Pride

She pulled me back down with a quizzical look on her face. It morphed into a forced smile. "Part of my penance, huh?" she asked, then to my surprise went down on my cock and started sucking.

She rapidly got me hard again – there was something about her subservience, and especially her tongue action – that really turned me on. It wasn't long before I was buried in her pussy while pummeling her doggy style. As I listened to the marvelous melody of her tits slapping together I stuck a thumb in her ass with one hand, and pulled her hair back with the other. The load I deposited had to be my largest second ejaculation ever.

I didn't go back to the game. I ended up fucking her two more times that night – a record for me – once again her pussy, and once her tits – which she rarely let me do because cum got all over her chest and chin.

I got up before Teresa the next morning and made myself breakfast. I was half-way finished when she walked into the kitchen. "Something smells good," she cooed, "or maybe all of my senses are just tingling because of the phenomenal penance sex last night," she giggled.

I didn't respond.

"Where's mine?" she asked looking for a plate with some of the omelet that I was eating in it.

"The eggs are in the refrigerator," I nonchalantly replied, motioning to the appliance.

She got a very perplexed look on her face, and then sat down next to me. "So what are we going to do today after work?" she expectantly inquired.

"I don't know what you're going to do, but I'm going to work out and then get a quick dinner," I replied.

"I...I thought after last night's penance we could do something together tonight," she hesitantly replied.

"Last night wasn't penance – it was just sex. I have to say, though, that you outdid yourself. I do believe I came more times and harder than any other time in my life. You've got to be about the best fuck in history," I replied between mouthfuls. Although Teresa wasn't used to me talking to her that way, how could she not consider it a compliment.

"See, you missed me..." she started to say as I got up, rinsed off my plate, put it in the dishwasher, and smiled "Good-bye; maybe we can do it again some time."

I thought for sure that I heard her say "But...but..." as I walked out the door, but don't know for sure because I never looked back.

That day at work I got a number of love-dovey texts and emails from Teresa. I didn't respond. I did cancel the apartment lease when I didn't hear from Teresa by 5:00 p. m. Also I did call Bill Betts in the morning and asked if the papers could be ready for service by his process server at 8:00 a. m. on Monday morning at our apartment. He grumbled but agreed.

That weekend was probably the most surprising of my life. While Teresa had always been an excellent sex partner, she apparently wasn't sure whether I was toying with her or not about the divorce and apartment move, so she did her best – no, I take that back; she did better than I thought her capable of – to fuck me to death. Since she was trying so hard – and succeeding in making me more physically satisfied than ever – I couldn't help but at least throw her a few bones and take her out to dinner Saturday night, and cuddle watching a couple of movies on Netflix Sunday night.

It was truly a rude awakening for Teresa on Monday morning. As I stood in the kitchen she – still in her bathrobe, naked underneath – came up to me, put her arms around my neck, and gushed "My God, Blake, I think you fucked me better than ever last night, although the last four days have been such a blur of sexual bliss that I can't be sure. All I know is that my poor little kitty is raw."

I really had fucked her good the previous night, including holding her up by her thighs with her back against the shower tile as I pounded away.

A knock at the door broke her mood. "Who could be here at eight in the morning?" she puzzled.

"I'll get it; it's for you, though," I said as I walked to and opened the door.

"Mr. Applegate, I presume," I said to the sixties-something well-dressed man at the door, Fedora in hand.

"That would be me," he chimed in reply.

"Teresa, it is for you – just come over in your bathrobe, but keep it closed, we don't want Mr. Applegate to get a heart attack."

I chuckled; he laughed; Teresa apprehensively came toward us.

"You're Teresa Hansen, aren't you?" Mr. Applegate said in the friendliest way.

"Uh...yes, I am," she replied.

"I have something for you," he continued, handing her a manila envelope.

After Teresa took it he pleasantly said "You've been served Mrs. Hansen; have a pleasant day," as he put his Fedora back on and walked toward the elevator.

"What's this?" she asked, turning toward me.

"Why it's the divorce papers," I replied.

"What...but...but," she stammered. Then it looked like she didn't believe me so she tore the envelope open and looked inside. She started bawling. "I did penance...the sex was so great...I love you...I don't want a divorce..." were some of the things that she mumbled out between sobs.

I held her between the shoulders. "Teresa, look at me. I was very serious when I told you that the sabbatical caused me to re-evaluate our relationship. I think you're a sex Goddess, but I don't love you, and we ARE getting divorced. If you want to continue a sexual relationship, that's fine with me as long as you understand that it's not a reconciliation."

She started sobbing even more fiercely, and now her comments were completely unintelligible.

I went to work. Apparently she didn't. I got a call from our apartment land line early afternoon; I answered it. A still quietly sobbing Teresa said "Blake, the building manager is here and he wants to show our apartment – he said that you gave a termination notice."

"I told you that I would unless you wanted to sign a new lease by Friday afternoon. Maybe he'll still let you sign up, but you can't stop him from showing the place," I replied.

"But I can't afford it on my own..." she wailed.

"Then let him show the place. Listen, I have to get back to work," I responded, and then hung up the phone.

*****************

Teresa finally came to grips with reality. She hired an attorney and got a furnished apartment on a month-to-month lease, apparently believing that we still were somehow going to get back together. I slept in the second bedroom – as another statement that we weren't getting back together – but she did come into my room two nights and tried to fuck me to death again. I didn't waiver, although by then I had figured out that I was going to be missing unbelievable sex since sexually satisfying me seemed to be her major goal in life.

Finally it was the last Saturday of the month. I had moved all of my stuff into my new apartment except for two things in the second bedroom, and Teresa was going to have all of her furniture – including all the master bedroom furniture which I was giving her even though we were far from a property settlement – moved to a storage unit. On Thursday she told me "I'm having some guys from my workplace come over Saturday to assist me in moving our stuff into storage – can you help?"

"Teresa, I told you before; I want professional movers to help you – I'll even pay for them. I don't want guys from your workplace here."

"Why not?" she asked.

Of course the main reason was because I was reasonably sure that the guy who was holding hands with her at the movie was one of her co-workers, and I didn't want a scene.

"Because I want professional movers instead of a scene," I replied with arms crossed.

"There won't be a scene," she replied, as she stamped her foot.

"Please be sure to get professionals; otherwise it could be almost as big a mistake as your sabbatical," I yelled over my shoulder before I left.

***************

For some reason Teresa decided to challenge my "only professional movers" edict. On Saturday morning three guys from her workplace showed up. One was – as I expected – the guy holding her hand at the movie.

"What are you three doing here?" I gruffly asked.

"Hey, don't get hostile dude," one of three said, "we're just here to help Teresa move."

"I told her to get professionals," I snapped. Teresa stood nearby turning red, and was starting to say something when the same mouthy dude sarcastically started to say "Apparently she doesn't listen to you..." He didn't finish because my fist hit him in the mouth before he could.

"Listen dipshit, you don't come into my house and mouth off to me, understand?" I yelled pointing my finger at him.

"They're innocent, Blake, don't get pissed at them," Teresa whined.

"Innocent?" I asked. "Let me pose a question – which of you guys fucked Teresa?"

"Blake," she screamed.

All three dudes were quiet, especially the one trying to see if I had dislocated his jaw.

"Don't touch the stuff in the second bedroom shitheads, and don't fuck her in my apartment," I snarled as I started for the door.

The guy with Teresa at the movies made the mistake of saying "Hey dude, no reason to get crude," as he touched my arm as I stormed by. I grabbed his hand, twisted his arm, and stepped over it in one of the few judo moves that I knew. I got my face as close to his as I could in this position. "You don't tell me what to do asshole, and you don't touch me, or I snap your arm at the elbow – four month healing time, minimum."

Teresa kept screaming time after time "Don't hurt him Blake, please."

The other two guys looked like they were going to make a move toward me as their buddy yelped. "Take one more step and I break his arm and then I assure you I will kick both of your asses," I growled. They backed off. I pushed the guy with the twisted arm onto the floor, somehow gaining enough self-control not to break it, then left.

********************

After the moving incident, I didn't think that Teresa would oppose the divorce. I thought wrong. Her attorney asked the court for mandated counselling and we got one of the three (out of four) judges who routinely order it. Bill Betts was able to get the number of sessions down to five from the ten that Teresa's attorney wanted.

The counselling sessions did not work out well for the counselor or Teresa. I continuously harangued about the sabbatical causing me to realize that the only thing that I loved about Teresa was the sex, and I continuously questioned what the reason for the sabbatical was. That was despite the counselor's best efforts to get me to stop asking that question; especially since I normally concluded the question with the statement "The only reason that I can think of is because you wanted to fuck other guys. Well now that you'll be divorced there will never be an impediment again."

Typically Teresa would be reduced to tears, the counselor would chastise me, and I would simply smile.

When it came time for the last session and there was no progress Teresa decided to pull out all of the stops. Partly in tears about ten minutes into the session she started begging.

"Blake...please forgive me. I had never had sex with another man besides you before we got married, and all sorts of guys were always telling me how great I looked, and I wanted to experience something else before we had kids. I'm sorry that I was so weak, but it could have caused problems for me down the road if I didn't do that. Now I've got it out of my system, I know that no one can satisfy me like you can, and I desperately need you to forgive me so that we can continue on with the life that we planned."

My prediction of my reaction before the sabbatical was that I would forgive her, the divorce proceedings would be stopped, and we would reconcile completely. However, pride simply would not allow the thoughts of doing that to predominate in my brain.

After a pregnant pause I replied "I'm glad that you finally admitted it, Teresa. I'm sure that will be a valuable lesson for you with your next husband. You're a beautiful and sexy woman who I'm sure will find someone else quickly. However, we are history."

I slowly stood up, thanked the counselor even though she hadn't done shit, and walked out even though there was still supposedly thirty minutes left in this mandated court session. Teresa's sobs in the background didn't tug at my heartstrings – rather they provided more-or-less a Hallelujah Chorus dramatic symbolic exit from our marriage.

After the last session Teresa didn't fight the divorce. I gave her whatever furniture she wanted, we split our modest savings 50-50, and I agreed to provide her nominal monthly maintenance/alimony for five years or until she married.

***************

About the only female contact I had between the last counselling session and when the divorce was final was occasionally working out with, and going to dinner with, Belinda; always on a platonic basis. However, I really was starting to appreciate her body – and personality – more and more. She was fun to be around – and ogle.

Despite also feeling relief – and pride that I wasn't a doormat – the Friday that I received notice that my divorce was final I still felt like shit. I normally never drank, but for some reason that day I brought booze back to the office after everyone else had left and was getting sloshed by myself – dangerous, I know. Suddenly Belinda appeared at my door, sweaty and in her exercise duds.

"What are you doing here Blake?"

"Why are – burp – you here?" I replied.

"I forgot some papers so after I worked out I came to get them; but that doesn't answer my question."

"I came here because my divorce is final today and I'm celebrating."

"Looks more like a drunken pity-party than a celebration," she chuckled.

I have no idea what came over me. It was obviously partly the booze, partly not having been laid in a long time, partly my angst, and partly because of how hot Belinda looked; but I had the most atypical response of my life. Something that I never would have predicted.

I got up from my desk, tromped over to Belinda and grabbed her in my arms. "I'm going to fuck you, Belinda," I growled.

Her reaction was much different than I would have expected too. Belinda is big and strong enough that in my condition at the time there was no way that I could have sex with her if she didn't want to unless I put a knife to her throat. Instead of pushing me away or kicking me in the balls, however, a diabolical smile came over her face. "If you do you'll be fired because intra-office sex is forbidden."

"Will you give me a good recommendation?" I snickered.

"It depends on how well you fuck me," she snickered back.

Within a minute she was bent over my desk with her still sweaty pussy exposed; a few seconds later I was tonguing and fingering her slit while simultaneously pulling down my pants; a few minutes after that her pussy was glistening, and not from sweat; and soon after that I was vigorously stroking my cock in and out of her while she was screaming "Fuck yeah!"

Belinda and I spent the rest of the weekend together in her house. Even though the booze meant that I didn't get it up again Friday night, we made up for it Saturday morning through Sunday evening.

Monday morning I gave my two weeks' notice, Belinda provided me with a glowing recommendation, and I had a new job within three weeks. I spent the week between my two jobs fixing up Belinda's house and moving my stuff into it. After a sabbatical-free two years together, she went off the pill, we got married, and she got pregnant. I found out that I was hard-wired to love fucking her pregnant body, and despite the joy of bringing our darling little girl into the world I was melancholy at the prospect of no more preggo sex.

I guess I'll have to get her pregnant again!