Author's note: One of my earlier pieces, and still a favorite.
*
The Tender Spot had been closed forty minutes. Everyone else had left. The lights were out, but thin, weak rays of light eked through the blinds on the front windows from the streetlight outside.
Paul glanced at the piano, fingered a few notes, before joining his hands together on his lap, thinking.... Then he said, "Who said anything about that?"
"I did," Ellen replied quietly, as if someone else in the room could overhear their conversation.
"I'm talking about me," he said, revealing his nervousness to her.
"You never talk about you. That's the problem."
"Then it's our problem?"
"Things are far from perfect, Paul," she countered.
"Shit happens," he said, getting angry again and not understanding why. This was one of the problems they were trying to resolve to save a marriage after five months of separation.
"I wish you were happy, Paul. You're not. Not with me. Not with yourself. I want you to understand that. I want to help you." It wasn't a rehearsed speech on her part, and she was both surprised and elated that she'd come out with it.
"You want me to quit drinking? Is that it?" His voice was racing toward that belligerent tone she knew all to well.
"Do you need an excuse? I'll give you one if you want," she shot back. Sometimes she knew him better than he knew himself.
Paul shifted on the piano bench. "Maybe I can balance the two."
"What two?"
"Work and family. Drinking and . . ."
She forced a smile. "Please, be honest with us."
"Okay, Ellen. I love you," he said, "Honest, I do."
"Prove it," she responded, hoping desperately that he meant what he'd just said.
He stood, crossed the room and offered his arms. She folded into him naturally and wrapped around him like a vine. A tear drifted down her cheek.
"Need more proof," she said in a muffled voice and trembled against him.
He hugged her tighter. Ellen let out a long mournful moan as he cupped her buttock and squeezed. Then she purred. Her hair caught in his unshaved face. It tickled.
"I'll try to be there for you," she whispered into his ear.
"Me too," Paul said, his voice breaking, "Me too." His hand was tracing the crevice of her ass.
"It's hard," she said, for want of something to say as his erection jabbed against her belly. She was quite content at the moment.
"That's because it hasn't felt this close to you in a while."
That made her laugh, which was good.
"We need more laughter in our lives."
"We need a lot of things," she said into his shoulder and giggled self-consciously. She had never come with him for some unknown reason, and fervently hoped that maybe this time ....
His hand cupped her mons and she felt herself growing wet. It felt fresh, wonderfully fresh, as if he had never touched her before. Each and every movement of his, each and every probe, carried tingling electricity with it.
Ellen pulled out his shirttail and his erection pressed into her groin. Her hands felt hot on his skin. Then she was fully off the floor, hanging off him, her lips smeared his face and neck with lipstick, as he lurched along with her, looking for the right place to set her down and fuck.
Her smell invaded him. He groped for the door, stumbling with her along as baggage. She unfastened his belt  how he wasn't sure  and went for the button to his pants. He kicked out the door's stopper. She threw the bolt, as if they had practiced it. She refused to be let down, clinging to him like a child.
Giggling playfully, she held him closer to her as his pants fell down around his knees and he staggered, almost falling over.
"No," she protested, as he tried to lower her onto a bar stool.
"No," again when he aimed for a table. As he limped around waiting for approval, she lifted her skirt into a ruffle and tugged on her underwear, but with her legs clasped around him in a straddle, they weren't going anywhere.
"Damn," she gasped urgently, charging him with excitement. The room seemed darker and strangely hot.
He felt like a klutz, scanning the room for somewhere to satisfy her. She felt anxious, alive, nervous, wanton and very hungry --- for him.
She hung off him  head lowered back, her lacy chest exposed from an unbuttoned blouse. She pointed like a lookout on the bow of a ship. He leaned his head down, took her bra in his teeth and tugged until he freed a breast, which he quickly sought and covered with his mouth and tongue. Ellen shuddered then moaned with an eager craving for him. He found her cunt, and she gasped as much from surprise as pleasure. He felt her heat pressed against him, and it drove him to an impatient frenzy. She was leaning so far off him he almost dropped her. But her legs gripped him like a vise.
He found her other breast and went after it with his tongue. She couldn't help but cry out, "God yes!" And her legs gripped him even tighter as she worked herself against him in an unmistakable motion.
"Oh, God!" she said in a way that called for him to do something, anything, but he couldn't put her down.
"Down!" She commanded.
He lowered her onto the piano bench, her head dangling off the far end, her skirt gathered at the waist. He jumped  fell  out of his khakis. Ellen struggled free of her last barrier with an ambitious bend of the knee. The aroma wafting from her steaming cunt overwhelmed him and he lost any sense of their surroundings, it was just them.
He maneuvered his stiff cock from the boxers confining it; and they were joined, driving toward fulfillment. They were wild animals — rutting as Ellen lifted her legs and encircled his shoulders, then his neck while his cock delved deep into her womb like a molten railroad spike.
Ellen coached him on with sharp cries of approval and overactive hips. Her elbow smacked the keys and sounded a dissonant chord. Paul's eyes were closed, but he saw a wall of red. All he sensed was the tightness of her vaginal walls seizing him, milking him, fucking him.
All she felt was his magnificent cock hitting her spot time after time. She knew she was very close as he pounded that wonderful bone into her, growing more exhilarated with every stroke.
Paul opened his eyes and still saw nothing but red. It took a moment for him to realize it was the red light from the EXIT sign. Shaking his head, he focused on Ellen; saw her hair stretched down like spilled water toward the floor. He could see darkness down her throat as she laughed  a nasty, pleasure-ridden, guttural laugh. He had been a long time waiting to hear that laugh.
He warned her, and she liked that.
"Wait ... wait ..." she pleaded.
I can't," he groaned, and began to spurt his seed.
What started as another one of her laughs gave way to a shriek and ended with a sharp sounding of satisfaction, loud and honest  as honest as anything she'd ever said to him. Honest in a way he had lived to hear.
Then she was stuttering. "C ... Coming! C ...Christ, I'm gonna ....!"
"Come on Ellen! Come, Lover!" He urged, exhorting her to join him in paradise.
She came; a series of grunts surged from her vocal chords, and to her amazement she found she couldn't stop the pleasure. Clinging tightly to his frame, she bucked, shook and snorted, as she gulped for oxygen necessary to maintain her fucking activity; fearing she might perish before finishing.
Ever so slowly, the orgasm subsided. Still, Paul's mouth was agape as he watched her, frozen in position on her back, trembling in the midst of the aftershock, her rumpled bra mashed up over her pert breasts, her curled fingers clenching her nipples as she gasped for breath.
"Leave it in lover! Ahhhhhh, don't ever take it out," she moaned as her ass squirmed on the piano bench.
A minute may have passed, and she giggled, "Ohhh, did I ever tell you you're the most delicious fuck I've ever had?" And pulled his head down then covered his face with wet, mushy kisses.
Another minute passed before Paul ran one hand over her still quivering ass and whispered hoarsely, "You really liked that, didn't you?"
Ellen said nothing, but only nodded her head. Paul got up and left her lying on the bench. He took several cushions from some chairs and returned to her side.
"Lift up," he said softly. Ellen slowly complied and he put the cushions under her hips and gently spread her legs apart, then knelt between them.
"Paul?" She asked rubbing her eyes with one hand, pulling on her stiffened nipple with the other.
"What, love?"
"Does this mean we're not finished? I mean, he's so small now. Look at him drooping ...."
"That's exactly what it means," he said rubbing her ass gently.
"Oh?"
"Yeah I know the booze always affected my performance. At least it seems that way now. Would it surprise you to know I haven't had a drink in three months?"
"You're kidding," Ellen said in a surprised tone, and then moaned softly as his hand probed between her legs to find and tease her clit. "That's ... nice," she cooed, as his roving fingers spread her lips apart. Her tongue darted out and dragged across his mouth, licking and sucking on his lower lip.
"That's ... great ... I mean the not drinking." Her finger caressed his cheek. "But the other thing is wonderful too."
He gazed down at her. "We hardly ever took our time. Always wham, bam, I'm finished Ma'am. "I'm changing that now."
"Mmmmmm," Ellen sighed, "I like change."
