DISCLAIMER: This story is a work of fiction based on the characters created in the 1992 movie Romper Stomper. I owe the existence of this work to the screen writer, director, designer and actors of this movie. I hope that I have remained close to their spirit and intent.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Some of the characters in this story are unpleasant and hold indefensible views - these are not the views of the author, and I have tried not to glorify them in any way.
"Power"
by Charlotte
Charlotte ran out of the hostel into the cold Melbourne rain… Well that was just typical… bloody August and it was bloody raining…. It had been Peter’s sodding idea to come to Australia the month before…
“It’ll be cool… an adventure…” he promised
“But it’s a lot of money poppet!” she’d replied
“Don’t be such a grown up…! We’re students we’re supposed to be in debt, anyway, what else were you planning to do with the summer vac?”
Remembering that conversation, Charlotte burst into a fresh flood of tears, ran further away from Peter and the lights of the hostel, down towards the St Kilda beachfront. He always knew how to touch on her sore spots: the comment about her being a grown up had stung, as it always did. As long as she could remember, Charlotte had been the square in any gang, always balancing the risks she took with the possible benefits. And so she’d gone on this trip, to try and prove Peter wrong, to try and hold on to the boyfriend that she knew she was losing - degree by degree - from the first night they’d met. Two years of trying to keep him, and trying to set up a perfect future for them, for her career, for everything… and now it was all over.
She sat down on the rocks at the shoreline. During the day this was a busy, multi-cultural place… bustling with twenty-something backpackers from all over the globe, beautiful people, who looked like they never had a grown up thought in their heads. Tonight, Charlotte had failed to be “one of them”… They’d sat in the hostel, Peter and a whole gang of his new friends, and when one of them, Francesca, a rich Daddy’s girl from West London, had started to offer around the cocaine she knew that she had to join in if she was going to keep Peter, and yet she couldn’t do it… and there had been the row, and she had run off… and it was over.
Charlotte was soaked… and beginning to realise that she couldn’t sit there forever, her passport, money and clothes were all at the hostel, but she couldn’t go back there, not just yet. She wasn’t ready for that humiliation. As the cold wind blew in from the sea she shivered, wishing she’d brought her jacket with her. Her “student uniform” of short tartan dress, black and white hooped stockings and Doc Marten boots were not much shelter from this Southern Hemisphere winter. Suddenly a movement caught the periphery of her vision, just as a raucous shout hit her ear above the noise of the crashing waves. A group of about six lads had climbed down to the rocky beach in order to urinate against the shelter of the sea wall. They were drinking, laughing with each other, and Charlotte drew into a tighter ball, hoping to make herself invisible. Vain hope. Charlotte cursed the intrusion to her unhappiness as the young men shouted that they’d seen her - colloquial in their Australian accents. They stood behind her, their height, and the sight of their huge boots intimidating her as she sat on the ground. Then one of them crouched down in front of her.
“Hey!” he said.
Charlotte didn’t look up, wishing them away, ignoring the lads jeering behind her. The man in front spoke again “I said Hey!… what’s with you being so bloody rude? I was only being friendly, I didn’t ask ya’ to suck me cock….”
At this unexpected profanity, Charlotte looked up.
“Although while you’re down there, if ya’ wanted to..!”
The boys behind her laughed at this, she could hear them punching each other in their amusement. Charlotte didn’t think it’d been that funny, these lads must be really drunk. She looked again at the man in front of her. The first thing she noticed were his eyes, so blue that she could tell their colour even in the darkness of the beach, and framed with the longest eyelashes she’d ever seen on a man. He was wearing a black overcoat, with a hooded top underneath, the hood pulled up to protect him from the ever falling Melbourne rain, which ran down his face and fell from his unshaven chin in a steady rhythm of drops. A strong face she thought, and she sneaked a quick look… yes the rest of the body was equally strong. An open beer can appeared under her nose. “Drink??” he said, pushing the can into the space where her face was meeting her knees, his eyes twinkling.
Charlotte was cautious… why was this handsome man offering her drink, paying her this attention. On the one hand, her famous “grown up” side was telling her that he could be a rapist or a mugger, on the other hand, she was aware that he might be hitting on her, but that this was unlikely, seeing as how she must look pretty bedraggled by now, her long red hair turned into rats tails by the rain… Either way, this didn’t seem like a good situation. She chose her words carefully.
“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t like beer”
“Oh my God…” The man in front of her chanted
“…It’s a bloody pom” chorused back the rest of the gang, sing-song as if this was a common phrase.
The man in front of her grinned, his eyes twinkling. “You’re alright darlin’, we like poms, England had the right idea… the sun never set on the Empire and all that.” Charlotte was confused by this comment… you don’t grow up in 70s and 80s Britain without knowing how ashamed you should be of the Imperial past, but she decided to say nothing, not wanting to enrage this man, with the dangerous aspect and the twinkling eyes. He stood up, and she hoped that he was going, although she also felt slightly, confusingly, disappointed.
“Hey you blokes” he announced, “I’m gonna stay here and look after our little pommy friend…”
Charlotte tried to protest but he carried on oblivious “…and you can go and keep our date with the Zorba family and their fan-fuckin’-tastic restaurant.”
The gang all began to leave, and Charlotte was impressed at the command this man seemed to have, and despite her growing concern at his attention to her, she surreptitiously licked her finger and rubbed it under her eyes to remove the mascara that the rain and tears had smudged down her face.
“Not you Bubs!” he called and the gang laughed and jeered “you go and get me the vodka from me car, and then bugger off home!”
“Oh come on Hando!” whined a younger voice.
“Bubs… I said not you…” replied Hando, with an unmistakable menace in his voice, that commanded obedience, and Charlotte could hear the other boy’s footsteps run back across the rocks. Hando squatted down again and, to Charlotte’s shock, he reached out and grabbed her chin with his hand, jerking it up so that she had to look at him, bringing her face into the reflected light of the street, a hundred yards away.
“Jeeez” he whistled, “either I was wrong and you’re a fuckin’ ugly bird, or you’ve been crying”
Charlotte began to say she was fine. “I…don’t…care…!” interrupted Hando, squeezing her cheeks until they began to hurt. I just fuckin’ hate miserable sheilas, so cheer the fuck up, coz I ain’t spending the night with a tart with a face like a wet weekend” He let her go and laughed “Wet weekend! Ha!, d’ya get it?” he said, indicating the rain.
Charlotte was concerned, had he just said that they’d be spending time together? Was that safe? What about Peter? … she was also confused, because she found this man - with his obnoxious manner and presumption as to what she wanted to do- fiercely attractive, the sore points on her face burning more with desire than pain.
Just then, Bubs arrived back with a bottle of vodka, he was out of breath and had clearly been running all the way, keen for approval. Charlotte found herself empathizing. She understood that this was a man whose approval would be worth something.
“Now fuck off home, Bubs, you’re crampin’ me style” commanded Hando, and the other boy ran off, turning at a safe distance to shout “Give ‘er one for me!”
Hando made as if to run after him, and the boy sped away. Charlotte realised that she hadn’t looked at the faces of any of the other men, Hando had captivated her attention totally, almost making her forget about Peter and the hostel.
“Here ya’ go then!” he said offering her the vodka “shoulda’ known really, you sheilas always like the hard stuff” He looked directly into her eyes, dead panning this line, making Charlotte aware exactly which “stuff” he was talking about being “hard”.
Charlotte looked away, out to sea, feeling the embarrassment rising in her cheeks, but also trying to shake free of his mesmerizing company, clear her head so that she could make the right decision, find a way to leave and get back to the safety of the hostel… but she didn’t want to and she grabbed the bottle from him with a force that surprised them both, unscrewed the cap and threw back her head, tipping the violent liquid down her throat. She drank and drank, swallowing against the rising contraction of her throat against the insult of the alcohol. Finally she dropped the bottle from her lips, raising her hand to wipe away the dribbles of spirit which were running down her chin. Hando was there before her though, grabbing her wrist and twisting it behind her back, using it to pull her body towards him and letting out his long tongue which he ran over her chin. Charlotte gasped as he pulled away, and the cold air burned against her newly hot skin. Her arm was beginning to ache at the shoulder where he was twisting at her, and she wriggled to try and get away, but Hando just pulled her closer, breathing into her face “Just sit there like a good girl and drink your bloody vodka”. He passed Charlotte the bottle and she lifted it to her lips, strangely happy not to be involved in the decision making progress. As she tipped back her head once more, Hando began to lick and kiss her neck, and then to suck, and Charlotte recognised the feeling of being given a love bite from her school days. She drank for longer than she’d intended, not wanting to have him move away, already too drunk to realise that she could keep her head where it was and just put down the bottle. Hando reached up and grabbed roughly at her breasts through her wet clothes. “Jeeez, fuckin’ great tits!” he muttered, and Charlotte felt absurdly proud. He reached up and took the bottle from her hand, then grabbed her face in his hand as he had the first time he’d touched her.
“You’re fuckin’ gorgeous, did’ya know that?” he spat into her face, the other hand urgently undoing his fly. He was fast, and Charlotte was now drunk enough that she didn’t realise what he was doing until he moved his hand from her face to wrap it in her hair and pulled her into his crotch. Charlotte was suddenly surrounded by his musky smell, and confronted by his massive erection. She put out her hand to touch it, her tipsy brain not quite able to take it all in through sight alone. As she tentatively caressed its velvet length, she was momentarily confused, trying to make sense of what she had found at its tip. Hando’s solid, muscular cock was pierced by a thick silver ring. It went in just below his foreskin and emerged from the very centre of its tip, where now it was glistening with drops of viscose fluid.
“Don’t just play with it… suck it!” Hando commanded, and he impatiently slapped away her hands and grabbed her head with both of his, checking her mouth was open, before impaling it on his rigid member. He rammed her head right down on his cock, and the ring met the back of her throat, causing her to gag. She strained to open her mouth wider, trying to ease her own comfort, but he filled her mouth easily with his width, while being too long for her to accommodate his impressive length. He used her head as a slide box, setting his own rhythm, providing her with no pleasure other than the very real thrill of being used, and being reckless with a dangerous stranger who didn’t want to know her name. When he sensed her jaw tiring and her teeth beginning to encroach, he pulled out and yanked her dress off her shoulders, the tight neckline pinning her arms against her body. When the dress would go down no further than her waist, he turned his attention to her bra, but because of the restricted movement he had forced upon her arms, it was not possible to remove it. Charlotte allowed herself to be manipulated like a rag doll. She felt out of control for the first time in her life and she was loving it. Hando reached into his coat and pulled out a switchblade. He used it to remove the bra, and then teased Charlotte by running the cold blade over her skin. Something deep inside Charlotte began to signal a warning and she gasped in recoil.
“Don’t worry darlin’.” Hando said. “I’m not a nutter.”
He put away the knife, and grabbed at Charlotte’s tits, pushing them together. Then he pushed her back onto the rocks and knelt astride her, holding her breasts together and thrusting his cock back and forth between them. Charlotte glanced down and was thrilled by the obscene sight of his pierced knob emerging from her cleavage, and the feeling of his weight pressing down on her and his rough hands pulling at her flesh. He was talking dirty to her now, about how she was a cheap little slut who loved to be fucked by strangers… told her he’d sell her to passers by for a couple of dollars, except that he didn’t think she’d get that much, seeing as how she was such a filthy whore.
Charlotte was in total reverie. This was so far away from her experience with all the sensitive modern men she’d slept with… men who always insisted on reaching her orgasm before rocking insipidly to their own. Men who told her how much they admired her brain and respected her as a person before taking her to their Ikea beds and making love to her. This wasn’t making love, it was fucking… except it wasn’t even that… this was about him taking his pleasure, this was uncomfortable and her physical needs were being ignored, but still Charlotte was more turned on than ever before. She curled one of her legs up into the air, then bent the knee trying to connect with Hando’s thrusting arse, but he was too far up her body to enable her to rub against him with her burning thighs, and so she began to writhe, trying to gain satisfaction by frantically squeezing and rubbing her legs together.
“Ahh bloody hell, girl! Keep still will ya’?” said Hando with such venom that Charlotte felt cold dread fill her body. He got off her and pulled her onto her knees.
“Come on, finish me off… I want to cum in your mouth… or maybe on those fabulous tits.”
Charlotte opened her mouth immediately, and widened it when the hand in her hair twisted and tightened. He plunged into her once more, using both hands to control the movement of her head.
“Come on you tart…” Hando was muttering “Come on… you know you want my cum…. Come on… Aaarrrrhuhh” and as he came he pulled away from her mouth and shot his load all over Charlotte’s face. Charlotte recoiled at the first of these warm jets, but Hando was still holding her by her hair, and she was forced to suffer the indignity of his cum on her face and in her hair. Indignity, yes, but Hando was right, she did want it… in fact she felt deprived of not having had it in her mouth, and she began to lick her lips, stretching and ripping the seams of her dress so that she could free her arms and run her hands over her face and then lick her fingers savouring his taste.
“Bloody hell it’s freezing here” cursed Hando, and he jumped to his feet. Charlotte forced her brain to focus. It had stopped raining, but it was bone-achingly cold, the wet rocks now fighting the heat of her body to chill her right through.
Hando was halfway to the sea wall now, leaving her exposed and alone…
“Well come on then, if you’re coming!” he shouted.
Charlotte pulled up her dress and got up, drunk and unsteady, picking up what remained of the vodka, leaving behind her shredded bra, and ran to catch up with Hando, who had not stopped to wait. She caught up as he was getting into an old, decrepit car. He turned to her and although he didn’t smile, his fabulous eyes twinkled, and she took that as invitation to get in, making room among empty beer cans and chip wrappers.
They drove for about fifteen minutes, away from touristy St Kilda, to a rougher, less attractive district. Hando stopped the car at a factory and got out. Charlotte had been drunkenly dozing, and she stirred as he slammed the door, but decided not to wake.
She was rewarded by secret joy as Hando scooped her from the car, carried her inside, upstairs and laid her on the low bed. This was the most tender treatment she’d received, and she felt honoured. She began to fantasize about her new rough lover, and how it might be to have a relationship with him, what Peter and the others would say. She allowed him to remove her dress and boots, secretly amused when he gave up with the stockings when he couldn’t figure out the suspender belt, and pretended still to sleep as she heard him remove his boots, coat, jeans and hooded top. He got into the bed beside her, and she couldn’t resist any longer. She moaned as if waking and opened her eyes.
The first thing she saw was the Swastika over the bed.
Charlotte recoiled, her spirit soaked mind trying to make sense of what she could see. All around her were the artifacts of a culture she, and everyone else she knew, was conditioned to despise. She looked at Hando. He was, as she had dreamily been hoping, an extremely well put together man. As he sat up in bed, looking at her, she could see his manly, well defined shoulders and arms so toned they looked as if they had been carved from wood. His chest too was beautiful, broad and inviting and yet all of this beauty was marred by ugly, aggressive tattoos, painting hatred permanently on the surface of his skin. His scalp was shorn to little more than a shadow, not even as long as the stubble on his jaw… a skinhead.
“Oh… sleeping beauty’s woke up has she?” he murmured in a tone that could almost be affectionate, with a voice that was pure melted chocolate.
“Mmm-huh” muttered Charlotte to express agreement, but trusting herself to say no more than that.
“Come ‘ere then darlin’” he said and pulled her up to him, his one hand working under her body to the flat of her back and propelling her from the mattress where she lay.
His lips met hers with a hungry kiss, his tongue forcing her mouth open and plunging inside, sucking and feeding on her as if she were the only thing keeping him alive. It was a kiss that went straight through Charlotte, a direct, burning line from the lips being kissed to those suddenly inflamed between her thighs, and her body responded, not asking her confused, distressed mind to join in the debate.
Charlotte’s hands caressed the millions of tiny hairs on Hando’s head, and each of them sent electricity through her finger tips. Hando was once more squeezing her breasts, and she could feel his fingers pressing her flesh, bruised and tender from his ministrations at the beach… it felt like the touch of angels, sending shivers down her spine.
Suddenly and without warning he got up and Charlotte was left panting in momentary confusion. He peeled off his tight white pants in one seamless movement, and her breathlessness increased as she looked upon the whole of his lower body for the first time. The thighs had been hewn from the same solid material as those wonderful arms, and the sight of his tight, defined arse was enough to send moisture flooding to Charlotte’s sex. Then her gaze fell on his pierced cock, long and thick and rigid and upright. She remembered those impressive dimensions inside her mouth, and now she ached in anticipation of him stretching her in sex.
“Get on ya’ hands and knees” Hando commanded, and Charlotte immediately obliged, any rational thought now wholly overtaken by her desire to be fucked by this man. Hando pushed his hands between the leg of her knickers and her arse, and rubbed it hard across her hot wet sex.
“Jeez you’re bloody soaking!” he commented proudly as he withdrew his hand. He grasped her knickers, one hand on either hip, and yanked them sharply downwards with such force that Charlotte lost her balance and fell face first into the mattress. He pulled them off her feet and then threw his weight on top of her, pushing her face down into the mattress with a weight that knocked the breath from her. Charlotte turned her head to the side and was rewarded with Hando’s tongue filling her ear, his teeth chewing on her lobe, pulling at the silver hoops she wore in them.
“You really want it dontcha?” he growled into her ear, his hot breath electrifying n her wet skin. She whimpered - a combination of arousal and agreement.
“What..? Can’t ‘ear ya!” He said, the tone of his voice both menacing and compelling. He grabbed her face and twisted it around towards him, regardless of the discomfort to her neck.
“I want you to tell me how much you want me to fuck you” He spat the words into her face, slowly and deliberately, his eyes large and expressive, eyebrows raised, a broad grin plastered across his face. His grin seemed to grow as he looked into eyes welling with tears triggered by pain and frustration. Charlotte was mesmerized by Hando. Her desire for his cock was so strong that she could barely think to articulate the words: the physical discomfort he was inflicting on her body somehow magnified the ache in her groin which in turn was focused to a sharp point by his wild eyes. She was unable to break his stare.
“Tell me, ya tart” He whispered, winding her hair around his free hand and using it to yank back her head, exposing her neck which he kissed and bit at furiously. Charlotte cried out.
“Yes!” she screamed in pleasure and anticipation. “Yes I want you to fuck me” she yelled, not caring who could hear. “I want your big hard cock deep inside me, I want it now”. She would have continued but Hando placed his hand over her mouth.
“Shut the fuck up” he whispered, not a trace of a smile on his face. “Are you trying to show me up, ya dumb bitch?”
He pulled away, supporting his own weight, and Charlotte turned, sat up to look at him, confusion in her eyes. She sat up and reached out a hand to trace his stubble-covered jaw, but Hando pushed it away. He held her by the shoulders, at arms length, and Charlotte’s gaze traveled up those wonderful arms to see a face of deadly seriousness.
“Listen to me” he said in low tones. Charlotte began to feel embarrassed, still drunk, she tried to remember what she’d said that had upset him so much. Remembering her excitement she flushed and looked away, but Hando’s reaction told her that this was not a wise move. She felt a searing pain across her left cheek. She had not seen it coming, but saw the follow through. Hando had brought the back of his left hand across her face. She looked up at him through tear-blurred eyes, shaking now in fear and bewilderment. His face was fixed in fury.
“I told you to listen to me” he said, his voice beginning to quaver in anger. Charlotte met his gaze, too afraid now for defiance. This seemed to placate him somewhat. His expression changed almost imperceptibly, but that it had changed at all made him seem less maniacal. He continued to look at her with eyes that bore into her spirit and made it submit.
“I don’t want my mates thinkin’ I’m with some cheap slag.” He stated. “I can do better than that, better than a fuckin’ pom tart like you, and don’t you forget it. So…” he held up three fingers “Three things for you to remember if you don’t want another slap. One: you keep ya mouth clean in front of the boys… that don’t mean silent, coz I want them to hear what a great fuckin’ ride I’m givin ya, but you keep it nice okay?”
Charlotte nodded.
“Two: when I‘m talkin’ to ya, you’d better bloody well look at me, right? And Three: dontcha…fuckin’…dare…start…cryin’. Not now, not ever. D’ya understand?”
“Yes Hando.”
“Good. Now get on ya hands and knees and lets get ya fucked.”
Charlotte was horrified, after all this he still planned to have sex? She’d never felt less like sex in her life. She wasn’t turned on, just drunk, scared and horrifically aware of her vulnerability. She couldn’t believe it, but true enough his cock was still impressively erect, the ring nestling against his perfectly flat stomach.
Scared of reprisals Charlotte turned over and got onto her hands and knees. Hando pushed his hand between her legs, and she could feel that he brought it away as wet as before. She had been so turned on before his violence that her body still held on to this outward sign of arousal. In fact when he touched her there she was so sensitive due to an entire night of frustrated sexual readiness, her body shuddered in spite of herself. The touch felt good.
“Okay then… and quietly this time… tell me… do ya want me to fuck ya? Coz I can feel that ya do, but I want to hear ya ask for it.”
What choice did she have? If she said no he’d certainly hit her again, and might even rape her. She cursed her stupidity for getting into this situation.
“Yes please Hando.” Charlotte said in what she hoped was a seductive whisper. “I’d like you to fuck me now, please.” As the words left her lips she knew them not to be true, and yet also not to be untrue. Her sex still burned for his touch, she yearned to be filled, to bring herself to the climax she had craved since the beach.
Without further prompting Hando thrust his thick cock into her. Charlotte was suffering real confusion. In her mind she knew this wasn’t what she wanted, yet her body needed him at that moment, like it needed air. As for her emotions? Charlotte wasn’t sure… couldn’t figure that one out.
Hando’s rhythm was building now, he was entering her deeply, and at furious pace, she could feel his cock bumping against her womb, and it caused her to cry out in pleasure, her cries matching the pace of his thrusts. She feared that he would be angry about this, but he seemed not to care, grabbing her hips and bringing her down and down, each time to the root of his shaft so that she could hear the slap of his body against hers, feel his balls swing against her clit, never enough to satisfy her completely, but always enough to make her realise that this was, at one level at least, exactly what she wanted.
Suddenly, he withdrew, and flipped Charlotte onto her back. The feeling of being manipulated as if she were weightless thrilled her. God he’s just so macho, she thought, and smiled to herself as she realised she’d never had this from all her previous “modern men”. Hando grabbed her legs and placed her ankles over his shoulders, and, with her bent almost double, he entered her again.
In this position, Charlotte could feel a unique sensation which, she quickly realised, must be caused by the ring in his cock. Every time he thrust into her, the ring connected with the most tender spot, just on the front wall of her groin. Charlotte really felt her orgasm building up inside her now. She moaned inarticulate sounds and began to spasm throughout her whole body. Hando fastened his pace, connecting with her special spot harder and faster each time. Charlotte reached her arms over her head, her hands grasping and clutching with the tension of being so close to the precipice of her climax. Hando continued to pump his massive cock into her, now taking both her ankles in one of his huge hands, closing together her legs in front of his face, tightening the grip she had on his shaft. The extra friction that this caused sent Charlotte over the edge. She began to thrash out her orgasm, her hands grasping at the swastika which hung over the bed, screaming with pleasure, tears streaming down her face. At the point of climax, Hando stopped thrusting, remaining quite still and she opened her eyes to see him looking down at her, his face showing his pride in the reaction he had caused. They both felt her muscles pulse and contract against his shaft, and then he began to thrust again, in time with her rhythm to start with, so that the orgasm didn’t quite end, it continued just below its peak as he filled her again and again. Hando was close now, his eyes began to widen as he began to talk dirty to her, much as he had at the beach.
“I’m gonna cum inside ya, ya dirty pommy whore” he grunted. “I’m gonna fill you with my strong white Australian cum”.
His thrusts became harder now. He released her legs and pushed them down to his hips, leaned forward over her and pounded his shaft in as hard as he could go, then almost all the way out, them rammed back in to the hilt, again and again. Charlotte wound her legs around him, urging him on with her heels. She had lost the momentum of her orgasm now, but was still shouting her passion, pushed to the limits of pleasure at each deep thrust.
“Strong…white…cum…Strong…white…cum” Hando repeated with each stab of his cock, until finally his face contorted and he groaned his climax, spurting his juice deep inside her.
He collapsed onto her, and Charlotte could feel both of their bodies, slick with sweat, shivering and panting as they recovered. Then Hando rolled off her, got up, put his pants back on and left the room. Charlotte’s brain was a mess. She had just had the most primitive, wonderful sex of her life. Sure she had been with more sensitive lovers. She had experienced simultaneous and multiple orgasms with men who had taken the effort to make it happen, but this…? This was amazing. This was sheer animal passion, and now she felt bereft. This strong powerful man had got up and left, and Charlotte was beginning to wonder if the whole thing had been real at all. There was another thing too, a reason to be unsettled, but her sex and vodka brain couldn’t focus on anything right now.
Too drunk and fucked to move much, Charlotte tried to tidy herself up. She took off her stockings, the tops now soaked with sweat and both their juices, and threw them limply to one side, then she tried to rake out her hair with her fingers. He would be back, she needed him to be back, and when he was, she knew she needed him to still want her, even if she knew nothing else. Charlotte was asleep when Hando returned from downstairs. He had his report from his boys, they’d taken care of business and he was proud of them… another battle won. He smiled as he returned to his room, they’d given him some stick about her being a “two pot screamer”, but most of the jokes had been to the flattery of his performance. She wasn’t bad… As he got into bed he lifted her head and laid it on his chest. She murmured and woke a little, cozying in to him.
“What’s your name then, pom?” he whispered in her ear.
“Charlotte” she replied. For some reason that she didn’t understand, that question had made her feel very happy. Charlotte smiled to herself and went back to sleep, listening to Hando’s heart beating beneath his tattoos.
The cold, grey light of Melbourne’s wintry August filtered into Hando’s room. Rain threw itself against the dirt-obscured windows, providing rhythm in the otherwise silent, empty, factory building. A commuter train thundered past, the screech of metal upon metal shattering the lull and wresting Charlotte from her sleep. As she stirred on the mattress she became aware of her surroundings. She was in a bed that smelled of sweat and cigarettes, and beside her was the hot, hard body of a man. It all came back to her like a tidal wave. Hando. The Nazi. A man who had hit her and fucked her and humiliated her. A dangerous man, who had powerful command of a group of other dangerous men. Shit. She’d had better mornings. Getting away from here (wherever “here” was) was definitely a good plan, and if she did it now she wouldn’t have to face Hando again. Slowly, fraction by fraction, Charlotte began to move. A wave of nausea swept through her body, blood pounded in her head - the worst hangover of her life so far made it’s presence felt. She suppressed a groan and continued to shift her body weight slowly across the mattress, desperate not to wake her slumbering lover. She reached the edge of the bed and slid to her knees on the floor. Her body uncovered showed signs of ordeal. She was bruised all over, her knees and back from the hard St Kilda rocks, her arms, hips and breasts from the passionate touches of the man sleeping near her. The left side of her face still smarted from the blow he’d given her. Looking around she picked up a square hip flask, and in its distorted reflection she inspected the ugly dark red weal across her left cheekbone, purpling at the edges into a bruise. The reflection also caught the angry love bite on her neck, and she angled it to get an impression of the other bruises on her neck and shoulders. Not a pretty sight, and yet her eyes were sparkling despite her weakness and her unkempt hair looked somehow attractive - the whole picture one of debauched excess and passion spent. Charlotte’s brain was screaming it’s insult at the abuse of alcohol and too little sleep, but she began to be aware of someone else’s breathing in the room. She looked through the corner of her eye and saw another tall skinhead, framed in the doorway. She turned a fraction, at the same time reaching for a discarded shirt which she put on to cover her naked body. Their eyes met and he smiled an “I’ve seen it all before” smile, looked from her to Hando and back, and cleared his throat. Knowing he was going to speak, to wake Hando, Charlotte dived back into the bed, almost throwing up from the dizziness that her actions provoked.
“Hey Hando!” called the man at the door.
Hando woke up brightly, if he too was hung over he showed no sign.
“Hey Davey mate, good mornin’ to ya… ‘ave ya met Charlotte?” he called, the volume of his words reverberating in Charlotte’s head, finally registering surprise that he remembered her name.
“Yeah, saw ‘er at the beach… We was just off to the café mate, wondered if we could bring you back some brekkie?”
“Ah yeah? That’d be great Davey… I’ll ‘ave a fry-up sanger, what about you darlin’?” he said to Charlotte looking down at her. “Hah! I see! Feelin’ a bit crook are we? Bloody sheilas, can’t take their drink!” he laughed, and Davey left the room.
“Close my bloody door on the way out!” Shouted Hando, but Davey was gone, and Hando got up himself to close it, before returning to bed and wrapping Charlotte in his big arms. He held her close to his chest, firmly but tenderly, and kissed her affectionately on the head.
“Poor Charlotte!” he whispered, then he got up quickly, dropping her back onto the mattress with a thud. “You go back to sleep me darlin’, if ya need anythin’ I’ll be right here, got some plannin’ to do.” He said indicating a map on the wall and other papers. “I won’t go far” he continued, “gotta keep my eye on you, ‘aven’t I?”
Charlotte gave in to the need to sleep. She would have to get out of there soon, but she could see that it wouldn’t be yet.
As she slept Charlotte’s dreams were vivid broken fragments of pleasure and discomfort. Here she would be aware of him stroking her hair, there she could hear the aggressive music, pounding from the room below, elsewhere the smell of fried food, unsettling her stomach even as she slept. She slept on. At six o’clock, just as the winter dusk was drawing in, Charlotte woke to Hando rocking her shoulder back and forth, first smoothly, then harder, to wake her up.
“C’mon darlin’ time to wake up”
Charlotte opened her eyes. He was standing over her holding a battered shoulder bag.
“Time to get yourself cleaned up a bit. I borrowed this lot from one of the girls, so ya won’t have to go home.” He dropped the bag onto the bed and walked to the door. “You’ve got ten minutes… no more. The bathroom’s just next door.”
When he’d left Charlotte got out of bed. She gathered the shirt she was wearing around her and headed to the bathroom. Once there she found cold water, a broken mirror and a toilet that looked like it hadn’t ever been cleaned. As she sat on the toilet, Charlotte rooted through the bag. She found odds and ends of make up, a greasy hairbrush, camouflage trousers and a tight top. No underwear though. Charlotte sighed and ran water into the sink. She took off the shirt and began to caress her aching body, using the hard nugget of soap to wash away the sweat and grime of the night before. She bent to wash her pussy, which was swollen and sore. Flinching, she chilled her hand in the cold water, then applied it to her sex again. The sensation was soothing and she began to rub herself gently, eyes closed in mounting reverie, occasionally stopping to refresh her hand once more in the icy water. As she worked away at herself, Hando burst in to the room.
“Your ten minutes is up… oh Jeez! I can’t leave ya alone at all can I?” his words were joking, but there was passion in his voice and in his eyes. Charlotte’s head jerked up guiltily and she looked around desperately but there was nothing nearby to cover her body. Hando stepped towards her, hoisted her up into his arms, carried her out of the bathroom, and kicking open the door to his room threw her onto the bed. He turned back and shouted out of the doorway “You boys go on, we’ll meet up with ya later!”
Charlotte was furious with herself for provoking this situation. She knew for certain that sex was once again on the agenda, and while she knew that it would be great, it didn’t help her in her plan to get out.
Hando tuned to look at her “So I wasn’t enough for ya eh? We’ll soon sort that out.”
And, as he kissed her with one of his deep, powerful kisses Charlotte surrendered herself to the prospect of more mid-blowing sex. He pulled away, and with his huge hands, began to touch the marks he had placed on her body. He stroked her cheek, neck, shoulders and onward - looking at them with cold detachment. It was as if he was confused as to why the bruises were there. He didn’t like the way they looked, but he felt somehow proud of them. He traced the marks on her breasts, matched his fingers to the finger marks and began to increase the pressure. Charlotte flinched away from him, and this reaction spurred him into capturing her with his arms and holding her in another exhausting kiss. He reached down and guided her hand inside his jeans, enclosing her fingers in his as he encircled the width of his cock and rubbed up and down with a steady momentum. His other hand wound its way into her hair, controlling the force of the kiss, pushing her into him until teeth met lips and both of them could taste blood.
He pulled back on her hair and broke the kiss. Charlotte was gasping, needing more oxygen, needing more Hando. She gladly let him manipulate her on to her elbows and knees. Her pussy was open to the air, and she could feel its moisture, telling the physical story of her readiness. Hando placed his face next to hers.
“I told you not to take more than ten minutes to get ready” he whispered calmly, “and although I interrupted ya before you could be late, you would’ve been late.”
He smiled, and Charlotte wondered what he was going to do. He didn’t seem angry, and she had seen his anger and felt its effects last night. Now he seemed confident, cocky, calling the shots.
Hando moved away from her face as he continued to talk.
“It would have been very naughty if you had been late, and you were certainly misbehaving when I saw ya, so…” he let the sentence hang in the air “so I’m going to have to punish ya.”
Hando knelt beside her and began to slap her arse with the flat of his hand. He quickly established a regular rhythm, and Charlotte began to moan with pleasure. These slaps were not painful, but they increased the blood flow to her arse cheeks, making the whole area glow with warmth. Hando’s pace remained constant, but his blows began to carry more force, until Charlotte was knocked off balance and into his lap. Once there, Hando began to increase the pace of his stinging slaps. Charlotte wriggled and squirmed, but there was no escape, this wasn’t so much fun as before, her bottom was burning hot from it’s rough treatment.
When he was satisfied that she was sufficiently reddened, Hando rolled Charlotte onto her back and spread her legs with his knees. As he thrust his cock into her, he pushed her inflamed arse into the mattress. Charlotte gasped, this was like the stinging pain of sunburn, but deeper - somehow more pleasant. Hando laughed at her discomfort. “Aawwww baby is that sore?” he cooed in mock sympathy. And then he pushed further into her with his hips. He slid his broad hands under her arse and grabbed its sore cheeks cruelly, squeezing her tight to him. He didn’t thrust this time, so much as push further and deeper in, without really ever withdrawing. Charlotte was sore from the rough sex of yesterday night, and now uncomfortable with the intense pressure on her behind, and yet, despite herself, she was growing in her arousal. Charlotte tried to buck against Hando, to bring an end to her torment, but Hando was holding her tight. He was so strong that there was no chance for her to control the action at all. He pushed into her again and again, trying to make her feel the pain of her sore cheeks, but rather than making her cry out, these movements were causing her to feel hyper-aware, her eyes widening each time, her gaze meeting his, and passing between them more meaning than they had said to each other over the past twenty four hours. The intimacy of the moment became unbearable, uncomfortable, and Hando broke the gaze, and the connection of their sex, flipping her over and thrusting back into her in one powerful movement. As if to make up for the moment they had shared, he now made this sex super aggressive and just for him. He rode her frenziedly from behind, slapping her arse hard with every thrust, until he shouted out his climax in tones of anger and frustration. He withdrew from her, somehow less confident than before, and fell back onto his haunches, regarding Charlotte angrily, wondering what she’d done to him, how she’d made him feel so powerless.
During that moment of connection, Charlotte had understood something. She didn’t have words to describe what she now knew, but she’d regained something in her self-knowledge.
Hando began to make fists at his side. He was the alpha male. He had the power. He would feel strong again.
Charlotte turned to face him, bright and focused. She looked up at him through her lashes her face a figure of submission. She moved towards him willing him to allow her to continue with her new plan.
Hando was concentrating hard. He had to show this girl who was in charge. She was coming towards him, but the look in her eyes was desire and admiration. This was good. This was working.
Charlotte took a breath and reached out for his flaccid cock. This was make or break.
“Please.” she begged in a whisper, and worked her head towards it.
Hando couldn’t work this out, but she wanted to suck him off, was how it seemed to him. Well that was okay. He was the man, and she knew her place. There was something more though - he wanted to prove to her that he was a man who had the power to perform again… no need to rest. He lay back and let her gain access to him, sighing as her hot mouth closed around him.
Charlotte swirled her tongue against his cock. She rubbed it hard at the root, flicked it over the tip, teasing the ring. She repositioned herself and began to focus on his musky balls, first giving them butterfly kisses, then flicking them with her tongue until finally she took them one by one in her mouth and sucked gently. It occurred to her that she held tangible power now, could cause him pain if she chose - but that was not the way.
Hando began to feel the tension of his erection mounting. This was an expert blow job, and he wondered why it was better than before. He had set the pace then, she was doing so now… well he’d give her a try - if it was crap he could take over.
Charlotte returned her attentions to his growing shaft. Now, before it was fully engorged, she took the whole thing into her mouth and sucked. She sucked with unrelenting power. She sucked him like he had kissed her, and she was rewarded by a surprised but pleasured groan from deep in Hando’s throat. An ex-boyfriend had once told her that she could suck a football through a hose pipe, and now she was using those skills on this man she hated and lusted after in equal measure.
Hando was building to climax now. It was a different feeling than normal. His entire consciousness was focused upon the physical act being performed on him, and not the attendant emotions and ideas he usually liked to play with. He looked down at the red head in his lap, but could barely focus on her. His eyes rolled back in his head and he arched his back, craving the release of his orgasm, and yet wanting the pleasure to last forever.
Charlotte moved up the shaft, now too long to take in its entirety. Never once relieving the level of suction, she focused entirely on his helmet now, her hands deftly manipulating the remainder of his shaft, pulling at it with an unrelenting rhythm. She was acutely aware of each gasp he took, the tension in his back, the fists he was grasping and releasing in time with the rhythm of her grasps. When he was nearly there, she placed her finger firmly on the flesh between his balls and his arse, knowing the reaction it would have, rewarded by his cry of inarticulate ecstasy. She pushed her finger back now, rudely entering him. This gave her no thrill, but she knew it would send him over the edge, and it did. His orgasm came in waves, and she swallowed it whole, sucking every last drop before she withdrew from him and let him withdraw from her.
Hando watched her move away like it was happening to someone else. He saw her dress in the clothes he had borrowed, put on her boots and leave. As she got to the door she turned around and looked at him as if she was about to say something- a valediction? But she looked at him pityingly and turned away. He was a mess. He’d lost control. He’d taken pleasure like a girl - like a poof - and he’d let the person who’d done it walk away. As he heard the front door slam behind her, he recalled her as she was dressing and leaving. There had been pity in her eyes and power in her moves, and although he knew they were there, he couldn’t for the life of him remember seeing any of the marks he had left on her body at all.