Better Advice, Better Marriage Ch. 02

I'm beginning to like the words "Lynne says" as much as I used to dread the words "Mandy says," he thinks. Out loud , though, he expresses his surprise at her statement, "I didn't know we were after face-fucking." He is stunned not only that she is expressing a desire for more aggressive oral sex but that she would ever imply that she wanted to be 'face-fucked', let alone actually use the word. The change in his wife is even more dramatic than he had understood.

Sue blushes lightly, perhaps surprised by her own vulgarity but equally pleased at shocking him. Maybe now he'll understand that I'm serious about pleasing him.

"Well, maybe not the first time, but at least by the end of the day."

"You were serious about this 'blow-jobs throughout the day' thing?"

"Absolutely. My mouth is available for your use whenever you want it today."

Jon stares at her in open mouth surprise. "But lots of times you've said that sucking dick is demeaning and a modern woman isn't expected to do it."

"I've reconsidered, sir. Now, c'mon let's get you in the shower and get cleaned up."

True to her word, she leads him gently to the shower off their master bedroom and thoughtfully and respectfully washes him. Jon can't remember the last time they showered together, although that had been blissfully common early in their marriage. And he is impressed that she appears sincere in her desire to do this for him, apparently not expecting him to return the favor. He does, of course. The chance to run slippery, soapy hands across her naked body is an opportunity not to be missed. She denies him nothing, acquiescing plainly to his desires, even pushing her breasts out for his prolonged and careful scrubbing and thrusting her butt back in invitation to let him enjoy cleaning her.

"Do you want me to shave?"

"Huh?"

"My pubic hair. Lynne says that men really like bald pussies."

There is that phrase again... "Lynne says," he smiles to himself. "Yes, my dear, I would like that. There is something very beautiful and clean about a shaved mound."

"It makes me feel even more naked in front of you. Exposed. But if you want me to do it, I will."

--

By the time they are both rinsed, his rejuvenated cock is sticking out blatantly.

"Do you want me to take care of this, sir? Remember, no limit on BJ's today."

He smiles at her again, marveling at this change in attitude. "I'd like that," he admits, still somewhat bewildered and concerned that this is some sort of trap that is going to snap shut on him somehow but loving how committed she is to his pleasure, at least in the moment.

She immediately drops to her knees underneath the warm spray of the shower and engulfs his tumescent manhood. She lavishes him and makes every appearance that she adores what she is doing. He lets her please him, staying still while she provides the pleasure. After a few minutes, though, she gently takes his hands and places them on the back of her head and then reaches around and grips his ass with both her hands, pulling him forward to thrust his cock farther into her throat. She wants him to be the man; show the passion she has seen in him far too rarely as of late.

To Jon, this feels disturbingly like forcing himself on her, and past experience indicates that he shouldn't do that. But, damn, it feels good. And so, with her recent assurances that she is serious and wants him to take a more demanding role in their sex life, he presses forward cautiously. At the first sign of her gagging, he backs off, only to be halted by her firm hands clenching his ass cheeks, pressing him forward. She deliberately holds him firmly pressed against her face, even as her throat contracts around him convulsively. He is stunned, not only by her actions but by how surprisingly good her clenching throat feels on the sensitive head of his prick. It violates his inherent urge to protect her, to care for her and it just feels wrong to so selfishly take such rude advantage of her. But, oh, it feels so good! His emotions are in turmoil -- lust and regret collide.

After a few moments of unusual discomfort for her and pure hedonistic pleasure for him, she allows him to back off. She gags and chokes and sputters as he looks on with fear that he has pushed too far. She gulps air and suppresses the urge to throw up.

"Sue?" he questions as she smiles wanly at him before she plunges her mouth back onto his raging phallus. "Are you sure you want..."

"Mmphl," she nods around his cock in her mouth, surprised a bit that this is true. Although it is uncomfortable and demeaning and even a little difficult, she does want it in some perverse way. It is a conundrum that she knows she will have to talk out later with Lynne, but she somehow likes the idea of making herself a little uncomfortable, maybe even a lot uncomfortable, just to please her man, just because she knows that it makes him feel good. It is in deferring to his pleasure that she finds her own pleasure.

For his part, Jon is a little surprised that he is enjoying forcing himself on her like this. His whole life he has been taught to respect and admire women, to treat them kindly and esteem them. Even more so, he loves his wife and has never wanted to hurt her or cause her any discomfort. Maybe that is what made the whole dueling over sex so plausible -- he really values her and would rather defer to her than make her unhappy.

So the idea that he is cramming his cock down her throat, making her choke and gag is somewhat abhorrent. However, it also makes him feel powerful and dominant and masculine. And more to the point, the sensations on his cock are just fantastic. Suddenly the idea of making her a little uncomfortable just for his selfish pleasure is not so farfetched.

"Uhn! Yeah, baby. Like that. Breathe easy. You can take it." He encourages, aware of how patronizing it sounds, but pleased that she seems to willingly accept it from him.

She stretches her mouth wide open and pulls his ass forward until his cock makes a loud "gack" sound against the back of her throat. Gosh, I am being such a slutty whore, she marvels at herself and at the stunned look on her husband's face. But it doesn't stop her.

"Gack. Gack. Gack. Gack."

Jon finally gets the point and understands his role in this charade. He grips her wet hair and steadies her as he sets up his own steady rhythm.

If she is serious about getting face-fucked, then she's going to get it, he exalts, letting his lust take over. His hips establish their own rhythm and he makes outrageous demands on her gag reflex as he pursues his pleasure.

Oh, my gosh, he's doing it! The bastard is fucking me in the mouth! But even as this thought shocks and offends her, it opens a new avenue of intimacy for her. She is proud of him for accepting her challenge and for releasing his control. She can feel the passion and desire in him and she adores him for it. So here again, is another paradox to sort out later -- she admires a powerful man who selfishly takes what he wants, even if that taking is from her. Thinking of him as a "selfish bastard" makes her love him more; how can this be? She has never thought of "selfish bastard" as a term of endearment.

Normally, Jon would not allow himself to enjoy this moment. He would be worried about too many things -- was she satisfied? Was he coming too soon? If he were to come now, would he be too tapped out to enjoy something else later? But today, she seems to have assuaged all those distractions even before they occur to him. She has given him permission -- no, even more, has insisted -- that he focus on himself and hold back nothing. And so, he heedlessly gives himself over to his own selfish pleasure.

When he feels like cumming, he does. Not in her mouth this time, although that is certainly and obviously available to him but he draws back to create a little space in between them and jacks himself off onto her breasts, neck and face. Before today this would have been seen as an insulting act that disgustingly showed his piggish, man side. Today, she seems to revel in letting him use her this way and she is even intrigued to watch his cum spurt from his raging cock.

She has always liked the spectacle of a man ejaculating and the close up view she gets of him doing so almost fun. As his climax winds down to creamy dribbles, she actually takes his deflating cock in her mouth and sucks the last bit off. She does this as a sign of respect and also to confirm her earlier assessment that his cum doesn't taste nearly as bad as she used to think it was. Maybe over the years it has gotten better. Or maybe her outlook is better and that translates into her not finding it so offensive.

Once he is done, she stands up in the shower and easily rinses the load from her face, neck and chest.

He slips out of the shower and begins toweling off.

"Thank you for giving me permission to enjoy that," he comments through the shower curtain as she finishes her rinse.

"It is really weird but I enjoyed being your slut," she admits, shutting the water off and drawing the curtain back.

He openly stares at her body, the last of the shower cascading off the peaks of her breasts.

"I was 'assertive' enough for you this time?" he grins.

"You were that," she smiles back.

"But not too demanding, I hope," he still is concerned about this dramatic change in her desires.

"No, that's what I asked you to do."

"You do understand why I'm a little confused," he says cautiously, concerned about starting an argument that might disrupt the positive direction that things are going but also committed to free and open communication. "We've spent so much time talking about how I, as a man, should suppress my baser desires to objectify you."

"I am a little confused myself," she admits. "I know I'm not supposed to, but I kind of liked you taking control and driving for your own pleasure. It was classic male selfish behavior that I shouldn't tolerate but I kind of like you being clearly male, clearly in charge."

"Thanks for being honest about it, honey. These are bewildering feelings we are both having and I'm glad we can talk about it without feeling like I have to guard everything I say. If we're both trying to figure it out, then it seems like we're on the same side, battling it together rather than battling each other."

He holds out a towel and she steps out, taking it from him and drying her face and hair before relinquishing it back to him so that he can dry her back. It makes her feel cared for.

He reaches lower and dries the fleshy curves of her backside, taking unfair advantage of his possession of the towel. She indulges him without comment, her silence tacit approval. He decides to push his luck and reaches around with the towel and begins to dry her breasts, an obvious further breach of after-shower etiquette. She winces as the cloth passes over her pointed nipples.

"I'm pretty sensitive there," she gasps. "Remember the time of the month."

"Oh, yeah," he quickly releases her. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. Can I kiss it all better?"

"Pshyeah, right," she mutters. "That will make it all better." But she eases the sting by smiling at him.

"As demanding and rough as I was in the shower, I promise to be twice as gentle and tender," he says, giving her puppy-dog eyes. "Let me do this for you?"

She has serious reservations (she is really, really sensitive when her period starts) but she is so enjoying the closeness to him and his affection for her is so plain and so adorable that she relents. "Okay, but you have to be extra careful." She turns and offers her chest to him.

Softly, reverently, he leans in and gives her the lightest, most delicate butterfly kisses on and around her nipples, first the right and then the left. She is awed at how perfectly and carefully he treats her, touched by his concern and care. This tender moment juxtaposed as it is with his recent rude intrusion on her tonsils affects her deeply and she finds she is even more drawn to him. He is all man to her and yet deliberately and consciously subjects that testosterone rush to firm control just for her. Damn period! I really wish I could make love to him right now.

Jon is not always known for his perception, particularly his perception of female moods and the subtle signals the female persuasion uses, but he gets this one right. If you had asked, he could not have told you one single thing that gave it away to him but he knew, just knew, in that moment what she needed, whether she was aware of it yet herself or not.

"Come with me, Love. Lay down on the bed," he whispers, drawing her by the hand back into their bedroom.

"Jon, I can't. I'm too sensi..." He silences her with a single soft finger to her lips.

"I just want to lie close to my wife," he says, determined to show that he can be a loving and caring man, that not all men are pigs. "Let me hold you and take care of you. I'll be super careful of how sensitive you are right now."

He lays her down carefully on the bed and kisses her lips lightly. He caresses her neck, her shoulder, her side down to her hip. He touches lightly, soothingly and deliberately avoiding anywhere that experience tells him will be too delicate. His tongue subtly explores her lips and gains tentative entrance, dancing, flirting with her. There are no demands, no burning hunger raging out of control; only tenderness, adoration and affection. It is suffused with a warmth and compassionate love that is touching and beautiful.

He caresses her thighs gently but firmly enough not to tickle. She sighs at the beauty of it and gently parts her legs, trusting him and his understanding of her needs. He shifts a little closer in his kiss, the warmth of his chest pressing lightly against the side of her breast. It is just enough -- close contact but not intrusive. She inhales with pleasure and contentment in his arms.

His hand continues its advance up the insides of her thighs to the juncture, warm and moist from the shower, her skin soft, smooth. He gently cups her mound, conscious of the dangers of overstimulation. There is no penetration and only minimal, general pressure against her hooded clitoris.

It is perfect. In her hyper-sensitive state, the warmth and closeness of the embrace is more than enough, not raw and burning but comforting, enfolding, hugging. It stirs desire in her for him but not a ravenous hunger. He simply holds her thus and maintains their intimate connection in the kiss, exploring and sharing the moment together.

Her love swells inside her, indistinguishable in the moment from physical pleasure and her hips rock against his embrace involuntarily. She breathes her contentment into his lips and shifts to increase the pressure of her breast against him. Her pelvis rolls again and again, seeking just slightly more pressure, more contact -- not additional sensation, really, just increased closeness to him.

The heel of his wrist is over her clitoris and his fingers lightly trail through the wetness of her engorged lips. This is lovemaking of a different sort -- in tune with each other, sharing indescribable intimacies. The moment stretches out forever or it is done in the space of two breaths, it is impossible to tell, but the pleasure mounts impossibly within her and she finds a tension building in her core that will not be denied. It radiates out and engulfs her body like a really good stretch after a fitful, lazy nap on a warm summer's day. It rolls through in waves, her muscles quietly and firmly clenching. Their kiss is frozen as they cling together in her moment, nearly merging into one another.

She returns from whatever glorious place she has been to find him staring intently and deeply into her eyes. The love and devotion found there cannot be denied.

"Don't you ever tell me that you are too sensitive to be touched," he grins at her.

"Touched in the right way, maybe, but without what has already gone on today, I doubt you could have been so restrained."

"Fair enough. You're probably right there," he admits candidly. "And without the freedom to know that I couldn't take care of you first like I like to do, I never would have been able to do what we did. I guess I married a pretty smart woman."

"Even if it took me so long to realize what I was doing?" she frowns, still angry at herself for the road she has led them down.

Then she groans as they hear the sound of running feet headed for the TV and Saturday morning cartoons.

"You stay here for a minute and rest. I'll go get 'em breakfast," Jon offers.

"You just gave me the tender orgasm I needed; I'll get it for them," she moans, starting to rise.

"Honey?" he raises an eyebrow that stops her in mid-motion. "I thought we were done with this 'chores as a reward for sex' thing. Let me do this for you because I want to."

She looks at him skeptically; old habits and arguments struggling within her.

"You're a little tapped out at the moment and can use a little rest to rejuvenate. Let me do this."

"You've had a kind of taxing morning, too," she pouts but it is clear that she is sleepy at the moment. Jon considers it a major victory that she didn't come unglued on him for implying that she wasn't up to her end of the chores for any reason. This has been a major flare up point in past discussions.

"Honey, if you're going to make the rest of the day, you need a little bit more sleep now. Remember that I promised to take Lynne's kids out fishing with Jordan and Timothy today. I'm going to need an extra hand to corral that crew. I need you to sleep just a little bit now so that we can partner together later."

"Okay. If you put it like that," she smiles at him, already settling down into the covers, drowsy eyed. Where has this insightful, caring man been for the last few years? Why have I done nothing but argue with him?

He pulls a light blanket over her, kisses her forehead and heads out the door to feed the little rascals.

"Jon?" she halts him at the door with a quiet word. "Thank you for knowing what I needed. I still owe you more blowjobs today, if you want them." Jon is unclear whether she is talking about her needing sleep now or the needs he satisfied that made her sleepy. Not that it matters.

"Thank you for admitting what our marriage needed," he whispers on his way to take care of the kids.