“Pick one, sweet girl,” I say as I turn around to face Isabel.
I open the plastic sheath and her eyes widen, then she backs up to the headboard of my bed. This causes a faint chuckle to escape my lungs.
“Oh, sweet girl. I would never hurt you without you begging me to. I want you to hurt me now.”
Her huge tits are moving up and down too quickly for her as if she is panting like a dog in heat. I try to gauge her reaction, digging deep inside of her eyes. I sense fear but I also see that she is excited as she clenches onto the bed sheets with her tiny hands.
My mind fucks with me like it usually does as images flash before me of the night when I fucked Gwen’s ass, looking down at her tiny hands as she grabbed onto the sheets for dear life, begging for mercy while asking me for more pain. What a beautiful mess she was, and she will forever remain in my heart. No amount of therapy will ever take that away.
Her trembling hand reaches out for the tiny plastic box, my grin still displayed. I must have underestimated Isabel. I keep her in mind to come back and play another time when I need to fill my hunger for sexual pain and satisfaction. Most women can’t handle me and what I want.
“Oh, such a good fucking whore. My cock is so hard for you right now. Cut me and then fuck the shit out of me, sweet girl.”
She moans out load and I note that it was not one of displeasure. She wants this as much as I crave it. Too bad I couldn’t find a pale skinned redhead like my Gwen.
She slowly retrieves one razorblade from the plastic case, setting the others on the nightstand. Her eyes never leave mine as she gradually moves to her knees with the blade in her hand licking her lips, then settling her bottom lip between her teeth. Fuck, this is too much; the torment of the upcoming discomfort and desire that I usually sway myself from, but tonight I will bask in it. I’ve never pushed a woman so far.
Filet me, fuck me, and then leave me to wallow in my fears and sorrows.
“Wh-, Where?” she stammers, sitting up and situating herself on her knees.
“Here,” I point to the place below my navel, near the unfinished tattoo of my fallen angel surrounded in flames. Gwen is the angel, I am the flames.
She moves until her lips brush my inked skin, pressing her soft mouth to me. I sigh loudly, hating her for a gesture that I do not deserve. She pulls her lips back, then tightens the metal blade in both hands, bringing it up to my skin. I grind my teeth together as my dick becomes too goddamn much for me.
“Now, Isabel. Fucking cut me.”
She pushes the razor to my skin and I exhale, feeling it slice perfectly through. My eyes close as I feel the warm blood ooze from my skin.
“Once more, sweet girl. Then I won’t ask again.”
She doesn’t hesitate, bringing the razor back up to my skin and pushing harder than she did before, cutting into me and fucking my heart up more than it was beforehand. I feel my blood trailing down to my hard cock and the sensations together are all becoming too plentiful. Maybe I overestimated my ability to handle this, but maybe not. I’m never one to self-mutilate, make no mistake, it’s the peculiar re-enactment in my mind of that blood stained night when I saved my monster’s life. Nothing will ever be able to live up to that. No pain will ever be great enough for me.
“Fuck me,” I seethe, opening my eyes and seeing the yearning in Isabel’s eyes.
She looks at me, stone faced.
Too bad, bitch. I’m not for you. I’m a washed up, sexually distorted mess and there is only one out there for me. But she isn’t free. After all, how free can we really be from the world when we have been stabbed and fucked by their ways?
I decide to punish myself the only way I know how, the way I was taught, conditioned to like the forced thrusts, back and forth, back and forth, rocking, slapping, fucking, hitting, more…
“Fuck me,” I say once more, louder than before.
I get up from the bed as the blood trails its way down my belly and reach beneath my bed, pulling out the strap-on. Isabel’s eyes widen as I throw it on the bed, taking the stance on all fours to let her fuck me like I deserve and not allow myself to get off.
See darling, told you I am not your kind of monster.
“What’s wrong, sweet girl?” I ask over my shoulder, as Isabel gazes at the six inch strap on lying on my mattress.
Her mouth is open while she remains still. My ass is throbbing, begging for the aching, tearing and punishing prods from her hips. But she stays like a goddamn statue and my immoral methods are fuming higher than a fucking kite. I bite my tongue and think of ways to handle this lunacy that is skulking up my spine. I close my eyes and think of her, my Gwen, the lover that got away. That should make me happy, but it only upsurges my indignation.
“I thought you wanted to know me, Isabel…” I bite, whirling over onto my back to tease her with my cock.
I wrap my hand around it and stroke it, enough to bring myself to the brink of wanting a release. But I won’t let myself have it. I retaliate against myself for the very thing that I was forced to do all those years. I was used and abused, yet still nothing changes as I plead with a woman to do the same to me. Re-enact the moments that I love to loathe; the same times that I tried so hard to rid myself from. Gwen was the only person that understood me and knew my story, all of me. I can’t imagine ever letting myself get closer to anyone else.
I need pain. That is all that I can think of as Isabel sits in front of me with thoughts of Gwendolyn turning into a unruly mess in my mind.
“You don’t have it in you, Isabel. I knew it.”
I stand from my bed and hear her soft cries. Empathy almost fills my heart, but I dismiss it. She doesn’t deserve it because she has no clue why I am the way that I am. Why should I let myself open up to others? Only to be shoved, fucked, used, and left again? No. I don’t fucking think so.
I start to walk to my small bathroom as I hear her cries stop. Her footsteps are faintly behind me and hope prickles my skin; faith that maybe she has changed her mind. Yes, I am a master at fuckery of the mind when it comes to women. Will she look at me the way she did before with the same kind of want? Probably not. But deep down, the thought of something wrong enthuses her. I sense that. Just as much as I am using her¸ she is using me. After merely touching the surface of my distorted brain, she will likely come to terms with the fact that she will not want to revisit such a nightmare again.
Fuck if I care, just give me the agony now. I need it to fill the black hole within my heart. There is only one person out there that can fill that void; Gwendolyn Beth Fitzpatrick and I doubt that fate or life will be on our side again. There are only so many second chances that a person can be given, and I consider my life outside of the institution and here in Portland a huge second chance away from the hell I existed in for twelve straight years being beaten and fucked by the devils of the world. Sometimes I wonder if the hell in my heart and mind is any better.
“William?” Isabel whispers, her hands wrapping themselves around my waist.
I close my eyes and picture Gwen’s dainty arms. I let my head fall back with sweet memories of my girl. Isabel’s hands release themselves from my waist, taking my hand into hers. My heart starts to feel again and I am exasperated beyond words. I wish I could make it stop, but I can’t. My body is listening to my heart and it hasn’t worked that way in years. Maybe that is because I have yet to push a woman so far. Yes, that has to be it. Play with Isabel like the rest and cut her free.
That is the plan. I will always fulfill my plan.
She leads me to the bed and for the first time I allow myself to appreciate her body for what it is; the opposite of what I usually go for. Her plus-sized curves mold against my hands deliciously, her ass ripples when I smack it, and her tits are beyond perfect, not to mention that bare pussy of hers tastes divine. I hate myself and hope with every part of the soul I still have, that these feelings I have will leave when she fucks me like I asked.
Yes, that has to be it, right?
This will all be forgotten when the rubber cock is rammed into my ass, making me understand and revert back to the memories all that time ago. Hating and not letting myself attain the one thing that scares the shit out of me.
Happiness after Gwendolyn.
“I want to give you what you need, William. What you want,” she murmurs, sliding her bare legs into the straps.
My lungs tighten and I am finding it harder to breathe. I run my hands through my hair, forgetting who I am and what I am supposed to do.
“Come here,” she pants.
I listen and obey like the good boy that I am, walking to her and dropping down to the dildo strapped before her pussy, then taking it into my mouth and wetting it before I take it into my throbbing ass. I moan, sliding it deep as she tangles her hands in my hair, while moving her hips forward with little actions into my mouth. I pop myself free, looking up at her through lust drunk eyes.
“Take me, now,” I beg, spitting onto the strap-on one last time before turning around and placing myself on all fours.
I feel my ass tighten in response to the build-up, expectancy of the tearing pain that Isabel is about to give me. I feel the strap-on probe my ass, but she remains still.
“Fuck me hard, sweet girl. Make me hurt good… just like I deserve,” I yell out, pushing my hips back onto the stiff shaft.
I cry out in pain, in pleasure, in so many things, sighing as I come to terms with the punishment that I warrant, the very one that I fled and veiled from for all those years. Now, as a grown man I am trying my best to find it. How is it possible to try to seek peace within such a terrible place? Perhaps it is because it is all I know outside of what I shared with Gwendolyn. Maybe I will never be a changed man, trained to take it like a good boy and feed into the feelings that are so very wrong.
Yet, at 28, I’m pushing my ass harder back onto a dildo as it sinks into me, piercing my dark soul and crushing my heart. The only thing that makes me understand that I am still human is the grasping tiny hands on my sides. Isabel’s nails dig into my flesh, and I both adore and hate her for that. Why is she giving into my needs? Finally, after finding a woman that embraces it while giving it to me willingly, I feel emptier inside.
I feel like more than a fucking monster.
I feel like a devil not worthy of any penance.
What comes next? How will I become satisfied once this is over? My mind is an abyss of dirtied thoughts as I try to focus on the hatred that disbursed me for all that time. But I am betrayed still as I feel my heart thudding in my chest as my ass and cock throb to life. This isn’t how this is supposed to work.
Not at all.
Isabel was supposed to cut me and fuck me… make me not feel.
Instead, the exact opposite is happening inside my body and to my mind as well. I want to scream, I want to cry, I want to rip my own goddamn heart out of my hollow chest while I discover myself enjoying this act with each passing motion of her body.
I scream out for help, for a release, from the recollections and perceptions I am currently having. Isabel stills the dildo inside of me, resting her sweaty chest against my back as her small hand makes its way around to my hard cock.
“Please, Isabel. Stop. Stop. I… I can’t do…”
Her hand grips me and I want to tell her to stop, that I do not deserve to feel good because so much of my horrible life was my fault, but her movements sway my mind and make me drunk and weightless.
“I, please, don’t,” I try once more.
Her movements become harder and faster, and I force my eyes closed. I fucking hate her so much at this moment, but part of me feels compelled. I suppose some dysfunctional boys never transform into something else.
We always obey and give in like we are supposed to.
Her hand is moving along my hard shaft so fluidly, for moments I feel like I can forget just how terrible I am. That I am not truly a monster… but as my eyes shut themselves to the blackness that I am accustomed to, a sliver of lightness appears and I see her.
My monster.
My sweet girl.
And I let go, seeing my angel, my only reason for redemption.
I collapse onto my bed, feeling the warmth of my fluid on the bed sheets. Isabel is still inside of me and I want to yell at her, but I am too spent. I remain mute. I communicate the only way I know how. Through the goddamn nightmares that are sure to haunt me when my eyes grow too tired for the beastly ways of the world.
She pulls herself out of me and kisses my shoulder. It’s at this time that I feel the same I did when Gwendolyn and I decided that we would say goodbye together.
Death would be divine.
Life is about choices…
Before I can make up my mind, my eyes become heavy and I fall into the nightmares that scare me worse than real life.
“Come on, Welch. Everyone is trying it,” Connor says to me in the locker room at the high school.
I scrunch my eyebrows at him, not understanding what he is talking about. He is the cool kid, the one that makes good grades and plays sports. You remember those fuckers. The ones the girls notice and the kind the guys want to be. I am the wallflower. The invisible boy. The only thing people notice about me is the fire of vulnerability and utter fuckedupedness.
I am used. Abused. Trained to take it. Something in Connor’s eyes seems familiar.
“You’re an asshole,” I reply, grabbing my backpack with reminders of the encounter of him pushing Gwendolyn down in the hallway.
Thoughts of my sweet girl flood my mind and send something else to the lower half of my body. I need her. I want her. I have to have her.
I clench my jaw as Connor walks towards me with a mean smile on his face. I am preparing myself for a punch, kick, or something from him. Man, oh man, I am so wrong about how this day will pan out.
“I said you should try it. I can see the way you look at me, Welch…” Conner trails, looking over his shoulder to make sure we are still alone.
My heart is pounding in my chest and I am frozen in time again. My brain zaps to a different place. My sweet girl is soon forgotten and I am nothing more than the abandoned, unlovable boy on the cold, wooden floor wishing I could grasp onto the teddy bear, or any friend for love, only to have hate taken out on my body.
It is a feeling I am used to.
I do not have the ability to say no, especially to a boy like a Connor. A cool kid. A “good” boy. I am a no one. I have to do what he wants, just like the rest. There is only one that I never felt that way with.
Gwendolyn.
But she is sitting in fourth period class trying to go about life as normal as possible before we go home to good ole Momma and Poppa Bear to be forced to do unthinkable things. Now, here I sit in an empty locker room before the star football player as he tries to woo me with his words and looks. If he only knew how screwed up I am, I was trained to submit and enjoy it. Shit, maybe that is why he is interested in cornering me in the locker room.
Another notch in the fucked up life of Worthless fucking William Welch.
“What?” is the only word I can muster as my grip loosens on my bag, and I drop it to the ground.
“Those lips of yours… That body, don’t tell me you haven’t noticed me, Welch,” Connor says while grinning at me.
He licks his lips before settling his fingers in the loops of his jeans.
My belly flips a dozen times over and I feel myself responding as my cock grows in my pants. I want to bang my head against the metal lockers and punish myself for it. It can’t be helped. I am sexually fucked up, letting myself become affected by a boy before me whom I hate more than anything because he laid his hands on my girl.
But, I am nothing more than a conditioned boy. When he grins at me, showing me fake appreciation and licking his lips like he is prepping them for his favorite meal, he gives me false pretenses.
Why?
Because I am never supposed to deny those who want it. And he wants it.
“So?” I whi
sper, gesturing my hands to my side, eyeing him carefully.
It is his game, not mine. I know that. That’s the boy who I have become. Some things will always be.
“I knew it,” Connor whispers, his hand groping the front of his jeans.
His hands make their way to the hem of his T-shirt and he pulls it away. My nostrils flare and I want so badly to look away from his body, but that would be breaking the rules. I hate that I am actually noticing him, the faint outline of his abs and the hair that leads down to the place he keeps grabbing. No, no. I am not supposed to be thinking this way. I need to stop. I have never been bothered this much before during any sexual act because I was used to it. I have been engaging in various ones since I was a boy, but something is different.
My own fucking monster.
I am cheating her.
I am cheating myself.
Some things never change. Certain people are born into the world to perform, to be at the hands of the devils of the world. That is me and I have gotten the routine for my next act.
“Let me see your body,” Connor whimpers, grazing over his crotch again.
I groan out loud as my body responds to him. I feel the vomit rising slowly in my throat, burning me with each painful inch. My heart is splicing its way open and my mind is exploding with confusion as my movements are controlled like a robot listening to its master.
I listen, removing my shirt and popping the fly from my jeans as my shaky hands make their way to the zipper of my jeans. My hands move over my growing erection and the nausea increases more than previously. I take another deep breath while Connor takes off his jeans and boxers, showing me his hard on while licking his lips.
I never wanted to be saved before, but I want salvation now. How cruel it is to taste goodness only to be delivered to evil again. That is my life. It is who I was destined to become. Boys like me never change. We are forgotten and unlovable. I wish I could find a corner, crawl into a ball and cry for my mother until she rises back from the dead to whisper in my ear that the world is not all that bad.
The Emancipation of Love Page 2
