Max pulled into his dimly lit garage before cutting the vehicle off. He ran his fingers through his now messy hair, resisting the urge to pull it out as he whisper-yelled to Susa, "Shush! Don't speak. Sleep in the car. I'll bring you something to eat in the morning. You can come to the gym with me to shower, shit, and shave. Clothes...?"
Max and Susa shared the same expression of confusion with a raised eyebrow and a slight frown. Susa gestured over herself as if to emphasize some point. Susa still had on the sports bra that she constantly adjusted as if she was uncomfortable. The carapace on her shimmered even in the darkness. Susa mouthed out one word, 'Bra.'
Their conversation ended with her turning on her side and waving him off with a wrist turn. Before leaving, he purposely left his police jacket and took his service pistol.
The lights in the house were off as he stripped the top of his uniform at the door. The glow came from the second floor underneath his bedroom door. Opening the door, he was prepared for a mouthful, but not for what he saw. The light was not from any lamp, but several candles lit around the room. A bowl of sliced straw-plums and cream was set out for them, along with a half-empty Spiced Bluecherry wine bottle. Any romanticism the scene had eroded with time. The fruit had long gone soft with the cream set aside for them, now runny with skin on the top of it. He assumed she must have put the spiced wine on ice unless she meant to put it in water.
He must have been tired because his disdain for his wife melted away. She looked so peaceful in the soft glow of the flickering candlelight with her smudged make-up and classic outfit. Sam was wearing one of his casual black and white striped polo shirts that were a size or two too small. The only bottoms she had on, an old favourite of his, were black and white polka dot spandex panties. Maybe the scene just took him out of it, sitting on his ass hard enough to make the bed bounce, "Sorry about coming in late, Sam; there was extra work at the last minute."
Sammy snorted and groggily awoke with the grace he had expected from her lately. "Oh, Max, you are home! Sorry about the mess. How was work?" Max put his palm facing down and gave a shaky gesture. Stone gulps a few mouthfuls of Bluecherry wine. He found pleasure in the oddly heated yet tangy-sweet taste. Sammy swiftly sat up, whispering without betraying a single expression on her face, "Maxwell? Did you use your gun today?"
He didn't give her any response. Stone focused on a hairy winged roach that skittered across the wall in the dead centre of his vision. The mere sight of it made it feel as if tiny bugs were crawling around the surface of his skin. Sammy continued, "I can smell gunpowder on you. You did, didn't you? Who did you kill?" Her words had a strange cadence that made them echo in his mind. She calmly unbuckled the utility belt off his tired frame. Three more mouthfuls of the Spiced wine had his head unusually spinning.
"Logan." The response was automatic. Max's attention was so focused on the bug that he thought nothing of the laughter or how she neatly set aside items in his utility belt. A metallic aftertaste on his tongue alarmed him more than the steady low chuckling of his wife. Sammy said aloud his thoughts while she draped her arms around his neck, a baton in one of her hands, "I drugged the Spiced Blackchery wine, 'Maxie'. You know... since you seem like chocolate and nonhuman sluts, right?"
"Samatha--" It was all he managed to utter when he noticed the distortion on her arms, the visions coming back in full force! Stone couldn't react faster than the blow to his head from a police baton! Sam's hands met her mentally fatigued husband's neck. She nearly crushed his adam's apple by forcing them both down on the bed. Stone on his back, with presumably his wife on top of him. Tears clouded Maxie's vision; whatever drug he was under didn't help either. Mrs Stone soon replaced her hands with the baton to completely cut off his breathing. Maxwell's tired, sluggish attempt to grab his equipment was met with her massive legs wrapping around his hips. All the resistance was out of him with one tug of the baton underneath his chin. Max's taps on the bed were responded with her loosening up enough for him to catch a sweet gasp of air. The control of her feet to unbutton his jeans and drag off his boxers was uncanny, as were her words, "And who is that whore that is in my father's garage, huh, Maxwell?"
"Samatha Stone!" Tears in his eyes subsided, and his worst suspicions were instantly confirmed. Max saw one of his demons in the flesh! Heifer squeezed the girth of his length with the front of her knees and upper shin. Stone had a fitting name to match the horrifying vestige of the creature who held him in a baton headlock. This demoness had a slightly sunken face that beautifully fit her high cheekbones. Vulpes, or Ardens as they prefer being called, were one of the other thirteen breeds of nonhumans in Muruya. Her eyes were the shape of his wife but were all black in colour, even the whites, except for one where a pale scar stopped just beneath her left eye. Her left eye was entirely milky white. Heifer's corresponding fox ears, tipped with dirty blonde and the size of small hands, were split in the middle and told a straightforward story of a failed assassination.
Heifer's legs somehow never cease in their massage. Maxwell's involuntary shaking in fear was met with her rubbing her obscenely hot mound across his tensed, hardened abs as she subtly moved upwards. Spandex felt like nothing when her countless tails peeled his undergarments like a candy wrapper. Her voice perfectly matched Samatha Stone's, but her words gave the demon away: "And here I find you cheating on your wife again."
"Samatha Cornwell!" Once he got those words out, the baton was slowly removed from his neck; Max got three breaths before freezing up, looking at each of the nearly six-foot fox-like tails pointed at him. Heifer slowly rose with a blank expression while showing off all seven tailpieces. The hairs at the end of them stood like the stiff straws on a broom, "Wait!"
Sam throws the baton at the wall hard enough to embed into it and make him jump. She barraged his upper body with coordinated, whipping strikes. There was not a microsecond of reprieve. His attempts to cover his face with his arms led to tails focusing on whacking the flesh from his muscles. Maxwell only did this once, his lesson reinforced with the several following whips across the face, with a feeling of helplessness following perfectly alongside one of the most prolonged, near-death experience orgasms he had in years. Numbness and ecstasy filled his being as he covered her still-milking legs with rope after rope of thick splooge.
It was in this pattern that kept going as Stone paid no attention to the purplish embers that began to dance in the air. Lewd wet sounds fill the air as Sam starts to back off and lean backwards to better observe him. Sitting squeaking panties on the bed while two of her tails went from whipping to forcibly spreading eagle spreading his legs.
It was by sheer force of will that he was able to process anything outside of the flurry of fluff. His hips jerked upwards at feeling the soles and toes of her feet begin to entangle his member. The lust-drunk appearance on her face and labour breathing kept him painfully hard. Stone cum slick cock was pumped for all it was worth as her tails briefly stopped and rose again. Max's weak and pathetic attempt at self-preservation triggered the series of strikes from her. Heifer's voice was manic and dripping with sugary longing, "Cum! Again! Faster! Harder, you disgusting dog!"
In less than five minutes, Stone did precisely that with such force that his vision flickered.
