which men they should keep and train and which were useless and should be dismissed outright, sold or bartered for something better.
The women agreed. It was an excellent way to increase new owners’ incomes and help their lifestyles grow by making their stables more attractive to renters.
The experienced Dommes’ visits became known as inspections and were carried out ruthlessly. No slave was safe from their criticism nor was any man allowed to stay unless he generated adequate income for his owner. The ones with unrealized potential—men that could be made rentable with proper training—were sent to Summer Camp for four weeks of intense work in particular skillsets. But only if their future rentability at least covers the cost of camp tuition.
When the inspections idea was shared on their network video call, they had more takers than they imagined. Experienced Dommes divvied them up so each had four inspections in cities and towns across the country. Each inspector had a list of criteria and a week to gauge each stable.
They said there would be no emotional decision-making. Each day, the evaluators would work with the stable. Each evening, they would meet with the owners to discuss improvements. Dommes had to agree up front to accept the results and carry them out.
They did. Every hand went up. Many waved wildly. Amity left for Florida a week later with her personal girl and two of her exclusives to satisfy her at night. Until the sun rose.
It was time for Amity to start her Inspections – Evaluating Property.
Inspections – Evaluating Property – Amity’s Note
WORKING WITH OTHER Dommes’ property comes with a plethora of possibilities. Like my friends, I believe my stable is the finest in the country, if not the world. I keep spreadsheets of my stock that itemize their skills—what they can do for my businesses—and their talents—what they can do for my clients’ fantasies. I have columns for everything from height and weight to hard and soft cock sizes, the most recent expander reading that tells me how big a penis a boy’s ass can take and the one I like measuring myself, their pain thresholds.
You have to know how much a pain slut can take before you advertise him. I test my pain sluts, my 40s, regularly.
Unlike many buyers, I don’t look at penises first when evaluating a possible purchase. My stable is locked in cock cages with electric sounds 24/7 and machine-milked three times a week to keep them under control; more often if they start acting up. The men I keep have microchips implanted in their perineums that I jolt to summon or punish them. It doesn’t matter where they are. My tools have a very long reach.
There were four cities on my inspection itinerary. Nova, my hefty personal girl with huge bosoms and layers of belly fat that jiggle when she runs to perform her tasks, worked with my eunuch to pack everything I needed and might want. I was taking her with me and her ticket was in the back of the plane. My two exclusives were with me in business class. My Cop said the scotch was decent. Gage picked at the vegetarian options, some of which he said were unrecognizable.
It didn’t matter if they ate airline food; that’s not what they crave. Their real sustenance is what I feed them. That’s why my custom-crafted single-tail, the one with the red handle, was in the carry-on. Gage handled like it was a religious icon. It is to him.
I spent most of the flight reviewing Parker’s stable on my tablet. My Cop had background searches done on all of her stock that didn’t turn up anything questionable. He said only one was ex-military and he had misgivings about another. Something related to indiscretions in his 20s. I swiped through their photos and videos. The noises they made on the screen went right into my ear buds so My Cop peeked at the screen each time I smiled at what I was hearing, mostly screams.
Gage’s job was to look over Parker’s estate to make sure it gave renters privacy and to offer recommendations to improve it. He’s an expert at facilities and making sure tools and equipment are in the right place for a particular client’s rented fantasy. Then he ensures it’s all sanitized and returned to their proper places ready for the next renter.
Gage’s attention was on his tablet, inspecting each area of the main house, the basement where Parker keeps her stable and the movement of Parker’s in-house staff. He shook his head a lot. That meant he found inefficiencies. He can’t hide his loathing of workers having to take wasted steps.
When I was done reviewing Parker’s stable and Gage found the weaknesses in the estate’s layout, I had the steward bring blankets and covered my exclusives’ laps. From mid-Georgia all the way to our approach to Tampa International, I played with their cages. One per hand.
The captain nodded at My Cop when we deplaned. Flyboys like having a well-trained, armed operative on board. My Cop barely managed a small nod in return. He was desperately trying to stifle his groans when I sent a jolt to his chip.
