Sunday, December 16, 2012

There's a Beast In My Basement

There is a beast in my basement. He stays in chains without complaint; I think he knows the damage he could do. Does he have a conscience. I’m not sure. He does as I bid, and I bid him often. Come here, Beast, and lick my bones lest I rot for lack of touch. His tongue slides on skin and skin sizzles for his tongue. I don’t close my eyes, I watch him as he obeys with simmering anger.

He doesn’t like me. That’s okay, I think when his head lies heavy in my lap. He must have loved someone else, once. I want to know, I don’t want to know on whom he turned his amber eyes with kindness. Don’t give me that kindness; it comes battered and broken and pain fills the cracks like ice to split it all open. His hands are rough on my body. He turns me over like a bear might flip a rock in search of grubs. I turn too far and his rough hands hold me down.

Stay there.

The beast never speaks. I’ll take his uh ugh uhn ugh instead, the hah at the base of each thrust. He could split me open. It’s a test: Does he leave me to my screams, or will our fucking sound schlick schlick schlick through the empty room? The pop of a cap and something cool smeared on me preludes the pull of fingers. I want to teach him these words so he can tell me. “Your asshole is twitching at me. You cock-hungry whore. I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll regret ever shaking it at me.” Yes, yes, fuck yes, I’d gasp in return, and come all over him. And he’d come inside me and throw me away, and all day long I would feel him slip out little by little.

“Ah. Ow!” Every time, and he never stops. In and in and in and in and out a bit and in in in fuck fuck oh god yes yes ugh holy fuck. His hands bruise my shoulders, to hold me so that his cock doesn’t send me flying across the room. Someday those rough fingertips will slide inward and up, to tighten on my throat while he finally roars his release in my blackest depths. He’ll find the key in my jeans pocket and walk out, leaving me to be discovered by someone else.

Maybe today, maybe today, but he pulls out and schlick schlick shlick his hand is moving fast. He grabs my hair and stands over me, glowering, and then I have to close my eyes. He’s so hot; burning as he splatters all over my face.

I see his true self only when he sleeps. The biggest beast I’ve beheld, breathing evenly through blackest nose. The tails—how many? Seven, at the least. He mutters in a language I can’t understand, but I wish I could tell if it’s a name he repeats.


  1. Wow. That was really interesting.

  2. Wasn’t sure what to make of this at first. Evokes strong emotions but I didn’t know what it meant. You labeled it Kitsune so I googled it, makes much more sense now. Thank you for writing something powerful enough to motivate me to research and learn something new about a different culture.