Maura burst into tears and grabbed her pocketbook and
dashed off to the ladies room. For about the millionth
time.

So much for this night. And this marriage. We’d had a
decent run as husband and wife. Most marriages founder
on the same rocks – bad communications, children,
outside interference, money, sex, bad communications,
ridiculous expectations about money or sex, bad
communications, ridiculous disagreements about money or
sex, etc. Ours had run aground on sex.

In the beginning it had been okay, never really
sizzling, just okay, but over the years it got
downright dull. We got busy with work and friends and
other things and just lost each other. I found myself
looking at other women and fantasizing, but that’s all
I did, because I loved Maura and didn’t want to cheat
on her, even if the opportunity arose. That didn’t stop
me from thinking about it, and finally I had to do
something.

It took a long time for me to confront Maura about my
unhappiness. I told her just how I felt, and suggested
that maybe if we made sex into more of a game, maybe if
she would just dress and act a little sexier now and
then, things might improve. She turned me down cold.
“I’m not going to dress or act like a slut,” she said.
“I’m happy with our sex life as it is.”

“Well, I’m not,” I replied.

Once the ice was broken, we had this conversation many
times. And the more she resisted, the harder I pushed.
At first all I’d had in mind was for her to put on
something sexy at home, and maybe, once in a while,
initiate sexual activity. In the end, I’d gotten lost
in a bizarre wilderness of fantasies that involved her
dressing like a slut and going out and acting like one
with other men.

The odd thing about it is that once in a while she
would almost cooperate, especially when we were out of
town. She’d put on something almost sexy and we’d go
out somewhere and she’d start to act almost sexy, but
every time she’d back out way before the crucial
moment. And this particular night was no different,
except that we’d already separated and this was
supposed to be a sort of last gasp effort at
reconciliation.

During our separation, neither of us had become
swinging singles. I can’t speak for Maura, but I know
that I hadn’t because I simply wasn’t interested in
other women. Maura was the only woman I ever wanted.
But it was her who initiated this “one more try”
situation.

We’d had lunch one day and she was the one who brought
up getting back together. “That’s hopeless,” I said.
“You know that I’ll never be satisfied until you do all
that stuff. I’m fucking obsessed with it by now.”

“I know,” she said. “And you know I don’t want to do
it. But I miss you so much. I think I can do it, if it
makes you happy.”

“Oh, baby, how many times have I heard that?” I asked.

“Let’s try one more time,” she replied.

Which is what had brought us on this night to this
semi-trashy nightclub, with Maura dressed in semi-
trashy fashion – black high heels, dark stay-up
stockings, tiny white lace thong panties, a tight black
mid-thigh miniskirt, a thin off-white silk blouse and a
dark maroon vest which served to conceal the fact that
she was braless beneath the silk blouse.

The overall effect was nice, but Maura refused to get
up and dance with me, or anybody else, nor would she
remove the vest. She spent most of her time tugging at
the hem of her skirt, a most familiar activity. So the
evening quickly degenerated into yet another one of
mean talk until I delivered my last nasty line and she
went off to the washroom.

From long and painful experience I knew what would
happen next. She would have her cry, fix her face and
come back out, ready to go home. And if I didn’t
cooperate, she’d take a cab. It had happened so many
times that I’d lost track of how many.

So I nursed the tequila, hers and mine, unwilling to
invest more in yet another disaster. Usually it only
took her about fifteen minutes or so. But tonight it
stretched on to twenty, then thirty minutes. I guessed
that this really was the last gasp. And I was down to
licking the last trickles of tequila out of her glass.
Then she came back out.

Interesting.

She’d taken off the vest. Her magnificent breasts
jutted out, jiggling under the thin silk as she walked.
I figured this was some kind of “Okay, now you’ve seen
them, goodbye!” thing.

As she approached our table, I started to get up. Might
as well get out of there with as little pain as
possible. But she gave me a withering look, dropped her
pocketbook and the vest on the table next to ours and
kept on going, right over to the bar. I sat back down.

She climbed up on a bar stool and crossed her legs. I
waited for the obligatory tug at the hem of her skirt,
but it didn’t come. The skirt rode up on her thighs
high enough to show the beginning of the darker band at
the top of her stockings. She leaned toward the
bartender and said something. Moments later he set
another tequila on the bar in front of her. She’d
already had two – well, one and a half – which was
pretty much her limit.

She had just taken the first sip when a man moved onto
the stool next to her. She’d left her pocketbook on the
table, so I was pretty sure that she didn’t have any
money with her. The man seemed to be paying for her
drink. She leaned toward him and they talked
animatedly.

At one point they both looked at me. There was a
question in his eyes, but she smiled and moved her hand
dismissively in my direction. Then he took out a pack
of cigarettes and offered her one. I knew she would
refuse, because smoking had become one of our secondary
wars.

I wanted to quit, but couldn’t. She had quit, easily,
and never let me forget it. She hadn’t touched a
cigarette in at least five years. But she touched this
one, putting it between her lips and then holding his
hand as he lit it for her. What the fuck is going on?

They talked and smoked and drank and then the band
started playing its next set. A couple of dozen couples
got up to dance and then she was leading him onto the
dance floor. They danced a fast number and she looked
magnificent with her breasts bouncing and her skirt
riding up on her thighs.

Toward the end, the beat became a driving, sensual
sound and she moved closer to him, her legs straddling
his, her skirt riding higher. What the fuck? I was
getting a little pissed. I considered going over and
breaking in. But then a slow number started and they
danced, but in the conventional position, his right arm
around her waist, her left hand on his shoulder, their
other hands clasped to the side. Then they went back to
the bar and ordered another drink.

That put her way past her limit, but she did pull her
skirt mostly back down and everything seemed okay. Then
they got up to dance again. The first fast number was
about like the second one from before, but the second
one had a really frenzied beat. Several buttons on
Maura’s blouse seemed to have become undone.

I could see a lot of her bare breasts jiggling in the
opening, and when she leaned toward him, I’m sure he
could see even more. Then she did a little squat, which
caused her skirt to ride way up on her hips and then
she was straddling one of his legs, obviously rubbing
her crotch against it.

When she turned her back to me, I could see the bottom
curves of her bare behind beneath the hem of her skirt.
Again I had the urge to stop this, but something was
holding me in my seat.

A slow tune began and this time Maura put her arms
around the man’s neck and his hands slid down onto her
bottom. She hadn’t bothered to pull her skirt back
down, and as they danced closer and closer to my table,
one of his hands slid beneath the hem of her skirt and
began caressing her bare cheeks.

Jesus, they’re going to get thrown out of here! I
thought. But looking around the dimly lit dance floor,
I realized that quite a few other couples were doing
the same thing. Like I said, a semi-trashy joint. Then
she tilted her face up and kissed him, at first rather
chastely, then tongue to tongue. His other hand slid up
her side, along her rib cage, and onto her breast.

She leaned back a little, not breaking the kiss, and
his hand covered one breast through the silk blouse and
then she pressed her body against his and I could see
the movement as he massaged her and she ground her
crotch against his. She looked for a moment right into
my eyes, broke the kiss for just a second, and smiled
and a wave of jealousy washed over me.

Shit! I’ve got to stop this now! But I quickly realized
that I couldn’t, because despite the jealousy, I had
more than just the beginnings of a huge hard-on. One
side of me wanted to go over and punch out this brazen
stranger and drag my slut wife out of there. The other,
though, was completely turned on, wanting more.

What the fuck?

They were very close to me by now. She reached down and
took the hand that was caressing her behind and pulled
it around between them and, although I couldn’t
actually see it, I knew that she had pulled it up
between her legs in front and that he was now caressing
her pussy. She sighed and whispered in his ear and I
could easily read her lips. “Oh, yes, that feels SO
good,” she said, humping her pussy against his hand.

They resumed the kiss, hot and wet with passion. And
then she turned her hand and obviously began rubbing
his hard cock. I was still consumed by jealousy, but I
had such a hard-on that I was afraid I was going to
make a huge mess in my pants. I actually reached down
and squeezed just below the head of my cock, trying to
cut off the inevitable.

Suddenly, the song ended, and they returned to the bar.
Maura finished off her drink, then gave him a long wet
kiss, running her hands all over his upper body,
finally pulling his hand inside her blouse to caress
her bare breasts. Then she turned and started toward
me. Her breasts bounced and her nipples were straining
against the thin cloth of her blouse.

Oh, shit, I thought. She’s going to get her bag and
vest and leave with this fucking stud.

Instead, she picked up her pocketbook and vest and
grabbed my arm. “Let’s go!” she said. She practically
dragged me out of the club and into the parking lot.

At the car I opened her door and stepped back to let
her enter. “No, you get in!” she said.

“You’ve had too much to drink to drive,” I replied.

“The only driving right now is going to be strictly
between us,” she said. She pushed me into the passenger
seat and leaned down and released the seat back and I
fell into the full recline position. She climbed in on
top of me and began frantically undoing my belt.

“What the hell…” I began.

“Shut up!” she said.

She ripped my hard cock out of my pants and straddled
my crotch.

“Maura…”

“Fuck me!” she said.

“Honey, there are people…”

“I don’t care,” she hissed. “Fuck me!”

I’d never heard her say that word. She didn’t bother
undressing. She just pulled her skirt up around her
waist and slid the crotch of her panties to one side.
Reflexively, I reached down to caress her pussy. She
pushed my hand away.

“Don’t bother with that!” she hissed again. “I’m
soaking wet. Fuck me, now!”

She lowered herself onto me and my cock slid into her
very wet pussy and suddenly we were fucking like we
never had before, slamming our crotches against each
other.

“Oh, shit, yeah, fuck me!” she wailed. “Oh, god, it
feels so good! Fuck me!”

She was writhing around all over me and I was pumping
away like a piston gone mad. Her blouse was gone and
she pulled my hands to her breasts. “Yes, pull my
tits!” she moaned. “Oh, yeah, fuck me with that hard
cock, Frank! Fuck me harder!”

Frank? Who the fuck is Frank? Well, who cares at the
moment. She was hissing and moaning and chanting “Fuck
me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me harder…” and I was
doing the best I could. We were both bathed in sweat
and then her whole body began to tremble and she leaned
down and pushed her tongue deep into my mouth and a
growl grew up from her chest and the trembling became
something much more than just a tremble and then she
was moaning and growling and coming.

Suddenly I felt my cock get about five notches harder
than it ever had before and I blew my load into her
raging pussy, one! two! three! Jesus! I’m not one of
those guys who you read about who spurts a quart of
come every time some sexy teenager walks by, but it
felt like at least a pint!

We were both so hot that we fucked right through both
our comings. Even though my cock was already deflating
I just kept thrusting up at her and she started coming
again, literally a piggyback orgasm, and moaning
obscenely into my ear “Yeah, fuck me you bastard! Fuck
my pussy! Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me! YEHHH!”

When her second orgasm was over, she collapsed on top
of me, still trembling and babbling and licking my
face, completely out of control. I don’t know how long
we laid there, but it was more than just a few minutes.
As I calmed down a little, I began to wonder that I’d
survived this. Men my age have delicate hearts.

Neither of us remembers the next half hour or so. We
were back home, well, at her house. Neither of us said
anything. She took a shower. I took a shower. When I
slid into our bed, I guess her bed at that point, I
figured she would be embarrassed. She wasn’t.

“Did that really happen?” she asked, snuggling up to
me.

“I think so.”

“So it turned you on as much as it did me?” she asked.

“Yeah, it did.”

“Well, if I’d have known that fucking could be like
that,” she said. “I’d have done whatever you wanted a
long time ago.”

“Mmm hmm.”

“Oh, we’ve wasted so much time,” she said. “Or,
actually, I’ve wasted so much time.”

“Shh, don’t worry about it,” I said, putting my finger
to her lips. “Let’s get some rest. I have a feeling
that we’re going to need it later.”

“Yeah,” she said.

“Oh, by the way, who’s Frank?” I asked.

“I think you know,” she said, giving me a wicked smile.
She pulled one of my hands down and pressed it between
her legs, rubbing it up and down on her pussy.

“Oh, yes, that feels SO good,” she whispered.

She giggled. Then she turned her hand and began
caressing my cock.

“Oh, honey, we’re gonna get all sweaty again,” I
protested.

“That’s the idea. Fuck me again, Frank!” she whispered,
plunging her wet tongue into my ear.

Oh well, no rest for the wicked.