"sit"
one word has it on its knees. another opens its mind like a flower, blooming before the morning sun. its eyes are glassy and its jaw slack, but it keeps its back straight and its knees together. it is a good hound. it lives to obey.
"it loves Me. you love Me," and the way its eyes suddenly focus sends shivers down My spine. its pupils dilate, its breathing speeds up, it almost starts to wag its tail.
another few words bring it back to its own awareness, and I savor the look on its face as it realizes I really do have that much control. that it really does love Me.
anyway a girl told It that she had a dream about making It obsessed with her, about brainwashing it so that no one else would ever feel as good as she did, making every other bit intimacy pale in comparison to her, and It was so fucking normal about it. It really should get to be obsessive and possessed like that.
















