Better Advice Better Marriage

Author's Note: As always, reading the previous chapters will give you more background but this chapter is intended to stand on its own also. Feedback is appreciated.

All characters involved in sexual situations are over 18. All rights reserved.

--

"So, you're really going to leave me on a Friday night with the kids to go grunt, spit and do whatever else it is that you guys do at these ballgames?"

"Honey, if you want me to stay..." Jon offers, aware that she really has been trying to change, to focus on their marriage, although it is clear he wants to go.

"No, no! I'm kidding, Love," Sue quickly backtracks. "You've been looking forward to this night for a while. You don't get to go 'out with the guys' that often. You go and have fun."

The conversation is interrupted by a knock at the back door. This can only be neighbor/best friend Lynne; she is the only one who comes across the yards and directly to the back door.

"C'mon in, Lynne!" Sue hollers.

Even if the sun is shining outside, there is definitely a storm brewing on the brunette's face. Tears are in her eyes and an angry flush on her cheeks.

"Oh my gosh, Lynne! What's wrong?" Sue asks, as the kids, Jordan and Timothy, hustle into the kitchen, curious about what is going on.

"The damn bastard's not coming!" Lynne spits, before glancing guiltily at the young ears listening to her tirade. "Sorry, kids, I shouldn't have said that."

"Who? Chuck?" Sue asks, referring to Lynne's ex-husband.

"Yeah, he is supposed to be coming over to take Ashley out for a special night, just the two of them. I called him just to make sure he is coming; you know how he is. Oh, Sue, he is so smashed. He could barely speak clearly through the alcohol, let alone drive a car."

"Oh, Lynne," Sue hurts for her friend.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to burden you guys with this. I just came over for a boost of courage before I go home and break my little girl's heart. She has been planning this for days -- what she is going to wear, how she is going to do her hair... She is only eight, for heaven's sake. How can he do that to her?"

"He's not still going to try to come over, is he?" Sue asks, worried about a confrontation.

"Fu... Heck, no!" Lynne catches herself, glancing again at the seven and nine year-old faces in the doorway to the family room. "I told him flat out not to come. Even if by some miracle he gets his car here safely, there is no way my girl is getting into it with him in that state. I made it very clear the kids and I did not want to see him until he is a lot more sober. Even flaming drunk, he'll get that. Now, what the heck do I tell Ashley? That the most important man in her life cares more about a stupid bottle than taking her out to dinner on the one night this year he has bothered to come across the state to visit her?"

"You tell her that her dad is feeling a little sick and so you asked another guy that thinks she is special to take her to dinner tonight," Jon steps into the conversation.

"Jon, you can't do that..." Sue interjects.

"Sue, I have to. Somebody has to. Ashley is a sweetie; we can't let her think that all men will let her down like that. It will be my honor to take her to dinner."

"Jon, I can't ask you to do that. You had plans, I'm sure," Lynne objects.

"Nothing more important than this. These are moments that can't be replaced; if Chuck can't (or won't) do it, somebody has to step up."

"You are the only real positive male role model in her life," Lynne concedes. "And I'm not sure I've mentioned how much I appreciate that."

"Where was Chuck going to take her?"

"I'm not sure..." Lynne frowns.

"You could take her to Hartley Castle," Sue suggests, "Big. Victorian atmosphere, very romantic, very princess."

"Uh, yeah, hmm," Jon glances behind Sue and sees the betrayed look in Jordan's eyes.

"What's a matter, manly man? Is the formal setting a little too feminine for you?" Sue teases, with a sparkle in her eye.

"Uh, no. That's not it actually. Hartley Castle is kind of my and Jordan's special place, where we go on daddy/daughter dates. I'd kind of like to keep it that way."

Sue belatedly realizes what Jon is seeing on his daughter's face.

Man, he can be perceptive sometimes!

"What do you think, Jordan?" Jon deliberately involves her. "You know Ashley better than anyone. Where do you think she would like to go to dinner tonight?"

Jordan's face brightens visibly. She is delighted to be involved in the preparations for her friend's special night, even if it does mean sharing her daddy. "She loves pizza. Pizza Hut is her favorite!"

"Y'know, she's probably right," Lynne laughs. "Whether it is the classiest or not probably doesn't matter."

Jon ponders for a second. "All the corporate softball leagues go to Pizza Hut on Friday night; they don't take reservations and I'm not keen on getting jostled around in that little lobby while we wait for a table. Angelino's over on 16

th

Street has pretty good pizza. Has she ever been there?"

"Nope," Lynne smiles at him, grateful beyond words that he is being so considerate of the young girl's needs. "But I'm sure she would love it. What do you think, Jordan?"

Jordan smiles broadly and nods her head. Someplace nice where they have cloth napkins and no TV playing sports overhead is probably better for the dress that she knows Ashley has been planning on for her big date with her father.

"Sue, will you go see if Angelino's takes reservations? Jordan? Timothy? Go get your mom's pruning shears from the gardening bin in the garage and cut the prettiest rose you can find off the bush in the side yard. Lynne, you need to go help your daughter get her dress on. I'll be at your door in about half an hour."

Lynne is dumbfounded by how fully engaged the whole family is in rescuing hers from yet another emotional disaster caused by her alcoholic ex-husband.

"Kids!" Jon yells after his children as they scramble to beat each other to the garage. "No fighting. Jordan, you get to pick out the rose. Tim, you get to cut it. Leave about this much stem." He holds up his fingers. "And be careful of the thorns; we don't need anybody bleeding to death."

"They're going to mangle that rose, you know," Sue smiles at him; she loves seeing this side of him.

"Yeah, but it will still be special to Ashley (every girl likes getting flowers) and it gets them involved in doing something nice for their friend."

"You are a great dad." She acknowledges, aware that she needs to do more to show her appreciation for this side of him.

"I try," he smiles back. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to call Jim and let him know that he has to find somebody else to sit with him in the third row on the first base side."

--

"That was the sweetest thing ever, you know."

"Actually, it was really, really fun. Ashley is such a nice young lady."

"Sorry you missed your baseball game."

"That's okay. Once I knew that Chuck wasn't going to make it to his date with Ashley, I wouldn't have had it any other way. That was where I needed to be."

"How can I make it up to you now that the kids are all in bed?" she asks, sidling up to him sensually.

"Uh, no. I want to be done with this 'I do certain things and get repaid with sexual favors' thing."

"You malign me, sir! What you did tonight was very thoughtful, very unselfish, very gallant. I am very proud of you. Proud that you are my husband and the father of my children. A very good father. That makes me want you, stud."

"In

that

case, take off your clothes, turn around and bend over."

She stares at him and raises an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because I like looking at your ass. And I know it is a position that embarrasses you, one of those 'demeaning' poses that you are reluctant to do."

She blushes and continues to stare at him, stifling her instinctive response, which would be to point out how stereotypical male he is being. She reminds herself that this is what she wanted, for him to be more assertive and open about what he wants.

He shrugs at her. "You're always more likely to do things you are reluctant to do when you're horny."

"Sometimes you're a chauvinistic bastard, did you know that?" she says. She knows she has "lost" this battle -- she has let her sexual needs be known and therefore, made herself vulnerable to manipulation. This is what Mandy had warned her about, what she has fought all this time. But as Lynne has pointed out to her recently, "So what?"

He likes it; I like it; what's the harm? I really liked "the beast" in him that he let out the other night and despite letting him behave that way, he obviously still treats me like a human being; his partner, friend and equal

. She begins undressing under his watchful gaze.

"Sometimes I am," he acknowledges with the same playful tone. "But I'm beginning to think you like that."

She glares back at him for a moment in playful anger. It is an audacious thing for him to say given their shared mutual commitment to gender equality. However, she realizes there is a kernel of truth to what he says. It does excite her a little bit when he is more aggressive and makes a few demands of her. She saw that in him the other night and did like it. If that comes off as him being chauvinistic, then, yeah, maybe she does like it a little bit. And she also has to acknowledge that she is more likely to do some of these things when she is horny like she is right now, although she didn't realize it was so obvious.

"Just don't go overboard with it," she finally concedes, committed to seeing if Mandy really was wrong and they can navigate a path of female submission in the bedroom and gender equality everywhere else. She resumes her striptease by pushing her shorts off her ankles.

Jon recognizes this for the true concession it is, an acknowledgement of her changed outlook on the world. Just a few short weeks ago, she would not have allowed any such concession, any weakening of her stance, any giving of ground to her opponent.

"You're not going to spank me, are you?" she asks.

Up to that moment, he really hadn't considered it. Oh, they had joked about spanking in the early years of their marriage. He clearly was into it and she clearly was not. Although they had made leaps and bounds adjustments in their attitudes and opinions, Jon knew there was no way the needle had moved

that

far.

"Oh, probably not," he chuckles, wondering how far he can push her buttons. "At least not very hard."

He grins to her dagger stare. He knows he is toying with fire. Not very long ago, such a comment might have flared into an argument. These days she is more open to such playfulness. Jon is pleased that Sue continues to undress for him, seeming to understand that he is joking with her.

Sue is somewhat surprised by herself as well, that she accepts this from him. In fact, she isn't altogether convinced that he is joking. And even more surprising, she isn't sure exactly how she feels about that. She is pleased that they are joking together but uncomfortable with the subject they are joking about.

He isn't really going to spank me, is he? And what if he does? What would I do about that? Why did I even say that? It sounded more like an invitation than a question.

She finishes by reaching behind, unclasping her bra and shrugging it off. She pauses a moment letting her vulnerability at being completely naked while he is fully clothed sink in for both of them. She is not only naked in her lack of clothes but naked and vulnerable to him in her sexual need. They both know that the hard tips on her breasts are not caused by the temperature in the room. Sue decides not to deny or hide that fact and lightly arches her back to accentuate the effect. She is openly inviting his examination and appreciation of her ample chest and the arousal displayed there.

After such a long time fighting for the upper hand between them, this yielding of the power in the relationship is novel and causes a flutter deep in her belly that surprises her. She is aware that he is looking at her with hunger in his eyes and, quite frankly, that turns her on. But to allow him to look at her solely as a sex object is unnerving, unfamiliar.

She is committed to this road, however, and after giving him ample time to appreciate her front side, she turns her back to him as requested and presents her bottom, even arching her back to accentuate her curves.

I really am going to do this

, she tells herself.

Bend over and present my naked ass to him like he asked me to. This is so humiliating, but he wants it. Am I giving up my ideals or sharing an intimate moment with my husband? Why does it excite me like this? Why is my heart pounding? He really wants to see me like this? Dammit, Lynne, you sure as hell better be right about being submissive being the right way to win him back and save our marriage. If not, I'm demeaning myself for nothing!

But even as she thinks that she knows it isn't true. It is not for nothing because it has already given her greater connection with her husband and a surprising resurgence in their sex life. And she finds that she truly enjoys pleasing him, even if it means giving up some of her own control and power. Somehow, against all the logic of her belief in her womanly independence, she

likes

submitting to him.

She forces herself to spread her legs, knowing that this will expose her sex and her arousal.

"Oh, my gosh, honey! That is so sexy. Damn, but you are hot!"

Sue blushes under his frank assessment, feeling both vulnerable and desired.

If you're going to embrace the role, then do it right!

she thinks to herself. She drops further down putting her elbows on the bed and arches her back. A gush of wetness flows to her exposed lips, acknowledging the ancient, primal stance of the female, offering herself. She feels like a bitch in heat, presenting her enflamed sex to be bred. This is a stake in the heart to her inner, die-hard feminist.

She deliberately does not lower her head to the sheets as that would require her to turn her head and catch sight of him in her peripheral vision. There is something even more submissive, more acquiescent to stay on her elbows staring straight ahead, waiting patiently for him do whatever he wants to her -- stare at her, take her, reject her, toy with her, own her -- it is all up to him to do with her as he pleases.

She hears him groan quietly and she smiles to herself. The sound is low and feral, masculine and packed with unsatisfied longing that she knows will be sated in her. It is filled with such desire, such lust. He is absolutely panting for her. She is ready to receive his passion, to accept it, to let the tidal wave of his desire crash against her welcoming, enveloping shore. She knows she has given up the intellectual victory but in the process has opened the door to his primal passion.

She waits. And in her waiting she gives. She gives herself to his pleasure and, she realizes, to hers. She stews in her own desire, willing herself to acquiesce, to receive, to accept, to endure, to grant him full rights to her.

She nearly jumps when his finger makes delicate, soft contact with her heated sex but she steels herself to remain stoically in place, waiting for her stud to breed her. The wailing echo of her inner feminist's dying gasp. He carefully caresses her flower, sending electric thrills that shoot through her aroused loins. So subtle, so tender, so sensual.

He plays with her in a most familiar way, arousing the engorged, exposed lips, brushing her clitoris, delving lightly into the moist opening. Her complete and total focus on her sex and the maddeningly erotic things that he is doing to her nearly breaks her but she remains in her stance, purposefully staring away from him and yielding to his touch.

His fingers flutter across her now, providing such delights. She marvels that he knows so well how and where to touch her, years of experience pleasing her paying off. Involuntarily, her hips join in the dance. He brings his other hand in to play as well, providing gentle but firm pressure against her clitoris, just like she likes, while his other hand strums her like a finely tuned instrument. Such music they play together, an ancient tune.

She realizes that she is whimpering now, her need raw and plain, but she does nothing to hide it. Her hips rock in lewd display, begging him to make use of her.

Without losing pace, he shifts on the bed to bring his raging hard-on up behind her. He lightly brushes the bulbous head through her wetness.

"Yeesssss," she hisses, ready, oh so very ready for him.

"What do you want?" he whispers, taunting. His finger is still tight against her clitoris. A slight gyration of her hips slowly grinds her button underneath.

"I want you. I want you in me. I want you to take me." She knows that her capitulation is complete. Her need so plain and she yields that to him. She has consciously traded her independence from maledom for dependence on

this

man. She is dependent on him for her pleasure, for him to meet her deepest needs. But she realizes it is not a betrayal of herself, for it is her own decision, made on her terms, to yield to him.

"You want me where?"

"In me. Inside me."

"Inside where?"

"My... pussy." This is big for her. To be able to voice her needs so graphically. Jon understands now how truly far she has come. How much she loves him and is committed to making things right in their marriage.

"I love to hear you say things like that. It turns me on to hear you graphically admit your needs, needs that I desperately want to fulfill for you."

"Take me. I'm yours."

"Take you? How?"

Really? Is he really going to make me say it? Isn't it enough that I'm on my elbows and knees, just waiting for him to do whatever he pleases?

But as exasperated as she is, she wallows in the sheer naughtiness of it. She is hungry for him, aching, and she knows that he is going to demand the worst from her; drag her through her most base desires and rub her nose in it. How does he know how much that is going to turn her on? Where does such understanding come from?

"Stick it in me. Give me your... cock. Put it in my pussy."

His hips twitch forward and the tip of his cock breaches her opening.

"Like that? In there? That's what you want?"

"Ah, ah, ah! Jon!" she whines at him. "I want you to shove it in me. Take me."

"And what is that called?" They are at the crux of it now. Have they really reached the point where she can open up and beg him for what they both want?

"Fuck me!" she hisses. "Shove your fucking cock right into my cunt, you bastard!"

He glides home into the tight sheath of her. And they both feel it. Right then, right there, they are joined. They are both raw and exposed in their need for each other and together, right now, they are more married to each other than they have been for a long, long time, maybe forever. He is her husband; she is his wife. No longer independent but mutually dependent on each other.

Pressed up against her from behind, with his hands possessively on her hips, he rocks against her, trying to make his balls push against her clitoris.

"Ooooh, Jon!" she moans. "I love you."

"I love you, too, sweetie. And I love fucking you. And I love hearing you beg me to fuck you. I know how much you love me because I know how hard this is for you to do, kneeling like this, asking for it like that. I'm very impressed with this precious gift you are giving me."

"Mmmmm," she whines, feeling his cock fill her. Somehow, she had always thought that this position was "dirty" or demeaning or degrading, that she would feel less respected, less cherished, less loved. But his words reassure her and they align with what she is feeling, that humbling herself like this and offering herself to him has touched a deep, primal part of her that is intensely erotic. She loves being his bitch. She loves that he made her ask him to fuck her. She loves that she was dirty and nasty and said "fuck" and "cunt".