Thumper Ch. 04

"Can you picture yourself in that kind of relationship?"

Britt snorted. "Me? A Stepford wife?"

"Is that what your mother was?"

"No."

The egg vibrated with greater intensity and pressed insistently against the inside of Abby's pubic bone. Afraid that it was going to vibrate out, Abby clenched her muscles.

"It's interesting how you equate a traditional female role with submission and docility. Was your mother either?"

Abby squirmed. "No."

"I bet you she was strong and supportive."

"Yes."

"Was she less of a woman because of it?"

"No."

The egg, aided by Abby's subtle movements, had manoeuvred itself into a particularly sensitive spot. Abby closed her eyes as a warmth spread across her loins. She felt an unmistakable dampness.

"It is possible to have a career and a strong marriage," said Damian.

When Abby didn't respond, he continued, "It's also possible to have a strong marriage in which you're not in charge."

Abby recognized the familiar sense of slowly tipping over the edge, of releasing the mind and succumbing wholly to the body. She was close to coming.

"Submission isn't weakness."

God, if Abby submitted now, the entire restaurant would think she had Tourettes. She fought the oncoming release like Sisyphus pushing the boulder up the hill.

Damian increased the level of stimulation.

Bad analogy, thought Abby. Sisyphus ultimately lost.

Stop! she implored, and wasn't sure whether she'd spoken aloud.

"It requires a special kind of strength..."

"Okay," she gasped.

"...to willingly submit to someone."

"Uh-huh."

"So you'd be willing to pass the reins to George?"

"Stop," she hissed. She was too close.

"Answer me."

"Yes."

The vibration stopped, leaving a sudden void around which pinpricks of sensation whirled like stars.

"Yes," repeated Abby.

"You understand what you've agreed to?"

Abby took several deep shuddering breaths. She'd won. She'd maintained control, yet part of her longed for what had been so close.

Damian repeated himself.

Abby looked doubtful. "I suppose. She paused. "Given the proper circumstances."

"That's what we're working on."

* * *

"Home sweet home."

Abby looked out of the car window and noticed the light on in the bedroom window. George was home.

"You did well tonight," said Damian.

Abby didn't respond. Had she done well? The night had passed in a flash, a heady and arousing blink of an eye. Now she was home and the last few hours already felt like a dream.

Doing well had always meant achieving something. What had she achieved tonight? She'd submitted to a stranger. She'd allowed herself to be taken advantage of. Some achievement.

Damian would be leaving her to return to Britt. Would they laugh at the fun they'd had at her expense? Abby could almost imagine it. What a fool she was for thinking that anything good could come of putting herself in these people's hands.

This wasn't her. This corseted, wanton slut wasn't who she was.

"Don't I get a goodnight kiss?" asked Damian.

Abby leaned over to Damian and wound a hand around the back of his neck and drew him towards her. Their lips met and she thrust her tongue into his mouth. She felt his hand burying itself in her hair. Their tongues danced and she withdrew slightly, drawing his lower lip between her teeth.

Then she bit. Hard.

Damian jerked away. "Bitch!"

Abby observed with horror the drop of blood that appeared on his lip.

"We're done," said Damian with a voice like ice.

The drop of blood ran down towards his chin.

"No," whispered Abby.

Damian looked hard at her, his eyes betraying a rage so intense that she shrank away from him.

Her voice shook. "No. Please. I'm sorry."

He wiped the blood away with the back of his hand and looked at the smear in disbelief. He shook his head and laughed. "I guess I had it coming."

The breath she had been holding shuddered out of her lungs.

"I'm not going to ask you to kiss it better. God knows you're liable to bite it right off. I will give you this, though." In his palm, he held the remote control. He pressed a button and an explosion of sensation rocked her. He dropped the remote control into her purse and snapped it shut. He leaned over, kissed her on the cheek, and opened the passenger door. "Good night."

Abby could dimly hear the whirring of the device within her. She stepped out of the car and closed the door without a word, catching herself as her knees buckled. She tottered up the walkway, unsteady on her heels as the vibrations punished her from the inside. She wanted nothing more than to reach into her purse to turn the diabolical device off, but she didn't want to give Damian the satisfaction.

She fumbled with the keys, missing the lock several times before shoving the key home.

As soon as she closed the door behind her, she reached between her legs and pulled the device out of her. She bit her lip to restrain the cry as it fell into her palm. It rested there, glistening with her juices, alive and buzzing like an angry bee. She retrieved the remote control and pressed buttons until the device fell quiet.

She leaned against the door taking deep breaths, feeling the absence of the device.

* * *

George lay in bed, trying to read. After scanning the same lines repeatedly, he lay the book on his chest and closed his eyes. Even though he'd showered on his return home, Britt's perfume clung to him, as did the taste of her in on his tongue. He tried desperately not to feel guilty, to convince himself that he hadn't been unfaithful, that what he had done had been agreed upon. He came to realize that the guilt didn't derive from the act, but from his enjoyment of it. That giving a woman pleasure had emboldened him.

His mind alternated between thoughts of what he had done with Britt and what Abby was possibly doing.

He heard the front door unlock and close, followed eventually by the soft pad of Abby's tread up the stairs. She appeared in the doorway, backlit by the light in the hall. George's eyes widened as he took her in -- the way her breasts bloomed out of the corset, the hourglass figure, the legs sheathed in stockings.

"Abby?"

Whatever magic Damian had worked, Abby was transformed and barely recognizable.

She approached the bed tentatively and stood beside it. George reached and grasped her hand. They regarded each other but George could not hope to read her.

Abby reached down and pulled back the covers, exposing him.

"Abby? Are you okay?" he asked.

She traced the outline of his rapidly thickening member and pulled down his briefs. Then, without a word, she hitched up her skirt and straddled him.

His cock rose to meet her and soon touched her.

She closed her eyes and lowered herself onto him. Her pelvis soon moved in a rocking motion, hips undulating, abdomen coiling and stretching. He held her waist, feeling the boning of her corset beneath his fingers. Her head hung down and her face was hidden behind a swaying curtain of hair.

George thought he heard a sob but couldn't be sure.