Masochist

 

 

 

No one ever stood up for me before. Never. No one ever did, it was just a statement of life. No one stands up for Dave. Everyone just walks on by, closes their eyes, sees nothing, does nothing. But *he* didn’t. Bumper went back inside when I tried to stand up for Joan, and we’ve known each other for a long time, you know? Even he didn’t stand up for me when Joanie’s dickwad ex was starting to whale on me, getting himself hyped up to kick my ass. Guys like that guy, they like to work up to it. Like to tease. Hurt a little before they hurt a lot. Joan was hiding in her apartment, because she was so fucking scared of this guy. And Bumper left me to take the heat. No one stepped in for me.

But Fred Castle did, and we hadn’t even said one word to each other before then. Didn’t say that much to each other after either. Castle’s not really one for words. More for actions. And his actions, they mean something, you know? I *know* what I am. I’m an action games freak who’s too pussy to go out and actually do. The counsellor I had in high school, right before I dropped out, said I was ‘subliminating my rage at society’ or some psychobabble shit like that. Channelling the violence, which I knew in my subconscious was wrong, into a passive action. Fuck. I just think I was too fucking afraid to stand up to the assholes who made my life a living hell through high school. You heard of Columbine, right? Well, I’m one of the types of kids they were. They just had some sort of backbone to do something to the people who kicked them around and generally treated them like shit.

Joan thinks I’m a nice person. I’m really not. But she’s the type of girl who makes you wish you were, yeah? I think she makes Castle feel that way too. But he’s so…wrapped up in everything that is the true hell that is his life that he can’t take what she’s offering. Cause, sure, she’s another outcast like the rest of us, but she’s somehow pure at the same time. Which is probably why he could fuck me but not her. I’m dirty and tainted, male and lean. I wonder what his wife looked like. She was probably curvy and gorgeous, a real Madonna. And I’m just a whore. Seriously, how else could I afford to pay for the stuff I got? Ain’t like unemployment covers that much, and I’m not that good at doing the computer geek thing. I can play videogames and suck cock like a pro. Whoa, what wonderful accomplishments those are. At least guys seem to appreciate the second one. Boomer and Joan ain’t got no idea what it is I do when I leave the house.

I knocked on his door later that night, and he opened the door after a bit. We just stood there looking at each other for a few moments, and I could smell the whiskey on his breath. There was nothing behind him, more or less. Just walls and floor. The room was as bare and stained with age as the look in his eyes, and it frightened me. He was just a dead man walking, pretending to be alive. I looked away for a moment, dropping my eyes and he started to close the door. The brief spark of panic gave me the balls to actually stop him, putting my hand in the gap between frame and door before he closed it properly.

“I...”

“You what?”

“Just wanted to say thanks. For what you did.”

He regarded me quizzically then, and of course I knew Joan had already said thanks.

“For doing what you did, man. When Joanie’s ex started...”

“Wasn’t a problem.”

He was curt and cold, wanting to cut whatever this was short. I knew he didn’t want to talk to me. That’s fine, I wasn’t really there for talking.

“I just...fuck, I wanted to thank you. No one’s ever...no one’s ever stood up for me before.” I looked up at him, watching something register behind his eyes as to what exactly the nature of my thanks might go to. And thank you fucking hallelujah, because I wasn’t going to beg to get fucked up the ass or whatever it was he might want. I owed the guy, and let’s be honest here, folks...I wanted to fuck him too. Sure, he wasn’t movie star perfect, but he had ‘survivor’ written over him in fucking flaming letters over ten feet tall. I wanted to get a little of that for myself...and besides, ain’t nothing for free in this world. Wouldn’t be the first time I bent over for some tough guy to protect me and it wouldn’t be the last either, because fucking look at me. I’m a bitch, and no matter how many piercings I get, or how much ink I stab into my skin, it’s still there running through my veins. Better to get someone else to stand in front of me and then pay them back later.

I’m a fucking whore, people. Let’s not get sentimental here.

Frank Castle was a fucking loony, but he had saved my skinny worthless ass. He was ratshit crazy, like a fucking rabid dog without a collar on. Always reminded me of a junkyard dog, an ugly born and bred killer with a knack for making other things very suddenly, very messily dead and coming through at the other end without barely a scratch on him. And like every good bitch, I let the alpha fuck me in payment for his protection against the other fucking ratshit loonies in the world. I’ve done worse.

He opened the door wider to let me in and I walked through, looking around casually. There was a table and a chair, with a bottle of whiskey sitting on it and a half-empty glass. The quiet click of the door closing behind me let me know there was no turning back, but I had known that from the first step I’d taken towards my door. He could have rejected me, or just refused to see what I was offering. But he didn’t.

Even crazy people need some skin to skin sometimes.

I took off my shirt and dropped it on the floor, keeping my back to him and not even hearing him walk up behind me on cat silent feet. He was a big bastard, bigger then me but he could move so very quietly. Bet it was surprising for anyone who came up against him. The large hands sliding around my hips and loosely cupping my groin were the first hint I had he’d even moved from near the door. I shuddered and felt his breath warm against my neck catch in an almost laugh.

“What are you willing to do, Dave?”

“What do you want?”

I arched my back slightly and ground my ass against the front of his pants, feeling him react and harden in them as his hands suddenly clamped down on my waist. There were bruises, after. Large oval shaped fingerprints of blue and rising purple...crescents of teeth and nail up and down me, marking my skin so I couldn’t forget. Not that I ever would. Everyone wants to make a mark on someone.

“I want to...”

“Fuck me?” I reached behind me and slid a hand down the front of his pants, rubbing him through his jocks. A spot of dampness slid across my fingertips as he groaned softly and dragged me in closer against him, dryhumping my hand and ass. The denim rasped painfully across my wrist and I slid my hand out slowly, fumbling with his pants button. He pulled away after a moment so he could do it himself, and I slid my dirty cargos down over my hips, leaving them on the ground. He grabbed my wrists again, jerking my hands back and holding them tight as his breath shuddered in my ear. Control issues. Well, everybody needs to feel in control of something. It was understandable, really, that maybe he had a thing for kink. I went still, the fear spiking again and making my heart pound. “You want to tie me down?” The hoarse chuckle mixed with a groan told me I was right, and I bit at my lips slightly, feeling sweat slide down my skin. This could go so wrong. “If you’ve got rope...”

“I don’t.”

“Cuffs?”

“No.” The hard heat of his erection slid between my ass cheeks as he ground himself against me again, both of us nude now. The sunlight came in through the dirty window frame, smoked out light picking across the unswept and bare floor. A roach made its wary scuttle out from the sink and then scuttled back behind it as Frank moved, me following after because he still had a tight hold on my wrists. Damn. I was now more sure then ever that at some point he’d been in either law enforcement or military because he made sure I couldn’t hit him at the same time I had to keep with him or risk getting my arm pulled out of socket. He was a nasty minded son of a bitch, I can tell you that much. My cheek slammed into the wall as he leaned into me, drawing my hands up behind my back and I panted unsteadily; gut churning with terror and lust. Loving it and hating it. Masochist, maybe yes, submissive? Very possibly.

“Fu-uck,” my voice choked out without me even thinking about it much and the knee wedged between my thighs made me spread my legs wide. I barely had the time to thank god that I’d prepped some before I came over, because I hadn’t really thought he’d want to take the time. Lube and a couple of fingers, plus the time in between to tighten back up...the son of a bitch lined up his cock with my hole and started to thrust in and it hurt. The hand that he clapped over my mouth stifled the whimpers, hips hitching with the effort to get away from the invader slowly entering my body, and it felt like I was tearing apart. But there was nowhere to go, wall in front of me and the hand he’d let go scrabbled at the dusty plasterboard vainly, broken nails catching in the rough spots and a pleasurable ache spreading through my skin, felt like.

“God, so tight,” Castle grunted into my ear as he finally slid balls deep home, fingers digging into the curve of my jaw to keep me mostly quiet. I just moaned, erection trapped between my stomach and the wall, and I rolled my hips slightly, urging him to get the hell on with it. I’d come here to get fucked, mouth or ass or whatever else he wanted and he could just get on with it. I *wanted* it. God, I’m such a whore. Panting and whimpering like a bitch in heat, just aching for the fuck and feeling too animal stupid to be graceful about it. I call it being fuck dumb, sex makes people kinda crazy and they don’t think about things which later they cringe to think they did. Sex is messy and it’s never as simple as leaving a couple of hundreds on the counterpane before you hurry out of the dingy hotel room and leave me to take a comfortable smoke and nap before sauntering back out to pick up another john. So speaketh the professional street walker.

Frank didn’t disappoint.

My nails left scratches down the wall as he withdrew slightly, then slammed back home, forcing my ass to open up for him or tear. And he didn’t care which one happened, as long as he got his fuck. Thank god I’d been whoring as long as I had – if I’d been anywhere near to virgin I would have torn, and it’s a pain in the ass (no pun intended) to try and explain that no, I wasn’t raped and yes, I just wanted the meds and the stitches to get the hell out of the hospital and back to work. The back to work bit usually shut the hypocritical med staff up. I met a john I’d gone down on my knees for once in the hospital, he knew me and we pretended we’d never seen each other in our lives. Of course, having the man cum in my mouth taught me at least one thing about him that most people wouldn’t know – his wife had better hope he washed before he made her give him a blowjob. The blunt head of Frank’s cock hit my prostate and I arched my back, stars going off behind my eyelids as they closed briefly. Finally, he just let go of my hand and put his hands on my hips so he could have the balance to fuck me hard and fast.

I’d wager odds he never did that with his wife.

But it was about all someone like me deserved. I moaned, high in the back of my throat, choked little ‘unh, unh’ sounds like I was in pain, split open and owned by the thick shaft invading my body repeatedly. He bit down on my shoulder, and I felt the skin split under his teeth, hips moving in time with his thrusts as he forced me to rub against the wall for some sort of pressure on my aching erection, painting the plaster with precome. It all hurt, but it hurt so good. “J-jesus!”

“Shut up,” a low snarl in my ear and a slap that echoed in the room with the sounds of downright dirty fucking was all the reminder I got to hold my tongue. I just shut up and moaned softly, making fuck stupid noises – he didn’t seem to mind that. Just no words. I could deal. I’d had weirder requests, and everything was building up under my skin as I was brutally fucked standing up against a wall, biting down on my own hand so I didn’t annoy the crazy who was doing the fucking. A few more strokes along my prostate and my breath hitched as I came, cum hitting the wall with a brief splatter of white on dusty brown. Castle groaned, biting down on my already sore shoulder as he buried himself in my body and orgasmed, liquid heat washing through my insides. Not an unfamiliar feeling, but I wished I had the time and strength of will to insist on protection. We both just stood there for a few moments, him warm against my back and I relaxed somewhat. Felt his breath warm on my shoulder and the toothmarks already starting to burn, while the bruises on my hips and my ass started to throb. The recognizable ache of being well-fucked as Frank shuddered, then slid out, leaving me feeling oh so empty.

Fuck you. Yes, I like taking it up the ass. Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t trade in whoring for an actual relationship where the other guy cares if I get off or not, or what my day was like, and wants to know what I think rather then how tight my ass is or how good my mouth is. I’d give anything for that. But whores don’t have lovers – they just have johns.

I could feel the warmth of his cum sliding down the inside of my legs, and a brief check as I bent to pick up my pants told me he had torn me a little, as it was streaked with faint red marks of blood. That, I could live through. When it’s more blood then cum, that’s when you know you have to get to hospital. He had turned away as I did up my pants and dropped my tee-shirt over my head, probably not wanting to acknowledge what he had just done. Most macho guys don’t. Yeah, they like fucking men but looking at the other guy after...? Nah. Not possible. Of course, there are always the ones who blame the prostitute and then proceed to bash the everloving shit out of you, but that’s just the risks of the business. Compared to a few of the customers I’d had in the past, and my sweet loving father, Frank Castle was a paragon of perfection. I got off, he didn’t slap me afterwards and he didn’t abuse me while he fucked me either. Besides the biting, but that was alright by me. I wanted to remember this, and the teethmarks would take even longer to fade then the bruises.

“Hey...if you want me again, all you have to do is knock.”

His shoulders tightened slightly and I slipped out, closing the door behind me with a gentle click and starting to breathe for the first time since I’d stepped inside his room. Damn. I wouldn’t say no. That had been a grand fuck, and I was almost hoping he’d just knock on my door and then walk off again, knowing I’d follow.

Of course, he did. And that’s why I didn’t say a word when that guy tore my piercings straight out of my face. Because Frank stood up for me once, and he stood up for Joan, and he tried to make sure no trouble came to us. He tried real hard. Of course, he left straight after that, and I don’t know if I’ll ever hear about him again. But hey. How many people can say they got fucked by the Punisher and are still counted among the living? And I’ll tell you this...he’s one hell of a fuck.

 

 

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