She finds a present that gets them both wet
Easter was causing me grief. Real grief. The problem was, what should we do? Since Gerik and I’d got married, four years ago, we’d celebrated every Easter in a very special way. The first year had been for him to arrange, the second year for me, the third year him. Now the fourth year was my responsibility again. And it was a big one.
For our first married Easter, Gerik had filled the house with flowers, and I mean literally. There were lilies in the living room and daffodils all over the kitchen. The bathroom was filled with jars of bluebells, and the bath itself was brimming with scented water and had floating candles in the shape of water lilies illuminating its steamy fragrant gloom. He’d knelt beside the bath and washed me, every inch of me, with his strong fingers, then wrapped me in a towel, picked me up and carried me into the bedroom.
Gerik is very strong. He’s a builder, a Polish builder – and don’t bother, we’ve heard all the Polish jokes going. Carrying me around like a bundle of damp washing was no problem for him.
The bedroom was full of roses. Great mixed bouquets of them in buckets on the floor, tall-stemmed red roses on the dressing table and a huge garland of dried rosebuds hung over the bed. Soft rose scents came from more candles. He’d towelled me dry and then lifted a little glass flagon from the floor. It held rose oil which he rubbed into my skin as though I was some building project that had to be perfectly completed. Then he’d turned back the duvet. The bed was filled with soft pink rose petals. He’d laid me down in it, and spread my legs wide, then stood at the end of the bed, picking up handfuls of petals and sprinkling them on me until I was buried under a cool fragrant carpet. Then he lay beside me and the scent of crushed flowers began to rise as he pressed and stroked my flesh, kneading my breasts, sliding his fingers down my arms and sides, tucking petals between my toes and into my pubes until I was saturated in roses. And then he’d lifted my knees up and back until they almost touched my breasts, and fucked me into a rosy oblivion.
Sex And Chocolate
For our second Easter I’d bought a chocolate fountain. I’d set it up in the middle of the living room, pushing all the furniture to the walls and using one of his dust sheets to cover the carpet. Around the fountain I’d set trays of food: sliced peaches, strawberries and pineapple, candied orange peel, ripe figs, marshmallows, prunes stuffed with marzipan… you name it, if it was sweet and tasted good with chocolate, I had it.
When I heard his key in the lock I’d run to the front door and told him to go and take a shower. He’d stared at me for a second, his blond eyebrows creasing, and then turned without a word and gone upstairs. Gerik isn’t much of a one for questions.
By the time he came down, I was naked, cross-legged, on the living room floor. He was naked too, and already hard as he walked across the room to sit opposite me. I’d twirled a strawberry in the molten chocolate and pressed it into his mouth. While he was still chewing, I’d chosen a fig, dipped it in the gooey liquid and then run it along his shaft, bending my head to follow the sticky chocolate trail with my tongue. He gasped. You can guess the rest.
Year three – his choice. He’d hired a cottage in the country. Where, he’d said, nobody could hear me scream. He was right.
The cottage had an open fire and exposed beams. I lay in front of the first and gazed up at the second, and Gerik knelt between my legs, with my Easter gift. A rabbit. Well, not just one rabbit. The entire range: Jessica, Happy Rabbit, Mini Rabbit, Bigs Rabbit and my favourite – Greedy Girl Rabbit. He’d said rabbits were appropriate for Easter, which was very nearly a joke, from Gerik.
Epiphany
So now it was year four. How did a girl top a weekend spent discovering the intricate pleasures one could obtain from an entire range of vibrators in the hands of a loving husband?
March was on us, and I still had no ideas. I waited for a day when Gerik would be out late and plonked myself on the computer chair with a bottle of Pinot – by the time he came home I would have the answer.
It didn’t start well. I browsed a few sexy online venues: shops, forums, Reddit, but there was nothing with an Easter theme except a few pictures of girls in bunny ears. That was so clichéd I didn’t even give it a thought.
I decided to work laterally. What was Easter all about? Religion. Well there was nothing sexy about that. Chocolate eggs, the Easter Bunny, spring flowers – we’d done all of those. Back to religion: crucifixion. Well I could tie him to the bed, I supposed, but it hardly seemed sexy – we weren’t into that kind of stuff. Rising from the dead. Impossible.
Impossible.
But…
I flicked back through the sites I’d visited. Nothing there. Then I started browsing spas and sites dedicated to personal pampering. Yes!
The next day I went to check out my idea. The Aquarius Flotation Centre was in Knightsbridge, next door to a colonic irrigation clinic, which made a perverse kind of sense. The receptionist took my credit card, issued me with a robe and a big fluffy towel, and showed me to a cubicle where I changed into the robe. Then she took me to the flotation chamber.
“Hang up your robe inside the door. By the way, the doors don’t lock,” she said. “You can’t get trapped inside.” I raised my eyebrows. “Well some people worry that they might not like it, but there’s no need, you can get out whenever you like.”
Actually I already knew that. I’d done my research well. Most flotation tanks are just like large coffins, or paddling pools with lids, which was what had inspired me to think of them in terms of rising from the dead in the first place, but the ones at Aquarius were much bigger, the size of plunge pools, with just enough room to stand upright. Even Gerik, my Polish giant, would be able to stretch at his ease here.
I drifted in silence in ten inches of water so saturated with special mineral salts that I couldn’t help but float. It was silent. I could have opted for soothing music, but I hadn’t. I could have had ‘relaxing’ lights too, but I’d gone for complete darkness. It was just like being dead, if death involved total peace and relaxation. Perfect. After sixty minutes a series of gentle chimes announced that my time was up. There was a neat little shower room to get rid of the minerals, and then it was back to real life.
As soon as I got home I booked a session for Gerik on Easter Monday, using his credit card number. I’d already booked another tank at the same time for myself, and paid in cash. There was nothing to link us in the receptionist’s mind, or so I hoped.
Water Bunnies
I drove Gerik there on the day, pecked him on the cheek and told him I’d meet him outside in an hour.
“What is this about?” he asked, having expected us to spend the day together as usual.
“Trust me,” I said. “You won’t believe the effect it has on you. You’ll come home a different man.”
He frowned, but headed in.
I parked the car, gave him enough time to get into his tank, and followed.
As soon as the girl left me in my cubicle, I slipped out again and stood in the little vestibule. There were three doors apart from mine, and Gerik was behind one of them, floating silently in the dark.
I opened the first door. Stark light bounced out at me. The water was empty. I opened the second door. Deep nothingness. For a second I paused, wondering if I was about to slip into the arms of a complete stranger who would scream the place down, but I couldn’t retreat now.
I stepped into the water and lowered myself to my knees, shutting the door behind me. The deep, warm darkness swallowed me up.
“What?” Gerik said.
For a second I wondered whether I should remain anonymous, just a warm mouth closing over his cock in the dark. But then, suppose he tried to strangle me? Even worse, what if he thought I was a stranger and still let me go ahead?
“The Easter Bunny,” I said, and ran my hand up his leg.
“Lou?”
I put my free hand over his mouth to shut him up. I continued sliding one hand up and the other down until they met around his cock. He was already hard. I lapped at him, tasting the stinging saltiness of the water, and then his own flavour.
I sucked, feeling his hip bounce against my knees as I drew him into my mouth. The buoyancy of the water meant he couldn’t move, there was no leverage, so he had to remain passive, allowing me to do everything, just as if he was really dead. There was nothing passive about the sounds he made though, first harsh breathing, then a series of loud moans and finally gasping, groaning, begging ecstasy as he came in my mouth.
I let his softening shaft slide from my lips and crawled towards the door.
“I expect this to be fully resurrected by the time we get home,” I said, reaching out to tweak his cock, and heard him chuckle in the dark as I shut the cubicle door and headed for the shower.
Next year is his turn. I wonder what he’ll come up with?
