The Good Marriage

"Good morning," Veronica paused, "Hello? You alive?"

Tom smiled at her. His face still wore a slightly sleepy look. His brown-blond hair, damp from the shower, had fresh tracks from a comb through it. His blue shirt, long-sleeved and buttoned down—was only partially buttoned up and his face, while clean-shave, still somehow looked like he had a bit of a shadow there.

Just a few years ago that sight would have made Veronica hot and wet. It still did, but it was a weak pulse of desire, like a fire that never really blew up—or blew out. On the other hand, just a few years ago she would have been laid out on the kitchen table while he breakfasted on her body instead of the toast and eggs that he'd crushed into a sort of sandwich and held in one hand while he looked through the bowl where they tossed their car keys and junk mail.

She sighed inwardly at the thought. Marriage. It was good. They still loved each other. But the spark was fading. She felt the loss. She just didn't know what to do about it. Maybe Tom didn't even notice, anyway.

He said, "Sorry hon. I've lost the fucking keys..." he came up with her keys, groaned, and dropped them back into the bowl. He fished out some old receipts. "Goddammit."

She asked, "Are they in your coat pocket?"

He went to the bedroom, came back out with his coat and a sheepish expression. "Yeah. I got to get going. I've got a brutal meeting with the bigwigs this morning."

A perfunctory peck at her lips later, he was gone. Veronica groaned and turned back to her laptop. Working form home seemed like the ideal situation. It wasn't. She was always distracted by something. The goddamn woodpecker that was busy drilling holes in every tree in the yard.

The dust collecting on surfaces. The laundry. The dishwasher she needed to unload so she could load the dirty dishes. She frowned and stared at the screen.

Her job sounded simple enough too. It was simple enough, most days. She was a bean counter, balancing accounts and making sure all the little beans added up to a hill of beans, that was how she described it to people. It was accounting, if she wanted to use her actual title, and it was as dry and boring as any words she used to describe it.

She stood up and stretched. Her body was still slender. She did yoga, took long walks. Maybe she was not as hot as she had been when they got married but surely she was not unattractive to Tom. Was she? Insecurity raced up.

She went to the bathroom, peered at herself in the full-length mirror. She dropped the robs she wore. Tits still perky. She turned. Ass too. Not a lot of weight around her middle. She brushed a hand over the pink discs of her nipples. They barely stirred at the touch.

"Maybe it's me. Maybe I've just forgotten how to be seductive." She pouted and bit at her bottom lip, trying for a sultry expression. Her reflection made her laugh. "Oh Jesus, I'm losing it." She grabbed the robe and went to the bedroom. She dug out yoga pants and a tank. She dressed hurriedly and went to the kitchen for another cup of coffee She stood at the counter to drink it carefully avoiding the blank and accusing screen of her lap top. You should be working. That was what that screen said. It was right.

But, goddammit, she was horny as hell. Only not horny enough to do something about it. She used to masturbate, used to plot ways to fuck her husband—plan out new positions. The yoga made her very flexible. The first time she had wrapped a leg around her own neck Tom had nearly come before he could even get his dick inside her.

Tom had been just as eager to totally blow her mind back then too. There was that time that they had fucked in the driveway—like teenagers. The old man who used to live next door had been standing in his living room, staring at the two of them out his window—and while neither of them would ever admit it—they had known he was there the whole time.

Now? Now he was busy trying to find his keys. So busy he had not even noticed that she was nude below the robe. Too busy to throw her face down over the table and fuck her good and hard.

And she couldn't even seem to bother masturbating.

She groaned and flopped into the chair. She keyed up long columns of numbers. Her focus kept shattering and breaking. There was something missing from her marriage. They still had sex, but it was usually just hurried and routine. How to change that?

Hm. Good question. She had not the slightest idea, really.

Impulse sent her to the search engine. She typed in spice up your marriage. Ugh. Three thousand articles all bearing the same advice. Go naked to his job. Good luck with that. He worked on the highest floor of a company that employed thousands. No way she was going to get away with that one. Fucking in a cubicle? Nope. Maybe next year, when he finally hit that major promotion and came up with an actual office.

Role play. Hmm. That was interesting. She leaned back. She could do her best school girl impression. Run out and get some knee-high socks and a plaid skirt...did she own a plaid skirt? Go all in, put her hair in ponytails. She found herself giggling at the very idea.

This was not working. Neither was she. She closed down all the windows and tried again to concentrate on work. She had a deadline. She had bills. They had bought the lovely Victorian home on a sheer whim that saw them exclaiming about charm and character and preserving history over buying a cookie cutter modern house. A year later? The charm was still there—but the furnace had gone out. Thank God it was summer and they had time to get their ducks in the row, and that repaired before the winter set in.

Still, there was always something and she had to get her work down if she intended to be a contributing partner to keeping the house standing.

Standing was a far better scenario than having it fall down on their heads. For sure.

She looked up some hours later and then over at her phone. She picked it up to see a text from Clare, the woman who had moved into the house next door.

Clara had written, hey I'm outside.

Shit. Clara had a habit of just showing up unannounced. Veronica stood and ran her hands through the back of her brown ponytail then went to the door. The sight of Clara startled Veronica. Usually, Clara's black hair looked like she had just stepped out of a salon and her face was always perfectly made up. Her hair was mussed. Her lipstick smeared, and her eyeliner too. The outfit she wore was not at all like her usual things either. Instead of some impeccable outfit, she had on a loose dress that obscured her slim and tall frame.

Clare asked, "Are you busy?"

"No." She wasn't. She was done with her work for the moment and she could either dust and do the dishes or talk to Clara. Clare was the better option. "Is everything all right?"

Clara grinned, went red. "yes. No. Um, could I come in?"

"Come on in."

Clara stepped into the living room and closed the door. She gave Veronica a rather abashed grin. "I...er...okay. I need some help. And I hope you won't laugh."

Oh God. Had Clara been robbed or something worse? Veronica's heart gave a hard pump. "I won't laugh. Do I need to call the cops?"

"No!" Clara went pale then red all over again. "Oh Jesus. So it's stuck."

Confused, Veronica asked, "What's stuck?"

"The..." Clara tugged at the hem of her dress. "It's a belt."

"Unfasten the buckle," she suggested.

Clara groaned. "Listen. Okay? Just hear me out. I was...well so maybe my sex life isn't so...well. Yeah."

Confusion set in. Veronica surveyed her face. "O-kay."

Clara said, "This is so silly. My sex life's a little too wild, I guess, because the chastity belt is stuck and the guy who put it on me, as a joke, also decided it would be fun, ever so fun, to put a remote-control vibrating egg in it. I'll be going along, just doing whatever and out of nowhere, boom. Orgasm and weak knees and...everything. I have to get the fucking thing off, and now, because if I don't, I might just pass out and die or something."

Veronica gaped at her. "Say what?"

Clara jerked the hem of her dress up. "See? I have the key, but the fucking thing locks in the back. I can't get it off. I really need you to help me." Then her face contorted. A little tremor ran through her body. Her knuckles whitened on the fabric. She said, in a loopy voice. "And you might want to grab a mop."

It had to be some bizarre dream!

Only it wasn't. Sure enough Clare's legs went weak. She grabbed at the back of a chair. Her feet danced across the floor, Groans and gasps puffed out of her mouth. Veronica, shocked and fascinated all at the same time, fetched the mop. Then she took the key from Clara and found herself facing Clara's pert, upturned ass cheeks. She asked, "are those...bruises?'

Clara peered over her shoulder. "I'm so pale and he's got a hard hand."

Veronica's mouth went dry. Desire roared to life. Not lust for Clara, for something else. For the red marks on Clara's bottom. For the fascinating contraption strapped around her waist, tucked up between her legs.

Clara thanked her, gripped the belt with one shaking hand, and said, "I hope we can keep this between us."

Veronica stared at Clara and handed her the key. "Who would believe me, anyway?"

Clara grinned. "A lot more people than you would think. A lot of people are into kink."

Veronica's forehead puckered. "Kink?"

Clara surveyed her face. "Yeah. Do you like it when Tom pulls your hair and slaps your ass when you're fucking?"

Heat flushed through Veronica's body. Her voice dropped to a husky whisper. "I don't know. He's never done that."

Clara gave her a wicked grin. "You should ask him to, then." She clutched the belt closer. "Thanks, for real."

"You're welcome."

Clara scampered out. Veronica set to cleaning the kitchen in an attempt to keep her mind off what had just happened. It didn't work. She couldn't stop thinking about it.

Veronica had just finished putting the meal delivery created dinner on the table a few hours later when Tom came in. He asked, in a distracted voice, "How was your day?" But he was already moving, heading down the hallway toward the bedroom before she could even answer.

Irritation hit. Veronica waited until he emerged a few minutes later, sans coat and messenger bag, to say, "My day was really weird."

He went to the fridge. He pulled out a beer, glanced at the meal she had made, and put it back. He took out red wine instead. His strong body brushed against hers as he reached for the wine glasses. Desire washed over her, but this time it wasn't the weak desire she had felt earlier that morning. It was a powerful. Strong desire. Wetness filled her. Her nipples stiffened. Her breath quickened. She arched her back and leaned into him.

Tom ran his hand along her spine, an old and familiar gesture. He asked, "What made your day so weird?"

Then he was gone, heading toward the table with the glasses and the bottle. Veronica's teeth gritted in frustration. She blurted out the whole story before she meant to.

She said, "Clara said I should ask you to slap my ass and pull my hair."

Tom stood there, the glasses dangling from his fingers, and with a stunned and fascinated look on his face. Veronica's gaze dipped down. His cock was, if not hard, getting there.

He set the glasses down carefully on the table. Then the bottle. He looked away. The tips of his ears went red. "You don't think...you don't think that's weird?"

No. She thought it sounded like the hottest thing she had ever heard in her entire life. She gulped. "No." her hands clutched at one another. "Do you?"

Tom looked at her. His eyes held lust. His ears were still red though, like they always were when something embarrassed him. He shook his head. "I mean, do you just...do you just go to yanking and smacking?"

The words came out of his moth on a breathless gasp that pinged lust all through her system all over again. She said, "I don't know. I mean...well we've always been adventurous, right?"

No. Wrong. They had been adventurous. Then they went stale. She said, in a rush, "We never even talked about it either, we just went at it and if it happened, well it happened and that was that."

Tom moved. One second, he was standing by the table. The next he was in front of her. His hand slid up along the side of her neck, bringing gooseflesh in its wake as the heat of his skin seeped into her flesh. His fingers wrapped into her ponytail and pulled, hard.

His mouth came down, fierce and demanding, on her own. His tongue slid between her lips. Heat flushed all up and down her upper thighs, along her back. Her core clenched and her panties went damp. Her hands reached up and then curled over his shoulders. His lower body pushed close. The feel of his dick, hard and hot, pressing against her crotch made Veronica groan and wriggle closer.

Tom broke off the kiss. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her yoga pants and the panties below. He yanked them down. The smell of her arousal came to her nostrils. Veronica's fingers fumbled at his zipper.

His dick filled her palm just as his fingers slid up the slick length of her outer lips. Her legs tried to part but the yoga pants, resting near her knees, made that impossible. She wriggled and tried to kick but Tom moved backward, his dick sliding out of her grasp. The impression of it, silky and muscular, heated and wrapped in thick veins, stayed in her hand.

He turned her around and bent her over the granite countertop. The strange and exciting feeling of the countertop pressed against her flesh, the leggings holding her legs in bondage and the strong press of his fingers into her ass cheeks blended into a heady, exhilarating feeling that made her toes curl.

Tom's fingers began to massage her ass cheeks. She sensed he was hesitating, working up the nerve to do it. She encouraged him by moaning out, "Harder."

His fingers drilled into the sensitive skin and pushed down. Tingling sensation spread throughout her body, made her gasp and writhe against the counter. The counter was cutting off her air, and she didn't care. The cool air rushing upward from the old floor vents stroked along her feverish skin. His fingers went deeper, pressed into muscle. Her groan was filled with desperation. "Slap my ass."

The smack was so hard and sharp it threw her forward. Her hips and belly met the edge of the counter.

Pleasure raced through her system. Her pussy went even wetter. His hand came down again, and again. All her senses lit up. The heat and pain was a powerful combination that sent waves of pleasure flowing through her body. The fingers of his free hand delved between her thighs, found her pussy and plunged his fingers deep inside her, thrusting and withdrawing as he smacked her reddened ass cheeks again.

He muttered, "You're so wet."

"I want to come." The words came form between clenched teeth. The muscles in her neck knotted and corded. Her body went rigid. The next slap to her bottom made her go loose and her muscles go lax and loose.

Tom kept up the rhythm, now three fingers were inside her and his other hand was smacking, left to right, over her ass cheeks. Veronica's bare feet scrambled for purchase as she began to lose her ability to stand.

Delicious sensations flowed throughout her body. Her tits swung forward and back with each thrust and blow. Her nipples, so stiff they were pebble-hard, ached for a touch.

Tom's cock pressed against her opening. His fingers wound into her hair again. He yanked her head back. A low shriek left her lips. Her fingers clutched at the edge of the counter. His dick entered her in one swift motion, immediate and deep penetration. Her ass thrust backward, she went up on her toes, seeking to give him a better angle of entry.

His cock, thick and hard and long, slid along her swollen, slick walls. Her core clenched and loosened as a powerful orgasm raced through her and then crested. Heat and friction combined as his dick withdrew and then he pounded into her again, hard enough to leave her gasping and to force her knee caps into the lower cabinets, which let off a rattle.

Veronica came. Her walls stretched open and closed again, milking his cock as they fluttered all around his member. Tom's fingernails left burning little trails in her scalp. His body curled over hers. His teeth found her neck. A second and equally powerful climax shattered and washed through Veronica's body.

Tom groaned out, "Oh Jesus." Then he tugged at her hair again. The smell of his cologne hit her nose. The counter, slick and warmed up by her body heat, pressed against her again as he drove forward one final time and strained for a moment before coming, hard.

So hard that his thick hot seed splashed into her body with real force.

His hand rested on her hips. They stayed there for a moment, neither speaking. His dick softened and went flaccid. Tom muttered, "Shit," and withdrew form her, grabbing at the paper towels on their roller. Veronica, dazed and sated, managed to take a wad of towels form him and press them to her soaked and aching crotch to mop up the thick oils there.


She tossed the towels into the trash can and yanked up her yoga pants and panties. Tom zipped up khaki slacks. They stood there looking at each other. They were red-faced, panting, disheveled.

Veronica burst into laughter. Tom gave her a look and then his grin spread across his lips. They both roared with laughter for a few minutes. Then he said, "I...I was beginning to think we had lost it. I mean, that maybe we were turning into some staid old married couple."

Veronica peered at him. "You didn't say anything."

He shrugged but the tips of his ears went red. "I was kind of embarrassed to bring it up."

"Me too." She fiddled with the wedding ring on her finger. Then she said, "I'll make you a deal. From now on out, we don't feel embarrassed.

We just say it and maybe we can keep trying new things, too."

"Maybe?"

"Definitely."

Tom grinned and dropped a sweet little kiss along her lips. "I'll start. I have always wanted to..." he whispered the rest into her ear. Veronica's eyes widened. Her nipples stiffened all over again. She asked, "Do you want dinner first?"

Tom looked at the table and back at Veronica. His eyes glowed with mischief. "Nope."

They raced each other to the bedroom.