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Please may I....please may I eat it...master?” I sounded so pathetic, like less than an animal, but even as I said it, I knew it wouldn't be enough. “Eat what, dog? What would you like to eat, dog?” Each time she said 'dog', she stressed it, sending a shiver of humiliated arousal through my body. Looking up at my owner, seeing how much she was enjoying this, enjoying humiliating and degrading me in this way, I found the courage and strength to do as she wished. “Please master may I eat the dog biscuits out of the bowl you so kindly provided for me. Please may I eat dog food off the floor like the animal that I am.” Having forced it out, I felt ashamed of myself, wanting the floor to just swallow me up hole. “Of course, pet. Eat it up like a good little boy.” Somehow my humiliation just made her praise all the more compelling, all the more pleasing, and I excitedly crawled towards my food bowl. Eating out of it was difficult, and though I began to get the hang of it, eating like a dog. . it was Sunday. Except when he was working, Sunday mornings with my father meant either pancakes or French toast. We might not eat two other meals as a family all week but Sunday breakfast was a given. The only problem that I saw was that it would have to wait until Dave dragged his sorry ass out of bed. There wasn’t much to be done about that, though, so I decided to get up and see if I could work out how I wanted to handle meeting the Englemans. The best place handy to think was probably out in the yard so I pulled on some shorts and headed out the door.My memories of doing this before were sketchy at best. I was pretty sure that April would be there but Karen wouldn’t. The other way around would have been much nicer. The only firm memories I had from the first go around were the ugly green carpet and Trish’s welcoming smile.The carpet was inconsequential, but the smile was preying on my mind, reminding me of one of the greatest injustices I’d ever committed. After she had been so.
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