The Penance List

by S C Cunningham

  As with most virgins, he was shit scared.

  David had expected the call; he knew Seb was confused, tormented with shame and tempted with excitement. What an idiot, he needed to get over himself and his suburban bourgeois attitude. Just get on with it, it was only sex… what’s the big deal? He’d been at it since he was seven.

  David thanked the Devil; he loved the way he chucked opportunities in his path, keeping him on his toes. Bumping into Seb now meant that he could kill two birds with one stone, be a step closer to Tara and repay Seb for leaving him. He would enjoy playing with Seb’s emotions and then disposing of him. Seb was smitten, easy prey; he would fall in love, become addicted, soar high, and then be crushed. He would beg for the freedom that came with death. He wondered if Seb was a squealer when cut, probably.

  David liked to control, to make up for the lack of it he had as a child. But from time to time he would relapse and hire a dominatrix prostitute to humiliate him. The abuse would take him back to the comfort zone of the Headmaster’s study where he could become the victim and feel the energy of his angel again.

  Afterwards, feelings of anger and disgust would refuel his power, and he would take back control, until the next time he weakened. He lived a in a cycle of weakness and strength. Today he was strong.

  Seb was sitting uncomfortably on the sofa, making small talk; David stood by the kitchen, checking out his reflection in a large mirror that hung over the dining table.

  “Do you want a coffee now, Seb?” interrupted David, the double meaning not going unnoticed, the air tense with expectation.

  “Yeah, err, yeah… let me,” Seb’s voice shook. “I’ll get it.”

  He got up and walked toward the kitchen; he would have to pass David as he neared the entrance. He decided that if David did not make a move, he could veer off into the kitchen and just make coffee, no embarrassment. He prayed that he had not misread the signs, that David wanted him, it, as much as he. He looked for confirmation in his eyes… nothing!

  Legs heavy with dread, he got a few feet from David, he was still checking himself out in the mirror, his fingers playing with thick black hair, sweeping it back across his head, tendrils falling over his face. Still no sign; panic rushed over him. Seb faltered... oh God, he doesn’t want me, I’ve been a bloody fool.

  Hands still in his hair, David turned to face him. He wore a tight black T-shirt and loose fitting jeans. With his arms lifted up, his torso formed a perfect V shape; his hard toned stomach peeked out from below the shirt line. The belt on his jeans was slack, they hung low over slouched hips, he looked so bloody inviting, Seb just wanted to slide his hands down inside his pants.

  “What do you think, Seb, shall I get it cut; it’s a little long, don’t you think?” holding his gaze, turning his head from side to side for Seb to see.

  Seb stepped forward to check, “well, no… err… I think its fi…”

  David didn’t let Seb finish; taking him by surprise, he lowered his arms, grabbed the back of his neck, and slammed hard into his chest, his mouth crushing Seb’s, absorbing the yelp of shock.

  It was finally happening. Seb had thrown himself off the cliff, he was falling, his weightless body soared through the air, he was in heaven. Unleashed, he sucked David’s face hungrily, mouth, neck, ears, mouth again; every inch was covered with lips and searching tongues. He was let loose on blissful male flesh. Goosebumps scrambled across his body, every inch crying out to be touched. He didn’t dare let go for fear of it ending.

  Saliva drenched mouths sucked, probed, licked. Eager hands tore at clothing; shirts were stripped off. Seb was amazed at how beautifully male it was – rough, slamming solid muscle, salty skin, energised, alive. So different from milky soft, sweet smelling, pliant women.

  David shunted him against the wall and trailed his mouth across his bare chest. Seb looked down in awe at the unfamiliar sight of a man on him. He winced with the pleasure pain of rough stubble scratching skin, teeth biting nipples. David’s snake-like tongue flicked backwards and forwards over one nipple, a thumb and forefinger pinched and twisted the other. It was too much, he couldn’t wait.

  Falling to his knees… how many times have I dreamed of doing this? … he tore at David’s belt and pulled open his jeans, unveiling the soft tufts of dark hair curling over the boxer shorts. He pressed his face against the long hard mound that stretched up to the waistband and breathed in deep through the material, he smelt sex, male sex.

  Pausing, he leaned back on his ankles, to take in the scene. Did he really want to do this, to put a cock in his mouth? He ran his fingers along its length; the material pulled as it grew with pleasure. He rested his mouth on its tip, sucking hot air in and out through the cotton, it jerked back at him, alive, bulging… bloody hell it’s big.

  “Let’s open Pandora’s Box and see what you wished for… be careful,” breathed David, his warning lost on Seb.

  Obediently, with trembling fingers he pulled the boxer shorts down. David’s fat cock lolled forward, hitting him in the face, he giggled nervously, taking a hold of it. It’s warm bulging beauty shocked him, as with everything about David, it was perfect. His mouth couldn’t wait, he devoured it. He cupped David’s balls in one hand and his own in the other. He was in heaven, his face and hands full of cock, the most private part of a man. It felt natural, as if he’d been doing it all his life, he was home.

  As Seb worked, David’s groans echoed around the room. From time to time, his mouth full, Seb would look up into David’s eyes, searching for approval. The feeling of power was too intense, David wanted to come; he must hold back. The boy was good; he’d taken to this like a duck to water. He pushed him away and leaned back against the wall.

  “Let me watch you play with yourself, get it out.”

  He didn’t have to be asked twice, Seb stood, pushed his trousers to his ankles, took his chunky swollen cock in hand and started to wank. They held eye contact. David grabbed his own cock and joined in; they worked in unison, enjoying the sight of each other, turning each other on.

  “Yeah, pretty boy, you wanna get fucked, you wanna play with the big boys now, do the real stuff… turn around, bend over, give me your tight ass… today, you receive.”

  Before Seb could respond, David twisted him around and bent him over the back of the sofa. He pushed down hard on his Seb’s back, trapping him, then kick spread his legs apart at the ankles so that his hips were the correct height, he spat two mouthfuls of saliva into Seb’s crack, just like Headmaster had done.

  Seb immediately lost his hard-on, fear struck. He wasn’t ready, he knew what was coming and tried to relax his muscles in time, but too late; David tore into him, riding him hard.

  David knew he’d gone too far, too quickly; he could see the fear and pain in Seb’s pleading face as he looked back over his shoulder. The Headmaster hadn’t stopped, why should he.

  “Stop, wait… it hurts, fuck… no… you’re killing me.”

  Seb tried to pull away, “shit, get off me…” he shouted.

  He was being torn open; he’d never felt such pain. David slowed, and held him tight. Maybe he had been a little rough.

  “Wow, sorry, baby… you’re too much… it’s ok… it’s ok… relax.”

  He leaned over Seb’s back, hugging him tight, rocking him like a baby, his cock still inside, whispering hypnotic soothing words into his ear.

  “Gently, slowly, slowly… relax, I’ll take it real slow,” he slid slowly in and out.

  Seb’s body started to relax.

  “It’s your fault… you’re good, you sucked me good, too good, made me want it too much… your fault… slowly, slowly.” All the time licking the back of Seb’s neck, caressing and stroking his back and buttocks.

  They began to fall into a gentle rhythm. Seb let his body relax against David’s, trusting him. This was going to be all right after all, he thought. He could feel his cock jerk into life again.

  He had no idea of the chaos happening in the world outsid
e.

  Chapter Forty-One

  As fast and high as the press had built him up, they knocked him down again. Franco first heard of the Tara pictures when he arrived at training. He and Michael noticed that there were more press than usual at the gates of the training ground. As he walked into the changing rooms, the lads were huddled together sniggering over a paper; they gave him a big cheer as he came through the door.

  “Go on, my son…the Italian stallion…give it some…”

  “What’s up?” he said innocently.

  They swamped him, patting him on the back, ruffling his hair, digging him in the ribs, rubbing his two-day-old stubbled chin. The paper was shoved unceremoniously into his face, open at the centre pages. He went pale with horror when he finally managed to make out that the photos were of him and Tara, with various captions.

  GOLDEN BOY PLAYS DIRTY

  AD AGENCY SCAM

  THE ITALIAN JOB.

  “Holy shit! What the fuck?”

  At first he thought they were the old Tara and Ed pictures he’d been sent in Italy; they were the same grainy, fuzzy style. But when he realized they were of him, his jaw dropped to the ground, along with his gym bag. His teammates thought it was great. Mr Cool scoring big time.

  “Well done, Frankie, me old son. She’s a looker alright, nice tits, good on yer.”

  They had no idea of the implications this had. Sporjakk, the Charity, Ned, the Club, Woody, his family, would all go bananas, not to mention Maria. Franco sat in the corner of the changing room, speechless, the guys all joking and jeering at his expense… shit … what about T?

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Before Pete Wells could track her down, Tara stuffed the papers under her arm, sneaked out the back entrance of her office building, and jumped into a taxi, back to her flat.

  No wonder Reception was busy that morning. It was swarming with paparazzi; she must have looked so rough that none of them recognised her… thank God.

  She wanted to cry, but no time for that, she had to get her act together and work out what to do…what the hell is going on, who would do this? Hunched down low in the back of the cab, her mind raced on the trouble this would cause… shit! She should have come clean to the bosses in the beginning, keeping her job wasn’t worth this.

  She tried to get hold of Seb, and left a message when he didn’t pick up, hoping he wasn’t ignoring her… who the hell took the pictures? … were they like the Ed photographs? She hadn’t seen them, she’d been meaning to ask Franco for copies, and then confront Ed with them, but contacting Franco had not been on her list of priorities… hmmm, Franco wouldn’t have done it, would he, as payback for Ed?

  He could have set up a camera after one of their lunchtime sessions, she’d left him alone in the flat often enough. The shots all seemed to be taken from above; she needed to get home and investigate.

  The journey seemed to take forever. Her cell phone kept ringing, names she recognised, the office, her bosses, and numbers she didn’t, she guessed these were journalists; she let each call go to voicemail.

  Texts came through from the girls; they’d obviously not seen the news yet.

  in need of pow wow, 2moro lunch booked, Josie coming. Hel xxxxx

  understand why ur not hapi wiv me, didn’t tell ya cos woz ashamed, pls talk to me, miss ya, luv ya, sori J x

  Thank God for the girls; at least they would be on her side, although she hardly deserved it. Ashamed with the way she’d handled Josie’s hooker announcement, Tara still hadn’t had the guts to call her. She was in denial that her friend could do such a thing… prostitution is bloody dangerous for God’s sake, and, if she was honest, she was hurt that Josie hadn’t confided in her before. But she could hardly play the innocent with her cellulite ridden bare ass spread all over the papers. She wished she could see the girls now, she needed their positive energy. She sent a reply text to both.

  possibly out of a job, lunch 2moro a necessity, check press for my latest fuckup, men r bad 4 my health, am joining a convent! xxx

  The taxi finally pulled up outside her flat; she jumped out, paid the guy, and ran up the steps, head down, groping for her keys in the ever-ending handbag. She crashed straight into someone waiting on the doorstep, it was Franco.

  “It’s you,” grateful it wasn’t a journalist. “What the hell are you doing here, come to cause more trouble,” she waved her stack of newspapers under his nose, trying to sound angry, but secretly relieved to see him. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and hold on tight.

  He’d been waiting for her, hiding in the shadows of the entrance, hoping no one would recognize him. Having abandoned training that morning, there was no way he could concentrate so Woody sent him home, he called Tara’s office to be told that she’d left for the day. He got Michael to drop him off outside her apartment, and asked him to wait parked up around the corner.

  “We have some talking to do, Tara, whether you like it or not. This little stunt is not gonna go away, what the hell are you playing at?”

  She opened the door. He pushed in after her to get out of public view, closing the door quickly behind them.

  “What do you mean what am I playing at? Have you met my mum?” she glared up at him. “Have you seen her blow a gasket?”

  She didn’t know who she was more scared of, Pete Wells or her mum. Imagining her mother’s volcanic reaction, she nervously ran her hand through her hair releasing the newspapers tucked under her arm. As they slid to the floor, sordid images spread out across the marble tiles. The pair of them stood mesmerised, staring down at the black and white mosaic of them fucking. Tara wondered how something so good at the time, could now look so grotesque.

  They quickly dropped to their knees and scrambled the papers together, anxious to hide them before any residents wandered into the hallway.

  “I had nothing to do with this, do you really think I want to get the sack; do you really think I want the whole bloody world to see me shagging some good-for-nothing, cheap, two-timing rat of a footballer? Get a life Franco,” she blasted.

  They ran up the communal staircase to her apartment, taking two steps at a time for fear of being followed. It would be a matter of time before the press would be hounding for comments.

  “Well, if it wasn’t you, Miss Goody-two-shoes, WHO THE FUCK WAS IT?” he shouted at her as they tumbled into the privacy of her apartment. He slammed the door shut and they leaned against it, Tara out of breath.

  “I don’t know,” she murmured, turning to double-lock the key.

  His raised voice shocked her, tears welled, she began to shake, fumbling with the keys and dropped them.

  “Shit, sorry,” she whispered at her clumsiness, the enormity of the situation hitting her. She wiped her eyes quickly so that he wouldn’t notice.

  He stared down at her his anger subsiding, he’d missed her so much. She was even more beautiful when vulnerable. He picked up the keys, double-locked the door and handed them back to her.

  “Thank you,” she took a step back, feeling uncomfortably close in the small hallway.

  “Ok, let’s talk over a cup of tea… actually, I could do with something stronger,” she turned away and rushed off to the kitchen, not seeing his hand reach out, he wanted to hold her. Thinking better of it, he dropped his arm and remained quiet.

  He spread the papers out over the dining room table and analysed the photographs. He should have brought the Ed photos to compare; they looked very similar, he was sure they had been taken by the same person.

  Tara returned with two glasses of cognac, she’d been thinking the same thing.

  “Did you really see pictures of Ed and me?” her voice low.

  “Yeah, I assume Seb told you. Thanks for that, Tara, you certainly know how to fuck someone up, you make a habit of taking pictures of you on the job, do you? Get a kick out of it?” the sarcasm in his voice stung.

  “I told you this was not my doing,” she shouted. “Nor was that night with Ed, well, I mean I didn’t ta
ke the bloody pictures,” getting angry was not helping.

  She sipped her brandy and tried again, her voice calm.

  “What did they look like, could it be the same person taking them?” she looked up at the ceiling. “How the hell did they do it?”

  “Yeah, they looked very similar, taken from the same angles, black-and-white, out of focus, not great quality.”

  He pointed at one of the shots. Tara was facing the wall of the bedroom, with Franco leaning in behind her, they were both naked and shining with sweat, he was fucking her hard, his body rigid, he was about to come. Tara blushed; she had a flashback of how good it felt… she bit her bottom lip… pull yourself together girl!

  Franco nudged her rudely, impatient she wasn’t concentrating. She made an effort to focus on the picture, trying to ignore the fact that they were fucking the hell out of each other… and that her hips looked enormous.

  From the angle of the shots, the camera must have been positioned above and behind them.

  “Ok, let’s test where the camera would have been, we’ll line up in the same way,” Franco tore the page from the paper and dragged her into the bedroom.

  “Franco, this is ridicul…”

  She began to complain, but he was not in the mood to listen.

  “Shut up and do as you are told for once,” he barked. She raised her eyes to the ceiling in annoyance and slumped like a defeated ragdoll.

  Following the layout of the photograph he arranged their bodies in the same position, her up against the wall and he standing behind her… making sure their hips didn’t make contact, it was not the time to start getting horny. Holding the torn paper up in front of her face, he asked.

  “Right, Miss Marple, where’s the camera?”

  They turned and looked over their shoulders to where a camera would have to be to fit the correct angle. Both eyes landed on the chandelier hanging from the centre of the ceiling, over the bed. Flicking through the other press pages, it was obvious that each had been taken from the same place, one camera.