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.

*****

From the Cineplex restroom, Sue texts her friend:

Sue: Help! Movie sucks. What now?

Lynne:???

Sue: Movie I picked is awful.

Lynne: So? Leave.

Sue: I dragged Jon to see this thing, "stupid chick flick" he called it. Supposed to be a romantic evening.

Lynne: 2 early 2 come home. Kiddos still up.

Sue: Yup.

Lynne: BMBJ

Sue:?

Lynne: Bad Movie Blow Job. If neither of you care about the movie but can't leave, spice it up by being naughty in the back row.

Sue: I can't do that!

Lynne: Sure you can. Be his little plaything. Rules of the BMBJ say you can't leave until one or both of you have cum. J

Sue: I hate you.

Lynne: Enjoy! Ttyl.

Sue makes her way back into the dark theatre finding her husband digging in the bottom of the popcorn bucket for stray kernels, not even pretending to watch the angsty teens on screen blather about their horrible, love-starved lives.

"Did I miss anything?" she whispers, snuggling in next to him.

"Don't know," he glances up. "Probably not."

"Look, I know 'chick flicks' aren't your thing. And this one is particularly bad..."

"Yaw think?" Eye roll.

"...but I really do appreciate you coming with me." She is clinging to his arm now, leaning over the armrest, brushing her breasts against his arm.

Jon glances into her smoldering eyes before sneaking a glance around the dark room. Apparently most people had read the reviews and heeded them. The theatre is not crowded and there is no one close by to notice her inappropriate flirting, nor even the whispering.

"Well, while there isn't much for me here on the screen, I do enjoy the company. And nothing beats fresh, theatre popcorn, either!"

She gives him the smack on the arm that deserves and glances back at the weepy gal-pals projected before them.

"What do you mean? The blonde has giant boobs; don't tell me you don't appreciate that!"

"But I'm not supposed to notice things like that. That would be disrespecting the beautiful, independent woman I'm with."

"But I bet my full-blooded, American man did notice."

"Uh..."

"Thank you for being respectful enough not to let on, though."

"You're welcome. I try to strike a balance between being a full-blooded, American man and a modern, open-minded, American man in a committed relationship."

"So, since the movie is so bad, you have my permission to look. You think those babes are fake?"

After a brief glance over to make sure she isn't baiting an idealistic trap for him, Jon turns a discriminating eye to the screen.

"Oh, yeah. But not as fake as her acting skills."

"Hehe," she snickers, glancing around the darkened room again to ensure they aren't disturbing the few people still trying to follow the tortured storyline on-screen.

"I, of course, still prefer your simply gorgeous, all-natural chest," he gallantly continues.

"Bullshit," she hisses back. "Don't be a lying ass. She's got great tits and we both know it."

"She ought to; she obviously paid enough for them."

Sue stifles another giggle and presses her chest against his arm again. She recognizes that she is behaving like a silly school girl on a date with her jock boyfriend but she finds that she is suddenly enjoying the role. Having freedom to be politically INcorrect is oddly thrilling and she feels the rush of excitement just like she used to have all those years ago. She hopes that giving her polite, considerate husband the same freedom will likewise thrill him.

"So which of the babes on the screen there has the better pair? "

Jon is surprised to find himself comparing and commenting on women's breasts with his feminist spouse, but he relishes the opportunity to do so. Maybe there is something to her recent apologies and insistence that she has revised her opinions in respect to their private lives.

"The blonde's are pretty impressive but have you noticed how the brunette's nips are always pointy?"

"Mm-hm. I'd noticed that," Sue acknowledges, both disgusted at herself for treating the women in the movie as mere sex objects and privately, perversely thrilled to be sharing an inappropriately sexy moment with her husband. "They probably built points into her costumes."

"Aw, man, don't go spoiling my adolescent fantasies that she is just perpetually aroused and her nipples stick out like that."

"Sorry, my horny little boy; didn't mean to crush your dreams. My pointy tips are sticking out like that, though," she whispers, sitting up straight beside him and pushing her chest forward to prove the point (or "points" as the case may be). Inviting him to stare at her aroused nipples sends another flutter of excitement through her heart. I really am becoming more slutty for him, she thinks. And I like it. Mandy would be scandalized but Lynne would be proud of me.

"Take your bra off," he demands.

In for penny, in for a pound, she shrugs. Brazenly thrusting her chest even further forward, she reaches behind her back and under her blouse to unclasp her bra. Then she does that thing that women do, pulling her arms inside her shirt and wiggling around until she is free of the restriction.

"Better?" she coos, letting the now obvious tips of her breasts tent out her silky shirt.

"Very nice. Very, very nice."

"Glad my middle-age boobs don't disappoint."

"Too bad your shirt doesn't button in the front," he comments.

"You'd make me unbutton it wouldn't you?"

"I'd try."

"I'd do it."

"Really?"

She glances around the quiet theatre. Nobody is paying them the slightest attention as their seats are very near the back of the almost empty theatre. "Only for you. It'd be hard and I'd be mortified but I would do it if you asked."

"I'm starting to believe you really would. You really are trying to change your ways for me, aren't you?"

"Lynn says that since I ask you not to look at other women's boobs, I have to be willing to show you mine whenever you like. It's only fair."

"But you told me tonight, it's okay to look at the on-screen boobs." He nods back to the front of the theatre where Bodacious Blonde Betty and Pointy Tip Patricia are pouring out their true feelings to one another.

They watch the posturing actresses for a few moments without paying much attention to the dialog.

"The director was obviously a 'breast man', huh? Looks like the cameramen are playing 'Dueling Tit Shots,'" Jon snorts.

"Sure seems that way," Sue laughs along. "And just because I gave temporary reprieve from the looking at other women's boobs rule, doesn't mean I'm going to renege on my commitment to give you rights over mine."

Jon looks back to her with a smile. "I have 'rights' now? Doesn't that go against some feminist manifesto that you've been quoting to me for years?"

"Well, yes, that's true. Just because you married me doesn't mean that you own me. But... if it is my choice and I choose to give you rights to my body because you married me, then, well, it is my choice, isn't it?"

"I suppose. And that is the choice you are making?"

Sue's heart flutters. This is it. He is not letting her gloss over this little point. Is she really committed to this and what it means in her life? With what she has seen in the last few weeks, how it seems that perhaps this path has pulled their marriage back from the very brink of disaster, how happy Jon has been and how happy, in fact, she has been to be "his"? It sure seems this is the path that she wants to take.

"Yes, Jon. I am making this choice. When I married you, 'to have and to hold', I committed to not only save myself for you, but to give myself to you. I grant you full, complete and total access to my body. You can stare at and caress my boobs anytime you want for as long as you want until I'm old and shriveled and you don't want to anymore."

"You better be careful there, missy. I might fall in love with you all over again."

"Oh, I hope so," she smiles.

The lighting changes dramatically in the room, distracting them both, as the scene changes to a darkened, romantic seduction scene. Bodacious Blonde Betty is getting into bed with the male lead, whatever his name is, and the audience is treated, of course, to an excellent side-boob shot.

Jon gazes appreciatively and then deliberately looks back at the side of Sue's blouse, sitting next to him, in obvious comparison.

"Okay, she sure has melons, but I so much prefer the natural movement of yours," he whispers.

"Hmm," she purrs, shaking her shoulders ever so slightly to create some jiggle for him.

Back on the screen, they catch a quick glimpse of the male lead's tight asscheeks as he moves over top of the object of his current affections.

"Yum. Cute butt," Sue notes.

"Really?"

"Not as cute as yours, of course," she hastens to add.

"No, of course not," he snickers, acknowledging the complete, blatant lie. "It is okay by me, by the way, for you to look at, appreciate, admire and lust after other guy's butts. I'm pretty confident that it is mine you'll be digging your nails into when we get home tonight."

"Promises, promises," she giggles back, reaching into his lap and purposefully caressing the crotch of his pants.

He settles back into his seat, spreading his legs to give his unusually flirty wife more room to play. "Somehow, this movie has gotten a little bit better." He watches, fascinated, as she unzips his jeans. Then he snickers at her fumbling attempts to extract his cock through the opening in his boxers. He watches the consternation on her face. He watches her jiggling boobs, unrestrained beneath the silky smoothness of her blouse. He watches her get more frustrated and embarrassed.

"Here, let me help a bit," he says, slipping his semi-hard manhood out into the open air. "Now I know a little bit how you feel when I fumble with your bra clasp."

"Thanks. Guess I need a little practice at that," she laughs with him, grateful that the fumbling mechanics of the act hasn't spoiled the mood.

"Oh, that's something you can practice a lot more if you'd like," he answers. "What has gotten into you tonight? I have never seen you like this."

"BMBJ."

"What?"

"Something else Lynne told me about. BMBJ. Bad movie blow job. I dragged you out to a bad movie that neither of us is actually interested in and so we can't leave until one or the other of us cums."

"Ha," Jon snorts, too loud for the quiet scene taking place in the movie and both quickly glance around to make sure they haven't attracted any unwanted attention.

"Great idea but I'm not sure it is really going to work. The armrests between us are way too high; you couldn't lean over far enough without it being really, really obvious what was going on."

"Yeah, but..." she starts to reply.

"And even me, as selfish as I am and anxious for you to complete the deed, even I wouldn't ask you to kneel on that floor."

"Oh, yeah," she grimaces at the thought of any part of her except the soles of her shoes coming into contact with the sticky floor of the theatre.

"BMHJ, then?" he offers.

"It would be my pleasure, sir," she grins back.

"Oh, no, the pleasure will be all mine."

She begins lightly caressing his erect shaft, paying special attention to the sensitive head.

"Mmm. That feels good," he whispers. "And so does this," he continues, reaching over and grabbing a handful of breast. It is not a caress or a fluttering, exploratory touch. It is a possessive, demanding grab; a clear statement that he took her at her word and considers her boobs to be his property to manhandle as he pleases.

Sue's instinctive reaction, from years of feminist dogma, is indignation and a desire to protect "the ladies" from the inappropriate assault, but the "new, submissive Sue" quickly quells the urge to backhand him. She deliberately arches her back a little to thrust them out and invite more of the same.

"Mmm, yeah, baby. You want to play? Feel me up good, stud." she invites.

Jon stares at her, surprised.

"Give this one some of that, too," she grins at him, jiggling the other breast, pleased to be able to prove her commitment and love to him. Jon stares at the wobbly form, shifting delightfully beneath the blouse, tracking the point of her nipple as it traces an erratic line in the fabric.

"You don't have to be so gentle with them," she invites, "sometimes a girl needs a little rougher treatment." This admission surprises them both: Jon, that she actually wants such a thing, and Sue, that she voiced such a thought (which she has secretly had for years) out loud. Jon's cock twitches under Sue's gentle touch and she feels a slight gush of wetness between her legs.

Jon takes advantage of her offering and rudely grabs her other breast, feeling the hefty smoothness of it in the circular motion of his palm before lifting and squeezing the entire breast in his hand. He completes his inspection with a quick pinch of her nipple between his thumb and index finger. He hears the sharp intake of her breath at his crude assault.

You're just letting him! Right here in the theatre! Sue exalts to herself. Lynne is right; letting my man do whatever he wants to me is hot.

"You can pinch harder than that," Sue goes all in, playing the slut for him. "If you want, I mean."

She strokes his hard rod lovingly as he gazes lustfully into her eyes. He finds acceptance, commitment, desire - love - burning back at him from deep within her soul.

Without breaking that intimate connection, his hands locate the erect points and he squeezes both nipples through the smooth fabric.

Her eyes flutter half closed and she groans at the sensation. His, she thinks. I'm all his.

"Harder," she hisses, need apparent in her voice.

He obliges with a cruel tug and slight twist before his fingers slip away on the silky fabric. She gasps at the pain/pleasure and feels the warmth spike up again in her pussy.

Again becoming aware of their surroundings, Jon looks around to ensure that no one has yet noticed their illicit behavior. Thankfully, the action on the screen has switched to something more lively and the louder soundtrack is covering their actions.

"Finish me off so we can go someplace where I can suck and nibble on you properly," he whispers, his hunger for her apparent.

"Yes, sir. You can do whatever you want to them."

She quickens the pace of her strokes, eager to please him.

"More gently for right now. Long strokes," he directs, laying back in the seat and letting her serve him. Sue is enjoying this tremendously. For so long, under Mandy's direction, their sex life has been focused on her, setting up a "superior woman" environment where his dedication to her pleasure "earned" him the right to be satisfied. The switch to sole concern for his pending satisfaction is refreshing and downright hot.

"Mm, that's it. Good girl," he whispers, lost in the sensations she is giving him. Sue finds that even his condescension is arousing, touching a pool of submissive arousal deep within her. She likes being his good girl.

"Little bit more now," he continues and she feels his cock swell a little more under her ministrations.

"That's it, love. Right there. More. More."

She recognizes the signs in her husband and brings her other hand into play, covering the knob of his prick, both to provide sensation to the sensitive head but also to catch the throbbing release she anticipates is moments away. She has no intention of adding to the stickiness of the theatre floor.

He tenses, eyes closed, and gives himself over to her and the pleasure she gives him. It feels good to selfishly allow himself to be taken care of, with no thought or concern for her. Paradoxically, this makes him love her more and feel even more connected to her.

She feels the throbs at the base of his shaft first as his sperm rockets up into her hand. The other hand continues to milk him, determined to provide the maximum amount of pleasure she can. She expertly grips the crown with one hand as the milky tribute gushes plentifully into her palm. She alternates between watching the fascinating spectacle of a spurting cock with the delirious beauty of satisfaction and release that washes over his face.

"Ah, ah," he pants. "Just hold. Grip."

She grips him tightly along the length, feeling the throbs and shudders that rock through him. Occasionally she pulses back, giving him a slight squeeze and release, prolonging his enjoyment as much as she can.

"That was wonderful. Awesome." he breathes. "Thank you."

"No, thank you, kind sir. I am here but to please you. What else can I do for your enjoyment?" she giggles, playfully shaking her boobs at him again so that they wobble lasciviously beneath her blouse.

"Oh, I'm pretty well spent here. What can I do for you now?"

She grins back at him, pleased at his concern for her, but determined to keep the focus on him. She stares him directly in the eye and brings her cum-covered palm to her mouth and takes a huge, obscene lick.

"Mm. Thank you for giving me such a yummy snack now that all the popcorn is gone." Jon stares at her slack-jawed as she cleans her whole hand, chasing down errant drips between her fingers. Until very recently, she has expressed very little interest in swallowing his cum. Maybe she really has changed, he thinks.

"I am so horny right now," she whispers. "My panties are just drenched."

"What can I do for you?" he asks again.

"Nothing. I'm so wound up I could probably get off on your fingers right here. But I don't want to. I want to be horny. Just to wallow in it. My need is so raw. I'm frustrated and need you. Oh, Jon, my pussy is so empty. I need you so bad. I want you to fuck me. I need to be fucked, hard." Mandy would be horrified; she preached that you should never let a man see your need, appear weak and need sexual fulfillment. That would be to let a man have power over you.

"You're going to have to wait for that, babe. I'll bet you are just gushing between your legs. And you are just going to have to deal with it until we get home." Her need is so plain - eyes dilated, nostrils flared, her breath coming in short, panting gasps, the tension in her back that arches her chest forward. There is just a glow about her that radiates sexual hunger.

Sorry, Mandy, dear. I want my man to see my need and take me.

"Yeah, baby. I want you so much. I am so on edge. I want to ache for you. I love being horny for you. Just to wallow in it. My need is so raw. Make me want you all that much more. Make me."

Jon leans over and kisses her panting lips lightly, barely grazing them and then pulling back, teasing. He does it again, his tongue licking out to tantalize her lips. She whines as the brief touch only fuels her desire without providing any concrete contact.

He reaches down and presses his balled fist on the cushion of her theatre seat just barely brushing against the jeans seam in her crotch. Her hips rock forward almost involuntarily and press against the firm surface of his clenched hand. Almost before she realizes it, she is humping him. Shit, I am just a bitch in heat, she marvels at herself, incredulous at how much that thought excites her when it should repel.

Jon marvels, too, watching the sexual dynamo his wife has become as she lewdly humps against his hand. He knows she likes firm pressure against her core; he is just stunned at the way she is displaying her desire so openly. He can see the arousal climbing higher in her and he watches the glow burn even brighter on her cheeks.
Abruptly, he pulls his hand away and Sue falls back into her seat, her legs splayed wide in an obscene invitation. Her body posture just begs a good fucking. If ever there was a "come-on" pose asking to be taken, this is it. She glares at him in her need, frustrated, angry, piqued.

"Let's go," he says simply and stands up, tucking his not-yet-recovered dick back into his pants and zipping up. She scrambles up grabbing the empty soft drink cup and popcorn bucket and follows him down the aisle. They get relatively little notice from the few other theatre goers, apparently the plot line has picked up because those remaining actually seem to be watching at this point.

Back in the more brightly lit lobby, Sue is immediately self-conscious of the movement of her braless tits, sure that the entire theatre going public is staring. Then she catches Jon's eye as he appreciates her and it doesn't matter. Her man is looking lustfully at her; he longs for her; he is proud of her, proud to be seen with her.

He smiles at her as they make their way through the Friday night throng. Something must be playing that is better than the sad waste of cellulous (or bytes of video image or whatever movies are recorded in today) that they just left, given the number of teen girls blatantly flirting with their male counterparts.

"I'm going to stop in the restroom," Sue says.

"Again?" he asks, incredulous. "You just went."

"Yeah, but I need to go again," she whines, dancing from foot to foot. "That Coke was huge." She nods toward the empty drink cup. More like a drink bucket actually. It is condescending and somewhat offensive that she feels like she has to justify herself. But then, again, in her hyper-aroused state, there is something sexy about it.

"If you must," he sighs with exaggerated drama. "But under two conditions. First, you cannot touch yourself or masturbate in any way."

Even though he says this quietly, Sue still blushes and looks around panic-stricken that someone may have heard his comment. She can't believe she is letting him dictate terms under which she can use the bathroom but in her horny state, it is somehow arousing to yield to his control.

"And second," he continues, "you have to take your panties completely off and come back out here and give them to me."

"What?" Sue is doubly scandalized. This is just going too far! But then, she remembers something Lynne told her, that sometimes you just have to let your husband push you into doing things you normally wouldn't do and find out that you really like it. She makes a conscious decision to submit. And then decides to up the ante.

"Okay," she agrees, much to his surprise. "But I have a condition of my own."

"Oh, really?" he smiles back at her, amazed that she has taken on this comfort-zone violating challenge and pleased at her flirty tone.

"Yes. While I'm gone you have to figure out which of these vapid, hormone-crazed, teen bimbos has the best tits."

"Seriously?"

"That's my requirement. You have to look at all these boobs. Like that little babe over there with the pink fishnet over her halter top."

Jon looks quizzically into the eyes of the woman he loves and expresses his doubt. "Are you sure about that?"

"Yes. It is my request, no, my demand, that you look at every other woman's breasts in this lobby and be able to describe which ones you find the most attractive and why."

"Yes, ma'am!" he responds enthusiastically, ready to take the chance that she really is serious.

She returns a few minutes later, with a conspiratorial blush, embarrassed by the dance and wiggle taking place beneath her blouse as well as the slick glide between her legs. Maybe "going commando" has its advantages after all. She sidles up to him and hands him a wad of balled up cotton. He smiles lasciviously and accepts the gift, raising it to his nose and sniffing, all while watching the blushing acquiescence play across her face.

"I love your smell," he whispers to her, causing her to blush even further.

"You are so gross," she frowns at him, but in truth, his shocking behavior is only inflaming her further. She can again see the predator lurking behind his eyes. He wants her. He wants to take her and possess her and take outrageous liberties with her. And her body sings with inappropriate anticipation of the disgraceful violation of her personal boundaries she hopes he will take.

She is in a very strange place for her - needy, hungry, desperate and loving it. Loving being dependent on him in her need. Loving deferring to him and building him up by conceding herself to him. She is raw and hungry and she is granting him the freedom to taunt her or frustrate her or reject her or take her, purely at his whim. She is relishing her own vulnerability and she is flush with excitement over his power and dominance over her. It reminds her of the early days of their relationship, when he was "older" and more experienced, when she was more naïve and vulnerable to his rejection. They risked so much emotionally finding each other and falling in love.

Although she desperately wants to leave and go someplace private to take care of the needs in her, she is reluctant to give up this magical moment. She is enjoying the tension, the almost physical pain of her unsatisfied arousal. And she loves the wildly inappropriate bolstering of his base, male nature.

"I held up my end of the bargain. How about you? Did you find the best tits in town? And you are not allowed to say mine; that's a cop out."

Jon smiles at her. She knows him so well. "Okay, then, the best tits that are not mine to play with..." She grins back at his characterization, the continuation of their flirtatious game, as she watches him glance around the room. "... is harder than you might think, because nobody is just staying here, the whole crowd is flowing through. I've seen a great pair or two but they aren't here right now."

"That's okay," Sue responds, stepping to his side and slightly behind him. This allows her to hold his arm somewhat possessively (she likes being close to him like this when she is feeling so aroused) and look the same way he is looking while providing some protective shielding so that her braless chest isn't quite so obvious. "What was it you liked about what you saw?"

"Well, some of them are just shaped really nicely. And some have the cutest points..."

"How about the woman over there in the purple?"

"Wow. Um, yeah, wow. Those are big. But... I don't know."

"I thought guys liked big boobs."

"Yeah, but those are just... big. You know, it isn't like they are so big they sag or anything, they are nice and firm, but there is something about them that just looks unnatural. I like something more like those over there in the black."

Sue is surprised and amused to hear Jon try to explain what he likes. Trying not to be too obvious, she glances around Jon's shoulder at the girl he has indicated. Interestingly, he is right. The woman's chest is not outlandishly large like the one she had picked. Oh, they are full and round but not oversized for her frame. Additionally, they do not appear to be boosted by a push-up, nor crammed into a cleavage display or anything so blatant as that. They are good, wholesome, all-American boobs tastefully accentuated by adequate support and a respectable shirt. Through it all though, it works. Sue would have to agree that the breasts on the young woman are, in fact, very attractive.

"Or maybe even the girl over there in the white tank-top. I really like that, too."

Sue is both surprised and not surprised by this choice. The girl in question, probably just eighteen, has obviously dressed for success this evening, if attracting every male eye in the room is the definition of success. She is fairly tall for her age and slim in an apparently healthy way that only teenagers can pull off. Her tits are actually pretty small (this is the surprising part to Sue) maybe a B cup on a good day but they are very perky (the not surprising part). Gravity has not had time to do any work on them apparently because they sit on her chest ridiculously high. And obviously point straight out.

"You're really serious about this business, aren't you?"

"We chauvinistic men take our boob-oogling very seriously," he quietly asserts.

Now, Sue has never really been interested in other women in a sexual way but there is something intriguing about looking at women through her husband's eyes. She finds herself looking at women physically, looking for the things that she thinks he will find attractive, assessing whether the shape or the size or the projection of this girl's chest is more delectable than that woman's. Maybe it is just her current horniness, maybe it is just her desire to please her husband, but she finds it somewhat titillating. She hugs her husband's arm tighter as she glances surreptitiously around the crowded lobby looking for beautiful breasts to admire with her husband.

"Ooh, honey," she snickers, catching sight of a newcomer jiggling her way towards them across the lobby. The redhead is on the prowl, her generous bosom apparently unfettered by any restriction beneath her silky top with its plunging neckline. There is more movement there than in a slo-mo action sequence on a Baywatch rerun. And the silky smoothness of the fabric caressing her sensitive tips must be pretty intense, too, given the state of the all-too-obvious effect on her.

"That looks like a wardrobe malfunction waiting to happen."

"Not so sure she'd be too concerned if it did."

"Is this lobby still rated PG-13 or did that change over when the second showings started?"

They snicker and laugh together like newlyweds and try to be somewhat subtle in their survey of the hooterscape but still without missing anything.

Sue finds it remarkably naughty and freeing to be rudely assessing and discussing the characteristics of other women's chests with her husband and strangely arousing. But probably not too surprising, given the state she is already in.

"Oh, baby, I want you so bad; I can't wait anymore. Let's go," she requests.

They hurry their way to the car, laughing and giggling at each other, just being silly. It is glorious and freeing and childish and fun all wrapped into one.

"We can't go home yet; the kids will still be up," Sue frowns as Jon navigates the busy parking lot.

"I know just the place," he smiles mischievously at her, turning onto the street. "Unbutton your pants."

She just looks at him momentarily before shaking her head at his impulsive demands and the arrogance he shows that she will simply do his bidding, just because he tells her to. She complies though, unhooking the button on her Levi's and drawing the zipper down.

"Are you wet?" he asks.

"You crude, revolting man!" she retorts. "Of course I'm drenched and you know it!"

"Get your finger wet and give me a taste."

"Jon!" she is again scandalized by how crude he can be and she glances out the window as the car moves out of the parking lot, onto the service road.

"Nobody can see; don't worry about it," he reassures her.

She surprises herself by doing as he asks, bridging her hips up off the seat to give access, lightly caressing between her sensitive lips to wet her finger and then presenting it to him. He delicately licks her finger.

"Mmm. You are hot," he remarks, savoring the taste like a fine wine.

At a red light, he reaches over and grabs her breast again through the silky smoothness of her blouse.

"Jon!" she admonishes pulling back and glancing out the windows.

"Do I have rights or don't I?"

"You do," she admits, "but here where everyone can see?"

"I want everyone to know what I've got and they don't. I get to play with these fabulous breasts any time I want. You said so."

"Pig," she mutters, knowing she should be scandalized but she can't help being a little turned on. She has always been somewhat proud of her full and firm breasts and his interest in them.

Moments later he pulls in the parking lot beside his office. It is in a good, business neighborhood and reasonably well-lit. Jon stops the car in an isolated corner. "Noticed the other day that the security cams don't really cover this corner of the lot. Turns out to be a fantastically secluded spot to 'park.'"

"I haven't 'parked' with a guy since high school," she snickers. She feels impetuous, sexy and excited.

"Take off your pants and then climb over into the back," he instructs.

She raises an eyebrow, the silent question obvious.

He smiles, wondering truly how much he is going to get away with. He loves pushing her like this when she is horny; she is so much more willing to accept his outrageous suggestions. At least she was back in the day, in the early years of their relationship, when they were young, foolish, hormone-crazed and impetuous. "Because I want you to," he answers the unasked question. "Because I want to watch your naked ass as you climb over the seat."

Well, she has explicitly invited him to express what he wants. And she is so horny she knows she will do anything for him. She wants to fire that passion in him, bring out the predator she saw the other day. She wants him to want her, to hunger after her in the same way that she is hungering after him.

She blushes as she pushes her jeans down her legs. She feels exposed to him, not just because of her nakedness but because of her need. She knows she is conceding not only to his control and direction, but she knows that her heated libido is making her do things that she wouldn't normally. And that he knows it and is using it to manipulate her. It is what Mandy had always warned her about - giving the male the upper hand would lead to her subjugation. But she can't help herself and in this moment, she wants that.

Over the last few weeks, she has grown to like being dominated by her man. It isn't like she is giving control to just any man, but to her man. And she knows him, trusts him, loves him. And she has found that giving up this level of control and trust to him, to submit to his dominance, is to grow close to him, is to be intimate with him, binds her not in subjugation to all men but binds her in love to her man. She gives it to him as a gift and he treats it as precious.

With her jeans out of the way, the scent of her aroused body fills the confines of the car's interior. She knows she is in heat and that he knows it. She has every hope that he will take unfair advantage of her state of arousal.

She agrees with his plan, trying to make love in the front seat of a car with bucket seats, gear shift, steering wheel etc. has always proved too cumbersome (not that sex in the back seat is a piece of cake) but getting out in the cold air and dashing to the back, slamming doors and such has always been a mood breaker. This is right, even as clumsy and awkward as she knows it will be.

She smiles seductively at him as she climbs over and between the seats, fully aware of the show she will give him. She anticipates him taking some outrageous liberty during the process. She stops halfway, with her head on the backseat and her legs still in the front, unsure of exactly how to get all the way back without kicking him in the face.

"Stuck?"

"Well..."

"Or do you just like sticking your naked ass in my face?"

"Actually, I didn't want to kick you. But I'm glad you are enjoying the view."

"Well, thank you. On both counts."

She contorts her way through and draws her legs between the bucket seats and into the back.

"Damn but you are gorgeous. I love seeing your bare butt stick up in the air like that. You have no idea what that does to me, babe."

"I thought sure you were going to spank me." She knows his long-standing fascination with spanking, a little kink they have discussed but was never, ever a real possibility. She would have enlisted Mandy to roast his nuts on the barbeque if he had ever really attempted it.

"Ooo, I sure thought about it... with your head down, ass up just primed for a couple of quick swats..." he grins at her wistfully. He is delighted that he can even approach the subject and he begins to understand just how far she has come that she would even bring it up, even acknowledge it.

"You could have," she whispers in the quiet of the car.

"Really?" he is awestruck. His heart melts at the thought of what she is offering, admitting to.

"I want you so bad," she admits, vulnerable in her weakness. She is near tears at the betrayal of her ideals. But it is true nonetheless. She would have screamed and shrieked and kicked out. But she also knows now that she would have let him. It is a revelation to them both and they both wonder at what it really means. But it sure is going to be a helluva lot of fun finding out!

"I want your cock. I want you to fill me up and take me and ravish me like you did the other night. I want to be 'yours' again. And if that means that my poor little bum has to take a couple of spanks... well, then it will."

With a growl of animalistic passion, Jon scrambles over the back seat with a speed and grace that neither of them believed he possessed. Steering wheel? Shoulder belt? Center arm rest? Somehow none of it is a barrier holding him back from getting to the object of his desire.

In moments he is clutching her naked body to him and pressing his lips to hers in a fashion befitting the backseat-of-the-car-make-out scene. All the unrestrained passion, all the fumbling, desperate clasping and groping of hormone-crazed teens can't compare with the lust and fervor with which they come together. Somehow between the passionate French kisses and the gripping clutching pawing of naked flesh, he is able to get his cock out of the confines of his pants and she finds the evidence of his ardor poised at the entrance to her almost painfully ravenous opening.

A swirl of emotions battle for her attention - the setting sparks a flood of memories from her adolescence; she is delighted that she has been able to kindle the fire in this passionate predator, victorious in his claiming of her; she marvels at how completely turning herself over to him makes her want him so much more; completely letting down her guard and exposing her raw, unfiltered need is counterintuitively empowering; trusting him with her most precious and fragile secrets binds him to her.

"Yes!" she gasps. "I need it so bad. I need you. I need you to fill me so completely I can't think of anything else."

He presses forward and sinks awkwardly into her molten sex. Awkward because of the positioning, her head crammed up against the back passenger door, her leg splayed upward across the back of the seat, one foot in the rear window. In the cramped quarters, they are barely able to reach one another, but they manage. They make up for the difficult positions through sheer desire and zeal.

"Oh, Jon!" she shrieks, so very desperate to feel his throbbing manhood pierce her. It is such ecstasy to feel him merge with her, to feel his obsession, his thirst, his lust.

He thrusts hard against her, straining to press his shaft as deeply into her as he can. In turn, she strains to spread as wide as she can to accommodate him, craving the intimate contact of his pelvis to hers. They end in a contortionist's embrace, each somehow hugging the other's knee or thigh, cleaving to each other as their crotches rut and hump together. Their thrusting pounds their pelvic bones together in bruising, battering slaps.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Sue shouts in rhythm to their plunges, awash in the convulsions gripping her core. She feels as if she may break apart in sheer tension and release but if there were a way for him to pound her harder, she would gladly embrace it.
Jon is bellowing one loud, long and deep cry of pure hedonistic delight, rejoicing that his previous climax in the theatre has taken the edge off his physical response and allowed him to go longer than he might have otherwise but has done nothing to diminish the ardor and passionate desire he has for his wife. That he can express his delight in her in such a visceral and substantial carnal way is gratifying at a deeply instinctual level.

Orgasm crashes into gut-wrenching orgasm for Sue and she feels swept up and away in a torrent of emotions and sensations, swimming in a sea of pounding, throbbing waves. Her anchor, her rock though is her man, her lover, her husband and she clings to him as the only steady and sure thing in a world of light and sound and spectacle.

Eventually, they both come down from the explosive pleasure and find themselves cramping, contorted, sweaty and hoarse from their animalistic vocalizations. Their conjoined genitals are still throbbing and shuddering in electric aftershocks. Sue is the first to break out into laughter, although it is unclear whether she is overcome with pure joy in emotional release or awestruck at the ludicrous positions in which they find themselves. Whatever its source, it spreads quickly and Jon finds himself laughing right with her as they try unsuccessfully to extricate themselves from the tangle of arms, legs and twisted torsos. To do so while with electric aftershocks firing off in their raw nerve endings only adds to the ridiculousness.

"Oh, my fucking gosh, Jon!" Sue gasps between gales of laughter. "What the hell was that?"

"Only the best, fucking, back-seat sex ever!" he laughs back, staring deeply into her eyes.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to get off me," Sue asks. "I think my neck is about to break."

If getting into position was clumsy and ungainly, getting untangled and sitting up in the backseat is even more so. More giggles, blushes, bumps and apologies ensue as they somehow manage to disentangle themselves and end upright in their seats.

The tight confines reek of cunt juice and sperm and sweat. Jon's still semi-erect cock flops about as Sue's completely naked body jiggles and glistens in the pink-tinted parking lot lights.

"Shit, you look like such a tramp. Like you've really been well-fucked."

Sue knows that she should be offended by that but she isn't. Without making the slightest attempt to cover up, she responds to him. "And you like that, don't you?"

"Sure do. Man, you're hot!"

"See what happens when you take control and take what you want."

"See what happens when you let the man of the house take over?"

She blushes at his frank assessment, but revels in the sheer debauchery of the moment.

He gathers her into his arms. "Sit here in my lap; I want to suck on your breasts like I promised."

"After all that? I might just be too sensitive for that right now..."

"I don't care. You teased me with them back in the theatre. I like sucking on them and you said I have rights to them whenever I want." He smiles at her. "I want."

She blushes under the truth of what he is asking of her. This is what she asked him to do - take advantage of her.

And if she is honest with herself, she is flattered and a little intrigued that he is taking charge like this.

"You have made such a gracious offer, the least I can do is accept it and take advantage of it," he grins.

And then continues, "I know this is new to us and our relationship. And I'm grateful that you're trying to get us to a better place. I know it is not easy for you but I think it is working and I do truly appreciate it."

She is touched that he recognizes and is willing to acknowledge her efforts; that he has accepted her offer and values the gift she has made. Her hope that their marriage can be saved is strengthened.

She climbs onto his lap, letting her naked bum rest across his thighs and the leaking cum flowing from her bruised and ravished quim, leak out onto his leg. She turns toward him and draws her shoulders back, offering her naked breasts to him.

He gently, almost reverently caresses the underside of her breasts. She watches him, watches the joy and wonder in his eyes, the delight in her shape, in her beauty. For too long, she has equated male appreciation of her physical form to be crude, chauvinistic and something to be avoided. Right here, right now, with his intense scrutiny of her womanly charms, it is suddenly touching, and intimate and beautiful again. This is part of her, too. Sure she wants him to admire and respect her independence and her intellect and her emotional bond with him. But she also gives him this - her body - which obviously holds such delight to him. This she can give him because she wants him to enjoy it, not because it is her duty to endure.

"You really like my tits, don't you?" she asks softly, her tender tone juxtaposed against her crude language.

"They are so lovely," he breathes adoringly.

"More lovely than those other bodacious boobs we saw back in the theatre?"

"More beautiful and perfect than any on the screen or in the lobby. Because they are yours. Because I love you and love doing this with you." And with that he leans in for a light kiss and gentle lick of her nipples.

"I should get them out more often; make sure you get to enjoy them whenever you want."

"I'd like that."

As he suckles at her breast, she stretches her stiff muscles and massages her neck.

"Maybe I'm a little stiff from what you put me through just a minute ago," she remarks casually, an aftershock trembling through her body at the memory.

"Maybe I should take you home and give you a massage," he mumbles around a mouthful of breast.

"I'd like that. But after you're done there. Take your time." She arches her back to thrust her chest forward more for his pleasure.