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Forbidden Fruit
By : GrayerGray
Category: Comics > Punisher
Views: 2232 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0Disclaimer: I do not own The Punisher, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. - Chapter List
Frank awoke abruptly, sitting up in his bed. Alone. At least he was alone. Was it just a dream? A horrible, dirty, disgusting dream? Or had he really raped Jade... Vendetta? He ran his hands through his hair, it was sweaty, as was his brow and most of his body. The sheets clung to his chest and legs from sweat, and to his groin for another reason. He had ejaculated during his wet dream and his semen was sticking to the sheets, and to him, causing quite the mess.
He didn't bother with that at the moment, he looked at the bed sheets, at the posts of his bed. They were all clean, which meant that he hadn't cut any one up in his bed last night, nor had he had them forcefully tied up against their will while he rammed his cock into them. Which meant he didn't rape Vendetta, he only dreamt he had.
Of course, that was still a disturbing dream, but it was better a dream than a reality. He sighed and shook his head, trying to remove the disgusting images of Jade laying in his bed, bleeding with his seed spewed across her slit skin. His stomach jolted with the thought.
He could never actually bring himself to rape a woman, especially when she was tied down and restrained. And he would defiantly be smart enough not to rape a girl like her. She'd give him a swift, and rightfully deserved kick in the balls if she even knew he was thinking about it, let alone dreaming of doing such a thing. Especially after that night.
Groggily, Frank stood up and headed to the shower, his boxers still sticky and wet from the dream. He groaned as he pulled them off, ripping out a few hairs as he did so.
The water in the shower was hot, almost to the point of being painful, but it satisfied the masochist in him, feeling the burning liquid pass over his scarred shoulders, stinging the scabbed wounds that she had left on his shoulders. He reached a hand over his shoulder, fingers running over the ridges left by her nails, bitter sweet memories as painful as the hot water passing over the scratches.
Why couldn't he get her out of his mind?
In the decades since Maria's death, he had never thought of another woman like he thought about Jade, and Maria. Of course, with Jade, it seemed like such a guilty, one time, secrete ordeal. And since when did he call her Jade? He had even moaned "Vendetta" into her ear as they fucked, not made love, on his table.
No, he refused to think of the two women as on the same level. It just would not happen. They were not, nor could or would they ever bee equal.
He stepped out of the shower, the thoughts of his dead wife and his hated lover had made his penis rock hard, craving attention, desiring one of the two luscious bodies. Of course, all Frank could offer was nothing as soft, as warm or welcoming, as the two women, who were both beautiful in her own way.
He wrapped his hand around himself, and thought about his wife. The golden hair that fell in a soft curve just below her chin, her bright blue eyes and soft voice. The way he could wrap his arms around her and she could disappear against his chest. Especially when he was on the force, his winter dress coat would easily engulf his beautiful, demure, wife.
Then there was Jade... Vendetta... The name said it all. She had dyed red hair, her natural colour was black. Eyes as hard as diamonds and the colour of a pale winter morning, and about as warm. Her skin was cold to the touch, and her curves, though there and appealing, were not soft and as welcoming as Maria's had been.
Maria was his virgin. Jade was his whore.
'She's not a whore,' a voice in the back of his head shouted at him. 'You were the one who took advantage of her. You're older, should have known better.' It was true, Frank was older than her father, and he knew this because they had been partners on the NYPD.
He shot out over his hand and into his bathroom sink. Then, after washing his hand and cleaning around the sink, he set out to get something to eat, and try not to think of what he had done on the table.
Try not to think about her.
Her warm lips. Her cool hands. Her pale skin. Her harsh eyes.
Her desperate moans. Her warmth inside. Her screaming his name.
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