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Atsuko had reached her limit.Slamming her plate full of food into the pristine Belfast sink, she watched the ornate, hand-fired disc shatter, its contents of stir fried meat and soft, mushy rice slumping amongst the shards. Somehow, within the fracas, two wine glasses fell to the tiled floor, smashing into precious crystals haphazardly. Standing at the doorway of the kitchen, her husband leered slimily like an eel in wait, slow-clapping the events unfolding.“Well, isn’t that just something, Suki?” Marcelo asked, calling her by her childhood pet name, hoping to get an even bigger rise out of her. “From vocal theatrics, straight to your own stunts. What next, pyrotechnics? Fancy taking a lighter to my rug collection, or is that too obvious?”. Atsuko downed the contents of her cold wine glass, before sliding on her simple plimsolls, recovering her jacket from the door.“Piss off Celo. You are a fucking prick. You know that, right?”“Well, I hate to break it to you sweetheart, but it takes one to know one.” She gestured two fingers at him, searching for her woollen beanie. Ever since Atsuko had returned from her trip back home to Osaka, the two had been arguing like cat and dog. If being engaged for five years and counting wasn’t enough, the weight of being within one another’s proximity for three months was enough to tilt the precarious balance of their partnership over a very sheer edge. Things were easier when the two were resigned to Zoom calls— to sharing dirty WhatsApp voice notes, made with the audio of Atsuko masturbating breathily and furiously in the backseat of her limousine şişli escort to work, or Marcelo’s handwritten notes, accompanying lavish packages from lingerie shops like Fig Leaves, expedited to his wife tens of thousands of miles away. Yet, this was different— it was a thick, sludgy, sloping era of their partnership, which made both parties feel like doomed elephants, sinking in a sea of quicksand. Atsuko grabbed her keys.“Well, I’d rather be a fucking prick, than a fucking shit cook.” She pointed to the sink. “Honestly? Probably the best place for that dog’s dinner. Next time, order in, OK?” Marcelo scoffed.“Order in? You’re hilarious, babe. Hil— arious. The only thing I’ll be ordering in, is a hooker. I’m sure she’d be able to work my dick. Five years of acquainting yourself with it, and you still can’t even work the bloody thing.”Shooting him a side-eye of as much contempt as she could generate, Atsuko slammed first the kitchen and then front door, stepping out into the early, Autumn night. She had no place to go, and no place to be, but there and then she decided that she would walk as long as her legs would take her as far away from that house as possible. It was true— Atsuko Fujimara was not the most sexually experienced, nor the most sexually capable woman in south west London: a realisation which although she knew it to be accurate, frustrated her greatly. She’d bought all of the latest books that were waxed lyrically over by those overweight, mumsy women she’d see on day-time television: How to make your man muster in 30 seconds or less— The New Bedroom mecidiyeköy escort Athenian— S.L.U.T.S make better lovers. She’d read and studied them all, but despite her dedication to the craft of male sexual pleasure, she could rarely make her partner’s cock as happy as she, or he’d have liked.Not that Marcelo was anything to shout about in the sack. Sure, he could get and guide an erection in the direction of her tight, tiny pussy. And sure, her leaving for work, slightly sore and puffy, to have to then lead a keynote presentation in front of two thousand employees and subordinates, while leaking with his sticky load, was always a rush. Yet, Marcelo, as virile and eager as he was when it came to fucking, had very early on, reached a plateau of pleasure that Atsuko had, with previous partners, greatly surpassed.Crossing at the traffic lights, she aimlessly paced towards Charter’s Forest, looking between the shadowy huddle of tree trunks, dense and ominous. Although scared, she batted away at the looming fear, entering in a rebellious act of spite to no one present. Onwards, she walked on into the darkness, wiping at her eyes as she cuddled herself for warmth, each step crunching on dead leaves. She missed home— home, home. The food, the bustle and of course, the hot, sexy businessmen she used to see on her way to work. Nothing in the world made Atsuko’s clitoris pulse, or labia stickier than the sight of a middle-aged Japanese businessman, complete with oversized, rectangular glasses, a mid-ranged three-piece suit from a lowly department store and a shiny, prominent bald spot. Sometimes her panties would get so wet, back when she was an intern in her native country, and daydreaming between spreadsheets and conference calls, that would have to bring spares with her, changing them secretly in toilet cubicles after sniffing and licking clean their clammy white contents. She smiled to herself, as she walked on, knowing that Marcelo, in all his infinite wisdom, had no idea that his wife-to-be had often climaxed while imagining him during their fucks as a sexless, fifty-year-old, complete with a beer gut, wandering hairy hands, and bad breath, burdened with soy sauce and fermented wheat.Heading towards a clearing, Atsuko stopped by a large, looming tree. Turning to it, she pulled down her black jeans, followed by her panties and sighed in relief. A jet of sharp, warm urine rushed from her slit, aimed towards the bulbous stump, dousing it in an afternoon’s worth of repurposed green tea and white wine. In the generous light of the moon above, she watched curiously as the stream of warm, salty liquid glistened, forming mini lakes, rivers and streams, absorbed into the cold black earth. Atsuko often wondered if her relationship was being pissed away like stale, useless urine, into a pit of nothingness. Before she had time to dab at her soaking delta, something in the distance startled her. Upward she shot her head, curiously cocking it to the side to listen. It was a car horn, up in the lightless distance. Looking outward, past the large oval of a forest clearing, she strained her eyes, searching for any sign of life. Again she heard it. This time four soft toots sounded. Sliding her panties back up into her pissy crotch, she belted her trousers and slowly pacing onwards, walked towards the source of the commotion.