Sit Up Nicely, Bowser!

She controlled his every move, that gimlet-eyed harlot with the mysterious wad of waste. He sat there, his haunches quivering in anticipation at the succulent flesh that could sink between his teeth. So young. So tender. So delicious and raw. Like human veal. Oh, he would bide his time, alright, pretending to obey commands. And he would sit up…but not nicely. Unless “nicely” meant “to enjoy a delicious young lunch.”