Tattered Reflection - Introduction - 1st Draft

Looking into the mirror, James tried to smile. It looked less like he was enjoying himself, and more like he planned on abducting somebody. Sighing, he let his mouth drop into a comfortable, straight line of indifference.

Letting his towel drop to the floor, the red fox slid open the frosted door to the shower and stepped inside. The sensation of feeling drops of water on his bare feet caused a shiver. Gingerly, he stretched an arm to the tap and turned slowly, wincing the moment the ice cold water hit his body.

As the water began to heat, the shivering ceased. James rubbed his right arm, flinching as a short claw traced over the inside of his elbow. He breathed in sharply, and then slowly exhaled, allowing the now steaming water to wash over him.

An acrid smell began to rise from the floor of the shower. Looking down, James could see the red circling the drain, taking an eternity to fall through and disappear. Turning the heat up, he could hear a low screech from the pipes. After turning the shower head so the water hit the wall, he lifted up his arm and held it up so that the inside of it was receiving a steady stream of scalding water. The instant it hit his arm, he felt an intense feeling, almost orgasmic in nature. Holding his breath, James closed his eyes and began to float in a place above the clouds. Savouring the feeling, he felt more alive than ever before. Then his arm began to burn.


Dropping his arm, he began to nurse it. Once the burning had stopped, he lifted up his left arm. The pleasure was less intense this time, but still enjoyable. However, as always, it passed, this time faster than the first. Once he felt the burn on his left arm, James quickly turned off the shower. Opening the door and stepping out, he gasped at the shock of the cold. Thankful that at least the warmth of the mat provided some comfort.


James attempted to stand still, wishing to embrace the chill created by the water left on his body, yet his body indulged in small, yet consistent, shivers. He enjoyed the cold; it gave him something to focus on. Lifting up his right elbow, James traced the tip of a claw on the inside, teasing himself. Upon touching a patch of red, he inhaled sharply. However, this was brought on not by pain, but by a feeling of pleasure.

There was a slight sting, but it was a good sting. It was the sting, the rush that he wanted, that he craved for. Increasing the speed at which the claw moved, his breath began to shorten. He increased the pressure lightly, and hitting the centre let out a small moan. As he began to move his claw faster, he could almost feel the blood underneath his skin moving, as though it were rising to greet him, signalling the peak of pleasure.

He could feel the scratching against his skin, he felt the pain, but the pleasure was greater. The simple yet consistent rhythm of the scratching was all he could hear, even above his own intense breathing. James loved that sound. Scratching faster and harder, he curled up his fingers on his right hand. Closing his eyes, he grit his teeth, and began to claw at his arm with the ferocity of a wild beast. Once he broke the skin, he stopped. Holding his breath, he wished to savour the pleasure, then brought a single claw down, as hard and as slow as he could manage, exhaling with the movement of his finger.  

Slowly, he fell to the floor. Leaning against the shower door, he brought his knees to his chest and rested his arms on the top.”Fuck”, James said in a muted voice. Gently, he uncurled his fist, and he opened his eyes to the mess in front of him.

His hands were normal. Covered in black fur, he had short claws protruding from just under the tips of his fingers, with the ones on his left covered in specks of red. However, moving up the hands and towards the wrist, the fur was beginning to thin, with a few small patches of pink visible. Moving further up, the damage was brutally clear. On his left arm, there were only a few rough patches of fur sticking out from his skin, which was covered in half healed scratches and almost caked in dried blood and some ugly fluid. His right arm was completely hairless. Red lines covered his pale skin, except for inside his arm, in which now blood was beginning to form a little pool on the inside of his elbow.

The rest of his body was okay. Rubbing his upper right arm, he felt the segment where the skin turned into fur. Bright red fur covered the rest of him, except for a segment which covered the lower half of his face and his chest. Looking at the white on his chest, he gave a half smile. ‘In that respect, I’m just like any other fox’. The smile stayed on for a few seconds, but when his arm began to sting, it disappeared.