Family Pet

Family Pet 8.

The bed was making its usual loud squeaking protest with every vigorous thrust of Master Roger’s hips, but that wouldn’t bother the boy. Consideration for others, be it from unnecessary noise or from a sadistic sex act, he wouldn’t give it a second thought. Not even a first thought come to that! The young lad was feeling Randy and wanted to fuck, and so over the bed went Pet to be fucked by his young Master. The fact that he didn’t want to be fucked or anything else was, of course, irrelevant to those who owned and housed him.

That latter term was theirs, his so-called owners. Pet would have said, imprisoned him, jailed him, incarcerated him, and… many similar terms. He was as much a captive as any convicted felon, only kept and treated far worse than those miscreants who’d deliberately broken the law. He was tortured almost every day and kept in perpetual bondage, his limbs doubled up in heavy leather sleeve-like pouches, denied even the dignity of walking erect. Bodily shaved head to foot and kept naked, unless you counted the crippling pouches on knee and elbow joints, a leather dog collar around his neck.

Prison inmates had warders, jailers, guards, or whatever they were called, while he had owners. Not only was he a captive and a virtually helpless one at that, but he was a pet, a pet to the family that claimed ownership of him. He wasn’t even human in their eyes, or not in the normal sense. Worse, he was a sex toy for them, all four, that was his prime purpose, to be used for their sadistic sexual pleasure. Perverse pleasure made all the worse for him in that his own penis was permanently locked in a stainless-steel chastity cage that prevented him from ever having an erection, let alone any form of sexual satisfaction. No, that was reserved for the family that ‘owned’ him!

It wasn’t even Master Roger’s turn for him that night; it was the boy's mother, his evil mistress, whom he should be serving with mouth and body. However, the horrible woman had one of her migraine headaches hanging around, and she’d decided to forgo her turn with the family pet and retire early before her encroaching headache could fully establish itself. The woman was not one to tolerate pain herself and could fly into a panic over a tiny splinter in her finger when gardening or the smallest nick with a kitchen knife while peeling vegetables.

Pet had watched her panic more than once from his lowly basket, not missing the irony of the situation. The evil woman had caused him the most agonising, excruciating pain on many occasions as she’d ruthlessly and systematically reduced him to his present insignificant status. The lowly family pet, the nameless thing, their living sex toy, if you could call his miserable existence living. The woman had done so without the slightest shred of sympathy or mercy to him and acknowledged him neither as a grown man nor even as a fellow human being.

Pet bucked against the bed, his face mashing hard into the soft duvet cover emblazoned with its red, white and black Manchester United logo, at each deep penetrating thrust within his abused anus as it accommodated the boy's sizeable, rampant cock. As usual, there was nothing he could do, could have done to prevent the assault, but grit his teeth and wait for it to be over.

Unfortunately, it was likely to be one of those evenings that seemed endless, and while the young Master might be somewhat overweight and unfit, heading down the same unhealthy path as his near-obese father, he had youth and stamina on his side. His father was strictly a ponderous ‘one-shot’ man most of the time, whereas the lad had vitality and teenage enthusiasm on his side, not to mention half a gallon of hot spunk in his balls or so it always seemed to Pet on the receiving end of such bounty!

No one else had wanted him or challenged Master Roger when his mother announced at the dinner table that she’d be relinquishing her turn that evening due to her potential migraine. “Me, me, me!” Master Roger dropped his table knife, his hand shooting upwards and promptly being scolded for shedding half a mouthful of his dinner across the table in his vocal eagerness. The boy habitually ate like a ravenous pig, stuffing his mouth and swallowing with hardly a chew in between. Not the boy paid much attention to his mother's displeasure and went on to announce after quickly swallowing what remained in his mouth. “I’ve been feeling really randy all afternoon, horny as hell, squirming in my seat during that last lesson, so I was going to give pet a good shafting as soon as I got in, but you’d got dinner going early, so I couldn’t”

The lad had sounded plaintive and waved his fork in the air so that a lump of stewing steak detached itself and joined the other detritus on the table, much to his father's amusement and his mother's irritation. Naturally, that exasperation was about his lack of good table manners rather than what he’d said about sexually using the family pet. Discussions about his behaviour or what they’d done or planned to do to him were frequent topics for mealtime discussions. In some cases, hardly suitable or appropriate for mealtimes, but that never bothered the family.

“I’m going out”, Miss Susan announced, “So that puts me out of the equation. Dougie and I are making up a foursome with Jamie and Chloe, going to the multiplex to see a movie”

“Which one?” Her father asked.

“No idea,” his attractive daughter shrugged. “It was a last-minute thing as we were leaving the lecture hall at Uni, so we didn’t get that far. Chloe had to dash off on an errand. They’ve got four screens, so we’ll decide when we get there, and if nothing takes our fancy, we can give that new cocktail bar near the Hurlingham centre a try. It’s supposed to be pretty cool.”

“Looks like you’ve a clear field then, son. No competition. I’m gonna put my feet up, have a couple of beers and watch the big match on telly. A nice, quiet, lethargic evening watching twenty-two other guys expending energy, twenty-three, I suppose, if we count the bloody ref in. It’d better not be what’s-his-face again, that guy who’s as biased as fuck against us!”

“Yeah, thanks,” Master Roger had giggled. “I expect I’ll be expending lots of energy, along with lots of man juice.” He’d turned and smirked in Pets’ direction. “Like the sticky stuff, don’t you, boy?”

Pet hadn’t replied, of course. He never did, even though he could have, as his mouth was rarely impeded by a gag these days. He’d been far too conditioned by that bitch, with a headache coming on, and he hoped it would come on and be one of her blindingly bad ones. The upside was that she wouldn’t be bothering him in any way for a day or two, and for once, he could enjoy watching her suffer. The downside, as he well knew, was that the evil woman would take it out on him once her brief ordeal was over. She’d thrashed him last time merely for looking at her in what she’d deemed ‘a funny way’ when she came down after two days in bed. Hell, that had been some flogging, only for glancing in her direction! Thank God he hadn’t been stupid enough to say anything. Doing such a basic and natural thing, now, would really set her off, set all of them off, come to that!

His mind returned to that even as he was being soundly fucked by his young Master. Like a professional whore, he’d developed, or at least partially developed, the knack of separating his mind from the reality of what was happening to his body, sort of, anyway! Had he been stupid enough to make a discernible reply to Master Rogers’ question about his liking for the ‘sticky stuff’, they’d have gone mad, the two females especially. They were his chief trainers, after all, and would regard his…his gross impertinence as a slight on them and their efforts to…to….

“That’s good, isn’t it, boy? It feels really good, don’t it? Just what a pet likes you needs, eh, boy?”

‘Doesn’t it?’ he mentally corrected just as the brat's mother would have done verbally. Another rhetorical question that briefly interrupted his train of thought. No, it wasn’t good, not for him, and it certainly didn’t feel good. Having a cock up his bottom, be it real or fake, like those monsters Miss Susan kept in the drawer of her bedside cabinet, never felt good, nor was it something he needed. He was long past feeling embarrassed, degraded or humiliated as they used him in such a way, but no, it had never felt good and never would! The only saving grace was that he was better able to accommodate the vile practice than in those early days when it had been anything but good pain-wise. Back then, it had hurt like hell as they regularly raped him, and that pain had, to a certain extent, overridden any feelings of…of…. he grunted almost in tandem with his young Master at a particularly deep and aggressive thrust, which prompted a reaction.

No, he wasn’t immune, not even after… after all the time, he’d been there and the many times he’d been so cruelly used for their pleasure. That humiliation, that sense of defilement and degradation, still lingered in the background, and… he grunted again as an even more vigorous thrust pinned him to the duvet like a butterfly in a collector’s case. The sensation was mercifully brief but almost instantly repeated at a lesser depth, and again and again and… yes, the boy was approaching his climax, the point of no return, another few thrusts, unless…

But no, the boy was too eager and less skilled than his father. Pet’s Master rarely used him twice in this fashion. Maybe if he had the urge or the energy after a hard fuck, and were in the mood, he’d demand Pet use his mouth an hour so later to rouse and bring him off again orally. Fortunately, that didn’t happen all that often, so when it was that fat bastard’s turn to have him, the experience varied from the briefest in-and-out session to a prolonged fucking. The bastard was a far more experienced cocksmith than his equally odious son. He could and often did sort of freeze mid fuck and allowed his ardour to cool for a brief time. Pet could literally feel the bastard's fat cock beginning to wilt inside him. Then, when the guy had gained his second wind, it would suddenly swell again and resume its merciless pounding until it either erupted or, worse, froze again to prolong the horrible session.

Fortunately, Master Roger was incapable of such self-control and was already spurring his foul seed deep into his abused rectum. That was the upside. It hadn’t gone on for all that long, even though it felt as though it had. The downside was that this was the second time the chubby brat had fucked him that evening, and the lad seemed brimming with surplus energy for once in his indolent life. Tidying his room, washing his moped or doing his homework, oh no, that took too much effort, but fucking the family pet…oh yes, he could always manage that!

It had started within seconds of Master Roger downing his final spoonful of apple crumble and ice cream. The lad had bounded from his chair, in stark contrast to his usual slow, sluggish, weight-of-the-world-on-his-shoulders…or, more likely, the weight of his growing belly weighing down his feet. He’d even grabbed his dinner plate, pudding bowl and cutlery and put them in the dishwasher without needing the usual reminder from his mother or sister. It wasn’t that he was lazy, well, he was, but like his father, he considered such tasks to be ‘woman’s work’. Not that he’d have dared to say such to either mother or sister, especially his sister. The girl wasn’t above giving her younger brother a backhander now and then, and Miss Susan never held anything back when she lashed out. Pet could certainly vouch for that!

He’d even heard her mother mildly remonstrate with the girl. “No, Susan, leave your little brother alone. We don’t hit children in this house, remember? That’s not how we brought you up!”

Pet had baulked at that. ‘We don’t hit children in this house’ and ‘that’s not how we brought you up!’ Oh no, they might not hit children, not that Master Roger was a child, anyway. But they had no qualms about hitting him, and they didn’t just hit him; they thrashed the hell out of him with floggers, paddles, whips and bamboo canes. What was a minor juvenile spanking or an irritated slap compared to what they’d done and still did to him?

Likewise, Miss Susan, there was presumably no rule in her upbringing that forbade beating and mistreating the family pet? It seemed the opposite very much, for the girl was well versed in inflicting the necessary, or what they deemed necessary, agony to reinforce their merciless training routines for him. Nor was he the first, it seemed, from those snippets of conversation about the mysterious ‘Fuckslut’ who’d preceded him. He often wondered whether there had been others. Very probably, for it seemed most unlikely that the girl was cutting her teeth on him, given her proficiency, which surely meant she’d started learning her evil skills at a far younger age!

The boy was certainly in an urgent mood for one second, he’d been bending down by the dishwasher and the next by Pet's basket, hooking a finger under his collar and dragging him half out, ordering “Out, out and heel boy, Heel” emphasising the commands via the usual finger snaps and ushering him through the kitchen door and into the hall with the aid of his trainer clad foot. “UP, upstairs, boy and be quick about it!”

Pet had done his best, given how impeded he was by his doubled-up stumpy legs. He was pretty proficient now compared to how he’d first been, but even so, going at any speed on the straight and narrow wasn’t easy and wasn’t particularly fast compared to an average human walking pace, and going upstairs was doubly difficult. A fact known to his young Master, but one the randy little brat chose to ignore. His pressing need to ram his cock up his unusual pet’s rear passage was overriding anything else. Consequently, they sped upwards with the pet's little legs, taking the weight more than providing forward locomotion, while Master Roger provided the latter by dragging him upwards by his collar.

Pet's evening had continued to deteriorate from the moment he entered his young Master's bedroom to be dragged and kicked towards the single bed where the young gent wasted no time in kicking off his trainers and shedding his jeans and boxer shorts to reveal his impressive half-erect cock. An organ with its big bulbous head and thick veins that the pet could have drawn from memory had he been artistic, likewise that of the lad's father, so fixed in his mind were they. Not only that, but he could probably also have done it in 3D, so familiar was his tongue and toothless mouth, every ridge and bump on those demanding organs.

His rectum, though, had initially been spared the assault he’d been expecting, and rather than being dragged up and thrust over the end of the bed, his young Master chose to seat himself there instead. Pet had found himself being dragged up into the ‘begging’ position, face to face with that bobbing cock, wondering why the brat was going to use his mouth. Normally, when the brat was uber randy, it was straight over the bed end and then wham, bam, and thank you, ma'am! If the kid wanted oral, then… but that wasn’t what the young Master had in mind. He tapped a finger on Pet’s bald head and then rubbed it with the same finger. Master Roger had something of a fixation on his Pet’s shaven, hairless scalp, now permanently depleted by some gunk his mistress had applied numerous times after shaving his hair and then his stubble. The stuff stung and burned and had done wicked work, and after about four applications of the horrible stuff, he was now billiard ball smooth up top.

Only his eyebrows remained, for the rest of his body hadn’t been ignored either. After his head, his groin, ass crack, and legs received the same gooey treatment, his arms, upper body, and finally his chin and face. His jaw had been the least cooperative and still tended to sprout hair, which was either shaved off or, if she was in the mood, plucked by Mistress Susan with her eyebrow tweezers. He’d never had heavy facial hair; he was no Blackbeard, much more the opposite, with a sparse, fuzzy down, and if he was so inclined, could get away with shaving every other day without attracting comment. His one attempt to grow a beard had ended in miserable failure when, after a couple of weeks, his boss told him pointedly that he’d look a ‘whole lot better without that sparse tangle of pubic hair on his chin’.

Now, of course, he didn’t have hair on his chin, nor did he have the genuine stuff covering his groin, unlike Master Roger, whose cock rose out of a sizeable thicket of dark, wiry hair. A family trait, for his father’s was twice as bushy, and as for his mother’s mound… hell, his tongue could have done with a machete when it had to penetrate her damn jungle! Only Miss Susan favoured keeping herself neat in that particular area, preferring a neat Brazilian, which was no impediment when she desired his oral service. Not that she needed to worry about him slacking when the girl was so efficient at making sure he did precisely as she wished at all times, like her mother!

Pet opened his mouth as the pressure from his young Master's hand increased, no longer rubbing and caressing but pushing him forward towards the fleshy monster rearing out from these dense undergrowth around its base, but to his momentary surprise, his mouth and kips were left short of the target and then to his horror….

“Open wide, boy. Drinky pee pee time. I could wait till I’d fucked you, but I can’t wait. Shoulda stopped off at the bathroom, but I was in too much of a hurry to get my cock up your fuck hole. No sweat though, you can work up Mr Cocky while I pee, kill two birds with one stone, eh, boy? And no fucking spilling! I don’t want my bed stinking up because you can’t swallow fast enough, got it!”

In some ways, it wasn’t the worst thing the boy could do to him, or to any of them, but he detested being so…so…used in such a vile, foul, horrible way. He closed his eyes as that cock entered his mouth and hot urine began to fill it. He swallowed desperately, gulping the foul stuff down as his young Master emptied his bladder with a long sigh of sheer contentment. Not an attitude his pet reciprocated, as he endeavoured to keep up with the copious flow and knew he was failing as those knuckles rapped him smartly on the head.

“Dirty pig, I told you not to spill, and what have you done, boy? Spat it all over the fucking bed and carpet, you useless fuck hole!”

Christ, he’d done his best, hadn’t he? What did the lad expect if he let the torrent loose like that? Couldn’t he at least have used a bit of common sense and held back a little? But no, that would have been wishful thinking. When had anyone in this foul family ever held back? Besides, he hadn’t spat anything out. It had leaked and dribbled, and then only a minor trickle right at the very end. It wasn’t fair. It was never fair, and… his futile indignation was cut short as Master Roger promptly stood up, his semi-erect cock slapping Pet in the face as a few drops of stinking golden liquid flew into his eyes.

“Fuck useless animal”, Master Roger delivered a casual back-handed slap to Pet's face, half-knocking him over, then grabbed him by the collar and hauled him into the ‘customary’ position over the bed end, where he tensed himself, ready for the usual assault upon his rectum. It didn’t come, but he realised there was no reprieve, no saved by the bell; it had merely been delayed in favour of another form of assault.

“Fucking useless bitch, you didn’t even try to get me hard, did you!” There was indignation as well as anger in the young Master’s voice as he unhooked the wooden paddle from the end of the shelf that contained his figurine collection. “Didn’t feel your tongue once, did I, boy? Lazy, useless cunt!”

Pet realised with growing dismay that he hadn’t had he. No, he’d not made the slightest effort to excite, to titillate the thing filling his mouth, stimulating it to rock-hard, hungry male hardness. He’d been taken by surprise and far too preoccupied with swallowing the brat’s piss to do anything else. Besides, how could he? Trying to use his tongue, his mouth, his lips as he usually did would have been a virtual impossibility while the lad pissed. If he’d waited till his bladder was empty, then he might…

That was all irrelevant as a hand grasped his collar, holding him firm as the paddle rose and fell, its flat wooden surface warming first one cheek, then the other. Wham, bang, wham, bang and so forth while he wriggled, squirmed and then howled. Master Roger lacked the…the experience of his mother and sister when it came to thrashing their helpless human pet. They had a certain style, a finesse when they whipped and caned him, whereas Master Roger relied on brute force and enthusiasm and probably expended three and four times as much energy as the female members of the house would have done. Not that it made any difference to pet of course!

The beating stopped as they always did, though in this case more because the young Master was running out of energy, something his sister would never allow. Her stamina seemed inexhaustible when she was delivering one of her ‘practical’ lessons in obedience, as she sometimes termed them. Either way, they still bloody well hurt, and Pet was sobbing into the duvet long before the lad’s arm began to weaken. It wasn’t often that he thrashed the family pet, but if he had to, he’d put some beef into the act and teach the fucking useless thing a lesson it wouldn’t forget in a hurry.

“That’s taught you, I bet,” he muttered, hanging up the paddle more because he knew Pet's eyes would be following him than out of any inherent sense of tidiness. He wasn’t stupid, and his sister had often talked about the psychological effect of pet training. You reached a point where you didn’t need to expend time and effort whipping the fucker; merely having the whip in sight and touching it as though you intended to use it could have a very salutary effect. The boy grinned as he saw both fear and relief at the same time in his pet's damp eyes and wagged a cautionary finger towards the pathetic thing on his bed.

“That’s right, boy. We both know where it is, and if you fuck up again before the night's over, well, we both know what’ll happen, don’t we?” he gave Pet a malevolent grin and reached down to his groin to grip his rampant cock. “I don’t need your mouth to make me hard, not when Mister Paddle can do it just as good. Now shuffle your cute ass down my bed a bit, you know where I want you, and I better hear some enthusiasm when I fucks you. I want to hear you squealing with pleasure like the randy little fuck slut you are, so start wiggling that fuck hole of yours, boy!”

That had been earlier, and this was now. He’d been pissed on, beaten and fast fucked, and now he was being fucked, sodomised for a second time, only more leisurely. This time quietly, at least so far as his contribution went, no longer expected to keep up the verbal grunts and gasps of non-existent organic pleasure that had been demanded of him earlier.

The bed was still protesting, but not as loudly as it had during that first short assault on his anal passage and paddle-bruised buttocks. Perhaps because the lad didn’t want to disturb his mother, who’d presumably retired for her early night by now. Unlikely, though, thought Pet, wincing at a particularly aggressive thrust from the cock in his rectum, for the boy probably hadn’t given a single thought to his mother's problem. The lad was far too selfish and self-centred for that.

A couple of weeks ago, there had been that angry scene in the kitchen he’d witnessed from his basket when Miss Susan threatened dire retribution upon her younger sibling unless he went straight out and bought his mother a birthday card and something to accompany it, present-wise, a box of chocolates at the very least…or else! The lad had gone on his errand grumbling like hell, of course, but you didn’t ignore or disobey Miss Susan when she was in that sort of a mood. Master Roger knew that as well, pet, the only difference being that, so far as he was concerned, any threat made would be put into practice, painfully so in his case!

Christ in bloody heaven! Why couldn’t the fucking brat get on with it? At this rate, it would take half the night before the lad shed his damn load. It was hurting as well, not so much the rampant intruder violating his ass but the lad's body humping back and forth against his paddle-bruised bottom. Every thrust brought a pang of pain, by no means the worst or anywhere near the worst he'd felt in this house, but …but, yeah, it still fucking well hurt!

Pissed on, beaten, fucked, and then fucked again with a break in between the first and present fucking. The first had been brutal, fast, deep and mercifully short; the lad was so randy and worked up. In and out, almost instantly at least, compared to this one, fucking number two of the night. A total contrast to that first one and more akin to some of those long sessions with Miss Susan while she slowly worked herself to a climax on one end of a phallus while the bigger, contoured and far longer end of the wretched thing buried itself in his poor bottom. Both of them, in a sense, were impaled, but only one of them derived any pleasure from the experience.

You could add the humiliation and disgusting oral homage he’d been obliged to provide his young Master with after the brat had filled his butt passage with the usual bucket load of hot male sperm! Hell, the kid could have earned himself a fortune hiring himself out to one of those sperm bank, clinics or whatever they were. Pet shivered slightly at that horrible thought. Jeez, one was enough. Imagine ten or worse, a hundred clones of the damn kid! That didn’t bear thinking about, did it?

He was thinking about it, though, for what else had he to occupy him, and it was a case of ‘any port in a storm’, to try and blot out what was happening to him. Not that he could completely ignore it, as he was pushed forward in tandem with every thrust of the young master's cock in his rectum. He was also aware of a growing thirst and knew he’d have to wait till morning, when he could access his water bowl in the kitchen. That was one advantage, probably the only one, when he spent the night in Miss Susan’s room. He salivated so much, kicking, boots, shoes and… and something else, that his tongue tended to dry up. The girl was considerate enough, and that was an ironic phrase to use about the girl, but at least she kept a brown pot dog bowl in her bedroom and usually poured some water into it from her ever-present water bottle.

He was terrified of the pretty girl, more so of her, perhaps, than of any of the bastards, including his chief tormentor, his Mistress. But at least he could satisfy his thirst after she’d finished with him for the night, unlike her little, he suddenly winced as he was thrust forward, or not so little, brother! Drinking piss and salty sperm didn’t help. He’d once read that those unfortunates condemned to the execution block in medieval times had been obliged to kiss the axeman’s hand and even pay him for the privilege of having their heads lopped off. Presumably that was in the hope that the bugger wouldn’t botch the job and would do the dirty deed in one clean, merciful cut!

He was equally condemned, only there was no swift end to his misery, no clunk of an axe shearing through a neck bone, and instead of kissing his young Master's hand, he had to kiss, lick and suck something far more repulsive to him. He’d wait while the thing within him, having finally transferred the contents of his Master's balls into him, began to wilt and shrink, while its owner grunted and groaned in ecstatic satisfaction before climbing off him and repositioning himself on his bed at the pillow end, legs either side of the creature he’d just fucked. A hand would reach down to drag Pet forward towards the thing that had just impaled and violated him, and then his fingers would snap, the sound sharp against the background of the unfit lads panting and wheezing.

No verbal order being necessary for Pet, it was well accustomed to the drill. His rear end having satisfied the thing in front of his face, it was now time for his front end to clean the cock that had defiled and degraded him. To lick and suck it free of the salty gunk that hadn’t found a home in his rear passage, to sample the taste of his own rectum and worse, some of the fouler brown contents that might have adhered to his young Master's cock.

Shit, piss or cum, it mattered not to Master Roger as he lay back, Nintendo Switch in hand, already concentrating on the screen, the human thing between his outstretched legs seemingly already forgotten, of neither consequence nor status so far as he was concerned. He’d been horny, but that had been then, and this was now. He’d relax for an hour or so, then he’d make use of the thing again in whatever way he felt like. He absently killed a monster on screen, then glanced sideways at his alarm clock, simultaneously reaching forward to caress that bald bobbing head, and sighed contentedly. Lots and lots of time, and he felt up to it, did he not?

His contemporaries at school had no idea, had they? Virgins, the lot of them, wanking themselves silly over porno pics or dreaming of fucking Sonia Harcastle or one of the other prick teasers that flaunted themselves between classes with no intention of allowing anyone near their damn honey pots. Whereas he was different. He didn’t need to wank himself off night after night, did he? He rubbed his palm over the denuded scalp between his legs, enjoying the feel, the power, the thrill. No, he was different to those wannabes!

“That’s a good boy. That feels good, but go gently. We don’t want any accidents, do we? Just clean me off and keep me twitchy until I tell you to stop. I’m in the mood to give you another humping later, so don’t let that tongue get too enthusiastic…not unless you want another paddling!”

Of course, there was no answer from the pet between his legs, nor had he expected one. His mother and sister had effectively muted the creature without resorting to more primitive means, such as removing its tongue. Besides, why would they even want to do that when they valued his tongue even more than he did? There might have been a time when the creature might have replied out of habit, but they’d effectively beaten that impulse out of him. Besides, why would the thing need to talk? It was hardly at their level, existence-wise. It didn’t even have a level, did it!

Pet sighed inwardly but concentrated on the task his tongue was performing on the twitchy thing filling his mouth. Why did Miss Susan have to have a date tonight, for although the girl terrified him, he’d far rather have been lying upon her bed, his head between her legs, lapping upon her sweet spot. Then another thought struck him, and he silently groaned. Rota-wise, it was Master Rogers' turn to have him tomorrow, wasn’t it!