He’s in a black suit, and the dark shirt underneath is unbuttoned up to the middle of his abdomen. He grabbed your arm from behind but you shrug it ...ff.“You were plastering yourself all over that asshole!” he shouted at you as he forced you to face him. He has both your arms in tight grips. You looked. He’s hurting you but you refuse to let him know it. You refuse to even shed a single tear. You try to break free but he wouldn’t let you go.“You’re being unreasonable! We were just dancing!” you. “Stacy Martin!”, you again berate yourself in the deep recesses of your mind. How did you ever let it get this far? Until tonight, your only lover since your marriage was your husband John, attractive in his way, loving after a fashion, but perhaps gone a little bland. “But!” you again admonish yourself, “that's no excuse for this!” as you drive to the club that he suggested for your rendezvous. God! You even dressed as he asked, right down to your black satin panties, matching satiny bra and. More

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