Or rather, Earl Carpenter was fucking Beth Carpenter. He was atop her, his weight a comforting burden pressing into her, pinning her to the bed. Her arms crossed behind his neck, her knees bent alongside his hips. It was... nice. Just like it always was. They had a routine, of sorts. At least once a week, and sometimes twice, if they both weren't too tired from work or too busy before bed, Earl would take Beth's hand and lead her into the bedroom. They would undress, Earl folding his slacks and placing them across the back of the chair, and she would lay down lengthwise. He would crawl atop her, spread her legs, and after some perfunctory foreplay, enter her. Some nights he'd go down on her, which was nice, and sometimes she'd give him head, but it was always just a prelude to what Earl considered The Big Event. Fucking. And it wasn't bad. Earl was a nice size, he fit her well, and he knew what he was doing. He loved her, but Beth just wanted... more. More passion. More variety. It felt nice, it felt good, but Beth found herself lulled into a mildly pleasant boredom, like a warm bath.
