The gush of blood that now drenched my bottom half felt hot and sticky, filling the hollow of the bed. I screamed again, faintly aware of my father’s moans of ecstasy from his vantage point. The pain was excruciatingly fierce, like teeth made of barbed wire that were now tearing through the flesh of my dick with determined conviction. I was about to scream again, but then a voice interrupted my thoughts, sounding warm and soothing.
“Hush, Harry. Eddie, it’ll be OK.” It whispered to us with slow words and a loving tone. What struck me as odd though, even thinking about it now, is that unlike Eddie, this voice just appeared out of thin air. With Eddie, I always had a sense of him being there, although never hearing from him till the day he spoke aloud. But this voice came suddenly and without any warning, as if it had just materialized in my brain.
“Loui is here and that son of a bitch will pay for this. Loui will take care of you now.” I remember feeling a click in my head, almost like a click of fingers, and the pain simply vanished. I looked down and could see the remnants of my dick still vomiting blood onto the mattress. There were little stringy bits of meat or something, looking like a sausage that had burst its side. The whore was sitting up above me, her drunken eyes not really comprehending what she had done. My knob was mostly gone, the only evidence remaining of her evil act being a thin film of blood trickling down her chin. I don’t know whether she swallowed it or whether she spat it across the room, but I never saw that piece of gristle again.
Chapter 3
1.
The horror of that day didn’t end there for me. My father and his whore kept me tied to that bed for 2 fucken days, James. They doused what remained of my dick with whiskey and tried to bandage it up. And all the time, Loui was in my mind, telling me of all the wonderful ways he was going to fix things.
2.
My father didn’t come the third day, Greta eventually untying me after bringing some breakfast. It wasn’t much, but to her credit, actually apologised for her act. Can you believe that? The slut chewed my knob off, then apologised as if she simply bumped into me.
Her eyes were incredibly bloodshot and she sat and stared as I finished the plate of beans. There were no words between us, just a silence that both of us seemed to be thankful for. When I was done, she took the plate and left the room, locking the door.
It seemed as if they had done this thing to me, and now didn’t know how to proceed. I was a prisoner in a whore’s house, with no idea of where my father was. But there was something very different now. And I’m not talking about a part of my anatomy missing.
It was the new voice. There was something cold about it, colder than anything I had ever experienced. I knew anger. I knew exactly how intense some of my rage was. But this was different. Loui had a presence that chilled even me. I would hear him pacing around my mind, the situation we were caught in eating away at him.
I would hear him grunt in disgust whenever the whore came into the room. One time she came to replenish the jug of water. I saw her hands shaking as she set the fresh one down beside the bed. The worry in her face was real and I knew that she was scared.
The burning in my pants wouldn’t let up, the hole that she’d ripped into me feeling like a flame-pit. But it was the burning in my brain that concerned me. That cold voice growing louder with its growling. Loui was waiting; waiting to do what he did best.
3.
I saw the light begin to fade as another day slowly wound down towards nightfall. I wasn’t sure whether my father was going to return that day or whether he’d decided to ignore me completely.
I sat on the bed with my back against the wall, my feet dangling over the edge. There was nothing to do but wait for someone to let me go, hoping for it to happen sooner rather than later. But while patience wasn’t one of my virtues, it was even less to Loui.
There was no patience when it came to him. Each time the whore had entered the room, I felt Loui try and take over by pushing me aside. They weren’t strong attempts, though. I think what Loui was doing, was testing the waters. He wanted to see how much I’d resist.
But then he surprised me, in a way that I eventually was grateful for. It happened when Greta brought me another plate of beans, as if those fucken things were going to make things better.
I heard the door lock snap, saw the handle turn and then her ugly face slowly peer through the open crack.
“Wasn’t sure you were still awake,” she said, forcing a half grin. “Hungry?” she asked, holding another plate up. On that account she was right, I was hungry. Starving, actually.
I just nodded at her, watching as she considered me, then slowly stepped through the doorway. I could hear distant voices, but they sounded somewhere outside this home, maybe in one of the adjoining ones.
She held the plate out to me with a trembling hand, its edges fluttering up and down as she stared at me.
“I’m sorry. It’s just beans again. I don’t have –“ but she never finished her sentence.
“Fuck your beans,” a voice suddenly said from behind me and before I realised where it came from, my hand which had been reaching for the plate, suddenly shot past it and
