Gods & Monsters

by Saffron A Kent

  I lean forward and give it a tiny lick, making him hiss and fist my hair. “Yeah? What’s going to happen?”

  From down on my knees, he looks massive. A tower. A building. The Empire State: tallest building I’ve ever seen. Every bulge of his muscles, every tight curve is on display and I want to lick him all over.

  “I might end up fucking your tiny mouth like I fuck your tiny pussy and the best part’s that I won’t have to pull out. I’m gonna flood your hole this time,” he rasps.

  I open my mouth and suck the salty crown like it’s a lollipop. His jaw goes slack and his head falls back. I hum around his engorged flesh. “Yeah, I want that. I want your cum, Abel. It’ll make me feel better.”

  He lowers his head, his eyes blacker than ever, and his skin red and orange like a demon’s. “Yeah? You want your medicine, baby?”

  I nod, fisting the base of his hot shaft and running it all over my wet lips. “And vitamins. I want my vitamins or I might die.”

  “We can’t have that, can we? If you die, I die too.” He looms over me, a red and dark shadow, gathering my hair in a fist, arching my neck. “Then suck my dick, Pixie. Make me the happiest man alive.”

  A current sizzles through my body, floods my core, and I do that. I suck his dick. My mouth opens, stretches like my cunt did all those weeks ago on the dirty, rough couch and I take him in. He’s hot and musky and salty.

  My teeth collide with his velvety skin and he jerks, moaning. I’m swirling my tongue all over his sexy length, tasting him, committing him to memory so I can go on during the day when he’s gone and I can’t get to his dick. He’s the tastiest thing I’ve ever eaten in my life. Not even chocolate compares to the taste of my husband.

  “Fuck, Pixie, you’re gonna kill me.”

  I chuckle around his cock and he shudders. Right now, he’s letting me do whatever I want. Lick him all over, top to bottom. Swirl my tongue around his crown, fishing out his pre-cum from that pin-prick of a hole. Fisting the base of his shaft and twisting it, squeezing it like I’ve seen him do. But I know that soon he will use my mouth as he uses my tiny hole and fuck his aggression out. So I poke him with my tongue, play with his balls, run my nails up and down his thighs.

  And then, it starts: his slow rocking. At first, it’s only superficial; his cock goes to the back of my mouth, that’s only slightly uncomfortable. But then, he pushes forward, making me take almost all of him. I dig my nails on the hard flesh of his thighs as my knees dig into the hardwood floor, and my ass and back hit the wall.

  I’m choking on his length and he knows it. He stares down at me with mean, hooded eyes. “Am I curing you, Pixie?”

  I moan, making him feel the vibrations on his length, arching my neck so I can take him in more.

  He bares his teeth, like he’s an animal or a savage from olden times. “You’re a goddamn goddess, baby.”

  His grunts and curses and praises are all making it better. It’s hard to breathe and my mouth is completely stretched out but I don’t care. Yeah, he’s making me feel better with his brutal thrusts and his brutal fingers in my hair. He’s curing me, making me forget everything. My medicine-man.

  I let him use me and in that, I use him too. I play with my heavy breasts, pinch my sore nipples and flick my clit.

  My body jerks and my curves bounce with his stabs and then, I’m coming on my hand and moaning all around his cock. He can’t hold on much after that. He starts firing his cum down my throat. Lash after lash of his sweet, salty cream. I cough out some, but mostly I gulp it down. I fill my stomach with the medicine he gives me; only then can I breathe.

  Abel lets go of my hair and the strands fall down on my back as he pulls out, his cock all wet and shiny, coated in his own cum and my saliva. Wet strands connect my sore lips to the crown of his shaft, like some sort of erotic string of life. He’s about to lean over and get me up so he can wrap his arms around me; I know that. But I press my palms hard on his thighs and stop him.

  On my knees, craning my neck up, I look at him, my husband, my god. “I’m scared.”

  I don’t tell him about what but he already knows. He thumbs my wet, swollen lips, looking down at me. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll always take care of you.”

  “It’s crazy.”

  “So be it.”

  “I don’t care if it’s a sin.”

  “It’s not a sin. Nothing we do together is a sin. No matter how unconventional it is or wrong for other people, it’s right for us.”

  “Yeah. It is. This is right for us. For me and you. I don’t want to follow any more rules. I don’t want to be like other people.” Swallowing, I nod. “I want to do it.”

  The words are out and it makes me feel lighter. It makes me feel alive.

  “You sure, Pixie?”

  “I think I need to. I think we need to. We need our own world, where we set the rules. This world isn’t enough for us.”

  He leans down, his silver cross dangling, grazing my lips, and hauls me to my feet. But he doesn’t let me stand on them even for a second. His hands go to my naked butt and hoist me up, my thighs winding around his waist.

  Resting his forehead over mine, he whispers, “If you want a different world, Pixie, I’ll build it with my own hands. I’ll build the ground, the sky, the fucking stars. I’ll build you an entire universe. But you have to promise me something.”

  I put my hand on his cheek. “I’ll promise you anything.”

  “You won’t shed a single tear for your parents or that town. Not one. Not anymore.”

  “I promise.”

  He plants a hard kiss and then takes me to our bed. Our world. Our kingdom.

  Our first shoot is set for this Sunday.

  Yup, I’m doing it. We are doing it. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy for me to accept that in seven days’ time I’m going to be naked in front of a camera. I’m going to have sex while the red light on a black device will be blinking, and then the lens will capture me, capture our love and it will be put in front of the whole world.

  The entire week, I watch porn on Abel’s computer. It’s loud and garish and some of it is disgusting.

  I learn that there are different kinds of porn for different kinds of people. Hardcore with cheesy storylines. Fetish porn that I’ve not been able to watch. Female-centric erotica where things are romantic and tasteful, but still a little fake. And then, there are videos where the couple actually looks like they’re having a good time. Their intimacy shows through their looks, their moans, their movements. I think these are the ones Blu was talking about the other day: amateur sex-tapes.

  I love those videos. I think I’m addicted to them. Over and over, I watch their intimacy on display. I watch how the guy pulls her hair and makes her look in the camera. I watch how the girl loves it and shivers when she comes. Mostly, I love when they both finish but still, their hunger for each other remains and they kiss because they don’t know how to stop.

  There’s a couple I stumbled over in my research. They are married; they wear wedding bands. He’s huge and tattooed, with close-cropped dark hair, and she’s tanned but soft with blonde hair. Their sex is explosive. It’s so good, I can almost orgasm just by watching them together. That’s the first thing I do when I get back home from work. I watch them, and by the time Abel gets home, I’m so horny, I’m dying for his brand of medicine.

  I wonder how many people actually record themselves while having sex. I know not everyone puts it out there but the more I watch, the more I wonder. It seems so natural. The next step. Immortalizing your love for each other.

  So in the week before we go for our shoot, I learn that sex-tapes might not be as otherworldly as I thought they were. It might be pretty common, pretty… normal.

  On the day of the shoot, Abel wakes me up with his loving, tender kisses. We linger in bed and cuddle with each other. He feeds me Toblerones and I feed him apples. He washes my hair in the shower, where we can barely fit. Our elbows hit the wall every time we turn. On
ce we’re all dressed up, we head out.

  Only, he stops me at the door and kisses my damp hair. “You trust me?”

  The answer is a resounding yes. “More than anything.”

  We hold hands all the way through our ride. The sky’s sunny and clear as we get off the train and walk to the warehouse. This is the third time I’m going in and this time, I’m going to be the one lying on a bed, not standing in the shadows.

  Ethan set this up for us. He says it’s an audition kind of thing. If they like us, they will get us more gigs. I never thought it would be so easy to enter this world. Also, we’ll be using one of the rooms in the back. Thank God. I don’t think I can do it out here where noises are too loud and fake. It breaks the sanctity of what we’re trying to do: trying to build a world in an abandoned wasteland.

  We walk down the same path, paved by the cement and wires. The sounds are the same, moaning and grunts and erotic screams. This time around though, they don’t have the pull to stop me and make me stare. No, I’m here for a purpose.

  But that doesn’t mean I’m all cool and chilled out. I’m freaking out. It doesn’t matter how much research I’ve done, I don’t feel prepared. I don’t feel fearless. The clicks of the cameras taking still shots, the voices firing off commands, the people circling around the beds, the bathrobes, the heat. Everything is making me a little nauseated. A lot nauseated, actually.

  I get closer to Abel, tightening my grip on his hand. He does me one better and puts his arm around my shoulder, plastering me to his body and kissing my hair.

  “You’re the purest thing in my world,” he whispers as he breathes me in, and I fist the hem of his black t-shirt, nuzzling my nose into the hollow of his throat. He’s the purest thing in mine.

  The light in the hallway is duller than the one in the open, loft-like space. It makes me breathe a little easier. The doors flanking either side are closed so I don’t know what they are for. I have a strong urge to open every single one of them and look at the other side. Are they going to be flashy and made up, with silk sheets and fluffy pillows? Or are they going to be normal, stripped of all façade, with homey, everyday bedding – like the sheets on my bed, or rather mattress?

  We stop at the far end of the passage and Abel opens a brown shiny door, ushering me inside. The first thing I see are the people. It’s obvious; you can’t miss them. There are three people in total and all of them are men.

  The tallest guy with tattoos all over his arms is wearing the kind of camera that Abel has. He’s squinting into it and adjusting the lens like I’ve seen my husband do numerous times. The other guy has a thick black beard and he’s fiddling with the lights. It looks like an industrial lamp, with a black stem that makes a swing up top and holds the biggest, brightest bulb I’ve ever seen. The guy is adjusting the height of the stem so the bulb spotlights the very large bed at the very best angle.

  The bed has cream-colored sheets. They look like cotton. Thank God. It’s something I’d buy for myself, for my own home. This eases me a little.

  The last guy, however, eats up all my hard-found calmness. He is not the tallest, but the broadest of all the men. He has shaggy hair and he’s wearing a black t-shirt, like my Abel. But unlike my husband, this man doesn’t look warm or welcoming at all. It could be because he’s the one setting up the video camera on a tripod, directly facing the bed.

  I gulp and stand frozen at my spot as Abel walks farther in.

  My husband shakes hands with the shaggy-haired man who immediately starts to explain things. He’s talking too fast for me to understand. I’m not liking him at all, and the dislike only grows when he says he’ll be in here with us. He explains that the tripod camera is for the amateur look, but he has a hand-held one too that he’ll be using to take shots from different angles. The big tattooed-guy with the camera around his neck will be taking still snaps and the lights guy will be here to deal with any lighting problems they might have.

  “It’s pretty simple, really. Just follow your instincts.” He’s gesturing with his hands, shaggy hair bouncing. “Do what you guys do in your own bedroom. It’s supposed to look all natural and spontaneous, okay? Have her suck your dick or eat her out, you know? Whatever you’re comfortable with. The whole point is for this to look like a homemade video, all right? People are eating this amateur shit up.”

  He says something else but I can’t hear him over the ruckus in my ears. My body is going haywire. My heart is bouncing around, jumping into my throat, falling into my stomach. I feel it sliding out of my body through my extremities, leaving me empty and dizzy. My brain’s rejecting this entire scenario. This isn’t what I pictured. I don’t know what I pictured, actually. But this isn’t it. I can’t do this.

  I’m shaking so hard that I have to steady myself on the surprisingly chilled wall. Relax, I tell myself.

  Calm the hell down. It’s okay. Things are okay.

  If I don’t want to do this, we won’t do it. Right? No one’s pointing a gun at me or Abel. This is our choice.

  But damn it, I’m disappointed.

  I’m sliding down the wall, my legs spasming. In a flash, my husband is by my side. He buries my face in his chest and I inhale his apple-scented musky smell.

  “You okay, baby? I’m here,” he murmurs as he simply holds me, like a mountain giving me shelter. Then he commands, without turning back or looking at anything but me, “Get out.”

  “What?” By now, I know the voice of the tripod camera guy and I know this sharp rebuttal comes from him.

  “Just get the fuck out,” Abel orders, squeezing me.

  “What? What the fuck are you talking about?”

  I feel him getting closer to us and I cling to Abel tightly. I’m not proud of it, being a nervous ninny, but I can’t help myself.

  My eyes are squeezed shut but I open them when a calm voice enters the argument. “Come on, man. Let’s go. Look at her, she’s shaking.”

  Then I get a peek at the man who just said that and I realize he’s Nick, Blu’s husband. He’s the one with the camera around his neck and tattoos all over his arms.

  “And how’s that my problem? If she wasn’t sure, she shouldn’t have come here. We’re not here to waste our time.”

  Abel growls, ready to fire back at him, but I clutch his shirt and stop him. “Abel, no. Don’t. He’s right.”

  “I won’t let anyone talk to you like that.”

  “It’s okay.”

  His jaw clenches and I increase my hold on him. We’re not here to fight with anyone or get arrested. Abel doesn’t need that. Besides, I can fight my own battles. I puff out a breath and step out of his embrace. He’s reluctant to let me go but I pat his chest, hoping to tell him that it’s okay. I face the man who’s glaring at me. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I, uh, I need a little bit of time. Is that okay?”

  Abel can’t stop himself, obviously, so he answers before the man can. “It’s more than okay. Now get the fuck out of this room before I kick you out.”

  The man doesn’t like that and he’s already charging at Abel but Nick stops him and pulls him back by his t-shirt. “You crazy, man? We’re not here to start a fight. Come on, let’s go. You’re the one who’s wasting time. If you keep standing here like a jackass, she’s never gonna do it, okay? So, let it the fuck go.”

  A minute later, after a lot of glaring and panting, the men are out, and we’re alone inside the room.

  I face my husband, who’s staring at me with an intensity that makes his gaze a solid, tangible thing. I’m about to tell him that I can’t do this because I’m the biggest chicken in the history of the world, but he doesn’t let me. He marches over, bends down and hoists me in his arms, bridal-style. All I can do is gasp his name, hold on to his shoulders as he strides to the bed and sits down with me on his lap.

  “You okay?” He frowns, his thumb tracing the shape of my lips.

  “Yes. I’m sorry. I’m an idiot. I…” I shake my head. “I panicked.”

  “It�
��s okay. It’s fine. I don’t care. If you don’t wanna do it, we won’t do it.”

  “You won’t be disappointed? Because I am. I’m super disappointed.”

  He chuckles. “A chance to fuck you on camera? Fuck yeah, I’d love that. Ever since I set foot in this place, I’ve wanted to do that. But I’ve got a pretty intense imagination, Pixie. I don’t need a camera and a red light to picture a scenario where people are watching us fuck and jizzing their pants.”

  I duck my head, laughing at him, laughing at myself. “It’s crazy how you can make me blush. I should be used to your dirty mouth by now.”

  His chest shakes with laughter. “That’s part of my charm.”

  I sink into him, sighing. My legs are swaying, wiggling toes grazing the floor. Somewhere in the last minute when Abel picked me up and sat me on his sturdy lap, I lost my flats and my feet are naked now.

  My husband is quiet, simply breathing, nuzzling his cheek into my hair. Like a weirdo, I’m smelling his Adam’s apple. A few minutes pass in silence before I speak. “I keep imagining my parents. Like, what would they think if they saw me like this? What would they think if they knew how badly I want to do this with you? I shouldn’t be looking for their approval. In fact, the whole point of this is that I don’t care. But I can’t shake it off. What would the whole town think? Sky? Fucking Mrs. Weatherby who ruined everything. Mr. B. Your uncle.”

  Abel sighs. “My uncle is probably slumped on a bar somewhere, sleeping his drinking binge off. He doesn’t care what’s happening in the world right now.”

  “Your uncle drinks?” I look up at him.

  He lowers his face, his stubbled chin scraping my forehead. “Yes, Pixie. My uncle’s a drunk. He usually drives a couple of towns over so no one finds out. I’ve had to pick him up a few times myself.”

  “No way. I never knew that.”

  He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. “You never knew because I never told you.”

  “You kept secrets from me?”

  “Nah. It wasn’t important enough to tell. I don’t care about Peter Adams and he doesn’t care about me. We lived together because we had no choice. I mean, he had a choice. He could’ve kicked me out but he kept me, and in return, I kept his secret.”