Hot damn, did I do a number on this pig’s head; it’s a fucking mess. I don’t know any gang in the city who would want something like this for a bitch. I usually try to start with the sharpest guys I can find–graduate students, young hot shot bankers, those sorts–because the drugs really do a number on their thinking abilities. It was the same with this one, he sure seemed sharp, but after his treatments he can barely walk, his mouth is always gaping open, drool leaking down his chin, he doesn’t even obey orders. I think the only words he really understands are ‘cock’ and ‘boot’. 

Well, he is kind of cute though, and he does seem taken with me. Maybe I’ll keep him for myself. I don’t think he’ll be able to manage being more than a dog, but hey, it might be kind of fun walking him down the street in pup gear to the clubs. Wait, did he…oh god damn it! First things first, though, we’re going to have to get this skinpup fucking housebroken. Looks like I have my work cut out for me.

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