Rapprochement

The middle-aged blonde woman's ass pistoned up and down at near super-human speed. Her cunt, coating his balls with wetness, was a furnace of heat and silky friction. Except for these last few times with her, he could not remember ever being so thoroughly fucked by a woman before.

She lay with her body atop his, slightly saggy tits crushed against him, nipples hard little points stabbing into his chest. He had always loved fat, long nipples and hers were the best.

Her breath puffed out with each downstroke, huh-huh-huh. She turned her head from side to side every few seconds, occasionally sucking on one of his nipples. He had already fucked (and ate) her through three orgasms tonight, so he lay beneath her, resting, allowing her to do the work for a change. Her willingness to do it was something else he hadn't experienced before these last three booty-calls, and he relished it.

After a few minutes of beating his cock into submission with her hot pussy, her breathing started hitching, as if she was trying to hold her breath, and he felt her toned box start gripping him harder and harder. He had learned that this presaged her orgasm, so he clutched her ass in both hands and started slamming her up and down on his cock, finally helping her get the job done.

When he felt her rhythm start to fall apart, he thrust the tip of one long index finger into her asshole, just a bit. She squeaked and locked up, freezing in mid-stroke. Her eyes popped open, and she stared down at him as if amazed, eyebrows drawn up, pupils large. Her pussy, like all the other muscles in her body, seized up in a rictus of orgasm. He felt her pussy and ass twitching on his member, and a tiny little sound, like the whistle of a far-away tea kettle, issued from her mouth.

He vainly tried to pump his hips, to get a few strokes to put himself over the edge, but she was just too tight. Instead, gripping her ass, he shoved his cock as far inside her as he could. When he felt his cockhead rub against her cervix, the sensation pushed him over into his second orgasm of the night. She grunted, and her whistle changed to a long, drawn-out moan, whether of pleasure or pain he couldn't tell.

His orgasm seemed to be less in his head and more in his balls, and he felt one or more pelvic muscles straining, straining to force his cum into her (or maybe it was his cock into her infinitely hot, gripping cunt). Despite the tightness, he felt two long pumps of semen exit his cock, and he rubbed them into her cervix as best he could. After what felt like minutes (but was probably only ten or fifteen seconds), she went limp on top of him, releasing a long sigh of breath.

He checked her out to make sure she was still breathing (she was), then occupied himself with gently stroking her back, flanks, and ass as he waited for her to regain consciousness. He was feeling pretty proud of himself and almost dislocated a mental shoulder patting himself on the cerebral back. Though he had many years of trying, this was the first time he'd ever made a woman pass out with sex. He grinned.

She awoke with a start, jerking her head up and looking around before laying her head back down on his chest. She took a deep breath and, when she released it, the sound struck him as funny, flapping her lips in a bit of a raspberry. He laughed, and she slapped weakly at him. She groaned and slid half-off him, head and arms still on his chest. They lay there for a while, enjoying post-coital bliss.

This was his third booty-call with her, and he found the sex to be fan-fucking-tastic! Unlike his soon-to-be ex-wife, this woman put everything she had into sex with him. What's more, he was convinced that she was just as satisfied with it as he was. After-marriage sex was the bomb! He chuckled quietly.

Their breathing slowed and steadied as they cooled off. He drew the sheet over them, to keep warm. She wouldn't stay the night, he knew, but at least they could cuddle for a while, enjoying the satisfying exchange of body heat and friendship. He was content, for the moment, to lay there.

He thought she might be waiting for him to ask her to stay the night, and he was tempted. Over the years, he had gotten used to having that warm, soft body next to him. After considering it, though, he decided not to do it. Their relationship was just, well, safer if they didn't do anything as intimate as actually sleeping together.

Just as he was contemplating getting up to take a piss, she stirred. Looking at him with soft eyes, she scooted up his body until she could kiss him. She continued looking at him with an expression he couldn't figure and stroked his hair.

"Tell me," she said, burying her face in his neck, "why are we getting a divorce?" He snorted. She knew damn good and well why.

"Because seven months ago you decided you wanted to, 'Experience other men outside of marriage.' You wanted to, 'See if there was something more for you out there,' besides growing old with me," he said, his voice gruff. He hoped she wasn't going to start some shit with him, he was kind of liking these booty calls and would hate for them to end. Whoever she had been fucking since their breakup had obviously taught her much. Her enthusiasm and repertoire had improved a lot, too.

"Because I loved you enough to let you go and be happy," he finished lamely, feeling like a pussy.

It had hurt him, to be rejected by his life-long companion, lover, and wife. To this day he wasn't sure if she really hadn't fucked anybody else before cutting him loose though she had told him repeatedly she had not. Most of the time he knew she hadn't, it just wasn't her style, but, oh, those lonely nights early on!

"Well," she said, her voice soft and low against his neck, "that was severely stupid of me."

"Oh," he said, keeping his voice even, neutral, "is it not working out for you the way you wanted?" He felt a pang of satisfaction, then felt guilty at his pleasure in her pain. "Not enough hot studs to keep you occupied?" he asked lightly as if joking.

She sat up and took his hand in hers. Her eyes looked at him, trying to telepathically transmit a message about what was going on with her. After twenty-three years of marriage, he had a good idea. He cocked an eyebrow at her and remained silent. Let her explain herself if she would.

"I went out with exactly four men," she said matter-of-factly. "Of those, I went out with only two of them more than once. A grand total of one hand job, one intense finger-banging, and a half-assed tittie-suck." She snorted, laughing. "It was the most pathetic thing I've done since I was fourteen." She laid back down, looking up at the ceiling of his (their) bedroom, her arm, side, and hip touching his.

"It sounds like a slow beginning," he said, teasing her. He didn't really want to hear about her lovers. It kind of pissed him off, in fact.

"It's just...there just wasn't any connection with them," she said, glancing at him then returning her eyes to the ceiling. "There was a bit of naughty lust, at first, but that...died once we got into it. The one orgasm I had wasn't worth all the effort it took to get to that point. I just...I don't know."

"Maybe you're hung up on me," he said softly after a while. He felt a low-grade sadness in his gut at the thought they might have to stop these booty-calls so she could get over him and move on with dating.

"You think?" she said. She took his hand in hers and held it, fingers intertwined. So familiar, so comforting. "How about you? You getting any? Beside me, I mean?" Her voice trembled a bit at the question.

He looked at her sharply for a moment but decided she wasn't poking at him. She was trying to see how well he was handling their separation.

"Once word got around that a middle-aged executive with all his hair was separated from his wife, the come-on's flooded in," he said. "I had two, ah, 'dates' with one young admin from accounting. She wore my ass out all night long. I'm pretty sure we did everything in the Kama Sutra." He stopped at that, not wanting to hurt her too much.

"Everything?" she asked, giving him a worried look.

"Young women today don't seem to have many sexual restrictions," he said. He laughed. "I had to look some of the things we did up on the Internet!" She giggled, then sobered.

"I guess one broke-down middle-aged booty-call girl can't compete with that," she said, that tremble back in her voice again. "Though I did study a bit: watched some film, read some, trying to sharpen my game." Her voice was tiny, vulnerable.

He rolled over on his side, facing her. With the habit of long experience, she turned, too. She snuggled her back and butt tightly against him. She drew his upper arm over her, and he cupped her breast. Her nipple slowly hardened again under his palm. He kissed her shoulder.

"I could never keep up with a young woman like that," he said thoughtfully. "Though I surely would like the opportunity to try four or five times a year!" He laughed. "Besides, outside of bed, the only thing we had in common was the people we both know at work. We fucked up a storm, but didn't make love or even share breakfast. I'm thinking a hot middle-aged booty-call I can also talk to once or twice a week is probably more my normal speed!"

They lay there, unspeaking so long he wondered if she had fallen asleep. Her breathing told him she wasn't, though. He drifted in thought, wondering where this was going. Waiting for her next move.

"I made a horrible mistake," she said, her voice thickening with tears. "I put aside the best, most constant good thing in my life and now I know what a fool I was. I don't know if it's the kind of mistake I can recover from, but I'm terrified it's not." She fell silent, gently weeping. The sound of her tears made his eyes water up, but he blinked fiercely, banishing the water from his sight. "Can we...can we stop the divorce? Will you take me back?" Her fear was palpable. She trembled in his arms.

He thought about it as she lay there trembling and weeping. He remembered all the good years, the family time, the loving, sexy times. The two of them together, against the world.

He also remembered how they drifted along after the children were grown and gone, coasting through life. Drifting apart slowly. How they came to be at odds with one another, more and more as time went by.

Finally, he remembered the day she told him that, even though she still loved him as the father of her children and best friend, she was going to separate from him. That she was going to go and find what more there might be out there for her. He remembered his pain, his sorrow at losing his wife. His anger whenever he succumbed to believing she had cheated on him before leaving.

Could he go back? Could he let this go as a horrible mistake that had disrupted their life for a few months? Or, should he throw it away, as she had done, and find something better for himself? He could, he knew. He could reach out past her and their life together and grasp the good life again. He was torn, pulled between two poles: his craving for their life together and his fear of what she could do to him.

He held his wife in his arms and comforted her, giving himself to her despite himself, as he had always done. He knew he needed this. He knew he needed to be this, to be a husband like this. He also knew, though, that he could not forget what she had done, rejecting him after all their time together. He knew he could never go through this again and still respect himself.

"I want you in my life," he said quietly after a while. Her breath caught as she strained to listen to him. "More than just an occasional fuck buddy, too. I don't know how much more, though. I just don't know if I can trust you to...not hurt me like that again." He wriggled uncomfortably for a moment, then grew still. "I think we have to take it one step at a time." She lay there, breathing slowly, thinking. She was relaxed now, soft, warm and cuddly in his arms.

"Thank you," she said. "I love you more now than I ever did before. I swear you will never regret this decision. I will do everything in my power to prove it to you." He let the space between their voices grow, spinning out between the horns of his dilemma. His craving, or his fear? Man, or mouse?

"Let's just start with one day at a time, ok?" he said, choosing the middle ground. He felt the tension leave her and she cuddled down into his arms.

A long, comfortable silence flowed between them.

"Will you stay the night tonight? I'll make breakfast for you," he asked, sleep laying heavily on him.

"Oh, yes, I'd like that," she said. He could hear the smile in her voice, the susurration of her breath.

They lay still, listening to the rhythm of their hearts beating together once again. After a time, she yawned and said, "Will you make love to me in the morning? I mean, not just really hot animal sex like we've been doing?" He thought about that for a moment.

"Ok," he said, "but you have to cook breakfast!"