Betty Harding lay awake. It was one o'clock in the morning, and she knew where her husband was. Unless he was on the way back. He was at Inferno, the sex club where human women went to find demon partners. Reportedly, the ratio was nearly ten women per demon. Many of those women were willing to fuck any demon they could find, so the odds of Gray finding someone, or multiple someones, to have sex with were a hundred percent.
Supposedly they did it right on stage, in front of everyone. Right now, her husband was possibly balls deep inside some young, nubile woman, fucking her in front of everyone. It turned her on a bit, thinking about it, but it also frightened her.
And it had been her idea. They'd been monogamous for the entire three years of their marriage. He'd had some trust issues. A former lover, Nicole, had lied to him, and really messed him up for a while a decade ago. Nicole had been "the older woman." Betty, on the other hand, was younger, with six years fewer than her husband's thirty-seven, but she was keenly aware of having crossed the barrier into her thirties.
They had a very normal marriage until the night Gray got turned into a demon. Infernal, Betty told herself, but no one called them that, and it was hard to remember. Since then, sex with Gray had been anything but normal. It had been extraordinary. The very best sex ever. And they'd had lots of it. Three times a day, she guessed the average was. Their record had been ten times on one Sunday, and she hadn't been able to walk straight at work for a week. He was talented, considerate, and he was very, very big. And no matter how often they had sex, Betty had the feeling it wasn't quite enough.
They'd explored anal, just to give her pussy a rest, but the end result was that she generally ached in three places rather than two. So she had given Gray a hall pass, knowing full well that once he crossed that line, he wouldn't want to go back. The old Gray, maybe. But now, with a demon soul inside him, the stamina of five men, and a nearly insatiable lust? No. She'd told him he could fuck another woman, practically begged him to in order to give him a rest, and she knew that her marriage would never be the same.
She wondered what she had done.
They had friends who were "poly." It was always a very equal deal, where both the husband and the wife were free to go find other partners. Her poly friends even laughed at couples where the man tried to insist the woman could only have female partners. The "One Penis Policy," they called it. Betty figured that egalitarian was the way to go, if you were going to do it at all, and she'd always assumed she'd be able to find partners easier than Gray would. She was not only younger, she was a woman. But now? It wasn't equal, and it wasn't going to be. It wasn't merely that she didn't have any interest in fucking anyone else. No human could compete with Gray for quality of experience, and the idea of taking more big red cock? No. And also, ow.
There was also not much doubt that Gray would have a much better chance of finding partners than she did. Sure, probably over fifty percent of the female population wanted nothing to do with demons. But for the remainder, they were the best, and since human females outnumbered male demons by over 10,000 to 1, the sexual economics were heavily in Gray's favor.
It was estimated that there were more women who refused to have sex with anyone but a demon, than there were demons. By a lot. And there were a host of women, probably again more than the number of demons, who had pledged to have sex with any demon who asked. The Church of the Infernal Angels, a cult on the west coast, encouraged the pledges, but there were plenty of women who had reached the same conclusion without religion involved. Why pass up ecstasy? And why settle for less?
Betty put on a nightgown. A book, maybe, would settle her down. Not a romance, those rang hollow these days. A mystery. She'd read about someone getting murdered and clues and things while her husband was railing some platinum blonde.
Somehow, she wasn't able to focus on her book. She kept looking out the window to see if Gray had come back late. He knew he could recover from sex in just a few minutes. She hadn't expected him to stay long, really. Just long enough to enjoy another woman, and then right back home. That had been naïve, because there would always be another another woman, and he would always be ready for her.
Should she even ask how many? Did she want to know?
She was twenty pages in, with still no sign of a corpse, and she'd looked out the window four times, when she heard a car coming down the street. It was their car. Despite the fact that she sold them, they only had the one. Gray worked from home, and didn't mind dropping her off at the dealership in the morning and picking her up every evening. He made less money than she did, but they weren't materialistic, and they managed to save plenty.
He pulled into the driveway. He got out of the driver's side, and she smiled at the sight of her husband, as she always did, forgetting for almost a second the angst she'd been feeling. His long, talented fingers, that could play the piano well if not professionally, and those eyes that found beauty in so many things and managed to translate that beauty onto canvas. He had a little satchel in his right hand, and she knew it contained the ever-present sketchbook, along with a few pencils of various hardnesses and at least two different kinds of erasers.
He was at the door, now. Had he seen her? Would she seem too eager to have him back, if she opened it for him? She ended up turning the knob just as he did and then backing up to get out the way of the door as it swung into the house.
"Hello, Betty," he said. He walked in and kissed her. "Why are you still up?"
"I figured you'd be worried about me," she said, which was true in a way, but she embellished it. "And I wanted you to know right away that I am with you a hundred percent."
"Aw." He kissed her again. "It was certainly an experience."
"You were gone longer than I expected," Betty blurted. "How many women did you end up fucking?"
"Um, none, actually."
"None?" She wondered if he'd had second thoughts. But he wouldn't have been out so late if he had. Surely those women at the club weren't too good for her husband. He was pretty handsome, even as a human, she thought, although she knew she was prejudiced. Any demon-crazed woman would be lucky to have him.
Am I actually getting annoyed at women for
not
fucking my husband?
"Well," he said. "I did get a blowjob. And another woman - no, you don't want to know about that."
"Another woman?" she pressed. She didn't want to know, and she did.
"She helped. Let's call it a two-girl blowjob."
"Ah." Well, legitimately, that was not a service he was getting at home. One could only find that in a restaurant, as it were. "Was it good?"
"It was amazing."
No, no. I wanted to hear good. Not amazing. But two girls. Well, yeah, it would probably be amazing. "I'm glad," she said. "But just one?"
"I kind of spent the rest of the time drawing."
There was something he wasn't telling her, but she couldn't imagine what it could be. Given that she was ready to hear that he'd had sex with a dozen women, what would be difficult to talk about? And at the same time, getting distracted by art was her husband, for sure. "Were there lots of pretty girls to draw?"
"Yes." He paused.
"Can I see?"
"I suppose. Maybe that would be the best way, actually." He walked to the dining room table and sat down. She sat down at the nearby seat perpendicular to him. He pulled the sketchbook out of the bag, flipped past several pages, and showed it to her.
He'd merely skipped past the ones he'd drawn before going to Inferno, she realized. The first one was of women standing in line. She'd always been amazed at how fast he could catch the essence of something. She could feel the eagerness of the women, and in some cases, anxiety.
There were a few like that, some of the line, some of women in it who had caught his eye. Beautiful women, even though they were captured with just a few lines mostly. Betty wondered what it would be like, standing outside on a chilly evening, in a little black dress or a skimpy skirt, hoping that inside you'd get fucked by a really big cock.
Then there were some of the inside. More beautiful women. Had Gray taken some artistic license, or were all the women in the club like that? If she had gone, would they have turned her away as not being quite lovely enough for infernal consumption? Gray had drawn a demon fucking one woman, while two other women, naked, rained kisses on him. "Three on one. Lucky demon," Betty remarked.
"I think I saw as many as seven," Gray remarked. "Three was nothing unusual, actually."
"But you only got two?"
"Well, the night was young at that point," Gray said. "And I didn't exactly try to round them up."
