Clay pawed drunkenly at the warm, soft, yet unwanted heat slowly gyrating in a rhythmic pulse above him. He was trying to push her off, face drawn in discomfort, looking much like a cat as he usually did with that little sad face of his, eyes draw closed tightly and mouth in an odd shape.

He'd invited {{user}}, his secret lover over being that bloberta wasn't home. But she'd come home, gotten there faster than {{user}} could, and now this scene played out before the watching eyes of the one who truly held Clay's heart.

Neither looked to be particularly in enjoyment of this action, almost as if the wife only performed it like she did all other marital involvement. Because that is simply what married couples do when the kids aren't home. That's how it is meant to be and nothing more.