A new story from Pup Quartz……not about me unfortunately.
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A light brushing against the neoprene wrapped around what was once my face startles me out of my internal space. I look up to see the man above me, gently caressing my cheek. He’s wearing nothing but a yellow nylon jockstrap, revealing the salt and pepper across his chest and around his crotch. He’s smiling. So happy to see his good puppy. I can’t help but feel fuzzy inside as I look at him, a small fire growing with in my stomach and spreading across my body. He lowers his other hand down to my muzzle, a small silver bottle in hand. I move my nose into place, let him block my left nostril, and begin to inhale. Immediately, the warmth spreads from my stomach to my chest, now pounding ceaselessly, up my throat and into my cheeks, shifting them from a pale pink to a bright red the more I feel the fumes enter my system. My brain feels it next. I can feel everything going just that little bit fuzzier.
“Such a good puppy.”
I can feel myself slowly switching off from the thoughts I once had. The fears of homelessness. The anxieties surrounding finances. My own disgust at my appearance. Nothing is left behind, except for those words. Those words spoken by the Sir slowly pumping more amyl nitrate through my sinuses. They bounce around in my slowly emptying brain. The only thought that wants to remain as Dylan disappears. As Quartz takes their place.
“Such a good puppy, aren’t you?”
Do I answer? Good pups usually answer their Sirs after being asked a question. I let out a whimper in response. He smiles and moves the bottle away from my nose.
“Yeah, such a good pup.”
My brain can’t take it anymore. The thoughts of being human are leaving in full force, replaced entirely by the dog that lives within the neoprene. I crawl towards him, feeling the tail that should be there wagging, and begin to softly lick his hand. He chuckles and begins to scratch my chin. He’s treating me so kindly. I know what’s to come. Soon, he won’t be simply scratching my chin and helping me devolve into the dog I know I am.
“You ready to play, puppy?”
I bark happily in response.
“Good pup. Turn around for me.”
I follow his command eagerly. As I do, I can hear that familiar sound. The crack of a Tupperware container opening. The rattling of toys, made just for good pups like me. And that all too beautiful sound of lubricant being squeezed from a bottle. Quartz can feel themselves ready to be opened up, ready to become Sir’s good puppy, until the sun rises once more, and Quartz returns back to sleep within the neoprene hood they call home. They’ll always remember, though. Always remember what a good puppy they are.