He wondered if they would ever fall silent; he feared the answer was no.Jennifer knocked on the open door. She was wearing her red robe. That meant, of course, that she was wearing only her red robe."Mike," she said, "I'll be in our room tonight. If you want to catch up on sleep ... that's fine. Or ... well, I'll be in our room."She walked over, kissed him on the forehead, left the room, and closed the door behind her. Mike turned out the lamp.The train is picking up speed. Got to be the brakeman.It wasn't only Dr. Seymour's metaphor that held him held him back, though. He didn't feel well. He guessed it was psychosomatic, but that didn't make the queasiness go away.He believed, finally, that Jennifer had not had sex with James and had not meant to get as involved with him as she had. But still, the lying. The sneaking around. The insult that she'd turned to that fucking player instead of him for comfort. The physical stuff, tame as it was...Mike kept going around and around. What. He wasn't even home after all, he would never know she told herself. Plus she would hear his car pull up when he did come home. “No you dumb bitch” she told herself. There would be no relief for her. Her tits and feet would continue aching with no tender caress form her. She would kneel in perfect form until he allowed her in His house. And she wouldn't diddle her clit, and give her self that little bit of pleasure she so desperately wanted. She wouldn't cause she was a slave cunt and didn't deserve pleasure. She exited to please, not to be pleased. He wanted her to suffer, and deep down so did she.There were so many times when he fucked her, even though he had absolutely no interest in her pleasure, that she felt she could come. Sometimes if he would just slowed down a little or let her move, or change the angle of his dick slightly, she was sure she would explode in orgasm. But fucking wasn't for her pleasure, and never would be. It was always for and completely for his pleasure..
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