Push My Buttons
A story short enough to fit in your pocket
My master is probably the most annoying man in the world. He always asks about a lot of things, even ones that are trivial or common knowledge. Always asks me to go to far away places to take and bring back images for him. After returning the images for him, he asks me to keep them in my own storage all the time, like, can’t he keep them himself?
And oh boy, the things that he wants me to keep. Some of those are stuff that he really wanted to be kept well. Hidden well. For those things would either make you aroused or disgusted. I hate working for him, or maybe just the job.
We also have times that I find of value, of course. Intimate times. I, at times, am very artistic; He loves it when I draw up a very clear and detailed image of him, he likes that I sing a lot of songs that he loves and that I have movies and shows that he likes to watch. I enjoy all of those moments, too. I really do.
My master may be used to overworking me most of the time (or giving me “tough love”), but I can see that he holds our friendship up to a higher value. He always tags me along when he’s in a conversation with one of his friends, and whenever I’m feeling down and low he picks me up and charges me up back to shape. He knows how to push my buttons. I love him. I really do…
I do wish I wasn’t a phone though, so that his charger wouldn’t be the only thing that he can use to make me feel alive.
