My stomach growls, hungry, but not yet on the painful side. I haven’t checked the clock since I finished cleaning the living room, and it’d been nearly three in the afternoon. Since then, I’ve been facing the corner, still in this frilly maid’s outfit, unable to stop playing with my dick. I find that I’m able to slow, sometimes even stop momentarily, to lessen the irritation, but the very instant I start losing wood, I go straight back to it.
I don’t think I’ve ever been so uncomfortable for so many reasons in my life. Crawling around from room to room, hand on my cock, while cleaning better than I ever have in my entire life, has cramps and aches in places I never knew existed. At least, Lucas had left those yellow rubber gloves for me, so whenever my hand reached for my cock again, I didn’t have chemicals on my skin. Not that I didn’t run into some trouble along the way.
I’d never done laundry myself before. Between my own mom, the maid, the service at the laundromat, I’ve never had to before. Which meant I had to look up what to do on my phone.
With the phone in my hand, I thought about reaching out to someone. One of my brothers—real or frat. Or a friend I hadn’t pissed off by moving out, none of which were really in this area anymore. None of my roommates have spoken to me since I moved, and given that last interaction, I guess it’s not entirely surprising.
I might not have many friends left. Not close ones, anyway. I still have some old college pals that I shit around with occasionally, and a work buddy or two. A few people from high school I’ve kept in touch with, but I stayed out-of-state after I graduated. But I’d always considered Jack, Todd, and Logan to be my best friends after high school, though, and even though I’ve outgrown them a bit, I didn’t think they’d cut me off that easily.
“Hey, man,” Logan had greeted the day I left, mouth full of pizza, when he spotted me. “What’re you doin’ up?”
I avoided the question and say, “I could ask you the same.”
“Oh, I’m not up. Just grabbing food and crashing again.” He said nothing about the girl who came home with him last night, so I’d assumed he’d already kicked her out. I got rid of mine within thirty minutes of finishing up with her. “You look up up. It’s what, like, nine on Saturday morning? What’re you—”
Logan trailed off when he noticed the folded up piece of paper with his and the others’ names scrawled on it. Inside was then note I’d planned on leaving for them, explaining my decision. When he glanced at me again and saw the keys in my hand, his brow ruffled, and, though he acted like a dumbass, he was quick to pick up on what was happening.
“Dude, where’re you going?” Without allowing me to answer, he snatched the note and quickly scanned it. “What the fuck!” Logan said again, shouting this time. “You’re fucking moving? Without even telling us!”
“Logan, man, calm down,” I said, hoping this didn’t escalate. “I know it’s fucked up, but the opportunity popped up out of nowhere.” That was a lie, but I needed to do something. “It’s a decent place, a lot closer to work.” Shit, why the hell didn’t I come up with this before then? “It’s less than thirty minutes away! I can still go out with you guys and shit!”
“How fuckin’ generous of you, you dipshit!”
Logan continued yelling at me, calling me names, long and loud enough to rouse our other two friends. They came barreling into the kitchen to see what the fuck was going on.
Then all hell broke loose.
It sucked to have my friends turn on me like that, over a simple thing like moving. I’d tried to explain that I’d even put a month’s worth of my share for the rent in our Venmo, but they weren’t having any of it. Even if I had told them of my plans, I’m pretty sure now that this would’ve happened anyway.
Whatever. I’m a people person, and I figured I’d have no problems replacing them, and that it’d be their loss.
Except maybe Jack, who’d always been a little more mature than the others. He’d said little while the other two yelled at me for being a pussy and a faggot and Adam Wil-suck-cox and other shitty things, and practically shoved me out the door. But before I composed myself to get into my car, Jack’d come out, shook my hand like an adult parting ways with something, and left. All without saying a word.
Maybe that means something of a friendship is still salvageable between us.
Which was why, when I was in the laundry room, attempting to figure out which buttons did what, I pulled up his contact. I had no idea what I wanted to say or if I could say anything that might alert him to my distress.
Shockingly, I was able to type a text. Unfortunately, the text was nothing out of the ordinary. All the words I typed were nonchalant and normal, the same way I would have weeks ago, only this time, with the added compliments of how much I love my new roommate and how fabulously we get along, anytime I wanted to complain about this. I legit typed the word fabulously.
I groaned, frustrated and leaning toward terrified that if I hit send, Lucas will have programmed me to make me humiliate myself to Jack, the one potential ally I might have on the outside. Or worse, find out about Jack. Jack and I had been pretty close. Lucas doesn’t need to ever know that.
After I finally got the laundry going, I cleaned the kitchen and actually mopped the floors, which was also tricky. I’d never used a mop and a bucket before, only one of those Swiffer things, so I had to figure out how to mix the solution. Gave it a really good scrubbing, another thing I’d never done before, and I think I might have a blister between my thumb and index finger on my right hand. The bedrooms are vacuumed, as is the living room. Everything is dusted, including walls and corners and the spots behind furniture. All the clean clothes are now folded and put neatly away. Lucas even left me a handy little list to tell me where to put everything—this included my own things as well. The bathrooms—one full, one half—are shining, but had to be the worst of all. There’d been very little reason to be on my feet for that one, which meant my face needed to be right up to the toilet while cleaning it. Gross.
When I finally finished, exhausted and achy, anger had fully replaced my earlier feelings of embarrassment and hopelessness. I really am gonna fuck this kid up the first chance I get. As of right now, though, I still have no idea how long I’ve been waiting since I finished cleaning, and every car hear—which isn’t many—sees a mixture of rage, worry, and, damn it, excitement, rush through me.
A part of me wants Lucas to get his faggot ass back here so I can figure out away to pummel him. Maybe even get him into this fucking position. He can blame me for his pathetic life all he wants, but whatever went down between he and I in high school was not only a million years ago, but he always had a choice. Stupid to blame me for his regrets.
Another part of me wants him to get back so I can try to reason with him, and we can let this go, and I can get out of here, and, honestly, I don’t give a shit about going to the police or about the next fucker who lives with him, that’s their problem, I’ll be long gone. Once I’m out of here, I’ll never have to speak of, or even think of any of this again.
Then there’s a part of me, and I’ve been doing my very fucking best to ignore this stupid part, that simply wants Lucas, my Master, to hurry back to. I hate that part, but I’m hungry, and I’ve only peed once since my morning dump, and I don’t think my balls have ever been so fucking heavy. Worse than that, every time they tighten as if I might blow my load, I just…don’t. And the process starts all over again.
If Lucas doesn’t get back soon, I think my balls might actually explode. Not sure if that’s physically possible, but I do not want to be the test subject.
Another car. This time, it pulls into the driveway, remains idle for a minute or two before the engine clicks off, and the door opens. Before any comprehensible thought has a moment to pop into my brain, I panic.
What if that’s not Lucas? What if that’s the landlord? Or one of Lucas’s friends? Or, worse, just some stranger?
But then I hear Lucas’s voice and, despite myself, relief rivers through me. Still a fucking problem, but not the worst it could have been. Sounds like he’s on his phone, having a delightful conversation as if he doesn’t have me in here, stuck in the corner wearing this ridiculous outfit that covers virtually nothing while I’m forced to jerk-off. All because he hypnotized me to do it or some shit.
His voice is muffled outside, but since every noise is amplified, even the sound of the door unlocking rings in my ear. Lucas’s voice becomes clearer the second the door inches open.
“I know, darling, I know,” he says with a chuckle, and I assume a smile, but it’s not like I can see. “But this is still new. I’m not ready yet.”
Something smells really good, and I can hear the crinkling of a plastic bag, even as Lucas walks straight through the living room to the kitchen without acknowledging me. His conversation continues, and though it’s quieter, I can still hear it clearly, as one-sided as it is.
“Oh, I have plans, don’t get me wrong, but this is…” He pauses. Picks up with, “Delicate. He isn’t ready.”
My heart sinks. Dear God, are they talking about me? If they are, I’m already sure that’s not a good thing. I haven’t met any of Lucas’s friends. To be honest, I didn’t think he had many in real life. He chats via text and online, but I have no clue if he’s ever actually met any of them. He’s got to do something with people. He’s gone out before, and it’s clearly been with plans.
“No, no, you’ll meet him, Timmy, I promise,” Lucas says. “But he’s still new. He’s…shy. Gotta get used to this.”
Whatever Timmy—ugh, what grown ass man calls himself ‘Timmy’—makes Lucas laugh.
“When the time is right, we’ll host a little get-together, how’s that?”
There’s movement in the kitchen now. Sounds like Lucas is putting things away.
“As soon as I can, Timmy. Gotta go, love. Mwah!”
I guess that means he’s off the phone, and now, the silence rings loudly in my ears. Lucas still hasn’t returned from the kitchen, and I don’t know what to do except to keep following his last order given to me hours ago.
I can still smell whatever he brought home with him. Fast-food, I think, and although I don’t usually eat that shit, I’d eat two bags full right now. But he must’ve gotten other things, too, since I hear him unpacking some things. Other than that, he’s super quiet, and the only reason I know he’s returned to the living room, the little thud from behind me. Something landing on the coffee table, I think.
Before I think to stop myself, I say, “Master, I—”
“No,” he intercepts, clipping off my words. “You don’t say a word until I tell you to, sissy boy. Not when I’ve been out or you’re waiting for me.” I guess that means I’m otherwise allowed to speak unless he says I can’t. How nice of him. “And that’s certainly not how you welcome your master home. Start the same as before. Come kiss my feet.”
I’m finally able to move away from the corner. I swear to God I have every crevice, crack, chipped paint, and uneven color memorized already, and I doubt this will be the last time I’ll be facing it. Lucas is sitting on the couch. Barefoot. He must’ve ditched his shoes in the mud room.
Once I reach him, I go through the same routine with his feet as earlier. I lower myself down, keeping my ass in the air, and kiss the top of his feet twice. This time, however, he keeps me from moving up again.
“Not good enough,” he says, and the pinch of glee in his voice curdles in my belly. “Do it like you mean it. Two kisses each. As if you never want to stop kissing my feet. Put some feeling into it.”
As revolted by the act of kissing his feet as I am—though at least they’re thin, pale, and hairless—there’s something about the way he’s told me I’ve not done good enough. Like I’ve disappointed him, and I want to apologize and make up for it, when I remember this is part of what Lucas wants. To have my reactions related to his approval of me. The emotions collide within me—both hatred for Lucas, and the desperate need to please him.
Either way, I bend forward again, and this time, when I start kissing his feet, lick the top of one, first. I savor it, and then the other one. I lavish every spot with kisses, and even find myself starting to moan, as if being allowed to kiss Lucas’s feet is an honor and a privilege that I should treasure. In fact, when Lucas slips his foot a little further away, I whimper, and hurry to get back to kissing like it’s the happiest thing in my life.
And when I add my last peck, and Lucas says, “Good boy,” my insides are aglow. Try as I might, I can’t hold back the smile, thrilled to have Lucas say that to me.
“Thank you, Master.”
Once the thanks are out of my system, so is the bliss of being a ‘good boy’, and I might glare at him, but he only smirks.
“Now, tell me how happy you are that your master is here and that he’s chosen to return someone as pathetic as you. And that you’re looking forward to being used in any way that pleases me. Same drill as before.”
I need no further explanation than that. He wants the feelings, the emotions behind the words, to sound real, and even as I say them, they almost feel real.
“I’m so happy that you’re here with me, Master, really I am.” There’s a pitiful grin on my face, and my eyes are round like a puppy’s. All that’s missing is my tongue hanging out of the side of my mouth. “It’s such an honor that you’ve chosen to make such a pathetic loser like me your slave. Master, I can’t wait for you to use me, Sir. Please, please, use me any you want that pleases you.” That should be the end of it. That’s all he’s told me to say. But more words tumble out of my mouth. More, and profane. “Use my holes, Master, fill them up for me please, I want your cock inside of me so I can squeeze the come out of it. What the fuck?!”
The sudden exclamation makes Lucas double over, cackling. He laughs so hard, his entire face turns bright red. My face is also red, but for very different reasons.
“Master,” I growl, not a bit amused. “I want to suck your cock.” Eyes going wide, I can’t believe my ears. Lucas, rolling on the couch, unable to get a grip, doesn’t provide much help. “Will you just shove your cock in my virgin ass?!”
Holy shit, why are these words coming out of my mouth? They’re not even in my head, but every time I try to say anything at all, this keeps happening. This gay ass shit that I want nothing to do with.
“If you shoot your seed down my worthless throat or up my dirty hole, I’ll clean it all off for you so you don’t have to worry about my filth, I swear. I can clean your hole, too, Master, I’ll do such a good job at rimming.” I’ll what? What the fuck does that even mean? “Lemme bathe in your come, Master, I—”
“Okay, okay!” Lucas gets out between fits of laughter. “You don’t have to tell me how you want to please me anymore.”
Out of breath and shuddering, my entire face burns with shame. None of those words were my own, and I said them, proudly. Not only did I say them, I meant them as I was saying them. At least, I made it sound like I did.
“Oh, Adam, you need to learn how to lighten up.” I gaze up at him, too afraid that the same sort of words will start gathering on my tongue if I open my mouth. My bottom lip even trembles, and when Lucas notices, he snickers. “I told you, remember? Trigger phrases? I used one, the one about pleasing me, which left you incapable of saying anything other than the ways you want to please me.” His eyebrows lift a fraction. “And from the look of it, it really got you going.”
I follow his gaze, which has landed on my cock, where my hand still pumps. I must have started again after kissing Lucas’s feet and hadn’t even realized. My first instinct is to huff and remind him that the only reason I’m ready to explode is that he’s had me edging myself all day. But then I realize that I’m drooling precome way more than other time today, and if he’s planted some kind of fag button in me, I swear to God…
“Anything you’d like to ask for, sissy boy?” Lucas taunts, and his earlier instructions come back to haunt me.
If I want to come, I’ll have to beg for his permission. He’s taken a lot, but I’m not giving him this. Not now. Not yet. And the look on his face resembles that of a shrug, as if to say, ‘oh well, only a matter of time.’
“Suit yourself, you can stop doing that for now.” He gestures toward me, and I actually sign in relief as my poor, abused cock gets a little break. “Now—” Much to my chagrin, I flinch when Lucas moves. As if the twink faggot somehow presents a physical threat to an Alpha like me. But he only reaches into a bag of McDonald’s for a handful of fries. I can’t help the way my eyes gravitate to them. “Did you behave yourself today, sissy boy?”
“Yes,” I say. “I did, Master.”
“It looks good so far.” He tosses the fries on the floor by his feet. “Have a treat.”
Off the floor. I dive for the fries and gobble them up. Earlier, at least, he put food in a bowl. But I did vacuum, and I’m allowed to use my hands. I have no idea why, but it feels a little more dignified. Or maybe I’m just grasping at straws to keep the shame at bay.
“M-Master?” I whisper, hoping it’s okay.
“Yeah?”
“Can I…” Heat climbs to the tips of my ears having to ask this. “Can I go pee?”
Already in the middle of taking a big swig out of his, presumably, soda, a smile curls around the straw.
“Oh. Right.” He puts his cup down on a Star Wars coaster. I never even noticed it before. “Why don’t you take off your uniform, first? Fold it all neatly, put it in the supply closet.” With the rest of the cleaning stuff. Just another reminder of what he’s trying to make me. “Then come back.”
Allowed the use of both hands makes it a lot easier to crawl back into the kitchen to do as I’m told. Unfortunately, taking off the embarrassing outfit doesn’t require me to stand. Neither does putting it away. Naked again, I catch a glance at the time before I go back, and calculate that I’ve been on my knees for almost four hours straight.
“You gotta go?” Lucas asks when I return. “Hmm?”
“Y-Yes, Master.”
I really don’t like the tone of his voice. Or the frightening and excited look in his eyes.
“Yeah? Sissy boy’s gotta go, huh? Sissy Boy Puppy’s gotta make?”
‘Arf, arf!’
No. No, no. There’s no way those noises came out of me. No fucking way did I just bark like a dog.
“Who’s my Sissy Boy Puppy? Are you my Sissy Boy Puppy?”
Yes! I want to shout at both the questions and the silly, childish voice, Lucas is using. But all that comes out are more barking sounds. Barking sounds.
I’m horribly aware that I’m acting like a dog, but it’s almost like those thoughts are watching the rest of it happen through opaque glass. There’re only shadows, wisps of ideas of what’s happening, because the most important thing right now is that I am a dog! More than that, I’m Sissy Boy Puppy! And there’s nothing more exciting than being Master’s Sissy Boy Puppy!
My tail wags like crazy—which, yes, is only my ass, and I want to hide my face in humiliation, but I can’t. All I can do, tongue hanging out of the side of my mouth as I pant in excitement, is wag my tail, turn in circles, and bark in response to everything my Master says.
“What a silly puppy, I have, don’t I!”
Master makes another silly face at me, and Master is so fun, and I hope Master will pet me, so I roll on my back, keeping my legs and arms, bent, but in the air.
“Aww, does someone want belly rubs?” he asks. “Does Sissy Boy Puppy want belly rubs?”
‘Ruff, ruff!” I bark. ‘Arf, arf, arf!’
“Okay. You asked for it.”
Ask for it, I did. Master leans over and grazes his fingertips across my belly, scribbling lines along my skin. It feels great, really, but there’s a problem. Only the dog part of my brain likes it, and since that’s the one in control right now, that’s what shows on my face.
The problem is, it actually tickles. It tickles something horrible, and only three people in the world know my biggest secret, and I’m one of them. I’m ticklish. No, that’s putting it lightly. I might be the most ticklish person in the world. If I was ever given classified information, a tiny tickle in the right spot would have me divulging everything in minutes.
And right now, Sissy Boy Puppy, so I can’t giggle and laugh and squirm and plead with him to stop. The belly rubs are perfect, even if the tickling is torture, and, fuck, if he doesn’t stop, I might piss myself.
Every time I try to tell him, though, to beg him to stop so that I don’t pee all over the place, I simply howl and bark more, panting in between noises. Even my fucking leg starts to shake.
My entire face warms, and I want to cry, when I feel a little drop of piss dribble down my dick.
“Uh-oh,” Master says, tone scolding, but not letting up on the belly rubs. “Sissy Boy Puppy better not have an accident in the house. He’ll be in big trouble if he does that.”
Oh God, please, I want to scream. Please, let me go to the bathroom, please! No longer barking and howling, the sounds have changed to whining and whimpering, especially as a few more drops escape the tip of my cock.
“All right, Sissy Boy Puppy,” he says, finally ceasing his amazing, but torturous belly rubbing. “Don’t want you to make a mess.”
Relief washes over me as I try to regain a little control of my body. The almost peeing-part, anyway. Dog-me is still going strong, so when Lucas stands and starts to leave, patting his thigh as he does, my inner Sissy Boy Puppy can’t wait to catch up to Master.
Horror floods through the silver of a rational part of myself when I realize we’ve gone past the bathroom and head for the back door. Lucas pulls open the inner door, holds open the storm door, and gestures for me to go into the backyard.
My initial through to hesitate—it’s evening, but not yet dark, that’s the backyard, not the bathroom—is quickly overtaken by an overwhelming instinct to do my business the way Sissy Boy Puppy should.
I trot across the small back porch and make my way across the lawn, circling a few times even though I’m ready to burst and keep leaking. Nose to the ground, I sniff as if looking for something in particular, though I have no idea what. Finally, I reach the same bush I’ve passed at least three times and sniff it again. Something about it smells right this time, so I turn in a few circles before lifting my leg and finally letting it stream out of me.
The relief on my bladder feels so good that my mood brightens significantly, and I’m abruptly filled with the urge to play. There’s so much space, and it’s so warm out, and I’m outside, so I start running, barking at squirrels and birds, and rolling around in the grass. By the back fence is a wet patch of dirt. Not really mud, but loose enough that I can dig and dig and dig in it, getting dirt everywhere until I hear a high-pitched whistle.
The noise gets my full attention immediately. I stop what I’m doing and look at the source of the whistle, keeping motionless until I realize it’s Master over by the deck. Once I realize this, I let out an excited howl and barrel toward him.
“I got somethin’ for you, Sissy Boy Puppy,” he says when I get there and plop down in front of him.
Head tilted to the side, I watch intently when he tosses up and catches a tennis ball. A ball! For me! I love balls! I’m up on my paws again, tail wagging, trying to be patient, but I can’t help turning around a few times. Finally, after a whole bunch of teasing and only pretending to throw the ball, he lets it go, and it lands in the same pile of dirt I’d been playing with earlier.
That doesn’t matter. Dirt won’t hurt Sissy Boy Puppy, and I grab the ball with my mouth and hurry back over to Master. We do this a few more times until Master says that’s enough.
“What a silly puppy,” Master says, and reaches into a paper bag that I hadn’t noticed on the edge of the fire pit. He pulls out a bag of box treats and offers one. “Want one?”
Oh, fuck yes, boy do I ever!
‘Bark!’ I spin in a circle. ‘Bark, bark!”
“Sit, Sissy Boy Puppy.” I do, but it takes a lot to keep my butt on the ground, especially with my tail still wagging like crazy. “Lay down.” My belly ends up on the grass, my chin atop my hands. “Roll over.” That’s an easy one. I roll over, and when I do, Master rewards me with more belly rubs, which are just as tormentingly wonderful as before. There goes my leg again while I’m unable to laugh hysterically like I need to. “Up.” I sit back up. “Beg.” On my knees, paws in front of me, I whimper. “That’s it. Here you go.”
He finally hands me the treat and as I savor the taste of this delicious thing, he asks, “How do you like it, Puppy Dog Adam?”
Mid-chew, the disgusting taste of the dog treat registers on my tongue and I go to spit it out of my mouth. Only I can’t. My mouth won’t open. I can’t get rid of the half-chewed dog food. I glance up at Lucas, eyes pleading for an explanation.
“What’s the matter, Puppy Dog Adam? Don’t you like your reward?”
It takes another few seconds to put the dots together. There’s a difference between Sissy Boy Puppy and Puppy Dog Adam. The former is me as a dog. The latter is a dog with my brain. My own brain has full function again, thinking in control, but my body still acts like a dog. Meaning, the only way to get this out of my mouth, is to finish chewing and swallow.
Lucas watches this register on my face and grins. From in the bag, he grabs another dog dish, though this one’s plastic and not as nice as the ones from inside. He goes around to the hose, which is a little bit around the corner of the house, so I can’t really see much of him, and gets back right as I finish the treat.
The second he puts it down, I plunge my face in it, desperate to rid myself of the taste in my mouth. Dirt and filth probably washes off as well, and I keep gobbling the water. God, this is mortifying.
When I have my fill, and water drips down my dirty face and off the ends of my hair, I look back at Lucas, who’s watching me from a few feet away. I can’t help curling in a little, the same way a dog might when intimidated. Is that what I am now? A mass of muscles who cowers away from this twig?
“P-Please, Master,” I whimper. “Please, I don’t want to do this anymore.”
“Oh, Puppy Dog Adam, we’re only getting started. Besides, didn’t you have fun?”
“No, Master, I didn’t have fun.”
“Well, it looked like you were having fun. You kept wagging your tail.”
“I don’t have a tail, Master.”
Lucas shrugs and turns to head back inside. Not knowing what else to do, I hang my head in shame and follow him, only to be stopped before we reach the door.
“I don’t think so!” he scolds. “You’re disgusting, and you’re not messing up my nice and clean place!”
Afraid he means to leave me outside for the rest of the evening, and maybe even night, I look up at him, helplessly, from my paws—ugh, still my paws.
“You’re so silly,” Lucas laughs as he snags that paper bag and brings it to where the hose is located. My heart falls when I see a metal tub next to it. That’s where he drops the bag and takes something out of it. “Here’s the soap and towels’re in the bag. Get nice and clean everywhere. We have a fun night ahead of us!”
Lucas pets my head, ruffling up my hair, and I swear to God the faggot has a skip in his step as he goes back inside without me.
With no other choice, I use the hose to fill the metal tub up a little before climbing in myself. The water hits me like ice, even though it’s still pretty warm out here. But I’m not expecting it, and this isn’t the same thing as jumping into a cold pool or hosing myself down because it’s hot. This is me being forced to bathe myself like a dog, and as I stand there on all fours soaping up, I ignore the tears that mix in with the water.
After using the hose to rinse myself off, another freezing shock to the system, but I do it as fast as possible just to get it over with, I’m thankful that Lucas had at least left me a towel.
“Oh, you fucker,” I growl when I reach for it, and find not a big, thick towel, but rather a handful of wash cloths. “You fucking suck, Master.”
Damn it, even when he’s not here, I have to say it that way.
I use the bits of cloth to dry myself the best I can, and since Lucas didn’t give me any instructions to clean up, I decide to leave everything here the way it is. Maybe I’ll pay for that, I probably will, but it’s something that makes me feel a little proud.
That pride, however, evaporates the second I crawl back to the door. I try to knock, only to find myself unable to make a fist, and I know there’s a doorbell, but I can’t figure out how to use it. There’s only one way to get back in there, and it’s for Lucas to let me back inside. For that to happen, he needs to know I’m ready.
I know I can’t stay out here like this much longer. We don’t have many neighbors, and we’re lucky to have privacy fences, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible to not be seen.
Head hanging in shame again, more humiliation runs through me, as I scratch at the door like a dog, hoping it’ll not only grab Lucas’s attention, but that he’ll come let him back in the house.
