The Gift-giver leaned forward. ? I couldn’t tell. Everything down there looks genuine. I could take some hair to the lab. ?
? No need. This is how Sniper should be, now that I think about it. ? My Owner withdrew their hands from my penis carefully, as if handling a baby bird. ? Oh! It twitched. ? They chuckled their delight. ? Can they perform? ?
? Of course. The paralysis is very selective. It’ll take some massage, but you can get it up if you want. ?
? Mmm. Not much massage from the look of it. Somebody’s enjoying themself. ? My Owner ran a finger up my cheek. “Aren’t you?”
Knowing no answer would come, my Owner tasted my lips again and eased me forward, their affection washing over me like a good movie, which takes you to all the peaks of passion without you having to lift a finger. They were used to my body, knew just how my shoulders swing, and at what height to hook my chin over their shoulder.
? How long can I keep them? ?
It was a burning question for me, too.
The Gift-giver shrugged. ? That’s up to Your Holiness. If you want to keep it permanently I can bring what you’ll need, but it’ll be difficult keeping its Olympic physique from deteriorating in captivity, and there’ll be quite the manhunt. I recommend catch-and-release: you enjoy yourself, then have me return Sniper to the wild and take it again when next you’re in the mood. ?
? Would that work? ?
? Certainly. I estimate another two hours until the rest of the bash’ realizes Sniper’s missing, but they’ll hunt in secret for at least a day before letting the news get beyond His Grace the Duke. So long as we get Sniper back this evening there won’t be any larger fuss. We can erase its memory as extra security if you like, but I’m sure it won’t breathe a word of this to anyone. ? They switched to growling English. “If I can do this much to it when I’m calm, it can imagine what I’d do if I were angry.”
My Owner hugged me closer. “There’s no need for threats. My Sniper won’t want to spoil this, not when I’m done. I know what Sniper wants. I’ve known for ages what my Sniper really wants.”
You probably imagine I thought something defiant and heroic here. Some addictions only need one dose.
? Of course, Your Holiness. I apologize for insulting your abilities. ?
? Mmm. I’ll have you do some penance for that later. ?
? As you wish, Your Holiness. ?
My Owner stroked my hair, flicking stray black strands out of my eyes. “Sniper’s turn first, though.”
The computer distortion made the Gift-giver’s chuckle sound like a computer’s dying scream. ? Maybe you should keep it permanently. There’s enough nastiness around its bash’, it might be safer here with you. ?
? I’ll think about it. ?
I thought about it too, realizing that all I could do was lie and wait for my Owner to make this decision which would literally determine my entire world, and have a big impact on everybody else’s. Duty was enough to make me wish for freedom, but that was the only moment I can remember that I’ve ever wished the duty wasn’t mine.
The Gift-giver turned to go. ? I have work. I’ll be back before the paralysis wears off. I brought some doll clothes for dress-up, they’re in the chest back there. ?
? Thanks. ?
? Give me a call if you see any twitching. Athletes often have a fast metabolism, so there’s a chance things will wear off faster than normal. ?
? Right. ?
The Gift-giver came within my line of sight as my Owner shifted me onto their lap. I searched for hints of identity (skin color, weight) beneath the cloak and beaked plaster-white mask, but this foe was too practiced. ? Enjoy. ?
Enjoy my Owner did, every inch of me, but I’ll skip the details. It was not all sex. A lot of it was being held, that warm, trusting embrace. A lot of it was talk. My Owner talked about what it’s like being able to see people’s hidden obsessions, like having X-ray vision and spotting all the ailments doctors haven’t discovered yet. They talked about the nature of secrets, speculating about why one feels the need to share secrets with someone, whether one imagines something might happen if one says them aloud, like knocking on wood, or whether it just feels more real when there’s a witness. They talked about the state of the world, about ideas of God which I won’t repeat, and a lot about gender. Gender they called a universal language which we’re all supposed to pretend we can’t read. Most just play blind or try (as we know we ought) to eliminate the traces of it, and the ancient inequalities those traces threaten to revive. But, they said, cunning folk can use that language to attack targets with body rhetoric we can’t acknowledge, let alone resist. My Owner used a strongly gendered persona intentionally to make people uncomfortable, just as I used my neuter one to set people at ease. We were two house cats who had both learned again the true purpose of claws and fangs; my Owner had taken to hunting, while I had tried to have myself declawed. Now, having read the first half of Mycroft’s history, I know to blame Madame D’Arouet for these ideas. Mostly, though, my Owner talked about power.