âYouâre wrong and you should feel bad about it.â
Weâre sitting on my sofa, its legs over mine. Itâs got an article open on its phone, some anonymous and opinionated tech worker shilling their particular brand of solution to the mostly irrelevant problems in Rust.
âOkay, well if youâre going to be like that about it-â
âNo, listen, Iâm only being like that because you keep shifting the goalposts. Thereâs nothing wrong with ve-â
âIâm shifting the goalposts?â I shift to look at it.
âWell the last thing I know is, Iâm taking a stance on this-â it gestures at the article on its phone - âand now weâre arguing over I donât even know what any more.â
âYou called me a people-pleaser because I said thereâs nothing wrong with verbosity in a scripting language.â I canât stop the grin spreading across my face. âUnless youâre writing code to run once and be deleted, thereâs always value in syntax which hints at-â
âI called you a people pleaser,â it interrupts, licking a finger clean, âbecause you - a vegan - bought me cheese and onion crisps.â
âYou said you liked them!â
âI do, but salt and vinegar are okay too, and-â
âAnd you deserve better than okay, puppy.â I smooth its hair out its face. âYou deserve nice things.â
âI donât think thatâs true, actually.â Itâs grinning, knowing I canât argue with an opinion. God knows Iâve tried.
âWell, youâre entitled to be wrong.â I shrug. âAnyway, listen, this article is fundamentally bullshit, whatshisname is literally just shilling his-â
âYouâre a people pleaser.â It grins, and I shove two fingers down its throat before it can stop me, pushing them down until it gags and tries to pull my wrist away.
It lets them fall, looking at me with panic in its big, adorable brown eyes. I wriggle my fingers, enjoying feeling its throat contract around them, the gagging getting more frequent.
âThe interesting thing isâŠâ I let my fingers still. âI can see how you think you canât do this. Your hands are still twitching up to mine. But you arenât throwing up.â
I shift my hand, ekeing an extra few millimetres of depth out, and Iâm rewarded by a truly horrific sound from the depths of its throat. âYou think - your subconscious brain truly believes - that you canât do this. But here I am, pinning your head to my sofa cushions by the tonsils, and you arenât throwing up.
âThat tells me something. It tells me that I know what your body can do better than you can. It tells me that your subconscious is lying to you. It tells me,â and I lean in close, voice dropping to a whisper, âthat if I want you to do something, youâre going to fucking do it for me. Understood?â
It looks at me and tries to nod.
âUh uh. I canât hear you.â
âglxh xchluishaâŠâ its cheeks are flushing red.
âWhatâs that?â I pull my fingers out its throat, and it gasps and retches.
âYes, Handler.â It murmurs, and I pull it into a hug. It whimpers into my shoulder and I kiss its forehead.
After a moment, it mumbles something, and I pull back. âWhatâs that?â
âPeople pleaser.â It murmurs, and grins at it kisses me.
