Judith looked at her garden from the open window in the kitchen, admiring how well the roses were growing. Early May evenings still retained a trace of cold April bite; Judith shivered and closed the window, but she inhaled the smell of flowers before. What a beautiful garden she had, what a beautiful neighbourhood she was living in.
The chicken was sizzling in olive oil, the skin golden and crunchy. She tasted it, licking the fat from her fingers afterwards. It needed a bit of salt, and she added it cautiously; then she tasted the potatoes, which were perfect if she could say so herself. She popped one into her mouth with a satisfied giggle, even if she knew better than eating without her husband at the table. Well, he would never know, would he?
( "You're gonna love this one, angel," Crowley proudly announced one morning as Aziraphale was eating a slice of pound cake; he looked up from his breakfast to stare at his very excited husband, with no idea what he was talking about.
"My dear, could you please be a little more specific?"
"Roleplay! I came up with another one! And this is going to be so good."
"Oh!", Aziraphale wiggled, smiling, "Tell me more, darling."
Crowley quickly made himself home on Aziraphale's lap, already purring. "You can be mean in this one. It's very specifically plotted for this purpose."
Aziraphale smiled, a playful glint in his eyes, as Crowley nuzzled his neck. "It is often my role in our little games."
Cheeks tinted with pink, Crowley grinned. "Yeah, it's one of those."
"Marvellous, my dear. There's a backstory, I hope. You know how much I love all the little tidbits you usually come up with." What an understatement to talk about the intricate stories Crowley always crafted.
His lips curved in a sweet, coquettish smile, he traced hearts on his husband's chest like the love-struck fool he was. "Well.." )
"I'm home," her husband announced before she could eat another baby potato. They were her darling husband's favourite, and she ought to restrain himself. Her husband was generous, she was sure he would be happy to share. And she had been good, so no punishments should be in order.
( "In this scenario you can punish me to your heart's content," Crowley happily wiggled, excitement pouring out of his cheeks. "I'm going to be just your vapid trophy wife, your arm candy. Don't you love when I'm just pretty and I'm not allowed to talk back?" He batted his eyes for good measure; Aziraphale noticed mascara and a bit of eyeliner. What a pretty thing he was, with such pretty eyes.
"I hope you will, though. I like my punishments to be earned." )
"Welcome home, dear," she chirped, leaping to give him a chaste kiss on the lips; but he was hungrier than that, and circled her tiny waist to hold her tighter.
"That's a kiss meant for children, pet," he reprimanded her, and kissed her mouth soundly, sending shivers down her spine. When he traced her lips with his tongue to gain access to her mouth, Judith gasped, red blooming on her cheeks.
"Dear, not now, or your dinner will get cold! I spent a lot of time in the kitchen for you…", she weakly protested, a sugary sweet smile dancing on her lips.
"There will be time for food," he whispered as he kissed her neck, voice as sticky as molasses, "but now I want you to put your mouth to better use."
"Here?", she squeaked, scandalised; there was little she could deny him, but she didn't really like to be out of their bedroom for such intimate matters. "In the corridor? Can you not wait after dinner?"
"No," he stated, stone-firm, as he unbuckled his trousers. "Are you perhaps arguing with me, birdie?"
( Aziraphale quirked an eyebrow. "So I'm just a nameless brute?"
Crowley rolled his eyes, sighing. “No. You're a hard-working breadwinner - you work in a bank and you're good and hard - don't laugh! - I was saying… well, whatever," he shrugged, curls bouncing around his face. "You work a lot to pay for your wife's every queer whim, and you really like sex and feel you deserve to fuck every time you want to, and if sometimes you have to use a bit of force… well, that would be very Fifties-ish, and you love authenticity."
Aziraphale, full of fondness for the ridiculous creature in front of him, tucked a stray curl behind his ear. "That sounds marvellous, my dear, but you know that you don't have to -"
"Yes, I know," Crowley interrupted him sharply, a bit put off. "I just like pretending I'm a lonely housewife." And it was true, but it was not the only aspect of their more common form of play; the sweet housewife, the young maid, the ingénue, the down-to-her-luck prostitute, all roles more typically associated with women. "If you don't want to play, we can have normal boring sex for the rest of eternity. Or no sex, if it would make you feel better," he spat and pouted, shuffling to get off Aziraphale's lap; but he caught both his wrists before Crowley could bolt out of the room.
"I didn't say any of that, darling," he smiled, circling his waist with his arms, giving him the exact place he needed: a comforting cage.
"You said I don't have to submit only in female form 'cause you don't like it 'cause you're a boring southern pansy and we have to do just what you like 'cause you don't find it proper I submit just when I have tits."
Aziraphale snorted out a laugh. "I surely say a lot of things I don't really think."
"'s not my fault you're dumb."
Aziraphale kissed him on the cheeks, stroking a cheekbone. He saw red-rimmed eyes he kissed the eyelids of. "You very well know I did not insinuate any of that nonsense. I just wanted to reassure you that I would love you in any form and any presentation, and nothing could ever change that."
"Yeah, yeah," Crowley dramatically sighed, "I still want to play as a housewife. Got a beautiful vintage skirt, with a petticoat too, y'know? I can't wait to show you. It's emerald green, it suits me."
Count on clothing to distract Crowley from his trivialities. "Green is such a flattering colour on you, doll, I can't wait to ravish you. Now," he nuzzled his neck with a playful gleam in his eyes, "I think a chastisement is in order for that little show of impudence before."
Crowley gasped, delighted, straddling his lap. "Oh, husband, no!" )
"No, dear, I'm not," she mumbled, ashamed, but, before she could sink to her knees, her husband stroked her cheek. She looked at him, transfixed by all the care and love she felt into such a simple gesture. She covered his hand with her own, kissing the palm. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to argue with you."
"I know you didn't, doll," he said with a smile, "I'm sorry if I startled you. You're just so beautiful I can't stop thinking about you all day and, once I'm home, it is so hard to resist having you on the spot. Today I am particularly weak for your smile, the first thing I've loved about you."
She melted as she always did when her husband praised her for something, be it how smooth her skin was or how prettily she arranged the flowers in the living room.
( "At least I'm not a complete monster."
"You're nice, sometimes. And a manipulative jerk most of the time, but I love you anyway."
"Oh, goodness," he said, fake-scandalised. Crowley pinched his arm.
"You love it, you self-righteous bastard.."
"Indeed I do, darling,” Aziraphale admitted, biting the fingers that pinched him. )
"Thank you," she said, as she elegantly bent one knee, then the other, "I think about you all day as well."
She took him in her mouth with graceful ease, stretching her crimson lips around him as his hand sunk in her long, soft hair, scratching her scalp. She hummed around him, little vibrations that made him sigh with a pink pleasure. She took great pride in each one of his moans, shudders, sighs, because they meant she was doing a good job, she was pleasing him, and that was all that meant. If she did not like performing (nor receiving, because she was a good Catholic wife) oral sex very much, well, that was her problem.
"What a good girl you are," moaned her husband, one hand behind her head, gently pushing her towards him, his thrust slightly quicker than before. She gagged a little when his tip grazed her throat - he loved when she did, because she was completely at his mercy. He came with a guttural sound; he had not warned, her as usual.
( "Why am I such a jerk?"
"Because jerks make me horny." )
"Thank you," she said, dabbing the corner of her mouth with her handkerchief. He helped her to her feet and she yelped when she took her in his arms as if she were still his virgin bride. Judith's eyes were filled with memories of their wedding, the most beautiful day of her life, the sound of bells ringing around her head. What a happy wife she was!
He kissed her soundly and she mewled in his mouth, overwhelmed. His kisses were sending chills down her spine and between her legs, but she could not say because it would be improper of her and very, very naughty, and her dear husband did not like naughty girls. She tried to calm his assault, asking if he was hungry once again. "For chicken, I mean," she giggled.
"I am a bit, yes," he admitted, "but you smell so good today I simply can't tear away from you."
"It's the perfume you bought me, I thought it would have been nice to wear it tonight for you," she smiled, as sweet as pie. A good wife should always take care of herself, always be the best version of herself for her husband.
'You thought well. And what else did you do today?"
"Can't I tell you while we eat? I'm afraid I already have to reheat our dinner…"
He, too, smiled fondly. "What a good little wife, caring so much about her husband's stomach."
"I just don't want you to go hungry for too long," she squirmed a bit. She only did what was proper for a devoted wife, not exactly worthy of any praise. "You work so hard for us, it's only fair."
Kissing her forehead, he gently let her down in front of the oven, inside which she put chicken once again. But before she could turn around, she yelped as his husband started leaving open-mouthed kisses on the nape of her neck.
"Dear, I have to - the table, I have to -", she tried to protest, but he gave her a quick slap on her rear end. “Oh! What did I do?"
"I don't recall anything about a new perfume, doll."
She froze: it was, she remembered now, not a gift, she bought it without telling him she did - it was on sale and she had wanted it so much and if she had waited for his permission she would have not found it the next day, and it was so cheap he surely would not have minded. "I - I bought it myself, I'm sorry."
"What's the rule about money?"
She squirmed and he spanked her again after a couple of seconds of silence. "I'm not to spend a penny without telling you first,” she let out, voice shaking.
"And why is that?"
"Because I am not to be trusted with money.”
“And why can I not trust an adult woman with my money?”
How cruel to tease her like that! “Because I'm a spoiled little brat." Oh, the shame!
( "Oh?", Aziraphale quipped, tickled by every new detail. Crowley nodded.
"I'm daddy's little girl, a proper angel who does not know the first thing about money, so you're super strict about it."
"You're giving me a lot to work with."
"Yeah, so you can decide for yourself. I'm not super particular with the script this time, it's more like a very loose plot. I just want you to wreck me."
Aziraphale blinked, mouth dry and ears really, really red. “You sure have come a long way from trembling and blushing after just a kiss.”
“ Yeah, well, I have a very good and patient teacher. Speaking of which, my uniforms arrived yesterday!” )
"That was very naughty of you,” he whispered into her ear, a hand already under her skirt as he bent her over the counter. She didn't protest because she knew she deserved everything her husband would find apt to give her. "A good wife does not give in on her every impulse." She nodded, eyes already heavy with scorching tears of humiliation. To be spanked like a child in her own house! And in front of the window too! She was lucky she had closed it before; her husband would not have given her the courtesy to shut it, thinking all their neighbours deserved to hear how discipline worked in their house.
He unbuttoned her skirt, letting it slide over her legs and pool at her feet. She trembled as the cool air of the kitchen stroked her skin.
"What a filthy little thing you are. Why are you not wearing your knickers?"
Oh, how could she tell him why? She had a bit of solo fun, in the afternoon (she thought about how he would mount her from behind, whispering about how good she was, taking him so well without a word of protest) and she had forgotten to wear her panties back; but masturbating (what a crude word!) was not permitted in their household.
The first blow stung terribly; he did not warn her nor warmed her up as he sometimes did when he felt lenient. Oh, she had made him angry! He did not care about any explanation and she was glad about it - but, oh, he started spanking so hard already that she was writhing under the assault, the other of her husband's hand pinning her down. "I'm sorry!", she shouted, "I'm sorry, please!"
“You're not sorry enough, not yet,” he replied, giving attention to her thighs, the more tender meat under her buttocks. “But you will be in no time.”
She whimpered, angry with herself for how vapid and silly she was. She only had herself to blame. She shut her eyes to fight back the tears as her husband was not one to hold back when it came to discipline, so crying would have been futile.
The slaps echoed in the room, filling her with shame, her husband's hand widening her legs to spank the sensitive inside of her thighs; she hissed, hoping he would stop there without touching between her legs. He had spanked her there just once when he found some illicit magazines she bought, and oh, how heavily she had wept that day, trembling and hiccuping for the thundering hurt. Making love so briefly afterwards had been another level of chastisement.
She could not stop herself from bucking, trying to escape, and she gasped when her husband clasped her wrists on the small of her back, slapping both her hands. “What do you think you're doing, pet? Disobeying again?”
“I'm sorry!”, she wailed, “I can't help it, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...”
He struck her. “Stay still for the next fifteen,” fifteen ? That many left? She felt like she was being spanked since dawn and there were so many more slaps in store for her, “and I will stop for good, so we can eat. But if you move just a muscle I'll bring the ruler out.”
( “A ruler, angel?” Crowley gasped, outraged. He hadn't see a ruler since his Nanny days, and he absolutely did not use it on poor Warlock. “You're my husband, not my teacher!”
The outrage was not shared. Aziraphale pursed his lips. “I prefer rulers to belts, they sting a lot more,” he explained nonchalantly as if he were asked about the difference between two notebooks.
Crowley squirmed on his lap. The stinging handprints on his bottom were telling that Aziraphale did not exactly need any kind of implements. “You're a sadist.”
Aziraphale kissed him soundly on his cheek. “And I love you as much as you love me.” )
“Am I understood, Judith?”
He started spanking her with more force than before, enough for her to finally give in and weep, sobs wrecking through her body. She let tears streaming down her face, not caring any more about any shred of dignity she had left in her body.
She only realised he had stopped when she heard him whispering soothing nonsense into her ear, stroking her sensitive skin with a caring hand. “I'm sorry, doll, but you know I had to.”
“Of course, dear,” she said sniffling. She felt weak on her legs all her energies melted in her tears. "I'm so sorry."
"Everything is all right now." He kissed her hair and she whimpered. Maybe she could still be a good wife if she tried really hard. He gently turned her around, kissed her forehead and helped to dry her tears. "Let's eat now, sweetheart."
She gave the smallest nods, still sniffling a bit. "May I have a cushion to sit on, please?"
He tutted. "You may not, my dear. Lessons are better learned on a sore bottom."
She hung her head, she was not to protest. "Yes, dear, of course.”
So they ate, her naked flesh brushing against the cotton of her skirt. He found the chicken a bit dry but still good, and the potatoes were the star of the dinner. She beamed under the praise, trying to focus on everything but her pain.
After they finished and Judith had served him a slice of apple pie (he took her on her lap to feed her morsels of dessert, but his thighs were so soft she did not care and happily munched), she excused herself to prepare for the night, hoping to skirt over her marital duties just for a night.
( Aziraphale burst out laughing. "I'm sorry if it is such a hassle to sleep with me, darling."
"I'm hoping to be sore enough to actually think I'd rather sleep alone than with you, angel. If not, maybe you've gone too soft."
Aziraphale stared at him, perfectly aware of the frankly bland game Crowley was playing. "Do you need another bit of angelic smiting, Crowley?"
But she had no such luck. As she slipped into her nightgown and picked the first cream she had to put on, her husband opened the door of their bedroom, walking in as if he owned not only the room but the entire world. She usually loved how sure and confident her spouse was in his body, how he moved in the space as if modelling it after his own wishes, but she was tired tonight. It usually did not mean much to him, though.
"Leave your makeup on for now, darling."
"I can't sleep like that, silly, you know that. Besides, it's all ruined, I hardly think I look presentable."
"No one said anything about sleeping."
"Oh, but it's so late…"
"Don't worry about it, baby."
She found herself thrown on the bed, kissed to oblivion everywhere - breasts, neck, a brush of lips on her wedding ring.
( "I know you don't like checking, but I do. I'm not going to ask you anything but I will kiss your ring when I want to be sure. Is that okay?"
It was, and it made Crowley warm inside like the stupid cliché he was, but he refused to say so. "Only if you promise to beat me real good." )
She offered herself, spreading her still tender thighs just a little; her husband loved opening them on his own. He dipped two fingers inside her heat, scissoring her open until she melted in a mewling, begging puddle. She shrieked, arching her back, as her husband penetrated her without a single care about her backside or the welts blooming on her poor thighs.
"Hurts…", she lamented, with the voice of a whiny kitten, when it became too much. Her husband, mouth red with her smeared lipstick, tutted as he completely ignored her protest. With her legs on his shoulders, his thrusts became deeper, more bruising.
"it doesn't hurt at all, darling,” he tutted at the silly thing under him, “you're making a fuss about nothing as usual. You're such a dramatic girl."
(but there was something, inside of Crowley's heart, that rejoiced in being treated without respect as if he were just a toy. The harsh words and actions of his husband, the being he loved and trusted most in the universe and from whom he was adored back, were true just during their silly games, and it was cathartic, it was splendid in the cruel, mesmerising way of a storm in the middle of the ocean.)
As he pushed and pushed into her without any mercy, she held onto his neck, trying to find respite between thrusts, between the tiny electric shocks he sent down her spine every time he slammed into her, slapping against her skin. She begged for more kisses, offering her lips and neck like a prey, and he ate her up, her raw meat cooked with honey.
He spilt in her, groaning her name. She sighed in relief, stroking his damp hair. "It was marvellous, dear, thank you," she said, genuinely grateful and proud to be able to bring her husband such pleasure with only her humble body.
As soon as he started catching his breath, Aziraphale leaned to Crowley, touching his forehead with his own. He trailed kisses along his demon's legs as he carefully placed them down on the bed one at a time – a particularly long kiss on his calves that tickled Crowley. “ Thank you, my darling. You were perfect.” (not it . You . He was perfect, not just what he did.)
Crowley groaned out of embarrassment, hiding behind his hands. “What kind of loser talks like that after a shagging?”
“The loser you married.”
Aziraphale kissed his knuckles until Crowley emerged, mascara and eyeliner and lipstick all over his face in an endearing abstract painting. He fell in love once again with him.
"You're a mess," chuckled Aziraphale, brushing through his hair, long and fierce. What lovely ringlets he had at the beginning of their game; they were a bit tousled now, but still so pretty.
“Yeah, duh. As if you weren't there too.”
Suddenly, Crowley sniffled; Aziraphale stared at him and quickly miracled his favourite chocolates, but Crowley sunk into his embrace instead, mutely asking to be hidden from the world for a bit. It was not unusual, so it was nothing to be alarmed about; Aziraphale snapped his fingers again so they were naked under a thick duvet. He kissed Crowley's head for long minutes until he was not trembling any more.
“I love you,” he said again and again and again, “My perfect, perfect Crowley.”
“Not so bad yourself,” snorted Crowley with a slightly wet voice.
“Thank you, my darling. Now, I know you hate this part,” Crowley audibly growled, “but I have to check. Are you too sore? Was I too rough?”
“'m not a flower, angel,” he mumbled against his throat, “everything's all right. 's just... endorphins.”
“I know, I know.”
Aziraphale kissed him all over, delicate and adoring. Crowley asked to be fed sugar once again, even licked Aziraphale's fingers, cat-lazy and playful. “Love you,” he whispered.
“And I love you, you ridiculous serpent.” He kissed Crowley's nose. “As I will do for all eternity.”
“Sap,” Crowley smiled, content. He made himself even more comfortable in the warm cocoon of his angel's arms and the duvet, sore and cosy.
“May I read to you, my love?”, Aziraphale softly asked. Crowley nodded, and the last chapter of Alice in Wonderland unfurled in front of his sleepy eyes.