"ZANE REED GRAY!!! GET YOUR GOOD-FOR-FUCKIN'-NOTHIN' LAME ASS DOWN HERE THIS MOMENT! IF YA DON'T, THE CONSEQUENCES WILL BE WORSE THAN LAST TIME!I'M COUNTIN' TO TWENTY AND IF YA AIN'T DOWN HERE BY THEN, YOUR BODY IS MINE TONIGHT!" Mr. Gray yelled at his worthless son (who was upstairs, locked in his room)from their house's large, but appallingly filthy, living room.
Zane was indeed upstairs, locked in his room, listening to his pissed off father's drunken voice shouting up at him from downstairs. Sure, he was there. But his mind wasn't. It was somewhere in the near future, when he'd legally be able to escape this rotten nightmare of life and mold a new one, an extremely better one, all for himself. The daydreams swept him away, almost made his mouth water with longing.To be able to leave behind it all...the beatings...the rape...all the abuse in general...Zane would do anything. He'd even commit suicide. That option seemed a greater and greater choice every day. The only thing Zane could see in his bleak life was more and more abuse. It would never stop. So what was the point of living, if the only goodness he could see was in his day dreams? There was no point.
Mr. Gray had counted up to eleven already. The seconds were ticking by quickly. A sickly twisted smile started to make its way onto his thin, ugly lips. 'Tonight that little fucker will be mine again! Hah! I can't wait!' he thought excitedly, while an erection made a not-so-subtle bump in his grey sweat pants. The thought of his whimpering son, handcuffed to the king sized bed, stark naked and covered in fresh welts from the whip, made Mr. Gray almost giggle with insane delight. He truly was crazy.
Zane shook himself from his daydreams. 'None of that, you moron. Don't go there. It's impossible. He'll kill you before you escape from his evil, cruel clutches. Give it up. Shut up. And get your ass down there for the next bout of torture. Wouldn't want to miss that, now would you?' Zane thought to himself sharply, with a hint of sarcasm at the end. Depression filled him once again, leaving not even one little crack for happiness to leak into. Depression was always lurking in the shadows. It was his constant mentor, his old best friend, his teacher. With a gloomy sigh, Zane stood up, cracked his back, and nearly flew down the stairs and through the hall to get to the living room in time. The beatings were much more brutal when he was late.
Seeing his father's twisted, excited smile and cruel, insane eyes when he walked in the room, Zane's stomach cramped (as it always did when he knew that rape was on the way)and puke started making it's way up his throat. Zane reprimanded himself and clenched his teeth as he tried to rearrange his face into something that would not get him in even more trouble. As usual, Mr. Gray and his son had a staring contest before either of them spoke. Whoever blinked first was beaten. Mr. Gray always made Zane blink. It was their unspoken agreement, in their Master-Slave relationship.
Grimly, Zane lowered his dark, long eyelashes in a way of showing defeat and then he got down on his knees and bowed. Inside, he steeled himself for what was about to occur. That didn't make it any better when it did start.
Nasty delight swept through Mr. Gray's body at the sight of Zane bowing in front of him. The waves of turned on pleasure rolled through him and he knew that he'd have to make the beating hard but quick if he wanted to wait to cum until he could drag a semi-conscious Zane into the master bedroom, where the real fun would ensue.
Zane felt nothing for a few almost blissful moments, then his father's huge, hard hand roughly yanked him up, so that he was standing on his knees. Quiet and stern, Mr. Gray commanded, "Open your eyes. Now. Or does my precious little faggy bitch want to feel more pain? Does he?"
Not being one to disobey his father, Zane snapped open his eyes immediately. Not that it helped at all. Mr. Gray had trained to be a boxer for three years in college, and boy, did it ever show when he began landing blows on Zane's pale, scrunched in pain face. That only egged the insane father on further. Blow after blow after blow. Blood dribbled from Zane's nose and his head felt like it had been hacked apart with a dull axe. He was surprised when the blows suddenly stopped, but was instantly filled with cold, stabbing dread when he saw that his father was bearing down on him with the whip in his hand, a wild grin plastered on his face. 'Oh god no......' Zane thought desperately. The whip was hell in leather form. For weeks after the last time he'd been whipped, Zane could barely walk. And now he was going to have to start all over again.
The whip made a high pitched whistling sound as it sliced through the air. It was impossible for Zane to not cry out when it bit into his flesh for the first time. The pain was worse than digging two knives into your wrists at the same time. It was like being sliced open with the sharpest samurai sword in the world.
It only took about fifteen lashes of the whip to drive Zane into semi consciousness. As he faded in between reality (aka, maddening pain)and his secret dream world (aka, impossible bliss and peacefulness), Zane was dragged unceremoniously into the master bedroom and thrown on the bed carelessly.
It took a minute or two for Mr. Gray to strip his son and handcuff him to the bed post, so Zane had a few seconds of "peace". In his head, he counted warily, '60,59,58,57,56,55,54,53,52,51,50......'. Soon enough, the torture will begin again.