Phoenix

If she has any sense in that pretty head of hers she’ll reply with a thanks but no thanks.

Part of me hopes she does.

The other part has my palm straining around the monster I just sent her a picture of. The angle didn’t hold anything back – the ladder of barbells on the underside of my cock glinting in metallic horror. The ridges are thick.

Threatening.

I don’t need any special camera effects to big up the scale. It’s no illusion that sees this weapon of hard flesh and steel towering high above my bellybutton. My hands are big, but they don’t look it, not as my fingers stretch around the girth.

Mariana said Christmas had come early when I first dropped my pants.

She changed her mind regularly.

But Mariana was also crazy enough to want more. Always more.

Six bars along the length of me. A thick curve of steel spearing the head.

It always hurt her. Sometimes it drew blood.

Sometimes it even hurt me too.

It’ll hurt Abigail. She’ll whimper at every fucking inch.

The green circle by her image remains. I wait for a ping that takes an age.

I’m glad she takes her time.

This isn’t the place for horny bravado. This isn’t a time to feign bravery and hope for the best.

Her reply is simple. Obvious, really.

That’s going to hurt.

My fingers grip tighter. I reply with one hand.

Yes. It will.

I grip so hard it pains, my eyes closed at the memory of sublimely tight pussy.

I type slowly. Clumsily.

You need to think about this. Carefully.

My balls are tight enough to blow.

I’m relieved when her reply is at least halfway sane.

I know I should probably slam this laptop closed and write this off as a lucky escape.

A step too far into the crazy.

But I can’t.

I still want this.

A pause before the typing status shows up again.

I think want it even more than before.

Fuck.

My cock throbs in my grip.

She’s not alone on the crazy train. I guess we’re both riding all the way to its final destination.

I force myself to slow this runaway down, grappling for at least some semblance of restraint.

I grunt as I loosen my grip. Grit my teeth as my cock protests.

My fingers jab at the keys.

Sleep on it.

Consider it in the cold light of day.

Think about it until you have second thoughts.

Think about it some more after that.

And then, if you still want it, let me know.

I’ll look for your message tomorrow night.

A simple yes or no will suffice.

Just make sure it’s the right call.

It’s me who slams the laptop closed with the green circle still next to her picture.

It’s me who moves into the bathroom just to get some distance.

I turn the shower on full blast and kick off my jeans. I’m under the flow in a heartbeat, the jet bearing down on my scalp as I lather up the body wash.

I don’t know what I’m trying to scrub away. I don’t know why I think cleanliness will make me any less of the monster I feel inside.

I soap down inked skin she’ll never see. Years of hopes and fears and dreams etched onto my body for all time.

You can’t hide work like this under collars and cuffs, but you can hide it in darkness.

I’m inked from my fingers to my scalp, plenty enough for the world to see. My darkness is palpable. Always has been.

But there’s more than ink marking my body. My scars stretch from my shoulder to my spine on my left side. Sometimes I still feel them burning.

Sometimes I still smell my own searing flesh.

Body wash makes no difference. It doesn’t touch what’s inside.

It doesn’t change what I am. Who I am.

I grunt as I take my dick back in hand.

It’s brutal. Quick. Painful in my grip as I shoot my load all over the tiles.

This girl, Abigail – bait – is edging me towards insanity. Or salvation. Reawakening a beast I thought died along with the woman I couldn’t save.

I nearly died trying. But not nearly enough for Jake.

I see it in his eyes every time we’re unfortunate enough to cross each other’s path.

I saw it tonight. I see it in the mirror too.

Sometimes I fight the regret. Sometimes I don’t.

Sometimes regret is all I can feel.

But right now I feel nothing but the urge to pound Abigail’s tight cunt until she screams.

I twist the shower setting to cold and groan as the water punishes my skin.

Sometimes, in my dreams, I still hear Mariana screaming on the other side of that door.

Sometimes, late at night, I ask her ghost why she did it.

Why she left our little boy behind. Why she left me.

Why she was there that night in the first place. Why the fire took her and not me.

Why she was in that room alone. Why she was there at all.

Why Jake was there with her.

So many fucking questions.

I turn off the water.

I grab a towel.

For the first time in a while, I contemplate the possibility that maybe I’ll never have all the answers.

And for the very first time in forever, ignorance doesn’t feel quite so bad.

 

* * *

 

Abigail

 

I can’t stop staring at the picture on screen, even though I know I shouldn’t be.

I can’t stop playing with myself, even though I shouldn’t be doing that either.

I’ll never be able to take him.

I can’t imagine anyone could.

Stephen was big enough that I had to loosen my jaw to get his dick past my teeth, but he’d be dwarfed by the monster in front of me.

Phoenix Burning is definitely inked. His figures are etched with dark symbols. It looks like there’s a rose on the back of his hand. I can only just make it out.

I’ve never been with a guy with tattoos before.

I’ve never been with a pierced guy, either. Never even seen a pierced guy.

But I want to.

Oh fuck, how I want to.

I push three fingers inside, and it’s tight. Regardless of the fact I’m soaking through my knickers, it’s still tight.

I’ll never take him. Not unless he…

Fuck.

He’d have to be so brutal.

So rough.

A shiver dances through me, because somewhere, somehow, I know he would be. Could be.

Will be.

Because I already know how this story ends.

I already know I’m riding this wave all the way until it crashes. I already know he’s the only thing I want. The only thing I need.

Everything else fades away into blissful ignorance, my mind closed off to anything other than the way he’ll feel inside me.

There’s nothing on my mind but the thought of his palm clamped over my mouth as he whispers filth into my ear.

I wonder how his voice sounds.

I wonder what kind of accent he has.

I minimise the photo long enough to click on his profile again. Malvern, it says. Maybe thirty minutes by car from here. Forty-five tops.

He’s close. Really close.

I do have a car, I just rarely use it. It’s been in my parking space for weeks, untouched.

I try to imagine driving into the night on my way over to meet him. I imagine parking up somewhere and knowing everything will be different by the time I make it back to the driver’s seat.

If I make it back.

The thought is just a whisper, but it’s there. It has to be there.

I know nothing about the man on the other side of the chat window. I have no assurances other than the words of a stranger in the ether.

It shouldn’t be worth the risk. Shouldn’t.

I imagine how bandy my legs will feel as the moment draws close.

My heart is pounding. Nerves tight.

My legs loll open as I fuck myself with three deep fingers.

Yes.

I know the answer I’ll be giving him already.

I’ve known the answer since he messaged me for the very first time. It’ll take more than one graphic picture to divert this collision.

The circle next to his profile picture is grey when I type out my response.

I don’t need to sleep on it.

I’m not impulsive enough to need time for the doubts to creep in.

They are already here. They’ve been dancing behind my eyes since the moment you messaged me. They are always here and always have been, but they make no difference.

Your picture is enough to scare me, but fear changes nothing. It never has.

If anything it only makes me want this more.

My answer is most definitely yes.

I pause.

I read it through with shallow breath.

And then I hit send.