I do not own Grey's Anatomy… you already know that. Also, this gets dirty. Okay, not dirty. Filthy. It's gets pretty damn filthy. You've been warned. Proceed at your own risk.
Japril: From A to Z
Chapter 14: Never Enough
April – Marriage Bubble, Month 4
I'm exhausted and all I want to do is kiss my husband, eat some leftovers and crawl into bed. It's been an impossibly long twenty-four hours and I'm dead on my feet. I'd already showered at the hospital and believe me, it wasn't my first choice, but I felt too yucky to let it linger. It seemed like I had blood and guts in every orifice possible and there was no way I was going to drive home with the remnants, let alone scent of mayhem, destruction and death on me.
I just got finished pulling an overnight shift and the hours that passed were far from easy. My day started off as it usually does. I spent time doing rounds, as interns shadowed me. I worked in the emergency room, bandaging cuts, treating bruises and casting broken bones. I also had two pre-scheduled surgeries which consisted of a double hernia and gallbladder removal, but by the time the second half of my double shift began, all hell broke loose.
We'd been inundated with a five-car pileup, which resulted in multiple casualties not only of injured parties from the vehicles, but pedestrians as well. I'd seen everything imaginable last night to include a patient impaled by a steel gate and a victim whose sternum was crushed by a steering wheel when the air bag that was supposed to help protect him didn't deploy. In total there were fifteen patients, three with superficial wounds, four who were rushed into surgery, six who were able to be treated in the ER then later released, and two patients that succumbed their injuries.
I was already beat by the time the last patient was wheeled to their room when an emergency appendectomy came in at 3am in the morning. The last few hours of my shift consisted of closing out paperwork and I was able to sneak in an hour sleep in short thirty-minute bursts, but now my body and brain needed to catch some serious z's.
By the time I get home, the sun has risen, and I try to be as stealth as possible as I unlock the door. It's early Saturday morning and I know how much Jackson loves to sleep in when he can, and I don't want to disturb him. Hoping to be a quiet as a church mouse, I'm shocked when I place my keys on the hook, turn the corner and see him already up and cooking breakfast.
"Jackson? You're awake?" I say surprised because frankly, it's the last thing I would have expected.
"Hey, babe," he responds, but doesn't look up from his position behind the kitchen counter.
He appears to be in the middle of cutting vegetables and let me tell you, whatever he's making smells heavenly and it makes stomach grumble loudly and almost positive that he heard it if his knowing grin is any indication.
I dump my purse on the leather chair that overlooks the balcony and finally get a good look at him.
He's shirtless, for some reason, but is wearing an apron. As a matter of fact, it's the one that I wear when I make our meals and is covered with sunflowers and I snicker at how cute he looks in it.
"I thought you'd still be in bed. What are you doing up so early? Isn't this your day to lounge around?" I ask, eyebrow raised in question.
When he lifts his head to view me, his eyes are bright, and I can tell he's been up for some time.
"I called in to check on you last night and heard about the pileup. I knew you'd been on your feet all night and knowing you, you didn't make time to grab something, so I wanted to make sure you ate."
My hand immediately covers my heart in amazement at the thoughtfulness of this man. He's always concerned about my wellbeing and consistently puts me first. He's sweet and considerate and it's a side of him that he doesn't readily share with the world, always choosing to hide being this façade that he has everything together and under control.
"Jackson, you're too good to me," I say earnestly, but all he does is wave me off with a flick of his hand.
"Now, what kind of husband would I be if I didn't do for you like you do for me?" he says and as he turns, I let out an audible shriek.
"Oh my, God! Jackson! Where are your pants?" I manage to eek out.
My eyes bulge and I cover my mouth with my hands at the sight before me. In my sleep deprived state, I'd noticed he was shirtless, but when he faced the stove, I was shocked to see that he wasn't just topless, but completely naked underneath the flowery apron and suddenly, I'm not tired anymore.
All he does is shrug casually like it's the most normal thing in the world for him to cook in the nude. Unless we're in the throes of passion and are too wiped out to clothe ourselves, I typically sleep in a pair of pajamas while he opts for a t-shirt and boxers, so this is indeed shocking.
"What?" he responds with a smirk. "You don't like what you see?" he asks as he waggles his eyebrows suggestively and I can't help but blush.
Yes, we've been married for months and he still knows how to make me blush. He also knows that I love every inch of him, and trust me, those inches are anything but meager.
"No, it's not that. It's just," I begin and start to stumble over my words as I avert my eyes.
I'm not uneasy seeing him this way because it's hardly a new sight. I've seen him naked in the shower, changing his clothes and having sex, but this is different. It almost reminds me of that Seinfeld episode when Jerry was dating the girl who was comfortable being naked all the time, but trust me, this isn't that. Jerry soon grew weary with how nonchalant she was about it and it makes him uncomfortable, telling George that there is "good naked" and "bad naked" and trust me, my husband is definitely the good kind of naked. I guess it's that I'm not used to seeing him… in motion if that makes sense. Going about doing the normal everyday things that people do like we stepped right into living amongst a nudist colony.
When I fail to speak any further, he furrows his brow at me, "Babe, do you want me to put some clothes on? I mean, if this bothers you I–" he starts to explain, but I cut him off.
"No! God, no. I'm just… a little taken aback is all, but I like it. I really, really like it," I confess, and he smiles, seemingly pleased with my answer.
"Well, I wanted to do something nice for you this morning and what better way to do it then to go au natural. I knew that first thing you'd do when you got home is heat up that old meatloaf from Wednesday and there's no way after the night you had that you should have to eat that."
"That meatloaf's not old, it's leftover," I counter with a huff. "Please tell me you didn't throw it out?"
"Don't worry, it's safely put away in the freezer, ready for future consumption," he assures me, "although by the time you eat it, it'll be classified as a science experiment," he whispers under his breath.
"You've been killing yourself all week and I thought the least I could do is pamper you. So, I'm making omelets, you have the shower all to yourself and when you get out, we can have breakfast together and then I'll tuck you in," he adds with wink.
"I already showered at the hospital, but another scrubbing couldn't hurt. Besides, I smell like clinical disinfectant and that's not sexy at all, but before I do any of that, where's my morning kiss?" I demand.
Diligently, he moves around the counter and takes me in his arms, kissing me passionately and I return it with fervor.
He's missed me as much as I've missed him.
"Mmm, minty," I offer as we break apart, the taste of Tom's on his lips.
While in his proximity, I also noticed that he's already showered as I get a whiff of his bodywash. The one he uses when he doesn't have to go to work. The one that smells like expensive cologne. The one that always stirs something deep inside me and all I want him to do is throw me down on the nearest surface and fuck me senseless. It's the one he was wearing the first time we had sex and it's burned a hole in my memory that I'll never forget.
Before I head off to shower, I give his ass a tight squeeze and him another peck on the lips. "I won't be long," I tell him as my voice trails off and I strip as I make my way down the hall to the bathroom.
I toss my clothes in the hamper, turn the water on full blast and stand beneath the spray as the temperature goes from tepid to hot in a matter of seconds. Steam fills the room quickly and I relish the massaging jets and not for the first time am thankful and admittedly, a little guilty that I'm afforded the opportunity to live in the lap of luxury.
I'm tempted to linger in here for hours, but I know Jackson's waiting on me, so I lather up and rewash everything I'd again to include my hair and on the spur of the moment, I shave my legs, underarms and trim my bush. When I'm sure that everything has been neatly attended to, I grab two fluffy white towels from the closet, dry my body and hair, then head for the bedroom where I lotion up before reaching for a pair of yoga pants and tank top from the dresser drawer, but quickly change my mind. We're home. It's just the two of us and if he's letting it all hang out, then so can I, so I forgo any clothing and boldly reenter the kitchen. Besides, it's nothing he hasn't seen before.
When I come into view, his eyes do that half lidded thing and I can almost feel the lust come off him in waves.
"Now, that right there," he offers with a nod of his head, "is my favorite thing for you to wear."
The tone of his voice is downright lecherous, and I revel in the fact that he makes me feel like the most desired woman in the world and he'll only ever want me.
My suspensions are confirmed when he presses his body against mine for another kiss and I feel dick twitch beneath the linen material.
The table is already set with Denver omelets, turkey sausage links, strawberries, orange juice and coffee. It feels a bit weird putting my bare ass on the chair where we eat our meals, but honestly, my bare ass has been on more surfaces in this kitchen that I shouldn't even worry about it at this point.
We sit down to enjoy the feast he's so lovingly prepared, delving into idle chit chat as we dine. I don't feel like talking about my night at work for it'll only bring down my mood and when I'm with him, all I want to feel is happy. One thing is true though, it's hard to concentrate on the words that are coming out of his mouth as he talks about ideas for an outing tomorrow because I'm distracted.
Our table is made glass so when I say I can see everything, I mean it. Periodically, I glance down to see his semi-hard cock as it rests between his thighs on full display and I'm flooded with images of him fucking me.
Him above me as he stares intently into my eyes. Him behind me as he digs his fingers so forcefully into my flesh that he leaves bruises. Me on my knees, taking as much of him as I can in my mouth until he cums with a grunt, my hair bunched between his fists and I feel awful. He's gone out of his way to do something to show how much he loves me and all I can think of is the numerous ways he can bend, twist and fold me, bringing me to orgasms so intense that I see stars behind my eyelids.
"April," he calls out and I realize that I haven't been paying attention at all to what he's been saying.
My face reddens, and I immediately go into apology mode.
"I'm sorry, baby. I was preoccupied," I answer honestly though I'm not sure he knows the real reason why. I'm not sure what his reaction will be because I don't want him to think I don't appreciate all he's done.
But when all he offers is an, "un-huh," before picking up both plates and dumping them in the kitchen sink, I fear that I've ruined our morning.
"Jackson," I cry, "I wasn't finished with that and you didn't even eat all your food."
"I know, but I don't think you're really all that hungry right now. Well, not for food anyway," he states before sitting back down, pulling me off my chair and onto his lap.
"Hey, you," he greets me, his teeth worrying his bottom lip and suddenly, I know he's right. I have lost my appetite. For food that is.
"Hey," I respond and readjust my body so that I'm now straddling him.
I cradle his face in my hands, my nose rubbing against his and close my eyes in contentment. As always when I'm with him, the world seems to drift away into nothingness and all I see, hear, feel and know is him. There's scarcely an inch of space between us as our bodies take over as his large, capable hands map a path from my shoulder blades, down my back and over my ass. My nipples grow hard as they rub against his chest and I can feel the wetness pool between my legs as our lips crash together and I practically devour him.
Our kisses are sloppy as are our movements. We greedily grab body parts as if we're in desperate race to satisfy the other as quickly as possible as if either of us has gone a long span without when in actuality, we have sex… a lot. There hasn't been more than a two-day span since we've been married that we haven't engaged in some sort of sexual activity and it doesn't always involve penetration. Sometimes he'll go down on me or me him. There are occasions when we'll just get each other off by him playing with my nipples as he rubs my clit, or I'll give him a hand job after a particularly stressful day.
All I know right now is that I want him, so when I make a move and raise up slightly so that he can slip inside of me, I'm baffled when he stills my hips then lifts me effortlessly onto the tabletop. He gently nudges the center of my chest and I take that as a cue to lay down. The glass is cold against my back, but I'm not given any time to adjust to this new position as he parts my legs so that I'm spread eagle before him. He takes me by the ankles and places a foot on each of his shoulders and lowers his head, covering my already dripping pussy with his hot, wet mouth and I can't help the moan that escapes my lips as he eats me out. People already know he's skilled with his hands. He's an excellent doctor and an up and coming star in the surgical field. What they don't know though and I'll be damned if anybody but me ever finds out is that he is extremely talented with using his tongue. He can make me cum faster than I ever could have through manipulation with my own hand, or he can drag out my orgasm so long that it's downright torturous, verging on the of being cruel as he brings me to tears. But for now, he takes his time, dragging it though my slickness in long steady swipes. Dipping it into my vagina in measured strokes as if he's fucking me with his cock. Tracing lightly the outside of my labia because he knows it tickles me, yet somehow, I find it extremely titillating and sucking on my now engorged bud as I pant relentlessly due to his actions.
I run my fingers through his growing hair. The naturally occurring curls parting easily between my fingers and the closer he brings me to climaxing, the harder I take hold of his locks and tug. I'm breathless and almost there when he abruptly stops, so I crane my neck forward in confusion as to what's occurred that would make him want to break off the exquisite pleasure he's afforded me when he grips me around my thighs and yanks me forward so that my butt slides across the glass making a screeching sound until it's hanging off the edge.
We've been in this setting before and I expect his next move will be for him to stand up and toss my legs around his neck so that he can fuck me properly, but to my shock, that's not what happens at all as my body jolts unexpectantly when I feel him spread my cheeks and circle my asshole with his tongue.
"What are you doing?" I demand to know as I partially sit up.
"You don't like that?" he wonders as if it's something he's done before.
"I, uh… well, I – I don't know," I admit, utterly confused. "Jackson, you've never done that to me before. You can't just stick your… you can't just do that to me with giving me any warning," I state emphatically, my voice raising to a high-pitched falsetto.
"You mean you don't want me to do that?" he ponders, but I can see the mischievous gleam in his eye.
"I'm not saying that," I offer noncommittally, "I'm just saying that you can't surprise a girl like that."
"So, you do want me to stop?" he asks.
I throw my hands up in the air, "I don't know. I've always been taught that it's a no-no place," I say, lowering my voice as if someone on the other side of the door can hear me.
"No place is a no-no place, baby," he tells me in all seriousness. "April, we're married. I love you. What we do is just between me and you. That's the way it's been and that's the way it'll always be."
"Have you… have you ever done that to one of your girlfriends," I ask, but am too afraid to know the answer, but he doesn't even hesitate.
"No."
I look into his eyes and I know he's not lying. Jackson's never had to lie to me before and I don't expect him to start now.
"You're the only one I've ever wanted in that way and there's nothing to be ashamed of. We're clean. We're safe. This is us, April. Me and you," he tells me, and I'm overcome with emotion.
Not only is he giving a part of himself that he's never shared with anyone else, he's allowing himself to be vulnerable. Allowing us to explore all the wonderful ways in which we can be together and for once in my life, I'm not scared for this new challenge in the least.
"Okay," I say to him, "I'm ready."
"Are you sure, because I would never ask you to do anything that would make you uncomfortable or unsure of me," he says with all sincerity.
I reach out to caress his cheek, "I know that, my love and I'm sure," and before he can question me again, I lay back in invitation to him.
The next half hour is spent in wonderment as he explores. This is undiscovered territory, so he takes his time, making sure that he is gentle as he coaxes me open with the tip of his tongue and eventually his finger. He never pushes it in all the way but plays along the rim and it's mind-blowing. The sensations that I feel are unlike ever before. It's not unpleasant, but it's certainly different as I feel a tingling surge from my head to my toes and I'm curious as to why we've never done this before. He alternates from hole to hole, taking a nipple between each thumb and forefinger, pinching them almost painfully. The longer we go, the more experimental he becomes. I sense him everywhere. He removes one hand from my right breast and uses his fingers to fuck me while he sticks his tongue deep into my ass.
I'm overwhelmed. It's too much happening all at once, but I love what he's doing to me and I never want it to end. My head lobs wildly from side to side as sweat drips from my forehead. My skin feels too hot and I want to crawl out of it because he's making the want last until I'm begging for him to bring me to climax because I can't take it anymore and when I cum, it isn't like you see in the movies where the woman let's out a few, "oh, oh's," before she's done. Mine is damn near turbulent as I spray him with my juices and the action new for both of us.
It takes me a while to come down as he plants soft kisses along my inner thighs. My hand pressed to my head, I can't believe what he's just done. Never would I have imagined that being intimate with the man I love would ever be this good. Don't get me wrong, Jackson damn sure knows what he's doing and while he's my one and only, I'm not as naïve as people think. I hear things. I've even seen things and done some research in my attempt to learn how to become a better lover to him. But this, I'd never expected Jackson to do this to me. It's not that he's a prude. Far from it. I mean, he was the guy who lost his virginity to two women at once.
What this does though is take our relationship to a whole other level and I'm giddy with excitement as to how far we will go.
"You alright over there?" he asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
"Yeah, baby, I'm good. I'm so, so good," I say with a tither.
"Good," he says with a straight face as he picks me up in his arms and carries me toward our bedroom, "because I'm not done with you yet."
Jackson – Marriage Bubble, Month 12
I've had it. I swear to God, Buddha or whatever mystical being is supposed to be up there in the sky watching over us that this is the last straw.
I've had it up to here with all the unwarranted requests, complaints and demands from not only coworkers I work alongside daily and other staff members, but people that I call my friends.
What do they think I have, an open cash register to dole out any amount of money that they demand just because I'm an Avery? Expecting me to automatically approve their ideas no matter how outrageous they are because I'm usually a pretty easing going guy. I don't openly show my emotions or let them bubble to the surface, but tonight I had to get out of there because I was about to blow.
The board meeting that I abruptly called to a close after listening to my colleagues argue over who should get the grant money allotted to the foundation, assuming I would pick sides and not look at each department and their needs rationally wore on my nerves until they were thread bare. The fact that after I got up to leave, several people followed me, still trying to whisper their wishes into my ear which only resulted in agitating me further.
As I sit in my car outside our house, weary, I try my best to calm down, but nothing seems to be working. I close my eyes count to one hundred. I turn on some smooth jazz and when that doesn't work, I figure a heart pumping rap song by Biggie Smalls will allow me to expend unwanted tension, but when that doesn't work, I'm at a loss.
I know that April's inside waiting for me as she left work hours ago. I told her to leave without me because I didn't know how long I was going to be, so she got Alex to drop her off on his way home. She told me she'd cook some dinner and have it ready for me when I got home, but frankly, I'm not hungry at all. I need a drink. No, I need several drinks to quell the anger that's ready to boil over and she is the last person I want to take my frustrations out on.
I've come home in this condition on several occasions and took my sour disposition out on her. Being terse, making snide remarks, that is until she put me in my place and told me that she wasn't the cause of my irritation and that I'd better remember that she wasn't the one I should be upset with.
I couldn't even get mad. This was the April I knew and loved. The one who was no longer afraid to tell me what she felt. Who blatantly honest with me and she was right. So, I apologized to her that night, again and again and again and was sure to never make that mistake again. Well, I tried to at least.
April and I moved into our new house about three months ago after deciding that we wanted to start trying to have children. Apartment life is something that neither us wanted for our kids, so we sat down and made our plan. After our initial pregnancy scare that broke us up, we decided to be more responsible, even though we were now married. Our lives were hectic as is and we wanted to have everything in place before conceiving a little Kepner-Avery, and let me tell you, we sure have had fun trying.
April stopped taking birth control about two months ago, but so far, nothing yet. We'd both had it in our heads that she'd get pregnant right away. We weren't concerned that there were any medical issues impeding our efforts, but loveable worrywart that she is, April insisted that we both get tested and just as we'd suspected, we were both fully capable of creating life, but like our doctor told us, "it'll happen, when it happens." She told us to continue doing what we're doing and if in six months we've had no progress, to make an appointment to see her again.
Honestly, I think I know what the problem is. I'm stressed and have been for the last four months. April tells me all the time that I've taken on too much, but as an Avery, I'm conditioned to not even know what that's supposed to mean.
I'm Chairman of the Board of Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital, head of the Plastic Surgery department, currently a part of a medical trial and to top it all off, I'm working with my mother of all people on a specialty case for a close family friend who is transitioning from male to female. It's all taken its toll and I fear my little swimmers may be trying to tell me something. That having a baby right now isn't' the right time.
My only saving grace is April. Don't get me wrong, I love what I do, and I love a challenge. It's just that I'm catching hell from every direction. April is the only one who can calm me down. Bring me to a place where the outside world doesn't disappears, and I love her immensely for the ability to do that.
I know I can't stall much longer, because soon she'll come outside and ask me what's wrong, so I trudge through the garage, hoping that with each step the tension will melt away like snow under a warming sun. The door from our garage opens into the kitchen so when I enter and unintentionally slam the door shut behind me, she looks to me and I know she can tell what's wrong because it's written all over my face.
"Oh, baby," she says as she greets me with a kiss, "you look beat. Did it really go that badly tonight?"
"Worse," is all I manage to mutter into her ear as I wrap her in my arms and hold her close. She's my safe place and right now, I never want to let her go.
She soothes me with deliberately placed kisses on my neck and kneads the tightly wound muscles in my lower back with her tiny, but strong hands as I begin to finally relax.
"Do you want some dinner?" she asks as she releases me and takes me by the hand, leading me into family room
"No, I'm not all that hungry," I tell her as I head over to the bar and pour myself a tall stiff drink. I'm not typically a whiskey drinker, preferring a cold beer or a glass of wine with dinner after long day and only keep the hard liquor for guests, but this evening, I deserve it.
I take her hand in mine, slump down onto the couch and pull her on my lap.
"Hey, why don't we quit?" I say out of the blue.
"What?" she asks in clarification, as she looks at me as if I've grown two heads.
"Quit," I continue as if what I've said is something, she hears all the time.
"Let's leave all this behind. Spend our time traveling the world. It's not like we can't afford it. We can call it an early, early retirement. Huh, what do you say," I say enthusiastically knowing full well that she knows I'm not serious at all.
"Poor, J," is all she says as she takes a finger and runs it over my forehead. "You know if you keep making that face, you're going to create permanent frown lines and then you won't have to wait until you're old to retire. You'll already look the part," she jokes, but all I can do is snicker.
We sit quietly for a few moments before she looks at me full on, nods her head almost imperceptibly, gets up and marches toward the kitchen, puts away our untouched food and heads upstairs without a word.
That's when I knew what was coming next.
April has seen me in this state before. Stressed. Depressed. Feeling the pressure of being an Avery and forced to live up to such high standards. So, I don't have to tell her. She already knows what I need and she's going to give it to me.
I don't know exactly how we started this. Well… that's not entirely true. It all began innocently enough one morning on the kitchen table back at our old apartment when I performed analingus on her. It was a new experience for us and something I'd been thinking about doing for quite some time. That was our first foray into going outside the norm and thankfully, it was only the beginning.
From the time we first started having sex, we'd done what the average couple does. We'd tried damn near every position. I licked honey, chocolate and whipped cream from almost every spot on her body and her, mine. It was far from boring or predictable, but after we let down our guard, we'd begun to explore the boundaries of what each of us was comfortable doing to each other and having done to us.
It started out tamely enough. We added some roleplaying to our routine. She'd be the naughty patient and I'd give her a thorough exam, or I'd be the lackadaisical student and she the stern teacher who'd keep me after school. One night, I playfully spanked her bottom and she shyly admitted to me that she liked it, so that was something else that soon became a regular addition. To test our thresholds, we'd downloaded a few porn titles off the internet to get some ideas. Much of the stuff, we found not to our liking. That's not to say that it was wrong, and it was certainly nothing illegal, but golden showers were a line that neither of us were willing to cross.
A couple of months later, I suggested that we visit a sex shop. I already knew she had a pocket vibrator and a dildo she'd told me she'd used after we broke up and those had been long since used, but I figured that some new toys could spice things up a bit. We ventured into an establishment in west Seattle in hopes that we wouldn't run into anyone we knew there. It's not that we were embarrassed about what we were doing. We just wanted to keep parts of our life private and our sex lives fell into that category.
As soon as we walked into Babeland, we felt like kids in a candy store. Every item imaginable was available for us to peruse. Vibrators, handcuffs, anal beads and dildos of all size, shape and color were laid out before our eyes, but we had no idea where to start and were graciously assisted by staff who could obviously tell that we were newbies. After a few minutes of talking to us, Shauna gave us a guided tour and showed us to some products that she thought we might find of interest and that afternoon we left with silk ties for light bondage, a couple's vibrator, a small wooden paddle and crotchless panties for April.
We were both a little nervous to take this trip over to the dark side as she called it, but we entered with the promise that we would stop whenever the other person wanted to and dove in head first.
Needless to say, it wasn't our last trip to that shop.
On our fourth subsequent trip, we went in knowing exactly what we wanted and how our request came about was totally accidental.
It had been a trying few weeks at the hospital and the cracks where beginning to show in our relationship. We had begun to argue, nothing outrageous, just what married couples normally do and usually about mundane stuff. How I would leave cereal bowls in the sink after breakfast instead of putting them in the dishwasher. How her obsessive need to have everything organized was driving me crazy because as soon as I'd put something down, I'd turn away then back again only to find it gone. We were just nitpicking, nothing serious, that was until one day at work.
We had been in surgery together working on a trauma victim when after telling her I would resect a part of the bowel, she went ahead and did it herself claiming she had the better view and I went off at her in front of the entire operating room staff.
Professional that she is, April didn't chose that moment to tell me how she felt. Besides, I was the one being unprofessional and when we got home that night, she let me have it. She scolded me for embarrassing her in front of our colleagues. Reminded me that while I may be her husband and owner of the hospital, I wasn't her direct boss. But when she told me that maybe she should put me over her knee and spank me and I said maybe she should, it was like a lightbulb went off in our heads.
It began as simply as that and each time my stress level reached enormous heights, she'd take me home and dominate me. We went from her ordering me around, to her spanking me with her bare hand, then her using the paddle we'd bought all those weeks ago, but I needed more. I wanted someone to have complete control over me. I wanted to be submissive for once and April was up for it.
We'd been stuck inside one weekend when Seattle had been inundated with nonstop heavy rain for forty-eight hours. With no plans to delve outside the house, she planned an indoor picnic for us. She laid out a blanket in the middle of the living room, brought out small plates of cheeses, sliced meats, olives, crackers and we opened a bottle of wine and once we finished that, we opened another. We were full on drunk by the time we started fooling around when she asked me that fateful question.
"Baby, what do you want from me?"
Confused, more from her question, then the alcohol, I asked her what she meant.
"I mean, how far do you want me to go? I know sometimes you need a release and me being in charge helps you. So, how far do you want me to go. I'll do whatever you want me to. I love you, Jackson. I trust you and I want you to trust me."
Pouring myself a bit of liquid courage, I downed the glass in one gulp, then leaned over and whispered in her ear exactly what I wanted. When I pulled back to view her expression, all I saw was fire behind her eyes and I knew at that moment, she was all in.
So that's what lead us to tonight and that's another reason I love and adore her. She knew me like no one else and I didn't need to utter a word, yet somehow, she knew exactly how to ease my pain. So, as I sit there, I know what's coming and I can't stop my heart rate from speeding up but wait patiently for her to return.
Fifteen minutes later when she reenters the room, she's dressed in a tight pleather corset with a bra line that barely covers her nipples, a short matching skirt that skims just below her crotch so that I can see that she isn't wearing panties, five-inch thigh high boots and a small leather whip firmly grasped in her hand. Her hair is now tied up in a tight bun that sits atop her head and helps create the image of a master dominatrix and she plays the part perfectly.
I stare at her from my position on the couch, my mouth watering at the thought of what she's about to do to me and can barely contain the erection that's threatening to bust through the seams of my dress pants. I so badly want to strip down to nothing, but I know if I dare make a move without her permission, I'll be punished and not in a way that I like.
I dared disobey her once before and the method of torture she heaped on me was unbearable as she made me watch her fuck herself with a dildo while my hands stayed tied behind my back so that I couldn't touch her or myself.
But tonight, she slowly walks toward me, one leg crossing in front of the other like a panther stalking its prey and it's quite the image to behold.
"It's okay, baby. I know what you need," she says to me and cracks the whip in her hand so that I snap to attention.
"You've been a bad boy. So, disobedient and you deserve to be punished."
"Yes, mistress," I respond, knowing that's it's all I'm allowed to say. Other than a yes, no, please, more or a few other one-word answers, the only other word either of us is allowed to say when we venture into this part of our sex lives is the safe word, we've chosen which telegraphs to the other that we are to stop immediately what we are doing. But this, sweet, innocent, farmgirl can be quite the temptress and vindictive in the bedroom. When we play these games, a completely different side of her emerges. Yes, people have seen the bold side of her, but here, in the privacy of our own home, she is for lack of a better term, cocksure.
I love her. I trust her. I willingly give myself over to her completely.
She orders me to get up and follow her upstairs. I don't mind because the view is tantalizing as the cheeks of her ass hang out from the bottom of the skin-tight material.
"I want you to shower and get all cleaned up for me. Do you understand?" she orders, and I nod my head in acknowledgement.
"I want you to scrub every part of your body because if you miss a spot, I'll know, and you won't like what I do to you if I find out you haven't followed my instructions. Do you understand?"
Again, I nod and once she makes a hand movement for me to get undressed, I move with expediency as I wash myself thoroughly, her eyes scrutinizing me the entire time.
Once I'm done, I towel off, then put it in the hamper because I know I'm not allowed to have anything on when I cross the threshold into her domain.
We don't head into our bedroom though, but the smaller bedroom at the end of the hall. This is our secret space. The place where all our inhibitions are left behind. There's nothing odd in their like chains or sex machines and looks like every other bedroom in the house. We only chose this room because we wanted to keep our bedroom sacred. We want that to be the place we make love. The place we believe we'll create our babies. The room we enter isn't one we use every night, but it's there when we need it.
Once inside, she shuts and locks the door behind her. We're not fearful that anyone will enter, it's just another method of her controlling the situation. She had me locked in a cage metaphorically and in a moment, she's about to put me in one literally.
She heads over to a locked trunk we keep in the back of the closet and pulls out my cock cage. It's stainless steel and the largest one we could find and even though I'm not yet fully hard, as I put it on, it's already a snug fit.
"Mmm, now how does that feel?" she asks me.
"Tight, mistress."
"Well, if you play nice and listen to my rules, I'll let you out of your cage. Do you understand?"
"Yes, mistress."
"Get over on the bed," she commands, and I obey.
My arms out to the sides, I dare not reach for her as she climbs on top of me and rakes her closely trimmed nails up my arms, down my chest and over my nipples causing little bumps to raise over the skin. I'm already aroused but I try to quell the urge because the harder I get, the more painful the cage becomes, and I know that if I don't contain myself, she'll never allow me the release I truly want.
"Oh, you are behaving yourself tonight, aren't you?" she asks me.
"Yes, mistress."
"Let's see if I can tempt you a little more," she says coyly as she inches forward until she's sitting on my face and demands I lick her perfect pink pussy. She tastes so good and I can barely control the urge to grip her hips as she rides my face, so I clinch the sheets in my fists instead as she alternates from fast to slow and back again, prolonging her pleasure as she grinds against me at a pace only she knows.
It feels like forever become she cums in my mouth and though I don't let it show, I'm relieved because I know now that it's my turn. At least I hope it is.
She climbs from atop me taps the metal cage and makes small circles with her fingertip around the head of my penis.
"Does itty bitty Jackson want to come out," she asks me.
"Yes, mistress," I respond, both of us knowing that I'm far from itty bitty and it's just another way for her to exert her power over me.
She unhooks the lock and sets me free and I'm so grateful that I reach out and run my hand on her leg only to receive a smack on the back of my hand for my insolence.
"What do you think you're doing? Did I give you permission to put your hands on me?"
"No, mistress," I utter and fear that she's going to punish me by trapping me back in my cage.
Maybe she can see it in my eyes that I'm nearing my threshold and feels pity for me as she orders to get on my hands and knees. I do so without question and I my body practically vibrates because I believe I know what's about to happen.
I hear the trunk open then close again, then feel her presence as she stands directly behind me. I know what she has and I'm ready for it as my hole puckers in anticipation.
On a previous visit to the sex shop, in addition to the cock cage, we'd purchased a set of four anal trainers. They're small enough that I can get pleasure, but not large enough that it would freak me out. It's not that I'm scared, trust me, I'm completely secure in my manhood. We'd tried each of them out and for me, the second to the largest one suited me most. It was only six inches long, but anything larger or smaller, I either found unpleasant or felt hardly anything at all. So, when she folds herself over my back, I prepare myself to be entertained only to be delighted when I feel her wet tongue instead.
I can't help the groan that escapes me as she teases the tight bundle of nerves. She licks me like a lollipop and I swear, I almost cum just this way alone. She darts her tongue in an out and I shudder to think what would happen if anybody knew our secrets. April would probably be the last person anyone would suspect of being a freak in the bedroom, but she is the best lover I've had, and I've had plenty.
As she continues to work me, she can probably sense I'm close, so she replaces her tongue with a digit and fingers me. She loosens me up further before I hear her suck on the ribbed toy before inserting the anal plug into my ass. I let out a breath of rushed air at the pure eroticism I feel. She pumps it in an out, spinning it in circles and even though she's told me not to, I start jerking myself off. My dick is rock hard, and I need to nut so bad that I don't care what she does to me next.
"Baby, you look so sexy. I love the way you move when I fuck you. Your tight ass flexing for me. I bet you look just like this when you fuck me. My strong, virile man," she says, egging me on and I feel the orgasm as it builds and builds inside and that's when I break character.
"Oh, God, April. I'm gonna cum," I warn her, and she swiftly moves from around me I sit up on my knees.
"Give it to me, baby," she says just in time for me to unload the hot, white jizz into her waiting mouth.
I ejaculate so wildly that I get some on her cheek and chin, so I lean forward and lick it away as she swallows what's left.
Spent, I fall back onto the bed and hold out my arm for her to come to me. Her head resting on my shoulder, I close my eyes, content and with her in my arms, I can't remember any of the troubles I've had today.
"I love you, April."
"I love you too, Jackson."
A/N: I've altered the time line a bit, but not too much that the story can't be followed along. Enjoy.