PUPPIEST FACT 008: Puppies Used To Live In Heaven Until God Passed Divine Judgement On Puppies For Their

I'm starting a collection.

What if we were both each other's pet and we looked after each other and sometimes we were both animals at once and we snuggled and had matching collars

have we tried sitting completely still in a dark room, my liege?

As Maria’s fangs descend towards her throat, everything seems to slow.

She had known about what was meant to occur before you died. Things were meant to slow like this, were they not? Her life was meant to flash before her eyes, and then she would go wherever there was after death.

The fangs sink into her, and her throat is fully pulled from her neck.

Her head goes limp, turning sideways onto the table.

In the corner of her vision, she sees a silhouette.

It looks rather like herself, if her form were that of a blank and formless hole in the fabric of existence. It walks forwards on nonexistent legs, inducing movement in the folds of a nonexistent dress. It looks at her with eyes that do not exist. It opens an impossible mouth.

‘AGAIN.’

She lies on the table.

As Maria’s fangs descend towards her throat, everything seems to slow.

She had done this before, she knows.

The fangs sink into her.

‘AGAIN.’

She lies on the table.

As Maria’s fangs descend towards her throat, everything seems to slow.

She had done this before, she knows.

The fangs sink into her.

‘AGAIN.’

She lies on the table.

As Maria’s fangs descend towards her throat, everything seems to stop.

Maria is frozen, jaws open and unresponsive.

Her employer too is frozen.

The ‘furniture’ is unmoving.

‘NOW.’

Everything seems to speed up.

The furniture rots and decays. The table upon which she lies breaks and gives way. Dust collects on every part of the room. Maria and her employer go hollow and desiccated, gaunt skin stretching over bone, before they disintegrate and join the debris on the floor.

Everything seems to return to normal.

She somehow intuits that she has been in that room for several months.

She picks herself off of the floor and returns upstairs. The house is in such a state, but whatever this is will surely help her to maintain it.

And when that is done she can reach out, and try to find out more about this world she was utterly oblivious to.

She sees the silhouette again.

She nods her head at it, and before it winks out of her vision and returns to within her, she swears she sees it curtsy in response.

Everyone comes to me wanting to be some esoteric courtier position. We don't need anymore viziers or seneschals. you're a peasant levy. The princess allows you to use your body and a pike to stop the enemy mounted charge. You can get horny about it if you like.

would you?

for a second i thought the two guys said "this is a message for your superiors" and then shot each other instead of him

The door swings open and closed as she is pushed through and into the room.

The hand of her friend rests in the space between her chest and her shoulder, forcing her backwards and backwards and down.

Her back meets the lip of the bed, but the pressure does not relent. 

Sure, she could resist and stay standing and put an end to this fun, but she chooses not to.

She continues backwards, falling onto the bed.

The hand is removed from her body.

She stays still.

Her limbs are strewn about around her. Her hair fans out where her head met the bed. Her eyes, looking so so empty, stare emptily and needily upwards.

A click.

Her eyes regain focus for a second, and she looks up at her friend, standing there with a camera and looking at her through the viewfinder of her camera. A smile plays at her lips, disguised by the plastic and metal and electronics that serve to immortalise this moment. The aperture moves and refocuses on her.

Another click. 

The shutter opens and closes.

The smile on her friend’s face widens. This must have been a good photo, she thinks.

Her friend reaches down towards her.

Her eyes flicker open and closed.

Her hand is on her clothes. Her friend relinquishes the camera for a moment, pulling her limp arms above her head before she smoothly pulls her top off of her.

She shivers, suddenly exposed to the cold air.

Her friend giggles, and she stills once more.

The lens moves backwards and forwards.

Another click.

This time her friend does not let go of the camera. Her hand caresses her chest, then moves around to her back, and undoes the clasps of her bra before deftly removing it, throwing it into the corner of the room.

She takes her time with this one, getting the perfect angle and lighting and focus.

The subject is already perfect, she thinks.

Another click.

Her friend moves again, and pushes her skirt upwards.

Another click.

Her friend stretches out, and brings her skirt down, discarding it onto the floor.

Another click.

Her tights are removed. She can hear them breaking and she does not care.

Another click.

Her underwear goes next.

Another click.

…

Her friend pauses, and looks down at her, a slight frown on her face.

She turns.

She throws a pillow down before her, intent clear.

Her subject is so lovely, but she wants more.

Why not see such a lovely thing in action and movement?

She stirs, and takes the pillow between her legs.

She moves, repeated movements backwards and forwards and so on.

Another click.

Her friend’s hand is on her hair.

It rests there for a moment.

It pulls, short and sharp and painful.

Another click.

The hand moves down to her mouth.

She opens her mouth, and her friend drives her thumb inside, pulling on her cheek.

Another click.

Their hand is removes and placed on her chin, forcing her upwards to look at her.

Another click.

Another click.

Another click.

She comes undone. She writhes and begs and whimpers and moans and shakes. Her mouth moves, making no coherent sounds, only noise. Her eyes roll back in her head and then return, glassy and vacant.

Another click.

She is released, and falls back down onto the bed.

Another click.

Her friend lies down beside her, and brings her camera up, showing her the screen.

There are so many photographs of her, exposed and limp and moving and broken, and her friend delights in showing her empty and exhausted eyes each and every last one of them.

What little of her mind remains drifts into the embrace of sleep.

One last click, for good measure.

*tied to a chair,.spitting up blood* heh..... youre gonna need to brush my teeth a little harder than THAT to get information out of me

i should figure out how to homebrew white monster actually