Divine Retribution

im sorry i cant

He presses send text on his mobile. Simultaneously it beeps and he grimaces. Should have had the guts to call her. Can't? Won't. She's ok, great in bed. Was last night. First time. First and last.

He should have listened to himself when they met. Nurse. Bit below his grade really. Great body, fantastic tits and arse. But the face? Looked good on the dating site. Must have had it touched up, photoshopped. In the flesh? Just not quite right. Too ... don't know. Just wouldn't look good on his arm, with his friends. That's all.

The mobile rings. Her. Oh, god, here we go. Tears at bed time. But no. Voice calm, accepting. Asking if ... bloody hell. She understands. But can she just be his

what

buddy? Cock already going hard. She's telling him how great he was. Wants him again, no strings. This sounds a bit wrong. He's fighting with his cock. Let's think a sec. She uses words. They turn his cock into a winner. It's a knockout. Tonight? What time?

Front door peeling, shabby. Inside it's clean but tatty. He remembers. Only last night. Shabby chic she calls it. Made him feel pity. That's part of the problem. That and the face. Here it is. It's smiling. Big teeth, big tits. Short, black dress, tight as skin. No knickers, surely? Oh, baby, you're ready. She's holding out a drink. Gin. She remembered. Ok, mustn't rush it. She wants to pretend it's a date as well as a fuck. Well maybe she doesn't. Because here she is, in front of him, hand rubbing the front of his trousers. She wants his cock. His cock wants her. He gulps his drink. Reaches for her shoulders. Is that tenderness? Will she get the wrong idea? His hands feel dumbbell heavy. So do his legs. He has to sit down. Right now!

Fuck. His head. Feels like the inside of his mouth, dry and sour. He lifts his hand to rub his face. Can't. Hands are strapped, arms sticking out each side palms upward, strapped to a plank or something. Legs and feet together, swaddled in leather straps ever few inches. He lifts his head higher. He's on a sort of narrow bench. Mmm, kinky. Hard, feels like wood. No clothes, just straps. Too woozy to mind too much. There she is. Big smile again. What's she going to do? The way he's tied. Like she's going to pull him up on his cross. Erect him. Crucify him. What's she saying? Something about ... He shakes his head, shakes fuzzy ringing out of his ears. She's going to fuck him to death. Oh.

Now he's listening, looking round the room. More of a chamber, he'd call it. No shabby chic in here. Smooth white walls. Digital clock. What for? It's 19:57. Really useful to know that. White vinyl floor. Shiny clean. Is that a stain? Smell of antiseptic. And fear. He looks at his left arm, sees the lines she must have stuck in when he was out. The needle looks big, doesn't hurt, she's good. She's telling him. Listen. This one's male hormones to boost his sex drive. Supercharge him, she says. His cock shrivels at the word, the way she says it. This one. What did she call it? And it inhibits what? Prolactin? What the fuck is that? The chemical his body releases when he has an orgasm. Oh right. And this stops it. So that means? Ok, he can ejaculate continuously every few minutes. Right. Sure. The last one, it feeds him a cocktail. Ha, great name. Ensures his maximum erection, increases his heart rate and raises his blood pressure. Triple whammy. That's the one she'll gradually turn up, keep him hard and strong until he dies from it.

Horseshit. Just let me go. Sorry I told you by text. I was going to ring. You're very nice but we aren't quite right for each other. Yes we are! You're perfect. For me! She hisses it. Like an arachnid. Thoughts, creeping round his head, black as widows, black as her dress. Female spiders eat their sexual partners. Oh god. His balls shrink back inside him. No way is he going to get hard. Not in her ... web.

im sorry i cant

She walks to the bags of drugs hanging on a rack. Turns a little white knob on one of them. He doesn't feel a thing. Good. This is a game that's got out of control. She likes playing nurse. He's fine. Just keep calm. Let her play with her toys for a bit. Oh, jesus. His cock is rising up like magic. Like it doesn't belong to him. He closes his eyes, thinks of things that should make him go soft. His car crash, blood jetting out of his leg, dripping onto new leather seats. His first job interview. A set up. They murdered him, stripped him of dignity and laughed. His mum, his dad. Jesus. Oh, Jesus!

She's at the fucking bags again, adjusting. Feels his cock, squeezes her hand round it. Hard. Very hard. She nods. You're ready to start. Her tone is caring, like she's doing comfort the dying patient. Blood pumps so hard into his cock it hurts. Feels like a big steel rod has been rammed through his arse and straight up the inside of his cock. His chest is pounding and he can see his cardiac pulse in the purple veins on his cock.

Ok big boy, let's go for a ride. She drawls the words like some old American actress. Like it's a great big fucking joke. The bench is close to the floor so the pulsing tip of his cock is just at her cunt height. He has to do the geometry with his fascinated eyes as she opens her thighs and shuffles along either side of his strapped legs. She still has her dress on so he can't see it, but he feels it, approaching his throbbing monster like a slobbering, devouring mouth. God!

She's dripping on him. Hot arousal acid splashing onto his thighs. She's arrived. Her vagina, all eager lips, closing round his huge, pumped up tip. Sliding, sliding. Swallowing his enormity inside the fire of her pelvic throat. She is so hot, like she'll make his blood boil inside his cock. He wants to move, bang his cock deep into her. Can't help it, must be the stuff she's injected. Can't move, bound like a fly in a spider's cocoon. It's agony, this need he can't meet. Move, bitch! Fuck me! Ride your big boy. Ride me! Can't help the words, just spilling out from nowhere. Do it! She's sat right down on him now. Surrounding him with her weeping walls. Just sitting. Eyes locked with his. Eyes and organs. Linked, frozen.

She starts to sway, playing his cock against the slippery furnace of her inside. Rocking her pelvis, grinding it into his groin. She presses his cock back and forth and it hurts because it cannot bend. She's closed her eyes, moaning to herself. Same mumbled word, over and over. Now she's louder. Bastard. Bastard. Bastard. Drawing out the 's' in a toxic hiss. So that's it. A grudge fuck. The ultimate. Ok, he can cope now. Can't he?

She slides over him, like a hot, oily cylinder moving up and down on his helpless, motionless piston. Leaning back. He can feel the front of her inside wall rubbing against the top of his tip. He knows what she's doing, he looked on the websites, did his research on how to be a better lover. The texture of her swollen g-spot, he can feel it. Like a big, hot raspberry raking along the tip of his cock. She reaches her arms up. Fuck me, handles, mounted on the ceiling. This was built for this. A fuck chamber. How many ... others? Strong arms, pulling her up, down, up, down. She leans back more, needs more friction on her rubbing raspberry. Like an irresistible object pressing against an immovable force. No, that's not right. Yes it is. Her stroking cunt is irresistible, his rigid cock is immovable. Faster. Bastard, bastard, bastard! This won't get him off. He doesn't do femdom. Not his bag at all. Bastard, bastard, bastard!

She's pounding onto him now. Bang, bang, bang! It just hurts. Where's the pleasure in that? Her buttocks, hammering into his thighs. She's laughing, crying, moaning. Yeah, moan, bitch! Moan your fucking life out on my great big tree trunk. She loves it. Shout louder, big boy. Die, you fucking bitch, kill yourself on me! Ride my cock 'til you're dead! Fuck yourself to death! She's orgasm screaming. He can feel her waves rubbing and rippling along his length. She's sucking him in with her. Pulling him off to her wild sex cries and her sucking, needing cunt. He's going to blow. Like the whole of his body is gathering up into his cock, his magnificence. Growing, building, flowing. He opens his mouth, relaxes, tries not to think. This will make it better. Just relax, relax. Uh! Uh! Uh! His orgasm muscle spasms like a fist, clenching iron. The squirting. Uh! Jet washing her insides. The heat and pressure of his liquid sears up inside his cock. Spurting, spurting. Uh! Uh, uh.

She's got off him. He looks, expecting to see his cock dribbling, drooping. But he hasn't got that feeling of being spent, that biological disdain telling him it's over. Job done. Get back to the cave. The survival of the species is safe. No, this is different. His need is still strong, hammering on his urge. One fuck is not enough. Nowhere near. Where's that gorgeous arse? Where is she, the fragile, beautiful animal he needs to ram? To impregnate.

Over by the drips again. Tuning his sex drive to get the best reception. Turning his knob up to maximum. Overdriving his huge, buzzing amplifier. He can feel it, deafening sexual distortion roaring inside his body. She climbs back onto him. Into him. The other way round. Her arching back is beauty, her long dark hair a waterfall of divinity, cascading towards his loins. She's naked now. It doesn't seem important. All he needs is her sweet little hole wrapped onto his rigid masculine core. His heart is going, must be 140 now, banging hugeness and hardness into his bellowing cock. Here she is. Oh, yeah. This is what we're for, baby, what we're for. She starts to bang him again, slower, all the way out, all the way back in again. Deep in. Bending back, the ends of her hair dancing against his belly. Oh, yeah. Much better. Now fuck me. Fuck me, lover! Ride my cock to kingdom come!

The angle is better. Bending his cock up, not down. Her movement is a sexual rhythm, not a desperate hammer. Flexing her pelvis back and forth as she strokes him. Back and forth, back and forth. Oh, yeah. Only a woman can do that. Just watching it is so sexy it can make you blow. Just thinking of it. As your hand turns into her body. He's recharged, feels the fluid, heavy, ready to erupt into her sweet darkness. She's sensing him, moving just right. Swelling his sex, blowing it up, stretched tight, ready to burst. He will blow again. Inevitable. When? Up to her. Oh, baby, my sweet baby. Let your daddy blow. Oh, yeah. So good. So fucking good. Uh! Uh! Uh! She comes too, screaming wild woman screams, drowning his mindless male grunts.

It doesn't stop. She shifts position, rhythm, intensity. But her stroking motion is endless. He feels like a longbow, the string drawn back slowly. Inevitably. The wood is his body, creaking and spitting under the tension. The cord is his urge. The hot, wet fingers of her cunt pull it back. That's enough. Back a little more. Oh, god. Another inch. Fuck me! Fuck me! Release. Shooting, pulsing, disgorging. Uh! Uh! Uh! Screaming again as she feels his searing arrow of sexual fluid jetting into her. Still moving. Her fingers. Curling round his cord again. Pulling it back. Again. Release! And again. Release! And again. Oh god, oh god. Release!

The pleasure centre in his head is fizzing, flaming, like she's applied electrodes directly onto it. Each release is a cattle prod jolt. Opening his mind like a chasm, tumbling all thoughts and feelings into the abyss of his irrelevance. Pure sexual need and pleasure. Burning him to charred ruin. He's going to die. Again. And again. A final vision, beyond the mind stealing sexiness of her feminine writhing. The clock. 02:08. Time of death. A final absurd thought flits in from nowhere. When a plant is dying its last act is to fruit as fast as possible. The last fruit are as many and as large as the poor, expiring plant can manage. His fruit are huge and swollen. Impossibly sweet. Exploding with the pressure of his mad, animal fury. His need to survive has been obliterated by his need to fuck and be fucked. He does not matter. His only instinct is to jet out the hot, thick seed of his existence. Plant it deep into her, again and again.

***

Three days later. A lifetime. He's at home. Crumpled. His mind still sings the mindless chorus of his rebirth. He had to wank this morning. Again. Even though it hurt. It was like thin chirping from a cheap sound system. A pathetic echo of what she had played over him. Deafening guitar slashes from the roaring mountain of an ACDC speaker stack.

He knows this is how it will be now. With himself. With any other woman. He picks up his mobile again. Taps the buttons. Again. Desperate, primeval tears fill his eyes and blur the same response. It's arrival is carried by a forlorn beep, the tolling of his own finality.

im sorry i cant