Chapter 1 The Father
"Father!" I yell from the top of the long, spiral stair case as I desperately try to get a response. The idea of going to an auction center to buy a slave I don’t want is bad enough but to do it at this time of day is far too much to ask of me. Five in the morning is far too early to be awake, but my father insisted I be up. He said there was a lot I must do today, beginning with picking out a slave from the auction center. Although I would much rather be in my bed sleeping, I know better than to defy my father. The almighty, the man in charge and Satan forbid you treat him as anything different. He’s the only living thing I’ve ever been truly scared of. I get sick just thinking about him and it doesn’t help that he’s quite literally the most powerful person in the universe. Well, the most powerful vampire.
My father is the King of all the Vampires. Which makes me the Prince and being that I am the eldest son, I am also the heir to the throne. So when father dies, if , he dies I’ll become the King. No pressure though, right? On top of that burden, now I have to get a slave that I have no need for, use for, or want for. I learned my lesson already, I don’t do well in charge of lives. However, my father disagrees and refuses to acknowledge my pleads to not get one.
My father is under the impression that, if an when I take over as the King of all Vampires, I will need a slave. A slave to take my anger out on, my sexual frustration, and someone to take care of me. Although I can have literally anyone I want, can hurt whomever I want, and have a house full of servants to care for me. Any time I have asked him not to make me he shuts me up with a quick punch to face and goes about his day as if nothing happened. So even though I truly don’t want a slave, I'll chose one because I'm told to and he is very clearly in charge. Besides not wanting a slave, my main problem with the whole situation is the fact that I am being woken up before eight in the morning to get a slave. A slave I do not want.
"Father!!" I yell again, this time a bit louder and with a slight attitude. Truly I’m getting slightly annoyed, I just want to ask him if I need to bring a leash with for the slave and he is still not responding. I hate being ignored and I am sure he could hear me. Sadly, I was right. My father heard me both times. Unluckily for me he also heard the attitude in my last attempt to get his attention. To my complete and utter dismay, it sends my father into a bit of an uproar. I hear his voice come back up the stairs filled with an undying rage.
“What was that?” He screams as I hear his foot steps approaching the stair case. Fuck.
“Nothing! Nothing, Sir I just wanted to kn-“
“Silence!” He screams interrupting my failed attempt to explain the situation. Within a blink of an eye he is running up He is running up the stair case so fast I do not even have a time to move let alone run from his rage. He quickly grabs me by the throat as he slowly pushes me back against the wall. “I said, What Was That?!? I don't think I heard you quite right!" He yells in my ear, making it ring. I am unsure if it is because of my intensified senses, his close proximity, or just because of his incredibly loud tone but each word he speaks becomes increasingly painful. I try to inch away from his mouth but I can’t get very far with his body pressing me into the wall and his throat firmly holding me by the neck.
"N-nothing, Sir..." I whisper quietly, as he tightens his grip around my neck. Usually calling him Sir, makes him happy. Luckily for me, it seems to calm him a bit and I feel the grip he has in my throat loosen.
I am a terrific fighter; I’ve been through a significant amount of training thanks to my father’s obsessive need to be better than everyone and have better things than everyone - including a better family. However, thankfully because of the intensive training I can beat anyone in a fight, aside from my father. This is a fact that has haunted and enraged me for many years. The very few times I found myself willing to fight back against my father’s abuse, I didn’t even hurt him let alone stop it. All I did was add fuel to the fire so to speak. Thanks to my inability to beat my father I am forced to submit myself to him so he doesn’t get too mad one day and completely take me out.
"Boy!” He says with a hard punch to my stomach.
“Yes Sir!” I say as I take in a deep breath trying to collect myself as he had knocked the wind out of me.
“I’m talking to you here, you useless piece of shit. I thought you knew your place better than this boy! I thought you were trained better than this! That’s my mistake. My mistake thinking that you could go one day without fucking it, without being completely useless." My father screams, his pent up rage not subsiding as he continues to let a deafening scream in my ear. "Do you need a lesson in where your place is?!?" He practically growls in my ear, as my heart begins to race. Not again, please. I beg inwardly, not again. I am too focused on trying to control my breathing and not enough on his words. The question he asks goes unsanwered for too long a time and his grip tightens on my throat leaving me little ability to breathe. He pulls me away from the wall by my throat before slamming me back against it. “Well, do you?! Do you need a lesson to be reminded where your place is?” He screams in my ear once more.
"No Sir." I choke out as his grip around my throat loosens and he allows me to drop to my knees on the floor in front of him. I hate how weak and pathetic I am whenever he is around.
"You need to watch that attitude of yours, or I swear to Lucifer I will bend you over the couch and take my belt to you boy." He says, clearly agitated. "Is that understood?"
"Yes, Sir." I say as I rub my throat, certain it’s bruised as I unwillingly flinch at the pain of it. He offers me his hand, although I know it’s more of a command than an actual offer, to pull me up. Defeated I accept his hand to lift me up, the same hand that was just choking the life out of me.
I believe the only good quality, if you can even call it that, about my father is that although he is quick to become angry he also is able to calm down quickly he feels as though he was understood and respected.
"We leave in thirty minutes, young man. You best be ready." My father says sternly as usual ignoring what has just happened. He looks at me for a moment before giving me a slight nod in the direction of my room, allowing me to leave his presence. As soon as I see that I'm allowed to leave, I turn on my heels and bolt to my room. No longer interested in talking to him. In truth I forget why I was calling his name in the first place. I hate the effect he has on me. Every time he is around I turn into that scared little boy again.
After practically running to my room I slam my door shut, which results in my father yelling up to me to keep the racket down or something like that. I am unsure of exactly what he said. I tend to tune him out when he is yelling, especially when the yelling is directed towards me. Even though I don’t want to listen I notice how I am already being more quiet than before. “Why am I so fucking scared of him? I’m a grown fucking man.” I yell to myself only to receive a deep laugh for my father downstairs. I want to scream. I grab my clothing for the day and attempt to shrug my father’s laughing off as I walk into my bathroom with my clothes for the day in hand. After setting my clothes down on the sink counter I take off my sweatpants as I begin to strip. Once completely naked I begin fiddling with the water faucet, to make sure the temperature is just right, then I hop in.
Lately, I have been neglecting my personal hygiene. This is my first shower in...at least a few weeks. Honestly though, it is not that bad. I mean. It isn't like I sweat... I mean I don't really need to shower, although my father insists I do. No, not thinning of that man. Regardless, this is the first shower in a long while and it feels simply delightful. The warm jets of the shower spray over my ice cold skin and it sends shivers down my spine. I get so lost in something so simple. The warmth of my shower embraces me, as if I am receiving a warm loving hug from a mother I never quite got to enjoy. It is so very calmin-.
My thoughts are interrupted by my father banging on the bathroom door. Fuck, he’s in my room. How didn’t I hear him? “I said thirty minutes! Not sixty! Get your ass out here, boy!" He yells causing my body to involuntarily tense; I quickly cut my shower time short, even though I hadn't even put the conditioner into my light brown hair. It couldn’t have been an hour yet, could it? Either way, he appears to believe it was so I have to hurry.
I don’t bother drying myself off. So I begin putting on my clothes while still wet is easier said then done, but I manage as I ruffle my thick brown hair dry. After taking a deep breath I turn my door knob open and brace myself for the impact of my father's rough fist, leather belt, vile words...something; however, the impact I am so worriedly expecting does not come.
I quickly realize I had clamped my eyes shut in the suspense of being punched. Once they are opened and I look around, I quickly see my father sitting on my bed. As I go to open my mouth to apologize to my father he rushes towards me, grabbing my ear as he drags me down the long spiral staircase. When we reach the bottom he leads me to the living room, sits on the couch, and with one violent tug he has me bent over his lap.
"Father," I say in the most calm of a voice that I can possibly muster at this point. "I apologize...please stop Sir." My father's fingers gradually slide through to my pants loop and he gently tugs them down. God...not again. Please. I can’t handle it again. He promised, not anymore. My body is rigid as I feel his cold fingers at the back of my underwear, slowly pulling them off along with my jeans. "Father. Please...not again. Please, Sir."
Father's hand grabs a handful of my right bare ass cheek tightly. He uses the other hand to rub gentle swirls on my left cheek. "You love it, don't you boy?"
"You love it, don't you boy?" The words ring in my head as I remember the last time this happened. Before mother died, when he would come in my room at night his breath wreaking of vodka and rum. As he shoves his cock deep into my asshole once again. With each thrust screaming "you love it...don't you boy?" I can feel the pain of each thrust as if it is happening I know.
I let out a small whimper at the painful traumatic memories and once again I begin to beg as I did when I was a child to half whisper half scream. So I wouldn’t wake mom up. He was very adamant about her not being woken up, I’ve never truly understood why though she knew exactly what was happening each night he came to my room.
"N-no Father..." His hand makes hard contact with my bare flesh, but I can hardly feel it. My mind is far too focused on how his hand rubs my cheek, as it did when I was a young child. Always to weak to stop him. Whether I am six or twenty four the response is always the same. Fear. Weakness. Rage.
"You LIKE this. Don't you?" He asks yet again. While his hand goes along my butt crack and stops right behind my hole.
"Say you fucking like it, boy!" Father yells as he shoves his finger in my butt hole and starts pumping quickly. Hitting my prostate each time. I whimper and squirm slightly, but stop myself. Control yourself, I remind myself. I stop fighting and lay limp as I decide to just take it. "Say you like it and it'll stop!" He yells but I refuse to reply. I try to sit up but I only manage to kick him in the jaw. Although not my intent I consider the kick a success but I am disappointed that he still manages to keep me pinned under him.
Enraged that I would have the audacity to kick him, Father picks me up and lays me down on the couch so my ass is sticking up. I shut my eyes tight as I hear his pants drop and feel him hover over me. H - he promised. I try to tell myself but as his member lines up with my puckering hole I know he didn’t mean it. "S-Sir." I mumble, pathetically as one last attempt to stop what’s to come. “I apologize, p-please forgive me Father."
Father pulls away from me and stands up as he slowly pulls his black pants up and buttons them. “Good begging, boy."
"W-what?" I ask him, completely dumb founded as I lay over the couch trying to figure out what is happening. "Were you scared?" Father askes as I learn that I am safe today from his perverted ways. I quickly stand up, balling my fists in a blind fury.
"I was...I admit. Now I am just really pissed and confused." I shout at him, which earns me a hard slap to the face.
One of which I quickly return to his face. I am too angry for fear. He brought back those traumatic childhood memories that took so long to repress. My fear has been replaced by rage I feel no remorse for hitting my own father and in some strange way he seems okay with me slapping him back. Almost proud, even.
As if I hadn’t just slapped him in the face he begins to calmly explain to me that: "I promised your mother, on her death bed, that I would never do that to you again. I would not break that promise, but you are weak son. This anger that you are feeling. You need to control this feeling and direct it towards the slave you get today. Is that understood? If you don’t you will lash out and be an awful king. You need a certain someone to lash out on otherwise you will lash out on the entire kingdom.”
"What the actual fuck? You did all of this for a fucking test! I obey you all the time. You could have just told me to be harsh with my slave!" I scream in angrily.
“Do NOT raise your voice at me." He says sternly as he throws a hard punch to my stomach causing me to topple over and clutch myself. The only reply I can muster at this point is an exasperated sigh and he shakes his head at me. "Are you ready now? If so let's go. If not meet me in the car," he says as he walks over my body and heads to the garage where his bright red Mercedes Benz is parked.
After pulling myself up from the floor I get my shoes and socks on before I walk out to the car and get in the passenger seat.
Without a word, Father starts the car and we begin the half hour or so drive to the auction house.
Even the air we breath feels tense and heavy, as I sit in the passenger seat all I can think of is how terrible this day is going to be. It’s barely about to be seven in the morning and I have a busted lip, black eye, and quite possibly a broken rib. Luckily I don’t have to worry too much. My body is already healing myself it won’t be very long at all until I’m fine again.
After finally arriving at the auction my father and I take a seat in his usual spot. Right in the front, it makes sense to me that my father would have a front row seat to something like this. I sigh in a whiny matter and my father places a hand on my knee squeezing it until it feels like he might break it. I hold my pain in but it takes all of my energy to keep from screaming. He thinks to himself that I need to stop being disrespectful and enjoy myself. Since he knows I can hear his thoughts I assume he understands that I will hear the message. I nod a bit to let him know I understand and look down submissively, moments later the pain stops. I look onto the stage and am very uninterested in what I see. Looks like I was right, this is going to be a terrible day. I think to myself as I cross my arms and lean back into my chair.
Fuck me, this is going to be a long fucking day. I think to myself as I make sure to keep my eyes to the stage to avoid my father’s rage from coming out in public.
“Be careful of who you pick,” my father says in my ear. “She’ll be in our house and family for a very long time, she better be nice to look at.”
Great, she... “Yes, Sir.” Is all that I have to say as they begin to showcase the slave girls.
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