Page 11 of Warrior

They are the authority.

She said last week to ask girls in the outside world, as if it’s so far removed from her.

And in a way… I suppose it is.

“Makes them feel lust and desire,” my father answers. “Easier to work with a girl desperate to be fucked, especially in that place. It works on the boys, too.”

I tense to keep from shuddering.

“This will be your last time,” he adds. “You’re proving disappointingly plain, and it’s not worth our time waiting to see what will come out with comfort, as I suspect that is what’s happening.”

They sent me a video on bondage, but I could barely get through it. She’s already so restrained—mentally—why would I add more? There were videos on knives and blood, hot wax, whips. My stomach turned at all of them.

So maybe I am plain.

“Do something that makes your heart race,” he says. “I don’t care if they fine me for it.”

I nod, swallowing harder.

We arrive in Sterling Falls, take the blacked-out car to Terror, and enter the familiar doorway. Down to the amphitheater, where our seats await. I don’t know how much money my father has spilled into this place, but every low ding of an incoming bid from other parties makes me nauseated.

The golden girl steps through, and I nod at my father.

He appraises me, but he doesn’t reach for the button.

Someone else bids on her. I stare at him, waiting, but he doesn’t push it. He sits back and watches me, a slight smile on his face.

Not a smile—a sneer.

He bids on one at random. I don’t look away from him, like this is a test, and when he wins, we’re shuffled off to the room.

My nerves buzz, my whole body vibrating with anger.

The girl enters, desperation already crowding me. She pulls at my clothes, the waistband of my jeans, and manages to undothe button fast. She shoves them down and opens her mouth, taking my dick in.

I’m not hard.

My father watches from the corner, his expression severe.

My cock twitches, but it fails to stiffen.

“Do something,” my father snarls. “Something you think you’ll regret.”

I slide my fingers into her hair and tighten my hold. She’s fingering herself, too, at my feet. I drag her mouth off of me, practically throwing her back.

She moans and spreads her legs. Her fingers are slick with arousal, and she doesn’t stop touching herself. Not even when I stare down at her, disgust curling my lip.

Do something I think I’ll regret?

I face my father, then shake my head. I leave the room and storm down the dark hallway. This level, one above where they hold the bids, is lush. Velvets and heavy draped fabric to mute the noises, soundproofed rooms.

I peer into each until I find her, and I shoulder my way in.

The scene that fills my vision is awful. My golden girl is in a similar position as the one I just left, on her knees with a cock in her mouth. But her nose is pressed to his groin, and she makes a choking noise.

Drool runs past her lips.

No.

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