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Some people ask why I call them pet. I know its a colloquialism, but the thing is, we’re all owned. The thing is, pet. I rule, and I know I do, and you know I do. The privilege of being kept, of being owned. You know you need it. You have to admit that you’re blessed to be able to be treated like this.
I don’t ask you to love me, you’re supposed to. I don’t hold out my heel and command you to lick my toes, you do so because I’ve graciously not objected. Your families, your bosses, everyone owns you. The difference is they’re not me.