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gone, gone, gone.
It wasn't so much that Tribble could read Terry's mind, or vice-versa. It was more a common bond, a forced grace under pressure/stressed out siege mentality the dog and boy shared that drove them both to the same conclusion at a point in their lives when neither of them understood the word.

The door to the closet opened, the stocking clad feet of a man--high heels, sagging black stockings--stood next to another pair of stocking clad feet of a second man--black ribbed socks held up by black garters. Otherwise, both men were naked.

"Terry, honey?" Jules/Julia whispered. "Wake up honey, we need the closet."

Terry didn't need to be asked twice. He was tired of seeing the business end of naked mens' pleasure dangling at him. On a good day, no one asked him to participate, they only asked to use the closet with all the straps and buckles and shackles on the wall.

"And could you pick up some milk on your way back, hon?" Jules/Julia pulled out a fifty from the band of his/her stocking tops. "Bring Julia some change, now boy." She kissed him on the head with the same lips she'd soon soil on the man she chained to the wall.

Out the door, that's when it happened. Tribble ran fast, pulling on his short lead, a pair of housecoat belts tied together with a loop, drawn in a noose around the collar that had the dog's name showing above N.B.'s address, scratched illegible with a butter knife weeks ago by Terry's father. Terry normally fought against the dog's lunges, but the thoughts of what was going on in his closet, what was happening every hour in every room of the shit hole where they lived, those thoughts made his legs pump hard to keep up with his hostage dog. N.B.'s dog.

Sometimes, mostly when the man-sex was happening and Terry felt sick, even when he was just forced to watch, not to participate, he thought of N.B. and the simple fun they used to have. When Tribble ran out the door, pulling him down the street, Terry thought how the fifty dollars along with a few other dollars he had in his pocket, ten or fifteen at the most, would allow them to get back home, back to N.B.

If he ran out of money, he knew from his father's friends how to make more money.



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