Page 115 of Disturbed Lucidity

I resisted the urge to cry out, to struggle.

The absence of any warnings or indications from Father didn’t hinder my understanding of the gravity of my situation. His authoritative tone served as a clear indication of the consequences I would face if I were to disobey. I followed my intuition, which led me to the realization that any resistance on my part would be futile and would likely result in both pain and prolonged discomfort.

Father’s punishment was delivered with such intensity that it caused waves of excruciating pain to crash over me, leaving me in agony. Driven by an unwavering determination, a meticulous approach, and malicious intentions, he relentlessly pursued a mission to shatter my spirit. It was the one thing that always eluded him, no matter how much effort he put in.

Unhooking my arms, I dropped to the floor.

I was so tired of feeling so weak.

My body was exhausted.

All I wanted to do was sleep.

Father’s actions were intense as he firmly grasped a handful of my hair, applying a strong force that instantly brought me to my knees. With a commanding presence that demanded attention, Father forcefully tilted my head back, effectively preventing me from averting my gaze and making me meet his eyes as I looked up at him. The intense burning in Father’s eyes was so powerful that it effectively communicated a clear message to me, silently urging me to either submit or face the inevitable consequences of enduring even more pain.

Forced to kneel before him, I found myself eye level with his cock.

The thick mass jutted out, dripping with desire.

Forcing my face closer to his naked shaft, I tried to resist, only to receive his fist striking my cheek.

Spitting blood onto the floor, I said, “You won’t break me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart. I already have.”

I gasped, protested audibly, attempted to pull away, shaking my head and stated, “You’re wrong.”

“Am I?” he sneered maliciously. “You think your biker will want you after you just fucked three men? And when I’m finished with you, I will plant my seed deep in your belly. You will give me what I want.”

I slowly looked up at him and smiled and played my trump card. “I’m sterile.”

“What?”

“I had my womb removed. No more fucking babies for you to kill.”

Father roared, and his hand struck me over and over, harder and harder, inflicting his own pain filled agony of never achieving his greatest desire.

With one decision, I’d exacted my own revenge, and it was bitterly sweet.

Curling into a ball, I drifted off on a wave of pain, letting it take me far away from this horrible place and my greatest tormentor. Never again would he ever hurt me like he did that day in the blue room. Nothing he could do to me now would ever come close to the pain I suffered that day and realizing that teeny tiny bit of information made me fucking happy. Like honest to God, fucking elated. For the life of me, I couldn’t explain it, only that I felt lighter, happier, fucking free for the first time in my entire life.

And then I laughed. Like full-on mad scientist laugh.

It was liberating.

Rolling onto my back, I forgot about the pain, my punishment, Father Dominic’s death, the blue room, everything. I just laid there on the cold cement floor and laughed as if I were dying.

Somehow, deep in the back of my mind, I knew it was wrong. There was really nothing to laugh about in my life, but seeing Father look at me as if I had lost my mind only made the situation even funnier.

Rolling to my side, I got to my knees, laughing so hard it robbed me of air while my ribs ached, but I didn’t care. Bracing my hand on the wall, I managed to get to my feet, gasping and laughing.

“You’re fucking crazy!” Father shouted, which only served to lighten my mood even further. Leaning against the wall for support, I bent at the waist, resting my hands on my knees and tried to catch my breath, when all I could do was laugh more.

Slowly shaking my head, I looked up at Father, and for the first time in my life, I didn’t see the strong, powerful, evil man that used to scare me as a child. All that stood before me now was an old, withered man who resembled someone I knew once.

“I’m going to kill you,” he seethed, fury turning his face a horrible shade of puce.

Smiling, I simply replied, “Like you did my son?”

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