It sounds like that special way a friend of mine talks to her cat. And Jonathan is taking less notice of my reply than she does of the cat's purrs and...meows. Am I still human? Have I become some sort of "other"? Is that what being a slave does to you? That you adapt to the way you are treated and your status as a slave hardens around you like a new skin? Actually, they don't stop my asking what's going on. I do it to myself, I realise. Time to re-assert my humanity, I think. Time to re-engage. At random intervals, he pushed a spoonful up to my lips. I couldn’t eat it until he said, “open.” I had learned this rule after I had mistakenly opened my mouth the first time he presented the ice cream. He removed the spoon and told me to hold out my hand, which he quickly slapped. “Wait for permission, Pet. You need to learn how to wait for your Master’s commands,” he had said. I purred my understanding. I leaned in to him. “I wish I could suck your cock right here,” I said. He smiled. “Come. More

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