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    The Carpenters were fucking.
    Or rather, Earl Carpenter was fucking Beth Carpenter. He was atop her, his weight a comforting burden pressing into her, pinning her to the bed. Her arms crossed behind his neck, her knees bent alongside his hips. It was... nice.
    Just like it always was.
    They had a routine, of sorts. At least once a week, and sometimes twice, if they both weren't too tired from work or too busy before bed, Earl would take Beth's hand and lead her into the bedroom. They would undress, Earl folding his slacks and placing them across the back of the chair, and she would lay down lengthwise. He would crawl atop her, spread her legs, and after some perfunctory foreplay, enter her. Some nights he'd go down on her, which was nice, and sometimes she'd give him head, but it was always just a prelude to what Earl considered The Big Event.
    Fucking.
    And it wasn't bad. Earl was a nice size, he fit her well, and he knew what he was doing. He loved her, but Beth just wanted... more. More passion. More variety. It felt nice, it felt good, but Beth found herself lulled into a mildly pleasant boredom, like a warm bath. She spent the time it took him to work himself up to orgasm wondering how to broach the topic of... more.
    "You want to hold me down?" she'd ask.
    "No, I'm good," he'd reply.
    "My butt could use a good spanking," she'd hinted with a wiggle, on all fours on the bed.
    "I'm not really into the weird stuff," Earl had said.
    The problem was, Beth thought she might be into the weird stuff. Or at least, some of it. She read a lot of racy romance novels, and in recent years it seemed like the more daring ones had been all the more enticing to the 30-something woman. The thought of Earl holding her down, or giving her bottom a few hard spanks, or doing something more worked her up. Some nights just imagining Earl doing the sorts of things she'd read about was enough to get her off.
    She felt Earl stiffen above her, heard him groan, felt his cock swell, and knew that tonight was not going to be one of those nights.
    Not right away, anyway.
    After Earl muttered a few post-coital nothings, kissed her, rolled over and went to sleep, Beth's hands traveled down her body and between her legs to roam over her crotch. This was how she ended most nights, when she wasn't worked up enough to get off while Earl was fucking her, but not tired enough to pass out next to him. It was a strange twilight zone of arousal between wakefulness and sleep, one that she'd dreamily visited her entire adult life. Images of Earl taking her more forcefully filled these moments of bliss. Sometimes the images weren't of Earl at all, though she usually felt a little guilty after.
    Tonight, however, as she lay there, feeling Earl's spent seed leaking out onto the towel she'd slipped under her ass, she thought back to last week's meeting. The Daughters of Lilith were a social club masquerading as a coven of witches, though none of them actually believed in the latter. Not until Saturday's meeting, at any rate. Something had happened then, and after the ritualistic chants, that something had lifted one of their number into the air and fucked her in front of everyone.
    Beth had watched with the others, and like the others had felt a strange arousal flowing through her. She'd touched herself then, thinking of Earl, of the forceful version of Earl that she wished he was. She imagined him there, instead of the invisible lust spirit they'd summoned, holding her aloft instead of Mary, fucking her, making her his bitch in front of her entire social circle.
    She began to feel very warm indeed, her rhythmic panting turning into a chant, the chant the being had taught them, burned into her memory.
    "έλα με γαμήσεις," she moaned, lost in the memory of the event. She thought it might be Greek. It sounded Greek.
    "έλα με γαμήσεις."
    The warmth spread from her core throughout her body, a strangely slow but intense and indomitable orgasm that