tagNon-EroticApril's Fool

April's Fool



Well, these April Fool themes are a little difficult to find. Coming up with ideas for something different [I hope] takes some doing.

Anyway, here's one which isn't set on April Fools' Day itself, but which I hope encompasses some of the elements involved.

April isn't a happy lady, and she's in for a surprise...

The scene which follows is in the Non-E category 'cause there's no rude stuff in it. I hope it manages to entertain a few readers nonetheless.

Feedback would be appreciated.

Thank you for reading.

GA -- Da Nang, Vietnam -- 7th of March 2015.


"No, I'm not going with you. You know I can't stand her."

Simon looks at his wife and sees the curl of her lip. His fingers flex -- it would be so easy to slap her one. He allows himself a quick fantasy: April's shocked face if he just punched her in the mouth.

He doesn't do it. Simon merely sighs, defeated by years of April's obdurate petulance. "Yes, April, I know. But she's my mother. It's been a long time. I've got to go. I thought you might, just this once--?"

April waves a hand. It's a dismissive gesture, her mouth a moue of disdain. "Well she's not my mother." She pauses and looks at Simon. "I hope you're taking holiday," April sneers. "You're going to get paid for the time off, aren't you?"

The muscles in Simon's jaw tense. "Money? Is that it, April?" His arms flap by his sides. Simon shrugs, throat working, his eyes imploring when he adds, "Please, April ... Please come with me. I want you to--"

April rolls her eyes. "Don't be so soft," she sneers. "I'll be bored shitless. I hate it down there, Simon." She regards her husband with cold, dispassionate eyes. It's like she's studying a scientific specimen. Following a long pause and a deep sigh of her own, April shakes her head and breathes, "What happened to you, Simon? You used to be such a man. Where did he go?"

Reasons well up in Simon's mind. He has answers, lots of answers, but he knows his wife wouldn't want to hear. Anyway, if she did listen she'd only have some counter-argument of her own. April would give him one of her withering looks, emasculating him with her scorn while she made it All ... His ... Fault.

"You know, April," Simon breathes, the fight in him fading. "I don't know where that bloke has gone. I wonder where the April I used to know went, too." He would have added more, would have thrown her infidelities in her face - challenged with her deception, but he's too worn out to fight.

And what was the point?

Simon shrugs again, turning away. Resigned, he mumbles, "I'll get some stuff together and be off."

"Yeah," scoffs April. "Missing you already."

It takes less than fifteen minutes to pack.

April is sitting in the tiny living room, smoking. The television flickers with some mindless 6 p.m. gameshow. Simon pauses, looking in at her from the hallway. It's a matter of a few steps from the living room doorway to the front door. He dimly registers Bradley Walsh on the screen.

"Are you sure you won't come with me, April?"

She turns a slack, indifferent face towards her husband. April's reply is dull and listless: "No, I'm not coming."

Simon hauls the rucksack to his shoulder. He stares at his wife, who ignores him, the cigarette going to her lips, her eyes fixed on Bradley. April inhales deeply and then ejects a dragon's breath from her nose.

"Okay. See ya," Simon murmurs.

There's no reply before the front door clicks shut behind him.

April gives it ten minutes, smoking two more cigarettes. She rises and moves to the hallway, throwing a glance at the door. Standing there she pulls a mobile phone from the pocket of the man's shirt she's wearing.

"It's me," she says when her lover answers. "He's gone away for a few days." April giggles, her face breaking into a beaming smile. Suddenly she's beautiful again. "I was wondering," she breathes. "Would you like some company?"


Adam Brookes watches her as she walks from the bed towards the ensuite. He settles back into the pillow, hands behind his head. He thinks it's a pity he has to end it. The affair has run its course and she's got to go, but he'll leave it until the morning before breaking the news to April. Lying there, he listens to her water tinkling into the bowl. He pictures her sitting on the seat, his resurgent erection thickening. Adam strokes himself and smirks, his mind filling with thoughts of the night ahead.

The toilet flushes and the sound of April washing her hands comes to him. Then she's back, smile feline when she sees his fist slowly working his length.

"You here for the entire night?" Adam asks, his eyes moving over voluptuous curves.

April shrugs, feigning nonchalance. "You want me to be?" Her attention focuses on Adam's busy hand. "It isn't a problem. I had a text. He's on the train. Simon won't know anything."

"You're a bitch, April," Adam says, chuckling. "A cold-hearted bitch."

April's eyes flash fire. She stands at the foot of the bed, fists on her hips. "He's such a fucking wimp. He's such a fool. You know, I don't think he'd even be bothered if he caught us fucking."

Adam's smirk slips from his face at the vehemence in the woman's tone. He blinks.

"I can't believe he was ever a Royal Marine," April adds, grimacing. "Talk about cheated. I thought I was marrying a fucking hero ... Now he's a fucking bus driver." She sweeps an arm to encompass the opulence of Adam's bedroom. "This room is as big as the whole floor area of our house," April pouts. She regards Adam with a petulant moue twisting her lips. "I married him because I thought I was in love ... I thought he'd take me away from this shithole and we'd travel to exotic places.

"But what was it really like? He was always away on some fucking course or other. I was left in a crappy house in fucking Plymouth -- alone for weeks and months at a time surrounded by moronic wives who thought the sun shone out of their husbands' arses.

"It was fucking shite, Adam. But," April cries, waving her arms, "what happens next!?"

She eyes her lover as though expecting Adam to furnish a response.

Adam gawps back at her, wide-eyed with surprise at the unexpected rant.

"Uh- I dunno, April," he shrugs.

"He gets out," April informs him. "He leaves it and we come back here and he gets a job driving a bus. This is where I end up -- back in the town I was fucking born in 'cause Simon thinks it's what I want.

"I'm forty-two, Adam," April snaps, bitterly. "My husband's a bus driver and we owe forty thousand on a two-bed terrace in this shit-tip of a town. Fifteen years I've been with the pathetic bastard ... Fifteen fucking years."

The reminder of her husband's military past makes Adam gulp. He's always been slightly afraid of the fact, imagining a steely-eyed killer with lethal weapons instead of hands coming at him one day. Supressing a shiver of anxiety he tries to make light of it all. He can't be arsed with the spoilt bitch's whining any more. It's one of the reasons he's going to ditch her in the morning.

Forty-two, Adam thinks. Still got the looks and the body but they're on the turn. Another five years and you'll be a faded, jaded fat old toilet, April.

A sudden image of April with sagging jowls and tits to her stomach pops unbidden into Adam's head. He sees her as she might be: scrounging smokes off men in pubs, flaunting a crepe décolletage and an arse the size of a small country at them while rasping a phlegmy laugh. She's pissed on cheap vodka and desperate for affection, sucking them off in the toilets so they'll like her and buy her drinks.

His erection deflates like a leaky balloon.

"You want a drink?" Adam asks in an attempt at deflection, deciding April is definitely history.

"Don't you want another little fuck?" April pouts, lisping in a little-girl voice. "You were big and hard a minute ago."

Adam's tongue feels gloopy and too big for his mouth. It touches his palette and he swallows, distaste for April foul and lingering like a shit sandwich he's been forced to take a good bite out of, his mind polluted by the prescient scene of the future April still in his head.

"I could use a drink," he snaps, wondering if he could get rid of her sooner. Suddenly, spending the night with her has lost its appeal. Intentionally cruel, he adds, "Why don't you fuck off downstairs and get me a gin and tonic, April? Make yourself useful."

Adam sees the retort forming on her lips. There's a flash of ire behind her eyes, but he knows inherent avarice will keep her mouth shut.

"Okay," April warbles, bottom lip quivering.

He sees her eyes glistening on the brink of tears and immediately feels bad for his mean thoughts and harsh tone.

"Why don't you pour yourself something and then come back to bed," Adam sighs.

She's passive and grateful when she warbles, "Thu-thanks."

Adam watches April's bottom jiggle when she pads barefoot from the room. The feminine shape of her is a tonic to his cock. April has something which draws him in, and despite his aversion for her as a person he thinks he can manage one more night after all.

He drifts, thoughts softening, impressions furring at the periphery while he floats in the never-never between sleep and consciousness. Time is meaningless, amorphous and completely unreal. He dreams of April as she was when he first met her, her physical appeal and insatiable appetite for sex blinding him to her faults.

The things she was willing to do for a gift or some cash...

Inside Adam's head, April is just about to take him between her lips. She's on her knees where he likes her, breasts shivering while she jacks at him, her mouth opening.

Then something blows the cloud away and Adam levers upright. He blinks, confused, heart accelerating for no discernible reason other than his reaction to ... something.

He hears shuffling on the stairs. A strange muffled mewling sound reaches him.

Adam doesn't know what to make of it, but it definitely isn't right. He hesitates, sphincter loosening, a fart rasping out.

The thought occurs: April's husband! Simon is here. He knows -- he fucking knows!

Flinging back the covers, his feet make contact with the carpet at the same instant April appears at the door. Adam blinks, too shocked to make sense of it.


Adam registers a black balaclava, blue eyes, and dark clothing. He sees the pink glisten of the man's open mouth, the lips moving while the awful voice booms at him -- slaps him with its ferocity.

April's eyes are huge and terrified. Her hands are bound in front of her, a cloth gag of some kind shoved into her mouth. She's keening and groaning, blubbering as tears stream.

Adam sees the knife, a dagger the man waves about while his free hand has a tight hold on a length of twine looped round April's neck.

"Get on the fuckin' bed, bitch," the intruder snarls, his accent a harsh and grating to Adam's ears.

Scottish ... Glaswegian? Then the vague question of the intruder's nationality evaporates when April yelps, the cry muffled around her gag.

She stumbles, falling onto the bed when the masked man gives her a rough shove in the back.

Adam is mindless to the squirt of piss jetting from him when the man waves the knife at him and yells, "I told ya, ya cunt ... "ON YOUR FUCKIN' FRONT!" The maniac advances, knife raised. "Stop fuckin' eyeballin' me, ya bastard. Close your fuckin' eyes and roll over. Do it. Do it fuckin' NOW!"

The sheet is soaked with Adam's terror as he complies. "Oh God," he whimpers. "Don't hurt me. Please..."

"Shut your snivelling," the man snarls at him, while to April he says, "You shut your hole an'all, ya whining bitch. He regards Adam again, then barks, "Put your fuckin' arms behind your back."

Adam cranes round, neck twisting as he looks at the man. "Wuh-what?" he blubs. "Why?"

"You look at me again and I'll pop your eyeballs with this fucker." He holds up the knife. "Now, shut up and shove your hands behind you."

Adam's breathing is harsh and loud as he reluctantly obeys. He gulps and moans when the bed dips and he feels the man's weight next to him. Before he can comprehend what's happening, Adam quickly bound by a length of washing line cut from the rotary in his own back garden.

"Is there anyone else in the house?" the man asks, grunting as he grabs a handful of Adam's hair. "Tell me, ya fucker ... Is there anyone else here?"

"Nuh-no," Adam yelps, scalp stinging.

"Just you an' the tart, is it? You sure there's nobody else." Hot breath wafts over the back of Adam's neck. He gags on the stench of cigarette's and stale beer. "Tell me the truth or I'll jab this blade into your kidneys."

"I swear," Adam whines as his sphincter threatens the ultimate humiliation. "It's just us," he gasps.

The man deftly ties Adam's feet and then moves around the room. "Where's your moby?" he asks.

Adam doesn't understand. "What?"

"Your mobile-fucking-phone. Where is it? I dinna want either of yuoz calling the police." He pronounces the word poh-liss, emphasising his concern with the sharp point of the knife resting against Adam's left buttock.

"In my trouser pocket!" shrieks Adam. "Uh-over there on the chair."

"Hers too. Where's her fuckin' moby?"

Adam moans in relief when the man moves off him. "I ... uh ... I think it's downstairs," he gasps.

"Okay. Now, you just lie there for a wee spell. You move and I'll slice your fuckin' balls off."

A minute passes. Adam lies on the bed while April sobs and snuffles next to him. He sucks in deep breaths, mind racing.

"Is that your husband?" he eventually croaks.

Pain immediately flares in his back. At first he's sure he's been stabbed, but soon realises it was a punch - a hard one.

"Naw," the man said. "I ain't her fuckin' husband."

Adam sucks in air while the area over his right kidney throbs.

"But I wouldnae mind a go on her, like. Nice big titties she's got on her, eh?"

The voice comes closer, the man's breath making Adam gag.

"Now, I thought I told you not to fuckin' move," the intruder hisses. "That goes for talkin', too. Keep your mouth shut and your fuckin' eyes closed. There's a good lad, eh. Any more nonsense an' I'll beat you black and fuckin' blue.

"Got it, ya cunt?" the man asks, slapping the back of Adam's head.

Shocked at the violence, Adam daren't move while the sounds of general ransacking come from different points in the house. Jesus -- What's he going to do to me?


She's in the kitchen when the loop of clothes line slips over her head. The shock if it immobilises April. It's so unexpected and so unbelievable she can't register what's going on.

She gasps, stunned, then the twine bites into her neck and she feels a weight press against her back.

The first coherent thought is he's going to rape her. She's naked and vulnerable and scared stiff.

"Not a fuckin' sound," April hears, the words hissing into her ear on a wave of foetid breath.

She gags and reaches for the rope around her neck.

"Not a sound and don't move," the man whispers, pulling tight. Then the knife appears. He's extended one arm to show her the blade. "I dinna wanna hurt you. I'm only here on the rob, but if you make it fuckin' difficult--"

April moans when she sees the evil glint of the blade winking at her.

"I'll slice a piece off your face if you give me any shite. Hear me, ya cunt?" He emphasises the last with another jerk on the cord.

"Oh God," April whines. "Please--"

She's shoved forward, gasping when she hits the kitchen table with the front of her thighs.

"Not another sound, bitch."

He's quick, and before April fully realises it she's gagged, hands bound in front her. April is closed down frighteningly fast. She moans, scared out of her wits -- it's all so dark and sinister. That knife!

Then she's being pushed up the stairs. April can hear herself keening, but can't stop herself.

They reach the bedroom and it's all suddenly chaotic.

There's shouting right in her ear, bellowed commands before she's shoved hard from behind. Reeling, April hits the bed, bouncing. She hears questions about mobile phones, rolling closer to Adam during the mayhem. The mattress is wet and she vaguely wonders why, then Adam yelps in pain after asking the absurd question about the psycho being her husband.

There's some more to-and-fro and then she's hears the man rummaging around elsewhere.

April struggles against her bonds.

"April, for fuck's sake," she hears Adam grunt. "Don't try anything. Just let him take what he wants. Don't make it worse. He's got that knife, April--"

She rails, seething with anger and frustration. What is it with these men? Simon and Adam -- they don't have a pair between them. If she got free she'd claw the Scottish bastard's eyes out. She'd show them; she'd blind the wanker and stamp on his balls.

Is that piss she's lying in?

"April," Adam hisses again.

Then the terror is icy cold in her veins when she hears, "Yeah, April. You should listen to him. Stop your fuckin' wrigglin'."


He doesn't object when April squirms around and backheels herself semi-upright, her shoulders against the headboard.

April sees him sitting in the tub chair. He's taken it from near the window and placed it in a corner where he can watch the pair on the bed while also keeping an eye on the door.

He's looking at her tits and nodding.

"So," the man drawls, leering. "You two up to a bit of naughty, eh?"

Adam wriggles until he's on his side. He's facing April, but can see the intruder from the corner of his eye.

"Yuh-you've got what you wanted, haven't you?" he stammers. "Cuh-can't you leave us alone now?"

His eyes go to Adam.

The man's head tilts as he says, "Naw, I want you r credit cards. Debit, too ... If you're naw too posh for 'em. You got debit cards, eh?"

"You can have all of them if you'll go -- Now."

The intruder tut-tuts and shakes his head. "What's the rush?" His chin nudges towards April. "I'm enjoyin' the view." He leans forward, elbows on his knees while pointing with the knife. "And I'll leave when I'm good and fuckin' ready. He settles back in his seat and adds, "Who knows, I might hang about for a day or two. See if me an' the lady can't get better acquainted." He leers at April and winks. "What about it, hen?"

Sounds come from April. It's obvious she's seething while she wriggles and glares at the masked intruder.

The intruder lunging upright stills April instantly. She's all rabbit-eyed and anxious as he approaches, muffled pleas coming around her gag.

April squeals and Adam gasps a breathless, "No." when the man raises the knife.

"I'm cuttin' the fuckin' gag away, you thick shite. Stop your fussin' and wrigglin' about. You wouldnae want me to slip and cut yer face by accident, hen, eh?"

He chuckles and slips the point of the blade beneath the cloth binding in April's mouth. A quick flick of the knife and April spits the sodden binding away.

"You pig," she gasps, eyes fiery pits of loathing. "You bastard. You absolute wanker."

"Fuckin' hell," the man grins, stepping back. "You must know my missis! She's got the same opinion." He chuckles and goes back to his chair.

"Let me go," April hisses, struggling, an exercise in futility.

He watches her for a few seconds. "Naw, I reckon I'll keep you tied up." He settles into his seat, the knife loose in his hand as splinters of ice flicker in his cold gaze. "An' I'll tell you what. Why don't you shut your fuckin' yap?"

His tone matches the steel in his hand and April shuts up.

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