Basement Days

By: Gustavo Bondoni
September 9, 2008

I’m a gimp. I don’t get out much.

This isn’t an excuse. It’s just the truth, so it really pisses me off when the dumb accountant inside my head gives me his questions, always questions. I may have given up some creature comforts and other luxuries, but what I’ve gained is priceless. I don’t know what goes on outside my kingdom, so I don’t have to worry if what happens inside is right or wrong. These concepts are defined by a society that I have no contact with. It is possible that everything outside has changed since I got here, so, technically, I have no way of knowing what would be considered “right” elsewhere. I let Ed and Beatriz worry about that.

I don’t worry about it. The accountant in me worries. But he lost any and all influence over my actions when he had his little episode.

The accountant gets shouted down every time, as always, and I have peace again. Priceless peace. The peace that comes with having no decisions to take, no future to worry about. Follow orders and be fed. Heaven.

I rule over a basement. It’s damp, smelly and usually submerged in near-pitch darkness, but it’s mine.

Actually that isn’t exactly true. Technically, it belongs to Ed and Beatriz, but that is only when you look at it from a legalistic deeds and powers point of view. Boring. The way I see it, I give a valuable service as sex slave, boy toy and general “do whatever you want with me” household pet, so my basement has been paid for many times over.

And, besides, the happy couple upstairs would never dream of taking my power away from me. Not because they like me or think I’ve earned it, but because I’m a seriously imaginative son of a bitch.

As I lay in my cage, the type made of hard plastic with metal bars, I feel that soon I am going to have a special day. It had been a while, but something in Beatriz’ face yesterday at feeding time, the eager, greedy anticipation, told me that I would have to earn my keep soon. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but certainly this week.

Proof comes even sooner than expected. No more than half an hour had passes before the door at the top of the stairs comes open, letting in a blinding shaft of light. Hissing, I take shelter in the deeper shadows in the corner. My black leather creaks from the sudden motion.

What will the rules be like today? I wonder. If the couple have simply grown tired of their normal sex life and want a diversion, in which case I would be the slave, I could make them happy. This, after all is the core of my duties. I can and do give them variety, absolute submission and the promise of countless orgasms from any source possible, in any position they, or, more often, I can think of. In return, I get food, shelter and I don’t have to worry about absolutely anything.

But, if we have company today…

Well, that’s what I live for, regardless of how the accountant squirms. Let him squirm. I also note however (with quite a measure of satisfaction) that he never disappears when I’m entertaining company, even though he is noticeably absent at other times.

I hear a struggle at the top of the stairs, which gets me hard. I can feel my mouth filling with saliva, which spills out of the mouth-hole and down the front of my mask.