“Whoa! Down boy, down. What have I told you about when I first get home?” Mistress shouts at me as I leap up and kiss her. She pushes me down, and I whine as her strong arms force me away. She tssks and bops my nose. “No, none of that. Now, what do we do if we want our treat?”
I yip in excitement and run to the living room. I bite my lip to keep from whining. Mistress takes her time, but finally sits before me. I know I shouldn’t beg, but I can’t staring at her pants. My crotch is wet in anticipation. She makes me wait, and I am bouncing up and down when she finally relents. She reaches down one hand and pats me on the head. “That’s a good girl.” Her voice is husky, and I glance up at her. I wonder why Mistress is always sad when she treats me. The next part is soft. I’m not supposed to hear it, but I do. “My dear husband.”
Just like every time before, I briefly wonder what those words could mean. Then Mistress reaches down and starts pulling my treat out of her pants, and my wonder is washed away in anticipation. I smile at her to say thank you. And to let her know how much I love her. I couldn’t ask for a better life.