Thumper Ch. 07

Previously...

With their marriage on the rocks, Abby and George turn to a most unlikely source for help. Unbeknownst to George, Abby has agreed to let the incubus, Damian, and his mate, Britt, act as marriage counsellors.

Over the last sessions, Britt and Damian have led the couple far out of their comfort zone. This session promises to be their last.

***

Two weeks passed between that remarkable weekend at the farm and the next scheduled session with Britt and Damian. Damian had hinted to Abby that the next meeting might be their last and that he was satisfied with the progress she and George had made. Abby could scarcely believe it, that progress would be measured by her willingness to be bound and later traipse around the woods naked, but it was so.

Recollections of that weekend would often intrude on her thoughts at the most unexpected moments. In the coffee room, chatting with an employee, she would recollect the feeling of the collar around her neck and the lead that attached her to Damian as she walked naked though the forest. In meetings she would tingle at the memory of being bound in the barn, of being played by a master, of finally surrendering to the onslaught of sensation. On passing Steve, her former lover, she would relive that night in the guest room, after the session was done for the day, when George had taken her and she had welcomed him.

It still amazed her that the methods employed by Britt and Damian would succeed where months of counselling had failed.

Then she would remember the one Damian had called Rosier, that caricature of a man who had instilled such palpable fear in Damian, and she would feel a chill.

Neither Abby nor George had spoken of their experiences on the farm in detail, although some aspects of it, like Abby's turn as a filly, were no secret. The weekend had been profound for both of them, and the weeks thereafter were marked by an introspection that both of them accepted. Curiously, George seemed to welcome some distance between them, but they would come together occasionally reclaim each other with a new comfort and growing understanding.

For Abby, it was a period marked by a curious lightness of being and a diminution of that obsessive single-mindedness on career. She found herself looking forward to returning home at the end of the day.

Although uncomfortable with the notion of submission and docility, there was now a grudging acknowledgement that these characteristics, so abhorrent before, held a certain appeal. In the proper context. With the proper partner.

The changes were not limited to herself. George had become calmer, less needy, more self-contained. He exhibited a new confidence, a sense of expectancy, of barely restrained potential. Nevertheless, Abby wasn't sure whether George could impose his will upon her in the same way Damian had. She attempted to suggest to George that she'd be willing to follow his lead, but so far hadn't articulated her desire. For his part, George observed her, seemingly content to bide his time.

* * *

It was seven o'clock on a Friday evening and Abby and George drove silently to the offices of Britt and Damian. They held hands on the drive, uncertainty and expectation robbing them of their words.

On their arrival, Britt soon escorted Abby to the building's elevator.

"This is going to be bad, eh?" asked Britt in the elevator.

Britt shrugged and smiled. "Depends on how you define bad. But in the sense that you're thinking, probably."

Abby's gut roiled. Before the weekend on the farm, she wouldn't have thought anything could be more challenging than what she'd endured. For her, the way she had been, the weekend had crossed several lines. Her safeword had been on her lips countless times, but stubbornness and pride had prevented her from speaking it.

She was grateful now that she'd maintained her silence.

Britt and Abby took the elevator to the basement of the building. The hallway was bleak, a stretch of grey-painted cinderblock punctuated with steel doors at irregular intervals.

Britt unlocked one and pushed the door open, its hinges squealing angrily. She flicked on the overhead light. The sight took Abby's breath away.

The walls hung with heavy tapestries. Benches and pillows described the outer perimeter of the room. On a platform in the center of the room stood an object that Abby recalled from history texts. She'd never seen one in real life, having thought them relegated to the mean and distant past.

'You can't be serious?"

"Damian told you that this would be your biggest challenge."

Abby approached the construction, her steps tentative. "I suppose this is meant for me?"

Britt nodded.

Abby didn't know what she'd expected. She stepped up on the platform and placed her hand on the heavy, wooden pillory. It looked ancient and worn, as though it had been spirited away from the square of some medieval town and deposited here centuries later.

"I don't know about this."

"I know it looks scary," said Britt. "But honestly, I think this is the home stretch."

Abby shook her head. "What would you do?"

"I would trust."

There was that word again. She had trusted Damian -- or rather, she'd suspended mistrust -- and in return she'd discovered a great many things about herself.

"What do you want me to do?"

Abby took a deep breath and placed her neck in the large, leather-wrapped central well and her wrists in the smaller depressions on either side. Britt closed the pillory and threw a latch, locking the halves together. The snap punctuated the sudden feeling of vulnerability.

Britt rubbed her fingertips against Abby's cheek. "You'll be fine."

Britt moved out of sight behind Abby. She manoeuvred Abby's ankles into a steel spreader bar with hinged metal cuffs. She closed the latches.

"Are you okay?"

Abby fought back a laugh. "Sure." Her heart tripped in her chest and rather than fear, she felt the keenest anticipation. Immobilized and having control removed from her, she relaxed and gave herself over to what was to come.

Britt lit a series of candles and turned off the overhead light. The room took on an even greater medieval aspect.

Britt returned to the front of the pillory. She took Abby's face in her hands and kissed her on the lips. Britt allowed herself to be kissed -- she couldn't escape -- and found the feel of another woman's lips on hers more than a little thrilling. "I'll be with you," said Britt.

The kiss, rather than being sexual, reassured Abby, as though sealing the deal on a sisterhood in which Abby was but a novice.

They waited in this way for several minutes, with only the flickering of the candles and Britt's gentle caresses to mark the passage of time.

The door to the room opened behind Abby and a jolt of apprehension shot through her. She could see nothing but could hear footsteps.

* * *

Before they entered the room, Damian placed his fingers to his lips, indicating that George should remain silent. George nodded his understanding.

They entered a room lit by long, tapered candles arrayed around the room in sconces. It took a moment for George's eyes to adjust to the gloom and to understand what he was seeing.

Before him, bent over and locked into a medieval-looking contraption, was Abby. He took in the sight with some consternation.

Damian approached Abby and placed a hand her up-thrust rump. "Hello again, Abby."

Abby responded, her voice soft and nervous.

"This will probably be our last session," said Damian, "one way or another."

"Uh-huh."

George could detect a tremor in his wife's voice.

Was this the type of activity she'd allowed herself to be subjected to when she was with Damian? George turned the thought around in his head in wonder. His wife, proud and independent, had somehow permitted this. God only knew what she'd done with Damian before, leading up to this. Despite having seen her at the farm, he'd somehow ascribed it to an anomaly. Yes here was another example of submission that didn't quite mesh with what he knew of her.

"Are you up for it?"

"I don't know," she whispered.

"Remember that you can stop this at any time. Okay?"

Abby tried to nod but the lumber locking her head in place prevented much movement.

A look passed between Damian and Britt, whom George saw crouched at Abby's head. Britt nodded.

George stood by the door, bemused by the scene before him and wondering where this was going.

Damian lifted Abby's skirt over her hips, revealing the twin mounds of her ass, split by the thin fabric of a black thong. When had Abby given up her sensible underthings? George wondered. The sight gave him a charge. Damian inserted a finger between Britt's hip and the fabric and lifted it. With a tug, he split the seam and allowed it to fall to the platform.

George could see that Britt was breathing heavily. He fought the desire to ask her whether she was alright, whether this is what she wanted.

Damian motioned George to the platform and took his hand, placing it on the curve of Abby's buttocks. George could feel the goose-pimples beneath his hand as he stroked her flank.

"Is that you, George?"

George glanced at Damian, who shook his head. George was nonetheless pleased that Abby would recognize his touch.

"George is otherwise occupied right now," said Damian.

Damian walked to one of the benches and lifted the seat, revealing a compartment. From it, he removed a flogger and a cane. With a nod, he handed them to George.

* * *

Abby could have sworn that it was George's hand, but he hadn't answered her. Now she couldn't be sure. She didn't know whether she wanted George here or not. Whatever humiliation Damian had in store for her, she was uneasy with the thought that George would witness it. He might very well lose all respect for her, a woman who would allow herself to be restrained in a pillory like a common criminal.

"There's one thing that we've never talked about, you and I, through these last few weeks," said Damian.

"Oh?" Abby's voice sounded small, even to herself.

"Your infidelity." Damian paced the room. "I know that it's a symptom of your problems rather than the root cause, but I would like to discuss it with you now."

"We could do that over coffee. You have me at a disadvantage now."

Damian chuckled.

"Do you remember your vows? You know, love honour and obey?"

Abby could feel the whisper of leather over her exposed buttocks like a thousand fingers.

"Obey wasn't part of our vows."

"Perhaps it should have been."

"It was cherish." Britt smiled as she crouched in front of Abby. Abby felt as though her head were separated from her body. Britt tucked a strand of hair behind Abby's ear. Behind her, she could feel the weight of what she now knew was leather lightly striking the backs of her legs.

"Perhaps it should have been obey, don't you think?"

Obey. The very concept was anachronistic. She and George had discussed their vows, and both had agreed to replace obey with cherish. It seemed like such a small change to make, but an enlightened one.

Something thudded more heavily against her ass. It surprised her. She wondered what was coming. "Perhaps," she said tightly.

"If you were to redo your vows to George, would you add obey?"

Damian didn't say who would obey whom, but he didn't need to. Could she obey George? Unquestioningly do his bidding? Did she want to, even now? "Maybe."

Britt stroked Abby's cheek with her fingertips. Abby was comforted, despite what was occurring unseen behind her. Britt silently reassured her and Abby felt a surge of kinship with this woman.

"What would it take? What kind of man could win you completely? What characteristics would he possess? No, let me guess. Just answer yes or no."

"Okay."

"Strength?"

The flogger -- she was sure now that it was a flogger, one of those multi-tailed leather devices she'd thought the height of depravity -- struck her left cheek. The impact caused no pain, but it was insistent, a thuddy blow that sent a wave through her body.

"Yes."

"Trust?" Thud. If she knew that the blows would not grow stronger, she might have enjoyed the sensation of leather against flesh.

"Yes."

"A firm hand?" Thud. Harder still.

"Yes."

"Sensitivity?" She winced as the tips of the fells flashed against her skin. The backs of her legs and buttocks were growing warm now. Tingling.

"Yes."

"Anything else?" The concussion of the blow surprised her and drove the air out of her lungs.

"Leadership," she gasped.

"Does George possess these qualities?"

"Some."

"Did Steve possess these qualities?"

"Some," she gasped "The ones George doesn't."

"Interesting."

The last blow had some force to it, and she was rocked forward in the pillory, her shoulders pressing against the lumber as the concussion dissipated in her body.

* * *

George now understood what Damian was doing. There was little doubt that he understood Abby very well; otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to get her in this position in the first place.

Damian retrieved the cane and handed it to George. He held it lightly in his hand and trailed it down Abby's back. She stretched like a cat.

His lesson with Britt came back to him, of being both on the giving and receiving end of the cane.

He tapped the end tentatively against the twin mounds of Abby's ass, which had reddened slightly from the flogger.

Damian might have understood Abby, but this didn't feel right to George. He wasn't as appalled by the cane in his hand this time, but the entire scene made him uneasy. When he'd taken lessons with Britt, there'd been an aspect of play to it. Now there was no play, only discipline.

"If I were to guess, George possesses sensitivity and has your trust."

"Yes."

"But lacks strength and leadership."

Abby didn't answer. Damian shot a glance to George and with some reluctance, George thwacked the crop with some force.

Abby yipped and a red welt appeared against the creamy color of her skin.

* * *

That last blow stung a more than a little, surprising her. There was a brief flare across her backside which slowly subsided into a ruddy glow of sensation.

"Have you ever apologized to George for your infidelity?"

Abby frantically thought back. She must have, but for the life of her she couldn't remember. That infernal tapping on her ass was distracting her. She tried to imagine herself speaking the words but couldn't. Could it be?

"What? Not so much as a simple apology?"

It sounded impossible but Abby realized that it must be true. She had never apologized, never atoned for her actions. While the fault didn't lie fully with her, she had been the one to break her vows, even if she hadn't vowed to obey him.

How must she have hurt him.

The crop whistled through the air. Abby braced herself for the impact.

The force of her betrayal struck her more solidly than the blow that was about to land.

The impact never came. Instead, she felt the crop rest lightly against her bare flesh. If there was ever a moment when she thought she might have deserved a rap across her buttocks, it was now.

* * *

George allowed the crop to trail down the curve of Abby's cheek as though his hand had grown heavy. He couldn't do this. He felt like Damian's puppet. It felt wrong on countless levels.

Britt peered around from the front of the pillory. Something that approached a smile played on her lips. Her eyes met George's and he realized at once that she knew. Her smile gave him confidence.

"I'm putting a stop to this," he whispered.

Damian cocked an eyebrow.

"I know what you're trying to do, but I'm finishing this. Now."

Damian leaned against the wall, arms crossed, an unreadable expression on his face. Britt rose from her kneeling position in front of Abby with one last caress of her cheek.

George lowered the cane. "We're done now. Please leave us," he said.

Damian nodded slowly but George could tell that he was angry. "As you wish." He held out a hand for Britt and the two of them left, shutting the door softly behind them.

* * *

George approached the pillory and unlatched it without a word, lifting the top half of it to free Abby.

"I'm sorry Abby. I couldn't do it. It was wrong."

Abby straightened and stretched her back with a grimace. George knelt before her and released her ankles from the spreader bar. He smoothed her skirt over her hips and stood before her.

"You didn't expect this, did you?"

Abby shook her head and bit her lip.

"We're done with them now. You won't have to go through this anymore. Whatever happens now..."

She worked her thumbs into the muscles at the small of her back and arched backwards. She was grateful that George had stepped in and put a stop to it. She was proud of him, in fact. Standing up to the likes of Damian must have taken some courage, for Damian was not one to be easily denied. Despite her gratitude, she realized with a start that she would miss the challenges that Damian had orchestrated for her.

"I guess I'm as weak as you thought," continued George.

Abby shook her head. "Is that what you think?"

George regarded her mutely.

"It took strength to put a stop to it." She placed a hand on his chest. "When you found out about... Steve and me... you didn't do anything. You just sat there."

George shrugged. "If it makes you feel better, I wanted to kill you."

Abby looked stunned and then laughed. "And I thought you didn't care." She placed her hands on his shoulders and stepped close to him. "And if the same were to happen now, would you do any different?"

"No."

She felt a familiar pang of disappointment. Maybe she had underestimated the change in him. Maybe he was indeed weak.

"I wouldn't let it happen now. I've allowed things to drift. I won't let us drift anymore."

She nodded, realizing that it was the right answer. His voice revealed a determination that had been absent for too long. The steel in his voice, the confidence, spoke louder than a strong hand. Perhaps he had changed.

Abby spoke quietly. "If I were to tell you that I'm okay with it, with taking the consequences that Damian had in mind for me, would you do it?"

"Yes." No hesitation.

"Really?"

"Absolutely."

Abby took a deep breath and undid the buttons of her blouse. George watched as she undressed. She saw the interest in his eyes grow to hunger. She dropped her blouse to the floor and undid her brassiere, freeing her breasts. The old George would have offered to help undress her, ever helpful and eager to speed along the process. This George watched, savouring her actions and enjoying the show. It was a subtle change, but one that thrilled her and made her a little self-conscious. She unzipped her skirt and slid it over her full hips with a slight shimmy. George licked his lips. Abby stepped out of the skirt and shoved it aside with her foot. She finally stood before George, exposed.

George's eyes raked her body and she felt it as though he'd placed his hands on her. Neither moved. After several long moments, George approached and wound a hand behind her neck. He pulled her toward him forcefully, crushing his mouth to hers, embracing her with a strength that took her breath away.

Wordlessly, George took Abby's hand and led her to the pillory. Naked, she stepped up to the platform and placed her neck and wrists into the holes. George swivelled the top half over the bottom and latched it shut.

Rather than fear, Abby felt an alert anticipation. Much like the sense of freedom she'd felt walking naked in the forest with Damian, the suspension of will, the inability to act, freed her to react, to focus on the journey that George had planned for her.

George stepped behind Abby and retrieved the cane he'd abandoned earlier.