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Breath. Stay calm.

That thought ran through both Doug and Judi's minds as she approached their front door. He was wedged familiarly in his favorite spot on the couch. That and the sound of the latch being turned were about the only things that were familiar to either of them.

He heard her step in onto the landing with the hollow, woody click-clock of her black leather calf-length leather boots. Size 7, purchased, on sale, by him for her two Christmases ago, for an exorbitant sum, by his standards from some hoity-toity shoe store at the mall. He had registered and remembered her lingering gaze when they had been Christmas shopping for friends and family just two days before. She had been so happy when he surprised her with them under the tree. Her present to him had also come under the tree, those new boots wrapped around him for the better part of four hours that night.

The memory aroused him.

It has always been that way for me:

Anger, distress, sadness, physical or mental pain caused Doug to seek out sexual pleasure, or at least sexual release. Yet, he never craved emotional pain for the release. Sex and orgasm were the cure, a pleasurable cure, but just a cure nonetheless. The rush of endorphins, the primal effort, the way the single-mindedness of the act drove out all the despair, all the thoughts; some people take anti-depressants, other people fuck and jerk off. Doug was one of the latter.

Reflecting on this tempered his arousal. But, his analysis was not wholly effective, and he noted the pleasurable feel of his slacks running across his semi-engorged stock as he eased himself off the couch. He was careful to wipe the expectant sneer off his face as he heard her footsteps down the hall.

A deep breath, and she slid the pocket-door open and entered the den. Lights low, sound down on whatever college basketball game was on the TV. She registered it all even as she focused on the preternaturally still figure of her husband in front of her, his tension revealed to her by the unnatural stillness of his neutral expression. He had told her, years ago, that his training as a litigator had trained him for that; a reflexive response to uncertainty. She had seen versions of it before, but none had carried the weight of it.

He knew. But she knew he knew. And he had to know that she knew he knew. And so on and so forth. Neither Doug nor Judi were stupid, dense, or even rather thick. They both knew the story thus far: she had made her choice before it was forced upon her and delivered to her tonight. She had come home, come hell or high water. Whatever it took. She shivered.

"You're back."

"Did you think I wouldn't be?"

"I figured 80-20 yes, but you can be surprising."

She said nothing in response.

"Why?"

"I, I..." Her composure shaken. Such a big question.

Seeing her confusing, he took mercy.

"I meant, why are you here, now?"

"I, I drove here...." Relief at the reprieve from the bigger question.

"Here to stay, here to go again?"

"I guess that's up to you, but I'm here to stay."

"You sure about that?"

"Yes."

"Don't want to be with him? Jerry, from accounting?"

"God, no."

"You want to be with me?"

"Yes, absolutely!" She exclaimed eagerly, studying his face.

He advanced with long, sure strides. She saw his features relax as he approached. When he was upon her, his eyes were revealed in the low lamplight. They burned. She straightened, rolling her shoulders back, breasts jutting outward almost lewdly, her chin pointed upwards, defiantly. An almost lurid pose.

"You sure about that?" He grumbled.

"Yes." She shifted her weight.

He brought his hand to cheek, rubbing it gently with the backs of his fingertips. "You knew if I found out how hurt I'd be."

"Yes," she answered, a tremble in her voice.

Leaning in closer, he whispered in her ear, "No. You didn't." The tremble ran through her body this time.

Leaning back, staring into her searching eyes, his hands went to her shoulders.

"Not again. Never again. Understood?"

She nodded.

"Say it."

"Not again. Never again."

His hands went to her throat; he leaned in, almost nose to nose.

The slightest pressure exerted by his finger tips, just enough to feel the pulsing artery. He smelled her. Mouthwash. No scent of the other man, not that he would have expected it, if she planned to stay. Familiar hair products, shampoo. She smelled like her. He closed his eyes, getting lost in her, in relief. He allowed himself this moment of weakness, even as his hands closed more tightly around her neck.

"Doug." She said softly, her hands wrapped around his wrists now. "Doug..."

He backed away, released his hold on her neck. Meeting her gaze. Dropping his arms. "If there is any doubt..."

Her grip on his wrists prevented his arms from falling, from him from removing himself too far.

"There's none," she urged. She pulled herself into his embrace.

"I'll take you at your words then." Doug flipped his wrists in a practiced move. He had her pinned to the wall behind her in seconds. "You're mine."

"I know."

"Say it."

"I'm yours"

His lips closed the distance before the possessive was fully enunciated. Passionate, just this side of bloody lips kissing as he trapped both hands over her head with one hand and tore her blouse open.

"Damn right you are." He ripped her panties off from under her skirt, tossed them to the side and unbuckled his trousers. He grasped his iron-hard prick and shoved it into her. She instinctively wrapped a leg around his hip.

Pounding into Judi's moistening channel, his focus redirected, his heretofore barely contained rage releasing itself in the pleasurable thrusting.

Releasing her hands, which wrapped around his neck in a gentle embrace, He allowed his hands to roam across her lingerie-enclosed breasts. He noted her firm, smallish breasts lifted and compressed by the fancy undergarments. He knew her brassieres by feel. This one was new.

The bitch.

The realization caused him to squeeze her right breast hard, causing a gasp, while his right hand hooked under her raised left leg.

Slowing his thrusting, he dropped down, just pulling out, and ran his hand up her right leg, sliding the skirt with it. Mid-thigh, he slipped his arm through, and stood erect again, lifting her weight, half of his own, an easy lift.

"Put it in." she whispered in his ear.

"You do it."

Carefully reaching back, she inserted him into her again. Returning her face to the hallow of his neck, she began writhing on his cock, he knees pumping in and out as her ass undulated up and down, back and forth. He allowed her this little victory for a minute or two, his well-trained arms straining. Adjusting her weight with a little toss, he took control, slamming her up and down onto his cock, her breathing coming out as little grunts as he bottomed out.

She could feel herself climbing that hill, knowing he would draw her orgasm from her. She, eager to give it.

He stopped his thrusting, her grinding continuing, seeking to maintain that friction.

Without withdrawing, he lowered one of her legs, then the other. Still joined, she stood on shaking legs, her upper body slumping backwards as she prepared to back away. Instead, he seized her at her lower back and behind the neck, and purposefully, almost roughly, kept her joined to him.

He began to thrust, sluicing through her engorged lips, made all the more obscene by his trapping her legs together, between his own. His hips' speed increasing, her beginning to answer back, as best they could. Nude pelvises slapping together in increased violent, the impacts on her engorged clitoris driving her over the top.

No mercy for her, he continued slamming away as wave after wave rolled over her. Until, his control nearly lost, he pulled out suddenly. Her initial swoon checked by a solid slap to her cheek, then her tit, he guided her down to her knees. Taking his cock in his fist, he rubbed the dripping head all over her face. Even in her delirium, she made an effort to take it into her mouth. Failing that, she extended her long tongue seemingly in all directions at once, some weird amalgam of Krishna and Miley Cyrus, and submitted to the treatment.

Picking her up, he turned her over the back of the couch. Inserting himself again he unleashed his fury for another few minutes. Finishing inside her as he bent her back with a hand around her throat, and another squeezing a nipple roughly, her writhing in yet another wave of ecstasy.

Feeling the aftershocks lessen, and himself go limp, he backed away, breathing heavily. She picked herself up from over the couch, turned to him, and slid slowly to the floor.

He considered her thoughtfully. "Don't think I'm done with you yet," he said, between deep breathes. She nodded solemnly.

Hours later, Doug and Judi lay in their bed, her head on his chest, his hand gently running through her hair. Their bodies exhausted, sated, not yet feeling the bruising.

"I do love you, you know," he said.

"And I've never stopped loving you," she answered.

He sighed; there was much that could be said now.

"Next time, have it be a stranger. Maybe a black guy."

"Okay, baby."

The end.