She didn't begin to feel nervous until he placed the small, black leather holdall on the end of the bed.

Even then, she tried to control her anxiety. After all, he wouldn't be the first who had arrived with accessories. Usually it was sex toys, either for use on her or on the visitor but Gina Potts had a feeling that this newest arrival wasn't the type to favour toys. That was what was making her nervous.

During her time in the business she had developed a kind of sixth sense about those who came to see her but this one was different.

There were those who came in brusquely. Shouting their mouths off, trying to cover their shyness and, in some cases, their shame. But most were a little reserved. The man who had walked into the room five minutes earlier had barely looked at her except when she opened the door. Even then he had dropped his gaze with almost embarrassing rapidity, not as captivated by Gina's skin-tight ripped jeans, bare feet and pink top as most customers were. Even as she'd explained about prices and variations to the costs she'd spoken to him of when he'd phoned the previous evening he had seemed resolutely unimpressed.

On the phone he had sounded more confident. Not this shy and apparently embarrassed individual who stood before her gazing at the slightly worn carpet.

She guessed that he was in his mid-thirties, like herself. A tall, wiry man with thick black hair that reached just past his shoulders, deep set blue eyes and a growth of stubble that was turning into a beard. He was, Gina had decided, a quietly handsome man. But then again, not many of her customers were ugly. The cliched view of the sad, ugly, lonely man who visited girls like her was, in Gina's three years of experience, something of a myth. Many were in relationships. Some were seeking more than just the physical gratification that she offered. For some that seemed almost secondary to the simple act of human contact.

Gina sometimes thought of herself as a therapist in stockings and a corset (although she'd only wear those on request and for an agreed price).

She looked once again at her visitor who was still gazing at the carpet as if he'd discovered the meaning of life in the pattern.

Gina reminded him that he had to pay first, watching as he dug in the pocket of his black jeans, pulled out a wad of notes and counted out several crisp fifties. He laid these on the bedside table, his hand shaking slightly.

Gina smiled benevolently, picked up the money and pocketed it. Most of it would go towards the rent on the room. She preferred to rent a place rather than use her own flat. There were other girls in the converted town house who did the same. Gina was friendly with most of her neighbours, especially those in the business like herself. An aging Dominatrix called Claire had the flat directly above her while, just down the hall, was a mousy looking woman who specialized in men who wanted to dress up as babies. Gina smiled slightly at the recollection. She'd asked the woman how she managed to keep a straight face when a burly man in his forties or fifties was stalking around the flat in nappies or a romper suit, but the woman had told her it was all part of the service. Even changing the soiled nappies.

Gina knew she could never do anything like that. It took specialized skills. She had skills of her own and they did not entail cleaning up after men who wanted to be babies again.

She crossed to the window of the room and pulled the curtains across slightly, both to offer a little more privacy and also to cut out some of the scorching sunlight that was flooding in. The rays of sunshine bounced off the small silver crucifix that was mounted over the bed.

It was hot outside and Gina usually insisted that, in such conditions, her visitors showered first in the small bathroom but she had yet to propose that to the newcomer. When she did he nodded agreeably and walked to the door that led into the tiny room beyond.

Gina peeled off her own clothes while he was in there, stripping down to just her knickers. She perched on the end of the bed while she waited for him, glancing again at the black leather holdall. She prodded it with one finger, her curiosity about what was inside growing.

She glanced towards the door of the bathroom when she heard the hissing of the shower finally come to an end, edging back slightly from the holdall. The door opened and the man walked into the room naked, his gaze still averted. Gina was beginning to wonder why he wouldn't look at her. However, her attention was somewhat distracted by the man's body. He was powerfully built. Heavily muscled, as though he spent every spare hour in the gym. His body was almost completely hairless. There were, Gina noted, no pubic hairs around the base of his penis.

She swallowed hard when she saw that organ. It was fully eight inches long and it wasn't even hard yet. And his testicles were massive. They looked like pink tennis balls encased in a smooth looking scrotum. He wandered across to the bed and lay down on it, his gaze now fixed on the ceiling.

Gina looked at his body, noting that there were several very noticeable scars on it. His back, she had seen when he climbed onto the bed, was criss crossed by long, snake like indentations in the skin that looked as if they'd healed many years ago. There were other deep scars on both his wrists and the instep of each foot and another area on his right side that looked as if the wound that had healed had also been made years before. She wondered how he had sustained the injuries that had left such indelible marks on him.

She looked at him for a moment longer then clambered onto the bed beside him, her slender fingers reaching for his penis.

It began to stiffen immediately, swelling and extending until it was throbbing against his taut stomach muscles.

"Open the holdall," he said, his voice low and strangely gentle.

Gina did as she was told, noticing that there was a smaller, wooden box within.

She looked expectantly at the man.

"Open it," he said, still without looking at her.

Gina did as instructed, her hands trembling a little both with anticipation and nervousness.

When she saw what was inside, she swallowed hard.

"Just do as I say," the man told her. "I am paying you to do that." He smiled and, for the first time, looked at her.

Gina nodded and took the first of the needles from the small box.

It was about seven inches long, silver and gleaming, particularly the point which looked incredibly sharp. The metal felt cold between her fingertips as she held it.

"Now what?" she asked.

"Stick it in my shaft," he said, his voice low and husky.

"I can't," she said, quickly, shaking her head. "I can't do that."

"Why? It's what I paid for," he reminded her. "Do as I ask."

"I can't," she protested, more forcefully. "I... I just... can't."

He looked at her, his blue eyes fixing her in an unblinking gaze.

"Please," he said, quietly.

Gina considered the point of the needle again then his hard penis. She sucked in a deep breath and, when she exhaled, it came out irregularly. As if she was cold and shaking.

"Where do I... where do I put it?" she wanted to know, a small wave of nausea filling her.

"In the base," he said, unhesitatingly. "Just above my balls."

Gina clenched her teeth hard, hesitated for a moment, then took the needle and, with infinite slowness, pushed the gleaming tip against the wrinkled flesh at the junction of his shaft and scrotum.

It went in easily, piercing the flesh and blood engorged muscle there effortlessly.

She looked at his face but there was no pain or discomfort registered there, only an expression of contentment. For brief seconds she was certain he was smiling.

"Now the next one," he breathed. "Same thing. Stick it in my shaft but close to the first one."

Gina carefully pushed the second needle into his penis for about half an inch until he nodded and she realized he wanted her to shove the steel deeper. She obliged, her hands shaking even more violently now.

There was surprisingly little blood from the two punctures, nothing more than bubbles of crimson that welled up around the metal.

He told her he wanted the third one pushed into his right testicle. The fourth into his left.

The nausea she had experienced earlier now hit her even harder and she had to take several deep breaths, putting her hand to her mouth briefly when she felt her stomach contract.

"It's all right," he assured her. "Keep going. This is what I want."

"But why?" she stammered. "The pain must be terrible."

She pushed another of the needles into his left testicle.

"The pain is the pleasure," he told her. "Have you ever heard of a man called Albert Fish?"

She shook her head, piercing his right testicle with another needle.

"He was executed in Sing Sing in 1936," the man went on, his voice never faltering once. "He'd killed and eaten two or three small children."

"That's disgusting," Gina snapped. "Sick bastard."

"He was also into various... things. And inserting needles into his genitals was one of them. When he was executed, when they first tried to electrocute him, he short circuited the electric chair." He smiled broadly. "It was the needles he'd inserted over the years. When they did the autopsy, they found more than fifteen in there."

"What a weirdo."

"So, do you think I'm a weirdo?"

"I'm not sure what to think," she confessed, looking down at his stiff manhood skewered by the needles. "I just don't understand why. Why anyone would..." She allowed the sentence to trail off. "Is it something from your childhood?"

"I had an experience with... intense pain, when I was younger," he admitted. "Something like that, it does things to you." He swallowed hard, as if the recollection itself were painful. "Pain is a strange thing. It focusses your mind. Sometimes it's necessary."

Gina looked at him questioningly.

He lay there silently for a time but when he spoke again his voice was different. "If I'd wanted analysing, I'd have gone to a psychiatrist," he said, grinning. "Not come to some cheap whore."

For the first time, Gina heard an edge to his tone and, when she looked at him she saw that he was still gazing blankly at the ceiling, that fragment of a smile present on his lips.

"You don't have to get personal," she said, sternly. "You don't have to call me a whore."

"Was it something in your childhood that made you do this?" he said, his tone a little sarcastic now. Mocking. Almost reproachful. "Was it something you experienced when you were young that made you want to become a slut? Did your father rape you? Did you suck an uncle's cock? Did one of your teachers fuck you in the arse?" He laughed. It was a hollow, spiteful sound.

"Lots of girls wouldn't do this kind of sick shit," she snapped. "Perhaps if you think I'm so bad you should just fuck off now."

"I haven't had everything I paid for yet," he reminded her.

"What do you want me to do next?" she sneered. "Shit in your mouth? Piss all over you?"

"There are three needles left," he told her. "I want you to put all three down my urethra."

The words hung in the air.

Gina looked at him warily.

"No," she said, quietly. "That's too much. I can't do that."

"Why not? It's what I paid for. Do you want extra? Tell me how much more you want and I'll get it for you." He looked directly at her. "Get the next needle out."

Still Gina hesitated, looking down again at his stiff penis. The thought of the next insertion seemed to be arousing him more. Gina felt a twinge of disgust mixed in with her revulsion.

"Get the needle, you whore," he breathed, raising his head from the pillow. "How many more times do I have to tell you?"

"Not too many more," she snapped, pulling a particularly long length of steel from the wooden box.

"Do as I said," he rumbled, his head back on the pillow again.

Gina steadied his rampant erection in her right hand and, using her left, placed the gleaming tip of the needle right at the entrance to the man's urethra. He closed his eyes, a beatific expression now on his face. Like an accomplished medical attendant, Gina squeezed the head of his penis, causing the urethral opening to widen. When it did, she pushed the needle inside.

An inch. Two inches. Further down his pulsing shaft. Three inches.

She thought that, at any moment, the steel would erupt from the muscles of his shaft but when it didn't, she kept on pushing. She continued with the insertion until only the head of the needle showed inside his urethra. Gina swallowed hard as she imagined the sensation. He must be in agony.

"Again," he told her, this time watching as she took another needle from the box and slid that into his penis, pushing as deep as she could, actually feeling metal against metal as she jammed the instrument deeper.

Again, there was only a tiny drop of blood, oozing from the slit in the top of his glans like a crimson tear.

Gina put a hand to her mouth again, breathing heavily, trying to control the contractions that were tightening her stomach.

"The last one," he gasped. "Put the last one in."

She did as he asked, barely able to slide the gleaming steel into his now gaping urethral opening. The metal of the other needles made the insertion more difficult now but Gina pushed until most of the metal was embedded deep inside his stiff shaft.

"And now?" she asked, her voice shaking.

"Let me savour it," he told her, his voice barely more than a whisper, his eyes half closed.

Gina got up and walked across the room, leaving him motionless on the bed. She took a sip from the can of Dr Pepper on the table there then turned again to look at her visitor.

"Are you a believer?" he said, his voice drifting across the warm air.

She noticed that he was pointing at the small silver crucifix above the bed. "Are you a Christian?"

"I suppose so," Gina told him. "I believe in God."

"Do you believe that His son died for the sake of the world?"

Gina shrugged. "I don't know. I've never really thought about it," she told him, perching on the bottom of the bed once again.

"Then why do you have a crucifix there?" he said.

"Lots of people have those on their walls or around their necks," she countered. "It doesn't mean they're always thinking about God or Jesus."

"That's true," he conceded. "But how do you think Jesus must have felt? He died for the good of the world and has the world changed? No. People are still as selfish, greedy, stupid and uncaring as they ever were." He sighed. "So much suffering. So much sacrifice. And for what? So the world could carry on in exactly the same way. God shouldn't have tried to save mankind, he should have wiped it off the face of the earth."

Gina raised her eyebrows questioningly.

"Did anyone care about you when your daughter died?" the man asked, still gazing up at the crucifix.

Gina swallowed. "How do you know about my daughter?" she said.

"She was eighteen months old when she died wasn't she?" he persisted. "Pneumonia."

Gina glared at him.

"How do you know that?" she hissed, her tone now tinged with anger as well as sorrow. "Have you been checking up on me?"

The laugh that the man uttered was loud and almost scornful.

"Your little girl. Your little Maria," he said. "Your pride and joy."

"It's time you left," she snapped. "You've had your money's worth. Get out."

"What have I said that's so wrong?" he asked. "I've told you the truth, that's all. I paid for two hours. I've got an hour left."

Gina crossed to the bedside table and pulled out some of the money the man had paid her. She threw it onto his chest.

"Take your money and get out," she snarled. "Go and see a different girl."

He smiled thinly.

"I don't want a different girl," he told her, sitting up. As he swung himself off the bed and stood before her his penis remained rigid, the metal needles still protruding from his shaft and testicles, two or three droplets of blood oozing from his tip. He pushed the money back towards her. "Take it."

She grabbed the fifties and pushed them back into the drawer.

"What's left in the holdall," he said, pointing towards the black bag. "Take it out."

Gina hesitated.

"Please," he murmured.

She crossed to the black bag and rummaged inside, her fingers closing over something that she pulled free of the confines.

She laid it on the bottom of the bed, looking at the man with wide eyes now.

"And the other things," he urged, watching as she removed the last items in the bag and laid them beside the first.

He stretched out his arms, turning them so that she could see the insides of his wrists.

Her eyes fixed on the deep scars in both wrists. Each one was at least an inch in diameter. They looked like craters in his flesh.

The marks on his feet looked the same. And now Gina looked again at the objects she'd taken from the holdall. Three large, flat headed, metal spikes. Large nails. Lying beside them was a mallet.

"Now do you understand?" he breathed.

Even as he spoke, she noticed that there was blood running down his face. Its source was several jagged gashes across and around his forehead and temples. When he turned his back to her, she could see that the scars on his back were now bright red, some of them weeping blood. The wounds on his wrists and feet too were oozing crimson.

Gina stared at him, her eyes bulging in the sockets.

"One nail in each wrist and one through my feet," he told her. "Just like before."

Gina shook her head.

"It wouldn't be the first time," he told her, smiling.

The crucifix fell from the wall as if invisible hands had pulled it free.

"Drive the nails in and Maria will live again," he said.

Again, Gina shook her head. She felt faint and backed away as he advanced slowly towards her.

"Your child will live once more," he went on. "All you have to do is use those nails and that hammer."

"You're crazy," Gina said, tears running down her cheeks.

"All you need is faith," he told her, smiling. "Believe me, I'm an expert."

Gina grabbed the first of the nails and hefted the hammer too. It felt heavy in her grip, but she closed her fist around it.

"And my daughter will... she'll live again?" she said, her voice cracking.

The man nodded and smiled.

"If you believe," he added.

She looked at the crucifix lying on the bed and then into the blue eyes of the man as he continued to advance towards her.

"My daughter..." she began, falteringly.

"If you believe," he breathed, smiling.

Gina picked up the first of the nails, pressed the point to the hole in his left wrist and raised the hammer.

He smiled more broadly.

She brought the hammer down.

© Shaun Hutson