Page 68 of Painter's Obsession

With each step he takes toward me, his muscles flexing, I feel the noose tightening around my hope. The predator is closing in, and there’s no escape.

“What now?” I ask, looking at his hand as he moves it over his cock.

“I fuck you.” The words cause my heart to nearly flutter out of my chest. “No, the fuck you won’t.” I snap, my eyes trailing him as he moves toward the back, and then I feel his warmth behind me. His breath ghosts over my neck, a predatory calm in his presence. “If you don’t want me to fuck you, tell me why your father beat you.” He orders, his voice low and smooth, each word slicing through me. Suddenly, being fucked by this monster feels more like a win than sharing my greatest shame... my deepest cut. He might as well add salt to the injury because I’m not saying shit.

His body presses against mine, heat radiating from him and causing blood to rush in parts that it shouldn’t be. “Tell me. And if you don’t. I swear to God, I will bring your sister into this studio,” he warns, his tone devoid of emotion, using the back of my head, he tilts it slightly, forcing me to face the wax figure of a woman frozen in time. She looks about in her forties, short black hair dead and dull. My eyes focus on the red manicured nails, the red gloss that stains her lifeless lips.

“Is that how your mother looked?” I ask, knowing it will cause him to lash out. To hurt me. But physical pain does very little to me, and I guess I have my father to thank for that. He made sure to make a man out of me—or so he believed.

“You’re so defiant for a man who lacks choices.” His leg moves between mine, spreading them apart with deliberate force. “Mymother was more beautiful, if I had to be honest. She was a replica, an imitation. Something to find her replacement, but it didn’t work. But she was my first, so she holds a space in my heart.” He says it so matter-of-factly, as though he’s discussing a childhood pet, not the grotesque art piece made out of the flesh of his victim.He walks away, leaving my legs forcibly parted, and I can hear him rustling in the back. The calmness in his demeanor makes my skin crawl.

“You know, you should go to therapy for your mommy issues,” I spit out, the words bitter and reckless.

The sound of chain links hitting the ground cuts through the suffocating tension, sending a jolt of alarm through me. What the fuck is he planning? I try to turn my body, but it’s no use; the metal cuffs dig into my flesh with every movement. From behind me, Ren replies, his voice smooth and unnervingly calm. “I can at least talk about mine. Your trauma is rooted so deep, it still controls you. It still breaks you.”

I stop moving, his words sinking into my brain like poison. “Maybe you’re right, but who’s the killer?”

“We both are. I kill others, and you just killed yourself... and your future. Pathetic, if you ask me.” I guess that answers my question, but I have a more pressing one. Since he seems chatty, maybe I’m pressing my luck, but I need to know. “What are you doing?”

He chuckles, the sound deep and rumbling, vibrating through me. “You’ll be finding out soon enough.”

I gulp down the lump in my throat. I don’t like the sound of this, and then I hear him walking back toward me. His footsteps are slow, deliberate, like a hunter savoring the moment before the kill. “One last chance—why did he beat you?”

“Why the fuck does it matter? He did it. It happened. Why the fuck do I need to tell you?” I snap, tired of the question, tired of him.

He taps my legs, motioning them to open wider. His touch is firm, commanding, and I feel a sick knot tighten in my stomach as he sits underneath me. “What the fuck are you doing?” I ask, realizing the mistake I made by allowing him to position himself between my legs.

A sharp, pricking sensation cuts through my thoughts, jolting me out of my defiance. Pain blooms in the bottom of my scrotum, sharp and invasive. My body jerks involuntarily, a reflexive attempt to escape the discomfort. “REN,” I hiss through gritted teeth.

But Ren doesn’t speak. I feel the cool sensation of something being placed, followed by the sensation of being shaved between the spot between my asshole and my balls. The sharp scent of alcohol cuts through the air, stinging my nose as the cold liquid brushes against my skin.

“REN,” I repeat, my voice trembling, but the asshole ignores me. The room feels smaller, the clinking of metal instruments loud against the oppressive silence.

Then I feel another cool sensation before his fingers pinch the skin, followed by the sharp, searing pain of the needle piercing through the flesh. My muscles tense, a guttural noise threatening to escape my throat.

“Ahhh, perfect for it being my first time piercing. I knew this would come in handy,” he says, flicking the sore spot with a smug precision. My breath hitches, my mind reeling. I can’t scream. Don’t scream. I’m no bitch. I’m a man.

But the words my father beat into my brain feel like they’re withering away with each second I’m around Ren. The piercing sensation throbs in time with my heartbeat, the pain anchoring me to this nightmare. Then I hear the small drop of a chain and feel the slight weight tug against my skin, followed by a small, persistent pressure.

“There you go, the perfect leash for my bitch,” he teases as he slips from between my legs. I force myself to look down and see the small linked chain hanging between my legs, the cold metal glinting in the faint light.

Ren is now behind me again, his presence like a shadow creeping into every corner of my mind. His fingers move into my mouth, the taste of his skin mixed with the metallic tang of alcohol. “Spit on my fingers, Byron. Help me lubricate your ass before I tear you apart.”

Again, I remain frozen, my mind blank, but my cock is rock solid, a betrayer of everything I stand for. I don't want to look down to see the truth—the confirmation of my father’s fears. "Spit or no spit, don’t matter to me but remember, all choices have consequences. Are you willing to scream for me?" he asks before retracting his fingers, his tone heavy with a mockery.

“As you wish,” is the last thing he says before his delicate, large hands spread my cheeks apart. The head of his cock nudges my tight entrance, and for a second, I want to change my mind. But I need it to hurt. I need this to remind me of who I am. Pain, I welcome. My entrance pushes against his head, and then I feel him tug the chain. The small, deliberate motion sends a fresh wave of pain and humiliation coursing through me.

“Relax, pet,” he coos as pain shoots straight through me. The head pushes in, skin rubbing against skin. Painfully slow, he forces his way in, and I gnash my teeth together, my hands balling into fists. “You’re so tight,” he groans, his voice tinged with mock admiration. “Why did he beat you?” he asks again as he pushes deeper inside, still tugging on the small leash attached to my gouge.

A whimper almost escapes me, but I bite my bottom lip hard, my teeth tearing into the flesh as he goes in deeper. “Answer me,” he says, pushing more in. My body arches involuntarilyas the dry burn rips through me, leaving nothing but raw, agonizing friction.

“That’s it,” he coos, his nails digging into the flesh of my ass. “Strangle this cock. Make it hurt.” He thrusts forward, driving deeper, the movement precise and unyielding. “Why?” he demands, his voice cutting through the haze of pain. He thrusts again, punctuating the question with the brutal motion of his hips.

“Did he?” he growls, driving forward, his head pushing inside me with a wet, audible pop. “Beat you?”

With a final, brutal push, he’s buried inside me to the hilt. But he doesn’t slow down. He fucks me like an animal, each thrust an assertion of his dominance, each movement tearing away another piece of me. “You’re bleeding for me,” he groans, the words laced with an almost reverent hunger. “You should see how beautiful your blood looks on my cock.”

My erection throbs, demanding attention I refuse to give. My body shakes with the effort to resist the tide of humiliation and pain threatening to consume me. “Why?” he breathes again, pulling the gouge piercing with a harsh tug, punctuating it with another sharp thrust. This time, the sound escapes me—a whimper, a moan, a noise I can’t identify but one that seals my fate.

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