[See! She won't say it unless he says it, in which don't mind if she feeds into it. He's Cu Chulainn, Hound of Ulster, not just a dog. Although, he really could be her dog, if he wanted to be.

Even bent over like this to shower him with sweet affection midst her threatening words, her foot doesn't stop to apply pressure. There is no escape for him, she'll get him hard and show him her words are not empty threats.

After all, as she runs her tongue over the edge of his ear (who is the dog now), pulling at the latch of his collar to draw him closer, there is a ghost of a smirk that he should be able to feel on her lips.]

You're still defiant, no? [She likes that, it fuels her.] You do not, I may be doing too much. But. Now?

[She lifts her foot away from him, crouching down onto her knees to better undo his pants.]

Now I'm doing this just because I feel like it.