I want nothing to do with you

In a flash, I was on my back. The hardwood floor of our small foyer was cold against my back, even through the flimsy robe, which had slid off my shoulders, around my elbows as Paul had roughly pushed me to the ground. My breath became short; I was panting, trying desperately to catch my breath.

Paul was gone.

He had said nothing, just pushed me away and ran out. He hadn’t even bothered to close the door behind him. It creaked morosely as the wind pushed it wider open, exposing my near complete nakedness to the evening air.

I tried in vain to hold back tears. I stayed in that position for what seemed like hours, intermittently crying, and hoping that Paul would come home to comfort me. After a while, it became clear that he would not. Nor would anyone else. I was completely alone, and it was time to come to terms with that.

Finally, I composed myself. I realized that my compromised position on the floor had probably been giving the neighbors an unhindered view of my mostly exposed body. Hastily, I wrapped the robe around myself, got up and closed the door. As I did, a brisk gust of the evening wind breezed in and caused my nipples to stiffen again.

The feeling shocked me. I was still horny. For some reason this infuriated me. How could I still have these feelings as my marriage was falling apart? I had just driven my husband away because of my wanton lust, and yet I could feel my rock hard nipples against the soft silk robe, the dampness that was still between my thighs and think of nothing but plunging my fingers between the soft lips of my pussy.

I swallowed hard. I wasn’t sure my fingers would do the trick this time. But they might. Either way, the feeling wouldn’t be going away on its own. Paul wasn’t coming home, and something needed to be done.