Iss with a Fist

Hi Litsters,

This is my first posting to Erotic Couplings and I'm nervous about how it turns out. I hope you like it. Feel free to vote, comment and send me private feedback with abandon should you like the story (even more so if you don't).

Inspired by the Florence and The Machine song "Kiss With A Fist".

A richly deserved vote of thanks to my tireless editor NaokoSmith and my beta-reader DeathAndTaxes.

DISCLAIMER

- The story ahead has a liberal amount of profanity, violence, drug use and really rough sex. If one or more of those is contrary to your tastes, please don't read further.

"I will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible. And when I leave you will finally understand, why storms are named after people."

- Caitlyn Siehl

****

"Hold the cue gently. Not too stiff. Keep the head pointed towards the centre of the ball."

Eddie Dyer had one hand under the slender blonde. She leaned over the pool table, focusing on the shot she had to make. He took the opportunity to let a helpful hand hold her side and subtly graze her breast.

"That's it now, keep your eyes on the ball."

Another hand made its way to her waist, giving her support while she leaned forward. The blonde didn't seem to mind, perhaps even enjoying the touch of his calloused hands against her tender flesh.

Eddie continued leaning over her shapely curves, copping a generous feel under the guise of pool instructions. The leggy lass squinted her eyes in concentration, ignoring the fingers rubbing against her fleshy thigh. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his muscular bicep flex, stretching out the tattoo looped around it.

"Nice and easy now. Don't overdo it."

He was lousy at taking his own advice, letting a couple of fingers wander into her cleavage. He stroked her plump tit, reaching as far as her elusive areola on occasion.

There was a loud thwack when the cue finally surged forward and connected with the cue ball. Unfortunately, the ball went several inches wide of its intended target, ricocheting off the sides before nestling in the corner pocket.

"Aww... well. I'm sure you'll do better with practice."

Slick as ever, Eddie grabbed one last handful of her tit flesh before stepping away. The girl looked around and blushed, trying to see if anyone around had seen her basically groped over the pool table. Worse, she desperately hoped to hide from them her nascent arousal, seeping into the gusset of her damp underwear.

She turned around to see if Eddie was still in the vicinity, hoping to tempt him to go further. Much to her chagrin, he was facing the other way and making brisk strides in the direction of the counter.

A crimson blush came over her face as she took a quick glance around to see if anybody nearby had noticed. She beamed when she saw an attractive black man wink at her from the opposite end of the bar.

****

Eddie had that look in his eyes. Everybody got out of his way in a hurry, not wanting to get on his wrong side. He jostled and shoved his way through the crowd towards the bar counter. The bartender leaned over and smiled at his friend.

"Who's that guy with Darcy?"

The bartender turned his grizzled face to the right. The leather-clad redhead in question was getting comfortable with a balding man. They talked animatedly, the man letting his hand wander to her exposed waist and rub against her skin.

"No idea, Eddie."

At that moment, the man leaned in for a kiss. She averted his lips, instead letting him feast on the exposed skin of her neck and shoulder. His lips were busy when she shot a long glance at Eddie out of the corner of her eye.

"Excuse me, Dom," he said, brushing away an attempted beer by his friend. "I'll be back in a sec."

"Don't make a mess. I'm not cleaning it up again."

"I'll try my best," Eddie said. In a few quick strides, he reached the pair. The older and more knowledgeable patrons knew what was coming and wisely chose to step away. Eddie reached Darcy just as the man lifted his lips from her cleavage and looked at him through beady eyes.

"Darcy, you look busy," said Eddie, with a wide grin. "Don't you want to introduce me to your friend here?"

"Fuck off, Eddie. He bought me a drink, which is more than you've done all evening."

"I'm sorry, babe. Hey, Dom! Get the lady a Jager shot."

The bartender silently obliged. Darcy gulped the strong shot down at once and beckoned for another while her eyes flashed fire at Eddie.

"Nice pool lessons, by the way," she said sardonically. "Even I learned a thing or two while you taught that bimbo back there. Should I say taught or felt up? It looked quite confusing from here."

"I was just having a little harmless fun, hun. You know I'd never take it any further."

"And yet, you have to come along and interrupt me when I'm having a little

harmless fun

of my own."

"I think I should just go..." said the hitherto silent man. He stood a good six inches shorter than Eddie and lacked the bulging biceps and tattoos that he was currently eyeing fearfully.

"No, stay..." said Eddie genially. "What's his name, darlin'?"

"Gavin. He's in town to visit his sister."

"Well then, Gavin. Tell your sister I said Hi."

The next second there was a sickening splat of brass knuckles colliding with skin. Eddie's right hand shot up and made a tremendous impact on the Gavin's nose and lips. The punch was heard across the bar as the man sprawled over the counter and then fell off his stool onto the floor. Eddie and Darcy looked down at him, seeing blood flow out his nose and mouth. He coughed, spouting more blood onto the floor.

"That wasn't necessary, Eddie," spat out Darcy, shaking her unkept red locks. "Do I go around knocking out every slut you shack up with? He's a nice guy. Much nicer than you, if you must know."

"Come on, babe-"

"Save it," she interrupted and kneed him where no man wants to get kneed. He doubled over, cringing.

"Seriously not cool, Darcy," he gasped.

She waited till he could unsteadily stand before throwing the remainder of her Jagermeister at his face. He stood there, his eyes clenched shut, alcohol dripping off his face and his pride temporarily in tatters.

"I'm leaving, motherfucker. And this time, I'm not coming back."

Eddie heard her heels clicking furiously as she stormed off. Half the bar watched the scene with wide eyes, while the regulars simply tutted and shook their heads.

"She'll return, Dom. She always does," Eddie said, wiping his face with his sleeve. His friend looked less than amused.

"I don't care if she returns. I told you not to make a mess and now I have an unconscious, bleeding guy on the floor."

"Relax, Dom. It's not the first time and it's unlikely to be the last. Have a couple of your guys drop him at the ER."

Eddie reached into his pocket and fished out a wad of bills. He rolled out a few dead Presidents and put them on the counter.

"For your troubles. Gotta go now. The boss wants to meet me."

Dom sighed ruefully to himself before yelling to his boys.

"Clean up on aisle three. Eddie's been here."

****

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

Eddie's knuckles were sore. The tape wrapped around them had frayed and was wearing off quickly. He strafed left, then right, hopping on his toes. His breathing was shallow and he unleashed a flurry of blows at the punching bag before him.

It had been a bad day at office. The Crips had started a new initiation ritual - ambushing members of the rival Irish mob. Eddie and his boys were simply on their way back from the bodega when a group of initiates attacked, armed with bicycle chains and knives.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

Violence was nothing new in the Cypress Hills neighbourhood, but the Crips had the element of surprise. Before he knew it, Eddie was already surrounded. He fended off a few blows and managed to get a shot or two of his own in before the attackers ran back to their turf. He was largely unscathed, but his right-hand man, Jack, was a crumpled, bloody heap on the road. He had taken on three Crips at once and received half a dozen stab wounds.

Thankfully those Crips were still kids and didn't know where the vital organs were.

Sweat poured off Eddie's face. One of the bicycle chains had opened up a neat cut over his left eye. The wound stung with salty sweat.

He was soft and out of practice. His pride was wounded worse than his body.

His could almost hear his Dad's derisive laugh when he got beaten up for the umpteenth time. He always wanted his son to grow up to be a man's man.

Eddie took a brief moment before unleashing a fresh salvo of left and right hooks onto the bag. Rage flowed through his veins. He wound up and gave the bag one punch with all he had. The bag lurched against the chains before regaining its normal position.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

Eddie Senior returned from his second tour of the Gulf a different man. Whatever passed for warmth and affection before had completely disappeared and he resumed his love affair with the bottle after three years of sobriety. Some of the things he had seen in the war made it necessary.

He also became strangely controlling over Eddie, demanding he learn how to fight. He built a small gym in the basement and dragged his adolescent son down there, mostly against his will.

"Come on, Eddie," snarled his Dad, holding both hands up. "Punch me."

Eddie looked fearful, desperate to get out. His father got more impatient.

"I said punch me, faggot. You gotta learn how to fight if you want to defend yourself in this neighbourhood."

Eddie threw a weak punch against his father's open palm. It made him laugh.

"I said punch, not tickle, you worthless sack of shit. Now fucking put some meat into it."

He threw two more quick punches, neither living up to his father's expectations. The last one made brief contact with his chin, but not the impact he wanted.

"When I say punch, I mean with force. Like this."

Eddie Senior's punch caught his son squarely on the jaw, sending him flying back against the concrete wall. His head made a hard collision and bounced back to where his father got a hold of his collar. He opened his eyes fearfully only to meet his father's savage gaze.

"What? That wasn't enough. You want more? Like this."

THUMP.

"And this."

THUMP

"... this."

THUMP

"..."

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

Eddie Dyer felt the back of his head. There were many scars and bumps, but his fingers sought out a special one. One he had received in the basement of his childhood home. His father had knocked him out cold that day. Finally, his screams from down there reached his neighbours who called the police.

From there, it only got harder. He went from group home to group home, too old to be adopted by a foster family. The group homes were worse and he had to fight for every little thing he got. Soon, he was the biggest, meanest kid in the place. From there it was a natural progression to the assembly line for creating a new lowlife for the underbelly of Brooklyn.

He went back to assaulting the punching bag with renewed vigour. His knuckles were red and puffy and he was sporting a bruise from the fight earlier. He didn't care. He had sworn he would never let himself be hurt again. Left and right hooks slammed into the punching bag until he simply couldn't throw another punch. He staggered back and panted, the anger from earlier finally replaced by calm. He turned to the entrance of the gym to see Darcy, taking a long drag off a Newport. She dropped the stub onto the floor and crushed it under her heel.

"I heard what happened to Jack. How is he?"

"He lost a lot of blood, but he's gonna be okay. He's a fighter."

Eddie looked at her through his lashes, trying to gauge the look on her face. He had seen that look of forced calm enough to know it was merely a façade, hiding something worse.

"I know about Miranda."

Those four words resonated around the empty gym. Eddie rolled his eyes and cursed under his breath.

"I'm sorry, Darcy. I really am."

"Don't. Just fucking don't. I'm really through with you this time."

"She came onto me, babe. You have to believe me on this one," he said.

"Fuck you," she spat out. "Fuck you all the way to hell." Her outstretched middle finger emphasised the point.

"I'm sorry, Darcy. I never meant to hurt you."

"Is that why you slept with a stripper? I mean, really? A fucking

stripper

?"

"You were also a stripper once."

"So," she snarled, her eyes widening. "I gave that up for you and this is how you return the favour? You go around pounding ten-dollar whores up the ass."

"I love you, babe. You have to believe that," he said, raising one of his taped hands to her face.

"Fuck you," she repeated, punctuating the sentence with a swift knee to his groin. He doubled over in pain for the second time that day. Even as he caught his breath, he saw her marching straight out the door.

The luck of the Irish was not with him that day. Not by any stretch.

****

"Calm down, Darcy."

"Don't you fucking tell me to calm down, you fucking bastard," she screamed, tears streaming down her face. "I loved you so much and you just go around banging every slut you see?"

"It's not like that, I swear."

"Then, what?" she said, wiping her tears. "Fucking tell me what?"

Eddie stood motionless, unable to think of a good enough answer. He hung his head. Darcy grew more livid by the second. She jumped on the bed and then straight onto her boyfriend, pushing him down against the floor. She looked down at him with black hatred and balled her hands into tight fists before she rained down a barrage of punches onto his face and chest. He crossed his arms over his face, absorbing her rage.

Finally, she seemed to tire of fighting. She collapsed on top of him, crying bitterly, her carefully done make-up an absolute mess. Ugly black streaks of mascara came down both sides of her face.

"Why, Eddie?"

"Shhh... don't talk now," he said, stroking her cheek.

She lay on top of him, her tears running cold on his neck and shoulder. Slowly he traced out the phoenix tattoo on her arm. His fingers rubbed along the edge of its wings. The phoenix meant something special to her, rising from the ashes. Well, Darcy had been through enough Hellfire.

Eddie kissed her gently and caressed her hair with his other hand. She seemed limp, spent from crying.

Darcy cried a lot the day her father was convicted on five charges of corruption. She absolutely doted on him as a kid. Her father, Officer McPherson, could do no wrong as far as she was concerned. He was her hero.

It hurt to see her hero turn mortal before her eyes.

It didn't matter that he had a reduced sentence for turning State's evidence. He would never be her hero again. She spent most of her teenage life wiping her tears and seeking comfort in marijuana. Her spiral only truly began when she got hooked on the more expensive drugs, drugs that needed her to turn tricks to be able to afford.

She lay there, on top of him, utterly spent. He wrapped his arms around her back and held her tightly. All at once, she seemed so tender, so vulnerable. He kissed her cheek softly and whispered into her ear.

"I love you so much, baby. I wish I had the words to tell you."

Darcy raised her head. Her blazing red hair came down on either side of her sharp, angular face. Her turquoise blue eyes glinted brightly and looked straight into his. They were close now, so close he could see the wetness shimmering within them.

"Honey," he said softly. "I think we should have sex now. The readers are getting impatient."

"Right. I forgot we're in the Erotic Couplings category," she said. "This is your goodbye fuck."

She lowered her luscious lips to his and they kissed. He pushed his tongue into her mouth and found hers. The kiss gradually turned intense, their tongues duelling with each other. Darcy pressed her lips down on his and kissed him fiercely, the only way she knew how. Their kiss continued while he slipped his hands under the waistband of her pants. He lifted her waist off his to reach the belt and button of her pants.

Darcy gasped when his hand made contact with her damp pussy through the flimsy fabric of her thong. His finger probed her slit and slowly pushed some of the sheer fabric inside.

"Fuck, baby. Do that again."

He obliged, pushing his index and middle finger in at once. The material of her thong was stretched to breaking point when he drew his fingers out and pushed them back in again.

"Let's take this stupid thing off," he said, quickly taking off the fabric between his fingers and her. He let his thumb rub her clit, sparking squeals of pleasure.

Darcy took the initiative to remove her top and bra while Eddie's attentions remained focussed on her tight pussy. Her large breasts popped out. She was content to play with her nipples for the time.

Eddie worked her pussy with two fingers. He pushed them as deep as they would go inside her before twisting and turning them against her fleshy walls. Her eyes rolled back into her head with pleasure. His two hands worked in tandem, one rubbing her clit and the other thrusting in and out of her opening.

Her eyes were clamped shut and her fingers pinching and pulling on the hard nubs at the end of her breasts. She held them between her index finger and thumb and twisted them gently, sending ripples of pleasure flowing through her.

"Right there, Eddie."

The first time his tongue made contact with her wetness, she gasped. The sudden feeling of rough tastebuds against her pussy lips was too much for her. Instinctively, she clenched her thighs around his head, forcing it in place. He obliged with a long lick, all the way from the bottom of her pussy right to the top, gently teasing her along the way.

"Fuck!!" she screeched.

He repeated his long slow lick. His tongue imbibed every nuance of liquid which flowed from her.

"What's it like?" she asked coyly.

"It should be on the menu at Flaherty's."

She laughed. It was a musical, lilted laugh that Eddie brought out of her. She had seldom had occasion to laugh in her life.

Not with Eddie. He loved her.

"Not to rush you, honey, but all this business with Miranda means you owe me a rough, hard fuck right here on the rug."

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Eddie quickly clambered up her body until his face was directly above hers. She smiled that coquettish, wicked smile that drove him over the edge while reaching down and grasping his hardness. Her fingers wrapped around it and tugged gently.

"There's a good boy," she murmured into his mouth.

She lined the head with her wetness. He took the signal and slid into her in one, fluid stroke. The impact made Darcy jerk. He pulled out until half of him was still inside her before thrusting back again.

Their lips met in a fiery inferno of passion, their tongues fencing for room. Darcy was never outdone, reciprocating the intensity of the kiss with interest. She frothed and churned the inside of Eddie's mouth, mashing her lips with his. His hips rose and fell in a slow, sporadic rhythm. She pushed the waistband of his jeans to his knees and grabbed his ass, her nails breaking skin.

"I said

hard

, dumbfuck! Fuck the shit out of me." She pulled his hips to herself, to emphasise the point.

He happily caved in to her demand and slammed into her hard and fast. His hips made a wet impact on her at every instroke. He plunged in and out of her like a piston, his strokes becoming faster and more frequent with time.