Go back

A Lesson For Beasts

by Asep

A Lesson For Beasts

Waking curled in muffled darkness, cold metal beneath your naked flesh. Not the first, not the hundredth time waking hooded, no light piercing shroud of darkness. Your barely exposed nostrils thick with the familiar scent of leather and foul odour of excrement, the sensation of wet foulness still caked to your legs. You can feel the plug of your tail with every motion you make. You try to stretch, but realize quickly your movement is limited by a cage of metal. Your haggard breathing and heartbeat the only sounds in your enclosed ears. Today the litany is gone, the endless repetitive droning voice in your ears whenever waking and alone. His Voice. Always speaking in a droning words of definition, insult and mantra. Today silence.

Somewhere you may hear laughing, or that could be the echoes of memory. Extremely groggy, disoriented and confused, still throbbing from the administrations and lessons of last night. Was it last night? The distinction lost all meaning against the relentless waking assaults. Cruel lashes, vise-like hands. You recall of the arching pain of electric kiss, unsure which one of the myriad clamps would sing the song of fire. And always His Voice. Teaching. Training.

Your mouth is filled in foul tastes, dry and parched. You remember the source of some of the tastes, the revulsion rising in wave of bile. You would throw up, but you do not wish the reminder of your last 'meals'. And worry the already foul stenches would intensify. And... Something else echoes in silent whisper deep inside your head. Words once spoken... In a voice familiar... your own tongue: Unworthy of your sperm. Unworthy of your filth...

Your arms are loosed, which is a change, though hands still enveloped within paw-like mittens closing fingers and binding your thumbs. You remember a lesson of beasts echoing amidst clouds, the language jumbled and confused. But the essence of it. A Beast is unworthy of Thumbs. A thumb is the mark of a tool-user.

Filth. Beast. Slut. Trash. Slave. Pet. Toy. Tool. whispers and echoes reverberate. Words and terms, some in strange languages, some incomprehensible yet English... All defining you... Anything but human... Anything but worthy... Unworthy... Worthless... Tool... Used... Abused...

The echoes are shaken off, as you reorient. You raise your paws to the side of your neck, feeling the thick locked metal collar that keeping your hood on and marks you as His property. He tells you it has your Name on it. But you struggle to recall. Did you once have a name? Some echoes of sounds, words telling you something. Calling you something... But you cannot make it out... From blurred faces of people you do not recognize. But something tells you, you should. Your naked skin is raised in goose-pimple in the frigid room, body wracked in shudder.

Muffled, you can hear a distant stride of purposeful stride. You know the stride is purposefully loud, so you can hear the approach. You sit up as much as you can in bolt attention. You hear a door open in brush of clean and crisp air. And footsteps enter. And you are assaulted with the smell of succulent and savory foods. Overwhelming, to a stomach nigh empty, save foulness.

And His Voice strikes you. You swoon in involuntary shudder as his tone reaches you, even muffled behind hooded ears. He is speaking to you. In your presence. Before you. And the swooning intensifies, dizzy and clouded. You struggle to focus in the darkness. 'Are you cold? Hungry? Thirsty perhaps? Would you be cleaned? Would you escape?"

"Do you desire the sun? Your thumbs? Your eyes? Your flesh? Your freedom? Wealth? Friends? Love? Duty? Honor? Responsibility?"

"Pleasure? Pain? Death and release? Just speak what you will. And you can have it,"

And you sit there. Uncomprehending. Your mouth opens and shuts, as you try to think of how to respond. What desire and drive. What words can express your thirst, shame, fears, pain. You think of how to tell him what you want. You sit there, as the silence grows. You cannot see, but you know whatever grin he wears, it is widening. Then He commands.


You open you mouth and speak, telling Him your wish. Your desire. Your needs. And you hear echoed in your ears, whimpering of a broken beast. And His laughter, as He opens your cage, takes your leash. And leads you to the next lesson.


Re: A Lesson For Beasts - angel123


Add a Comment