by Jason Luke
And she came.
April collapsed to the floor, her strength melting away in a single explosive moment. She slumped forward, her fingers still buried within the folds of her pussy, and her legs shaking violently. I saw a spasm shudder along the length of her spine like ripples on a lake. She convulsed, sobbed… and then lay still, the sound of her breath sawing in her throat.
I got to my feet and had to step over April to reach the console. I ripped the mic from its jack and dropped down into her big leather seat.
“That…” I paused with all the theatrical drama I could manage, “was shattering. Thank you my submissive sweethearts for one of the most memorable experiences of my life. You’re branded now. I have made you my own – claimed you as my property to serve my every sexual desire. Welcome to your new reality…”
We went into a block of four commercials. The sub-club session was over. I looked down at where April lay, panting like a marathon runner who had collapsed across the finish line. Her legs were splayed, her body flung down on the carpet like she was broken. She must have sensed the gaze of my eyes. She rolled onto her back, her breasts perfectly formed rounded mounds, her legs wide apart. She threw her hand up to her face and felt her cheek, then licked her lips. Her eyes were misted and dreamy.
“In-cred-ible…” she broke the word into three separate syllables between gasps of breath. “It felt like you fucked me – fucked my mind…” the words she groped for weren’t there. She hesitated, took a breath, and tried again. “It felt like you were inside my head – your voice – your presence… You consumed me, Jericho. You burned through me like a fire.”
Chapter 27.
Four commercials were not enough for April to compose herself and dress with fingers that still shook and fumbled. We went into a block of music, and I listened to Joe Cocker rasp about a girl who could leave her hat on. Finally April fell into her chair and clamped her hand over the two-way intercom.
“Do we have the phones working yet, Grover?”
His voice came back, vaguely breathless and tinny. “Almost,” he said. “Two more minutes.”
April frowned. “What have you been doing? You’ve had over half an hour.”
Grover didn’t answer. April shrugged and looked at me across the desk like she wanted to say something profound but still couldn’t encapsulate her feelings with words.
I said nothing.
The music continued. We played three more songs before Grover finally came back on the intercom. “We’re up,” he said with a note of triumph. “Twenty lines at least. We might get the rest back later. Take line sixteen. It’s a question about something to do with the sub-club.” There was a second of silence and then Grover’s voice was back, sounding rattled and off-balance. “Um… her name is Angelina.”
April smiled before she spoke, inflecting her voice with the kind of light-hearted happiness listeners expected. “Hello there!” she said. “Thanks for calling the station, Angelina. Jericho is sitting right here. Are you ready to ask the man a question?”
Angelina sounded quite young, but also serious – maybe troubled. She spoke softly like she was frowning through the phone.
“Hi, Jericho. Thanks for another wonderful night of sub-club.”
“G’day, Angelina. I am glad you are enjoying the program.”
“I am,” the woman said, “but I have a problem with submitting to you through the club, and I wanted to ask your advice on how to deal with this.”
I sat forward. The caller sounded serious and so I treated her that way. She obviously had concerns. “I’ll help in any way I can,” I said levelly. “Tell me what’s causing you conflict.”
The woman sighed, and I thought for a moment she might hang up. I waited in the brief silence.
“When you started the sub-club last week you asked your listeners who wanted to experience submission to go somewhere secret in the house… and that has been making me feel really awkward, Jericho. I love my guy and I feel terrible that I have to keep what I am learning a secret.” Angelina paused for a moment, then added. “I just need to understand why.”
I shook my head as I spoke. “Angelina, I never advocated that anyone joining the sub-club do so in secrecy,” I said. “I only asked that you listen to my commands while you were somewhere in your home that was private.”
There was a bewildered pause. In the silence I imagined Angelina replaying in her mind the actual words I had said a week earlier.
“I never suggested that people should keep their submission a secret, Angelina,” I went on. “All I suggested was that you follow my instructions in a place where you wouldn’t be interrupted. For some women, perhaps they need to keep this time secret – that’s their choice. But if you have a husband or a boyfriend, then I would encourage you to talk to him about your interest in submission and maybe even invite him to listen in on the show.” I wasn’t trying to make Angelina sound foolish, but I wanted to be specific. “The ideal situation for couples would be if your partner participated, right? If that was the case, you would be able to submit to a real live Master, and someone you trust, rather than obeying me through the radio.”
Angelina made awkward embarrassed sounds. She stumbled over a rush of apologetic words and hung up.
I looked at April and shrugged. I only hoped I had cleared up any confusion for other listeners who might have misunderstood my intentions.
We went straight to another call. It was from a man – one of only a couple of guys who had ever contacted the show. April welcomed the man and at the same time also encouraged other male listeners to phone into the station. She handed the caller on to me.
He sounded middle-aged. I had an unbidden image of a businessman, sitting alone late at night in a high office building, maybe staring at a computer screen full of stock prices. Some guy who didn’t want to go home to his wife.
“Hi John,” I said. “Thanks for taking the time to phone through. What’s on your mind tonight?”
“I’ve been listening to your show,” the man said. “Every evening. I find it informative. I just wanted to give you a pat on the back. There are a lot of folks benefitting from your advice, me included.”
He sounded weary. Maybe the price of pork bellies had tanked, or the Nikkei Index was plummeting.
“That’s very kind of you,” I said. “Are you involved in the lifestyle, John?”
He laughed disarmingly. “I’m trying,” he confessed. “But I am afraid I don’t have your confidence or attitude. I’ve learned over the past few evenings that it’s something not easily acquired.”
I was curious. “Care to explain?”
Some of the wry humor drained from his tone and his voice became lower, almost confidential. “I just think it’s very hard to please a woman who has such high expectations,” he said abstractly. “I mean a guy can only do as much as he can do. For some women that would be enough,” he paused. “But not all women are that easily satisfied…”
“Reading between the lines, John, it sounds like the lady in your life wants you to dominate her, and you’re finding it hard to be the fantasy she has in her mind…”
“Yeah…” he said. “That’s pretty close to the truth.”
I sat back in the chair and pulled the mic with me. “Mate, I give you credit for being willing to try,” I said sincerely. “A lot of women around the country go to bed utterly frustrated each night because the man in their lives won’t even contemplate experimenting with the lifestyle. At least you’ve heard your lady, and you’ve made an effort to meet her somewhere in the middle.”
John’s voice stayed gruff. “Yeah, well can you tell my wife that? She’s pissed at me because I’m not comfortable in this role, and it’s taking some time to get my head around the way she suddenly expects me to treat her. I mean, we’ve been married for twenty-seven years…” John went silent for a moment, then his voice came back again, a little stung and hurting. “Jesus. It’s all right for her. She’s apparently had this whole thing
simmering in her mind for years. But for me, it’s like, come out of nowhere. It takes time to get your head around, y’know?”
I nodded my head, and smiled as I spoke. “I do understand,” I said. “A lot of women just expect a dominant attitude to be instinctive to men, but it’s not – not to every guy… and being in such a long term relationship can make it hard to see your wife in a totally different light sexually.”
“So what do I do?” John asked.
Good question, actually.
“Are you home now?”
“No. I’m in my car.”
“Does your wife listen to the show?”
“Every damned night.”
“So she would be listening now, right?”
John sounded a little bewildered. “Yeah…” he said like he hadn’t actually considered that possibility before he had phoned into the radio station, and now it was dawning on him.
“What’s her name?”
“Um…”
I didn’t make a big deal about it. The guy was worried his friends or family might recognize him. “Or her nickname?”
The silence stretched out. Finally John said softly, “Missy.”
I glanced across the desk. April was smiling at me. She gave me a wink of encouragement.
“Okay…” I leaned in to the mic and lowered my voice, making my tone personal and whispered. “Missy, this is Jericho James. I’m talking to you now - the woman who is John’s wife and submissive. I want you to take a step back… give the man some time and space to develop. I want you to appreciate the fact that you have a man in your life who loves you enough to want to change for you. Now, let him change, in his own way, and at his own pace…”
I nodded at April and she intercepted the call. Her voice, after mine, sounded loud and effusive.
“Thanks for being a part of the program, John,” she said as more music began to filter through the background. “And good luck with your lady love.”
By 4am I was exhausted. The rest of the phones had come back online, and the three hours that followed the sub-club segment were filled with callers as we struggled to get the program back onto schedule and fulfill our commitments to advertisers.
When April finally signed off for the night and sat back with a weary sigh, I knew exactly how she felt.
I snatched the headphones off and scraped my fingers through my hair.
“Well that was hectic.” Somehow April managed a smile.
I nodded. “Do the phone lines go off the grid often?”
April shook her head. “Rarely,” she said, and then shrugged her shoulders. “But hey, this is radio. There are a million things that can, and do, go wrong.”
I got up out of my chair, stretched and yawned. April snatched up her handbag. “See you tomorrow?”
I smiled. “Of course. I’ll be here by 11:30pm.”
April laughed, and somehow I missed the mockery. I rubbed my eyes. They felt red raw, as if someone had thrown a handful of grit into them. I was looking forward to a long sleep.
“Tomorrow is Tuesday,” April reminded me abruptly. “8:30am meeting in the dragon-slayer’s office for all on-air announcers. Be there – or risk the wrath of the evil one.”
Chapter 28.
All of the station’s on-air announcers were gathered in Nancy’s office when I arrived the following morning. There were about a dozen people, which included the weekend teams. The only person missing was the guy from the breakfast show – and that was because he was on air until 10am.
Heads turned as I entered the office and silence descended on the gathering. They looked me over with curiosity and the kind of veiled resentment that greets any new person into such a group. I returned everyone’s gaze, my eyes steady. They were an unusual mix of people – an eclectic mix of shapes and sizes and ages. Most of the announcers were men. I saw April in a corner of the office. She looked like a delicate rose in a field of scruffy thorns. She waved at me. She was talking to Cindy. The young secretary had a clutch of folders held to her chest. She handed one to April, glanced at me, and then drifted silently away into the mingle of bodies.
I gestured with my thumb. “Have I done something to piss her off?” I glanced over my shoulder. Cindy was handing out the folders to all the other broadcasters.
April shrugged. “Not that I know of. Maybe you have that effect on all women.” She smiled.
“Well have I pissed you off yet?”
She rolled her eyes with the kind of theatrical drama that only a woman knows. “Every night,” she teased me. “Every single night.”
I glanced again at Cindy before she disappeared through the office door. There was a wiggle in her bottom that I hadn’t noticed before – a provocative tease in the way she walked…
“Maybe she’s just shy,” April laughed aloud like she had just delivered the punch line to the joke of the century.
Not funny.
The sound of conversations ebbed and flowed around the room for a few more minutes and then Nancy came through the door. She had a Styrofoam cup in her hand and a scowl on her face. Tucked awkwardly under her arm were long rolls of paper like architect plans. She lifted her arm like it was a wing, and the papers fell in a heap on her desk.
“Sit, sit,” Nancy said. There were chairs stacked against the wall. Everyone found a piece of floor space and we sat, sat.
Nancy flicked her eyes over the group, maybe taking a silent roll call to be certain everyone had arrived. Her gaze as it swept over me became an abrupt glare – no sign of recognition.
“Okay, let’s get down to it.” The way she spoke it was clear that she had no good news. She unrolled one of the tubes of paper and turned to pin it on a presentation stand beside her desk. It was a graph of some sort – a squiggle of lines in red and blue. There was more red than blue.
Nancy slapped a point on the chart and turned to the assembled group. “Revenues are down in three key areas – breakfast, drive time and afternoons,” she said. “We’re four percent behind last quarter, and we’re getting our ass kicked in the important demographics…” she paused for a moment as if seeking out the broadcasters who covered those shifts, and then her gaze turned to steel and her voice rose to a seething accusation. “What the fuck are you assholes doing to my radio station?”
There was tense silence. No one spoke. Nancy ripped down the chart and pinned the next one up. This one was different – a blue rising line.
“The graveyard shift is the only program that is performing above revenue projections,” she said. She fixed her eyes on April like I was invisible. “Well done.” Nancy didn’t smile and the praise was grudging, delivered in a gruff voice. “The figures I am seeing indicate that listener numbers have more than tripled in the last week alone, and advertisers are now being charged a premium. Your show is carrying the load for everyone else who is failing miserably!” Her voice became shrill. I saw grown men around me cringing. Nancy huffed and her mouth twisted into a snarl. “Meeting over,” she decided. “Fix your fucking programs or start looking for new careers.”
Everyone got to their feet at once, keen to clear the room. Nancy caught my eye. “Stay,” she said.
I glanced at April. She looked worried. I gave her a reassuring smile and she fled from the office. Suddenly Nancy and I were alone. She stalked to the door and pulled it shut with a violent slam.
I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “Very inspiring,” I said casually. “That’s the kind of pep talk Hitler used to give to his Generals.”
Nancy turned on me. There was a wild fury in her eyes. Her arms were folded across her chest. She hadn’t heard a word I had said. She was breathing hard, panting with pent up rage.
“Did you fuck her?”
I blinked. “What?”
“Did you fuck her?” Nancy shouted. She was incensed with anger. Her eyes were black, her face twisted into an ugly mask of hatred.
I frowned. “Fuck who?”
“April!” she screamed at me, h
er voice cracking in a shriek of indignation.
For long seconds there was only silence in the room. Nancy was trembling with pain and anguish. Her jaw was clenched tight, her hands gripped into fists.
“No,” I said calmly, holding her gaze, not blinking, not averting my eyes – just staring at her with sincerity. “No, I didn’t. I haven’t.”
Nancy’s expression became incredulous. Her expression changed and then changed again. She shook her head at last, in a gesture that was bleak with despair and disappointment. “You’re denying it,” she said, the words hollow, empty with desolation.
“Of course I am denying it,” I said. “Nancy, I don’t know what you think, or what you might have heard, but it’s wrong. April and I have become good friends and nothing more. We are not lovers.”
She glared at me and I saw the fury reappear in her eyes. “You lying bastard…”
My hand snapped out – like the strike of a snake – and I grasped her wrist and tugged her to me. She gasped in surprise. I pressed my face close to hers and my expression turned black.
“I am not lying,” I snarled through clenched teeth. “I am telling you the truth. And if you are going to submit to me, you are going to need to learn to trust me.”
Nancy froze. She wanted to believe me – I could see it in her face. I let go of her wrist. Her arm fell limp to her side. She staggered away from me and paced the room, prowling with her brow furrowed, her lips pinched into a dark scowl. She glanced up at me and then looked away again, eyes on the carpet, circling me like a shark.
“You need to trust me…” I said again.
Nancy stopped pacing.
“How can I?” she cried out. Her voice rose sharply, and then suddenly everything she had held pent up spilled out in a torrent of tortured words. “You tell me you didn’t fuck April, but Grover tells me you did! He saw you, Jericho. He saw you through the blinds while you were doing last night’s program!”