Tuesday Night

When Chameleon came home from work on Tuesday, my birthday, we both tried to act as if nothing strange was happening. She shouted hello when she came in the door. We cooked together, being careful to tidy our own mess as we went along. Neither of us chose to open any wine. I drank a couple of cokes. She had a tonic water. Our conversation was light, and entirely focused on things external to our relationship.

We went to bed early and had gentle, careful birthday sex. We both held back, keeping our control. The rush of love and affection I felt when she kissed me a diffident good night felt good and clean. I put the deal out of my mind and slept. I don’t remember any dreams.

Wednesday

On Wednesday she didn’t arrive home from work at her usual time. When it got to seven o’clock, I checked my phone. No messages.

Are you okay? I typed.

I got nothing back. The messaging app showed that my text had not been read. I tried to focus on the news on the television, but I could not—some politicians lying about something or other. I did not care. I kept checking my phone, starting to feel a mix of worry and annoyance.

She was breaking another rule. “Let’s make sure we tell each other if we’re going to be late, or change our plans. I want you to have your own life, but I don’t want to worry that something’s happened,” she had said. “And I never want you to be worried for me.”

At nine o’clock I texted again. Just need to know you’re safe, Cam.

I was mostly sure that this was part of the deal. She was breaking rules, being bad. Earning whatever punishment my fantasy required. But I was only mostly sure. It is probably impossible to kill Cam, but she can be hurt. A car accident would still put her in hospital. She would recover from injuries that would kill a normal human, but it cost her - it meant she needed to feed more quickly and sometimes more severely. A bad enough injury would bring on a feeding frenzy as soon as she healed. Cam was a careful person - she drove carefully and she avoided unnecessary risks. Her carefulness was not for her protection, it was for everyone else’s.

At ten-thirty I went to bed. I didn’t text again. If she was hurt, there was nothing I could do until someone contacted me. If she was deliberately ignoring me, which was what I believed was happening, then texting her would not make any difference. I lay awake, trying to read. I kept having to go back and read the same page again - I could not focus.

I woke with my book lying open on my tummy and my head lolling uncomfortably on my chest. My neck hurt. I checked the time on my phone. 1:48 am. I heard the front door shut, loudly. I must have been woken by the sound of it opening. She didn’t seem to be making any effort to be quiet. I heard her bump into the key table by the door, knocking things onto the floor with a clatter. She giggled.

She was drunk.

I listened to her stumble up the stairs. My reading light was still on, so I saw the state she was in when she opened the bedroom door.

“Drinks,” she said. “Girls. With. Bit drunk,” she said. She was slurring. She could barely stand. Her clothes were a mess. Her tights were laddered.

“Jesus, Cam,” I said. “Get in bed. I’ll get you some water.” I looked at her. She was swaying. I got up and took her arm, leading her to the bed. She fell onto it, face first.

“Mmmmwater,” she mumbled into the duvet.

“And a bin by the bed, for when you’re sick,” I said.

“Mmfff,” she said, eloquently.

I expected her to have passed out by the time I had been downstairs to get her the water. I brought two full pint glasses and packs of paracetamol and ibuprofen for morning. But she was still awake. Her eyes were glowing green. She was wearing nothing but her onyx pendant. Her clothes were thrown in an untidy heap on the floor.

“Too slow,” she said. “Drank from the tap.” She wiped her wet mouth, proving the truth of her claim.

She stood unsteadily and walked to me.  She put her hands on my chest and leaned into me.

“Wanna fuck you,” she said. “Gonna fuck you. Come here.”

“Not when you’re this drunk, Cam,” I said. “Well, not when you’re this drunk and I’m sober.”

“Drink something, then,” she said. “Now.”

“It’s two in the morning, Cam,” I said.

“I can make you drunk,” she said. She put her arms around me and fell into me. I held her in return, reflexively, to stop her falling.  It was odd to see her so graceless. She normally moved like a cat - all poise and fluidity. Her arms grabbed my shoulders to stop her from falling to the floor. God, she was strong. She turned, keeping hold of me, and threw me to the bed. There was nothing I could do to resist her. I landed on my back.

“Let’s never pressure each other to have sex,” she had said early on in our relationship.

“Sure,” I’d answered, naively.  “I’m a no means no guy.”

“It’s important to me, both ways,” she had said. “You’ll understand if we stay together.” Once she told me what she was and what she could do, I understood. She was worried about pressuring because I could not stop her if she insisted. Her rule protected me from her. She did not need any protection from me.

“Cam,” I said. “Stop.”

“You can’t resist me,” she said. “You fuck’n love me.” She fell on the bed next to me. Her eyes were still glowing. She placed her hands on each side of my head and pulled my face to hers. She kissed me wetly on the mouth. She tasted of sour wine and… cigarettes? Christ. She didn’t smoke. She knew I hated smoking. She knew I hated the taste of smoking on someone else. “Nn’I love you.”

“I do love you, Cam.  I can’t resist you, you know that.  But you’re too drunk tonight.  Go to sleep.”

“I’m a sex demon,” she said. “I don’t need sleep.  I can make you drunk with my magic, like that,” she said.  She clicked her fingers ineffectually.  “Like… that!” She said, trying a second time, with more success.  She brushed her fingers over the front of my boxers. This was one of Cam’s little moves. She liked to check if I was aroused. Tonight, I was not. “I wanna fuck you, let me use my magic on you.”

My eyes wandered down her body.  She was exquisite.  Athletic and feminine.  She saw me looking and tried to stretch seductively.  She definitely stretched.  She didn’t quite hit seductive.  It was the burp that ruined it.

“I can help you to come, Cam,” I relented.  “But no sex tonight.  You’re not yourself.  It would be weird.”

“You’re weird,” she said, pouting dramatically.

“Not in doubt,” I agreed.  “I married a sex demon.” I sighed.  I was really tired.  “And sleep is for the weak. Hit me up, babe.  Let’s get you sated.”

“Yay,” she said, smiling brightly at me.  I kissed her, trying to ignore the taste.  She smelled a little of sweat.  Oh well, I thought.  For better or worse, and all that.

Her palm pressed against my boxers and I felt a jolt. I felt heat spread from her hand through my body. My back arched upwards. My cock woke up, going from not-interested-I’m-tired-leave-me-alone to full show-me-what-to-fuck-right-now erection in seconds. I gasped.  I felt dizzy.  Not quite drunk, not quite stoned.  But very, very turned on.  “Oh god,” I said.  “That feels so good.”

She pushed me onto my back and straddled me. “Stay still,” she said.  “Gonna use you.  Like you use me.”

She put one hand on my chest, pushing me into the bed. Her other hand slipped between her legs. She started to touch herself.

“Mmm,” she said. She grinned at me, greedily. “Squeeze my tits,” she said. “I love your hands on me. Put your hands on me. Put them all over me.”

“No, Cam,” I said, feeling a little antsy at being held down.  “Squeeze them yourself.”

She half pushed and half slapped my face to the side. It didn’t hurt, but it was a little humiliating. She was so strong.

“I’ll squeeze my own fucking tits then, you useless prick,” she said. She was smiling, enjoying herself.  And she did - she squeezed her gorgeous breasts roughly, pinching herself until her nipples were red and hard. She arched her back and pressed herself against my erection. She ground against me through my boxer shorts. They were getting wet. Her hand moved faster. I could see that she had fingers inside herself, pressing in and out in time with her grinding. 

“I’m going to come over you,” she said. “I’m going to use you like you use me.”

“I’m a fucking demon. I’m going to come all over you while I’m eating your soul. And you can’t do anything to stop me.”

I reached up to put a hand on her breasts.    I felt the need to exert some control.

“Too late,” she said.  She took her hand away from her sex and grabbed the wrist of the hand that had reached for her. She took my other wrist in her other hand. She pushed my arms back into the bed. It was like being held in a vice. She had made me helpless.

“Naughty boy,” she said. “You had your chance.”  She rubbed herself up and down against my erect cock, using me like a sex toy. I was still in my boxers, feeling uncomfortably constrained as she worked against me, pleasuring herself.

“Mmm,” she said. “I love it when your hard cock is pressed against me.”

She closed her eyes.  She grunted softly. “You’re fucked,” she whispered. “Fucked. Fucked.  We’re both so fucked.”

She arched her back, lifting her pelvis away from mine. She released my hands. I left them where they were, above my head. She wanted me passive.  I could do passive.  She pressed one hand against herself, her fingers slipping inside. She masturbated aggressively.

“Oh,” she said. “Oh…. Oh… Ohhhh!”

Her other hand pulled down my boxers, freeing my erection. She started to come. It was a big one. Fluid gushed out, covering my cock. Marking me. 

Her hand gripped my face, squeezing my cheeks and mouth as if I were a little boy.

“I needed that,” she said. “Good boy.” She patted my face gently.

She rolled off me.  “You’re going to be hard all night,” she said with a pleased smile.  “I’ve been bad.  I got drunk, then I made you horny, then I came on you.  You got nothing.  Hah hah.  Now I’m going to sleep.  I’m leaving you hard and frut-rasted... Um. Frustrated.  I want you up all night, watching me sleeping.  You need to punish me.  I want you to come on me while I’m sleeping.  I want you to do it all night,” she said.  “Punish me with your come,” she said.  “You like coming on me.  You said so.”.  And then she lay back, rolled onto her side facing away from me and passed out.  Just like that.

She was right, of course.  I did like coming on her.  My answer to her question the first year had been, “I want to come all over you.  I want to cover you in my come.”  She had used her demon magic a lot for that one.  She had turned me into a relentless fuck machine.  I was hard for days, and we went at it for days.  I became a one man bukkake show.  On one day in that incredible week, I must have come on her face ten times.  I had come on her breasts, her arse, her legs.  On her feet, in her hair, on her back.  She had milked me into a glass over and over, filling it so that I could pour it over her.  Coming on her had become a big part of our sex-life ever since - a compulsion for me.  She knew I loved it. She also knew I thought it was dirty and a bit wrong.

The duvet was down by our feet. She lay, naked and sweaty, her drunk body regaining some of its grace in sleep. Her breathing deepened. I could smell her, smell the fluids that were all over both of us. Her natural scent of apples and strawberries was still there, under the sweat, sex and stale wine and cigarettes.

I lay still for a moment, processing what had happened. I was still achingly hard. Her demon magic was strong. The ultimate viagra. I would be hard for hours. Uncomfortable. Awake.  It was her fault.  She deserved to be punished. She had told me to punish her. She needed to be punished.

She snored. It was loud.

I gently rolled her onto her back. The snoring softened and then stopped. She smiled in her sleep. She was still beautiful, even when unconscious. Even when she abused me and used me.

I moved until I knelt next to her, my boxers still halfway down my thighs where she had left them. My cock was about a foot above her face and still wet with her fluids. I started to stroke myself. I looked at her pretty mouth. “My turn,” I whispered.

I reached down and slipped a finger between her lips, then two. I pushed her mouth open. I held it open, mimicking the little boy grip she had used on me. I stroked faster. Cam’s demon magic is a multiplier. Sex feels much better and much more intense under its influence. “Oh, fuck,” I whispered, picturing my come spattering over her lips. Ah, fuck it, I thought. “Oh! Fuck!” I shouted. She did not stir. She was out cold.

I grabbed a breast with my free hand, and played with it roughly. I didn’t try to be quiet - I enjoyed my arousal, moaning and grunting as I pushed myself to orgasm.  I called Cam some names, I couldn’t help it.  I was deeply under the influence of her sex magic and lost in my need and pleasure.  She wanted me to punish her and I urgently wanted to oblige.  I wanted to treat her how she had treated me.  I let my eyes drink in every bit of the beautiful sleeping woman lying beneath me. My blank canvas.

I reached my climax quickly. Carefully and deliberately, I came over her face, making sure that some went into her open mouth. She grimaced slightly but swallowed reflexively. She did not wake up.

“Mmm,” I said. I could not help it. “I needed that. Good girl.”

I did not get much sleep that night. By the time Cam woke, groaning with her alarm at 6:45 am on Thursday morning, I had come over her seven times. Her face was still sticky with it. My come on her breasts and tummy had dried to a scale.  I had rolled her onto her front and come into the crack of her gorgeous arse, and then rubbed it into her holes.  She had slept soundly throughout.

She stumbled to the shower with her eyes mostly closed.  Probably just as well.  I lay back into the pillows, my erection finally gone.  I was exhausted.  I decided to sleep until 9 and then call in sick.  The day was a write off.

She had been bad and I had punished her. Was that enough? I realised I wanted it to be enough. Our previous deals had mostly affected me. This one was affecting both of us.  There were rules in our relationship that I really did not want Cam to break.

I knew it wasn’t enough. “Sunday,” she had said. “You’ll know when it’s time.”

It was only Thursday morning. What more was there to come?