The Maiden (The Cloister Trilogy 1)

He pulls them close, then positions them so they face each other. “Nothing is sweeter than the purest fruit.” With my father’s urging, the Maidens kiss. He watches for a while, then takes their hands and places them on each other. Before long, moans rise from their throats and they lay on the pillows, tangled in each other.

“At least we get some entertainment this time.” Noah sits back on his haunches when Dad isn’t looking.

Pleased with his work, my father moves to another set of Maidens and encourages the same behavior, even pushing one onto her back and urging the other to eat her out. I tense when he reaches for Delilah, pulling her into a sitting position. He kisses her forehead, then motions another Maiden over to her.

Everything inside me tenses as Delilah receives a kiss from another Maiden. My father moves along before urging them to baser acts, but Delilah allows the Maiden to lay her down, still kissing her, one of her hands roving across Delilah’s breasts. My cock becomes painfully hard as I imagine it’s me doing the exploring, the touching. I know how heavenly her skin feels, how soft her breasts are, the nipples perfect for biting. The other Maiden runs her hand through Delilah’s hair, and I want to yank the harpy away from my little lamb. But I can’t. Just as with everything else here, I’m forced to stay in line.

I watch them for ten more minutes until the other Maiden is pulled into a threesome and Delilah is left to herself on the pillows. Relief pulses through me, but it’s short-lived. These orgies are a weekly occurrence, and Delilah can’t escape every time. She’ll be drugged and defiled, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

She lies still for a moment, then cranes her neck until we make eye contact. I hold her there, as if my gaze is some sort of force, until her lashes fall and she tumbles into sleep.

The scene continues for another hour, until my father wants their attention back on him. He calls them up to his throne so he can prey on each Maiden individually. I’m relieved when he doesn’t give Delilah any special attention. It just means he hasn’t noticed that this one is different to me. If he ever did … I decide to save those violent thoughts for later.

When each one of the Maidens is looking at my father with dreamy eyes, seeing the Prophet instead of the man, he is satisfied and allows them to return to the Cloister. It’s genius, really. Ensure that the Spinners and the Protectors abuse them every waking moment, then bring them to the Temple where the Prophet offers food, love, and empty promises that sound filled to the brim with hope and solid as a block of granite.

“Grace, I’d like to meet with Sarah alone,” he calls as the women are exiting.

“Yes, Prophet.” A smirking Grace pulls Sarah aside.

The girl is still in the warm bubble of the drug, her limbs heavy as Grace walks her back to my father.

I don’t close my eyes. It would be so easy to do just that. But I don’t. Because I’m here, and I’m not going to do a thing to stop what’s about to happen. I deserve to see it, to hear it, to fucking feel it deep in my gut—the wrongness of it.

My father pushes the girl onto the pillows on her stomach. I can’t see her face, but I watch her anyway. Because it’s what I deserve. Grace stands just in front of her, ready to grab her if need be. He pulls her hips up to him.

When she cries out in pain, I keep watching. Grace grabs her hair and shoves her back, keeping her still while my father ruts on her like a goddamn beast. I keep watching. When he finishes, stands, and then kicks her in the stomach, I keep watching. When he spits on her, I keep watching.

“You are nothing but a filthy whore. All women are. You don’t say no to your Prophet. You do what I say, when I say it. Perfect obedience to me is the only way a bitch like you can get into heaven. You will obey, or you will burn.”

Already in the fetal position, she doesn’t say anything. But she knows what just happened to her. The same way I do.

I am tainted by her violation, and I feel it. Another stain on my soul. Another reason to hate my father.

“And you.” He turns to me, his robe still in disarray. “I’m not done. Your willfulness has guaranteed that I pay your mother a visit this evening.”

“Dad, please—” Noah tries to get to his feet.

“Sit down!” His voice thunders around the room. “I will do what I must to keep this ministry alive. To keep my oaths to God and the Father of Fire. You will obey me, damn you!”