Better Advice, Better Marriage Ch. 04

Theirs is a marriage of equals -- they rejoice in sharing their life together as equal partners on this journey -- but tonight, she is okay being the lesser partner, being the "junior" and letting him have control, letting him have his wicked, selfish way with her. Suddenly, she feels like she is just his bitch and surprisingly, she doesn't mind. Her man deserves to have his own bitch and she wouldn't want it to be anybody else but her.

"Do it," she hisses. "Take what you want. Ram your cock right up into me if you want. Whatever you want; however you want it. Fuck me if you want to."

She feels nasty and dirty and more sexy than she has felt in forever.

His cock swells at her sexy words and he simply can't believe how much his desire for her grows. His love grows right along with it.

He slowly withdraws his glistening rod from her soft, wet flesh, watching, fascinated to see the head create a ripple under her skin. He grips her hips possessively and draws her back against him.

"I like watching my cock disappear into you, pushing into your pussy," he remarks. "I like watching your bottom from this angle, too. The way your cheeks curve out and spread. The way your cute little butthole winks back at me as my hard cock drills into your sloppy wet cunt."

"Mmmm," she whines again, thinking, Man, how does he know just what to say to make me feel even more like his bitch? I can't believe he is staring at my asshole. And likes it! Thinks it is sexy! What a disgusting pig. But even that embarrassment is arousing. If he finds even her disgusting, filthy asshole enticing; he must really love her.

"Mmm, yeah. Take me. Use me." She even likes the possessive pressure of his hand on her hip; there is something casual, strong, controlling about it.

"Mmm," he groans back at her, withdrawing oh so slowly and marveling at the way her engorged lips suck at the glistening wetness shining on his cock, almost as if kissing him. "I want to go slowly and prolong this; enjoy the sensations of the slick walls of your pussy."

"Oh, Jon, I want you so much," she pants, need raw in her voice.

"I want you, too. I want to pound you. Ram my cock into you. Plunder you and ravish you until you beg me to stop. But I'm going to make both of us wait, feeding off the tension and the hunger that waiting for it creates." Slowly, relentlessly he pushes back into her, controlling her thrust back against him with firm pressure on her hip.

She feels reined in, bridled like an unbroken filly, prancing and straining at the unfamiliar bit. His inexorable push into her depths only enflaming the emptiness she feels inside. She is controlled, steered, restrained. And in that moment, she also feels protected and guided. She has given him all her need and base desires and he holds them in his hands.

"Please!" she begs. "Fuck me. Fuck your bitch. I'm your cunt to fuck however you want. Make me yours. Mark me."

He catches a glimpse of the depth of the vulnerability she is exposing to him. She is giving herself to him in a very real and tender way. This is an incredibly precious gift -- delicate, exquisite, breakable. He is moved nearly to tears at the beauty and intimacy of it.

He draws back again, aware of the trembling of her hips beneath his hands, staring at the nasty secret of her brown pucker as it clenches and flutters with her pelvic muscles attempting to suck him back into the wetness of her gushing pussy. He pulls all the way out, allowing a languid drip of their combined pre-cum to escape her upturned sex and roll down across her turgid clitoris.

He gently stabs the head of his prick at the gaping maw of her overheated pussy, barely breaching the entrance with a lewd, wet, kissy sound. His fingers splay into the fleshy globes of her butt, prying her cheeks apart and stretching her anus obscenely.

"Jon! Oh, fuck, Jon! Please! Please, please, please, please!"

He continues to dance in and out of her molten core, never giving either of them the satisfaction they crave. Taunting both of them for the sheer joy of the anticipation. She gets the message that she has no control; she can't force him; she can't beg him; she can't influence him. She has given herself to him and he can play with her as long as he wants. It is a startling and beautiful revelation -- complete trust, complete love.

When he decides, he pushes into her again, filling her, completing her, merging with her. It feels as if his sword has pierced her very soul, that his cock extends so far into her that she is impaled on a spit. His hip bones are pressed into the curves of her upturned behind and his hairy balls are dangling against her oversensitive clitoris.

Pleasure radiates out from his cock buried within her. Her face falls to the bed and her scream of joy is smothered in the mattress. Her hands, free now from supporting her, maul her breasts in vicious fashion -- squeezing, pulling, tugging—wringing every ounce of sensation from the sensitive flesh.

He took her orgasm. He forced her to it without her decision or her consent. Oh, she wanted it alright but it is clear to her that she could not have stopped it or started it earlier or enhanced it or diminished it. He granted her an orgasm from his benevolence because he wanted to give it to her, wanted her to have it. He owns her cunt. He owns her pleasure. He fucks her when and how he wants and she cums when and how he wants.

He marvels at the spectacle before him as she writhes on his piercing cock like a worm on a hook. The sensations washing through her body evident in every muscle spasm and every shriek not quite suppressed in the blankets. It makes him proud and masculine and virile. He has taken her precious gift and given it back to her with a bow.

This is so over the top erotic to him that it triggers his climax. Not an immediate gushing throb but he has turned the corner and he knows it is inevitable at this point; his body has taken over and nothing in his entire universe could stem the impending tide. He embraces this reality by setting about truly fucking. The muscle memory of instinct takes over and his hips pound into the pliant flesh of his mate. He jackhammers his burning shaft into the clenching spasms of her tunnel, slapping his hips against her ass cheeks and mashing his balls into her precious nubbin.

He roars his victorious assault in a primal bellow and pounds her cunt mercilessly. He takes his pleasure from her as his right, buries himself into her and jets his white-hot seed into her.

In the throes of her own orgasm, she has no coherent thought but a primal part of her welcomes the throbbing manhood thrust into her and engulfs the flood of manly seed. Deeply satisfied at a prehistoric level, joy washes over her from the inside out. He could fuck her like this for days until her cunt was bruised and raw and she would thank him for it, begging for more.

He continues to thrust into her long after the initial wave of pleasure burns itself out, his burning, hyper-sensitive dick grinding along the channel. The sloppy wetness of their conjoined genitals making lewd, obscene mockery of the tenderness and affection they feel for each other. Jon is lightheaded after the storm of his climax but still sitting up tall behind her, sorry now that he isn't in a better position to hold her and gaze into her adoring eyes.

They collapse together on the bed. He is still atop her spooning in intimate fashion.

"What just happened?" he breathes, incredulous.

"I'm your bitch," she replies simply. "You just fucked the shit out of me."

"Are you okay with that?"

"Yeah. I think I am." She shudders in an aftershock. A warm, comforting glow suffuses her. She would give up mountains of intellectual, sterile victories for this feeling, this connection with him, the passion and emotions visible, raw, unrestrained.

"Even a smart, intelligent, independent woman of the 21^st century is okay with what just happened?"

"I think she's dead. If being your bitch gets me fucked like that, makes you the kind of man that can force me to that? I'm in."

Jon pulls apart from her enough to look in her eyes, searching for the truth of her statements, trying to assess her real meaning. He finds transparent need and vulnerability, love and truth.

"But only here, please. Only here in the bedroom where we can let our passions and desire for one another express themselves. Outside, in the outside world, I still want my partner, my confidante, my friend. A strong, intelligent, independent woman capable of expressing her own needs and thoughts."

"Jon?" Her turn to search his face for sincerity.

He smiles at her before replying. "I love you. I love all of you. I love my bitch, yes, but I love my life partner also. Deal?"

"Deal."