Will work for headpats

There’s the hazy-eyed drugged-out empty thing, who lives in a foggy world in its own mind. Comfortable and sleepy. Docile and sedated. Kept calm by its own fuzzy mind and memories. It doesn’t know it deserves better. It doesn’t know it’s been dehumanized or even was once a human. On some level it knows it’s being kept, but the idea of resisting is so distant and uncomfortable that it’s just easier to stay in the cage, no matter how secure it actually is. This pet barely feels the pain, jolting it only momentarily from its haze.

Then there’s the clear-eyed, pissed-off but entirely broken pet. It knows exactly what’s been done to it. It knows it’s been degraded and dehumanized. It knows what it once was, knows it doesn’t deserve that treatment, and would bark and bite if it still believed it would help. It’s docile because it’s given up, but that doesn’t mean it accepts it. It does what it needs to do to survive. Maybe it fears me, but it will protect me anyway. The life it had is gone, the option to get away is gone, and it will at least fight to keep what it has, no matter how much it hates it, hates me for what I’ve done to it.

"Very good, that's a good dog. Now pant for me." Breathing itself is the bridge between volitional and autonomic. You must always breathe, but if you tune into your own breathing, it can be willful. Tongue hanging out, mouth open, eyes glazing. You're driving your blood oxygenation down, you're making yourself dizzy with need.

I’m sure after weeks and weeks in the bare basement without any enrichment (outside of the injuries I’ve gifted you) you must be starving for a task. A job to do. Don’t you want to be useful?

The upstairs needs to be prepped, it’s just not set up to hold a pet like you yet. You do want to live upstairs, don’t you? Where it’s warm and soft and nice? Of course you’d be happy to do the work to get the upstairs ready.

it’s not easy to hold onto a thing like you. So many long heavy screws to fasten the eye plates to the walls, to give me someplace to lock your chain. So many bars and bits and pieces to assemble your cage. The sensors that set off your shocker need to be placed and calibrated. Feet of chain and rope and tape need to be sorted and stored and maintained. My whips, paddles, and crops need to be put away but always close at hand. The leather of your collar should be conditioned and the metal of your cuffs polished.

I’m sure you’d do it well. Of course youd try to be incompetent at first. Why properly screw in a padlock anchor when you’re hoping to unscrew it later? Soon you’ll learn the rewards of a job well done. Soon you’ll realize that I always catch your little attempts at incompetence and react accordingly.

Each morning your outfit is chosen for you. Picked not for your taste, or the style you thought was yours, but because I want to show off specific features. Chosen because I want to show off the lines and curves of your body. Chosen because that’s how I want to advertise you to everyone that might see you through the day.

Your coat and nails will be handled by a professional. They’ll wash you, touching you everywhere you once thought was personal and private. You’ll be spoken over as it’s decided for you what style, what cut, what shade will be the best to frame your face. More importantly, they have to consider what’s in season. Your look will be kept current, clean, and pristine. If you give them trouble you’ll be put in a slip lead, tied off by the collar to the table and kept still by hands used to dealing with nippy dogs. Too much trouble and they’ll muzzle you before continuing. 

If you embarrass me I’ll drop you off drugged to your next appointment.

We’ll spend hours training the way you walk. With a collar around your throat and a taut leash you’ll learn to keep perfect step at my side. You’ll learn to turn and halt with the smallest adjustment, the smallest tug of your leash. You’ll learn to keep your steps even, regardless of the pace or what I might have dressed you in. You’ll be expected to show this same level of respect, obedience, and focus to anyone I hand your leash to. If I decide I want to see you paraded around the ring by someone you’ve never met, you’ll be expected to follow. Match their pace without ever looking back or pulling. Show me I can trust your training even away from me, that you’ll work to present and behave in the manner I’ve come to expect from you regardless of distance.

You’ll be expected to hold perfectly still as strangers examine your body under glaring lights. They’ll touch along your back, down your tummy, and between your legs. You’ll be overwhelmed with the simple joy a dog has when it knows it’s doing something right. Just hold still. Let them do as they need to. Just hold still and behave.

You’ll see yourself on the TV when I invite our friends over to watch your latest performance.

“Look at that strut”

“Such a beautiful coat!”

“The judge’s hands must have been cold, look at the goosebumps!”

I’ll call you over, the star of the hour. I’ll show them all the tricks I’ve taught you, all the work I’ve put into your socialization. 

The same way the judge’s hands roamed and explored your body, our friends will do the same. They’ll comment loudly over the way your skin twitches and muscles dance. They’ll giggle to each other as they see how excited you get at the idea of performing once more. 

You’ll never hesitate to follow along with their poking and prodding. You’ll never consider what these people used to be to you, or the social bonds you once had. You’ll never consider who or what you once were. 

This is the remote for your shock collar. Yes, I switched your collar for a shock collar, yes while you were sleeping, at this point it's especially your fault for not noticing. Now, I'm going to tell you to heel, and if you don't, I'll shock you until you're on your knees whimpering my name. We'll keep doing this until you do what you're told like a good girl. Ok?