Thumper Ch. 06

Abby slowed her progress and stepped out from behind Damian, clad in little more than a leather harness. She'd begged Damian to let her get dressed. "Why should you reveal yourself to me and hide from the man with whom you share your life?" he'd asked.

George was twisted around in the armchair and gawped open-mouthed at her. She approached the back of the armchair. George sat mesmerized. She placed her hands on his shoulders.

"Abby?" he asked, concern and confusion in his voice.

She bent and whispered into his ear. "It's alright."

She wanted to tell him that she didn't mind, that she felt strangely liberated, but she doubted he would understand. Would interpret her as having been broken, rather than having been encouraged to bend? Would he see her as having been diminished by another man, as having had some vital part of her leached away? Would he realize that whatever she'd done with Damian was available to him, and more? How would she convince the shy and retiring George to take the lead as confidently as Damian did when they left this place? She wondered whether she would or could respond to George in the same way she had to Damian. Damian brooked no dissent and left her but one irrevocable out -- her safeword. Would George exercise that same confidence, that control?

****

George sunk deeply in his armchair, completely and utterly gobsmacked. Abby had tried to reassure him by squeezing his shoulders, but he was far from calmed. It was not so much that a woman had appeared before him, nude but for some pieces of leather, but that this woman was Abby. Britt had disabused him of most of his prudish hang-ups and had reawakened his imagination and awareness of the possibilities, but Abby had always discouraged these particular flights of fancy. Yet here she was, demonstrating that she was willing and able to step out of her comfort zone. He also appreciated, now more than ever, Abby's sacrifice and the distance she would go to repair their marriage. The thought warmed him and filled him with confidence.

Still, what on earth had Damian done with his wife? She seemed frighteningly docile and alien now, particularly if aliens sprouted tails from their anuses. What kind of man could impress himself so completely on a woman, particularly one as seemingly intractable as Abby? Did Damian possess some brainwashing skills? George's bewilderment was tempered by a grudging admiration of Damian.

Damian and Britt left the room. The clattering of pots and pans in the kitchen told George that they were probably preparing dinner.

"How was your day?" As the words slipped past his lips, he realized how stupid and banal the question was.

Abby smiled and stood in front of him. "It was interesting."

"Certainly looks like it."

"And yours?"

"Educational."

Abby cocked an eyebrow.

"I'll show you some time. Maybe," continued George.

"I'd like you to." Abby sat on George's lap, flicking the tail over his leg and being careful not to sit on the plug. "Whatever it is, I'd like you to show me."

"Really?"

"Really. Whenever you want."

Abby shivered.

"Hang on," said George. He disengaged himself and peeked into the kitchen.

"I'd like a robe for Abby. Do you have anything?"

Damian studied George for a moment and then gave him a slight nod.

"I'll fetch you one," offered Britt, who patted him on the shoulder as she passed.

George suspected that he'd done something right, but didn't quite know what it was.

* * *

"What did Rosier want?"

Night had descended over the farm and the bones of the old house groaned as the old timbers cooled and the house settled on its foundation. Damian emerged from the shower naked and in his natural form, obsidian horns rising above his damp locks and tail swaying hypnotically behind him. This is how Britt loved to see him, all planes and angles and lean muscle. Not to mention the horns. Even after over a year with him, she was forever rubbing her fingertips over the spiralling ridges of his horns as if to convince herself that this life she now shared with him was real.

"He wanted to give us a warning."

Britt paused from brushing her hair. "I'd hoped that we'd seen that last of him."

Damian laughed bitterly. "What we're doing with George and Abby doesn't do much to ingratiate us to the powers that be. They're getting irritated with us. As interesting as it is playing with our guests, it's not doing anything for my credibility."

"Are you suggesting we stop?"

"I'm suggesting that we pick up the pace so that I can get back to doing what I'm meant to do. One more session and that will have to be it."

She could tell that Damian was worried and tense. She changed the subject. "And how was your session, honey?"

"She did well. Actually, better than well."

Britt smiled. "Did she give you a meal?"

Damian looked uncomfortable. He seldom discussed his methods or partners with Britt. She knew, of course, how he sustained himself, but he took pains to separate that part of his life from the weirdly domestic part he shared with Britt. "There were moments when I... tasted her."

He didn't mention that Abby's taste and the depth of her emotion were both exquisite, a rare and fine wine against which most others resembled a poor man's plonk. While she was bound in the barn, struggling on the platform, the waves of desire and fear had almost overwhelmed him as they had her. That she'd been able to maintain that delicate balance without surrendering to either one was remarkable.

"So there's some hope for them?"

"I'm beginning to think so, although they're still facing their biggest challenge. A lot depends on George."

Britt got that faraway look that told Damian that her mind was elsewhere. "I think George has matters in hand," she said with a grin.

She motioned Damian closer and reached for him, touching her fingertips to his lower abdomen before running them down between his legs. "Now that you've sated yourself on Abby, perhaps you'll let me take some matters in hand too?"

"Nothing would please me more."

And so she did.

***

Abby and George shared a look and a secret smile at the breakfast table while Britt and Damian chatted amicably at the stove.

After dinner the night before, they had retired to the guest room.

After removing her tail, which was far more difficult than she'd expected, Abby showered away the dirt and accumulated stress of the day, lingering under the hot jets of water. Already, the day possessed a dream-like quality, her memory being like a film that featured a body-double.

Yet it had been her, or rather an alien version of herself, for the old one would have felt more shame.

Abby entered the guest room wrapped in the silk robe that George had procured for her. She'd been grateful for that, George taking charge enough to protect the illusion of her modesty.

George lay on the bed and looked her over. With George as well, something was different. The George of old would have jumped to his feet, faithful as a puppy and just as eager to please. This George, eyes hooded and expression unreadable, observed her with perhaps more than idle curiosity, but with none of the hopeless yearning that Abby might have expected.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

Abby wordlessly sought the comfort of George's arms, kneeling between his legs and fitting into him as a hand in a glove. After the strain and anxiety of her time in the barn, Abby longed for the comforting familiarity of George's embrace. Her eyes misted that those arms should still so willingly envelop her. They kissed, tentatively at first, and then with honest and fully reciprocated ardour. Neither asked how the other had passed the day. In fact, from the moment the bedroom door clicked shut, neither exchanged a word. They gazed at each other and noted anew the subtle changes in the other.

George slowly unwrapped her from the robe, revelling in her as the thin fabric exposed one breast to the cool air and then the other before it whispered to the floor. He touched her as though discovering her for the first time. She closed her eyes and gave herself over completely to this sense of exposure, more intimate and comfortable by far than how she'd spent the afternoon. His fingers explored her body, caressing her breasts, brushing down the well of her abdomen, reclaiming her.

And Abby grateful in being reclaimed.

George leaned back and Abby unbuttoned his shirt with deft, unhurried fingers.

With her tongue, she tasted the saltiness of his skin. She unbuckled his belt and he lifted himself so that she could pull his pants and underwear down over his hips, releasing his penis from its confines.

Abby took him in both hands and squeezed, causing a low moan to issue from George's throat. She ran her fingernails slowly along the underside of his growing erection.

For the first time in what seemed like ages, she had felt the pleasure of freedom, the latitude to act rather than being acted upon. She'd had this freedom before -- years of it -- and had chosen inactivity.

Grasping him firmly in one hand, she parted her lips to take him into her mouth. Her lips slid over the head, tongue cradling its underside. She tightened her lips around his circumference. She ran her tongue in teasing circles around the glans, the surface of which had grown firm and taut under the pressure of increased engorgement.

When was the last time she'd done this of her own volition, without the dubious foreplay of George's wheedling and cajoling? She couldn't remember. Nor could she remember the cause of her unwillingness to do this. She felt again the immense satisfaction in his response to her, in her ability to arouse, in the hardness she held in her hand and mouth.

Slowly, she lowered her mouth beyond the head. She could barely manage half of its length. The head, smooth and hard, pressed insistently against the roof of her mouth. George's breathing quickened as she ran her tongue along the underside of his length as her head moved unhurriedly back and forth. She rolled her tongue in waves, a motion that communicated itself through his shaft, drawing him in more deeply. She fought reflex, wanting to take him in more deeply than ever before. With a nod of her head and a flattening of her tongue, she pulled on his hips, slipping his remaining inches into her. Her nose touched his skin and she held him there for several moments, relishing the feeling of his cock completely within her and the satisfaction of having claimed him fully.

At length George disengaged himself from her and lifted her to her feet. Wordlessly, he positioned her in the center of the bed and knelt between her legs. His fingers traced the contours of her body, leaving goose pimples in their wake. These were the hands that knew her best, she thought. These were the fingers that had explored her countless times in the past, that knew her better than she knew herself. They brushed her hard nipples, trailed down the well of her abdomen, found an eager home between her legs.

At that moment, she cursed herself for having shunned him for so long.

He took her wrists in his hands and positioned her hands on either side of her head. Abby opened her eyes and observed him, noting his unreadable expression as he twined his fingers between hers and pressed her hands down onto the bed as he shifted his weight.

He lowered his hips until the head of his cock brushed the flesh of her pussy. She spread her legs and tilted her hips to him, offering herself. It had been so long since she'd allowed him to take her like this. She wanted him now. She wanted him violently.

Heedless of her unspoken wishes, George lowered himself slowly. She traced his passage into her with furious concentration, and she surprised herself with a whimper. She'd never whimpered before.

She let the breath sigh out of her when he finally filled her completely. She wanted nothing more than to grasp his hips and pull him to her even more closely, but he still held her hands firmly against the bed.

He took her slowly. She begged for speed and violence but he had his own agenda. With infuriating patience and control, he re-entered her and then slowly withdrew, over and over. She concentrated on the feeling of his repeated penetrations, nerves firing at his slow and deliberate passage. Her core warmed and then melted under this deliberate rhythm, her focus narrowing on pulsing space that embraced him. She wrapped her legs around his waist, willing him to greater speed with the backs of her legs, but he ignored her.

Abby met his eyes and found him studying her while he continued to thrust. Her breasts rocked in time with his movements. She used to see love and gratitude in him in the past, in this position; now his emotions were veiled.

Had she lost him after all, despite her efforts?

The cadence of his movements gradually increased. He held her hands more firmly now, almost to the point of pain.

Abby spread her legs as wide as possible and concentrated, tightening herself around him.

He moved more quickly now, thrusting his length into her with renewed vigour. She felt the familiar tingle that presaged climax and held it off. She lifted her legs and tilted her hips and widened herself for him.

It was not as violent a climax as she'd had in the barn, but for that, it was deeper and longer and more intimate. As she arched her back, shuddering with the rolling spasms that wracked her body and noting absently that George too had found release. A warmth enveloped her.

George released her hands and she flexed her fingers. He smiled. George had known what she had truly wanted. He could have demanded anything of her and she would have given it gladly, yet he'd chosen the comfort of simplicity.

And in that alone, he had revealed his newfound mastery.