Thumper

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. Little does Abby realize how unorthodox their methods are.

***

The doorbell rang at six o'clock exactly. Abby was alone, George having left the university directly for his appointment with Britt. Abby had puttered around the house since returning home from work, looking at the clock every five minutes like some adolescent on the eve of her first date.

Damian stood at the doorstep in all of his sartorial magnificence. He brushed a kiss on her cheek and she quickly ushered him inside. Her heart fell when the neighbour across the street raised a hand in salute.

"Damn," she whispered to herself as she closed the door.

"Are you ready for our big night?" Damian leaned casually against the railing to the stairs leading to the upper floor. His eyes raked over her body, sizing her up. Nothing in his face betrayed his feelings.

No, thought Abby. "Of course," she said.

"You're nervous," observed Damian.

"Perhaps a little."

"You can trust me."

"I don't have to trust anyone. Besides, trust is earned."

Damian smiled. "You demonstrated your trust when you retained Britt and me."

Abby shook her head. "I demonstrated foolishness and gullibility."

Foolishness and gullibility indeed. Here stood her nocturnal visitor in the flesh. The man -- no, the demon -- who had insinuated himself into her life unasked, who had taken liberties with her. Denying him as she had so many weeks ago had been an act of unthinking desperation. She had denied him then, only to consciously invite him into her life now. What had she been thinking, agreeing to this arrangement? Not to mention placing George into the hands of his partner.

"Be that as it may, I'm taking you out for dinner tonight. It's a place you probably know well, so if you have any issues being seen with me, you had better speak up now."

Damian waited.

"That's fine."

"Good. Just so you know, I bet Britt that you wouldn't be up to this. You might think that you're a strong woman. You might even think that you're flexible and daring. I doubt it. Britt seems to think that you'll rise to the challenge." Damian shrugged. "Personally, I think you're probably a stick in the mud and you bored poor George into indifference and took up with your business partner to prove to yourself that you still had some life in you, but that's a discussion for another time."

Abby's mouth was set in a firm line and she felt her face flushing. Damian had hit the mark.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to cause offense."

Like hell you didn't, Abby thought. "You said something about a challenge?"

Damien threw Abby a bag. "Put these on. The pantsuit might cut it for Hillary Clinton, but it won't do for you."

Abby glared at Damien and wondered whether she despised this man. She stomped upstairs and locked herself into the ensuite.

When she was sure the door was locked, she peered into the bag. She blanched at what she saw. She was about to march back out and tell Damian in no uncertain terms where he could shove this collection of slut fashion when she hesitated.

The bastard knew her better that she would have thought. She'd never been one to back away from a challenge. What have I done? she asked herself.

Damian lay on the bed, leafing through one of Abby's romance novels. Abby snatched it from his hands. "How dare you come into my bedroom?"

He ignored the question. "You seem to have exotic tastes. A bit Victorian, perhaps, but exotic. Mound of Venus? Throbbing manroots? I'm all a-tingle."

Abby blushed again at having her one guilty pleasure revealed to this man.

"By the way, you look pretty hot."

"I look like a slut."

"Maybe, but it's a good look. It works for you."

She could have hit him. God, she wanted to hit him. Instead, she took a deep, steadying breath. "You have to help me with this." said Abby, turning to indicate the lacing of the corset she wore.

"It has always fascinated me what women fantasize about. Kidnapping, ritualized rape, bondage. Why is it that they can be so accepting of kink in theory and so prudish in practice?"

"Perhaps we read about it so that we don't have to find our very own pirates to ravish us."

Damian laughed. "You've got me there." He swung his legs to the floor and motioned Abby over.

As she stood between his splayed legs, he tightened the laces of the corset, asking Abby to exhale. "Too tight?"

"I won't be running any marathons in this getup."

"This thing does wonders for your figure. Not that your figure needs that much help."

Abby, who had been sneaking peaks at herself in a wall mirror while Damian busied himself behind her, grudgingly had to concur. The gold paisley of the corset suited the light tan of her chest. Black lace ruffles adorned the top and bottom edges and matched the crushed taffeta, knee-length skirt Damian had brought.

"Exhale once more," Damian commanded, whereupon he further tightened the laces.

"Enough," cried Abby.

"How do you feel?"

"Like an over-stuffed sausage. Self-conscious."

"And perhaps a little sexy."

"Perhaps a little."

"Good." Damian approached and placed his hands on Abby's hips. He gazed intently at her. Abby thought that he might kiss her, but he did not. Instead, he reached behind her head and removed the clip that held her hair in a pony tail.

As her hair unfurled, Damian said, "Much better."

Abby shook her head. "Regular cougar, huh?"

* * *

Abby finished applying her makeup in the bathroom. Although it was entirely out of character for her, the outfit did wonders. Her breasts swelled voluptuously out of the top of the corset and her waist narrowed considerably. She cringed at the thought of appearing in public like this. She emerged from the bathroom self-consciously.

"You look great," said Damian from the bed.

"I look like a whore."

Damien shrugged. "One more thing."

"This isn't enough?"

Damian didn't reply.

"What then?" asked Abby.

"Take off your underwear."

"Absolutely not."

"Absolutely not," mimicked Damian. "I asked you to put on what was in the bag. Not put on what was not in the bag."

"What kind of counselling is this?"

Damian shrugged again. "I told you that I'm not a counsellor. Tell you what, you can call it off and I'll leave right now."

"And let you win your bet? I don't think so."

Damian smiled.

"And dropping my underwear is supposed to prove something?"

"Don't knock it till you try it. Who knows? You might find it immensely therapeutic."

"You're a bastard, you know that?"

"I've been called worse."

"I should tell you that you're dangerously close to crossing the line."

"If that's the case, perhaps we should call this off now. I'd love to win the bet, particularly since Britt is a much better judge of character than I. Just so you know, I'm not even within sight of the line. I wonder if George is close to his."

Abby reached under her skirt, careful to not expose herself, and shimmied until her panties lay on the floor.

"There. Happy now?"

"Good God woman," exclaimed Damian, horrified. "You need to do some shopping, or did you borrow those things from your mother?"

"They're perfectly sensible!" protested Abby.

"For a nun. Throw them out. Or burn them."

Damian swung his legs from the bed and stood. "Oh, I almost forgot."

"What now?"

"I need to get closer to the line. Maybe even cross it. Unless, of course, you have reservations." Damian smirked.

Abby glared at him. "Just do it already."

Damian moved quickly and pinned Abby against the dresser, grasping both wrists in one hand behind her back and pressing one leg insistently between hers. He was strong and his hands held her arms together like a vise. She struggled against his grasp and the weight of him that trapped her. There was no fighting him now. No escape.

"What are you doing?" she whispered.

"Shh," whispered Damian.

He slid his hand between her legs and worked his fingers up until they brushed the folds of her pussy. Her body recognized the touch and wavered between hunger and flight. Abby's breath caught in her throat and she grew still. Between the outfit, her bare pussy, and his insistent fingers, she knew that her body would betray her. His fingers teased her opening and she silently cursed her traitorous body for the slick warmth that greeted him.

"And I was worried that you were frigid," he whispered into her ear.

Abby clenched her eyes shut but didn't struggle. Damian reached into his pocket and withdrew an object. He used his leg to spread hers wider and worked his hand up again.

Abby felt his hand and a smooth object rubbing against the lips of her pussy. Abby gave a little cry as he inserted it without warning and pushed it home.

"There. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Abby shook stood against the dresser, quaking.

"Now we can go," he said with a grin and took her hand in his.

* * *

Abby followed Damian from the house and locked the door. Her neighbour wasn't there, but she could feel the unseen eyes studying her. To hell with them, she told herself.

Damian opened the passenger door of a gleaming black Porsche 911.

"Lease?" asked Abby without thinking.

"No, it's mine. I don't believe in leasing, or owing for that matter."

He held her hand as she eased into the low leather seat and then reached across to buckle her in.

"Business must be good," said Abby as the engine rumbled to life.

Damian smiled. "I can't complain."

They drove through the quiet suburban streets in silence for a few minutes. Abby tried but couldn't completely ignore the foreignness of the egg nestled firmly in her vagina, pressing insistently against her g-spot. Though she tried to will it away, she could feel the warmth there and the slickness of her arousal.

"I had it modified," said Damian.

"It's very nice."

"I meant the egg."

"Oh," said Abby, who'd been thinking about the car. "That's nice too."

"Commercial eggs are fine, but don't pack much bang for the buck."

"I see," said Abby. She had no idea what Damien was talking about but didn't want to admit it. "Is the object of this exercise to make me feel like a hen?"

Damian laughed as he turned onto a brightly-lit boulevard. He placed a hand on her bare leg.

"Are you and Britt a couple?" asked Abby, to get her mind off his hand.

"In a manner of speaking."

"And she has no qualms about what you are doing?"

"She knows what I am. Besides, she's likely doing something as well."

George. Abby had been so wrapped up in her experience that she'd forgotten entirely about George's appointment with Britt. She felt a sudden, unexpected pang of jealousy.

Damian removed his hand from Abby's thigh and pressed a button on a small, black device. The egg began vibrating.

Oh, my, thought Abby.

"That's the first setting. The others are increasingly intense."

"Uh-huh." The sensation was mild but entirely enjoyable, perhaps more so because of her bareness down there. Abby spread her legs slightly, hoping that Damian did not notice. The air from the car's ventilation system eddied in her short skirt, caressing her bare pussy.

They left Abby's subdivision and merged onto the highway. "We need a safeword," said Damian.

"A what?"

"A safeword. We might be doing something together and you'll say 'no'. I need to know that no means no and not yes or maybe or more. Are you with me? So a safeword is something other than no that indicates, in no uncertain terms, that you want me to stop."

"Believe me, if I want you to stop, you'll know it."

"You're absolutely right. Yet much to my surprise, here you are, dressed as you are, and you haven't told me to go stop yet. I just don't want any misunderstanding. I'd like you to think of a word that signifies that you want me to stop whatever I'm doing. Normally, the safeword signifies that you have hit your limit. In our case, I'd like it to also signify that you want to halt to our entire agreement."

"Fine."

Damian smiled. "So what's your safeword."

Abby thought for a moment. "Thumper," she said finally.

"I like it! Thumper it is."

The car quickly gobbled up the miles. Too quickly, Abby thought, for soon she would allow herself to be seen in public in this impossible outfit with a man who wasn't her husband. She squirmed in her seat to try to dislodge the egg from a particularly sensitive spot. A few weeks ago, the notion that she would find herself in this position would have strained credulity. A few weeks ago, she'd been completing a questionnaire, completely oblivious that what she had started then would lead to this.

She remembered one of the questions: "There's nothing I won't try at least once."

There were no examples. Skydiving? Perhaps. A threesome? Um. Anal sex with a midget? Gross, and unlikely. She'd circled the number two, indicating that experimentation was very unlikely. Yet here she was...

"Equality between partners is the key to successful relationships."

Her pencil had hovered over the four. She briefly pictured her mother, beautiful, university educated and wickedly smart, frittering away the best years of her life as a traditional housewife in a nondescript, cookie-cutter suburb, selflessly supporting her husband on his slow climb up the corporate ladder and raising a pair of ungrateful kids. Abby couldn't imagine the sacrifice. She'd vowed, even as a young girl, never to sacrifice her potential for anyone. She'd circled the five.

"I act on my fantasies."

Abby assumed the question related to sex. She had plenty of fantasies about success, about the next big deal that would put her over the top, but she doubted dreams of a bigger office and faster car was what Damian and Britt had in mind. Trouble was, Abby could not remember when she had last fantasized about sex. Hell, she didn't even know whether mature adults did fantasize. Had she known about the question, she might have asked someone. Maybe there was something wrong with her. Maybe she worked too hard. Maybe she was too busy to engage in fantasies. Maybe you should answer the question, she told herself. She'd circled the one.

"I characterize my love life as creative and exciting."

Abby had circled two, adding a point by virtue of an exciting but regrettable fling. The question did not, after all, specify with whom.

* * *

Abby had to admit that Damian was devilishly handsome. As they were led to their table, many of the female diners paused to trace his progress between the tables, much as the males, she noticed self-consciously, traced hers. Abby felt conspicuous in her corset, though a small part of her revelled in the heady, old-school femininity of it. To her surprise, she was stimulated rather than uncomfortable at her lack of underwear. It was an erotic secret she and Damian shared.

They were seated in a secluded and dimly-lit corner and Damian soon dispatched the waitress with their food and wine selection.

The glow of the candle excluded all else.

"Tell me about your affair."

Abby suppressed a flash of shame and annoyance that Damian would bring it up now. "It wasn't planned. One thing just led to another. He took me and I let myself be taken."

"You didn't resist?"

Abby forced herself to meet Damian's gaze. "I can't say I did. I'm not making excuses, but by the time Steve and I got together, intimacy with George had dwindled to the kind of obligatory screw that you do to avoid becoming your parents."

"And why is that?"

"If you hadn't stuffed a vibrating egg up my pussy, I could almost believe that you were a therapist."

Damian goosed the control and Abby gasped.

"I asked you a question," said Damian, turning the device off.

Quietly, Abby said, "I thought that's what happened to couples. There comes a time in every relationship when the symphony packs up and goes home, the angels fly back to heaven, and you're faced with an endless vista of domestic mundanity."

Damian grimaced. "You don't think that's sad? Lazy?"

"Sad, yes. Lazy? Perhaps you're right. Truth is, the business has taken so much of my time and energy that at the end of the day, there's very little of either left."

"But enough for Steve?" asked Damian.

"We were working closely together. Hell, I've spent more time with Steve than I have with almost anyone. We were responding to a request for proposal. This was the big deal, the deal that would make our company and secure it for years to come. The stress, the exhaustion, the availability -- all roads led to what we did."

The waitress returned with the salads and directed an ingratiating smile to Damian.

Damian pushed the plate away as though he had suddenly lost his appetite.

"It doesn't sound like you regret it."

Abby lowered her eyes.

"Then why go through all of this? The counselling? Why invest so much in a relationship you were so willing to sacrifice?" asked Damian.

Abby's eyes flashed. "Because I've never failed at anything, okay?" She angrily stabbed her fork at the salad. "Losing George would be a failure."

"It's all about you, isn't it?" Damian shook his head. "Have you ever refused George?"

Abby hesitated. "Maybe a few times."

"I'd wager more than a few. Why?"

"The usual suspects. Tiredness, disinterest, familiarity."

"Yet when your business partner takes you, you let yourself be taken."

"Listen," said Abby angrily. "I'm not saying that what I did was right, but it was good. Do you understand? I can't bring myself to apologize for it."

An intense punishing vibration erupted in her loins. More pain than pleasure this time. Her fork clattered against the plate and she gripped the edge of the table. She squeezed her thighs together, hoping to dampen the noise she was convinced everyone could hear. Her breath hissed out from between clenched teeth.

The waitress hurried over. "Is everything alright?" she asked Damian.

"Yes. Perfect. Thank you."

The waitress flashed her over-white teeth to Damian before hurrying off.

Little did she realize, thought Abby, that she was smiling at a wolf in Armani.

"Stop," she whispered.

Damian leaned back and regarded her closely for several moments.

Her eyes pleaded. If he was enjoying her discomfiture, she couldn't tell. Damian's face was inscrutable.

"Where did Thumper come from?"

"Huh? Oh. A stuffed bunny. When I was young girl. I couldn't pronounce 'th', so it came out as humper. Seemed appropriate."

The egg stilled, leaving behind a tingling after-echo.

"Thank you," Abby whispered.

Damian pulled his salad towards him and speared an arugula leaf.

"Do you like being in charge all the time?"

"It's what I've worked for." Abby's voice was faint.

"But you're not in charge of your marriage. For that matter, neither is George."

"To tell you the truth, when I get home from work, I'm tired of being in charge."

Damian nodded. "I can imagine," he said with more than a hint of irony.

The waitress removed their salad plates and soon delivered the main course. Damian sipped his wine.

"Tell me about your family, your parents."

"Not much to tell. Dad was an engineer, mom stayed at home to raise the kids, despite having been university educated." Abby shook her head. "Kind of a waste when you think of it."

The egg hummed softly, as if to quietly announce its presence.

"Did your mother feel that it was a waste?"

"Not in so many words. No, that's not right. She didn't."

"And your father?"

"A good man, hard-working. The quintessential strong, silent type."

"And they were happy?"

Abby squirmed in her seat. "They'll be celebrating their golden anniversary this year, so yes, they were happy."