The Cult (working title)
Chapter One
Getting To Know You
He’d kept them waiting, but he was right on time.
The door closed behind him with a heavy click as he briskly strode to an oversized leather chair in the center of the otherwise spartan room. Around him —arranged in a haphazard arc— were a series of bean-bag chairs, and nestled within them —arranged in various states of anxiety— were a series of women.
He cleared his throat, mostly for effect. He already had their undivided attention.
“Good evening, ladies! And welcome to The Group,” he said, breaking what had been twenty minutes of awkward silence. There was a smile on his lips and in his eyes; the first for them and the second for him. “Kelly, kill the lights.”
Somewhere outside, the unseen Kelly did as she was told, and the room fell black. When he resumed speaking, it was as if his were the only voice left in the world.
“The dark,” he began, as he settled into his seat. He took a deep, comfortable breath. “It hides things; that’s the essence of its excellence. But it can also be revealing, if you know where and how to look.”
On cue, a projector activated at the back of the room. He casually plucked a pair of sunglasses from his pocket and placed them on his face as a montage of violent sexual imagery washed over him. A weeping drug addict with one man’s dick in her ass and another’s hand on her throat grimaced across his chest, while the tableau of a failed actress/singer/dancer being choked and degraded by an impractical penis graced his right shoulder. His face became a rapidly flashing mask of screaming, sobbing, sniveling girls; he literally smirked through their tears.
After a few moments, he continued.
“All of this… this theater,” he said, gesturing grandly and thus allowing a pair of brutal gang-bang scenes to play out upon his outstretched arms. “It’s just a brief, bright explosion at the end of a long countdown. It’s what happens when you’re all used up, like the fuel of a dying star.
“It’s scary, and powerful, and hotter than hell. And quite the spectacle.” There was a flash, and he was no longer adorned in porn. Instead, he was awash in a softly throbbing, blinding white light that made looking at him uncomfortable. “But it’s not the story.”
With that, the projector snapped off, and he slumped back in his chair.
“No, the story comes before the conflagration. And lives on long after.” They could hear him folding up the glasses and tucking them away, even as their eyes struggled to deal with the sudden transition. “The story is what you‘re living right now. It’s what you’re here to share. It’s what I’m here to put into words.
“Each of you is a thoughtful, intrepid young woman, trying to understand how she fits in a world that’s gone exquisitely, exhaustively wrong.” He laughed. “And each of you is also a pathetic, needy cunt, just looking for someone —anyone!— to teach her to see in the dark.”
He paused to consider the silence. “Relax, girls. It’s okay to breathe.” Someone giggled, setting off the rest. He allowed it to fade away naturally before he continued.
“Now, I know you’ve all been through orientation with my assistant Kelly— say hello, Kelly!” The lights flickered rapidly for a couple seconds, and two or three of the braver women laughed politely. “Kelly’s great, isn’t she? I don’t know if she mentioned it, but she started out just like you. She sat here with me, worrying about the decisions she’d made. Worrying that I would hurt her. Worrying that she might not want me to stop.
“She was right to worry,” he said, with what could only be described as predatory affection. “As are you all.
“But we’ll talk more about that later. Let’s do some introductions… Kelly, give me Jessica.” An unflattering spotlight burst to life above the young woman at the apex of the arc. “Ah, there you are, front and center! Ladies, say hello to Jessica!”
There was a murmured round of salutations.
“So, Jessie, just so everyone knows: you’re a virgin, right?”
Jessica’s face contorted in confusion, and she began sputtering. “N-no, I’m not— I’ve had plenty— you know, not a lot, but—!”
Still shrouded in darkness, one of the other women snorted dismissively. “He meant with The Group, stupid. You wouldn’t be here at all if you weren’t a slut.”
“Oh,” said Jessica. “I—”
“Was that Tara?” he interrupted. “Yes, of course it was. Funny you should say that, though, since it reminds me that you’re not a virgin… and yet you still spoke out of turn. I don’t need to tell you what comes next, do I, Tara?”
There was the sound of leather cushions relaxing, then footsteps in the darkness, followed by two sighs —one impatient, the other resigned— and the explosive crack of an open hand finding an unprotected face.
“Now, Jess,” he began, casually returning to his previous position and topic of discussion. “I believe you were telling us you’re a virgin.”
“I— yes. Yes, this is all new.” Her voice steadily fell as she spoke, reduced to a whisper at the end. “To me.”
“Of course it is,” he reassured her. “But don’t worry, we take good care of new girls here. Don’t we, everyone?”
A chorus of assent arose, absent a single voice.
“Don’t we, Tara?” It was strange, the way they all seemed to feel a stare they couldn’t see.
“We take care! We take great care!” came the hurt, hurried reply.
“You bet we do!” he said, his tone growing more cheerful. “So Jessie-love… before we go any further, is there anything you’d like us to know about you?”
“I— I don’t know.” She began to frown. “I just— I don’t know if this is all… if this is really for me.”
“Well, that’s a shame,” he said, sounding genuinely disappointed. When he resumed speaking, it was as if from a script. “But as everyone learns in orientation, we never want you to feel compelled to stay. The Group believes in the absolute right of each participant to walk out at any time. Nothing you see, hear, or experience in this room should in any way dissuade you from exercising the franchise of flight. At your request, a full refund of all fees and donations will be made available in the lobby. Shall I bring up the lights?”
Her frown deepened. “No. No. It’s not— look, I’m nervous, okay? And, I don’t know…”
“Please,” he offered. “Do go on.”
There was an extended pause as Jessica tapped her reserves of resolve.
“I understand,” she said, measuring her words carefully. “I get how this is supposed to… work, I guess. And I’m not judging anything going on here as, like, an observer… like, when you hit the other girl—”
“Tara,” he reminded her pleasantly.
“Sure, okay. Right. Tara.” His input seemed to arrest her momentum, but she quickly rallied. “I’m not shocked, and I’m not here to— to defend Tara, or whoever. That’s not it. There’s just little things —personal things— that are already pushing my buttons. Words you’re using that I— it sounds stupid when I start to say it aloud, but…”
“You should know it’s safe to sound stupid here, Jessie,” he said. A quiet, anonymous giggle floated by, it’s origin a few bean-bags away. He ignored it.
“There. That!” Jessica sat up as much as the seating would allow. “‘Jessie’ and ‘Jess’ and shit like that. I don’t— I’ve never liked people doing that to my name, and to be perfectly honest, I like it even less from you.”
After a moment of thoughtful silence, he approached her, towered over her for a moment, then squatted down and leaned into her space. He was bathed in her spotlight, but his face remained obscured in shadow.
“Here’s the thing, Jessica,” he said. “I have a policy that covers just this sort of thing, and having heard your concerns, I think I should spell it out for you. Sound good?”
He didn’t wait for an answer.
“I can explain it best with an example. Kelly, give me Tara.” The lights switched at his command, revealing his new point of interest. Suddenly exposed, Tara seemed to sink into her chair without moving a muscle, as if willing herself to invisibility. “You see, Tara here, her mother was really… I guess you might say, ‘disengaged’.
“As a mother, I mean. As a woman, she was engaged a lot, but never with one man for very long. I don’t want to speak ill of the living dead, so let’s just say that Tara had many more uncles than her mother had brothers, and they routinely made themselves at home in her world.
“Worse than that, though. Those mean ol’ men took her world away, didn’t they?” He rose and walked to Tara, his hand reaching for her. She flinched, but he cupped her chin, and forced her to squint into the glare. He squeezed her cheeks until she nodded her answer. “Mama didn’t have any love left for her little girl; she just gave it all away. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t love to be had.”
He patted her head fondly and withdrew.
“See, there was one special uncle: Uncle Terry. He came along when Mama was starting to wear herself out, and our girl here was just blossoming; no matter where he started looking, ol’ Terry’s gaze always found Tara. He cooked for her and bought her clothes and talked to her about life. After a while, it was almost like he forgot Mama was ever around, like Tara finally had a daddy. Or perhaps a strange kind of boyfriend.
“Because the thing you need to know about Uncle Terry, see, was that dear old Terry was addicted to pornography. The nasty stuff: drooling, vomiting skanks, choked and beaten, strung out and looking for the sort of fix that never fixes anything. He’d watch it in the living room after dinner, with a beer in one hand and the remote gripped tightly in the other; after a few uncomfortable evenings alone in her room, she decided to join him. Watching pretty girls suffer seemed to make him happy, and having never seen a happy adult, she was eager to understand how it worked.”
A ragged, heavy sigh escaped Tara’s throat; she closed her eyes and tried to hide her face with her hands as he continued.
“Using porn girls’ bodies like beaten-up, worn-out textbooks, he taught her to be a woman. She learned the performers’ names and the things that made them special; during really intense scenes, he would pause the action and critique it for her, frame by frame. It was a little like a father sharing his love of a sport with his child; of course, it was even more like a strange man sexually indoctrinating a minor, but she didn’t know that. He didn’t jerk off in front of her or molest her or anything, after all; he just liked sitting there with her, watching her watch. Showing her what men want. Showing her what she needed to become.”
Tara abruptly —almost angrily— crossed her legs and began squeezing her thighs together. Her mouth opened a little, but her eyes remained resolutely shut.
“Six months into her education, our girl awoke one morning to find him on the couch: Pornhub on his phone, cock in his hand, and a glassy, distant look in his unblinking eyes. Thanks to a previously undiscovered heart defect and a handful of boner pills, Terry had managed to die doing what he loved. She’d been under the impression that he loved her, of course, but no matter what he’d promised her —no matter how special he’d made her feel— his final act had proven that the whores were all that really mattered.”
The tip of one of Tara’s thumbs slipped between her lips.
“Now she’s twenty-three years old, with her bad skin and thin hair, sitting here feeling sorry for herself, wondering why she wasn’t good enough for Terry. Why she still isn’t good enough for anyone at all. Why he had to leave her so… unfinished.”
She grunted softly.
“Hey, pig,” he called out. “Tell Jessica your name.”
She grunted again, and her eyes fluttered. “A-Ashley,” she replied, as if remembering something half-forgotten. “Ashley.”
“Good, good.” He gave her a round of patronizing applause. “So who’s Tara?”
“His— she was his favorite,” she whispered. “The prettiest whore.”
“And why do I make you answer to her name?” he prompted, as if coaching a slow child.
“Because it hurts, not being her,” she answered, her voice hollow. “Because I was born— I was born to suffer, and this is what I need to be whole.”
“Good girl,” he said, mussing her hair playfully. He reached in his pocket, drew something out, and shoved it roughly into her mouth. “Have a cookie.”
As Tara chewed peacefully in a post-orgasmic shame-daze, he returned to his primary target.
“Kelly!” he barked, and the lights shifted back to Jessica without any further instruction. Kelly clearly knew a tone when she heard it. “Do you see where I’m coming from now?”
“I—“ she began, seemingly uncertain what the next word should be.
“The answer is ‘no’, Jessicunt,” he said, cutting her off. Her face looked almost relieved. “No, you don’t see. But I’ll show you. I’ll show you.
“I’ll minister to the broken little girl inside you, the one who brought you here tonight. I will dig through years of your inane, bullshit insecurities to find her. Then I will coax her out into this world of pain and make you fucking watch while I put her through hell and laugh at the screams.
“But most of all, Jessica?” He stepped toward her and grabbed a fistful of her hair. She cried out as he pulled her to her feet. “Most of all, I will teach you that no one in this room gives a fuck about what you like.”
That’s when he punched her.
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