Thumper Ch. 08

George rose on an elbow and regarded her. She couldn't read his expression at first. Then she belatedly realized that she'd effectively taken charge of his homecoming -- much against Britt's instructions -- and saw that the realization had dawned on George as well.

She almost apologized, and then thought better of it. "I'm your playground." she said. "Play."

Even that sounded like a command and she silently kicked herself for it.

"I plan to," said George, exhibiting little of the post-release lethargy he'd shown just a few moments before. He rose from the bed. "You should realize that no good deed goes unpunished," he said with a wink. "Stay here."

George left the bedroom and Abby lay back on the bed. She felt a little apprehensive at the mention of punishment.

At length George returned, carrying a bag. "I've been shopping too," he said. "Close your eyes."

Abby complied. She heard some rustling from the bag. What one earth did he have? she thought apprehensively. At length she felt George's weight on the bed. He raised her arms up over her head and she felt a tugging at her wrists. She realized that George was tying her arms to the posts at the head of the bed. She was surprised at first and then berated herself -- what else are cuffs for? He repeated the process with her ankles, spreading her long limbs apart. She tested the restraints and found that he had given her only the slightest freedom of movement, an illusion that she was slightly less vulnerable than she actually was.

"You can open your eyes now."

She did and searched for George, finding him at the foot of the bed, lit by the flickering candlelight. In his hand he loosely held a flogger. She was speechless. She may have been a little too assertive, she realized, but did that merit a flogging? George approached, swinging the fells. He allowed the fells to splay against her abdomen with a wet thud. Her muscles tightened involuntarily at the contact and her throat constricted. Was this just a preamble to something more? What have I done? What did I do to deserve this?

George drew the flogger down her body, allowing the fells to sluice between Abby's legs and cascade over her bare pussy. Despite her apprehension, or perhaps because of it, she shuddered in pleasure. He moved to her side and lowered the fells to her chest, allowing the tips to play over her nipples like a thousand feather-light caresses. She responded instantly and her nipples hardened and goose pimples erupted in the leather's wake. The flogger slowly descended past her corseted abdomen to play around her pelvis and the insides of her upper thighs. The concentration of such tiny nodes of stimulus became almost unbearable, particularly on her recently shaved pubic mound.

George repeated the process and Abby squirmed with the sensations that set her nerves tingling.

"As tempting as it is," said George, "this isn't the punishment I had in mind."

Abby breathed a sigh of relief as George set the flogger aside and climbed onto the bed. He lowered his head to her breasts and flicked his tongue over one nipple and the other. He blew gently across her breasts and her nipples instantly puckered. He drew one into his mouth and bit gently from the outer circumference and in towards the tip, working his teeth against each other, sending tingles of pleasure all the way to her toes.

He worked his way down until he rested between her legs. Gently, patiently, he licked the folds of her labia, eliciting an involuntary purr of pleasure. She felt him draw her labia between his lips, pulling gently, running his tongue back and forth across the soft flesh. He thrust his tongue deep into her, tasting her, and then drew it up to tease her clitoris.

With his tongue pressing the pink pearl of her clitoris, he inserted a finger, exploring her vagina with as much deliberateness as she'd employed on him. His finger roamed freely, lingering at a spot whenever her bound legs strained against the ropes that held them. Eventually he angled the finger upward within her, stroking the inside of her pubic bone. He rolled the tip of his tongue in a circular motion over her clitoris and the finger within her mirrored the motion. Her breathing quickened.

If this is punishment, thought Abby, I should be bad more often.

She felt another finger being inserted and then trailing down her perineum to her anus. Her breath caught in surprise. He stopped and listened, and Abby forced herself to relax as the finger gently inserted itself.

Abby's mind flitted from one sensation to another, from the tongue that danced on her clitoris, to the finger pressing her G-spot and to the other slipping shallowly in and out of her anus. Her arms strained against her bonds, wanting nothing more than to grasp George's head and draw it roughly into her.

Not since the afternoon with Damian in the barn had she been restrained. She hadn't liked it much then, though overcoming her fear had resulted in an almost overwhelming release. This time was different. Yes, she was still bound, and yes, she was still completely at the mercy of another. The difference was trust. Though she might not fear George as she had Damian, her vulnerability this time was that much more arousing and intimate. She knew now that with George, she would consent to his demands implicitly. Trust allowed her to concentrate fully on what he was doing instead of fearing what might yet be done.

And what he was doing was wonderful.

Soon she was on the cusp. Involuntarily, she bore down and pressed hard on George's hand, pushing his fingers deep into her cunt and ass. She gave a strangled cry and spread her legs wide, affording George a better taste of that which he had worked to release.

She pulled against her restraints as her climax intensified and crashed anew under George's attentions, to the point where the subtlest flick of the tongue or pressure of his fingers would find a new, previously uncharted crescendo.

She didn't know how long she writhed on the bed, pulling against the restraints, captive to a body that was tireless in its release. With deep breaths, she fought to regain control. When the tremors had slowed, George lowered his head and thrust his tongue into her, savouring her.

Abby took a deep, shuddering breath.

Presently he withdrew and was gone for a moment while the waves that wracked Abby's body gradually subsided.

She was spent and sore from working against the restraints.

After a few moments, George returned.

"Can you untie me?"

"No. I'm not done with you."

Her protest was cut off by the feeling of something being applied to her abused clitoris. Whatever it was -- a cream perhaps? -- it grew almost instantly warm.

"No," moaned Abby as she felt herself responding again to the sensations.

"Thumper?" he asked, invoking Abby's safeword.

Abby merely bit her lip and shook her head, not trusting herself to speak and unwilling to deny herself or him.

"Ready?"

Abby nodded, feeling her body open itself to him again.

A hum filled the air, unidentifiable until it made contact with her tender clitoris. The dual sensation of tingling heat and remorseless vibration set her bucking against her restraints once again. The wave was upon her in an instant, and she was soon driven senseless by the relentless pounding of orgasm upon orgasm, the end of one nearly indistinguishable from the beginning of the next, leaving her little time to recover or snatch more than a gasping breath.

She wanted nothing more than to escape this infernal vibration, to rein in her body again. As it was, her pelvis ground against the vibrator, her muscles quivering uncontrollably. She grew dizzy and felt as though she were turning inside out, a quivering molten mass. She fought against the restraints, desperate to release her hands to push the vibrator away.

"Stop," she pleaded.

It seemed to go on forever.

"Please," she gasped.

But she was lost.

"Please stop."

George didn't heed her. This was her punishment, she realized dully as her muscles clenched violently in the throes of uncontrollable spasms. Better than the flogger but infinitely more diabolical.

Dimly she noted that the vibrations had ceased though the turmoil in her body continued. Her muscles quivered and clenched of their own volition.

Slowly the roiling waves abated and she returned to her senses.

She opened her eyes and her gaze fell upon George. "Some punishment."

He kissed her and untied her. When free, Abby wrapped her limp arms around him. "You're a master."

"A master? Hardly."

"My master." She felt as though she would pass out.

He shook his head. "Then I would like to suggest the next act."

"Please," she begged, "No more."

"Some slave." He smacked her bottom hard and she squealed in surprise.

Abby bit off the protest before it escaped her lips. She was too tired, but she knew that this request was anything but. "Anything," she said.

With some difficulty, George manoeuvred her to sit astride him. His cock nestled against the slick, wet folds of her pussy. She stroked them against him and he slowly revived. She could feel him now despite her numbness. After a few moments, she gently lowered herself onto him.

He closed his eyes and as the candles flickered in their holders, she moved to an unhurried, universal rhythm. She too closed her eyes, abandoning herself to the feeling of him within her.

They would be alright.

* * *

Not unlike Abby and George, Britt and Damian found themselves in bed.

Britt fingered a chip of obsidian horn that hung from a fine golden chain between her breasts. It served as a reminder -- as though she could ever forget -- of the individual with whom she chose to share her life and the rules that they had to live by.

It had been a week since the scene in the bedroom in which Damian had almost lost his horns to the hand of Rosier.

Britt knew that it wasn't her scream that had slowed the stroke of Rosier's sword. She'd been a fool to think that she could have stopped it.

At her scream, Rosier had raised his free hand, a lazy movement even as the blade in the other hand commenced its down stroke. To Britt, it felt as though she'd hit a brick wall. Crumpled on the floor, she watched in despair and horror as the blade flashed down.

Yet at the last possible moment, the blade seemed to arrest its inexorable movement, but not before it had etched a chip from one of Damian's horns.

No, something other than Britt's scream had interrupted Rosier.

As the obsidian chip flew from the horn, a hiss of dismay sounded from between Rosier's clenched teeth. The chip fell to the floor between Britt's outstretched hands. She grasped it, cutting a finger on its razor-sharp edges, and looked at Rosier in time to see his sword hand fall limply to his side.

For a moment, no one moved.

"What's going on?" asked Britt in a faint whisper.

Rosier stepped back and seemed to collapse in on himself, a look of disbelief and anger on his face. He was silent for a moment and then spoke. "It seems that it's not your time, Damian."

Damian looked up, his expression unreadable.

"The boss, it seems, had a bet with Asmodeus that you'd fail, that you wouldn't be able to break that Abby woman."

He hadn't broken her, thought Britt. At most, she'd learned to bend.

"I disagree, but you get a reprieve, Damian of Pannonnia. You'd better hope that the boss doesn't come to his senses and lose patience with you. In the meantime, we'll be watching you. Abby and George may go on to live happily ever after, but the same might not be said of you two. Not if I have my way."

Britt rose and approached Damian, placing a trembling hand on his shoulder. He leaned into her.

"These good deeds of yours," said Rosier with distaste, "they're most unbecoming to one of your station."

He sheathed his sword and began to lose substance, disappearing into the air.

"Be thankful that the boss enjoyed the show."

Then he was gone.

Damian rose to his feet. He fingered the notch in his horn and let his hand fall to his side. "That was close," he said flatly.

Britt trembled. "What would have happened?"

"I prefer not to think of it." Damian gathered Britt in his arms. "But I think it's time I go back to being a simple incubus."