I’ve always been so proud of the cookies I bake, they’re absolutely delicious, so I couldn’t stop myself from visiting the pantry for the third time today to help myself to some snacks.
So imagine my surprise when I found you attempting to climb up the side of my cookie jar like an intrepid mountaineer. It took me a second to realize what you really were, and when I did, my shock gave way to indignance.
How rude. Instead of being a good boy and asking, you decided to be a little thief.
Well, no cookies for you. Not until you learn how to be good.
Ignoring your shrieks of terror, I peel you off the side of the jar like I would a worn label. You try desperately to hang on for dear life, but soon you’re suspended, seemingly miles away from the ground, as I hold you up to the light for inspection.
Wow, you really are tiny. The size of a doll from a little girl’s toy collection. I suppose that makes you cute in a special sort of way, but I’m too annoyed with you at the moment to feel kindly towards you.
“What am I to do with you…” I wonder, my fingers wrapped around your waist, as you struggle, in vain, to escape. I decide that you’re far too fidgety, and I’m going to have to tie you up for the time being.
I look around the house for my tennis shoes. All the while, I’m still holding you, you’re still trying your best to slip out of my grasp, but I can feel you beginning to tire under the strain. Finding my shoes, I draw out one of the laces, using it to securely tie you to the leg of my desk. You strain against the bonds, but I’ve always been exceptionally good with rope play, so I know there isn’t the slightest chance of you getting away.
Now, I can finally eat my cookies in peace. Except I can still hear your voice squeaking away, protesting, as I’m trying to enjoy my snacks. You really are quite annoying. That’s alright, I know how to deal with you. Now where did I keep my boots…
I find my favourite pair of leather boots, but I’ll just need one of them today. I untie the shoelace restraining you, and you try to make a run for it, but I catch you easily, lifting you up in the air, and then stuffing you into my boot, tying the top shut tight so you can’t climb out. You’re persistent, despite everything, and you keep struggling inside the boot, trying to get out, making the boot shift around on the floor, a sight so entertaining it makes me break out into giggles as I finish my cookies.
You may be a feisty little thing, but you’re also quite funny. I like that. I untie the top of the boot and pull you out. You now try your best to hang on to the boot, almost lifting it a few inches off the ground as I pick you up, but you drop it soon enough, as I raise you to eye level and wait for you to calm down.
You look so exhausted I almost feel sorry for you. So I think I’m going to offer you a deal. If you stop being so annoying, and use all that hyperactive energy of yours to please me instead of trying to steal my food, then I’ll make you my little pet.
You’ll get to have your own comfy cage, one with a tiny little bed and other furniture. I’ll feed you every day, and all you have to do is please me, and not be such a brat.
Do we have a deal?
Well, it’s not like you have too many options. I’m in control, my fingers are wrapped around you, and you’re not really in a position to refuse, are you?
But you do refuse! In the most vehement squeak, you can manage, you respond with a defiant “No” to my generous offer. I knew you’d be difficult. That’s alright. I’ll just hang you on the wall as decoration until you agree. I know that in a day or two, my offer will seem a lot more enticing.
It doesn’t take that long. In a few hours, I hear you calling for me. I walk over to the wall, and in a resigned tone, you tell me you’ve decided to agree and you’re going to serve me from now on.
Good boy, I knew we’d get on the same page eventually. That wasn’t too difficult, was it?
Now, you have to be a good pet. You know how to be a feisty little cookie thief, but that doesn’t guarantee you’ll be a good pet. Let me tell you what you’re going to have to do for me.
When I come home after a long day, the first thing I want is a long, slow massage. Let’s try it, and you can show me if you’re capable of being a good little pet.
I lie on my front, and you obediently climb onto my back. Good boy. Now, you’re going to massage me all over. You’ll start between my shoulder blades, and work your way down my spine, slowly and patiently, until you reach the small of my back. Then you’ll massage your way down each of my legs, all the way down to my toes, before you do each of my arms. You can use massage oil, but be careful, because I don’t want you slipping and sliding and ice skating all over my back.
You do as you’re told, but I still sense a little reluctance from you. I can feel you on all fours, on my left shoulder blade, massaging the tension away, but I need you to do better. I tell you that you have to kiss every part of me that you massage and tell me that it’s an honour to be allowed to please your Goddess.
I feel the faintest touch of your lips on my skin, and then you say, in a surly, reproachful voice “It’s an honour to please your Goddess”.
“Is that the tone of voice you want to use with your Goddess? And do you really think that mocking your Goddess is going to end well?” I ask, my voice calm but with a silky edge that indicates I’m getting annoyed. “Say that with a little more enthusiasm, or maybe I’ll decide that I’ll drown you in the massage oil instead of allowing you to please me with it”.
You repeat correctly this time “It’s an honour to please my Goddess” and it sounds a lot better. I feel the touch of your lips on my back, and you resume your massage, with a lot more effort put in this time.
Good boy. You’re learning. Keep going. You’ll be such a good pet for me, I’m sure of it.
