Work Out Break Down

I hit the sandbag again. The chain rattles and the reverb runs up my arm to my shoulder. I hit it again, and the same thing happens. I hit it again, a little harder, and I feel my bones start to protest. I hit the sandbag again, harder, and harder and harder. My gloves have been going to hell for a long while and today might finally be the day they give up on me. I hope so. I need the excuse to spend the money. I hit the bag again and a rip goes across the surface, spilling the little beans across the floor. I sigh and straighten and throw my head back. I wanted to go a little longer, but that’s a good a sign as any to take the cool down now. I’m here enough to make up for it.

I look around RTLs. Small crowd tonight, but its Friday, and it’s a miracle that even this many people are here at all. Sani’s working the rope, Lyle’s doing some shadowboxing, and Ken’s helping the gym actually make some money for once. Lord knows I don’t pay enough here to keep this thing afloat.

I sit against the wall, bottle in hand as I watch the class hit the climax. Women’s self-defense, good skill to have, and definitely brought in some new faces. A few of them turn my way, no doubt from the ruckus I caused. An ideal to work towards, maybe, a little fear here and there to set them on edge, a push to be something greater. I don’t know. I just saw one of them glancing over, trying not to make it look too obvious, but that only made it more obvious and now she wasn’t paying any attention at all, just smiling sweetly at me. Until Ken spoke a little louder in that thick accent of his and drew her attention back to what she frankly overpaid for.

It was odd to see a man who made his living by fighting give the advice that the best course of action was running away. He never did that in his life, and he had the broken nose and scars to prove it. But they all nodded along like it was the best thing they had ever heard. And, in all fairness, being in a fight kind of sucked. It could be amazing, the ebb and flow of movement coupled with the feeling of parting flesh, breaking skin, and snapping bone, but only if you were on the dealing end.

I pull myself away from my wall with one last sip and start stretching. This feels good too, this breaking in my muscles. My chest gets in the way, but a couple shifts here and there get most of it out of the way. The sports bra helps, some, but I’ve gotten used to working around the girls. They do their job just fine and I don’t blame them for it. Something pops in my back and I suppress a satisfied grunt. More shifting of my parts, getting my body to right configuration to break the stiffness into gummy flexibility. My pants need more than a little help to get around, but they manage.

“Hey Rachel,” Ken growls, “Come here once. Need help.”

That one girl was still looking at me, black, petite, lithe, defined but not forged, smiling a little more than politely, slight scar on her lip that might be the source of the smile. Something dark in the eyes, but that’s probably the exhaustion on my part or hers. Chest heaving, clearly something impressive, beyond the stretched fabric. I like that part, and I like what I can make out of her back. I wasn’t paying attention to the class, and I regret it immensely. I slowly stretch up and that same woman watches me walk over, just as the others do. Ken leans down through the ropes, poking his head between the first and second.

“Odd number of girls for sparring,” he says, “need one more. Can you help?”

“Do it yourself,” I say.

“Can’t fight the students. Rob’s rules, not mine. You’re not trainer, so you can fight. Please?”

I sigh. I was done, so that meant I could go home. I was in the middle of the cool down and now I had to fight and that meant getting worked up again. But Ken had an odd way of looking absolutely pathetic when he needed to, despite the broken nose that never healed right and the cauliflower ears that bulged and pulsed and turned red.

But that wasn’t the real problem. I needed release, and I couldn’t do it here, not after all the close calls I’ve had, and I don’t trust myself enough to manage the pull in my core once I get in the ring. But that same woman was looking at me and everything in my body said go to her. She carries truth, love, safety, all things wonderful in her surprisingly ample chest. It must be confronted, at least attempted.

I sigh again and step in. Ken introduces me and I give a little wave. The sandbag still hangs behind me, gutted like an overripe fish, guts still scattered across the floor. Rob will bill me for that later, but all of my attention is focused on the woman.

Dark skin, smooth and flowing, like gazing into the embers of a cooling fire. I can almost see the little glowing tendrils in the creases, where her joints meet, the shoulders, her cleavage. Her top has the same troubles as mine. Slightly she shifts her stance, just enough to thrust her chest out. I do not look away. No point. She knows. I know she knows. That endless spiral of knowing what the other knows draws us in, and I can feel her looking at me as I lose myself in her.

I want to hurt her.

Deep breathes, in and out, in and out, as Ken goes over the rules of sparring, probably a little too obvious, but at this point, that was the game. Just a chance to go through the motions on something flesh and blood. No below the belt, although that should be a little less of a problem for all of us. He laughs and no one laughs with him. He doesn’t know and I don’t make it known. I focus on the woman in front of me and the fact that she now licks her lips.

“Who wants to be with Rachel,” he says, and the woman’s hand is up before the last word is out of his mouth. He claps and she sidles next to me was the rest of the group breaks up into the prerequisite pairs.

She’s close, so close, too close, the scent of her sweat under laced with something soft and floral and soapy. Nice, very nice. I just smell like effort and stale gym mats, but she did not mind.

“Hi,” she says, “Rachel, right? Its Louise. I’m nice to mate you.”

“What?”

“Fuck. Sorry. Words are hard. Its nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

Smile, too much smiling that sang of happiness and joyful warm light. I did not smile. Despite everything, there was a fight to be had, and all the pleasantries were merely window dressing, false syllables that tried to hide the fac that everything said between us glossed over the brutal primal things were both know we were.

“That nervous huh? I mean I’m no sandbag, but you got a good half a foot on me. If anything, I’m the one that should be scared. How do you even get to the point where you can do that?”

“I’ve been fighting a long time.”

“Really, I don’t believe that. First hit says I’m older than you.”

“Are you really trying to bet on a self-defense class spar?”

“Yep. I’m 28.”

“Congratulations. You’re going to die sooner than I am. I’m 27.”

“Bullshit. You’re lying. No way you’re 27. 25 at most.”

“What is you plan here? You win. You get to hit me first. Why are you fighting this?”

“Because you’re cute as hell when you get worked up. I liked the show. A lot.”

Her smile lengthened and stretched to the point where her mouth should split open. It didn’t but it gave me ideas. Playing with some dangerous things, she was, but she had no clue what would happen. She did not know, and ignorance was not something to be punished on and of itself. She would still get punished, but that could wait for the few minutes it took to get on the other side of these damn ropes.

“Rachel, Louise, your turn,” says Ken with a wave. Like a gentleman, I let her go first. She sticks out her tongue at me and the world falls away to violence. It’s a spar, some deep part of me says. Don’t go all out. Just taps, here and there, let her know what’s up. Its not a real fight. I don’t have to be this way. Just some taps, maybe a real punch to the ribs at most. Let her experiment. This isn’t about me. It’s about her and her learning to protect herself. Its quiet but intense, that voice telling me to relax. Good, that’s good. Progress. I can at least hear the voice. I may not listen to it, but I can hear it. Ken goes all out and actually rings the bell. The student body lets out a cheer like it’s a title fight, belt and everything on the line.

Louise approaches slowly, hands up in an actually decent guard. Just from the way she shuffles her feet, I can tell that she has fought before, or at least been to more than one class. Her hands are steady, gaze fixed, everything in the proper order.

She jabs, and I realize she’s a southpaw. It glances off my forearm harmlessly. Another, and another and another. She’s good, knows how to throw a punch at least, and do it right. That’s more than a lot of people I’ve met. A straight comes in and connects to the side of my head. Sloppy, all sloppy and wrong and bad.

Whatever voice in my head goes quiet with the physical contact and my mind goes black. Rage and violence and hidden blackness as my core tightens and muscles spasm and that’s all I am, all I’ll ever be, all I’ll ever be. Anything I could be is washed away by the call of fist on flesh and breaking bone and bruising muscle and spilling blood. I return the call, a test of myself against her, blood for blood and bending bone. I hit her guard and I felt her arm bend, not break, along the length and her eyes go wide. She turtles away, trying to run and hide. I pursue.

Ken could stop this. He really could. Ring the bell, break me out of the fog and maybe even save a life in this. But he doesn’t. All smiles and cheers, sweeping away all the little nagging doubts in the mind of the crowd. I was being careful. Sure, I could destroy her, ravage her, tear inside out and leave a bloody mess of pulsating flesh on the floor, but I was nice. Kind of. A little terse, but a heart of gold.

The lies fall away with a single jab. I feel Louise’s nose break as a geyser of blood rockets from her nose and splashes the mat. Habit and training and instinct kick in as that voice, that laudable angel of all that is good and kind in the world, harks and screams to stop. I can still run it back, play this off as a minor infraction and make the world out to be a soft and just place. But I do not. My right arm is coming out of the blackness with the force of a shotgun and I can’t stop it. Louise reels from the pain. She hadn’t been punched in the face before. I should have seen that, the way she coiled away and hid, but I didn’t, and I couldn’t stop either way.

My fist hits the side of her head and she crumples onto the mat in a pile of limp flesh. I come out of the void. I may have just killed someone again. I am a monster, after all.

—

I sit on the hard plastic wood of a hospital chair, the smell of antiseptic filling my nose. It’s a change from the stale sweat of RTL’s, but not necessarily a good one. The soft beep of the heart monitor prevents me from dozing, although the guilt and the shame coiling in my gut do a good enough job of that on their own. It burns as it cramps my stomach. At least I got to ride in an ambulance again. And that was fun. Some deep part of me that’s still 6 years old was amused by the flashing lights and the loud noises. The dark hammer of failure pounded whatever joy was to be found out and the soft rising of need from my core just made the hammer louder.

Louise’s head was swollen and red and sore. Concussion at least, maybe a fracture, or a broken skull at worst. That has to be it. I put someone in a coma and they’d never wake up and it’d be all my fault. A nurse walks in, tries to be supportive and leaves after a moment, having done whatever magic it is nurses do. She realized that I’m not one for the flowery bullshit, and she has other patients to check on with guests that might be more receptive to her attitude.

They, the doctors, and the nurses with professional smiles that mean less than nothing, try to ask me what I am to her and I don’t want to say that I’m to blame. Giving it words and meaning would just make it more powerful. I say I’m a friend. She was sparring and took a blow to the head. Then she was like this and then were here.

I couldn’t afford a hospital bill, but I would pay it. I had to pay it. It was the least I could do. In no way would it make any of this right. But it would be something. It would be something to tell myself that I made a positive impact on this woman’s life, in the long run. It wouldn’t be enough, but it had to be. It had to be enough.

Louise stirs and murmurs and my spiral of self-pity came to an abrupt stop as she woke. Slowly, agonizing over every inch of movement, she opens her eyes to a sterile ceiling takes in the scent of illness masked with chemical cleanliness and fixes her gaze on mine. I look away, down to the floor. The speckled tiles do not judge me.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t remember your name,” she says. Louise groans and deflated back to her bed, mercifully giving me a few moments to collect myself.

“Its Rachel,” I say to the neutral floor, “How are you feeling?”

“Fucking terrible. What happened?”

“You… I… I knocked you out. You were at a self defense class and I knocked you out when we sparred.”

The shame roars in my stomach and I a tear crawls down my cheek.

“That was a dick move. Oh god. My head.”

The groans turn to a leaping laughter than back to a groan. She’s in pain. She’s in pain because of me. I wanted this. I wanted her hurt and cowering and she is sitting there laughing it off like its nothing.

“You owe me. You owe me so goddamn bad for this.”

“I don’t know how, but I’ll figure out how to pay for all this. I can get more shifts or another job or something.”

“What? No. Nothing like that. My insurance is fantastic. I just want the full story because the last thing I remember is climbing into the ring with you and now I’m here. That’s what, a couple of hours or something? Oh god. It’s like there’re two jackhammers in my head and they’re meeting in the middle.”

“Maybe its better if you don’t talk right now.”

Louise nods and doesn’t say a thing, slipping back behind a set of eyelids, savoring the smidgen of extra darkness. In and out, her chest rises and falls beneath the thin hospital sheets. That darkness in my core whispers damnable things in my ear and my need grows. I’m not in the ring. I can push it down, so long as there’s not a threat. Its something in the back of my mind, something to ignore and push down and squash until it doesn’t exist anymore. Something to make not real until this all blew over and I was back at my apartment, with the lights down low and the hot water running.

“Next Friday,” says Louise, “Next Friday, we go to Lord & Lady and we have a drink and we talk this out.”

She moans again and my core twitches.

“What? I don’t understand.”

“I’m asking you out, idiot. We’d do it tomorrow, but I don’t think getting drunk with a concussion is the smartest thing in the world, and I’ve already done enough dumb shit for the whole weekend. So, Friday, Lord & Lady, 8? Yes or no?”

It takes me a long time to answer. Fortunately, it takes her a long time to settle down enough for me to give one. I’ve already given in for the night, so more indulgences couldn’t hurt.

“Yes.”

She groans again and somehow manages to raise a single had with the thumb extended.

“Leave your number on the table. I’ll text you when I’m out. You can go home now. Thank you for this by the way and sorry if I’m out of it. I’ve had a rough evening.”

“Are you sure? I can stay if you want me to.”

“No, no, no. I’m going to sleep now. I want to sleep, so I’m going to sleep. I mean, you can creep on me if you want. I’m not really in a position to stop that. But please don’t. Go home, Rachel. I’ll be fine. Probably.”

I didn’t have it in me to fight this anymore. I let it happen. I walk out of the room, Louise already back asleep. That conversation must have taken a lot from her and I was leaving her alone, in a hospital, that I put her in. No one looks at me as I walk away. I’m not worth it. I was never worth it.

I get an Uber and spend the ride in silence. The driver, thankfully, is one of the ones that either doesn’t talk at all or can’t even speak English. Those are always the best ones. He doesn’t try to stop the storm inside, and I can just let it rage.

Need and guilt over the need and shame over having guilty, feelings on top of feelings, stacking one after the other in a monolith to crush my mind. All the while, I’m rock hard. My pull in my core has finally had enough of tempering and subjugation and decided that now was the best time to display its will for the world to see. It hurt, each pulse sending a shock of pain down my thighs. I shift and try to get the beast under control. It doesn’t like that. It likes warm, wet, soft things, spreading and tearing open and hammering pelvises into dust until it detonates inside of a womb. It doesn’t like the tight elastic and polyester trying to constrain and choke the flow of blood to the tip. Deep breathes, in and out, in and out, to keep the darkness down until I was out of the black car and back in my shower or at least an alley with no one around.

It pokes my kneecap and throbs and pulses and demands attention. An errant hand takes to stroking the damn thing through the fabric and I have officially lost control of my own body for the second time tonight. Up and down, in time with my futile attempts to calm myself, tracing a particularly sensitive vein that shivered with blood. I tense and release and a spurt of pre stains my shorts and the scent of semen fills the car. The driver sniffs and coughs and my hand pulls away. I am not alone. This is not appropriate. I need better control. I need to be better.

The darkness does not care. It wants to unleash everything, go back to the hospital and tear into Louise as she lies there helplessly, wide eyed in pain and terror as I rip her apart, find every nurse that looks vaguely attractive and rampage through the city until every fertile womb is filled and packed with my seed. And then do it again and again and again, until the world is impregnated by me and me alone.

I grip the arm rest and pray that the car goes faster before I reach full hardness. Its throbbing faster and faster, enraged at the lack of stimulation. It wants freedom and thus it will conquer everything to get it. My foot starts tapping as the pain increases. The driver thankfully steps on it and before I start a rampage I would regret, we arrive.

I pay him and say nothing as I tear up the steps, finally arriving home where I can be the monster I am. I strip and every sense alights with new sensation. My member thumps me right below my sternum and a deluge of thick pre drenches my chest. Slick breeding meat, savage and vicious and starved, I destroy myself, hand over hand pumping and squeezing, growling, and grunting like an animal. What little reason I have takes me to the bathroom, into the shower, where hot water pours down and traces brutal lines down my flesh. More pre pouring from my head. I anoint myself with my own presence and essence. It is all I am, instinct and need and primal urge to mate and kill and that’s all I’ll ever be. Up and down, muscles clenching and squeezing, teeth clenched as a massive spray of pre douses the glass door. Hot and heat and savage coiling muscles tense. A hand shifts to my sack, gentle fondling and caressing, something kind to accentuate the brutality I inflict on myself. I break myself as I stroke and pump, trying to beat the beast into submission. It kicks and throbs and pulses and spits, loving the pain and demanding more and more punishment. It wants to endure and grow through strife. It wants to be harder, more brutal and savage until it’s the apex of everything.

Something deep kicks in my core and my orgasm starts. I roar and grunt and scream and my sack contacts and tightens as everything collapses to detonate my seed. Everything shrinks and tightens and grows and scours my insides as it erupts and paints the stall with thick white seed, splattering in the walls and the glass and the ceiling. The roar turns to laughter, pure joy at the fact that I have given up. I see Louise’s face covered in my seed mouth open in awe over the display of virility. She submits, opens herself and silently waits for the inevitable. More pulses that rattle my spine, more cum, thick, viscous, potent, and white, too much for the shower head, too much for the civilized world to recognize, too much for anything to make sense anymore. There is only the dark impulse of pain and hurt to drive me deeper and deeper into pleasure. Seconds turns to minutes and I do not run out. More cum, covering me, anointing the bathroom with my scent, pooling around my ankles, rocketing from my member. A hand finds my chest and rubs my seed in, marking myself as a slave to the impulses. Louise is there, hurt, and submissive and beaten, ready to accept the fact that I am no longer human, and she is at the mercy of a monster. More shots and pulses until I lose count and throw myself into the fog of pleasure.

The pulses and the urges stop, and sanity comes back, however slightly. I stand in the hot water, milking the vestiges from my member, adding to the puddle. Its still red and angry, and even as the pool around my ankles thins and drains away, it demands more. It always demands more and more and more, more savagery inflicted to grow strong and brutal. Again, I start stroking and pumping, trying to break myself to please the dark urges rampaging through my core, the monster unleashed.

—

“Alright,” I say, “So it’s called ⸢CRAZY TALK⸥, and its whole gimmick is that I say something and then I’m retroactively made wrong. But I can’t control it, so it goes off at random.”

“You have put way too much thought into this,” said Louise, “Like, way too much. How did you even find out about this show?”

“One of those things that just kind of seeped in and then I checked it out, and that’s it. I don’t really remember.”

She takes a long sip from her beer and I lean back in the booth. The soft guitar drifts over the dim room. I play with my glass, running my finger over the rim. Through the bruise, yellow and purple green, she smiles and laughs at my stupid obsessions I indulge when nothing else is going on.

“Okay,” she says, “I think I have one. ⸢LONELY ROLLING STAR⸥. Its just a rock that rolls around, and when it touches you, it kills you. But its super slow.

“Already taken. Sorry.”

“God damn it. Alright then I got nothing for you. That’s it. This is a stupid game you play and I can’t say anything because I used to write fanfic in highscool.”

She takes another long, long pull from her glass and she goes silent for a moment, and then another. Graceful, slender neck, long, and swan like, almost begging for a hand around, squeezing just enough to give the threat of danger. I look away from her, and scan the room. Lord & Lady is under a thick blanket of purple velvet and flickering candlelight, both simulated and real. We sit in our little booth, a staked-out corner of the world impervious to outsiders. Louise as slipped off her shoes and had been playing footsie with me more or less as soon as we both sat. She never ventured further than my knee, and every single time she tried, I’d give her a look and she’d back away, ratcheting up the tension. My glass is empty, the dregs of something strong and dark brown swilling at the bottom.

“Okay,” she says, “Okay, I am now officially drunk enough to do this now. What the fuck happened at the gym last week?”

I regret finishing my own so fast. She may be drunk enough to ask, but I do not know if I’m drunk enough to answer.

“I got problems, alright,” I say, choosing every syllable carefully, “Problems that aren’t really first date material. If you want more than that, then that’s going to cost you something.”

“Oh, so this is a date, now right?” I need to choose my words better, apparently. But subtlety is not something I am good at. Even when my beautiful little monster isn’t threatening to flip a table.

“I want you. Like that. If that’s not what you’re in for, then that’s fine. I know that all of this is a lot. Like a lot, a lot, and I’m just laying out everything way too fast, but it works better this way, trust me.”

“I figured you wanted to fuck me. Maybe a little rougher than I like, but I looked back right? And I invited you out here. I know what’s on the table. And I’m playing right? So where did these problems come from?”

“I’m working on them. They’re just not the kind of problems that go away. I was a Marine and that probably didn’t help, but I don’t want to lay it all on that.”

“Wait. You were in the Marines? That’s awesome.”

“No, no it wasn’t and again, not first date material.”

“Can I at least ask where you were?”

“Did some time in the Middle East. Some time in Okinawa. That’s all you’re getting.”

“I mean the travelling part, that was cool, right? You got to see some cool places.”

“I would really appreciate it if we didn’t talk about this anymore. It’s not something that I like to think about, not like this. I’m better now, than I was, but that doesn’t mean I’m good. But you, how about you? What led to you getting punched by me?”

“I mean that’s not really first date material either, but I can give you something. My sister had a rough time for a while and that made me realize that I needed to learn some things. The last place I went to closed down, so I went to RTL’s, after I saw who was running it.”

“Rob’s a good guy. Understands a lot of things. Not how to run a gym, but a lot of things.”

She laughs and angels sing of warmth and acceptance and love, and I can only look at my hands, the callouses and scars that bring me back from thinking I am human. I can smile and laugh and do all the things that people do. Society and civilization flow through my veins just the same as every once else, and that makes me nice and sane and in control.

“How’d you two meet anyway,” she asks.

“Another thing that’s not first date material. He helped me figure some other things out that are part of my problems, but not all of my problems.”

“Is that one of the things I won’t get to know about?”

“You might get to know more about that one if we keep doing this.”

“How fun.”

She smiles again, a little darker this time, something glinting in her eyes, something primal and dark and brutal. The moment passes and she is bright and happy, sitting comfortably in a small dress, bright red that is almost impossible to be comfortable. Almost everything in her spilled out on to the table, drawing my eyes to soft inviting flesh. I did not wear that. I wore a jacket and pants, trying to blend into the deep shadows of Lord & Lady, trying to figure out what my next drink will be, trying to figure out if we will go get something to eat afterwards, trying to piece together how Louise will walk home with that tight piece of fabric in tatters and her stomach full of heavy, virile seed.

“Are you,” she says, “and I’m sorry if this is crossing lines, are you trans?”

“Not technically,” I say, “Secrets, not first date material.”

“I have to ask, what is first date material?”

“Jobs, hobbies, favorite songs, things like that.”

“HR at Summit Mortgage, some experience DJing and making music, and pretty much anything by Adam Tensta. My favorite TV show is the classic Twilight Zone. Do you want anything else? Or is it your turn?”

“Work for Taskmaster Movers. I like fighting and fitness. And I guess I like a little bit of everything, but I like the Dead Kennedy’s. I don’t, I don’t really watch TV, though.”

“Can we move on to 2nd date stuff? Is that like, politics or something, because I have no interest in that. I should, but I just don’t. I know that’s bad, but can you blame me?”

“No, that’s not what I’m talking about. What are you hurrying this for? I don’t understand.”

“I don’t want to hurry you for anything, I really don’t. I’m just kind of done playing the game, y’know? That slow ratcheting of tension, see who breaks first. Like it’s kind of fun, but I just want to see everything up front now. And you don’t have to share what you don’t want to. I get that. And I’m not going to push. I just think that we can sit here and talk for a while, get some drinks in us, and see what happens. And if nothing happens, that’s fine. I’ll certainly be bummed about it, but that’s life. I wanted to see if you played the game, and by now I’m guessing you really don’t want to.”

I take a deep, deep breath, trying to focus my will into something meaningful.

“I want to fuck you,” I say.

“You’ve said that,” says Louise.

“Now.”

“Well then, what are we still doing here?”

—

Another disturbed Uber driver, or a Lyft, or maybe just a plain yellow taxi, a set of traffic lights that did not change fast enough, all the while, I feel flesh, soft and pliable and malleable and willing. It felt right, as my hand found her hip and squeezed, hard and soft, flesh and muscle and everything wonderful sensation combined together. She presses into me as I press into her, and out lips meet and the hunger begins, the most beautiful hunger I have, the one about to be sated and nourished and gorged into something incredible. I have the meat in front of me and it gives itself willingly, eagerly even.

The car comes to a stop at her place and we bolt. She tastes good, lipstick paint and hints of salt and sweat and desire. She’s pure lust and want and need and that’s all she is. This creature is just solidified lust and desire and want and need and that’s she is, all she ever is and will be. I drag, carry, pull, and push just as she does to me, further and further into the building, up the elevator, hands pawing and ripping and tearing at one another. She is flesh, willing and able, and I am flesh, ready and willing to tear into her.

The hunger and the darkness rise and consumes me until I am nothing but that. I do not recognize the hall as anything other than a passage I can not fuck her in, some last little vestige of sanity and decency left trying to assert itself. The populace would marvel at the show, the display of primal mating. Some may feign shock or disgust, limp objections based on preserving decency or innocence, but they are wrong. They love this. Love ever second of the inevitable couple, envious that we have shed the thin veneer of humanity to embrace what we all truly are, mindless beasts full of rage and hate, taking it out in any way we can possibly imagine.

The inevitable happens as Louise fumbles with her keys. My pants split as my slick hardness erupts, too large, too massive, too impossible brutish to contain. A thick surge of pre escapes in a body wracking pulse, splattering across the door. And it hurts so bad. More pre, thick and heavy, shoots from my tip. Thick veins pulse and throb as more and more inches are added to its length. Her eyes, brown and dark and deep go wide, with fear, alarm, confusion.

“Is that…” She does not get to finish the sentence.

“Get inside,” I growl.

Her hands start shaking even more, the clatter of the keys pounding in my skull. That’s one secret out there, and the voice of civility in my head pounds against its cage. She eventually opens the door and I rush in, picking her up on the way, slung over my shoulder. She does not resist as I leave a slick trail of pre across her floor. I find something suitably soft to set her down on and finally the sensibilities kick back in for one moment. A couch and a glass wall, open to the city. I don’t care. The world can watch and if its smart, it will not get in my way.

“Are you okay with this,” I managed to stutter out. The dark hunger in my core roars. It does not care about the answer. There are lines I will not cross. I have already broken one of those with her and I will not do it again. I am a monster, but I have lines and rules and as much as the hunger in my core rages at the prospect of limitations, it understands that there are bigger things than itself, sometimes.

Louise’s eyes darken, almost going pure black in the dim light of her apartment. On hands and knees, she crawls over, slowly, like a cat on the prowl, eyes on my head as it drips and drools and spits in time with my heartbeat. She uses me for leverage, slowly coming up to standing, sandwiching my member between us, lathering her flat, toned stomach with my essence. I stain the dress that kept her contained and decent and civilized. She looks down, tracing the outline of the tool against her own body, following the pulses and the veins, circling the tip before going back down the base on the other side. I would hit her sternum, crushing her insides as I invade her.

And she smiles a savage smile of sharp teeth, glistening and glinting in the darkness.

“You’re going to fucking destroy me Rachel,” she purrs, “You better fucking destroy me. This thing is amazing.”

I growl and I let go and the hunger roars. Ripping fabric and deep laughter from Louise and gasps turning into slow groans.

She’s slick and eager and open and willing, and I try to take it slow, let her get used to my size, spreading more and more and more of her open, gouging her, taking her, invading her as she hissed through clenched teeth.

We are incapable of words, grunts and moans and pounding flesh sing the song of pleasure. Beasts, locked together, joined as one, and the hunger and the hate flows through me, slowly taking over the movements, turning them harsher and sharper and faster and faster and faster until I am slamming into her hips with every thrust. And she is laughing, low and deep and utterly transfixed with the changes in her body.

Tremors start as I finally crush in the last few inches and by the time I hilt, she is screaming, announcing to the world that she is mating. She tightens around me as it break her muscles, break everything inside of me and claim it as my own. She is mine. This hole is mine and the world beyond the window knows and cannot stop it. She cums, hard, screaming and convulsing so hard I think she is going to break bones. Seconds turn to minutes and the world falls away until she goes limp, shaking and trembling and staring dead eyed at the ceiling. I stop.

I hurt her again, made her sleep as my hunger consumed her and devoured her and left her with nothing expect sleep and dead eyed existence that truly overrode every instinct and made her dull and dead. It wasn’t fun to rampage through something that didn’t resist. I sigh and want to hit her as she sleeps. She denied me pleasure, something terrible and awful and I feel terrible shame over the urge. She lasted longer than most and that alone should be something to be lauded. I settle for hitting the cushion next to her head.

My lap is stained with her, so absorbed in my task, I didn’t even notice. It dampens the underside of my breasts. I lean back in the puddle of our emissions and catch my breath, a lazy finger drawing patterns in her claim on me. Not even that tired, and the red angry head of my penis throbs and spits onto Louise’s comatose torso. I smirk. At least I get to lay a claim to something tonight. I can tell myself that this is mine, and I can come back to it later.

I throw my head back and laugh a bitter laugh. Again, and again and again. This is what I am. This is what I do. I don’t know what Louise thought I was, thought I would do. But she knows what I am, what I can do, now. I do agree that playing the game is a waste of time, at least for me. They all learn eventually. And as I sit here, idly playing with myself over the comatose body of a nubile woman, soft and hard and lithe and flexible and warm and tight and velvety smooth, for the briefest of moments, the masks fall. I am a monster, something wild and uncontrollable and untamed, something to rampage through everyone and everything. I am not happy with that fact. But it is what it is and fighting it has just made everything worse.

I stroke myself harder, doubling down on my pumps and my strokes, fist over fist, up and down, tensing my abs and my arms to get more power into my body. Its not the same. Its not what I need and with the meal over there, lying comatose and still, ready for the taking, just made me angry. It wasn’t working. It wasn’t enough.

I get up and stop, shredding the last of my clothes on the way, to raid her fridge. I need fluids, something cold in me, to help calm me down. I don’t know if it’ll work this time, but the interruptions have broken the hunger’s hold on me. Maybe a cold shower after this to get it all out and I’ll figure out a way home, or something. Another failed excursion, although one that had potential.

“Could you get me some juice, please,” says Louise, “There should be some OJ on the top shelf.”

I laugh. I like this one. She comes back for more punishment, again and again, and then shrugs it off like its nothing. Her voice is hoarse and strained and tired, but its clear enough.

“Doing alright over there?” I ask.

“Oh fuck no. I have no idea where I am. I vaguely remember you. And my entire torso aches with the imprint of a literal horse cock, but that’s alright. It aches in the good way. The really, really good way. Are you a robber by the way?”

“No. I’m the person that’s knocked you out twice now.”

“Oh. Hi Rachel. Was I out long this time?”

“Couple of minutes. Your juice is coming.”

She gives a soft ‘yay’ and settles back down. The anger simmers a little. Delayed, certainly, but still there, everything is still there, ripe for the taking. It should know that nothing it ever that simple with me, but it’s a dumb thing, barely able to put more than one sentence together that doesn’t involve fucking or fighting.

“Why am I all slimy,” Louise murmurs as I extend a cool glass to her outstretched. I sauntered over, feeling her eyes glaze over me in confused worship, still trying to put together what her life had become in the late hours of the night. I had lost track while I was sawing into her and seeing her try to get a handle on everything killed the mood, much to my member’s rage. The masks came back on and I sat in a chair that didn’t seem to mind my foul presence.

“That’s just how it is with me.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but what the fuck are you?”

“I’m Rachel. That’s it.”

“Cute, no. Seriously, what are you?”

“I’m telling the truth. Just Rachel. Human, probably. There are a lot of terms for what I am, and I don’t really like any of them, so I’m just Rachel.”

“Alright. Alright. Alright. Ow. Whatever you are, it’ll be a miracle if I can walk tomorrow. Did you at least finish? Is that what this is?”

“I did not. That’s just pre.”

“Okay. Wow. I want to ask that question again, but I think I know what the answer’s going to be. Jesus. Puberty must have been terrible.”

“There were some good times in there.”

“Like what? Ramming it through a brick wall? Fucking the whole cheer squad? Or volleyball team? Or basketball team? Or some other sports team? I’ve heard some weird things about softball.”

“No, that’s not quite right. I only ever did it with one cheerleader and she ran off before we got to this point. I did cum in the back of the quarterback’s pickup at a football game after he tried something with my brother. That was fun.”

“What’d he do? Or is that not first date material?”

“I think we’ve gone farther than that by now. I’m not quite sure what date number we’re on at this point. They just kicked his ass because he made the correct guess that one of the running backs was gay. Super in the closet about it, but I think he moved to San Francisco, so there’s that.”