Page 17 of Cruel God

Desperately trying to stop my tears, I clenched my jaw, refusing to acknowledge the sting of a blow to the cheek and the pain of a split lip.

I watched the woman reach between her legs, her dainty fingers slowly easing around the outline of her sex, dipping inside her hole, and slipping back out. Within minutes my tears were gone, my pain forgotten.

But as my dick swelled while watching the woman touch herself, pleasuring herself, her moans growing louder and labored—there was only one sentence on repeat in my thoughts.

My father was a monster.

Chapter 6

Present

It was just past one in the morning when I sat outside on the patio overlooking the swimming pool and all the decorative shit that made the garden seem beautiful but did nothing to hide the ugliness it stemmed from. It’s been four years since I buried my father’s damned remains, and I still hadn’t changed a damn thing.

To me, it just wasn’t worth it to spend another dime on this miserable piss hole worth millions. Victor Cain was a flashy bastard. He loved showing off his riches, especially at all thosespecialparties he held for hisspecialclientele. It was at one of those parties that Victor forced me to“finally become a man.”

It all started when I was fourteen years old—my father’s twisted obsession of making sure I turned out exactly like him.

I could still remember that woman’s face—the one he forced me to watch pleasure herself. Her eyes were empty, her expression vacant of any emotion. The memory was so fucking vivid; it’s like it happened yesterday. I remembered sitting there with my dick hard in my pants, yet all I wanted to do was storm out and fucking cry. That was the day I learned the true meaning of fucked-up. I knew it was wrong. I knew that woman wasn’t there doing that shit out of her own free will. It was his will. Victor Cain. The human equivalent of the antichrist. While I watched her fingers stroke her pussy lips, slipping through her slit now and then, my mind and body were at war with each other. My body wanted pleasure; my dick wanted to come. But my mind silently pleaded to be rescued.

Soon after that, he demanded that I jack off while watching women pleasure themselves. I was a fourteen-year-old stuck in the middle of a self-pleasuring orgy. Every guy’s dream, right? Unfortunately for me, the dream always ended with me throwing up and hardly having an appetite for days because I had this guilt that filled my insides with shards of glass.

At fifteen, I got my first blowjob—a deep throat by a woman who sucked me dry while Victor stood behind her, whipping her with a cane every time she slowed down. I can still remember the warmth of her mouth and how it felt to shoot cum down her throat. I knew it was fucked up. My soul, my conscience told me that it was every shade of wrong imaginable. But when my father’s eyes beamed down at me with nothing but fucking strong, deep pride, I convinced myself it was okay. How could something that made him so proud of me be wrong? I had become more addicted to that look of pride in my father’s eyes than to the women and the sex.

I still struggled to figure out how it was possible to hate my father, yet I still wanted him to be proud of me. I was a teenage boy who loved his father despite the evil that rippled in his eyes, and all I wanted was for him to love me back. Victor was all I had. I never knew my mother. According to my father, the day after she gave birth to me, she checked herself out of the hospital and disappeared, leaving Victor to raise me.

But that was a completely different lie that I didn’t want to think about right now.

As I twirled a glass of whiskey in my hand, I listened to the faint sound of the clinking ice cubes. My gaze drifted up to the top floor of the house, to the two bedroom windows next to each other, and then to the long stretch of wall where I knew another bedroom was hidden.

I hadn’t gone back to her again after taking breakfast to her room that morning. I couldn’t bring myself to go back. Seeing her cry did something to me—made me feel things I didn’t like, and that angered me. A man like me should never be allowed to feel. It was one of the first lessons my father ever taught me. To feel was to be weak. A Cain man was never weak.

But it wasn’t the first time she had managed to do that to me. She had done it many times in the past, but luckily, I had enough darkness to consume the light she sometimes forced upon me.

“Master?”

I glanced to the side and saw Piper standing there wearing nothing but a short, black, see-through robe. Her pert little nipples were clearly visible, as well as every contour and curve of her body. Her long blonde hair hung down her back, and her green eyes shimmered in the night. Piper was a beautiful woman. A woman any man would love to have by their side—or to fuck, like Colton had discovered the first night he spent in this mansion. I knew firsthand that Piper was a good fuck since I had sampled that body of hers more than once. But that was before I realized what my Butterfly was to me. Everything.

I cleared my throat. “Yes, Piper?”

She stepped in front of me and went on her knees, her head hanging down. “Have I pleased you, master?”

“It depends on what you are referring to.”

“Your guest, Mr. Riggs.”

I leaned forward and placed a hand on her head. “My dear, Piper. Yes, you did please me very much,” I cooed while lightly rubbing her scalp. “By the look on our guest’s face this morning, he was very pleased as well.” I moved my hand below her chin and lifted her face toward mine. “How did ourguestbehave?”

“I’m not sure—”

“How did he fuck you, Piper?” I leaned closer and slowly moved my hand down her throat, wrapping my fingers lightly around her neck, feeling her throat moving as she swallowed.

“At first, he was hesitant,” she started slowly. “He seemed confused, maybe a little at odds.”

I let go of her throat and leaned back in my chair but never took my eyes off her as she remained kneeled in front of me. “You seduced him?”

“I did, master.” She looked down at the ground again, and I grinned. Submission is the only thing these girls knew how to do. They had it beaten into them, been brainwashed to believe that their very existence was purely to submit. To serve. For years they submitted to my father, but now I am the master, the dictator, the one who deserved every fucking ounce of their submission.

I took a sip of whiskey. “And then, what happened?”

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