Chapter Text
Summer. The sound of cicadas singing and birds chirping filled the air, thick with the July humidity. Big fluffy cumulus clouds drifted on a lazy breeze that barely did anything to break the heat. The afternoon sun beamed down from overhead, streaming down onto a quiet housing development.
Oversized McMansions stood in neat rows up and down the web of streets, each one maintaining an illusion of privacy with an oversized yard and a white painted fence. A dream of wealth and prosperity, offered on an upper middle class budget. As the day rolled slowly by, the sun rounded the zenith of the sky, peeking over the house at the end of the last cul-de-sac in the development.
174 Jackson St looked like all the rest of them - a jumble of turrets and mismatched roof-lines, porches and sunrooms sprawling from its sides. It was painted white, with a grey stone facade and a blue-grey roof. Classic. Neutral. Good resale value. Nothing too flashy or attention-grabbing.
The lawn was perfectly manicured, the yard neatly landscaped: the driveway looped around a large red acer shading an island of hostas and ferns, hydrangeas and rhododendrons dotted the garden beds in front of the house. A classic picture of suburban status.
The house was situated slightly farther from its neighbors than most, occupying a rare double plot that couldn't be split up due to the zoning line. It backed right up to the greenbreak, tall trees enclosing much of the fenced-in backyard from prying eyes.
As the sun slipped past the roof to cascade down behind the house, most of the light splashed across the back lawn, soaking into the slate patio and warming the faces of roses and lilies that eagerly reached skyward along each side of the fence.
One beam of light, however, sunk deep into a window well along the back wall of the house, and streamed all the way down into the cold dark basement.
The large basement was completely unlike the rest of the house. It was finished richly enough: high ceilings with crown molding, dark hardwood floors, and walls decorated with panels and wainscoting. Unlike a normal basement, though, it had not been painted in light, bright colors. There was no thought to resale value here: this part of the house was completely customized to its owner's taste.
The walls and ceiling were painted a deep charcoal, the trim a rich midnight blue. Minimalist gold sconces cast dramatic shadows on the dark wall panels, their light dimmed to a soft glow. The large den looked more like a gentrified speakeasy or a luxury private lounge than a typical suburban basement, even in a neighborhood of flashy new money. Clearly, it was an area where the owner of the house spent a lot of time.
It had all the stereotypical features of a private man-cave: an oversized leather sectional stretched along one long wall, facing a giant flat screen TV on the other. In between them was a dark blue oriental rug, plush and silky, with a low coffee table in the center and a large ottoman on one end of the sofa. Surround sound speakers perched in every corner of the room, complemented by the ribbed sound-proof tiles which covered the ceiling.
A mahogany bar arced out from one corner, the black marble top covered in bottles of various amari, glassware hanging on racks along the back. The short wall behind the bar was lined with dark shelves covered in books and DVDs, a collectors private library of classics and erotica alike. Two wingback armchairs flanked the TV, the dark red leather complementing the blue trim of the room.
A doorway in the corner led down a short tiled hall, leading to a downstairs bathroom, the laundry room, closet with the water heater, and the stairs to the main level. These were finished in the same dark style as the basement den, although with less extravagance. The bathroom had indigo tile around the tub and shower, a dark wood cabinet and mirror. The stairs were hardwood, the walls of the stairwell a deep blue lit by the same sconces as the den. Only the laundry room was totally plain and unfinished, a grey cinder brick box tucked away in the corner of the basement.
The door at the top of the stairs was locked, at all times.
It seemed like a typical bachelor's den - part study, part man cave, finished perfectly to provide an after-work get-away where a Man could sink into a glass of bourbon and a classic movie, undisturbed by the world above.
Far less typical were the customizations at the other end of the room. Along the short wall opposite the bookcases, BDSM implements of every form, shape, and size dangled on hooks. It looked like a dark cross between a garage pegboard of tools and a medieval torture dungeon. The leather whips and metal contraptions were at odds with the understated dark elegance of the rest of the room. Every toy was carefully arranged, the mark of a fastidious and controlling owner used to having everything exactly as he liked it.
In the corner by the couch, a St. Andrew's cross was mounted to the wall, chains ready and dangling from the eyelets along its beams. A black leather hobby horse stood next to it, its padded shelves for kneeling arms and legs fitted with thick leather straps to hold a struggling submissive still. A leather swing dangled from chains mounted in the ceiling, with a hard point for rope suspension attached to a joist nearby.
In the corner opposite the bar was a huge black cage, bigger than any dog could ever require. Its solid bars were mounted to a heavy wooden frame, its floor lined with soft fuzzy blankets and an oversized dog bed. Two stainless steel bowls stood on wrought iron stands nearby, one full of water, the other empty. The door hung open, and the cage itself was empty, its occupant free to roam around the basement at will during the day.
The sunshine poured through the window well, dripping into the dark basement like warm glowing honey. The sunbeam fell onto the blue silk rug, where a little kitten lay napping, patiently waiting for the comforting warmth. The kitten smiled happily to itself, its sleepy eyes blinking at the sudden light, before curling into a ball.
2pm. Right on time. The kitten liked to sleep on the rug all day when Master was out, just waiting for this moment. Sure, it had plenty of toys for enrichment, but playtime alone just wasn't the same. Not like it was with Master there. Kitten preferred to spend the morning in dreamland, before waking up in its favorite warm spot in the sun. The sunbeam only came into its den for a few moments each day, so kitten made sure it was ready and waiting. It didn't want to miss its chance.
It had been having such a good dream. It was dreaming of being curled up on the couch with Master, its head on His lap as He petted its hair.
That was its favorite thing in all the world. No other man had ever done that for it - just ran his hand tenderly through its bangs over and over as it cuddled into Him. It didn't have to worry about any bad memories or flashbacks from being touched like that. Not like some of their other games Master liked so much.
Sometimes, Master liked playing rough with the kitten. Making it scared, giving it all kinds of feelings inside and out. Pleasure. Pain. Anything Master decided His kitten should feel.
Kitten didn't like all of the games, but… in the end, Master always made it up to the kitten. Getting head scritchies and pets just make a little kitty feel so happy and safe. Those moments in Master's lap were its favorite reward in the world. It would play any game Master wanted, no matter how rough or scary, for a chance to be His little lap cat at the end.
But right now, Master was at work, and the kitten would have to play by itself.
As the light shifted, the kitten stretched out on the rug, clinging to the warmth of its sunbeam for as long as it could. It lay on its back, warming its naked belly in the golden light.
The kitten's skin was white as milk, as rich and smooth as cream. It didn't get much sun these days, but a splash of freckles still sprinkled its face, scattered across its little button nose. Its lips were thin, but shapely, and as pink and soft as the little nipples on its chest. Light flashed off its wide blue eyes, so startlingly bright they seemed to reflect the unseen sky.
Its hair was brown, so dark it looked almost black. Only the glow of sunlight revealed the warm reddish tones hiding in its hair. Its bangs fell from a center part in soft waves that framed its forehead, the sides and back of its hair kept short and tidy. Master liked it well groomed from head to toe: not a single hair on its body from the eyebrows down. Its little toe beans were soft and pink, perfect little paws that Master loved to tickle and torment, much to the kitten’s chagrin.
It looked to be in its young teens, but its small size made it hard to tell. It was short for its age: a “forever kitten” who would probably never grow much bigger even as it matured. Its body was skinny, but no longer the rail-thin skinniness of starvation. A soft layer of baby fat on its concave tummy showed that it was being well fed, finally putting on some much needed weight after years of malnourishment. Its ribs were still visible, but no longer prominent and bony. Its soft skin was marred here and there, marking its otherwise perfect skin. Some were just little white cat scratches on its shoulders and thighs. Others were dark, angry blotches on its wrists and around its neck and collarbone, angry puckered scars that were only just beginning to fade and shrink. A testament to its life before Master, before it was a treasured pet.
Its status as a kept kitty was marked by its only apparel. A dark blue leather collar was padlocked tightly around its neck, a little silver bell dangling at its throat. Blue leather restraints wrapped around all four paws, again, padlocked in place to keep the kitten nice and safe. A headband with black cat ears was clipped around its head, the perky ears poking out from the dark hair above its bangs. A long black tail dangled from between its cheeks, attached to a large plug that was only rarely removed, and only ever by Master.
Master took care of kitten.
Master controlled everything.
Everything.
He not only played and cuddled with kitten, He also groomed, fed, and trained His little pet. Kitten loved Master so much. It was eternally grateful: life before finding its Forever Home had been too much for a little kitty to bear. It was a miracle it had survived, and an even bigger miracle that someone had rescued it. Wanted it. Taken it in and taught it what love and safety looks like.
Kitten hated spending the long days alone, without Master. It knew that Master had to work to make money to keep it here, but… Master was its whole world now. It was so lonely during the work day, and playing with the toys was only fun when Master made them come to life.
There was no clock in the basement, so it tracked the time until He came home by the position of its sunbeam. The light was already slipping away as the sun sunk into the west behind the house, its sliver of warmth growing thinner like a waning moon. Kitten got up and stretched, padding silently to its feet. If the sunbeam was disappearing, Master should be home from work in just a few short hours.
Soon, it would hear the door at the top of the stairs click twice.
Once, as Master unlocked it.
Again, as He locked it behind Him.
Then, His footsteps creaking on the floorboards as He came down to be greeted by His favorite little pet.
Kitten couldn't wait.
But when Master was away, kitten could misbehave. Just a little bit, anyway. It knew Master's rules were to protect it, and Himself. Master always knew best, and kitten didn't want to get in trouble. But it couldn't resist its instincts for mischief. Even a domesticated kitten still needed to be a little rebellious sometimes, and claw back a little bit of freedom.
It climbed onto one of the red armchairs, standing on tiptoe to look out the bottom of the window well. It knew it wasn't allowed on the furniture without Master's permission, and it CERTAINLY was not allowed to climb up near the window… but… it was such a pretty day. The sunbeam had been so strong as it was today, and now it was already leaving. It must be beautiful outside. Kitten looked up past the grass and weeds that choked the bottom of the well, and craned its neck to look up to the lawn above.
Wildflowers danced in the breeze, speedwell and buttercups dotting the green carpet with blue and yellow. The kitten's eyes were bright and alert as it watched butterflies flit between them, sparrows and robins coming and going like busy little men commuting through the meadow. As the kitten watched, a bunny hopped out from under the fence at the edge of the trees, nibbling on some wild violets in the sunny lawn. That really perked its ears up: kitten saw the birds and butterflies every day, but bunnies were an unusual visitor to its territory, and it was delighted to watch the furry critter hop around freely in the sunny grass.
Kitten sighed.
Long ago, kitten used to be allowed outside, too. In the summer, it would have been outside every day. It missed days like this most of all, when it would have been playing outside with friends in the park, or riding its bike to the library.
It wasn't that the kitten minded being locked up here… the world was a scary place, before Master adopted it. Kitten hadn't really belonged anywhere, and it had learned that the world just wasn't safe for vulnerable little ones on the streets. But then Master had saved it, cleaned it up and given it a Forever Home. It felt so lucky. It knew firsthand what could happen to strays with no one to protect them.
Still, sometimes the kitten couldn't help but think back to its first home, where it lived long before it met Master. Before everything went wrong. Back when it was a little boy named Oliver.