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What happens when slaves think.

Once the time passed 6 pm or 6 am, more annoyingly intrusive, the clocked bonged louder and longer. Fortunately, there was a switch that turned off the bonging but, unless she was to stop the pendulum from swinging, not the ticking. Besides, John didn't want her turning off his precious clock at night. He liked all the gonging, even late at night. He said turning the clock off disrupted the accuracy of the clock telling the correct time and forced him to have adjust the time every day.

"So? What's the big deal? Open the damn clock door and move the minute hand forward or back a couple of minutes," she said to him with a shrug.

Sometimes she wondered if he loved that clock more than he loved her. When he wasn't fussing with his clock, he was playing with the his damn dog. If she went by how much he played with that stupid dog, held him, pet him, rubbed him, massaged him, talked to him, cared for him, took him in the car, and walked him, he loved his dog more than he loved her. Ridiculous for her to be jealous of a grandfather's clock and/or of a dog but sometimes she was.

Now that the dog was dead, John always looked sad, much sadder than he ever looked before. He seemed lost without having to care for his dog, Oscar. He looked as sad and as lost when his best friend, Walter died. As if that dog was another one of their children, he loved that stupid animal. Tempted to allow him to get another dog, she just couldn't. She couldn't bear the elements to walk another dog early in the morning and/or late at night. All they needed to do was to slip and fall on black ice that they didn't see early in the morning or late at night.

'Tick, tick, tick, tick. Tick, tick, tick, tick. Tick, tick, tick, tick...'

Sometimes with all the ticking, she felt as if she lived in Neverland with Peter Pan, Tinkerbell, and Captain Hook. The only sounds that intruded on her thinking and disturbed her reading was the ticking of the idiotic grandfather's clock but now having grown used to it, most times she didn't even hear it, even when it bonged. Truth be told, happy with her grandmother's antique, mantle clock that musically chimed much softer and less intrusive, she never wanted a grandfather's clock but John was insistent on buying one. Something he seldom did, he seldom put his foot down and vehemently voiced his wants, needs, and/or opinions but a grandfather's clock was something that he wanted going back to when he was a child.

She wished he put his foot down about her giving him sex. She wished he'd put his foot down about wanting her to blow him. She wished he'd be as aggressive with her as he was in wanting sex, especially a blowjob, and as he acted over wanting to buy the stupid and intrusive grandfather's clock and that the big screen TV. If only he'd act more like a man than a wimp, she'd act more like a sexy, sexual woman than a cold, sexless bitch.

If only he'd strip off her clothes, tear them to shreds, she'd surrender her naked body to him. In the way of the rape scenes that she watched in movies, if only he forced her, she'd fuck him. If only he'd grab her by her hair and force her to her knees, she'd obediently suck him. Yet, too late for that now, something she never imagined would happen, done giving hand jobs and blowjobs, she was no longer interested in sex. Perhaps if he was someone else, anyone else, but he was the last man she wanted to masturbate and/or suck.
He tried explaining about Captain Kangaroo having a grandfather clock.

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