Poor Chris was hungry. Again. I could hear it from the other fucking roomâthe loud gurgle when the stomach is just BEGGING for food. He had been refusing food for a few days. I decided I wasnât going to force it. Iâd just let Chris come out on his own. I knew heâd get too hungry eventually. He was upset with me; that last pretty little meal he had wasnât just some nice warm soup. I mixed it up well enough for him not to notice, for him not to stop, turn away, and look horrified as he realized what I had done. Obviously, he didnât notice. He just opened his mouth back up, letting me feed him like a sick child. What a good boy. I barely put anything in thereâjust some muscle relaxers.
Chris had really been fighting me when it came to taking a shower. Anytime I brought it up, I could see that immediate tension in his body, how, if he could, heâd turn away, trying to secretly hide himself from me. He would softly protest that he didnât need one. But the recent times have been much more⊠aggressive. That phrase is true: if people donât want something, theyâll start kicking and screaming. Chris never really had the strength for that, even before I took him in. So this was surprising to me. I think that time was his little âfighting backâ moment, trying to defy me to gain some part of his dignity back. As if he originally had any. I guess he mustâve thought he did. So, I had to drug him, drag his ass over to the tub, and clean him all by myself. I even gave him such nice big bubbly water so he didnât feel so exposed. He could barely move, so the poor guy was sooo afraid. I was able to move him any way I wanted; I couldâve easily pushed him under the water, killing him right then and there, but that would end my fun early, wouldnât it? I wouldâve played more into that fear, taken more time with all those âriskyâ spots, but I wanted to get the bath done. I donât like smelly mutts. Little doggies arenât cute anymore if they smell like shit.
Anyways, he didnât want to eat because he was worried about the drugs. He didnât want to feel completely helpless again. Maybe it was also just his little âtough guy act.â When I heard that little tummy rumbleâhell, it was even more than a rumbleâI just had to smile. He was starving; in the next few days, his body wouldâve started eating itself. Rumble, rumble, in his little chair.
I ended up walking into the living room. There is some distance, so I made a big deal of it. I latched my fingers onto the chair, yanking on it like pulling on the collar of a disobedient dog. The chair let out a loud yelp as it scraped across the floor, being dragged from the table to my side. I inched closer, looking directly into those poor, scared eyes. He was bundled up in the corner, right by the wall. Trapped. I continued to gradually advance towards him, the chair screeching, almost like it was screaming. It didn’t want to go over there, but I was going to make it. The legs struck every knot and bump in the floor, filling the air with its protests.
I remember just staring at him, waiting for that adorable big rumble again. It happened, my lips turning into a smirk and his into a deeper frown. He was scared because he knew I was there because of the noise. I decided to have my fun; I mean, why fucking couldnât I? He was right there, all tied up just for me, that tummy of his rumbling and crying out. I think if his stomach could have, it wouldâve punched Chris, revolting against him for leaving it hungry for so long. I decided to play the ânice Jakeyâ act, slowly rubbing my hand across his tummy. Oh, how he immediately tensed. His breath most definitely caught in his throat. I didnât even say a word; just kept rubbing and rubbing, feeling his body try to move away, back pressed into his chair. But poor Chris had nowhere to go. He couldnât go anywhere without me.