Soldier of Satan - Part 15 - The Paramour

Bailey Kretsch narrowed his eyes in disgust at Stanleigh and Katie. "What's going on in here?" he demanded angrily.

Stanleigh and Katie stood quickly, both of their eyes wide with fright. His hands gripped her cold ones tightly. He could feel them trembling in his own clammy ones. Bailey stood intimidatingly in the doorway, his face red with anger, his eyes bloodshot as if he'd been drinking.

"Are you trying to seduce that girl, you paramour?" Bailey growled.

"No," Stanleigh whispered.

"You might want to go home," he suggested in a low, angry tone, directed towards Katie.

She nodded quickly. Without another word, she slid past Bailey as stealthy as a panther. The man stepped aside to make room for her. With his head out the door, he watched her run down the corridor and thunder down the steps. When he was sure she was gone, he turned towards his son and stepped into the room, slamming the door loudly behind him. He leaned against a wall, his arms crossed together over his chest.

"What was really going on in here, young man?" Bailey inquired.

"Her boyfriend's mean to her. I was making her feel better." Stanleigh's lips trembled as they tried to form words of defense. He could feel vomit rising in the back of his throat. Grimacing, he swallowed it down, knowing that he couldn't get sick all over the place. Bailey would beat him bloody.

"You can't give her comfort. You're going to be a male whore. Look at how you're dressed!" Bailey bellowed, pointing at Stanleigh's attire.

Stanleigh pursed his lips, wishing he had the guts to contradict the man. He fingered the pentacle hanging around his neck, praying within his mind for the gods and goddesses to help him. He closed his eyes to shut away the glare on his father's face.

"Tell me what you were planning on doing," Bailey snarled.

"Nothing!"

"You were leaning to kiss her, Liar!" Bailey stepped forward, his heavy footsteps enough to make the floor quake slightly. Stanleigh wrapped his arms around his thin body, shivering. Goose pimples formed all over his arms.

Bailey grabbed his son by the shoulders and gave him a rough shake. "Tell me what you were going to do with that girl! I know you were going to lose your innocense with her if it hadn't been for my concern!" he shouted.

"I wasn't going to do anything!" Stanleigh kept his eyes squeezed together tightly. He knew it was a mistake to say anything to challenge the man.

Bailey's hand rocketed against Stanleigh's face brutally, sending the young man reeling. He grabbed the bed post to keep from falling over. He gripped it tightly, panting.

"You're going to be a male whore! If I catch you doing anything else sexual again, I will turn you out onto the streets with no money! You're going to learn what it's like to have a really rough life!" Bailey bellowed. He ripped Stanleigh away from the bedpost and tossed him onto the giant bed.

Before Stanleigh could attempt to get away from his father, the man yanked down his pants and underwear. He bit down hard on his lower lip so that it bled slightly. Bailey, in the meantime, pulled a belt from the top drawer of Stanleigh's dresser.

"You are worthless, a paramour, a sinner! And you are going to learn something that you should have learned long ago," Bailey growled. He raised the belt high above his head and brought it down upon the young man's bare rear end with brutal force. The leather bit into his flesh like a thousand nails.

Stanleigh pressed his face against one of his decorative pillows to smother his cries. Bailey didn't care how badly he hurt him; he continuously hit him until he had eighteen lashes on his bare flesh. One for every year he's been alive. By the time Bailey quit beating him, the welts and bruises formed quickly, some even bleeding. Bailey stood over his son and pointed his thick finger in his face. "Remember, one word of this to anybody and you're dead," Bailey threatened.

Stanleigh nodded, gasping for air like a fish out of water. Tears ran down his cheeks. Bailey nodded in satisfaction. "All right. Get ready for bed. We have to get to church early tomorrow morning."

When Bailey shut the door behind him, Stanleigh staggered out of bed and kicked off his pants. He painfully pulled up his underwear, keeping them on despite the pain of them rubbing against his sores.

Laying on his stomach, he reached into the drawer of his bedside table, where there was a single picture of his dead mother. All the pictures of her had been stuffed into the attic except for the one he held in his hands now. Almost calm, he ran his fingers over her features, realizing how much he looked like his mother. If he looked anything like his father, he didn't notice it, nor did anybody else for that matter. He sighed and kissed his mother's picture. "Good night, Mother," he whispered before putting it back in the drawer.

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