Brad sprang across to Chad's desk and grabbed a permanent metallic marking pen.
He grabbed Chad's back right paw and wrote, "Property of"
Chad had a sudden feeling of absence, aimlessness.
Then Brad grabbed his back left paw, and wrote on the bottom, "BRAD".
Chad's uncertainty passed. He felt secure. Brad would take care of him. He belonged to Brad now. He was a happy sex dog toy.
NO.
No.
Part of Chad's mind fought it. But he was deflated, h is feet were permanently marked: he was defeated.
Brad dressed. Chad should have been relieved that the tool that violated his throat was covered. He missed that cock now. Brad's penis was magnificent. He needed it inside him again. Part of Chad was revulsed, but most of him wanted to worship Brad's divine body.
Brad gathered the deflated sex toy under his arm, and whispered confidentially to the flattened dog ear sticking out of the rubber bundle," I'm keeping you forever. Chad's not getting you back, " he grabbed Chad's tennis racquet, and added, "or his tennis racquet. There's no way he can explain having a sex dog to complain that I took his stuff. Ha, the perfect crime."
Brad's perfect, thought Chad's rubber brain dreamily. The warmth from his arm, the stench from his pit: why hadn't Chad noticed before just how perfectly magnificent Brad was?
He's not, hissed a tiny part of Chad's mind. He's a thief.
The rubber dog mind answered, the perfect thief, the perfect crime: Bradn is perfection.
Aw, he was tossed in Brad's trunk, along with Chad's racquet. The lid closed. Darkness.