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Developing Demons

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Jacket shed and tie loosened, Vince perked up at the sound of Stacy’s key in the lock, arching a dark brow over the rim of his bourbon glass as her heels clicked into the foyer. “Why, hello, Mrs. Blight! And how are we today?”

Though a man generally disinterested in the well being of others, Vince nonetheless understood more than a thing or two about human nature. For the most part, Vince simply chose not to take these observations into account with regard to his treatment of people. Distant, removed, Vince acted like a scientist studying subjects. Making notes, curious as to how the creatures before him might be useful, but not overly concerned with their welfare.

Stacy, of course, proved to be a rare exception to this rule. And the curlicue of crimson dancing free from her severe bun. The lines around her eyes she strove to hide behind layers of cosmetics. And a pervading tension throughout the entirety of her voluptuous figure, spoke one word to Vince: exhaustion.

“Well…” Discarding her designer briefcase with a sigh, Stacy’s feet screamed within her stilettos as she crossed the kitchen. “Beat, if I’m honest. Back to back to back court cases. Won two out of three but…” Stacy slumped, thankful that here in their Malibu monument to success, she could let down her polished shield, if only in front of her husband. “Still. Arduous. It never ends, Vince. Sometimes I long for the days before I made partner. Simpler times…”

Vince frowned, setting his drink on the table. “I’m sorry, beautiful. That does sound wearing.” Aware anything resembling sympathy from his camera-ready lips typically came off rehearsed, fake, Vince shifted on the couch, tilting his head. Better to provide a tangible solution. Be practical. “You want me to run you a bath? Order in? I could give you a massage. We’ll just take it easy tonight.”

“You know what…” Stacy inhaled, palms pressing against her temples as she closed her eyes. When she released her breath, calculated, her verdant gaze traveled from Vince’s handsome face down to his thick thighs. “I think I need a nap.”

“Oh.” Nostrils flaring as he caught Stacy’s meaning, Vince stiffened. Swallowed. Nodded slowly. “Of course, gorgeous. Whatever...whatever would be helpful. I’ll be right here when you’re ready.” 

Vince plastered on his signature smirk, liquor aloft in salute. But once Stacy disappeared around the corner to prepare, his mouth settled into a flat line. Damn. Must’ve been a harder day than she let on…

A sexually adventurous couple, Vince and Stacy often plumbed areas of eroticism which would cause many to clutch pearls and turn tail. Still, when she initially requested one of these ‘naps,’ even Vince found himself a bit unnerved. 

Sure, Stacy would wake him up with her mouth around his cock from time to time. And Vince adored greeting the morning by thrusting into that sweet heat. Or burying his face between her thighs before Stacy’s alarm went off. But this...this was different. Tricky. A gray area.

And the details. A myriad of specifications. What to do and when. How Vince should hold her body. Hold himself. The words. The actions. Too much to be something frivolous. Too much to be a mere fantasy. 

But Vince didn’t pry. He knew all too well. That some of the things he and Stacy did together were more than just fun, sexy games. 

Sometimes Vince and Stacy lowered the shiny masks they wore for the world, only to don a different sort of costume, play acting and observing the shadows of their shame. The proximity to their past simultaneously horrifying and tantalizing. Neither certain how those wires came to cross. Why they needed these sorts of things now. But grateful to discover in each other a partner who wouldn’t judge, who would offer this particular brand of freedom without question and without reservations. Linking hands as they stepped headfirst into the starless night.

Shaking the day's worries from her manicured fingertips, Stacy removed her heels and perused their closet. A slinky silk nightgown. Green. For this, always green. 

Stacy strolled to the bathroom, unspooling her scarlet hair and brushing out the waves for so long her reflection started to look like a stranger. Her usual bun would be more reasonable for this. Or a ponytail, even. But no. Down. Needs to be down.

Reapplying blood red lipstick, Stacy ignored all of her colorfast options. Touched up her mascara with a tube guaranteed to smear. Same with the eyeliner, before dabbing on shadow in a color taken out of rotation ages ago. There . Stacy appraised the apparition of terrors unforgotten staring back through emerald eyes, turning this way and that in the mirror. Perfect

Stacy traipsed into the living room, Vince twisting back with a smile. “Why, don’t you look lovely, Mrs. Blight?”

“Thank you, sir.” Plopping down on the couch, Stacy touched a kiss to Vince’s sharp jaw, enjoying the red smooch left in her wake before she snuggled down onto his lap.

Shapely thigh a pillow and elegant fingers flowing through her auburn tendrils, Stacy tuned out the dulcet sounds of the television and sank into herself, thinking. Unraveling.

Stacy recognized these encounters required a lot from Vince. But he didn’t seem to mind. An actor at heart, Stacy thought Vince might even relish the challenge, now that they were beyond the original discomfort. Plus, it wasn’t as if Stacy never returned the favor. In a way.

With his ubiquitous dominance, Stacy didn’t often top Vince. Sure, she wiggled a couple of fingers between his tiny asscheeks while blowing him, but that’s different. Welcoming pleasure, Vince possessed no qualms about receiving stimulation however and wherever he may. 

But when Stacy got the opportunity to bend the Proud Pillar of Blight, the enterprise aroused her endlessly. Something about bringing the towering man to his knees. Always a raucous affair for both parties.

With one exception. The night when Vince would quietly wait. Strap-on placed atop the sheets, lube beside. Sitting. Silent. Until Stacy entered to see him perched on the edge of the mattress, naked, wondering how long Vince stared at nothing, thought of everything, hoping she would emerge from the office unbidden.

“Could you, um…” Vince’s voice, normally so booming, so resounding. A peep through solidified pink lips. “Use this. And if you...if you could...pull my hair, and…” Shoulders which on the daily spread like the tail of a peacock, now crumpled inward, square chin tucked to his chest as Vince whispered, “And if you could, um...cover my mouth. Hold me down. Tell me to stay quiet… Please.”

Stacy did. And, as was usually the case when she donned the harness, she marvelled at how difficult thrusting turned out to be, since she rarely needed to develop those muscles. 

But Vince came quickly and violently, face down and sobbing into Stacy’s palm. Cradling her shattered husband close, Vince sniffled and made his long figure as small as possible in her arms. Stacy flipped off the light, saying nothing. She didn’t have to, neither did. They both knew. Monsters were not born, but made. 

Not until the third year of their marriage, the third time a vulnerable, soft Vince made his sheepish plea, did Stacy see the pattern. Neither of them celebrated, after all, and she continued to work from home, whether given a day off or not. 

Thanksgiving. Vince needed this on Thanksgiving. A cruel spectre of so-called gratitude haunting their bedroom annually. But from then on, Vince didn’t have to ask. Stacy left her caseload at the office. Memories were torture enough. She wouldn’t prolong Vince laying the ghost.

So as Stacy drifted atop Vince’s lap, she knew he understood. If not this exact scenario. But each contained their own little Hell, flames roaring in their loins in ways they couldn’t explain as Vince and Stacy went about life in the guise of demons.

Vince lowered the volume on the news. Swirled his watered down alcohol. Petted gently over Stacy’s scarlet mane. “Make sure I’m asleep,” Stacy firmly stated. “Really, really sure.”

The first time, Vince started too soon. And though Stacy didn’t complain, Vince noticed her annoyance after. Besides, she truly did seem tired, and Vince felt no need to rush. Best to let her catch an hour of sleep. Maybe two.

Breath slow and deep and even. Okay… Vince hit the power button on the remote. The singular lamp in the back corner of the living room transformed their 60 inch screen into a mirror, reflecting the white couch, Vince, a sleeping Stacy. By design. Here we go…

Slowly, slowly, Vince inched the silk spaghetti strap down Stacy’s shoulder. Try not to wake me up. Sizable hand gliding under the material, Vince bit his lip as he traversed the peak of Stacy’s breast. I want to sleep for as much of it as possible. 

Stacy’s nipple hardened at his touch while she slumbered, a soft coo escaping her closed lips. The fact that his wife responded so readily in this state electrified Vince, and his cock twitched insistently beneath his gray slacks. Vince worried sometimes about what this meant, that he could derive pleasure with Stacy so clearly processing a trauma. 

Never forcing himself on a partner previously, the unwarranted titillations at Stacy’s spectacle resulted in a phenomena within Vince for which he found himself unprepared: guilt.

But when he broached the subject, Stacy told Vince to relax. They were both consenting adults. Now. What they were doing felt good, helped. Sometimes people need a dose of darkness when the light is too much to bear.

Vince palmed his burgeoning erection, massaging Stacy’s breast before carefully bunching her negligee to the waist. No panties, as expected. Nudging her thighs apart, Vince’s lengthy fingers painted over the lips of Stacy’s pussy, feather-light. Barely grazing the supple surface. Make it last. I want to be surprised. Scared…

Swimming in the heady delirium between sleep and waking, Vince’s ministrations wormed their way into Stacy’s dreams. The touch of Another. Felt so good. So wanted. Warm. Special. At first... 

Distant sound of a lowering zipper. The fingers in her mouth always prompted a bizarre set of images. The dentist, which unlike most, Stacy never feared, finicky about her pristine smile. The time Stacy choked on a bite of pork loin in a restaurant and her friend thumped her back, scooping the intruder free. Pictures of healing. Of safety. Of relief.

Until words floated to Stacy’s hazy brain, Vince purposely deepening his tone. Gravelly. Dangerous. “Mmm...Yeah. Get it in there, honey…”

Bulbous tip of his cock breaching her slack lips, Vince suppressed a moan. Surrepticiously angled Stacy’s face. Urged his pelvis skyward. Just a titch. A hair. Enough for the artfully carved head to submerge. “Yeah...that’s it. Just a little…”

The way Stacy began to suck in unconsciousness. The tiny hums around his sensitive flesh, the barely hollowed cheeks as snores continued to issue from her oblivious nose, both broke Vince and inflamed him every time. “Yeah…” Pushing on her scalp, Vince’s other hand dipped into the dew of her pussy, always shocked by Stacy’s extreme wetness during these reenactments. “Take it. A little more, honey…”

The moment of waking proved strange for both. Stacy, mouth stuffed and exposed, needed to remind herself not to panic. She wanted this, exactly this, but coming alert in such a manner inevitably resulted in a skyrocketing heartbeat and muscle spasms. But that terror… Stacy wanted that, too. Needed the fear to complete the fantasy. And as she sharply inhaled around Vince’s driving cock, blinking rapidly and squirming, her pussy drenched in anticipation.

For Vince, seeing Stacy’s reflection in the television, that split second when she realized she no longer slept soundly, undisturbed, but her mouth was being fiercely fucked while unable to escape, made him feel...powerful. Even Vince, with his absence of empathy, revelling in the humiliation of others on ‘What’s That Name?,’ despised this inclination, thinking he should hold his wife, at least, in higher esteem.

Initially, Vince struggled more. Vince crammed his cock down Stacy’s throat at that point in their union hundreds, hell, probably thousands of times. But never like this. And as he shoved her head down, ruthlessly humping her face and in awe of how she came not three, not four, but, unless Vince might be mistaken, a dozen times around his fiddling fingers, he began to grow concerned. 

Yes, Stacy’s body writhed in the throes of ecstasy. But she also seemed like she wanted to get away… Dainty palms pushing. Flapping. And the noises Stacy uttered... Keening. Pained. 

“Stace, um…” Vince ceased his hammering hips, releasing his grip on Stacy and peering down. “Are you okay? Should I stop?” Stacy said she would pinch his thigh to be let up, and she didn’t do so, but Vince couldn’t ignore her glaring signs of distress.

What are you doing?!” Stacy snapped in a harried whisper, refusing to look up as she froze. “You’re ruining it! You’re not supposed to care! Keep going. Come on!”

And so now when Stacy started to fight, Vince knew better, huge hand molding over her skull as he slammed into the intoxicating moisture of her mouth, smothering her whines and his own scant morals. “Oh fuck! Yes! Almost done. I promise. Just a little more, honey. It’ll be over soon…” 

Black tears streamed down Stacy’s face. Whether the result of Vince’s massive barreling cock, or reminiscence, even she didn’t know. The sounds dribbling from her loose lips as she shuddered around Vince’s dexterous fingers yet again befuddled Stacy. To this day she never understood why this possessed such allure. Why even without Vince, were she to sneak a hand between her legs and envision a similar scene, Stacy would find herself quaking in under a minute. Why? Why does it feel good to hurt so badly?

Head falling back over the couch, Vince’s sculpted jaw flickered as he gritted his teeth, prominent brow knit in ecstasy. “Fuck! Fuck! Stacy! Honey! Almost there! So close! Just hang on! A little more! Please! Almost done! Almost over! It’s okay! You’re okay!”

Intoning the script she devised, Vince penetrated Stacy’s pulsating pussy with two thick digits, hooking viciously into her cluster of nerves while his big thumb spun over her clit. “You’re okay, honey! You feel good, right? Right?! I know you like it. Don’t lie to me…”

Clawing at Vince’s shapely thighs as her curvaceous body erupted uncontrollably, Stacy shrieked around his mercilessly propelling cock. 

Yes! Yes! Honey! I’m cumming! I’m cumming! Stacy! Stacy…” Plugging her screech with his throbbing cock, Vince’s pelvis evacuated the couch, both sizable hands encapsulating Stacy’s scalp as his left eye fluttered and he grunted. “It’s okay. It’s okay... You’re okay... All done… All over now, honey...” 

The proof trickled from the corner of Stacy’s mouth, lips a red slash of woe as she panted, aftershocks zinging into her weary soul.

Powerful arms relenting, Vince sat back. Stacy took her time rising. She always did. Vince didn’t prod, or question. He recognized these moments required delicacy. Allow the crab to crawl back into the shell. Let Stacy piece together her armor before she shows her face. She would do the same for you, Vince. She has…

Stacy quietly left. Head down. Rushed padding footsteps to the bathroom. Vince zipped up. Splashed cold water on his chiseled face, towel pressed to his fair skin for a long, long time. Flip on a couple extra lamps. Place a martini on the glass coffee table. Just the way Stacy liked it. Extra dirty.

Stacy returned later in a deviously sexy set of black lace lingerie complete with thigh highs and killer six inch heels. Hair and makeup set to perfection, Vince grinned broadly as his warrior woman strut into the living room. “Why, Mrs. Blight…” Vince raised an expressive brow, tongue running lasciviously over his rounded teeth. “Don’t we look foxy tonight?”

“Yes.” Stacy purred as she slithered next to Vince on the couch, swatting the earlier tryst from her brain as she sought out their more regular fare. “We certainly do, Mr. Blight.”

Capturing his pink lips, Stacy combed her fingers through Vince’s chestnut tresses, somewhat mussed though still sporting his severe left part. “So…” Stacy straddled Vince, tracing his crisp jaw. “What are you in the mood for this evening, sir?”

“Mmm...so many things.” Vince’s shark-like smile beamed up at Stacy, kneading her round ass before his expression became serious. “Stacy…” Cobalt eyes examining with unusual tenderness, Vince’s big hand cupped her cheek. “You know I love you, right?”

Vince and Stacy almost never said the words. They weren’t demonstrative people. Didn’t see the need to express themselves with flowery phrases or cliche offerings. But tonight, in this moment, though Vince rarely trusted his instincts on these matters, telling Stacy felt...right.

“Mmhmm…” Green gaze gone, fingers stuttered at his collar. Vince didn’t expect Stacy to return the endearment, and didn’t need her to, either. The unspoken knowledge that Vince and Stacy loved every part of one another, each scar, no matter how dreadful, would forever be enough.