Page 16 of Cruel God

“You’ll see.” He gave me a reassuring smile—one I didn’t trust—and unlocked the door. “Now, go in.”

I fisted my hands at my sides, my heart pounding against my chest. There was this overwhelming urge to run, my feet ready to sprint in the other direction. But the lingering burn on my cheek reminded me of what my father was capable of and that no matter what…disappointing him was never an option. Ever.

Breathing in deeply, I glanced at my dad one final time—silently begging him to stop me from going in there because I knew that whatever waited for me on the other side of that door, I wasn’t prepared for it.

But I walked in, every muscle in my body pulled tautly. The rich, sweet smell of jasmine enveloped me. There was something about the floral scent—it was almost…sensual.

The lights that flicked on weren’t nearly as bright as the ones in the corridors. It was dim, calming, serene. It managed to ease some of the tension from my shoulders, and for a second, I allowed myself to relax.

Okay, so maybe I was wrong. Maybe whatever this was wouldn’t be as bad as my mind had conjured it up to be.

Abruptly the dim lights switched from a warm, welcoming white to a glowing red. The wall across from me started to move. Turning and turning. All I could do was stand there and hold my breath while my fear ate at my insides. There was no rhyme or reason for my fear. This was my father, after all. Yes, he was unpredictable most of the time, and I had suffered a few blows by his hand. But I trusted that he never meant me any harm.

First, I saw the end of an iron-framed four-post bed. Then the sheen of the black silk sheets.

My insides twisted; my lungs unable to expand as I watched the scene in front of me unfold. I had no idea what was happening, what I was looking at.

A woman. Older than me. Mid-twenties maybe. She was sitting with her back against the red velvet headboard. Naked. A black collar around her neck glimmered under the red light; leather bounds tied around her thighs, forcing her legs apart.

I didn’t mean to look. I didn’t mean for my gaze to slip down, staring at her exposed sex with no pubic hair. Just smooth, pink flesh spread open, allowing me to see every inch of its shape. I’d seen naked women before. I’d seen pussies and tits in the dirty magazines that made the rounds between our group of friends. But I had never seen it in person, and not this up close.

My body started to burn. My blood rushing through my veins and fueled with adrenaline. It felt different than the times when I paged through magazines with my dick in my hand. It was stronger. More potent. As if it was no longer me that stood there. It wasn’t a fourteen-year-old boy dressed in jeans and a T—a boy who still had to do his math homework, or he’d get detention for the second time this month.

My dick pressed hard against the zipper of my pants. And it ached. It hurt while I kept staring at the woman’s open legs.

“Sit down, son.” My father pulled up a chair and placed his hand on my shoulder, forcing me to take a seat right across from the naked woman. Only now did I manage to look up and at her face. Long black hair draped down her shoulders, the ends touching her nipples. But then I saw her eyes. Her green, cold, vacant eyes. Just like the girl in the room. Or was it a cell?

The ache still stirred in my pants, but confusion and this sense of foreboding and fear kept on gnawing at my bones. I didn’t like it. I no longer wanted to be here.

“Dad, what is going on here?” I tore my eyes from her and looked up at my dad, only to have him grab my head hard, forcing me to look straight at her once again.

“Do not look away. You keep your goddamn eyes on her, okay?”

“No. I don’t want to. I don’t want to be here.” I tried to stand, but my father pushed me back down, his fingers pinching painfully into my shoulders.

“Sit. The fuck. Down.”

“Why are you doing this? Why do I have to be here?”

He swung his arm, fire erupting across my jaw a second later. I instantly tasted blood, licking at the split flesh of my lip. This time there was no stopping the tears from falling. He brought his face down to mine, eyes flashing with anger and lips pulled in a snarl. “What are the rules in my house, Rex?”

I kept on shaking my head, unable to think straight.

“Say it, boy!” He shook me hard, and I groaned as pain shot from my shoulder down my arm. “What are my fucking rules,” he yelled, spit spraying on my lips and chin. “Say it!”

I pressed my eyes closed. “You will not be questioned.”

“And?”

“Never touch what’s yours.”

“Exactly.” With a jerk, he let go of me and straightened, wiping his palm down his suit jacket. “You will not question me. You will do as I tell you—whether it’s upstairs or down here. Now, you will sit there and watch until I tell you to stop. Or I swear to God, I will lock you in one of these cells. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now, eyes on the girl.”

I obeyed like the good son I was and cut my gaze to the woman on the bed. My father had taken a step back, leaving me with the illusion that I was alone in that room with the woman on the bed.

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