The Murdered World 44

Frank did calisthenics. After how much he’d fucked Christina, he didn’t think he needed more.

The low bars, the rings, the weights, and a session on the speedbag. After an hour, he forced himself to stop and use the shower, starting with warm water and gradually changing it out for cold water. He looked at himself in the mirror and barely recognized his body. There’d been slow periods before, times when his wounds had healed and his bruises had faded, but this was different.

He looked in the mirror and saw someone who wasn’t hurt, wasn’t suffering, and he didn’t recognize that person. It looked more like an enemy. A man coming at him, who he’d bring his gun up to shoot. Already his trigger finger twitched.

He went back to the weights. He lifted until his muscles burned and the salt of his sweat stung his eyes.

It was only when he realized that he’d lost control that Frank got a hold of himself. He was risking injury, pushing himself this hard, forcing his body to the breaking point and chancing aggravating old wounds that, despite appearances, could still reopen. He’d be less of a man, less of a warrior—no good to Christina and Emma in a fight. That was all he had to offer them, stability and protection, and he’d almost thrown it away because of that man in the mirror.

He showered again, this time cold, and let himself be refreshed by the bracing water. He didn't feel tired. Or he felt nothing but tired. The part of him that got tired had burnt out a long time ago and now he would keep going until his body fell apart.

Maybe the thing about the guy in the mirror was that his body didn't look like it was falling apart. Not even close.

***

Emma tore up the beds in Frank’s barracks, looking for anything under them, under the mattress, between the sheets, then she made them up again so Frank wouldn’t notice. Standing watch in the doorway, Christina thought that it had to be the first time she’d made a bed since she turned thirteen.

She heard footsteps echoing off the confining walls.

“Emma!” she hissed.

“One sec,” Emma said, quickly returning the bed she’d just checked to what it had been.

Frank turned the corner. Christina stepped away from the doorway and approached him, intercepting him before he could get within sight of Emma.

“Frank, hey,” she said loudly, signaling Emma one last time.

Frank didn’t say anything, but she took his glare at her as an invitation to say her piece.

“I thought you might want to talk,” she began.

“I don’t.” He started to move past her.

Christina stepped in front of him, smiling apologetically. She got the sense that people who got in Frank’s way usually got stepped on. If there was enough of them left to step on.

“You don’t have anything to say to me?” she demanded. “After what we did? Everything we did?”

“It was a fuck,” Frank said simply. “What’s there to talk about?”

Christina scoffed. She wished she could turn around, see if Emma had managed to slip out of the barracks, but at least she was managing to distract Frank. “You tell me,” she ventured.

“Only thing to talk about is whether we do it again. And you didn’t want to talk about that before.”

“Maybe I could have my mind changed.”

“Change your own mind,” Frank said, beginning to push past her.

Again, Christina blocked him. This time, a flicker of annoyance passed over his face. She didn’t think that he’d hurt her; it was just that if he did hurt her, hot damn, did she not want to be hurt by the fucking Punisher.

“Or maybe I changed my mind already,” Christina added, a mischievous glint filling her eyes. “But a girl likes to be seduced. I don’t want to keep coming down here and throwing myself at you every time I want sex. It makes me feel like a slut, you know.”

Frank’s blue eyes came to life deep within the shadows of his craggy face. “And you don’t like that?”

Christina reached out to gently handle his manhood through his joggers. It hardened swiftly—already it felt like the handle of an axe.

“I’m a lady. You’re the one who treats me like a whore,” she told him, feeling her juices gathering, preparing her, making it so it would only sting a little when he entered her. So it would only hurt enough that she really felt it—God—she didn’t know if she wanted to go back to sex where it wasn’t just a little too big.

Her body tingled. She couldn’t think, but what few thoughts she had were of her last time with Frank. The vivid memories that had once been of satisfaction and now were of desire for more. He could be so gentle; Christina wanted to get to that tenderness in him. But she also wanted the strength. The roughness. Even if it meant being a whore.

Her nipples hardened. She was very aware of her satin panties on the lips of her cunt—too much sensation and not nearly enough—she didn’t want to feel that, she didn’t want to feel anything but him.

Urgently she kept rubbing his prick. God, it was so hard. What could he do with a cock like that except ravage a girl? And what could a girl do, even a lady, except enjoy it?

“Good idea to do this where there’s a bed next door,” Frank quipped in a strained voice, beginning to usher her towards the barracks door.

“Who needs a bed?” Christina insisted, slipping past him so that he had to turn around to face her, putting his back to the door.

Now, Emma now, Christina thought, shrugging off her blouse, then tugging her slip down under her breasts.

The more she undressed, the more her womanhood ached for his sensuous touch. His cock. His tongue. His fingers. She ran her own hands over her plentiful breasts, shocked at how good it felt when she had Frank’s eyes on her, his nearness warming her, his prick hard and about to invade her.

When she touched her rosy nipples, she found they were already hard. No stimulation required beyond her fevered thoughts of what Frank was going to do it her. Frank said nothing, but his breath gusted in and out of his lungs. He unzipped himself, hauled his erection out into the opening.

Christina watched. Her breasts heaved. Her nipples stiffened too much to touch. She ran her fingers down her flat belly instead, reaching her heated mound and touching it through her slip. She shut her eyes, moaning desirously.

“You can watch if you want to,” she breathed, rubbing a sweltering heat into her already burning sex. “But I thought you’d want to touch instead.”

Frank stood naked before her. His sweat reflected the flickering light of a bad bulb. She fell to her knees—he was already so big, so tall—why not make herself smaller, make it clear that she was submitting, just like anyone her size would have to? She grasped his lengthy erection in her hands and brought it to her lips, teasing the sensitive tip with gentle kisses.

There was so much of it; she didn’t know how she’d ever taken it all. She ran her tongue over the shaft to moisten all of it, from the thick base to the head with its first blister of precum to sear her tastebuds. Frank groaned; Christina was glad to get a response out of him. She flicked her tongue underneath his spade-shaped knob. Frank’s body roiled with pleasure.

“You’re good for me, Frank. So good for me,” Christina murmured, before she took him into her mouth like she would never let him out.

***

Frank leaned against the wall, his only concession to the pleasure wracking his muscular body. If he were to turn his head, he would see Emma peeking out from inside his barracks, watching the obscene performance, but there was no chance of that. Not when he could look down and see Christina on her knees, her lips wrapped around his manhood and her breasts crushed to his thighs. Even Emma envied him the view. It had to be spectacular. And the blowjob had to feel good too, given how hard guys worked to get Emma to give them one…

Christina’s head bobbed in his lap, up and down, lips embracing every girthy inch of his massive erection, while Frank’s hands rode on top of her head. He barely exerted his grip, the muscles in his arms stirring restlessly but lightly. When Christina’s mouth dived down on his length, taking several inches into her maw, Frank didn’t make her take it all, only more. A half-inch here or there an extra moment with her throat impaled. Slowly but surely he was forcing himself into her gullet, but there was a teasing, seductive quality to how he mastered her. Plying her with caresses through her hair and down her scalp, rewarding her for engulfing so much of his endowment.