Tortured Hearts - Twisted Tales of Love - Volume 2 Read online

  Another blow. This one was lower than intended and left a bruised kidney.

  “And that means surely that a painted harlot who feels an emotional tie to her client is worth more than a celibate brother who has boundless faith? How can this be true in a righteous world, and yet how can it be false if it is written in your holy book?”

  1 Peter 4:8 - Love covers over a multitude of sins.

  The shard of pottery at the tip of a thong caught his ear on the recoil and nicked a tiny corner, drawing just a droplet of blood.

  “How can love cover sins? Or in other – horribly inaccurate versions of your word – cover all, and not even just sin? Love is a virtue above even the four cardinal ones. Love is the paramount of human existence, even above faith, as you tell us. But sin is impossible to reconcile with the love of you. Man sins, but a man who loves God must not sin or, if he does, he must seek forgiveness and redemption. A man cannot sin and then ignore it simply because he loves. That is merely hiding sin beneath love, yes?”

  Another strike bit deep and scraped beneath a rib, causing tears to fall and dilute the red spatter around his feet. Three more to go and he would have to dress once more for the day. The call would resound soon.

  “Is a man who loves but has no sin to be treated equally with a man who sins wildly to the extent of the Babylonian whore and yet loves his fellow? Is it only the love of your divine light that covers and therefore dissolves sin? Surely the love of a whore cannot cover over sins? Lord, your words are too complex for us to navigate amongst.”

  Eight tore a long line up his right hand side, whipping droplets into his hair.

  1 John 4:18 - There is no fear in love; for perfect love casteth out fear.

  “And I am close to ending my morning devotions, Lord. How can there be no fear in love? I hear the young boys and girls talking of their feelings and every drop of love seems echoed with a drop of fear. But that is a subject for another day.” His face darkened. “The simple fact is that I love you, and yet in both ‘Acts’ and ‘Philippians’, it is demanded that I fear you. How am I supposed to love you and fear you when you tell me that there is no fear in love?”

  This particular strike bit extraordinarily deep; whether because it was the penultimate, or whether because the subject matter in his thoughts was his deepest worry, he could not say.

  “I fear you and I love you. More than that, I love to fear you, and I fear to love you. You twist me with your needs, Lord.”

  Ten! The flagellum bit into shoulder blade and neck.

  Matthew looked down at the blood spattered across the covering beneath him and shook his head in sadness as he replaced the whip into the box.

  This morning’s sermon was on the nature of love.

  A voice from outside the plain door of his small room called up the morning alarm.

  “Matthew? Are you ready for school, yet? Your father has an important meeting, so we have to leave immediately.”

  Matthew smiled and rolled up the mat that he would clean later, drew one of a dozen bandage rolls from the box and pushed it back under the bed before winding the white linen around his torso hurriedly, ignoring the crimson stains blossoming through the back, pulled on his white shirt and blazer with a small hiss of pain.

  No visible signs.

  He smiled at the badge. “St Anselm’s Collage – Ex Amore Fides”

  As he pounded down the stairs, ignoring the wet pain beneath his clothes and bandages, and across the hallway where his parents were gathering their gear, he managed a brief smile.

  “Bless you, Mother.”

  Alan glanced askance at his wife as he snapped shut the briefcase and rolled his shoulders.

  “You know, Elaine, I’m starting to think that school is changing Matthew…”

  ***

  SJA Turney is an author of Roman historical fiction and historical fantasy. He lives in rural North Yorkshire with his family and barking mad dogs, researching the depths of the classical world. He can be found on twitter @SJATurney. To find out more about his work, visit his website at www.sjaturney.co.uk

  Kristina

  By AJ Armitt

  The strip club is hot and sweaty. It’s dimly lit, and as one can imagine, there is naked flesh all around me. I take a sip of my Budweiser and lean back on the bar to take in the sights. An Asian beauty, possibly Thai, swings from a pole in the centre of the room. She’s not completely naked, but she may as well be. With each twist and twirl of her lithe body, she mesmerises the small crowd of men standing around her.

  I take another swig from the bottle. It’s not as cold as I’d like, but it will do. I’m not really here for the beer.

  Eight or ten feet in front of me, a young woman with gravity defying breasts beckons to me to join her in one of the open booths. I offer a smile but shake my head. She looks about eighteen years old, not much older than my daughter. I find that thought distinctly uncomfortable.

  My eyes wander the room, barely taking in the rhythmic gyrations and phoney smiles. But then I see her, and my stomach lurches with excitement. She sees me too, and as she saunters towards me my face cracks into an awkward smile.

  “Hello, handsome. You’re lookink very lonely over here by yourself. Vut you like a dance?” Her Eastern European accent is rich... alluring. Kristina is tall, statuesque. She tilts her head and looks up at me with her ice-blue eyes. Even before I nod, she knows the answer is ‘yes’.

  She gently but firmly takes my hand in hers and leads me to a booth. My pulse is already racing. She sits me down, and parts my legs. I already have a ten pound note in my sweaty hand, and she takes it from me and slips it under her garter.

  “Hey, I remember you.” Kristina flashes me a smile, and my heart skips a beat. “You ver here last veek. You askt me for my name.”

  She remembers me? I smile back. “Kristina, aged thirty four from Latvia? You’ve been doing this since you left your homeland when you were twenty-two.” I try and impress her by repeating what she told me the previous week when I visited the club with a stag party from work. She makes a slightly uncomfortable sound as she forces her smile even wider, all teeth and lip-gloss. I hope I haven’t sounded like some kind of stalker?

  “Couldn’t resist coming back vor more, eh?” Kristina runs a gloved hand over her right breast and I find myself swallowing hard.

  “Er no.” She pouts assuredly, and I feel as though I will melt. She’s quite possibly the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

  “Okay, are you ready for your dance?”

  I place my hands by my side and allow her to ease me back into my seat. She stands and runs her fingers over her cleavage, seeking out the clasp at the front of her bra. Slowly, sensually she peels away the satin cups. I catch my breath as the most perfect breasts I have ever seen fall into view. Kristina smiles at this and after placing her hands on my shoulders, she eases her breasts closer to my face, the pink buds halting only inches from my mouth. It takes all of my self-restraint not to lean forward and give them a lick, but I know to do so would earn me a one-way ticket out of the back door. The club has a strict ‘no touching’ policy and the two men-mountains on the door look as though they would be happy to enforce the rule.

  Kristina’s smile widens. She must be reading my mind, because she slides her body downwards and away from me. Her cheek meets mine, and there is a brief instant where I’m sure I feel her blow into my ear. I catch her scent. Like her, the perfume is strong, powerful; a heady mix that overpowers my senses. I breathe her in and attempt to brush my cheek against hers. I know she must feel my hot breath on her neck. She pulls away, her hands leaving my shoulders, her fingernails caressing the back of my neck before resting on her hour-glass shaped waist. She holds that pose for a moment allowing me to take in the view, before shimmying to the side. She rotates her body and straddles my legs; her curvaceous ass hovering just inches from my lap. She simulates grinding down on me, all the while, looking over her shoulder, her piercing, ice-blue eyes never leaving
my own. I am totally captivated by her. She slaps her ass and smirks, noting the lustful expression on my face. She does it again, and then lifts herself away from me before I get any further ideas. She stands above me and rolls her hips in time to the music, whilst running her hands through her dark blonde locks.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” I hear myself utter. I realise how utterly ridiculous I must sound, but Kristina merely answers “Sank you” in that husky voice of hers. Her mouth forms a smug pout. She has me, and she knows it.

  The world around me passes by and I am lost to it. There is only her. She moves as though in slow motion, and as she places her hand on my chest, I know she must feel the pounding of my heart. I can’t tear my eyes away from hers, and if I’m honest, I know I’m falling a little bit in love with her.

  She drops into my lap, raising her right leg over my shoulder so that I can get a full view of her most private parts. She gently massages her breasts whilst breathing heavily; her ice-blue eyes drawing me in. Unable to resist, I find my gaze wandering over her pale skin, lingering ever so slightly between her open legs. At this, she smiles before raising her leg from behind my head and taking a seat next to me. She leans forward and gives me a polite peck on the lips. Her lip gloss tastes of strawberries. My three minutes are up.

  “Sat was fun.” She says.

  “Thank you,” I reply. “I enjoyed that very much.”

  “Vill I see you again?”

  “Y-yes, most definitely,” I stammer.

  “Gut, you are a nice man.” Kristina stands and offers me a hand shake. She places her other hand to the side of her mouth, winks and whispers “ant so very handsome.” The gesture is exaggerated and totally rehearsed, but it has the desired effect.

  I plunge my hand into my pocket and pull out a handful of notes.

  Kristina smiles, leans forward and places a perfectly manicured hand on my shoulder. “So, you like Kristina ya?” she giggles.

  I simply nod my head and hand over the next ten pound note.

  *****

  By the time I get home I’m one hundred and fifty pounds poorer and my feet hurt. I’d spent the money I’d saved for a taxi on one final lap-dance. Not that I regret it. Every minute I’ve spent walking back from town is a minute less I would have had to spend in this dump. As I let myself into the front room, the now habitual feeling of regret overcomes me. Home sweet home? Not fucking likely.

  Even in the dim light, the one bedroom flat looks dingy with mould creeping up the walls and soft furnishings that scream 1980’s. The carpet, in keeping with the rest of the decor, has more stains than a fourteen-year-old boy’s bed sheets. I walk around the large red patch that dominates the centre of the room. The landlord claims it was caused by a spilt bottle of red wine. Deep down I’m not so sure he’s telling the truth.

  I seek out the luminous green hands of the kitchen clock. It’s 2.34am. I’m dog-tired and I need to go to bed and besides, what else have I got to do?

  I undress and get into bed. At least the sheets are clean. Fresh bedding has so far been the one luxury I’ve afforded myself. I roll onto my back and look up at the stars through the gap in the curtains. How the hell did I get here? My face contorts into a sad smile. I already know the answer. The question I should really be asking is what the fuck was I thinking?

  Sarah was the most striking woman I’d ever been lucky enough to date. She had dark blonde hair and fair skin. Her eyes were a deep shade of blue; vibrant, captivating; ice-blue.

  When she agreed to marry me, I had to pinch myself hard to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. Talk about punching above your weight. I was the luckiest man alive, twenty years of married bliss. But then like most middle-aged men I had to fuck it up. A few flirtations with a girl from work and before I could consider the consequences, we were having a full-blown affair. Of course when Sarah found out she was furious. What woman wouldn’t be? Hardly surprising then that when she divorced me she took me for everything I had. If I’m honest, I know I deserved it.

  I slide my hands behind my head and my thoughts drift towards the evening’s entertainment and Kristina. Despite my predicament, I find myself grinning like a Cheshire cat. There is no escaping the similarities between the two women. The lap-dancer looks exactly like a younger version of my ex-wife. Perhaps if Sarah had behaved a bit more like her, I wouldn’t have strayed?

  I dismiss the thought. Kristina, if that’s really her name, is a fantasy, an illusion; someone whose attention the desperate and lonely buy into for three minutes of fleeting happiness. Or longer if they have the cash.

  Desperate, lonely? I shudder from the sinking feeling deep within my gut. Someone just like me?

  My eyelids begin to droop. I also have a bit of a headache. It must be the alcohol. I lick my lips. The taste of Kristina’s strawberry lip gloss has long since subsided. With a gaping yawn, I close my eyes and slowly drift into sleep. Within a few minutes, I begin to dream. Not surprisingly, it is Kristina’s image which appears before me.

  We are no longer at the club, but here in my bedroom. I am lying on the bed whilst she is performing her lap dance on the stained carpet. She is completely naked, and her writhing form fills every corner of my mind. Slowly, sensually she glides closer to me. She places her hands on my chest, and deftly raises a leg, sliding it over mine. Effortlessly, she raises herself on to the bed and straddles me. I am powerless to stop her, nor do I want to. She leans forward and kisses me full on the lips, her tongue darting in and out of my mouth, so that the taste of strawberries dances on my tongue. I look into her ice-blue eyes and I become lost in their hypnotic beauty.

  Kristina smiles and then pushes down on my chest, easing her body backwards and onto my eagerly awaiting erection. She lets out a whimper as she mounts me, but her eyes remain open, never drifting from my own. Slowly, sensually she allows her curvaceous hips to gyrate back and forth whilst her fingers pinch and tease at my nipples. In my dream I close my eyes.

  Ah, Kristina...

  And then I feel it, a sharp pain like hot scalpels running down my chest. My eyes flick open and I recoil in horror.

  Though still beautiful, Kristina has taken on a new and demonic form.

  Her lithe body is unchanged, but her pale skin has a blue hue which shimmers in the moonlight. A tiny pair of horns adorns her forehead and as she leans closer to me, her blonde locks writhe around her head. I gasp in terror. Each strand is a living thing, a tiny viper that spits and recoils as though ready to strike. She leans closer still, smiling; her open mouth revealing razor sharp incisors that look as though they could tear me to pieces. Her lips meet mine, and I feel her forked tongue caressing the inside of my mouth. I want to close my eyes but I can’t. Instead they look up to meet hers, two fiery jewels that burn with white hot heat. She draws away and I feel the flicking of her tongue against my cheek. As she pushes herself into an upright position, I scream in both agony and ecstasy. Looking down I see her hands are now razor sharp talons which tear into my chest, parting the muscles and scraping along my rib cage. She smiles again, but this is no ordinary smile, but one of pure malice.

  Her hips begin to thrust faster and I groan with both pleasure and pain. In spite of myself, I cannot resist her. I can only look on as her smile widens. For the second time this evening, she knows she has me and with each pelvic thrust, I feel my excitement mounting. My heart beats wildly against my chest and I suck in huge mouthfuls of air. My head is swimming, the room around me blurring and fading. What is happening to me?

  Kristina laughs aloud and then realisation takes hold of me. I know what she wants. With each thrust of her hips, I can feel her draining me, dragging me closer to oblivion; to making me hers. Earlier this evening she took all my money, but now she wants my soul.

  I should try to stop her, but I know I cannot. My arms and legs are unresponsive as though made from lead. Instead of fighting her, I relax. If these are to be my last moments, then I should at least enjoy them. I look up and smile at the succubus, accep
ting my fate. She returns my smile and licks her lips provocatively. Before long, I will be lost to this world, but I no longer care. There is only her, there is only Kristina.

  She fucks me harder still, closing her eyes and sinking her talons deeper into my flesh. I gasp with pleasure. My head feels as though it will explode. She’s close now, I can feel it. She bucks her hips, harder, faster; I feel myself losing total control. As my own body stiffens and bright lights flash before my eyes, she throws back her head and lets out a demonic howl of pure rapture.

  “Kristina?” My eyes blink open.

  I’m awake, and I realise the sheets are as wet as my dream. I run a hand over my chest, seeking out the deep, vertical wounds. A sensation of blind panic takes hold of me, squeezing the breath from my lungs, but then I realise it’s sweat and not blood that bathes the tips of my fingers. Thank God! My chest is unscathed, whole. I roll onto my side and curl into a foetal position; exhausted, defeated. I allow the night air to cool and pucker my naked flesh.