Chapter 2

One night, my curiosity got the better of me, and I decided to investigate. I waited until well past midnight. Cher had retreated to her room hours ago, and I hadn’t heard a sound from her since. She must be asleep by now.

I silently opened my bedroom door and peeked out into the dark hallway. The house was quiet. I tiptoed to the kitchen—it was still and completely dark, with no sign of anyone. I wandered through the lounge beside it, then slipped out into the backyard through the back door.

Beyond the tall walls that separated Cher’s property from the neighbors’, I could hear dogs barking and howling. Immediately, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and a cold shiver crept down my spine.

Not ready to return to bed, I sat down on one of the sun deck chairs, letting the night air seep into my skin. The cold made my nipples erect, and they poked through the nightie I was wearing. The moon was full, casting a silver glow across the backyard. It would be a good place for a dog, I thought. A pity that Cher didn’t have one.

I stayed out there for about thirty minutes before heading back inside. I retraced my steps through the lounge and down the hallway, nearly reaching my room—when something caught my attention.

The basement door. I paused. I turned around slowly, the idea pulsing in my mind. I wanted to try it again.

My hand closed around the doorknob and twisted. To my surprise, it turned easily—it was unlocked now.

I slowly swung the door open, and looked down from the top of the stairs. The staircase stretched farther than I expected. It descended steeply, the steps longer and narrower than what you’d find in a typical home. Bare walls flanked both sides, close enough to feel confining—almost like the throat of a tunnel—leading into a dense, heavy darkness.

At the base of the stairs, a single yellow bulb flickered weakly, casting long, distorted shadows. The stairway ended at a wall, and then turned sharply to the left out of sight. Whatever lay beyond the corner was hidden from view.

I breathed heavily. Exploring the basement at this time of the day sounded like a bad idea. As I could feel my fear of darkness creeping up to me, I turned around, ready to return to my bed. But as I was about to shut the door, I heard faint voices from somewhere far below me. The scrape of shoes, someone hissing at something.

The sound of footsteps continued—slow, deliberate, echoing faintly up the stairwell. Then came something else: a soft, rhythmic tapping, like fingernails against wood ... or metal. It was coming from deep within the basement, somewhere beyond the bend in the stairs.

I had to be quiet. I took off my slippers and left them at the top of the stairs. Barefoot, I began to descend. My feet padded silently against the cold, stony steps. Each one chilled my skin, the deeper I went, the colder the air became. The cold air curled around my pussy, slipping beneath the hem of my nightie. I shivered. Only then did I become keenly aware of how thin the fabric was—and that I wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

When I reached the bend in the stairs, I slowly poked my head just enough to be able to see what lay beyond. I knew that whoever beyond the bend could not see my shadow because the bulb lay in front of me.

The first thing I noticed was the immensity of the basement. There were not many stairs left after the corner, and the space beyond that was the size of the entire house. I could notice heaps of old and unused items like suitcases, winter jackets, tables, chairs, even easels with half painted canvases.

Hanging from the ceiling in random places were sheets of tarpaulin—thick plastic curtains that divided the space into fragmented sections. Some were translucent, others stained with dirt or paint, their surfaces catching the dim yellow light and shimmering faintly.

Then, something from the far end of the basement caught my eye. It was a stainless steel toilet like the ones you would find in prisons. Next to it was a large cage, taller than my height, with steel bars. It was partially covered by a deep blue tarpaulin, and there was something moving behind it. It must be a dog, I thought. Why would Cher keep it in the basement?, I wondered. Especially the one in this state?

No sooner had I heard rustling noises behind one of the hanging tarpaulins than I saw Cher coming out behind it. She was wearing a champagne-colored silk night gown and in her hand was a bucket.

She walked up to the cage and shook it. Whatever was inside stirred. She was speaking to it, but it was soft enough that I did not hear it really well. She then pulled down the tarpaulin and unlocked the cage.

The steel doors slid open with a slight rattle.

What happened next changed me forever, split my life into halves: Before and After.

What came crawling from the cage was not a dog, not even an animal. It was a man, at least ten years older than Cher in my opinion.

He was completely naked, save for a thick iron collar in his neck with a loop in front that I could only assume would receive a leash.

My first reaction was the fear that Cher might be in danger. What if that man raped her? A girl like Cher would be no match for a full-grown man, no matter how bizarre the situation she was in.

As he turned around, I noticed the metallic gleam between his legs. The poor man was wearing a cock cage. I clamped a hand on my mouth to not scream.

She stroked his head as you would do to a dog. She put the bucket in front of him, saying something. I strained my ears to get a good grasp of what she was saying.

“Brucie,” she said. “Your meal is here.”

The man put his head in the bucket and started eating. Throughout the meal, she kept stroking him. “Brucie...” she would repeat as he kept chewing noisily, his bare back arched, knees pressed against the concrete floor. Not stopping his eating, he whimpered softly.

I observed them, my heart thumping in my chest. The man’s head would lift only to breathe for brief seconds before dipping back into the bucket again. He was eating it as if it was his last meal, completely absorbed in the process of eating.

When he was done, Cher brought him to the corner of the basement covered completely by tiles. She picked up a hose, opened the tap and gave a good rinse to both the bucket and the man.

I could no longer watch it. I could feel bile coming up to my mouth. The scene had left me nauseated, and I quickly made my way back the stairs. Extreme fear gripped me as I reached the top. I couldn’t even wear the flip flops; instead I picked them up and quickly made my way to my bedroom.

That night, nightmares came. And when I woke, I couldn’t tell whether any of it had really happened until the memories returned, and I gasped all over again.

All morning, I slept in with the excuse that I was ill. When I got up, I peeled my ears for the sound of Cher’s cars leaving the driveway. I had planned that night that I would talk to the man in the morning when she was not home.

At about 2 o’clock, I heard the sound I had been waiting for. I waited a few minutes before leaving my room. I walked out into the driveway and confirmed that the black sedan was really gone.

I traced the path I took last night down the hallway only to find that the door was locked. ‘Shit,’ I murmured.

I spent the whole afternoon looking for the key to the basement door. I searched in Cher’s study, near the bowl of candies in the entryway, the living room at the front, the lounge at the back, in the kitchen, everywhere. I found some old keys, but none of them opened the basement door. ‘Fuck,’ I swore in frustration.

A few hours later, Cher returned. She was smiling, as amiable as ever. It was not a good move to confront her without knowing the whole picture. So, I swallowed all the questions about what I witnessed the day before. Only when she invited me for dinner did I remember that I hadn’t eaten all day.