The Beast Within Me


I wanted to say that I was used to it, that I was no longer afraid, but the cold fear that gripped me as I heard then creak of the door when it opened or the sound of his light slow footsteps as he walked towards my bed told a different story. I stilled as he neared me, closing my eyes tightly. His hands found me on the bed, he ran his hands up and down my legs. I hated the way my body was so responsive to his actions, my fleshy rod was already hard and stiff, the blood running fast through my veins.

“Already hard,” I could see the smirk in his face even though it was dark. He cupped the front of my pyjama trousers. I stifled a moan. He soon abandoned gentleness and began to touch me roughly. I was used to the pain, I didn’t protest the way I did, three years ago when he first sneaked to my room. Rather, I had began to anticipate his nightly visits and his pain-inflicting touch. It had been a secret pleasure for me—his rough, hard thrusts through my anal hole. I was beginning to enjoy his manhood in my mouth, the brutality, the bruises that I had to explain to my parents the following morning. It was sick, I knew, enjoying this sort of action with your uncle, your mother’s younger brother, but I was drunk on the thrill of it, I was hooked on the sick abnormality of it. I was just twelve, yet I felt aged, older than my age.

He was done quickly, and collapsed beside me, the smell of sweat enveloping the both of us.

“I’m going to the boarding house tomorrow,” I said.

“I know,” he grunted. I waited for him to say more, but he was quiet, after a while, his snores filled the room. I stood up from the bed, repulsed by our actions and went to the bathroom. I looked at myself in the mirror. His sharp nails had left marks again on my brown skin. I was a ‘fine boy’. It was something that I had gotten used to being called, something that had gotten me into my present predicament. But I still liked the smoothness of my face and the fairness of my skin. I smiled at the boy in the mirror, losing the smile when I thought about what awaited me tomorrow—the boarding school.

Boarding school was what fed the hunger my uncle had opened up in me. I was in JS2 when I became acquainted with Senior Peter. It had started as taking me in as his school son. Peter was a SS2 student who had repeated two classes making him two years behind. But he was a force that couldn’t be reckoned with in the school. The SS3 and SS2 respected him, he was referred to as the grand-papa of the students in the school, including male and female. Choosing me as his school son, meant a lot of enjoyment. I didn’t join my mates in kneeling down under the sun, neither did I join in the Friday cleaning exercise. It helped that I was always quiet, and loved to stay on my own, so there was almost no reason for anyone to punish me. At first, I couldn’t wrap my head around this, but I slowly got used to it. By the time I woke up from sleep in the morning, he had already sent someone with a bucket of warm water; after the morning prayer, he would send someone with either milky cornflakes or biscuits with milk; during breakfast he would sit at my table with extra bread and sachets of milk, adding to my plate of food in the afternoon and evening. After classes he would send someone to call me, and I would go to his corner and watch him wash my shirt and shorts. He rarely let me go for afternoon prep, rather he allowed me to read on his bed, half of the time we were gisting or I was sleeping.

The first time he tried to touch me was when I just entered JS3 and he was in SS3. He had been cautious at first. I shivered when his hand landed between my legs, so he pulled his hand away immediately, his face a mask of apology. I thought about when he had flogged a junior student, the pleasure on his face as he landed quick hits on the back of the student, and with excitement, the blood rushed towards my leg. I wanted it from him, I wanted him to flog me that way and revel in it. I stood up, I could hear the disappointment in his voice as he said, “Are you going to class?” It was time for night prep, I was supposed to be in class preparing for my junior WAEC, but here was I holding out a broken piece of hanger to my school father, the words ‘Flog me’ pouring out of my mouth.

He looked from my face to the hanger in my hands, “Flog you?”

The words rushed out from my lips, “I like it when people inflict pain on me.”

Understanding dawned on his face, “Are you sure?” his eyes searched my face as he took the hanger from my hand.

I nodded and pulled down my boxers, turning my naked buttocks to him. The familiar rush of pain brought a sigh to my lips. “Harder,” I moaned as another hit landed on my thighs, my fleshy rod was already erect. That night ended with my body full of red welts and bruises, but it opened wider the door which my uncle had opened in my room at home.

I turned from the ‘most lucky school son’ to the ‘punching bag’. Senior Peter flogged me cruelly in front of other students, and in the dark away from their eyes he would treat me like an egg, rubbing balm on my wounds. I enjoyed it when he flogged me in front of other people, for them it was unfair to me, but they didn’t how I felt when I saw the fierce look on his face as he landed the cane on my hand or any part of my body that he could come in contact with. It continued that way until Mercy came into my life.

The final trigger for me was Mercy. Mercy took me down a path that remained entrenched in my heart for a long time. I had met her in Senior Peter’s corner during night prep. I was shocked. Ours was a mixed school, but the girls were not allowed into the boys hostel and vice versa. She was not pretty, that was my first impression, but she was endowed. She was only in JS2 but the size of her chests were bigger than that of most of thee senior girls in our school, and her hips were full. She was seated on his bed, talking to him as I normally did.

“Kay-cee, this is Mercy,” he said as though it answered the questions that were running through my mind. Mercy smiled up at me, and gestured at me to sit down beside her on the bed. She smelled nice, a familiar scent hit my nostrils. I recoiled when I remembered where I had perceived it. It was when we resumed from the long vacation. As usual, I had gone to Peter’s corner to see what he had gotten for me. There had been two bottles of perfumes on his locker. I had expected him to give me the two of them since neither of them were his favorite, but he had handed me only one. I pouted and pointed at the other one, “It’s not for you,” he had slapped my hand away. I snatched it up and sprayed it on my wrist. I sniffed, “It’s better than the one you gave me,” I demanded an exchange.

He shook his head and collected the perfume from me, “Take,” he handed me a flask cup, the fancy type that only seniors used. I collected it, the perfume forgotten. The perfume must have been given to Mercy I thought as my chest tightened.

I watched as the two of them discussed, laughing and teasing each other. When they tried to pull me into the conversation, I would mumble a word or two and return to my silent state. I didn’t like Mercy, not when she was clearly interested in Peter. She was a girl, with two enormous balls on her chest and she could give Peter what I couldn’t. I wanted to leave and go to my class, but I was scared of what would happen between them in my absence, and so I remained there, watching them bicker back and forth. After what seemed like ages, Peter said he was going to get his books from his class, and left us alone. It was quiet for a while, until Mercy suddenly said, “I like you.”

I whipped my head at her in surprise. “What?” After coming on to Peter in my presence, she was now turning to me. What did she mean?

“I see it,” she said confusing me even more.

“See what?” I slanted my eyes at her.

“You like it when he inflicts pain on you. Others may not see it, but I see the relief in your eyes when he raises the cane to flog you,” she said coming closer to me. I scuttled back, but I hit the iron rods of the bed. She pushed her face closer to mine.

“What nonsense?” I breathed, “You were hallucinating. How would I like it?” My poor attempt at denial annoyed me.

“Are you sure?” she moved closer, bringing her lips close to my ear and blowing. My eyes rolled to the back of my head. What is she doing? Why is she making me react like this? I wondered.

She pulled back to my relief, but then started unbuttoning her blouse. “What..what are you doing?” my voice was shaky.

She ignored my questioned as she continued unbuttoning her blouse. She pulled off her camisole as well as her bra releasing her two giant globes to me. What caught my attention wasn’t the globes but the scars and marks on the them. I moved closer to her and looked at them amazed at the crisscrossing lines. Looking wasn’t just enough for me, so I raised my hand to touch them lightly. Mercy stifled a groan.

“I used to watch the adult films in my brother’s room, and I was fascinated with the way they hurt themselves and then I started doing it to myself,” her breathing had become heavier. I pinched her nipples, enjoying the groan that came from her mouth.

That day opened up the deepest vaults of my secret pleasure. Peter would call the both of us, but he rarely touched us, rather he let us do our thing. He watched us like a faithful father. Mercy became his school daughter and I, her school brother. Peter did not flog Mercy in front of other students, but he let me flog her when we were alone in his corner. He never flogged her, he just hands me the cane and watch both of us. He rarely touched Mercy, even when he did, it was just to put his rod into her until he got his release. Once, Mercy had begged him over and over again to flog her. But he had refused, instead he had taken her roughly. She ended up with new scars across her back, but she was happy.

Senior Peter graduated, leaving the both of us. It helped that I was already in SS1, so I was able to protect Mercy from the leery eyes of the other boys in our school. She took on the title of my girlfriend. It was something the whole school knew, and anyone who tried to force her to befriend him, would find himself in front of the disciplinary committee. Inasmuch as Mercy loved pain, she was also a no-nonsense girl. If you tried to force her to do what she didn’t want to do, it would end with you on the losing end.

Our escapades continued until I graduated from the school. I graduated the best among my mates. I went home with a lot of gifts, but my heart still felt heavy. Graduating meant that I had to leave this ugly part of me in school, with Mercy. But I didn’t know how I would survive. Mercy had become a drug that I was addicted to. Her painful slaps, the nipple twists. She was a significant part of me. I didn’t want to let her go. I didn’t want to graduate. I did not share the happiness my class mates felt.

As my parents drove me away from the school, I mentally began to hide that ugly part of me in the deepest recesses in my heart. I mentally locked it and hide the key away. This was not right, I knew. This sick need for pain, and I was ready to not acknowledge it again. Mercy was a part of my past that was best left forgotten.

I tried to fit into the picture of the ideal man. I went to the university, treating my studies as the most important aspect of my life. Once in a while, I looked for girls to fulfill my manly urges. I tried had to contain the part of me that screamed for pain. And once, the mask had slipped off. I had watched as the girl under me recoiled with revulsion. “What kind of thing is that?” she looked at me with a frown. The mood was already gone. I detached myself from her and went to discard the condom in the toilet. By the time I came back, she was already dressed. I said nothing as she picked up her bag and left. I didn’t stop her. The disgust was clearly written on her face.

After that day, I tightened the leash on the beast inside me.

Soon, I created my own company and I got married to my wife, Tosin. She was your typical good girl, when I slept with her a week before our wedding, I had been surprised to find out that she was still a virgin. But the marriage was like a cage to me. Everything was going too well, there was no stress, but I didn’t like it at all. I wanted something else, but my wife held me back. Our lovemaking was monotonous and aimed at having children. I was getting sick of it. The beast inside me was struggling to let loose. I couldn’t just pick up a girl by the roadside and sleep with her as my friends did. My hunger was different, it was the type of hunger that only one person could quench. So that night, after our fifteen minutes of boring sex, I picked up my phone and logged into my Facebook account. It wasn’t hard to find her. As I sent a friend request to her, I looked at my sleeping wife with guilty eyes, “Honey, I’m sorry. I just couldn’t hold it again.”

That night opened the cage that held the beast within me. But I was not regretful, I couldn’t be, because the beast was me and I was the beast.

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I'm a professional writer. I tell lies to total strangers for money. 🙂 A B.A holder in History And International Studies, currently studying for a Masters Degree in Chinese International Education. I wake myself everyday with these words- "You Are A Writer, Whether You Write Everyday, Or Once A Year. Remember That Passion, The Love Of Creation, Do It Your Own Way, And Don't Let Anyone Shame You With It." (Julianne Berokoff)



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