by Athan, Jon
Calvin held the underwear to his nose and closed his eyes, then he took a big whiff. The thong was clean, recently washed, but a part of him believed he could still catch a whiff of his sister's womanly scent. The scent was minuscule, but he was convinced it was there – the scent of a woman. The aroma caused him to shudder. He gently rubbed his crotch over his jeans.
Calvin opened his eyes and said, “No. Stop it.”
He put the thong back into the drawer and shook his head, disgusted by his own actions. He grimaced, trying to stop himself from crying. He rummaged through the other drawers, shuffling through socks, shirts, and pajamas – but to no avail. He couldn't find any household contraband. He closed the last drawer, then he sat on the edge of the bed.
He whispered, “Why did I do that? What am I doing here? I... I shouldn't have done that. I'm so stupid.” He stared at the door and clenched his jaw, anxious. He said, “I'm sorry, Ashley. I didn't mean to look at your... stuff. Don't tell anyone.”
The young teenager felt guilty about his peculiar whiffing. An impulsive decision caused his confidence to dwindle. He glanced around the room, hoping to find some sort of secret compartment – a loose floorboard to hide a stash of cash, like the ones he had seen in the movies. His eyes stopped at the dresser.
The drawers were not his concern, though. He could see a white pack of cigarettes wedged in the narrow space behind the dresser. His father had been complaining about the stench of cigarette smoke in the house – and he finally found the source.
Calvin whispered, “She smokes... She really smokes...”
He grabbed the pack of cigarettes, then he returned to the bed. He stared at the cigarettes with an expression of disappointment – a frown and a set of glum eyes. Unlike some of his impressionable peers, he did not think smoking was cool. He disliked the smell, he feared the smoker's cough, and he worried about the health issues caused by tobacco.
He wagged the pack of cigarettes and nodded as a burst of confidence surged through him. He agreed with his parents – but for a different reason. He wasn't looking for the perfect family, he didn't care about his sister's snobby attitude. He wanted Ashley to be disciplined so she could be saved. He didn't want to lose her to cancer.
He placed the pack of cigarettes on top of the condoms – another piece of evidence.
Calvin returned to the bed and opened the small drawer on the nightstand. He found an MP3 player, tangled headphones, crumpled sheets of paper, and a pack of bubblegum. A plastic card stood on the side of the drawer, blending with the white interior. He pulled the card out of the drawer and examined it. It was a California ID with her real image and an inaccurate birthday – a fake ID.
Calvin murmured, “She's been sneaking out, too. I knew it...” He placed the card on top of the pack of cigarettes. As he grabbed the evidence, satisfied with his search and ready to leave, he smiled and said, “You're in so much trouble, Ashley.”
The arrogant smile was wiped from his face as he reached the doorway. He stared at his bedroom across the hall, then at the staircase to his right. He bounced in place and gritted his teeth, anxious. He couldn't resist the allure of a woman. He had a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and he wasn't going to miss it.
Calvin placed the evidence beside the door in the hall, then he rushed back into Ashley's room. He opened the top-right drawer and grabbed the pink lace thong, his fingers trembling and his heart pounding uncontrollably. He ran back into the hallway and skidded to a stop. He glanced over at the stairs – the coast was still clear.
The curious youngster jogged into his bedroom. He approached his bed and grabbed his pillow, then he hid Ashley's thong in his pillowcase. He had thought about stealing his sister's underwear before – especially whenever he encountered her thongs in the bathroom – so he had already planned the perfect hiding space.
No one would ever suspect the pillowcase.
He inhaled deeply and tried to compose himself – trying to contain his excitement. He planned on 'exploring' his sexuality with the underwear. He knew it was wrong, but he could not defeat his urges. Curiosity got the best of him.
He returned to the hallway and gathered the evidence. He took another deep breath and tried to act natural. He walked down the stairs – ashamed and aroused.
Chapter Eight
A Generation of Abuse
“Do you understand the concept of 'discipline?' Hmm?” Logan asked as he leaned on the workbench. Ashley responded with a scowl – furious eyes and a curled lip. Logan said, “I emphasize 'discipline' because that's what it is. You, and people like you, mistake it for abuse. That's wrong. Abuse is when you're purposely trying to hurt someone without a justifiable reason, discipline is when you're hurting someone to teach them. You understand the difference, don't you?”
Ashley clenched her jaw as she breathed deeply through her nose. Her father had just started talking and she was already annoyed. She couldn't stand his self-righteous persona. She glanced over at her mother, who sat on the laundry machine and watched the confrontation as if she were watching a soap opera.
Logan continued, “Discipline has been used for ages to correct poor behavior. My parents disciplined me, my grandparents disciplined my parents, and so on. It's a generational thing – and it always worked.”
“Generational,” Ashley repeated in disbelief, dismayed. “You come from a generation of abuse, that doesn't mean it has to be hereditary. You don't have to pass it down and make things worse for your kids. Just 'cause it happened to you, that doesn't mean it has to happen to us.”
“But, it does. That's exactly what it means. You see, I'm not an animal like you and your generation because I was disciplined. Your mother is not a whore like you and your generation because she was disciplined. We were taught to respect authority and that's what it's all about. You are disciplined to respect authority, to put you in your place. You need to understand that before we proceed. We're not doing this to hurt you, we're doing this to save you.”
“Please! You knocked me out and tied me up like if you were some sort of pervert. That's how you 'save' people? That's bullshit. You're just a power-hungry asshole who can't stand being wrong. You damn cuck...”
Logan stared at his daughter with a deadpan expression, analyzing every crease on Ashley's face. He chuckled and shook his head. Jane covered her mouth and softly giggled. The laughter would have been normal under any other circumstance, but it was eerie in the dungeon. Ashley was tied to the support beam, but her parents were still able to laugh.
“Cuck. That's the word of the year on the internet, right? Cuck... That's short for cuckold, isn't it?” Logan asked with a smile, unperturbed. He glanced at his wife and asked, “You didn't 'cuck' me, did you, sweetie?”
Jane blushed and said, “No. Of course not. I'm not sure where she gets these crazy ideas. Drugs? Alcohol?”
“We'll find out soon enough. In the meantime, we'll just have to knock some sense into her, won't we? Yeah, some discipline should fix her right up.”
Logan glared at Ashley as he slowly removed his belt. He held the belt over his shoulder, then he whipped the floor – like an action star in a Western blockbuster. The sound of the leather belt slapping the concrete was unnerving, causing his daughter to shudder. He folded the belt in half, then he whipped the air. The fast whipping caused a loud whooshing sound to echo through the room.
Ashley closed her eyes and winced with each whipping. The belt hadn't even touched her, but she could already feel the pain. She endured a whipping when she was a child, before the politically-correct crowd put everyone and everything under a microscope. She didn't want to feel that pain again.
As tears streamed down her cheeks, Ashley said, “Don't do this. I'll call the police if you hit me. You hear me, you psycho? I'll tell them everything. I'll testify in court, I'll... I'll do everything to get you locked up. You'll never get out of jail, I swear.”
Logan shook his head and said, “Stop it. You're not scaring me, Ashley. I mean
, think about it, sweetie. Think for once in your life. How the hell are you going to call the police without a phone? Huh? How are you going to testify in court when you're stuck down here.”
“I–I'll scream. I'll scream and someone will hear me. They'll... They'll call the cops and you'll get arrested. You'll end up all over the news and they'll put you in jail. Do you know what they do to child abusers in jail? Do you? They'll rape you, dad. I don't know, maybe you'd like that...”
Logan chuckled, scoffing at the threat and shrugging off the blatant insult. He appeared delirious, lost in his joy. Ashley watched her father with narrowed eyes, baffled. She couldn't tell if her father was insane or evil – or both.
Logan grabbed a fistful of Ashley's hair and pulled her head forward. As she squirmed and whimpered, he leaned closer to her ear and whispered, “First of all, you're not a damn child anymore. You're practically an adult. Secondly, rape in prison is reserved for pedophiles and rapists. I wouldn't stick my cock anywhere near you, you stupid cunt.”
“Why are... Why... Why are you talking to me like that?” Ashley asked, struggling to form a coherent sentence.
She grimaced and sobbed, appalled by her father's vile words and actions. She knew her father was a mean person, a pseudo-gentleman, but she never anticipated such brutality from him. She glanced every which way, searching for a glimmer of hope in the dungeon, but to no avail. She hoped to awaken from a nightmare, but she remained restrained to the support beam.
For the first time in her short life, she believed she was going to die – and she was terrified.
***
Logan whipped the folded belt near Ashley's ear, purposely trying to frighten her. He lashed the belt closer to his daughter's ear with each strike. The grin on his face, like the smile of a devious child secretly opening gifts before Christmas, was eerie. He was clearly enjoying the mental torture at his daughter's expense.
Ashley simply closed her eyes and looked away, unable to tolerate the tension. She didn't have any other options.
Logan said, “Enough games...”
Without opening her eyes, Ashley said, “Wait. Please, don't–”
Logan gritted his teeth and whipped Ashley. The folded belt thudded as it hit her chest, directly above her right breast. Ashley yelped with the impact. Her shirt minimized some of the pain, but it still hurt.
Logan shouted, “How do you like that?!”
He held the folded belt over his head, then he struck down at her chest again. He did not waste time, either. One after another, he immediately lashed her five times on the same breast. Ashley cried and screamed with each brutal hit, but to no avail. Her pleas for mercy could not derail her father's warpath.
Sweat streaming down his brow and neck, Logan tossed the belt on the ground and approached his daughter. He began unfastening the buttons on her shirt.
As her father fiddled with her shirt, Ashley stuttered, “Wha–What are you doing?” The man did not stop. Saliva dripping from her mouth due to her hysterical crying, Ashley shouted, “Get your hands off of me, psycho! You sick pervert!”
Logan tugged on the rope, leaving enough room to adjust her shirt. He shoved the shirt aside, revealing her daughter's gray brassiere. He didn't leer at her perky breasts, though. He noticed the faint red marks on her chest. The markings were not enough. He wanted to severely injure her. He grabbed the belt from the floor and folded it, never taking his eyes off of her bare chest.
Realizing her father's intentions, Ashley shook her head and pleaded, “Please, don't do this. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”
Of course, Logan disregarded his daughter's pleas. He repeatedly lashed her bare chest – one, two, three... ten times.
As the whipping occurred, Ashley swayed her head every which way and yelled, “Stop! Please, stop it! I'm... I'm sorry! Daddy, please!” Her father was not persuaded. She glanced at her mother and, in a cracking voice, she shouted, “Mo–Mom! I'm sorry! Mommy... please...”
Each strike echoed through the room, reverberating with Ashley's bellows. Each strike left a dark red imprint on her chest. Some of the marks were also purple and blue, preparing to bruise and swell. The stinging sensation she hoped to avoid – like alcohol being poured onto a fresh wound – surged across her body.
The young teenager felt pain – real pain.
Jane struggled to watch the abuse, especially when Ashley looked to her for help. Mothers were supposed to support their daughters, but she couldn't stop her husband. She closed her eyes and turned away. She couldn't block the noise, though. She heard her daughter's cries, she heard each dreadful strike.
Out of breath, Logan wagged the belt at his daughter and said, “I should have done this a long time ago, Ashley. I should have taught you these lessons when you were young, then maybe you would have turned out better. It's both of our faults. I'm ready to teach you now, though. It's not over, baby girl. I'm not finished.”
With bloodshot eyes and rosy cheeks, Ashley grimaced and said, “Please, stop it. I said I was sorry. I mean it. Please, daddy, stop... stop hitting me. Why are you doing this to me?”
“Stop with that 'daddy' bullshit. Do you think I'm stupid? Huh? One beating isn't going to change you. I know you're still rotten in the inside. I can see it in your eyes. Don't insult my intelligence, girl.”
“Please, daddy, I'm–”
“Stop it.”
Logan returned the belt to his waist, wrapping it around his trousers. He chuckled as he gazed into his daughter's eyes. Fear – unadulterated fear swelled in her moist eyes and he loved it. In order to instill a respect for authority in a subject, fear – conscious and subconscious – was necessary.
Logan glanced at his wife. With a wry smile on his face, he asked, “You want a turn?”
Jane stuttered, “N–No. I'm... I'm fine like this. Do... Do what you have to do. I won't stop you.”
“Okay, fine. I'll handle it.”
Logan turned around and approached the workbench. He shuffled through a cardboard box on the tabletop, rummaging through old household supplies. Ashley watched him from the support beam, trembling uncontrollably.
As he searched, Logan said, “This... This is something my mom used on me when I was growing up. It hurt like hell, but it set me straight. Whenever I did something wrong, this taught me a lesson. Believe me, this is going to help you get better.”
“I'm sorry. Don't do this.”
Logan emerged from the box with a wire hanger. The mere sight of the thin steel was daunting. Ashley shook her head and tried to squirm away, jerking every which way without reward. Her breathing intensified as her father approached.
Logan raised Ashley's skirt, rumpling the garment under the rope at her waist to reveal her thighs. He stopped tugging on the skirt before he could reveal her underwear. Ashley panted – practically hyperventilating – as she wiggled her legs. The tight rope barely allowed her to move, though.
Logan raised the hanger over the opposite shoulder, as if he were preparing a backhanded slap, then he struck down at Ashley's thigh. The wire hanger rattled as it collided with her bare leg. Ashley yelped and shuddered due to the stinging pain.
Logan struck her again on the same leg. The thin steel sliced her thigh, leaving a thin three-inch laceration on her leg. Again, it wasn't enough. Repetition taught obedience. So, he whipped her again thirteen times – counting each strike until he reached thirteen.
As if she were watching a horror movie, Jane held her hand over her eyes and trembled. She occasionally peeked at the abuse from the cracks between her fingers, but she could not stomach the violence. The blood streaming across her daughter's thigh caused her to wheeze and retch. She could see the skin around her cuts turning red – more bruises. The skin even peeled.
Jane coughed to clear her throat, then she said, “I... I think that's enough, sweetie.” Logan glanced at his wife, breathing heavily through his nose. Jane stuttered, “You–You made your point. You did it.”
Logan stepped back a
s he turned his attention to his daughter. He was caught off guard by the injuries he caused. The welts on her chest were blatant. The cuts and bruises on her thigh were grisly. And, he was barely getting started. His plans would take him to the darkest depths of depravity, but he knew he needed time to adapt.
She's right, he thought, that's enough for now. He pulled Ashley's shirt closer together to cover the bruises on her chest, but he did not fasten the buttons. He lowered her skirt, too. The skirt was long enough to cover the cuts on her upper thigh, but blood continued to stream down to her kneecap. A few droplets of blood even plopped on the concrete floor.
As her father stepped back, Ashley whimpered and said, “I'm sorry. I really am... but, you're wrong about this. You're really hurting me, dad. This isn't a joke. Please, just let me go. I won't tell anyone. Just stop it.”
Logan tossed the hanger on the workbench and said, “I told you: this is for your own good. I can see we're making some progress already, but it's not enough to fix years of bad behavior. We have to... to reverse your conditioning. An entitled mind can't be changed overnight.” He gently pinched Ashley's cheek and said, “I'll be back with the rest of your lessons later. We'll help you pee and... and handle your business later, too. Give us some time. I love you, sweetie. We love you.”
Ashley was shocked by her father's words. After a brutal beating, bruised by a belt and sliced by a wire hanger, the man had the audacity to claim he loved her. She was rendered speechless, incapable of screaming for help or even insulting the man. She could only watch as her parents trudged up the stairs, leaving her in the dreary dungeon by herself.
Chapter Nine
Contraband
