'Hurt Me!'

Sunday morning is still Saturday night. October 1997. I'm d***k and staggering up Ryde High Street on the way home. I reach the junction with Star Street where the precinct ends and the 'Old Town' begins. ‘Oi! You look a bit like Steve Collins… I like him!’ I turn and see two fat slappers dressed in leather jackets and jeans loitering in a shop entrance – they are probably early twenties. They put me in mind, for an instant, of the bloated spiders, you see in autumn, patiently straddling their webs hoping for a fly to stumble blindly in… ‘You mean Steve Collins the 'Celtic Warrior'… the boxer?’ I respond. I don't think I do resemble him… and I'm ten years older too but add: ‘You like boxing then? Lennox Lewis is fighting tonight… pity I haven't got Sky or I would have watched it.’ ‘We've got Sky… come round ours!’ Forward: I think… or rather what passes for thinking when you're pissed. ‘Where do you live?’ I don't want to trawl halfway across town. ‘Mount Street.’ Fack! I live in Mount Street and I've never seen them before. ‘Yeah… thanks… I will.’ ‘We're s****rs you know.’ One says. ‘You do look a bit alike.’ They both have round flat fat faces and dark lank hair – you couldn't call them pretty but then you couldn't call them ugly either, still, I have been drinking a lot of lager. The younger one of the two grabs hold of my hand and we turn right into Newport Street, left into Station Street, along Green Street and then into Mount Street. We wander past Willow Cottage where I live and tucked in the corner of Mount Street and Little Arthur Street is their house – just three facking doors away from mine… that could spell trouble. We enter into the surprisingly expansive lounge and I plonk myself down onto the large sofa – one of the s****rs gets me a can and I pop it open. The telly is switched on and tuned onto Sky Sports – I look forward to the big fight: Lennox Lewis versus Andrew Golota. The preliminaries, fight clips and discussion seems to go on endlessly – the older bigger s****r disappears off to bed and I'm left on the seat with M. After a bit I'm aware she's gone too, perhaps I had dozed off. I feel a bit awkward sitting in a strangers house all alone watching their telly and using their electric but the fight will be on soon. I hear footsteps and see M standing at the door in her nightdress: ‘Are you coming to bed with me or what?’ The 'or what' option seems the least promising of the two so I say: ‘Okay.’ She clicks the telly off and turns off the lights. ‘Try not to make too much noise or you'll wake my mother up… she won't be too pleased to find you here.’ I follow her up the stairs to her bedroom which remains unlit. As my eyes adjust, the darkness becomes a gloom and I can just discern why she doesn't want it to be illuminated – the room is a complete and utter tip. I strip off and slip under the covers beside her. I give her a cuddle and French kiss her, gradually working round to caressing her skin under her nightie. ‘Why don't you take your nightdress off?’ I purr in her ear. ‘I'm fine just the way I am thanks.’ Eventually I penetrate her but something seems amiss… nerves perhaps? I do not climax myself and fall into a d***ken sl**p. Suddenly I'm awake… and very hard – I think it is she that has woken me. She is leaning over me intently: ‘Hurt me... I want you to hurt me!’ I resist the initial, cruelly witty, urge to call her a 'fat ugly slag' but instead say: ‘Have you got a hairbrush or a shoe?’ This is my kind of female – I briefly fantasise about her pale fat naked body in the moonlight tied firmly to a tree with twine and me whipping her back and buttocks with a cat 'o nine tails… every lash echoing through the woods and bringing forth thin lines of bl**d… ‘I would really like that but the noise will wake Mum up. Scratch my arms!’ She whips the nightgown over her head – the shyness has evaporated. I gently take her chubby left arm in my left hand and then rake down it hard from the forearms to the wrist with the prominent nails of my right hand. I can feel her tense but she says nothing. I repeat the action but this time even harder. Her breathing begins to deepen. Again I rake her. I switch to her right arm. I do not start gently. Four times I run my nails with f***e down the bare flesh of her arms. Her deep breathing is becoming gasping now. I return to her left arm, faster and faster, deeper and deeper, I rake her. She seeks bl**d… so do I! My hand becomes warm and sticky. I stop. ‘Do you want me to fuck you now, have you had enough?’ ‘Yes… that is good… very good!’ I mount her, slipping in easily, and my penis has 'attitude'. I get her to rub my nipples gently whilst I pinch hers really tight. I can feel little ripples of spasms play along my shaft like the first drops of rain prior to the downpour as she begins to climax. Her obese frame shudders and she utters a mute groan – I continue to pump and after a few seconds I too experience the sweet release of orgasm. Spent, I withdraw and then collapse to the side of her… slumber beckons. ‘You can't fall asl**p, you'll have to go. Mum will absolutely kill me if she finds you!’ I clamber out of bed and struggle not only to find my clothes but also to put them on. Eventually I succeed, wish her a good night, and then sneak out of the house. I stroll the few yards home and let myself in. I do not feel guilt yet but I know I will when I sober up. I must keep this from Moody who I really love - I vow never to speak to the s****rs again. As I get into my bed I wonder how the fight went… never did get to see it!