Bowser

Bowser the licked the side of his face, dragging it down toward his chin. He was no spring chicken, but Bowser was young enough that folds in his cheeks sprung back into place. His enormous mouth split his head in half, a horizontal fissure with a tongue lolling from its depths. Bowser sneezed, scratched his head, then he sat some more, tongue protruding like a sock from a drawer. As Bowser sat, he began to get an enormous erection but didn’t really care. He licked his face again and lay down, eyes melting into his wrinkly face.

“Hey, Bowser! I’m home, you funny-looking mutt!”

Bowser shot up, the stump on his tail wagging. Master gave him a good rub-down and his red erection fired back up.

“A’ight, buddy. You’re a little too excited to see me. How ’bout some food?”

Bowser beamed. He licked his face, sneezed, scratched his head, and wagged his tail all at once. As far as pit bulls go, Bowser is the greatest multitasker… when properly motivated.

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Filed under Flash Fiction, Session XII

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