Thumper Ch. 02

"Liar." Britt leaned her head on her hands and gazed intently at Damian.

Damian fidgeted under the scrutiny.

"It's as though she recognizes you."

Damian shrugged.

Britt's eyes became unfocussed.

"Don't," whispered Damian.

"Don't what?"

"You know, damn it. Eavesdrop."

"Who's eavesdropping?"

"You."

"Hey, if people choose to launch their thoughts into the air, what's wrong with me catching a few?"

"It's wrong. Immoral."

Britt laughed. "You're lecturing me about morality? Now shut up; I can't hear her think."

Damian watched as Britt closed her eyes. It was hard to believe that a year had passed already. It had been a year marked by adjustment -- his to a level of intimacy he'd always thought denied to the likes of a demon, and hers to the awakening of the demon half of her. Being bound to a demon was one thing, having been sired by a demon was another. In her time with Damian, her latent abilities had come to the fore. While Damian appreciated her newfound strength and augmented allure, her ability to 'catch thoughts', as she put it, disconcerted him.

Damian fidgeted and Britt remained stock-still for several minutes. At length, she blinked and shook her head.

"Well?" prompted Damian.

"I thought you were morally averse to eavesdropping."

"Now that you've gone and done it, you might as well tell me."

"Well, she recognizes you, or thinks she does. On top of that, she's one angry and confused lady. Who is she?"

"Someone I've come across," said Damian evasively. Then, catching Britt's narrowed eyes, admitted, "She's the one I told you about. The one who thanked me."

"Really? You`re not kidding, are you?"

Damian shook his head.

"Has anyone ever recognized you, after the fact?"

"I'm usually not visible. This is a first."

"You were right."

"About what?"

"She does have great legs."

At that moment, the maitre d' led a man to the woman's table. The man and the woman kissed perfunctorily.

"I wonder who that is," said Britt.

"Why don't you catch his thoughts," said Damian peevishly.

"Okay."

Damian leaned forward, curious in spite of himself.

"He's the husband. Let me tell you, these are two hopelessly confused people. It's frustrating."

Tell me about it, thought Damian.

"I think she's going to ask for a trial separation. He's half expecting it. Oh, man."

"What?"

Britt waved her hand, shushing him.

"She's giving up. Of late, she has tasted strength and it's something that intoxicates her, though she hates herself for it."

"Tasted strength?"

"Could have something to do with a certain nocturnal visitor." Britt scowled at him. "At any rate, she realizes that her husband can't provide whatever it is that has aroused her. She thinks now that there's no hope."

She was never aroused, Damian wanted to say. She bested me. Twice. But he would never admit it aloud. Instead, he said, "Perhaps there isn't any."

"Thanks to you, she's made up her mind."

"What did I do? Whatever cracks there were in their marriage predated my appearance."

"When did you become so heartless? She still loves her husband, you know."

"So what? I'm an incubus, not a marriage counselor. Anyway, if she loves strength so much, perhaps she should learn how to submit to it."

"Maybe she doesn't know how."

Damian scoffed. "Or refuses to. My guess is that she's a strong woman who has beat the strength out of her husband and is suddenly disappointed with the results. Then I come along, disregard her will entirely and she realizes that she likes it -- the surprise, the excitement, the demonic je ne sais quoi. Of course, by now her husband is so afraid of demanding anything from her and she's so afraid of losing power that the marriage is essentially a dead end."

"Wow, that's cynical."

"It may also be the truth. I've seen this a million times."

"Right."

"There's no hope for them, Britt. I'm willing to bet my right horn that it's the case."

"You're on."

"What?"

"I accept your bet. I think there is hope."

Damian laughed. "We'll never know."

Britt sat, brow furrowed. "I'm going to talk to her."

"Oh no you won't."

"We have to talk to them if we're going to help them."

"We? We'll be doing no such thing."

"Don't you feel just a little responsible, blundering into their marriage and making a mess of things?"

"It was already a mess; otherwise she wouldn't have responded the way she did." If she was a normal woman, Damian thought, she would have surrendered. This was one ice queen beyond the touch of warmth.

"But you can help them fix it."

"Absolutely not. I'm not in the business of saving marriages."

Britt kicked off a shoe and placed her foot between his legs, rubbing his inner thigh. "Aw, come on."

"No."

"Do it for me."

"Why the interest in these two?" asked Damian, exasperated.

"They're hurting. They deserve happiness. They can learn how to be happy. You've already helped her by showing her a missing part of the puzzle. Consider it a good deed."

"I'm sure Rosier would be impressed."

He regretted the statement immediately. He and Britt had somehow managed to put Rosier's threat behind them. Now Britt blanched at the thought.

"Damian," said Britt quietly. "You've been miserable trying to do Rosier's bidding. I can tell. We can't spend the rest of our lives afraid of what might happen. Besides, I can tell that you're curious about her."

Britt was only half right. True, he was curious. As well, there was a score he wanted to settle with the wife.

"Please?"

"No."

Britt sat back and crossed her arms, giving Damian a hard look. This evening wasn't working out as he had planned. Damn this Abby woman. Not only had she rebuffed him -- twice -- but now she threatened what promised to be a fine meal with Britt followed by the sweetest of deserts.

"Fine," said Damian. "But we're not going to be doing anything until you -- and I stress you -- get them to agree to work with us."

"They will."

Damian closed his eyes. "You have no idea what it will take to get them back on track. No amount of talking will do it. They need hand-on coaching."

"Okay," said Britt, scarcely believing that Damian was agreeing to her proposal.

"By the way, the guy is your responsibility. The woman is mine."

After Britt and Damian had finished their main course, Britt spied the woman getting up and making her way to the back of the restaurant.

"Be right back."

"Britt, it's not too late to reconsider."

Britt ignored Damian and followed the woman to the restroom and found her leaning against a sink, head bowed.

The woman was beautiful -- of that there was little doubt. But her beauty was marred by the weight of strain and exhaustion. The idea had happened too quickly, and now confronted with the woman, Britt didn't know how to proceed. Britt approached her from behind and the woman looked up, their eyes locking in the mirror.

"Whatever you're about to do, I urge you to reconsider," said Britt.

"What? Who are you?" The woman regarded Britt though red-rimmed eyes, narrowed and suspicious.

"My name's Britt."

"Great. Britt. What the hell are you talking about?"

She should have listened to Damian. She had the feeling that she'd blundered into a minefield with no map.

The woman turned and faced Britt. "Are you some kind of psychic?"

Britt smiled and shook her head. "No. Nothing like that."

"Then you must be some kind of weirdo who accosts strangers in public washrooms."

"I know it looks that way."

The woman regarded Britt with undisguised hostility and a small measure of apprehension.

Britt took a deep breath and plunged on. "Your husband still loves you. As far as everything else goes, there's an explanation for what you've been going through. It's not what it seems. You're not going crazy."

The woman looked momentarily bewildered. "What do you know about that?"

God, this was going badly, thought Britt.

"I'm going to call the police."

"And tell them what?"

The woman stood mute, her mouth working on words that would not come.

"Please, let's talk."

"We have nothing to talk about."

Britt pressed a card into Abby's hand and turned to leave. "Call me. Please. We can help"

"We? Who's we? Ah, I see -- that man with you. I think I've seen him somewhere before."

"Damian?"

"If that's what his name is."

"It's a small town. You've probably seen him around."

"It's not a small town. It's him, isn't it? He's the guy who's been... visiting me, isn't he?"

"He's not just a guy."

"I know that. What is he then, besides being a stalker and rapist? How does he do it?"

Britt should have listened to Damian. This had been a bad idea.

"You won't see him again. I promise you," said Abby coldly.

Britt caught a brief surge of emotion from the other woman. Regret? Loss? She realized in a flash that the woman was both repelled by and hopelessly attracted to Damian. Whatever had passed between the two of them, Damian had set his hook into her and for a moment Britt pitied her. She shook her head. Following this woman's emotions could give someone whiplash.

Britt spoke into the silence that had lengthened uncomfortably. "We can help you. You know you want to try. You know Damian and I know that he speaks to something within you. We can help."

Another emotion broke through. Hope. A desperate hope. A grasping at straws. Disbelief. "How?" the woman said quietly.

Britt smiled reassuringly. The ice had broken.

* * *

"You're here. I can feel you."

Damian, standing invisibly in the corner, said nothing. Abby sat in a leather armchair in the darkened living room where he had first met her.

Damian had misgivings about involving himself with this sorry couple. Before he could agree to Britt's proposed plan, he needed to see Abby again, in private. While Britt waited outside in the car, Damian had slipped into the house as he had twice before.

"You have a pretty wife, if that's what she is to you."

Damian still maintained his silence. He scrutinized her and wondered whether she was worth the effort.

"She'd do anything for you, I can sense that. Does she know you visit me? She must; she didn't flinch when I told her what I suspected. In that case, she's a remarkable woman. Did you know that she promised me you wouldn't return?

"I'll forgive you. She said that she could help. For the life of me, I don't understand how. We've talked about it with the so-called experts until our throats were raw.

"I was about to ask George for a trial separation, but this Britt, a stranger, convinced me not to. Can you fathom it -- me being swayed by the words of a stranger? But then, I've also been touched by a spirit, haven't I?

"So, spirit, what can you do for me? Can you reconstruct a marriage out of this wreckage?"

Damian observed her from his place by the window. She looked small in the chair. Yet there was a defiant set to her lips.

"I didn't think so. It was nice to think of the possibility though."

Damian finally spoke, a gravelly voice that rose from the depths. "What are you willing to pay?"

Abby's eyes widened momentarily in surprise and fear. "Ah, so you are there. I was beginning to think I was speaking to myself. Please show yourself." A tremor in her voice belied the boldness of her words.

Damian materialized only partially in his demon form, his horned silhouette visible against the window.

A sharp intake of breath betrayed sudden fear.

"So you're...."

"An incubus."

Abby only nodded, struck mute.

"I'm willing to help you as a favor to my... wife."

"A deal with the devil?"

"If you will."

"You asked what I'm willing to pay. You have me at a disadvantage; I haven't dealt with many devils before -- not the genuine article, at least. What's the customary currency? My soul?"

"I'm not interested in your soul," said Damian. "Consider this pro bono."

Abby laughed nervously. "An altruistic demon. Who would have thought?"

Damian felt his anger rising. With respect to this woman, there was little altruism in him. It was all he could do to not take her by the throat.

He decided. He would agree to Britt's proposal. He would enjoy breaking this woman.

"If you fail?" she asked.

"I won't fail. I have no stake in this game. It's your risk and potentially your reward. If you and your husband are up to the challenge, Britt and I can help you recast your relationship. Your failure is guaranteed if you don't accept the challenge, and only possible if you do. It's up to you."

"I accept."

Damian approached her then. He placed his hand beneath her jaw, cupping her face tightly. He kissed her on the forehead. "I'll enjoy working with you."

* * *

"Thanks for agreeing to help them." Britt wrapped her arms around Damian's neck and kissed him.

"Your thanks might be premature. They may well curse this day for the rest of their lives."

Damian disengaged and undid the buttons of Britt's blouse.

"It'll take more than talk to help these people," he said as he slipped the blouse over her shoulders, revealing the fullness of her breasts and the gleaming nipple rings, presents from Damian and the departed Kat. Presents marking her as having been bound by demons.

"You've said that before. What do you mean?"

Before he answered, he toyed with the rings that impaled the tender tissue of her nipples. She felt them hardening, and a shiver ran down her spine. The rings had no beginning and no end. Britt had given up figuring out how they had been affixed, nor had she asked for them to be removed. They were now a part of her. He deftly removed Britt's skirt and panties. Britt shivered in the coolness of their bedroom.

Damian retrieved something from beneath the bed. A length of rope.

"Give me your hand."

Britt complied with a quizzical look and Damian tied one end to her wrist.

"What are you doing?"

"Demonstrating to you what it will take. To see whether you still have the stomach for helping them."

He looped the rope around her other wrist and tied them together, leaving a length of rope to dangle.

"Do you trust me?" he asked.

"Of course."

Damian smiled. There had been no hesitation from Britt.

"Good. Kneel in the center of the bed, facing the headboard." Britt complied after hesitating for a moment.

Damian tied the remaining length of rope to the headboard, forcing Britt to her elbows and knees.

"Don't move."

"I can't. I'm paralysed with expectation," Britt quipped, but not without a note of uncertainty.

Damian laughed. "Beautiful position to be paralyzed in."

Britt's forearms lay flat on the bed and she felt her nipples kissing the satin sheets. Her narrow waist flared into shapely hips and a firm, round buttocks. Damian trailed his hand behind him as he walked around her, pausing to stroke the folds of her pussy.

She shivered.

He left her to rummage in the closet. On his return, he displayed a flogger with long black leather fells. Britt's eyes widened.

"Um... Damian?"

He splayed the fells of the flogger between Britt's shoulder blades and drew them down to cascade over the curve of her exposed ass.

"Are you going to hit me with that thing?"

"I might. And if I did?"

"I... I don't know."

"Because it depends on the context, doesn't it?"

"I suppose." For the life of her, she couldn't get her head around the context. She was tied up and he wielded a wicked-looking flogger. What other context could there be?

Damian played the fells over her back while stroking her ass. The flogger felt like a thousand feather-light fingers on her now hyper-sensitive skin. Goose pimples rose in the wake of the fells. She shivered as much in pleasure as anticipation.

Britt twisted her hands and grasped the rope in her fingers.

"It depends on any number of things -- whether you trust me, whether I'm attuned to you and what my objective is. Floggers, whips, or canes are just tools; their significance depends on the person who wields them and the one on whom they are used."

Britt's awareness of her body intensified and she closed her eyes. It was as though she could feel each length of leather and the sinuous path that it traced on her flesh. She sensed Damian behind her, felt the fells as they sluiced in the cleft of her cheeks and trailed lightly past her anus.

"Do you feel vulnerable?"

"Yes."

"Afraid?"

"No."

"Why?"

"I trust you. You won't hurt me."

"Are you sure?"

She was sure, yet... The potential for pain was certainly there.

The flogger thudded against her ass, its bark worse than its bite. After the initial jolt of surprise, Britt relaxed.

"If we leave the symbolism aside for a moment, we have an object, not unlike any other, with which to stimulate..."

Thud.

"...not unlike a hand..."

Thud.

"...or a cock."

The flogger landed again, more intensely this time. She felt the concussion compressing the flesh of her ass, then traveling down the length of her body like a wave. She felt the vibration in the walls of her pussy.

Another blow. That one would leave marks. Britt bit her lip, but couldn't prevent a moan from escaping.

"It's little more than the extension of the hand that would caress you."

Damian placed a hand on the warmth of her ass. Never had his touch felt so intense, so intimate. She felt it beyond the thin layer of skin.

"Mmm."

"Are you okay?"

"Uh huh." Don't stop. Please don't stop. The thought surprised her.

Damian swung the flogger underhanded, allowing her inner thighs to direct the fells to the tender flesh between her legs where they thudded gently with dozens of soft, insistent fingers.

"Another tool to explore these bodies of ours..."

He flicked his wrist, sending the fells between her legs again, but this time with more power.

A thousand sensations exploded in her head.

"...to stimulate flesh that would otherwise atrophy under the mundane."

Britt was no longer listening. Her senses were attuned to the play of leather on her flesh -- the delicious anticipation, the whisper of leather passing through the air, the cadence of the blows, the shock of impact.

At length the blows ceased and Britt could feel the bed taking Damian's weight behind her. Hands explored the now tender flesh of her ass, the ring of her anus and the moist cleft between her legs. She felt the length and weight of his cock cradled between the twin mounds of her ass. As always, it felt cold as was the nature of incubi. It didn't matter; she had warmth to spare.

She arched her back, tilting her pelvis in invitation.

She felt his hardness cleaving the lips of her pussy. He entered her slowly, by delicious increments, until his cock could go no further. She tightened herself around him in the only embrace she could offer him now and smiled at the low moan that the action elicited.

She described a slow circle with her hips, feeling the movement translated deep within her.

He knelt still behind her, hands lightly bracketing her waist, allowing her to rock on her knees back and forth against him.

Bound as she was to him -- and by him -- there was no connection more profound than when he inhabited her. She opened herself to him fully, thrilling at his insistent thrusts.

He flipped her onto her back, her wrists still tied together.

Even after a year together, she felt a momentary thrill at seeing him in demon form. Obsidian horns rose from a mussed nest of dark hair. His eyes glowed orange and a powerful tail whipped behind him.

He placed his hands beneath her breasts, cradling them between his thumb and forefinger. She opened her legs wide for him, willing him into her with her heels on his ass. His tail insinuated itself to the crown of her cunt, burrowing its tip into the tender folds that surrounded the pink pearl of her clitoris. The sensation sent an electrical thrill through her body.