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As I look back on the other night, I still find myself pondering the events and the unusual circumstances that led up to what occurred.

Stacy and I have been married a little over a year. She is petite, 5'2 with perfect C cup breasts (complete with pierced nipples), short dark hair and eyes that will knock you out.

The other night she came home from work, and I could tell right away that it had been a rough one. She collapsed on the couch and kicked off her shoes with a sigh.

"Rough day, honey", I asked, already knowing the answer. "A little", she replied, but with the air of being a little preoccupied. I just assumed that she was reflecting on the day's events and let her sit and relax while I started dinner.

A half hour later, I put a plate of spaghetti and a glass of wine in front of Stacy on the coffee table and sat down next to her on the couch. I started flipping channels until I found something and started in on my own pasta.

I made several attempts at small talk, which were answered politely, but with short, distant answers. After awhile, I asked if there was anything she wanted to talk about.

...

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