Thumper Ch. 07

Returning to her side, he stroked the cane along the contours of her breast and flicked it playfully back and forth across the nipple.

He ran the tip of the cane from the edge of her breast down her hip and leg, and then up the inside of her thigh. The tip described a lazy circle around her sex and anus and her legs weakened at the sensation.

She felt the unforgiving length across her buttocks as George pressed it into the flesh.

For a moment she doubted the wisdom of submitting to this and fervently hoped that George would be merciful.

He tapped lightly three times before the cane whooshed through the air and struck her.

Abby gasped. She hadn't known what to expect, but was unprepared for the concentrated blaze that arced across her buttocks. If she'd expected timidity from George, she'd been terribly wrong.

"One," said George. "Shall we try for ten?"

"Uh-huh."

Another three taps and another blow, stronger than before, crossing the welt of the first. She stifled a cry.

"Two."

Before the burn of the last blow had faded, the cane tapped three times again. She steeled herself against what was coming.

She must have cried out when the blow landed because the next series of tapping came after a longer interval. Her cheeks felt as though ablaze. She felt tears tricking out of the corners of her eyes.

"Three."

I can stop this, she thought.

Tap, tap, tap. Whack!

"Four."

Her buttocks was on fire. I'll never make ten, thought Abby.

"Five."

She felt strangely disembodied when the next several blows landed, bolts of searing pain followed by the insistent hum of tormented flesh.

"Eight."

One more, she thought. I can take one more.

Tap, tap, tap.

Her universe contracted to the small space where cane met flesh. Her knees buckled as the sound of the blow reached her ears, followed a nanosecond thereafter by the firing of countless nerves.

"Thumper!"

George's hand stopped. "What?"

"Thumper," whispered Abby.

He doesn't know my safeword, Abby realized, steeling herself for a blow that never came.

The pain receded gradually, leaving a dull burn. She felt George's hand over what she was sure were angry red welts. The hand felt warm and smooth against the prickling sensitivity of her skin. She felt his other hand join the first, rubbing the curve of her cheeks, soothing them. After the stinging pain of the cane, his hands felt unbelievably good. He kneaded her ass and then ran his fingers from her lower back along the insides of her cheeks to the edges of her pussy.

She realized with a start that she was wet. Was it in response to the caning or to George's hands? She couldn't be sure.

A hand cupped the contours of her sex and a quiet moan escaped her.

She wanted him, unbelievably, right now, even restrained as she was. Perhaps because of the restraint.

Abby moved her hips in invitation and whimpered, uncharacteristically, and George spread the lips of her pussy with his fingers.

"Yes," she whispered.

George inserted a finger, wetting it, and then moved it to her clitoris.

Sensation blossomed, a pleasure heightened incredibly by the pain that preceded it. He played her, and her hips rocked against his probing finger.

Her body reacted automatically, moving unconsciously, and she was soon on the cusp.

George moved behind her and soon she felt something warm, wet, and probing. His hands pressed on her lower back and she angled her hips, presenting her cunt to him. His tongue danced over the lips of her pussy and her clitoris. She strained against the heavy wood that restrained her wrists, wanting nothing more than to caress her own breasts. She was positively thrumming with arousal.

George lapped at her hungrily and every movement translated into exquisite jolts of pleasure. He drew the flesh of her clitoris and labia into his mouth, sucking and running his tongue over the tissue he had claimed. Never had his tongue felt so insistent and intimate. Never had she so completely surrendered herself to sensation.

She came almost without warning. It was a great shuddering release, announced with a gasp. Her hips swayed against George's lips and tongue. Her muscles trembled. Wave piled on wave until she begged him to stop.

The movements of George's tongue slowed and she traced its languorous movements as he tasted her.

Completely spent, Abby rested within the pillory, grateful at the support it gave her. She heard clothing drop to the floor and then felt George's warmth pressing against her.

He grasped her waist and soon the head of his cock split the lips of her pussy. She wanted nothing more than for him to drive it in, mercilessly. She wished she could press against him, but the pillory prevented that. To be restrained, to be denied the ability to answer to her body's desires, frustrated and excited her. She was completely beholden to him for her pleasure. She willed him to do as she would, to impale herself upon him completely and violently

He entered her slowly, his length gliding into her. He held himself within her for a long moment. Abby closed her eyes, focussing her attention to the sensations that rippled up from her pussy. Trembling, she concentrated on the muscles that clutched him. He pressed her between himself and the unforgiving hardness of the pillory, pushing himself even more deeply within her.

"Fuck me," she whispered.

Slowly, he withdrew and plunged into her anew.

Her restrained fists clenched and breasts swayed with the rhythm of his thrusts. Abby's world reduced to that part of her that lay between the hands that firmly bracketed her waist and the rigid length that repeatedly penetrated her.

Unintelligible sounds escaped her throat.

Her knees weakened as that familiar sensation grew and blossomed, and she willed herself erect, angling her hips to fully accommodate him.

A strangled cry that the barely recognized as her own counterpointed his insistent thrusts.

Her hands and head hung limp from the openings in the pillory and George released her for a second time. She scarcely had the energy to stand. He helped her upright and gathered her up in his arms. Her legs shook uncontrollably. She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him.

They kissed as they hadn't in recent memory.

George disengaged and held her head in his hands. "I'm sorry that I hurt you," said George.

"It'll heal," said Abby. "I'm sorry that I hurt you too."

"It'll heal," whispered George as he wrapped his arms more tightly around her.

* * *

Britt and Damian returned to the farmhouse. The drive passed in silence.

When the door closed behind them, Damian said, "You knew."

"Knew what?"

"That George wouldn't go through with it." Damian sounded defeated.

"I suspected it."

Damian grunted and ascended the stairs to their bedroom.

Britt had never seen him like this.

Rosier sat on the bed, his head cocked to one side. "Took you long enough."

Damian said nothing. Britt entered the bedroom and stood motionless next to him. Damian shimmered and assumed his demon form, but there was none of the fury that had marked his previous meetings with Rosier.

"First the wife defies you, and then the husband. You left them in your little playground, fucking like bunnies. Is there no one other than your beautiful companion who will do your bidding?"

Rosier rose from the bed and paced back and forth, tapping his cane on the hardwood floor.

"You had wanted to break her. I know that you did. To that end, I was willing to give you some latitude. It was entertaining, giving you enough rope to hang yourself. Yet for all of your efforts, the wife grew stronger. Never have I seen a plan go so awry, nor have I observed such a willful disregard of duty."

Rosier turned to face Damian. "I'm afraid that our patience is at an end, Damian. It's clear that you have lost your way." He shrugged. "I mean, with demons like you, who needs angels?"

Damian still hadn't uttered a word. Britt was shocked to see him so defeated, so resigned.

"On your knees, Damian of Pannonnia."

"Don't," gasped Britt.

Damian threw her a hopeless look, one of abject surrender.

Rosier placed his hand on the head of his cane. With a slow movement and an icy sound, he pulled, slowly revealing a long, thin blade. He discarded the shaft of the cane with a flick of his wrist, allowing it to clatter on the floor. Britt's eyes were glued to the cold steel in Rosier's hand. Her mouth opened, but a look from Rosier killed the scream that bubbled up from her lungs.

Damian closed his eyes and seemed to deflate and dropped to his knees before Rosier.

Rosier approached and placed the blade against one of Damian's horns.

"It pains me to have to do this," whispered Rosier, sounding genuinely regretful. "You were one of my favorites."

Damian nodded and Rosier swung the blade back.

Britt finally found her tongue. "No!" she screamed as she lunged for Rosier.