Personal Dungeon

The sounds had stopped. He wasn’t sure what had happened, but all of a sudden the noises had stopped, and the silence that followed was more disquieting than what he’d been hearing behind that door all evening. He hesitated between creeping back upstairs or pushing the door open; his curiosity was burning but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know THAT badly…

She had commandeered the basement as soon as they had moved in together, proclaiming it the perfect atmosphere for her writing. He had helped move her desk down her, a great heavy thing that he had personally thought too big for just a computer, but anything to make her happy.

She had started bringing home boyfriends not long after that, and he watched the progression of each courtship with as neutral a face as he could muster. Once they hit a certain stage together, she’d show them her ‘personal dungeon’, as she laughingly called it, and down the stairs they’d go together.

He had stayed away the first few times, but after she started coming back up with neither sight nor sound of her current lover, he started to wonder.
  “They left.” She’d say. “I showed them my writing, and they left.” or “He only wanted to fuck me.” or “Intellectual, but the wrong kind of intellectual, pet.”

He wondered if she knew how much he enjoyed her calling him ‘Pet.’

Since then, he started listening at the door. He nearly stopped as soon as he started when he realised all they were doing in there was fucking. Probably got her bent over that fucking desk of hers. He thought bitterly. But the next time she took a lover down there, he followed again. He always left before it was over; he only stayed long enough to imagine that it was him in there, not that other guy that would only leave, just like the others.

But this time, he had stayed long enough to hear the end. And the end hadn’t sounded like he’d expected, and here he was, wondering if he should go in or not.

He opened the door to a bloodbath.

She was indeed on her desk, but sat on the edge clutching the body of her latest lover, head buried in his neck. She ripped her head back and a spray of blood decorated the wall, floor, ceiling… everything was covered. As his eyes followed the spray he noticed things hanging from the walls; manacles on one wall, various implements on the other, and a set of chains hanging from the ceiling with what looked like tiny hooks on the end. She had never been joking when she referred to it as her dungeon. The body fell to the floor with a thump, and she kicked it off to one side nonchalantly as she noticed him standing at the door. She grinned.

“He only wanted to fuck me, pet.” She slid off the desk and sauntered towards him, and he blushed as he noticed that, blood-drenched as she was, she was also entirely naked. And God, was he enjoying the sight.

“I must admit, pet, you had me worried. It’s taken so long for you to open that door, I was worried you were never going to join the fun.” She reached a hand out to stroke his cheek and he flinched involuntarily. She giggled.

“Don’t worry; you’re the right sort of intellectual.” Her hand snaked into his hair and suddenly she yanked his head close. “Would you like me to show you that the definition of ‘pain’ is wrong?” She whispered, and pressed herself against him. He felt himself respond and could only breathe out shakily. She released him and stepped away, a smile playing about her lips. “Well?”

“Don’t kill me…” He gasped out, and she laughed.

“Never, my sweet. Now, let’s play…”