Preview: Bare Knuckle Bitch


An over the top violent black comedy guaranteed to offend everyone.

Best friends Abby and Shaz like nothing more than sticking the boot into some mug after a night out on the piss. That look of sheer terror on the bloke’s face when he first realises what’s coming his way. The way he begs for mercy right up until the moment he loses consciousness. It’s the best buzz ever.

The money in their wallets is just a bonus, a means to an end. Men are just walking pricks with money there for the taking. Treat them as anything else and they’ll walk all over you.

At least that’s what Abby used to think, until she met the skinhead. He taught her men aren’t all the same, and showed her a different way to live. A way to make some serious money from doing what she loves best – hurting people.

There’s just one problem – what will Shaz have to say about all this when Abby starts spending more and more time with the skinhead instead of her?
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So I’m in the local night club with my mate Shaz, yeah? The Zone, it says on the big neon sign above the door, but most people call it The Meat Market. It’s the sort of place you go to if you want to find random people to fuck without having to worry about any of that soppy romance bollocks. I’m sure you know the sort of place I mean; you’ve probably been to one yourself a few times, right? Low lights so you can’t see how ugly everyone is, loud music so you can’t hear how fucking boring they are. The perfect pick-up joint for freaks of all ages, yeah?

Anyway, we’re checking out the studs lined up along the bar, trying to decide which ones are worth bothering with. Most of them are fat bastards in their thirties with huge beer guts flopping down over their belts like an old woman’s tits, so there’s not much to choose from. There is one reasonable looking guy at the end of the bar though. Not that he would win any beauty contests, mind. He’s dog fucking rough in the face department, and his clothes look like he’s slept in them for a month, but he does have this massive bulge sticking out of the front of his trousers that catches my eye.

“See anything you fancy?” Shaz yells in my ear.

Shaz is the same age as me, but she looks a few years older. We grew up on the same council estate and went to the same shitty schools together, so we’ve known each other pretty much forever. My dad calls her a trollop and says she’s a bad influence on me, but he doesn’t know the half of it.

“That one’s quite cute,” I shout back, nodding my head toward bulge-guy. It’s like he can hear me over the loud thumping music or something, because he looks straight at me and winks.

Shaz shakes her head and sighs. “Fucking hell Abby, try looking beyond his cock. He’s fucking skint, you can tell that a mile off. You’d be lucky to get a drink out of him, never mind anything else.”

“Well what about that one then?” I point at one of the fatties, choosing him at random.

“Are you kidding? Look at his shoes. Fucking Hush Puppies? Get real, Abby.”

“Well which one would you go for?”

Shaz smiles, and points her finger at one of the other fatties. “Armani suit, not cheap in that size. You need to get them made especially, you can’t just pick one up off the fat cunt rail in Tesco. See those shoes? Paul Smith brogues, three hundred quid a pop. And look at the way he’s standing, you can tell he’s used to ordering people around. Probably middle management at least, but more likely some sort of fucking company director. Either way he’s fucking loaded.”

“Right,” I say. I’ll have to take her word for it, I know fuck all about men’s clothes and the way this one’s standing doesn’t look any different to the way all the other fat bastards are standing. “So who’s having him then, you or me?”

“You can have him, I’ll pick one of the others.”

“Right, okay. See you later then, yeah?”

I walk up to the bar and squeeze myself in next to the one Shaz pointed out for me. The barman looks at me and nods, asking if I need serving. I shake my head and he walks away to serve someone else. The fatty on my left looks in my direction and smiles, thinking he’s in with a chance. I scowl at him and he looks away sharply. His face turns the colour of a slapped arse.

I turn my head to look at the over-stuffed Armani suit on my right. He stares straight ahead at the optics behind the bar but it’s obvious he knows I’m here from the way his hand shakes when he picks up his drink. Great, he’s one of those fucking shy bastards. That means I’ll have to make all the moves instead of just standing here looking pretty. I nudge him with my elbow and watch the rolls of fat ripple for a few seconds until they settle down again.

“Hi,” I yell when he doesn’t look in my direction. No reply. I can see sweat breaking out on his forehead. Fucking hell, he’s not going to make this easy for me, is he? I stroke the back of his hand with my fingertips. He jumps as if I’ve just fucking scratched him or something, and turns toward me.

“Hi,” I yell again. I flash him my warmest smile and hope he doesn’t make a run for it. If he does I’ll have to go back to Shaz and start the selection process all over again.

“Um… hello. Do you come here often?” he says.

I laugh. Well at least he can fucking talk, even if what he does say is corny as fuck. “Yeah, I come here all the time. You going to buy me a drink then or what?”

“Um… sure, what’ll you have?”

“A pint of Guinness and a whisky chaser.”

He pulls out a brown leather wallet and I can’t help noticing how stuffed full of money it is when he plucks out a tenner and waves it at the barman. There must be a few hundred quid in there, easy. I turn and give Shaz a double thumbs up while he’s distracted with the barman. She smiles back at me in that smug bastard way people do when they know they’ve been proven right.

He buys my drinks and I down half the Guinness in one go, then wipe the froth from my mouth with the back of my hand.

“So, um, what do you do for a living?” he asks. As if he gives a fuck what I do or who I do it with. But I might as well humour him, it’s only polite.

“I work the till in a burger joint. How about you?”

“I’m a stockbroker.” He says this as if I’m supposed to be impressed, but I’ll be fucked if I know what one of those is. Probably something to do with warehouses, or making sure a supermarket’s shelves don’t run empty.

“Oh yeah?” I shout. “That’s nice.”

“My name’s Alan.”

I shrug and pick up my Guinness, drain the rest of it. The whisky follows it down, and I get a warm glow spreading down my throat and into my chest.

“So what’s yours?” he yells.

“I’ll have another pint of Guinness, Alan.”

“No, I mean, um, what’s your name?”


“Pleased to meet you, Abby.”

He holds out his hand. I look at it. Who the fuck wants to shake hands when they’re picking up some random woman at a bar? He holds it there a few more seconds, then takes the hint and reaches for his wallet. He orders himself an alcohol-free beer, obviously worried whether he’ll be able to perform or not when the time comes.

The fat cunt on my left peels himself away from the bar and waddles off to the toilets like a hippo that’s just learnt how to walk on two legs, so I put a bit of space between me and my new friend Alan. He’s sweating like a pig, but it’s not the nice, heady aroma of a proper man. It’s the sort of greasy chips and curry stench you always get from fat blokes. I lean back against the bar and take another long drink.

“So, um, you fancy going somewhere a bit quieter, Abby?” Alan asks my tits.

I answer on their behalf. “Nah, I like it in here. Besides, I’m barred from most of the pubs in town.”

“I, um, wasn’t really thinking of another pub.”

Here it comes. Two measly fucking drinks I’ve had from the cunt and he already thinks he’s fully paid up. What the fuck is it with men these days? I’d need at least ten pints before I even considered having that lard-arse pounding on top of me. I’d need the anaesthetic for when he crushes my fucking ribs.

“Maybe later,” I yell. “The night’s still young and all that.” I drain the rest of my pint and hand the glass to Alan. “Your round, yeah?”

While he gets the drinks in I look to see what Shaz is doing. The bulge-guy is sitting with her, yelling something into her ear. Shaz is laughing. I frown. All that bollocks she came out with about him being skint, and all along she just wanted him for herself.

“Is something wrong, Abby?” Alan must’ve picked up on my annoyance with Shaz, so I smile to reassure him everything’s fine.

“Nothing at all, Alan.” I raise my pint glass toward him. “Cheers.” He picks up his alcohol-free beer and chinks my glass, smiles back.

I look back at Shaz, try to catch her eye to show her how fucking pissed off I am, but she’s too busy throwing herself at bulge-guy. His arm is round her shoulder, and her hand is resting on his thigh, brushing the tip of his bulge with her thumb. He leans in for a kiss and gropes her tits. I hope it’s just a fucking rolled up sock he’s got stuffed down his pants, it’d serve Shaz right for lining me up with this fat sweaty bastard and keeping the best guy in the whole fucking place for herself.

I turn back to the bar and try to think of something to say to Alan. I mean, what do you say to someone you have absolutely nothing whatsoever in common with, and who makes your fucking skin crawl just thinking about him? I can’t think of anything, so I just ask the obvious question.

“So, Alan, have you got any rubber johnnies on you?”

Fuck it, straight to the point, that’s me. Well it certainly gets Alan’s attention anyway. He stares at me with his mouth open as if he can’t believe what I’ve just said. His face flushes red, his hands start to tremble. He fiddles with the knot of his tie.

“Um, no. But I could, um, get some from the machine in the toilets?”

I smile and wink at him, and a huge soppy grin spreads over his face. Like a little kid on Christmas day who’s woke up to a room full of presents, or a twelve year old boy who’s just lost his virginity.

“Yeah, you do that. And make sure they’re ribbed, yeah? Oh, and get those strawberry flavoured ones too if you can. I don’t like the taste of rubber.”

I never thought it was possible for a face to go as red as his. I wouldn’t be surprised if his head just fucking exploded right there in front of me.

“Oh. Um, yes, I– of course I will.”

I smile to myself as he scoots off to the toilets to buy the johnnies. I lean back on the bar to watch, and shake my head at the comical way he walks. I look for Shaz to give her an update, but she’s not there. And neither is bulge-guy. Great, just my fucking luck.

Alan strides back. He pats his breast pocket and grins like a fucking loon. “I got them, Abby,” he says. “Where do you want to do it?”

“Hold your horses, lover. How about another drink first?”

My head’s starting to get comfortably mashed from the Guinness, but a few more won’t hurt. I wonder if Shaz is having a good time with bulge-guy, whether he’s one of those fumble and shoot types or if he’s one of those fucking marathon-men who last for hours. I hope it’s the former.

Alan gulps down his alcohol-free beer. I take my time and sip my Guinness, all the while keeping an eye out for Shaz. She’s taking her fucking time, she’s had long enough now to bang the entire fucking night club never mind just one bloke. Lucky cow.

I’ve still got half a pint left when Alan starts talking to my tits again, telling them it’s time to go somewhere quiet. Fuck it, might as well make my move. Shaz can’t be much longer, surely.

“Hundred quid,” I say. The look of pure innocent shock on his face is fucking priceless. I wish I had my phone ready so I could take a photo, but it’s too late now.

“Um… sorry?” he says. He looks at me wide-eyed.

“Hundred quid. In advance, yeah?”

“But I bought you all those drinks,” he splutters.

“Yeah, and?”

“Um… okay. Just so that we’re clear, what does a hundred pounds buy me?”

I shrug, playing it cool. I’d been expecting him to haggle, or maybe even just tell me to fuck off when he found out it wasn’t going to be free. But the glint in his eye tells me he’s definitely interested. I give him a coy smile. “Whatever you want it to buy you, Alan.”

I can practically hear those cogs in his head grinding against each other. He grins and reaches for his wallet, peels off five twenty pound notes and thrusts them into my hand. I pull out my low-cut top and stuff the money inside my bra for safe keeping. Alan leans forward to get himself a good look at his investment.

“Wait there, I need to go to the toilet,” I tell him. “This Guinness has gone straight through me.”

He’s obviously not as daft as he looks, because he follows me to the ladies. “I’ll wait for you here,” he says when I push open the pink door. “Don’t be long, will you?” I can feel his eyes burning into my arse as I let go of the door and it swings shut on him.

Both the cubicles are full, and I have to stand there with my legs crossed so I don’t piss myself while I wait. It takes fucking ages, but eventually I hear a bolt slide open on one of the cubicle doors. Some middle-aged tart with smudged makeup staggers out and heads toward the mirror.

I’m in the cubicle like a fucking shot. I hitch up my miniskirt and pull down my knickers before I’ve even got the door shut. I don’t bother locking it, there isn’t enough time. I squat down on the toilet and sigh in relief while the piss gushes out of me.

I look for some toilet paper to wipe myself with, but the bog-roll dispenser is empty, just a cardboard tube to taunt me with. Fucking great. I bounce up and down on the toilet seat to shake off as many drops as I can, then use the palm of my hand for the rest. I pull up my knickers and open the cubicle door. I go to the sink and turn the tap on, rinse my hands under the cold water.

The old tart is still here, standing in front of the mirror trying to repair her makeup. But she’s so fucking pissed she just makes it look even worse than it did before. She looks like something from a fucking horror movie, and I pity whichever poor sap has to bang that monster tonight. With a final pout at the mirror, she staggers past me toward the exit. Alan holds the door open while she walks through it. After she’s gone he stares in at me.

“Are you going to be much longer, Abby?”

I look at my reflection in the mirror and sigh. “Another five minutes and I’ll be all yours, yeah?”

I splash cold water onto my face and hear the door thump shut. I spin round, expecting to see Alan with his pants round his ankles waddling toward me with his cock out, but I’m all alone in here. I rub the water off my face and shake my hands over the sink. There’s no paper towels, and the electric dryer has an Out of Order sign on it, so I’ll need to drip-dry.

I go back into the cubicle and lock the door behind me. I put the toilet lid down and sit on it, then take out my phone. I unlock it and prod Shaz’s picture in my contacts, put the phone to my ear.

It rings out to voicemail.

I shake my head, hang up, and try again. This time she answers, out of breath. I can hear loud, rhythmic grunting sounds in the background.

“Where the fuck are you, Shaz?”

“I’m– ah! Harder! I’m a bit– ah! Busy at the moment Abby, can you call back later?”

“Are you fucking someone?”

“No. Ah! I mean yes, faster! That’s it, you fucking bastard.”

“For fuck’s sake Shaz, I’m ready to go with that fat bastard and I need you to watch my back. Where the fuck are you, anyway?”

“Ah! Ah! Hold on Abby, I won’t be long. I’ll come and find you when I’m done.”

“Yeah well tell your fucking stud to hurry up, I can’t wait forever.”

I look at my phone as it grunts and squeals at me. I hear a slapping sound and Shaz cries out. Her stud moans, shooting his load, and I put the phone back to my ear.

“Shaz? Have you finished?”

It’s a while before she answers, and she’s still out of breath. “I’m on my way Abby, where are you now?”

“I’m in the women’s toilets. You need to get here now, I don’t think he’ll wait much longer.”

“I’m only next door in the gents, I’ll make my way outside now and wait for you there.”

In the gents? Fucking hell, you wouldn’t catch me doing it in there. Those cunts are just fucking animals the way they piss all over the floor.

“Right,” I say. “Let me know when you’re outside, yeah?”

“Will do, Abby. See you, Steve.” I hear a man’s voice mumble something, then the sound of someone pissing into water fades into the background. “Just on my way out the door now, no sign of your friend though. Maybe he changed his mind?”

I end the call and open the cubicle door. Alan stares in at me. He takes me by surprise, but it doesn’t take me long to compose myself.

“Sorry I took so long,” I say. I smile and loop my arm through his.

“That’s okay Abby, you’re here now.”

I lead him out of the night club and steer him toward the back alley that runs behind it. Shaz watches us from across the road. Her face looks flushed under the orange glow of the streetlamp she leans against.

Alan stops abruptly. “I have a car just down the road, it’s got a really comfortable back seat.”

Shit, think fast. No way am I getting in a fucking car with him, he could be some sort of fucking psycho for all I know.

I spin around and stick my tongue down his throat to give myself a bit more thinking time. Fuck me, when was the last time he brushed his teeth? His mouth tastes fucking rank, like he’s been eating dog shit or something.

“I like it rough, and I want you to fuck me down here,” I say, pointing toward the alley. “Away from the cameras, yeah?”

“Ah, okay. Good thinking.”

He follows me eagerly now, and when I reach the alleyway I glance over at Shaz to make sure she’s still there. She gives me a thumbs-up in reply. I take Alan a few yards into the alley and find a good spot behind a large industrial-size dumpster and pull him toward it.

He pins me against the wall and gropes my tits while his mouth goes to work on my neck. It feels like a slug crawling across me, and I shudder in revulsion. Alan takes that as a sign I’m ready for action, and pulls down his trousers. He hitches up my miniskirt and smears cock-snot all over my thighs while he yanks at the elastic on my knickers. I snap my legs together and push him away with both hands.

“Put a johnny on, yeah?”

He blinks at me for a few seconds and nods. He pulls one out of his breast pocket and bites the seal open, spits out a sliver of silver foil. He plucks the rubber out and grins when he shows me it. It’s bright fucking red and there’s a smiley face on the end of it with the little spunk-bubble forming the nose. It looks like something a fucking clown would wear to an orgy, and I can’t help wondering if it will squeak if I squeeze it hard enough. He sticks it over the end of his cock and rolls it down with his thumb and forefinger.

Shaz creeps up behind him like a pantomime villain, up on her toes with her arms outstretched at the sides for balance.

“Is that you Abby?” she says quietly.

Alan jumps and spins around in shock. Shaz’s eyes drop down to the bright red rubber-coated cock smiling at her, and her eyes widen in disbelief. Alan pulls his trousers up and spins back to me. His face turns the same shade of red as the cock poking out of his fly.

“All right Shaz,” I say, unable to keep the grin off my face. I love this part.

“Is this pervert bothering you?” she says with a straight face. I don’t know how she does it. Practice, I suppose, but I know I wouldn’t be able to manage it without sniggering. She must be in a good mood about something if she wants to play this line instead of just kicking the fuck out of him and taking his wallet. It’s been a while since we’ve used it, and I’m probably getting a bit too old for it now, but I might as well play along.

“No, he’s my fella.”

Alan turns to Shaz and nods his head vigorously. Shaz looks him up and down with a sneer. Her gaze lingers on his cock. “You do know she’s only fourteen?”

Alan looks at me and his mouth gapes open. “Um… god, no, I didn’t. Are you sure?”

“Hey baby,” I say. I reach out for his cock and give it a gentle squeeze. “What difference does my age make? I’ve still got all the right parts, and they’re all in full working order.”

Alan looks at me as if I’m some sort of fucking monster, and his cock shrivels up. He stuffs it into his trousers and zips up, then backs away from me with his hands held out to ward me off. I bet if he had a fucking crucifix he’d be holding that up too. Get thee behind me foul wench of Satan, or some bollocks like that.

“Look, I’m, ah… I think I should just go,” he says.

“Not so fast, Romeo,” Shaz says, heading him off. She takes out her phone and makes sure he sees it. “I should really report this to the police.”

“No, no,” he says quickly. “There’s no need for that, I’ll be on my way.”

“We can’t have fucking pedos walking the streets and raping little kids, it’s not right.” She thumbs the digit nine on her phone.

Alan looks like he’s about to shit himself. “No, please, my wife will kill me,” he whines. He reaches for his wallet and pulls it out. “Look, I’ll pay you anything you want, just don’t call the police okay?”

Shaz’s thumb hovers over the phone, ready to dial the next number. “I don’t know about that, it’s my public duty to report a crime when I see one taking place.”

Alan pulls notes from his wallet and holds them out to Shaz at arm’s length. His hands are shaking so much I can’t even see what denomination they are, but there’s a fucking lot of them. Shaz hesitates, and then sighs. A bit theatrically if you ask me, but Alan is too relieved when she takes the money to notice.

“Thank you,” he says, and turns to leave.

I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a really fat man run, but it’s pretty comical to watch and I can’t help laughing as he shambles away with his arms flailing.

Shaz waits until he’s out of sight before she shares out the takings. I don’t tell her about the hundred quid I’ve got stuffed inside my bra, I deserve a bit extra for all the worry she put me through when she left me on my own. All in all, my share comes to a hundred and ninety quid, not bad for a couple of hours work. That’s a lot better than what I make working at the burger joint for a whole fucking week.

“So what do you want to do now?” Shaz asks. “Back in The Meat Market and get tanked up?”

I shake my head. I’ve already had enough booze, all I want now is a bag of chips to soak it up and then fuck off home to bed. “Nah, I’ve got work in the morning. I need to get some kip or I’ll be like a fucking zombie all day.”

“You fucking lightweight,” Shaz says with a sneer. “Go on, one more drink won’t hurt.”

I sigh. Fuck it, she’s right. Just one drink though, and that’s my lot. After that it’s straight home to bed.

“Go on then,” I say. “So what was that guy like that you were fucking? Was his bulge genuine, or was it just for show?”

Shaz smiles and taps on her phone. “God, yeah. I’ve got a photo of it here, see for yourself.”

She tilts the phone toward me. I look at the screen and frown. Great, just my fucking luck.


About Marcus Blakeston

Ex-shouting poet, ex-fanzine writer, ex-angry young man (now growing old disgracefully). Living in sunny Yorkshire with his wife, children and motorcycle, Marcus still has a healthy distrust of all forms of authority.
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