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Summary
Slowly, Pierrot points a claw at himself, his smile returning albeit wobbly. It seems his voice is failing him, but you’re glad he doesn’t seem adverse to the idea.
You nod, your smile returning with full confidence as you hold up the collar higher, letting him inspect the leather. “If you’ll let me, I want to make you my puppy.”
His knees hit the floor with a thud. His palms hover your legs as he resists grasping you tightly, yet he seems to have no qualms with resting his chin on your stomach, face red and eyes round with love. A whine rips from his throat, then:
“Woof.”
--
or; you make pierrot your little puppy.
