Page 108 of Disturbed Lucidity

“You are not my fucking daddy. You are a sick son of a bitch who likes to fucking rape little girls.”

“I understand you are upset sweetpea, but using that language will only make it worse for you in the end. Now be a good little girl and behave. I have a surprise for you.”

Yeah, I knew what his fucking surprises were and there was no fucking way in hell I would ever allow him to touch me again.

Fuck that shit.

Before I could bolt, he grabbed my arm cruelly, twisting me back around, my back to his chest as he licked the side of my face. “Disobey me and I will punish you right here and now.”

“You touch me, and I will bite off your dick!” I sneered, trying to break free from his iron-clad grip when he whipped me around and punched me in the face. Blood dripped from my nose, and I licked the metallic coppery taste.

A slow sinister smile crept across my face as a calm reverence rolled over me. The darkness I worked hard to keep at bay woke, stretching and flexing her muscles. Sinking back into the void, I welcomed her dark, depraved soul lingering deep within me. She was me and I was her. We were one and the same. Two parts of the same whole. Together, we coexisted, but separately, she was the daughter of the Devil himself, and, well... she was going to show her father exactly how much she learned.

“I think she means it, Oliver,” the Devil himself said, chuckling while he walked out of the tree line, shaking his head. “I told you spoiling her would get you nowhere. Now look at her. She’s nothing more than a useless whore like her mother.”

“She’s not useless, Devlin. She still has a womb. Remember our deal. The first girl is mine.”

“But first we need to make sure that biker didn’t get her pregnant.”

“And that’s why I’m here,” Oliver said, tightening his grip on my arm, making me smile even more. Leaning close to my ear, he bit my lobe hard, drawing blood as he whispered heartlessly, “And you better pray I find nothing because I brought my personal coat hanger for you. You bad girl.”

Laughing, I sneered, “Good luck getting me pregnant.”

Forcing me forward, Oliver held firm while my father and tormentor walked me out of the woods to a waiting car, where I saw Miguel Chavarria and his henchmen Raul waiting.

This was not going to end well for me.

The room exuded a cold and sterile atmosphere, with its white walls and lack of any personal touches. It was sparsely furnished, with only an examination table—much like the one I had previously encountered in Dr. Lansing’s office—and a chair placed discreetly in the corner. A feeble light hung above the table, swaying and flickering weakly, as if it lacked the necessary electricity to shine brightly. The room had a distinct smell—a combination of age, mustiness, and the lingering scent of stale bread. The moment Father forced me into this place, a swarm of men descended upon me, assaulting me mercilessly, and leaving me naked and bound to the table. Securing my legs tightly, spread wide in the stirrups, I prepared myself for what was to come.

I didn’t need anyone to tell me why they’d strapped me to this table.

This was Father’s game.

His preferred method of torture.

The door opened and in walked Oliver. Father followed closely behind heading straight for the chair in the corner. Sitting, Father crossed his legs, and unbuttoned his suit jacket as if he were at some meeting. His gold signet ring, brandishing a trident symbol, glittered in the low fluorescent lighting in the room.

“You get one shot, Oliver.”

“No, the deal was I get the first girl.”

A smile formed on Father’s lips as he deftly extracted a gun from his jacket, aiming it directly at Oliver.

“I just amended the deal. Take it or leave it. The choice is yours.”

I could tell Oliver wanted to fight Father, but Oliver was a pussy. He wasn’t strong or dominant enough to engage with a man like Father. No, Oliver preferred showing his dominance over little girls. Gave him the rush he needed. Made him feel like a man he couldn’t be in the outside world. Motherfucker was nothing more than a sick, twisted, pedophile who enjoyed fucking little girls, and thanks to Father, Oliver found a way to sate his demented perversions every fucking Thursday, come rain or shine.

Turning toward me, Oliver frowned. “I’m sorry, sweetpea. I wanted more time with you. I’ve missed you so much.”

Glaring at the imbecile, I whispered, “I’d leave if I were you.”

“And why would I do that?” Oliver asked.

“Because I know the Devil, you don’t.”

My father chuckled.

Quickly unbuckling his belt, Oliver stepped up between my legs, reaching for his semi-flaccid cock, stroking it while he rubbed the head of his cock against my clit.

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