April Fools DarlingbyHoneyInPlaid©
NOTE: This is being placed in the nonconsent/reluctance category for a reason, so although it's an April Fools Contest Entry that I very much hope you'll enjoy (and vote on!), I also want you to know up-front that there's nonconsensual sex in the coming passages. If that's not to your interest, you should probably stop reading now. That said, if you're still reading, I do hope you enjoy, and that you vote! This is a departure from the series I've been working on because I wanted to try my hand at an April Fools Story, but your votes and comments will end up determining whether or not I come back to these characters and write a sequel exploring what happens next—so, if you want more, vote and let me know! Happy reading...
Markus always won when it came to April Fools Day jokes, but Sara was determined that this year, at least, would be hers. It was true that he always seemed to be one step ahead of her. There'd been the year when he got all of their friends to call her by another name for a day, making her think she was going crazy. There'd been the time he stuck a rubber snake under her car so that it looked like it was slithering underneath it, when she'd woken him up because it was half-dark and she was afraid to get in and drive to work. There'd been the time he turned off the hot water, and the time he'd replaced the extra clothes in her office with clothes that were two sizes too small and then 'accidentally' spilled coffee on her dress, and the time... well, there'd been too many in their time together, both around April Fools and at other times. And maybe he was the master of creative practical jokes, but after ten years together, she thought she deserved a win.
And she'd worked hard to come up with this one.
It was based on a standing joke between them, her threatening to run off with their handsome (and single) neighbor, Tony, and her husband Markus threatening to go off to Hollywood and hook up with the starlet he'd once dated. Sara didn't remember when the joking had started, but it never caused hard feelings—she and Markus loved each other, and the idea of either of them running off to someone else was so farfetched that it could only be laughable. But what if, for just a moment, she made it unlaughable? With that thought, she'd taken a week to compose the note:
Remember when we got drunk last year, and you were joking about the bedroom play you used to have with your last girlfriend? Tying her up to your bed, and just doing what you wanted with her, no matter what she claimed to want? I've thought about that so much. I wonder if you've ever talked to Markus about it, when I wasn't around, or if you would? I wonder if he'd want to. I've thought about it, I admit, and lately I've just been wishing we were... less tame, when it comes to those things. I may be just past 30, but maybe I'm ready to experiment more that I ever thought I'd want to, and I'm starting to think that maybe, just maybe, I naturally lean to the submissive side in a way that matches up with some of what you've told us about. I don't know what Markus will say, but I think he suspects it... Perhaps you'd talk to him. And if you wouldn't, or if he seems less than interested, I wonder... would you ever want to experiment with me, maybe just for a night, so I can see what it's like? You know I love Markus, but if I need something more, and you're interested? I'm embarrassed just asking, but I've been thinking about asking for months... If you'd talk to Markus about it, and maybe press him to try to take me in the way you spoke of that night, I'd be forever grateful (and I promise we'll get drunk and tell you about it!). Or if not, or if he says no... well, let me know. I won't bring this up again, but I couldn't resist bringing it up once... Please don't be upset with me for it, or think too much less of me. I don't think you will, though?
--Your friendly neighbor, Sara
Her writing an old-fashioned note to Tony wasn't out of the ordinary. They both volunteered at the same hospital, and he was notorious for forgetting about his personal email for a week at a time, so their get-togethers with him were often precipitated by a note slipped into a mailbox.
After copying out the note to where she was satisfied that it said what she wanted it to, and so that it looked like it had been hastily jotted out, she folded the paper once, and wrote Tony's name in large letters on the blank side, just as she did with every note she left him. For a moment, she wondered if she was going too far. Did she really want Markus to think, for even a moment, that she'd contemplate an affair?
But then she thought of all of his past jokes, some of which had embarrassed her at work or nearly scared her to death, and how she'd spent months trying to think of another way, and decided that this was the only way she had a chance of winning. And after all, it wasn't as if Tony would ever see the note. Markus was notorious for not only opening her mail, but being curious about any random scrap of paper she left lying around. How often had she been forced to explain her shorthand on a list of groceries that she was going to be the one shopping for, or had to clarify what she'd meant in a note she'd left out to remind herself of something? He just couldn't resist, and that's why she knew this would work.
Sara left the note on the coffee table the next morning, placed on top of bills to be mailed as if she'd been meaning to take it along with her when she left. Markus was still in the kitchen fixing his coffee and getting ready for work, and she had no doubt he'd see it when he came into the hall, and then the joke would be on. Tonight when she came home, he'd demand an explanation, or maybe even be angrier than she'd ever seen him, and it would be her turn to say "April Fools". It was already March 26th—nothing he could plan before April 1st would live up to this play of hers. And maybe, she thought, he might even get some ideas for the bedroom, and give a different turn to their make-up sex. She didn't necessarily want to go so far as what Tony had described on that night she'd referenced, but the idea of Markus getting a little bit more forceful wasn't exactly something she'd shy away from either... even if she wasn't sure she'd admit it to him outright.
* * * * *
When Sara got in, the note she'd left was actually far from her mind until she stepped in their front door. She'd had one of those days where nothing had seemed to go right, and though she'd been working with clients non-stop, it felt like she hadn't accomplished a damned thing. Until she saw the empty coffee table, the only thing that had been on her mind was a glass of wine and a night of mindless TV. And then, she hung up her jacket on the rack beside the door and remembered what she'd started that morning.
"Babe? Markus?" she called out toward the kitchen, and then headed in that direction.
Sure enough, she walked in to find him already by the stove, humming along to the radio as he dropped spaghetti into a pot. It was his night to cook since her firm almost always kept her late on Mondays, and today had been no exception.
"Right here, right here, just making dinner," he said over his shoulder, stirring the sauce he had in a frying pan before him. "I was just about to text you, but heard your car and figured I'd go ahead and throw the noodles in. You want wine or water with dinner, or both?" he added, finally turning to her.
Stumbling, she just looked at him for a moment. Wasn't he going to say anything about the note? Or was he taking it to heart and trying to romance her instead of being angry? "Uh, both, or maybe mainly wine—it was one of those Mondays," she said, stepping forward and reclining into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. "How was your day?" she asked, watching him pull the wine opener from a drawer.
"Eh, just the usual," he muttered. "You finish that campaign for the new brewery yet? Guy at work said he tried their food over the weekend and that it was worth the drive—I was thinking we could try it Friday night?"
Still trying to get her bearings on the normal conversation, Sara nodded back at him as she shrugged out of her cardigan. "The ads are done, sent out today; I've got a meeting with them to go over things tomorrow. But yeah, I've heard their place is pretty good; Friday out sounds perfect," she added belatedly as her husband pulled the cork from a bottle of red.
When he didn't say anything immediately, she determined that she'd wait him out, and so she slipped off her shoes and sipped wine while he finished his cooking. Meanwhile, waiting for him to mention the note, or anything about the mail, she barely processed the steady banter he kept up to fill her in on his day, and only nodded when he mentioned a new client who he'd be driving into the city to see on Wednesday and who could potentially cause him to stay in Cincinnati overnight. It wasn't anything out of the ordinary, after all—most of his clients were local, but he got a fair amount of word-of-mouth business that took him and his partners into the city, and law being what it was, that often meant a few days of work that kept him holed up in an out-of-town hotel.
By the time their meal was done and she'd had all she could take of the casual work talk, she couldn't help pouring herself another glass of wine and asking about the mail she'd left on the table that morning, and whether he'd seen it and put it out. She thought it would force him to mention the note she'd left there, which she was positive now lay in a trashcan, or maybe in her husband's pocket so that he could pull it out as soon as she was off-guard.
"The mail? Yeah, of course—it went out today. I dropped the note you left for Tony in his mailbox, too," he said as he scooped the last of the spaghetti onto his plate, and then stopped with his fork halfway to his mouth when he heard her choke on her wine.
"You dropped off... the note?" she asked between two coughs, knowing her face was turning as red as her wine.
"What, was it for a different Tony? I was in such a rush, I didn't read it, but I figured if it had been Tony at your office then it would've been in your bag or in an email?"
Sara stared at him, waiting to hear that he was joking, but his face was serious. She watched him raise an eyebrow at her, waiting for a response as he finished off his spaghetti and then took up his wine.
"Sara, baby, are you alright?" he asked, leaning forward over his empty plate.
She nodded, gulping down some of the water he'd set out for her with the wine. She couldn't believe this—of all the times for him to be in such a rush that he wouldn't read one of her notes, it had to have been today. Had it ever happened before? She was kicking herself for not being able to remember, and didn't know whether to laugh or scream. What on earth was she going to say to Tony when she saw him?
* * * * *
Tuesday was a blur, and she never did get around to texting Tony in some awkward attempt at apologizing, or explaining that the note had been meant as a joke on Markus. How would her neighbor react? They'd been friends for years, but she was a fairly private person. Sure, Tony told them about his crazy dating adventures, but beyond that? Well, she didn't know what Markus might have told him about their sex life, but she'd certainly never said anything, and she was fairly sure she'd been blushing up a storm—even as drunk as she'd been—whenever Tony had gone into even the slightest bit of detail about his. Every time she thought about it, she just couldn't believe she'd written that note.
When the evening came and she was home cooking dinner, it finally occurred to her that Markus' business trip would present the perfect opportunity for her to smooth things over, and make sure that her crazy joke didn't destroy a friendship that had been years in the making. She determined that, the very next morning, she'd call Tony and explain the whole thing, and offer to buy him a beer at the corner pub to make it up to him, if he'd only just, pretty please, not tell Markus. Hell, though—maybe she'd even rewrite the note with his blessing if he wasn't too upset about it. Now that he knew about it, what harm could it do beyond making her original plan come to fruition?
While Markus packed an overnight bag and went over the notes he'd prepared for his firm's new client, she curled up in front of the television and went over what she'd say to Tony when she called. Surely, he'd be confused or embarrassed, but not actually mad—especially when she explained?
By the time she met Markus in bed, she felt like she was back on solid ground, and back in control. Tony hadn't called her today, so he had to be trying to figure out what to make of the note, just like she'd been trying to figure out what to do about it. Calling him tomorrow would set everything right. Her plan in mind, and her husband resting beside her and oblivious to the whole screw-up, she found that sleep came easily.
Her dreams, though, were less than settled.
She woke up at 4 AM in a sweat, jerking upward from a dream that had found her tied to her bed with two of her scarves, and naked, staring up at her husband and Tony as they glared down at her, each apparently angry. They'd been fully dressed in the dream, and talking about her body as if she weren't even there, or couldn't hear them, and she'd been humiliated. Frankly, they'd talked about her petite figure and the curves that made her regularly wish she could lose just ten pounds, and they'd talked about her C-cup breasts and her red nipples, and her unshaved pussy. Markus, her sweet husband, had called her a whore, and Tony had laughed in response until she'd begun crying. And then she'd woken up.
For fifteen minutes, she lay in bed and tried to calm herself to where she could sleep again, but between Markus' louder than usual snores and her own sweat-soaked skin, it quickly became clear that it just wasn't going to happen. Slipping from bed, she moved into their bathroom and retrieved her soap, and her shaving gel and razor, and headed into the hall bathroom. When Markus called out to see if she was okay after she'd begun running the water, she answered that she had an upset stomach, and for him to go to bed. It wasn't entirely untrue, she felt so unsettled from the dream, and since a warm bath was a regular remedy when she felt unsettled, Markus answered easily that he hoped she felt better, and headed back to bed.
Reclining in the tub, she thought of the way she'd looked and felt in the dream, with Markus and Tony's dream selves staring down at her. She'd felt vulnerable, and humiliated, but also turned on. She'd also felt inadequate, though. It was as if she could suddenly see herself from their perspective, as she'd been in the dream, with her mousy brown hair and her legs that weren't quite smoothly shaved. Suddenly, she couldn't stand herself. She wanted to excite Markus, so that he'd want to be playful with her, and so that he'd be interested in her body even when he was tired. How long had it been since they'd had sex? Two weeks? Three? Maybe they were both busy, but they were only 32—so what if they'd been together for ten years? They were still young, and work wasn't supposed to be the center of their lives, was it?
Lathering her legs, she shaved carefully, and then she ran her fingers over every inch of her skin, from her ankles to the tops of her thighs, to make sure she'd gotten every tiny strand of hair. Not giving herself time to think of it, she then sat up on the edge of the tub and lathered shaving gel over her full mound, and then down to each side of her pussy. With her legs spread as far as her muscles would allow, she shaved herself clean for the first time since she'd been in college, when she'd done it once just to see how it would look, and then never bothered again. Now, she was even more careful, using the razor in every fold, spreading her skin and maneuvering the razor so that she'd never been smoother. Feeling herself afterward, and how sensitive her skin was, she determined that she'd do it again on Friday, and make sure that Markus got to enjoy the full benefit of the smoothness. Maybe she'd even go and buy a new nightgown or lingerie to surprise him with, and get her hair highlighted, and trimmed.
Before leaving the tub, she shaved her armpits, and soaped her whole body twice so that she knew her skin would be as smooth as it ever was when she slipped back into bed beside her husband in a few minutes.
He didn't fully wake up when she did, only muttering and reaching out to lay his hand on her arm in welcome, but she smiled to herself with the thought of how she'd been primping for him, and how she'd enjoy greeting him and surprising him later that week when he returned from Cincinnati.
* * * * *
She should have predicted that calling Tony would be difficult—somehow, in her mind, it had seemed so straightforward. Maybe that had only been wishful thinking, though. She'd called him around lunchtime, thinking he might be on his lunch break and available to talk for a few minutes; instead, he'd all but brushed her off. Bringing up the note, awkwardly, she'd told him it had been a mistake and that she wanted to make it up to him. She realized now that she'd been incredibly vague, but he'd seemed so cold on the phone—not at all like the neighbor she'd thought she knew so well—that she'd been completely thrown off. When he'd agreed that she could take him to the pub for a beer, she'd felt like she should be apologizing for inconveniencing him! Yet, somehow, she knew she had to make things right.
Now, getting dressed to walk down to his place, she found herself nervous. They were adults, so of course sex had come up in conversation in the pat, but only with her husband present—and usually when Tony had a date on his arm, as well. But just between her and Tony? Maybe they could avoid it, and just talk about the note in more abstract terms, but that seemed to be almost pipe-dream level wishful thinking. More likely, if she was lucky, she could down a glass of wine before they had to address it head-on. Running her brush through her shoulder-length hair one more time, she thought that might be the best she could possibly hope for.
Locking the door behind her, she could almost laugh at herself for being nervous. How often had she walked two doors down to ring Tony's doorbell and then continued on down the street with him to grab a drink? At least once a month, for years, when work was stressful or when Markus was out of town and she had the energy for company, or when Markus had been working late and she'd wanted a night out. She was practically a 'wing man' for him, for Christ's sake, many girls as she'd helped him meet over the years. And yet, now she felt like she'd done something terribly wrong, or as if this were the first time they were getting together alone. It was absurd, she told himself as she rang his bell.
When his voice called for her to enter, she thought nothing of it. It wasn't out of the ordinary, or anything she hadn't done before. And so she did.
Two steps inside, just as she'd let the door swing shut behind her, an arm wrapped around her from behind, coming down across her upper chest and pulling her backward so that she let a gasp out, her hands going naturally to the forearm in front of her. Before she could catch her breath to speak as she felt herself pulled in against the figure's chest, another hand came down, slapping a handcuff around one of her wrists and then her other so that her hands were cuffed, holding onto the figure's forearm... until they weren't.
In shock, she let herself be turned around by her forearms... to face Tony, grinning at her. He was ever the same—perfectly cut dark blonde hair, stylish and neat, and his tanned skin and hazel eyes. He was wearing the dress shirt she guessed he'd worn to meetings at his offices that day, with nice jeans now, and she'd recognized his cologne as soon as she'd been pulled against him, once she'd gained the power to think again.