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Loving Wives can be Loving Wives.

She said his name, as a soft sigh, her lips parting.

"We're home, Angel." They kissed a few more times before he got out of the car and helped her out. Once inside, he led her to the couch.

"Why don't you get comfortable and I'll put in the movie?"

The couch was one of those large, black , overstuffed suede models. Margaret sank into the cushions in a half sitting half reclining position. She slipped out of her high heels, with a sigh. Her feet had been hurting since early that morning. She remembered dressing up, hoping Fred would notice and at least give her a birthday kiss. A real passionate kiss. He hadn't. But then he had stopped kissing her, years ago, except for maybe a quick peck on the cheek.

As she sat there, her thoughts drifted to the previous evening. After the children were in bed, she had showered and slipped into the sexiest negligee she could find, in her size. She had hoped Fred would notice. She had hoped he'd make love to her. But, he hadn't. After six years of being ignored, his rejection shouldn't have hurt, as much. But, somehow it had hurt even more. She'd laid there, next to him, crying silently, just as she had done for so many nights of their marriage. Eventually, sometime after midnight, she had drifted off to sleep, only to be awakened by a hard jab, in the ribs. As usual, Fred told her to roll over or something. Instead, she got up, surveyed the scattered black and blue marks, in various stages of healing, on her side. She wasn't the one who snored. Fred snored so much, sometimes he even stopped breathing for a few seconds. He would half wake up when he resumed breathing and swear she had been the one snoring. Before she'd drifted off to sleep, at her study desk, she had prayed to God for one minor miracle. She'd asked for just one passionate night with the man who loved her, for her birthday. Margaret thought maybe she should have specified with Fred. God works in mysterious ways, she thought. Smiling, she said a quick, silent prayer of thanks.

Richard came back into the room with the movie, a bottle of wine, corkscrew, and a couple of glasses. He placed the items on the coffee table.

"Chardonnay?" Richard asked, as he opened the wine. Margaret nodded, accepting the glass he handed her. Richard poured a glass for himself , then went to build a fire, in the fireplace. After building the fire, he put the dvd disc into the player. Then, Richard joined her, on the couch.

"Your feet must hurt after wearing those shoes all day." He commented, as he bent to lift her feet onto his lap. Richard began to massage one foot lightly, relaxing the sore muscles.

"Mmmm. That feels good." She murmured, closing her eyes. Margaret leaned over and placed her empty glass, on the end table. Stretching like a cat, she shifted closer to Richard. Fred never once gave her a massage, even when she was pregnant and begged for him to rub her back.

The movie forgotten, Richard caressed her feet. For a large woman, Margaret had very small, delicate feet and trim ankles. He lifted one foot and placed a kiss on the top of it. He rained tender kisses and nibbles over her foot. Margaret never had her feet kissed and caressed like that before. Heat pooled within her, desire built. Richard gently nibbled and kissed a toe and then sucked it lightly, while his hand massaged her ankle. A kiss on her ankle caused her to moan.

Richard moved, gently placing her feet on the couch.

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