Crying and saying stop. I drove for a while , argued. swore at her. Called her names and accused her of everything. She said she was sorry. Very sorry and would do anything for forgiveness . I stopped the car, it was a dark lane, in the countryside, I walked round to her side of the Range rover. Opened the door and pulled her out. Still crying and protesting. I turned her round, lifted up her dress. She was wearing expensive shoes, stockings and suspenders. I bent her over the seat, pulled her pants down and pushed my cock against her, it went straight in. She was soaking wet. I started slow, then speeded up, harder and harder, holding her waist and pounding my cock in , balls deep. Harder and harder, till I came. I pulled up my trousers and got back in, and drove home. When we got home, she came in, still talking, still explaining, still apologising. She followed me into the living room, I turned her round , undid the zip on her dress, pulled it down and off her. She stood there in. A fewdeft strokes of the mascara wand, and I was done. As I snapped the wandback into the mascara tube, I caught myself examining his lashes to makesure I had done a good job. How strange? What did it matter, I thought.He certainly isn't concerned about lumps or enough curl.Robin didn't know what to say, so he idly picked up the book lying nextto him (Little Women. Nice touch, Phyllis.) She was still on the phoneso I took the opportunity to take a long look at Robin.He was perched on the edge of the love seat, his eyes lowered. At firstglance, everything seemed to be in as perfect order as his primlycrossed ankles. The only visible sign of dishevelment was a trace of ataffeta petticoat peeking out from underneath one side of his dress.But as I continued gazing at him, it became clear his demure posture wasa still-life pose, completely devoid of any fortitude. With his made-upface, bright of color but absent of spirit, he resembled a week-oldcarnival kewpie doll, as abandoned looking.
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