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 front windows blinds from the streetlight outside.

Paul glanced at the piano, fingered a few notes, before joining his hands together on his lap. Thinking.

"Who said anything about that?'

"I did," Ellen said 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."

"Our problem?

Things are far from perfect," she advised him.

"Shit happens," he said. He was getting angry again and he didn't understand why. One of the problems they were trying to resolve to save a marriage after five months of separation.

"I wish you were happy. 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 at him. 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..."

"Be honest with us." She forced a smile.

"Okay, I love you," he said, "Honest, I do."

"Prove it," she replied. 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 as she trembled against him.

He hugged her tighter. Ellen let out a long mournful moan as he cupped a 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 between her ass.

"It's hard," she said, for want of something to say. 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 softly into his shoulder and giggled self-consciously. She had never come with him for some unknown reason and fervently hoped that maybe this time...

It felt fresh, wonderfully fresh, as if he had never touched her before. His hand cupped her mons and she felt herself growing wet. Each movement of his, each probe, carried tingling electricity with it.

She pulled out his shirttail and his erection pressed into her groin.

Ellen's 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. The hunger was 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 trembled and 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. He was about to drop her ( she was leaning so far off him. But her legs gripped him like a vise. He found the 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. She struggled free of her last barrier with an ambitious bend of the knee. The scent from her 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 and 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 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 was very close as he pounded that wonderful bone into her and grew more exhilarated with every stroke.

Paul opened his eyes and saw a red light from the EXIT sign. Focusing on Ellen, he 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 lived to hear.

"C...Coming! Christ, I'm gonna...!"

"Come on Ellen! Come on, Lover!"

Ellen came; exploding in a series of grunts and found to her amazement she couldn't stop coming. Clinging tightly to his frame, she bucked, shook and snorted as she gulped for the oxygen necessary to maintain her fucking activity. 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 up over her breasts, her curled fingers clenching her nipples as she gasped for breath.

"Leave it in lover, ahhhhhhh! Don't ever take it out." Ellen's ass squirmed on the piano bench.

"Ohhh," she giggled, "did I ever tell you you're the most delicious fuck I've ever had?" And pulled his head down and covered his face with wet, mushy kisses.

A few minutes later, 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?"