The Couple 1"( MF cheat spank )

    William heard the words for the second time. They sounded loud and
grating, but like random noise, without any meaning. The blood pounded
so loudly in his head he found it difficult to think, which is some
ways, was a blessing.
    He didn't want to think. He wanted silence, just to let some time
without having to work so hard to understand what she was telling him.
He didn't want to understand, at least not yet. It was overwhelming him,
and he felt like the universe had suddenly shrunk to shoebox size and he
could no longer fit inside.
    He wanted to run outside, to scream at the stupid people doing
ordinary things. He wanted to get drunk, mindlessly drunk, like he'd
only done once or twice in his life.
    He looked up at her with his glassy eyes and felt nothing. Jenna was
still talking, the tears making her eyes seem even larger and more blue.
Her dark hair had fallen in disarray over her forhead, odd wisps
floating in various directions. She was lovely, he thought with a
strange detachment, as she paused in her narrative, biting her lower lip
in a delicious gesture and struggling to hold back the tears.
    She _was_ lovely. He looked at her dress, a red and white
combination that was one of his favorites. She had her back to him now,
her shoulders shaking with sobs, hands covering her face. Even now he
wanted her, to touch her body, feel the smooth contours of her generous
hips, the amazing heaviness of her breasts in his hands.
    He wanted to thrust his hand up her skirt and explore its secrets,
to watch every detail of expression in her porcelain face as he touched
her, as she became excited and frightened by his touch.
    William thought these things, but he was distant. He suddenly
realized touching her would mean nothing to him. It would give him
pleasure--he could feel that--but her body could not heal his wounds or
bring them back together.
    Yes, he wanted her the way he had always wanted her--quickly,
passionately, with a furious abandon. He knew if he took her it would be
over in mere seconds, and he would feel even more discontent in the
aftermath.
    He loved her in deep ways his heart couldn't express, in ways his
body seemed to feel like physical pain. He loved her so much, every tiny
part of her. He loved to watch her do things, any little thing. The way
she picked up objects, or pursed her lips when she thought, or the way
her whole body seemed to glow when she laughed, her voice musical, her
eyes mischevious and sparkling.
    But he could never reveal this love to her. He had no method of
expressing it. His passion always came forth in an uncontrolled rush,
over almost before it began, and he had often felt her disappointment,
though her words were always mild and loving.
    He wanted to run to her now, to wrap her in his arms and hold her
tight and beg her to promise to never leave him. He wanted to weep
without pause, to let her feel the blood dripping from his torn heart.
    But he was silent. He couldn't move. He was numb. His mind was blank
and though he stared at her, watched her throw herself at his feet and
beg his forgiveness, his heart was empty and silent, and he felt
nothing.
    She turned away from him, weeping, her soul breaking, and he knew
his lack of response hurt her worse than if he had become angry with
her, railed against her. He knew this and yet there was nothing he could
do. He felt no anger. Only disappointment, disillusionment. His heart
broke to see her spirit so crushed, but he could nothing. He could not
force himself to feel, even for her sake.

    The betrayal had hit him hard. Over two months had passed since she
had told him, and the world was a different place. Their house was now a
place of tension and fear, of cowardice and shame. Gone was laughter and
happiness, loneliness and despair all that remained. Words were
whispered, never spoken, each word wrapped in a protective coating of
false courtesy and fear.
    The old Jenna was gone, replaced by one without strength or will, a
mindless one that catered to William's every need and apologized
constantly. Her attitude bothered him greatly, and his heart ached and
wished everything could simply be as it had been.
    Her forgiveness was not the issue. He had told her he forgave her,
that he understood. In a way he did understand and he did forgive. But
it was not the same. It could never be the same. A vital trust had been
broken, a line crossed that could never be undone. Their marriage had
been consumated in a chilling fashion and regret filled their miserable
existence.
    The tension and fear so pervaded the house that they began to avoid
each other. He took on extra work at the office, rising before her and
returning late. On weekends she made plans to visit friends or
relatives, or busied herself with massive projects, such as painting the
spare bedroom and preparing the Christmas letter, which for once, would
be on time.
    The weeks passed, and though the fear left, a coldness settled in
its place. They could not talk to each other about anything but the most
trivial items. He still could not bring himself to touch her, and she
was too frightened to ask him.
    William saw the change was beginning to effect Jenna. Her lovely
face was always sad and drawn. She was always tired and hardly ate
anything. It broke his heart but nothing he could say could console her.
She would only nod when he told her he had forgiven her, that it was
forgotten. But it brought no life back to their marriage.
    She wept all the time, it seemed to him. He would often discover her
in the washroom or the bathroom, sobbing quietly, only to right herself
when she saw him and wipe away the tears and pretend it was nothing,
that she'd been affected by onions or a soap opera.
    Occasionally a casual remark by him, or an innocent comment from a
friend or an actor on a TV show, would send Jenna, tears flowing, to the
ladies room. Her emotional state had become extremely fragile, and soon
enough he discovered there was nothing he could do about it. His words
did nothing to console her. He stayed even later at the office until his
co-worked began to wonder about him, and then he found a distant bar
where no one knew him.
    One Friday evening he came home late, a little drunk, his
frustration great. He felt miserable. There'd been a pretty girl at the
bar. She'd talked with him, friendly harmless talk, but he soon realized
she was available to him, if he'd just ask.
    A part of him had wanted to do it. She was quite pretty and her
young body promised fantastic things. And it was nothing but fair, tit
for tat. But after a simple kiss his stomach had turned and his mind
wondered if this was how it had started with Jenna, an innocent meeting
that led to less innocent meetings.
    So he had left the stunned girl at the bar and rushed outside to his
car. A long drive had cleared his mind somewhat, but he was now
dangerous: cold and frustrated, and angry. He grew more angry as he
headed home, and by the time he got inside he was furious, in a rather
abstract way. He wasn't mad at Jenna, exactly, though that was part of
it. Mostly he was mad at the world, that things had to change, that
things had to be the way they were.
    He slammed the door as he entered and was shocked to see Jenna
waiting for him. She hadn't waited up for him for months. She stood in
the doorway of the living room, the shape of her body evident in the
terry-cloth robe she had wrapped around her.
    The sight of Jenna's body reminded him of the girl he had passed up
and he growled at her. But she suddenly came forward and hushed him,
placing a finger against his lips.
    "Come with me," she whispered. William followed without thinking
about it. She led him into the living room and had him sit on the couch.
"I want to talk with you, William, really talk. Do you understand?"
    Her voice was earnest and contained a deadly quality that woke up
William. His heart froze and he found it difficult to breathe. He knew
what she was going to say, what she wanted. He had known from the
beginning it was going to come to this. The thought of living without
her suddenly seemed like living without air, something ridiculous, an
impossibility.
    "William, these last few months have been unbearable to me. I know
you say you have forgiven me, but you haven't. You can't. You want to,
you really do, I feel it, but you can't. Something inside you will not
let you forget. I hurt you in a terrible, unforgivable, mannor, and I
deserve only your scorn."
    Jenna knelt in front of William and held his hands tightly in her
own, every nerve and muscle of her body tensed and waiting for his
response. She was asking for his full attention, and knowing that
critical decisions were about to be made, he listened to her carefully.
    "But we had so much happiness together, at one time, my love," she
continued. "I can't bear to think of life never containing that kind of
joy again. I want to do anything I can to help you through this, to let
you forgive me. Do you understand what I am saying?"
    He nodded miserably, tears already in his eyes. "I am sorry, Jenna,
so sorry. I just wish this had never happened. I wish there was some way
it could be ignored. But I can't forget it. It haunts me. In some ways I
wish you had never told me, but that would have been an unbearable
burden for you. This burden of mine is not much better for you, but you
can escape. You can go away and find happiness somewhere. I understand.
I'll let you go, not because I want to, but because I love you so much."