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It had been a long day at work - I honestly struggled to keep a grip
on the developing situation, but for every step forward, I took
another three back. The phone kept bringing further complications;
Jack had new figures for the gained losses over three weeks of last
June and the sand contractor wanted to increase the cost of waiting
for fresh water. When the boys in Outland tried to shift the
collision vectors, frustration compelled me to unplug the phone.
The report had to reach Finnegan's desk by five and so I indulged in
the executive fantasy that time had stopped briefly, determined to
simply write my proposal based on the current information. Of
course, looking at a static world didn't help as much as I had
imagined. I still couldn't find a sensible way to apply the rules I
thought should govern the case.
At one time, I had hoped to completely escape the demands of the
office over the coming weekend. By Tuesday, I knew that was a
pipe-dream, but I held onto my hopes, for while they were a rather
airy fantasy, I had grown desperate, clinging to whatever dreams of
respite I might grab hold of. I gave up on wanting Saturday by
pieces - by Thursday it was obvious that I would spend the bulk of
that day cleaning up some sloppy paperwork. There was no doubt that
I was disappointed, but I knew most professionals can expect to work
at least part of Saturday, and I couldn't hope to do better than most
with our contract deadlines approaching.
The defeat of Saturday, because reasonably expected, only stiffened
my resolve. I would not work Sunday. As I dashed out the final
paragraph of Finn's report at three minutes after five, I smiled.
Sunday might escape. I fought the crawling cross-town traffic home
on that hot summer evening, my patience worn achingly thin.
Arriving ninety-seven minutes later at our brick and green suburban
dwelling, I struggled out of my wretched commuter's prison, my back
and neck stiff with the tense immobility of long, slow driving. The
sun shone brief kisses of freedom as I stretched my arms and
sauntered toward the house. With a sigh of real relief, I found
Diana sitting on our comfortable sofa, looking exceptionally pretty
in a white sundress. Tan shoulders drew my weary attention as they
emerged seductively naked, offered with a promising turn. My
thoughts lightened as I drank in the view of her tempting cleavage
and the twist of her lean legs. Her blue eyes shone up toward my
appreciative gaze, and as I prepared to bask in her inviting
smile, I discovered there was no way to avoid the pensive thoughts
which suddenly struggled across my dear wife's face. As I opened
Diana's book of soul, I read volumes of uneasy anguish and regret.
Something had happened; something unfortunate, at least.
I placed my briefcase beside the oak coffee table and my wife quickly
enveloped me with a hug. As I held her firm body in my arms,
intoxicated by the scent of her feminine charm, I kissed her neck
lightly. At once, she pressed her moist lips to mine with an
outburst of passion. I kissed her deeply, lovingly,
hoping my lips could somehow erase the trouble that had
possessed her. I kissed her and instinctively my hands surrounded
the round swell of her ass. I realized that a stream of warm tears
moistened my cheeks.
"I'm sorry, Mark" Diana said softly, "I screwed up."
"It's all right," I replied on faith. "What happened?"
"I was working on the project for the AIH," she said, stepping back
and wiping her tears away, "and I needed a disk. I assumed the
program would just save the file, but it reformatted and wrote
"No," I said softly, suddenly realizing what she meant. At
least twenty hours of work vanished into the aether. Frustration
struck me like a torpedo to the hull. "How could you?"
"I'm sorry," Diana said, and she began to cry in earnest. "You don't
have another copy of the files?"
"No. They'll have to be recreated from scratch." Diana collapsed on
the sofa in a torrent of tears.
Anger raged through me, but I couldn't maintain my fury for more
than a few moments in the face of such pitiful remorse. Years
have taught me that lamenting the passing of what has passed cannot
aid the struggle. Perhaps my stoicism is a little cold, and maybe I
would live better to give vent to my wraths, but I am only who I am.
I forgave Diana and with a pang of despair I wrote off this weekend
and the next.
The tragic destruction of my unarchived labor compiled with
the strain of the day left me completely drained. We ate dinner in
near silence, as Diana looked on for some sign that all would be
forgotten, her sad eyes only increasing my despair. I just
wanted to go to bed.
"I have something special for you for dessert," she said.
"I'm not in the mood for treats," I replied more coldly than I
wanted to be.
"I think this will help. Go sit in the family room, and I'll
bring it to you."
I poured myself a glass of brandy and turned on some
Tchaikovsky, ready to drown myself in self-indulgent emotional
turmoil. Diana entered and went to the stereo.
"I hope you don't mind," she said coyly, turning on some funk.
"Whatever," I said pathetically.
"All right, big boy. Look up. The time has come for us to speak of
other things. I did something horrible today, but none of this is
going to improve by your sorry indulgence in mere mopery. You're a
man. You've been wronged. Do something about it. Why don't you
punish me, so we can get on with our life?" With that, Diana leaned
over to pick up a plate of brownies. I watched the verge of white
panties crumpled between her thighs as the hem of the sundress rose.
Aware she had my attention, Diana lifted her ass suggestively.
Something swelled within me.
"Damn right," I said authoritatively and walked over to where
Diana stood. She put a piece of brownie into my mouth. "You've
been terrible, cruel, wicked."
"Very bad," Diana said quietly, trying to muffle a smile.
"What you did sucks. I'm barely holding onto my sanity, and now
I'm stuck in that friggin office for the rest of the month,
without even a single day to kick back and relax. Only hard work is
going to fix what you have done to me, and if I'm going to be forced
to pay for your stupid mistakes, I'm going to make sure it doesn't
happen again. You are not going to forget this."
"Yes, sir." she replied coyly. She seemed to be determined to make
me angry, and I gave in. I took hold of her arm, gripping her bicep
tightly and bent her over the desk. She squirmed slightly in my
grasp, but kept her face pressed against the oak surface when I
released my hold.
I pushed the short skirt up to her waist. Though sensibly enraged,
I still paused a moment to admire the vision of a white triangle of
thin lace embracing the sphere of her pretty ass. Mad or lusty, for
by this time I couldn't say for certain which emotional state
prevailed in me, I took hold of the elastic and roughly yanked her
panties down to her thighs. Pale tan lines echoed the stripped
undergarments, and with that vision my cock hardened. I drank in
the sight; a thick mane of golden hair fell above the arched back
which dipped and rose to present the globes of her white bottom,
centered by the pink button of her asshole and the already
swelling folds of her sweet pussy above her long stiff angled legs.
"You piss me off," I said as I raised my hand.
"Ow," she exclaimed. The red imprint of five fingers shone on
"I'm going to have to work all fucking weekend"
"You ruined everything."
Diana brought her hands back in defense, and I furiously pushed them
aside, punishing her imprudent denial of my right to spank her
with a vehement volley of slaps to her bottom. As I paused to
admire her heat-reddened bum, I noticed the thick labia of
Diana's golden-pink cunt, dripping with her excitement.
I dropped my trousers. Diana looked back cautiously during the
interlude, and eager to reaffirm my domination, I spanked her
glowing ass hard. Taking a stance directly behind her, I pushed my
engorged cock into her steaming pussy. Diana moaned deeply as I
penetrated, and I slapped her fiery red ass again.
The whole world egged me on as I fucked my beautiful wife hard,
without regard for anything but the raging sensation of power and
lust, fed by the trembling squeeze of her frothing wet cunt on my
prick. I spanked Diana rigorously during the brutal screw, squeezing
and pinching the brazen glow as I ploughed the dark depths from
behind. Squeals of pleasure mingled with cries of pain, and I felt
her exploding orgasm, quivering pulsations of surrender and release
as she ground herself wild against my hard rod.
I withdrew my organ, and Diana turned to sigh, but I took hold of her
blonde mane and set my wet dick between her lips. She swallowed the
meat hungrily, taking it deeply down her throat. I didn't care
anymore - I couldn't be beaten. Diana reeked of power and beauty,
tolerant of no one and nothing, and yet she was eagerly submitting to
every indignity, every whim of my exploded maddened mind. I
slipped my cock from out of her mouth, and sent a hot stream of white
jism into her hair, over her face. I staggered backwards, watching
contentedly as Diana licked gobs of semen from her fingers.
"I'm sorry," she said with a satisfied smile. I knew she wasn't,
but I couldn't remember why.
End of Story