Better Advice, Better Marriage Ch. 01

"You caught me. I'm yours to do with as you will." She hasn't had time to sort her feelings out and she is still befuddled by her own thoughts on what has just occurred. It galls her independent, liberated woman image to the core that she must submit to his male dominance but at the same time, she is drawn to his potency and intensity. Intellectually, she cannot deny that he won the challenge and deserves the spoils but her self-image suffers to be considered "spoils of the conquest." Her body, on the other hand, sings out in victory for what it knows is coming.

Her body yields; the fight goes out of her and any struggle stops. Her legs shift almost imperceptibly, just an outward turn of the knee, but it speaks loudly to her resignation -- a peace offering from the vanquished to the victor.

His eyes search hers again, looking for confirmation. He won't ask again.

"I'm yours," she reiterates.

There is no need for foreplay; her body calls to him and surrenders to his supremacy. His ravenous desire for her consumes him. He finishes the job of stripping her of pants and panties in a single, vehement motion, pulling them to her ankles. There is no resistance in her; in fact, she accommodates him nearly to the point of collusion, lightly kicking the garments free of her feet.

He towers over her, standing between her legs at the foot of the bed as he undresses, moving deliberately, without haste or fumbling but with a sense of power and determination. He stares hungrily at her body as she lays submissively before him, her thighs parted, her glistening sex exposed, ripe, ready for him. She admires his strength and the possessiveness and hunger in his stance. Without breaking eye contact, she sits up and removes her shirt and bra.

Naked, he lays over her, possessive. And she receives him, acquiescent. He brings his raging, stiff manhood to her heated, engorged core; she spreads herself, accommodating. Aligning his hips, he directs the tip of his cock to her opening, the head tapping lightly in her wetness as it wavers; she rocks her hips in greeting, dancing with her suitor, kissing him with her juices.

His hips press forward inflexibly, demanding, relentlessly against her. She shifts to capture him into her very being, neither of them using hands for direction. He is engulfed into the heat of her core.

He drives into her, claiming her, taking her, owning her. She feels his supremacy as his manhood opens her, her thighs driven aside and her core pierced. Her legs wrap around his as she welcomes his intrusion.

"Yours," she breathes into his mouth as his lips possess hers. The kiss is brief but passionate, ravenous tongues duel to devour one another and be devoured. It spreads to the rest of their bodies. Hands clutching at each other, cleaving them together, pressing the space between them out of existence until they merge into one.

And then the real ravishing starts. His hips buck, driving into her. Owning, taking, seizing, overwhelming her.

Her confused emotions about whether this is right or wrong, whether she wants it or not, whether she desires or abhors it are thrust aside, swept away in the intense, no-holds-barred sensations. Regardless of the consequences or the precedent it sets, this is sex as it should be -- primal, raw, unrestrained. They are connected, a mutual being striving toward a common goal of pure physical pleasure. The distinctions between prey and predator, hunter and hunted, conqueror and conquered are blurred. Who won and who lost? What seemed important moments ago is lost in the tidal wave of mutual need, desire and satisfaction.

He fucks her with abandon and she fucks him right back. Each is heedless of the other's needs, striving only for their own, selfish release. Thrusting and pounding against one another without regard for the physical limits of their partner's body. They are grunting, rutting, plunging, sweating and moaning in a maniacal horizontal dance. Together, they rush headlong to the brink of the abyss and hurl themselves over, mindlessly screaming their passion against bruised lips and teeth-marked necks and shoulders.

Stars explode behind closed eyes as both concentrate solely on the throbbing, pulsating seizure that grips their conjoined loins.

They collapse together into a spent, sweaty, ravished heap and spiral for long minutes in the shuddering aftershocks. The earth seems to have moved; tilted on its axis. Or at least their worlds, the entire foundation of their lives, the relationship between them, feels like it has readjusted, realigned.

Eventually, they return from their own individual nirvanas and become sentient beings once again. He discovers that he is completely covering her.

"Mine," he breathes into her ear.

"Mmm," she acknowledges. Oh, he has made that abundantly clear. Feminist ideals be damned; she loves this feeling, being owned.

A moment of pure contentment under his possessive form and then she discovers that her breath is trapped out of her by his superincumbent weight. She shifts underneath him, trying to find some air and he rolls to the side, still holding her to his chest, his softening cock still buried deep within. She gratefully draws a deep breath and then moves again to get up.

"Mine," he reiterates, arms clasping tighter, unwilling to give up this magical moment of connection with the love of his life.

"We'll make a mess," she reasons.

"Lie in it," he responds groggily. "We have to change the sheets anyway."

There is something very naughty about the thought of wallowing there naked in the cute, cheery guest room, their cum leaking out of her ravaged body, and dripping lazily down her thigh. She sighs contentedly and snuggles against his chest, encircled by his protecting arms. Until another need intrudes.

"I have to pee," she whispers.

"Then piss the fucking bed," he hisses, clearly still in charge. "You're mine!" He fears letting her up will break the moment and return them to their adversarial lives.

She is taken aback by his crudeness and the authority in his voice, but in her post orgasmic glow, finds that she doesn't mind being directed, guided. She loves him, always has, and likes feeling him in charge. She is a little uncomfortable but it is okay that way. She settles in to hold it. If he says she can, then she can and will. Small price to pay to be called his.

They doze together for some time. Well, he dozes. Her mind races with thoughts -- thrills at the connection they just felt together, something that has been absent for a long time; marveling at the power in him, the virility; worry over how this new dynamic will play out in the rest of their lives; curiosity over the dark brooding beast she glimpsed within him; confusion about how his possession of her changes her own understanding of who she is as a women.

These thoughts are interrupted occasionally by the amazing physical sensations coursing through her body: the electricity still racing around her nervous system; the warm, lethargy suffusing her arms and legs; the occasional throb in her clitoris; the taut pleasure of her nipple pressed tightly to his chest; the gentle sound of his rhythmic breathing; the naughty drips of their combined juices languidly flowing out of her and down her thigh; the stiffness in her muscles from the frantic passion they shared; the still intrusive pressure of his deflated cock gripped tightly within her.

An indeterminate time later, he rouses, tilting his head back to look down into her eyes. He finds the love he feels for her reflected there.

He props himself up, gaining a better vantage point to look at her body. He slowly and pointedly takes her all in. She is self-conscious under his stare but he is unmoved by that and continues his leisurely examination, smiling at the shy smile, appreciating her breasts, the inward curve to her waist, the trimmed fluff of her mound.

As he shifts back, his flaccid member disengages and a small flood of their combined spendings gushes out and flows naughtily down her bottom onto the brightly patterned bedspread crumpled beneath her. He wipes his smeared cock against her thigh.

"More?" She can't remember the last time he was up for more than one climax. She can't deny that hunger on his face as he gazes at her.

--

The kids have just raced outside on this warm summer evening to meet up with the others in the neighborhood for yet another game of hide and go seek or tag or Frisbee or whatever strikes their fancy on this idyllic July evening. Jon had texted earlier that he would be late, to not hold dinner for him. So unlike him. And then to not respond to any of her texts back, her desperate pleas to talk, to allow her to explain. She knows this is bad; she dreads the coming argument, her guilt weighing heavily on her conscience.

Dread fills her. What has Mandy done? What have I done?

She hears the sound of his car in the garage, almost as if he was waiting just down the street until he saw the kids leave the house, not wanting the confrontation to occur in front of them. The empty pit in her stomach yawns even wider, threatens to swallow her whole.

She pauses in the clean-up of the kid's dishes and moves to reheat the spaghetti noodles for him but she freezes in mid-step as the door to the garage swings open and he steps in. Her heart breaks and she dies a little inside. Her man, her husband of more than ten years is just a shell. There is no life in him, no spark, no fire. Not even anger or frustration or rage. If she had anticipated a shouting argument, tearful apologies, heated explanations of the bizarre events of this day, she apparently was wrong.

His hands are empty. Typically, he would have brought in his laptop bag over his shoulder, but he appears to have left it in the car.

His eyes are hollow and forlorn. He appears truly lost and entirely devoid of life.

"Should I move out?" he asks flatly.

Whatever she expected from him, this was not it. "What? No! Jon? Why would you say that?"

"I would assume that you wouldn't want your children to live in the same house as a rapist."

She stands with her mouth agape, stunned by his statement. This strikes him as particularly disingenuous; how could she think anything else? It was the logical conclusion to today's events; how could she be surprised?

"Jon! You are not a rapist!"

"Really? That's not what the police that called me today seemed to think. They were under the impression that you told them so, too."

"Oh, no! I did NOT tell them so, Jon. It was Mandy. Oh, Jon, I am so sorry. Oh, this is the biggest fucking mess ever!" Tears are streaming down her cheeks now. She is beginning to see, to get just an inkling of how deep the hurt is. Another piece of her, larger, dies inside.

"Uh, yeah, that is a bit of an understatement. What were you thinking, Susan?"

"Oh, Jon, I don't know!" she wails. "I told Mandy about us. About the other night. About how you chased me and caught me and about how passionate you were."

"About how I 'forced myself on you?'"

"Well, yes. But I told her I liked it. I didn't want it at first but as it went on, I did. I was swept away by how strong and in control you were."

"Sue, I honestly believed that the other night was one of the highlights of our marriage together. I felt a passion and connection with you that has been missing from our intimate times for years."

"I did too," she squeaks out.

"Well, I did until the fucking police call my cellphone!"

"Oh, Jon! I am so, so sorry!" Sue is completely sobbing now, tears flowing unabated down her cheeks. Shame, guilt, remorse simply overwhelm her. "Mandy said she is a mandatory reporter. Whether I knew it or not, I had been raped and so she called the police to report what had happened."

"Do you hear how crazy that sounds to me? You didn't know if you had been raped and she had to tell you so?"

"I didn't know she was going to call the police when I told her about the other night!"

"But you didn't tell the police differently when they called you later, did you?"

"Yes, I did. I told them it was a misunderstanding, that Mandy had overreacted."

"Apparently, they didn't believe that. They still called."

"Mandy said this is what happens. Men can't control their urges and they force themselves on women to subjugate them. They just take what they want and convince us that we have no choice but to accept it."

"Is that how you feel, Sue? Did I force you to do something you didn't want to do?"

"I don't know, Jon! I'm so confused. I loved it. I loved being with you and I loved the passion in you, the hunger for me. But I am not supposed to like that. Women are beyond that in this day and age. That isn't the way it is supposed to be."

Jon stares at her for a long time. "That's the crux of the problem for us, Sue. I love you and at one time I thought you loved me, but you are too fucking concerned about what fucking Mandy thinks you should want and don't want, what is right and proper. We had sex. I liked it. You liked it. I wanted it. You wanted it. But because it wasn't according to someone else's ideal of what sex in the 21^st century is supposed to be like you're not sure if you should have liked it."

"Women worked too long and too hard to get control of their sexuality..."

"Damn straight they did! And there were even some men who bought into the idea of gender equality and tried to be of some help along the way. But dammit, you worked too long and too hard to get control of your sexuality to let some ball-busting dyke tell you what you should and shouldn't want from your own sexuality. Forgive me for saying so, Sue, but you have traded your reliance on men to tell you what you want for a reliance on some feminist's ideal of what you want. If I invalidated you by telling you your feelings about our lovemaking were 'wrong,' I would be a self-centered, chauvinistic pig. When Mandy does the same thing, telling you that your feelings about it are invalid because it doesn't match her vision of utopia, you drink the Kool-Aid and march along in step."

"I do not always march right along in step. Sometimes Mandy is a little extreme and I don't always completely agree with her."

"And you didn't think this was one of those times? When she was a little 'extreme'? You could have made her withdraw the report."

"Mandy said the report had already been filed and I should keep it so that I have a record of it on file. If we ever split up, it would be important to have an official record."

"So, she is advising you on how to prepare for divorce? She has spent years telling you how to control me by withholding sex and it is ruining our marriage and now she has you filing a rape report so that you have ammunition to get the kids when she tells you it is time to divorce me."

"Jon! It is not like that!"

"The hell it isn't! If it's not like that, then tell me how it is. Look me in the eye and tell me she hasn't been advising you to withhold sex unless I do certain chores around the house! Look me in the eye and tell me she hasn't told you to set up a separate bank account with Absolutely No Cost Checking dot com or whatever that frickin' outfit is so that you can begin to start slipping money away for you and the kids." Sue blanches visibly; she didn't know he knew about that. It seemed harmless at the time. "Sue, I have put up with Mandy's shit for years because I was petrified of losing you. I didn't want anyone to say I wasn't cooperating with our 'marriage counselor' but it has become painfully obvious that she is not marriage counseling but divorce counseling. She is advising you on how to get rid of me."

Sue is stunned into silence, getting some insight into what Jon is challenging her to see. Women have been oppressed by men for eons, made dependent on them. Mandy has shown her how to break that dependency and prove that she is independent of the men in her life, prove that she doesn't need a man to make her happy. And to a large degree she has been successful at this. But at what cost? Proving Mandy's militant feminist agenda has not made their marriage any better. Mandy has been preparing her for a life independent of men, teaching her how to control men, not teaching her how to make her marriage better.

"Look at me, Sue. We had some problems. We both thought our marriage could be better than it was and so we started going to talk to Mandy. Has her advice helped our marriage? Has anything she said ever brought us closer together? Are you really happier doing the things she has advised you to do than you were before? Sure we had some problems. Sure we had some things we needed to work on. And I admit some of those things were my fault and I've tried like hell to change for the better. But I can't live like this. It's one thing for us to battle one another over control of our sex life but it is another once that battle begins to spill over into the rest of our lives and affects our children."

"What do you mean by that, Jon?"

"What's going to happen tomorrow night, my dear?"

Sue is puzzled. "Tomorrow night?"

"Jordan's soccer game? I can't very well show up as an assistant coach as a registered sex offender, now can I?"

Sue is horrified. Jon has always been deeply involved in the kid's lives; she has always been proud of their partnership in raising the kids together. "Jon! No, they wouldn't think... They are not going to... You're not on the registry until you're convicted."

Jon shakes his head at her. "Sue, what would you do if you found out that one of Jordan's gymnastics coaches or a teacher was accused of rape? That a bona fide report of sexual assault had been filed? Would you send her to practice or to school while waiting for the incident to wind its way through the courts? Hell no! I wouldn't. I'd ask the perpetrator -- excuse me, alleged perpetrator -- to step aside for a few days until we got a little bit more information."

"Oh, Jon! What are we going to do?" Sue is finally starting to realize how far astray she has been led. He's right; she hasn't really thought this through.

"So, I guess I'm back to my original question. Do you want me to pack up and move out?"

"No, Jon. No. I love you. I've always loved you. I want you to stay."

"Okay. Well, that's at least somewhat encouraging. I'm glad to hear you say that. If our marriage is going to survive, we're going to make some changes."

"I'll call the police back right now and tell them there was a big misunderstanding," she tearfully says, reaching for her cellphone.

"No! Not right now, please," he catches her before she dials. In response to her quizzical expression, he explains, "They already have this idea that I coerced you into something you didn't want to do. The last thing I want is you calling up and tearfully, emotionally recanting five minutes after I arrive home. We'll have a patrol car here in minutes convinced I've battered you into a retraction."

She nods in understanding.

"I'll pack a bag and spend a night at a hotel. Cool off, think about it, pull yourself together and in the morning go down to the police station and calmly, rationally explain that Mandy was wrong and you never intended to file a rape report."

"Honey, you shouldn't have to spend the night in a cold, unfriendly hotel!"

"I don't think I can spend the night here, truthfully. I've got a few anger issues to work out. I've got to do some thinking for myself about where this is going. And I know you'll need to talk to someone. If I can ask a favor, please don't go to Mandy about this? Pick another friend, anyone -- your sister, your mom, Lynne, anyone -- and talk through your feelings. I know you've got to and it can't be me and it can't be Mandy. Or I don't think we'll have a marriage left to save."