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Message-ID: <55566asstr$1176048603@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Night Writer <night_writer99@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Persephone in Winter - Chapter 9 (Wife, cheat?, MDom, Fsub) Night Writer
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Date: Sun, 08 Apr 2007 12:10:03 -0400
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                         Persephone in Winter
                            by Night Writer


                               Chapter 9


Waiting in the chilly car was no easier this time than the last.
Consumed with agonizing images of his wife with the dark stranger, he
sat unmoving behind the wheel, staring into the darkness, hoping to
find an answer there, but finding only more anxiety and pain with each
passing minute.  "What kind of man allows this?" he argued silently to
himself. "What kind of wife does this to someone she loves?"  He should
leave her - start the car and speed away from this revolting house that
held her.  A simple act, and the pain would be gone - but only to be
replaced with the pain of losing her.  "Allow her this, and keep her,"
his rational side argued back.  "One night of physical pleasure, now
and then - something that makes her alive, exciting, and loving when
she returns to me."

And so the battle raged, silently, in the darkened car - for an hour,
perhaps more, until running in circles exhausted him.  With each blink,
his eyes became more difficult to open again, until finally, he
couldn't open them at all.


                               ******


He sat beside her, ten rows back from the stage in the cavernous opera
house.  The lights were still up, and the audience murmured with
anticipation of the first act.  She was as radiant as he had ever seen
her - hair swept up as if magically held in complex patterns of shining
swirls, each strand perfectly in place.  The neckline of the simple
black dress exposed much of the rounded globes of her firm breasts in a
daring display of flesh.  She held her program in one hand while
gently stroking his thigh with the other.  Finally she looked up from
the small print and smiled.

"Thank you for tonight, darling.  You know how much I've wanted this."

Her hand moved to his lap.  She ran her fingers slowly over the front
of his pants until she felt the beginnings of his erection, then gave
it a light squeeze.

"Ladies room," she whispered as she lifted herself out of her seat.

She made her way along the row as three couples stood to let her by.
Then, just as she reached the end of the row, he watched in horror as
her fingers trailed lightly along the obvious erection of the young man
standing in front of the last seat.  She looked back over her bare
shoulder and winked, then quickly disappeared toward the rear of the
theater.  At first the others seemed not to notice her perverse
teasing.  Then, still standing, they slowly turned to look at him,
faces frozen in blank stares as though waiting for his response.

He stood and worked his way past them.  Each of them, one by one,
watched him with a blank stare until he reached the wide aisle. As he
passed the young man on the end of the row, he brushed against his
enormous erection and flinched, quickly pressing into the seat in the
next row to escape further contact.  But the man kept the same
expressionless stare as the others, his bulging cock the only evidence
of his wife's playful seduction.

The lights began to dim as he reached the back of the theater.  The
four sets of double doors that led to the lobby were now closed and he
fumbled in the dark to find an exit.  Once found, the door opened
easily in his hand, almost as if it had been expecting him.  The lobby
was deserted.  Scarlet padded benches that lined its perimeter,
only a short while ago laden with guests in all their finery.  Now they
were empty.  A large chandelier burned brightly overhead, each of the
hundreds of pieces of sparkling crystal hanging silently as though
frozen in time.  To the left and right, two wide curving
stairways led to the balcony and restrooms.

He climbed the stairs on the right, eager to find his wife, but
fearing what may lie ahead.  The carpet accepted each footstep,
collapsing just enough under his weight, then rebounding, as if
impatient to send him on his way.  At the top of the stairs, an empty
foyer greeted him, silent as a tomb.  After pacing in front of the
ladies room, he entered cautiously, glanced quickly left and
right, only to find it empty.  After a hasty retreat, he crossed to the
men's room and entered.

"Good evening, sir."

The tuxedoed man standing a mere two feet to his right stood straight
and still as a statue.  His face was pale and as translucent as tissue
paper, and as Steven met his stare, he recognized the same blank,
unblinking eyes as the guests downstairs.

"I - uh - I'm looking for my wife."

"In the men's room, sir?"

"No - I mean - well, she left her seat twenty minutes ago, to go to the
ladies room."

"Ah, the ladies room is outside, to the right, sir. I suggest you wait
for her there."

"But, I have, and she's - well, she's not there."

The man's eyes narrowed, as though trying to peer through Steven.

"Is your wife prone to straying, if I may be so bold, sir?"

"Straying?  I - no, no she isn't."

"Well, many women are. My own wife was a prime example. So
unpredictable, so strong-willed, such - unquenchable desires."

The man's expression relaxed, his eyes now those of a knowing
confidant.

"Look, have you seen her?" Steven asked finally.  "Black dress, brown
hair, very pretty..."

"Ahh, yes. I do believe I have. But she couldn't be your wife, sir.
She was..."

He stopped in mid-sentence, his eyes now drifting upward as he seemed
to savor the memory.

"Why? Why couldn't she? What do you mean?" Steven asked in near panic.

"I had a wife once, a very pretty one, much like yours, if I may say
so, sir. She had tastes, for, well, certain things I couldn't
provide. I returned to our home one day to find her enjoying a ride on
a rather well-endowed young man in our own bed."

The man stopped, looking at him expectantly.

Steven, suddenly feeling the urgent need to relieve himself, turned
away and stepped up to the nearest of the gleaming white urinals
lining the long wall of deep scarlet.

"She wouldn't admit it, at least not at first. They seldom do. But, to
be very candid sir, men of size and savagery are what they dream of."

As Steven emptied himself into the white porcelain, he shivered when he
noticed the attendant sneak a glance at his exposed penis.

"Men like us sir, civilized men, men born without the, well, sufficient
'equipment' that such women desire, must often stand aside when a lady
finds that our sensitive devotion is no match for a good fucking.  I'm
sure you would understand that, sir."

"Look, have you seen my wife or not?" Steven shot back, now unnerved by
the attendant's suggestive banter.  The man seemed suddenly older. A
mixture of arrogance and amusement filled his eyes, but his face looked
tired, aging years in the few minutes they had spoken.

"I'm sorry sir. I must have been mistaken," he answered, with a knowing
smile.

Steven pushed by him and fled into the hallway. The warm glow of
the wall sconces was now extinguished, leaving him in darkness. Behind
him the attendant's laughter spilled from the men's room, booming
louder and louder between each gasping breath. A light flickered in
the distance where the stairs met the darkened hall. He moved toward
it, then quickened his pace, running, running, the plush carpet sucking
at the soles of his shoes, his heart pounding, head throbbing,
propelled forward only by his terror and the hideous laughing behind
him - running, running, his eyes slowly adjusting to the flickering
light ahead, until finally he reached it and stopped, panting, dizzy,
and swimming in sweat.

Below him, hidden by the bend in the winding stairway, music was
playing, but not the lush music of an opera.  It was thin and nasal, as
if made by an old Victrola.  He took the first few steps cautiously,
then, driven by curiosity, descended until he could see into the lobby
below. The chandelier was gone, the dim light now coming from a few
flickering gas lamps clinging to the far wall.  The room was filled
with Victorian furnishings - satin armchairs, sofas and loveseats
trimmed here and there with fringe and lace, all arranged atop an
intricately decorated oriental carpet that stretched away into the
darkness.

"Ahh, there you are. I've been waiting for you. You're very late."

A woman stood at the base of the stairway. She looked up at him with a
slim, bare arm outstretched, her fingers beckoning. Suddenly the room
was filled with women, as though their flesh was precipitated from thin
air during a blink of his eyes.

"Come, come, mon amour - I won't bite.  Unless you want me to."

Her voice seemed to penetrate him, her words made all the more
intoxicating by an elegant French accent.  A sheer black camisole
barely contained her lush, heavy breasts, and covered her slender
curves only to just above the navel, leaving the slightly parted lips
of her sex completely exposed.  He was drawn to her, slowly, a step at
a time, until he stood before her, close enough to inhale the light
scent of perfume carried by the heat of her body. She moved closer,
her arms around his waist, her hips thrust firmly against him. Her
face was oddly familiar; sparkling green eyes set above a perfect,
delicate nose, full red lips with a hint of mischief at the corners of
her wide mouth, and flowing loose brown curls dancing over her bare
shoulders.

"What do you want from me?" she asked. "There's nothing I won't do
for you - anything you can imagine, anything you've ever wanted, but
were afraid to ask for. Anything."

As he stared at her, he was unable to stop the images that flooded
his mind - she, on her knees, hungrily deep-throating him, her mouth
like a velvet glove around his cock as she looked adoringly into his
eyes - he, easing his cock into her ass, her hips hunched into the air
as she begged him for all of it at once, faster, harder, grunting
with each brutal thrust.

"Mmmm, such an evil man," she said, grinning as though she could
read his mind.  "Come."

Taking him by the hand, she led him through the crowd of scantily-
clad sirens, pausing for a few moments when one of the women
approached, gliding to a stop in front of him.  A tall blonde,
tanned to perfection, wearing only a tiny red g-string and
matching six-inch heels, unbuttoned his shirt and ran her hands
longingly over his chest and belly.  A petite Asian girl, nude except
for a white lace choker and white thigh-high stockings, opened his
pants, pulled his erection into the flickering orange light,
knelt before him, and licked him once, a long, slow caress from
balls to the head of his cock, planting a soft kiss on the sensitive
tip before wandering away. Some just came to look, some to fondle his
throbbing erection, smiling with satisfaction when they heard him
moan or gasp uncontrollably.

In a dark corner, lit only by the slightest traces of shifting light,
she turned to face him, then gracefully lowered herself to a long divan
against the wall.  Spreading her legs, she used both hands to open the
plump lips of her sex, offering him a view of her clitoris, now hard
and wet with arousal. He stared openly, standing over her, his exposed
erection jutting forward, swollen so large that it seemed as if it was
not his own.  She gazed at him adoringly as her fingers teased the
slippery bud of flesh, spreading her juices over the length of it until
it glistened.

"Please, mon amour - don't make me wait," she purred.  "I'm everything
you want, everything you've ever wanted. There's nothing I won't do
for you - nothing, nothing my love, nothing at all..."

Taking her by the shoulders, he pushed her down into the soft, velvet
cushions, then, dropping quickly onto her, he shoved his cock deeply
into her in a single thrust.  A sudden warmth rushed over him, a
welcome and delicious blanket that enveloped them both, a cocoon that
held them so closely that her soft pale skin found, then caressed him
everywhere.

She sighed, closed her eyes, then opened them again and looked at him
expectantly.  Oh, yes, mon amour, yesss, fuck me, fuck me Steven, fuck
your little whore."

He plunged into her wildly, battering her with his cock, the images
returning to his head, images of so many acts of perversion yet
untried.

"Oh God, yesss - this is what I want - this is the way I like it Steven
- oh Steven, oh Steven I love you so much..."

The change in her voice took him by surprise.  Gone was the sultry
French accent, in a split second replaced by an all too familiar voice,
a voice that for years had uttered a soft goodnight from the
pillow beside him.

He stared in horror as the face beneath him became his wife's, hidden
beneath a thick layer of black eyeliner and garish blood-red lipstick.
Drained of all color, her complexion faded to a blue-white mask, a
grotesque blend of clown and corpse. The warm blanket surrounding them
turned cold, shaking him with violent chills.

"What's wrong, Steven? Why won't you finish me? Fuck me with your
big, hard cock until you make me cum for you, Steven! Empty your balls
into your little whore! Don't you know it's what I need? I like it
Steven! Oh God, I love it hard and nasty, Steven! I love it - I love
it - I love it - I love it..."

He panicked, fighting desperately to free himself from her, her legs
now tightly grasping him, pulling him roughly into her with frantic,
rhythmic spasms. With a sudden lurch, he broke free, rolled away from
her, and landed on the floor. When he stood, she was laughing, her
wide, painted mouth now almost unrecognizable, the dark eyeliner now
running in long streaks over her face.

"That's just like you!" she jeered. "Be a man, Steven. For once in
your life, be a real man, not a god-damned pussy!"

He backed away from her as the other women began to gather around them.
She continued to berate him, her eyes full of venom, her legs still
spread wide, flaunting the gaping, red slit that still dripped with
her juices.

"If you can't do me, Steven, I know someone who can! In fact, I know
lots of men who can! Lots of men, Steven! Lots of men!"

The echoes of her threats chased him as he turned and fled, made worse
by the growing laughter of the other women. Her words formed a cadence
that matched the throbbing in his head - 'lots of men, lots of men,
lots of men, lots of men'.

Running and stumbling in the dim light, he finally found the set of
wide double doors leading back into the theater. He grabbed the handle
in a panic, afraid of the worst, that it might not open. When it
opened easily, he rushed through it, relieved when it silenced the
horror that chased him.

Now dark and empty, the cavernous theatre's musty smells and deathly
silence surrounded him, the refuge mocking him with an ominous
foreboding. Heavy curtains hung across the stage, the glowing
footlights throwing deep shadows up along the regular folds that ran
from stage to ceiling.

As he felt his way forward down the incline of the aisle,
unintelligible whispers broke the silence behind him, fragments of
conversation dissolving so quickly that no more than a single word
survived. Each time he turned to look back into the darkness, hoping,
or hoping not to find the ghostly presence that spoke to him, row after
row of empty seats waited as though their last audience was centuries
in the past.

A low railing surrounded the orchestra pit, now a deep, wide, empty
hollow in the floor ahead. Stopping just in front of it, he could hear
a faint, regular rustling from the stage, hidden behind the towering
scarlet curtain. Then, between the even 'whish - whish - whish' came
the hushed, staccato, soprano counterpoint - brief little cries that
soon turned to familiar cries of passion, then to frenzied grunts and
moans.

He made his way closer, easily scaling the iron railing and dropping
into the pit.  Then came the baritone response, a clean, deep harmony,
sometimes matching, sometimes alternating the beats of her hurried
rhythm, then falling suddenly into a growling crescendo.

The lip of the stage was within reach, only a foot above his head.
Placing his fingers over the polished rounded edge, he began to pull
himself up, until first an elbow, then a second arm made it over the
edge. Straining to lift his weight, he clung to the stage, both arms
stretched out into the darkness, hands grasping desperately for a way
to hoist him higher.

The curtain startled him as it parted and moved aside. He lost ground,
sliding backward until he forced both palms down onto the glassy
surface of the stage floor, stopping his fall just before he
tumbled back into the pit. There, center-stage, displayed upon a
raised bed-like dais, a thickly muscled, copper-skinned giant fucked
her in slow-motion. His impossibly immense penis entered her eager
body, then retreated, its pulsing surface dripping and glistening with
her juices, her flat belly distended with each slow, deliberate thrust.
Elyse's slim legs pulled at him, barely able to encircle his monstrous
thighs. Her body seemed so small, so yielding beneath him.

Then, as though she knew he watched, she turned her face away from her
lover, letting her head roll to one side, staring into the void of the
empty theater, then into her husband's eyes as he hung precariously
from the edge of the stage. He read so many things in her - on the
surface, pleasure and desire, and deeper, a sadness that penetrated
him, that seemed almost to beg, not for his forgiveness, but for
something more primal.

Unnerved by all that he saw in her, he relaxed his hold on the stage,
brushing his arm against the scalding backshield of one of the
footlights. As the searing heat quickly melted its way into his flesh,
he lost his grip, slid suddenly over the edge, and fell backwards into
blackness.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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