Birthday Weekend Surprise

Ch 01 Celebrate Good Times

"Doctor Payne, Doctor Erika Payne to room 404 West. Consultation room 404 West. Doctor Erika Payne, consultation in room 404 West." The PA blared across the staff cafeteria at Erin Falls Regional Institute of Diagnostic, Surgical, and Trauma Excellence.

​She cast an annoyed glance at the ceiling speaker. "Happy fuckin' birthday to me," she muttered, chewing the last bite of the spice cake her husband had baked from her mother's secret recipe.

​Swallowing the tangy morsel, she cleared her tray, stood, and headed toward the West Wing.

She stepped off the West elevator on the fourth floor and asked the first nurse she saw, "Where is room 404?"

​"Beats me, doc. I'm a travel nurse. This is my first shift." She offered a smile and a shrug, then hurried away.

​"Welcome to Regional," Erika called.

​"Thanks, doc," the nurse shouted back, raising a hand in a brief wave before turning the corner and disappearing.

​Erika headed to the nurses' station and found it unmanned. "Where the hell is everyone?" she snarled. "First my lunch break gets cut short, now I can't find the damn room."

​Stomping away from the desk, she looked at the directional signs on the wall. Rooms 401 - 403 yellow line, 405 - 409 blue line.

"Where the fuck is 404?"

​A custodian mopping a nearby room heard her outburst over his earbuds. He pulled one side out and looked at her.

"What room you lookin' fer?"

​"I was paged to 404 for a consultation."

​"404? Ain't no 404 no more. You sure it was West?"

​"What do you mean no more?"

​"It's now the nurses' station."

The custodian offered a slight shrug as he swept a small pile of debris to the side. As soon as he cleared the doorway, a swarm of friends and co-workers exploded out of the surrounding rooms wearing cheap, cardboard birthday hats and blowing party horns.

​The head nurse carried a store-bought half sheet cake topped with a three and zero candle as the crowd broke into a rowdy, off-key chorus of Happy Birthday.

​Erika's jaw dropped, the leftover annoyance evaporating, replaced by sheer surprise as everyone closed in around her.

The cake was carefully placed on the nurses desk in front of Erika. She looked around smiling as the last dissonant words assaulted her ears. Then she took a deep breath and blew out the candles.

As the chief of ophthalmic surgery carved delicate slices, her favorite scrub nurse passed them out like they were surgical tools during a corneal transplant.

​By the time the party wrapped up, fifteen minutes later, leaving Erika with a large gift bag stuffed with envelopes.

She retreated to her workspace in the Physical Therapy department on the third floor of the North wing, locking the door behind her.

​She dumped the bag onto her desk. The cards formed a small mountain as the topmost envelope fell to the floor.

She sat in her chair and picked it up. The card was a generic happy birthday signed by a bunch of orderlies with a Fifty dollar gift card to The Beanie Roast, her favorite coffee shop.

Next came a pastel floral card from billing, holding a hundred-dollar visa gift card.

One by one she opened each card. Almost all of them had a gift card, some branded, most not. She put all the gift cards in her purse, and propped the funnier cards on her desk, and taped the heartfelt ones along the edge of her bulletin board.

​After signing a chunk of the paperwork in her inbox and moving it to her outbox, she shut off her computer and headed home.

​When she walked inside, she saw that Travis, her husband, had set the dining table with their good china. Two candles flickered, their light dancing across the polished silverware.

He had made her favorite meal. Seared scallops with a lemon-butter sauce, almond honey roasted asparagus, and wild rice pilaf.

He stood over the table in a pair of gray slacks, a crisp white shirt, and dark blue vest with matching necktie. A white towel hung over his left wrist. In his hand was a crystal wine glass, in his other a chilled bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.

​He poured her a glass, and handed it to her, then poured his own, and lifted it. "To my beautiful wife," he said. "Happy thirtieth birthday, Erika."

She clinked her glass against his, the sound clear and sharp in the quiet room. She took a long sip, savoring the crisp bite and fruity flavor.

As they dug into the seared scallops, Erika laughed and told him about her frustration with room 404 that couldn't be found, and the swarm of staff in cardboard hats.

Travis chuckled, shaking his head as she pulled out a handful of gift cards from her pocket to show off her haul.

​"Well," she said, wiping her fingers on her napkin, "since you're off tomorrow, would you like to go shopping with me?"

​"Sorry, babe," he said, cutting into a piece of asparagus. "I have a new project car being delivered tomorrow. A Chevy C10. I wanna get 'er done right quick."

​Erika shrugged, a fond smile softening her expression. "At least I have you all to myself tonight." She caressed his hand across the table and blew him a kiss.

​Travis pushed his chair back and stood up, his expression unreadable. He walked around the table to her side. Then, in a single, fluid motion, he bent down, scooped her up with one arm under her knees and the other around her back, lifting her as if she weighed nothing.

​She let out a small, surprised laugh, her arms instinctively wrapped around his neck. He didn't say a word as he carried her from the dining room, down the hallway, and into their bedroom.

The flickering light of her favorite Jasmine and Sandalwood candles gave the room a soft ethereal glow as they entered.

Travis gently set her down on her feet. His fingers brushed her shoulders and she shuddered in delight as he slid his hands under the straps of the dress she wore.

He slid the dress down, the fabric pooled at her feet, leaving her standing naked except for a bright red lacy thong and a pair of strappy sandals that ran up her calves to just below her knee.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his knees apart, and patted his thighs. The gesture was unmistakable. She hesitated for only a second before she moved, draping herself across his lap, her bare ass offered up to him.

His hand rested on the small of her back, a warm, solid weight. "Since it's your birthday, you have a choice. My hand or my belt?"

Erika squirmed in anticipation. "Both. Please daddy."

His eyes danced in delight. "That's my good girl."

He reached between them and Erika started to giggle. "You're tickling me."

"I got to get my belt off. Now stop squirming."

He pulled his belt free with a soft zip and folded it in half and snapped the two sides together. Erika jumped and mewled at the sound.

He raised his left hand and brought it down in a sharp, stinging slap against her right cheek. She gasped.

"One," he said, his voice a low rumble.

Another slap, this time on the left. The skin bloomed with heat. "Two," he continued.

He began to count, each spank a deliberate, rhythmic impact. "Three... four..." The sting was exquisite, a grounding pain that burned away the stress of her day.

His hand connected with her flesh in a steady, rhythmic cadence. The initial shock gave way to a tingling warmth that spread through her, a heat that was both painful and exquisite.

​By the time he reached fifteen, her skin was flushed and hot, and she was breathing heavily.

​She felt his heavy right hand drop onto her back, a light, gentle touch that was a delicious contrast to the heavy-handed spanking he had just administered.

​Then two sounds exploded in the room almost simultaneously: the sharp crack of leather striking bare flesh, and a squeal that mixed pleasure and pain.

​Before the sound faded, there was another crack, then a third.

​Erika's ears hummed, and she felt like she had taken a mild sedative as she heard Travis from a distance...

​"Twenty-five... twenty-six... twenty-seven..." Her skin was on fire, glowing a deep, warm pink.

​"Thirty..." He paused, his hand resting on her flaming-hot flesh.

​"And one for good luck," he said, the final spank delivered with his bare hand, harder than the others.

He shed his own clothes in a flurry of motion, his hard cock springing free. He spread her thighs with his knees, and positioned himself at her slick, wet entrance and drove into her in one deep, powerful thrust.

She cried out, her back arching off the bed. He filled her completely, as he began to fuck her. His hips pistoning, his balls slapping against her still-stinging ass with every thrust.

He hooked his arms under her knees, pushing them up toward her chest, opening her to him completely. The new angle allowed him to go deeper, and she felt him hit the mouth of her cervix with every stroke. "Travis," she gasped, his name a prayer on her lips. "Yes... fuck me... fuck me..."

He reached down between their sweat-slick bodies, his thumb finding her clit. He rubbed it in tight, hard circles, matching the frantic rhythm of his cock. The dual sensations were overwhelming.

The deep, aching fullness inside her and the sharp, electric pleasure on her clit sent her hurtling toward the edge. "Come for me, Erika," he commanded against her mouth. "Come all over my dick."

That was all it took. Her orgasm ripped through her, a violent, shattering wave that made her scream. Her pussy clamped down on him, spasming uncontrollably, milking his shaft.

He groaned, a deep, guttural sound, and thrust into her one last time, burying himself to the hilt as he came. She felt the hot, thick spurts of his cum flooding into her.

He collapsed on top of her, his weight a welcome, grounding pressure. They lay tangled together, their bodies heaving, their hearts hammered a synchronized beat against each other's ribs.

The air was thick with the scent of their sex, of sweat and satisfaction. He rolled off her but immediately pulled her into his arms, tucking her head under his chin. He stroked her hair, his fingers gentle as they drifted off into a contented sleep.

Ch 02 Treat Yo'self

Travis stood in the garage next to the rusted pick-up truck, a wide, boyish grin plastered across his face as he waved to Erika.

​She paused, appreciating the solid musculature of his chest even as she shifted her weight. Her sore ass reminded her of the night before.

His bare torso glistened with a light sheen of sweat, marked by a dark smudge of grease smeared across a firm pectoral. Gray gym shorts and battered brown work boots completed the rugged look.

She backed her pale green 2024 Nissan Rogue out of the driveway, watching through the rearview mirror as Travis reached for a tool she didn't recognize.

Erika briefly debated changing her plans, but decided she'd rather let the deliciously torturous anticipation build all day as she walked around, naked, under her sundress.

​"When I get home, that cowboy is gonna get rode hard," she murmured, her tongue sweeping across her lower lip at the thought.

​Erika had always been attracted to the resourceful redneck type. The kind of down home country boy that would give an engineer an aneurysm from some jury rigged doohickey that saved the day.

​Back in high school, Travis and Erika had been four hours away from home on a field trip when the school bus flat-out died on a remote stretch of US 33.

With nothing but a Leatherman, three feet of duct tape, and a pair of stockings borrowed from one of the hipster chicks, Travis somehow got them rolling again.

The long, dark bus ride home had been the very first time they spoke, and by the time they pulled back into the lot at Bert Lahr High, they were the hottest couple in school.

​Her first stop was a dimly lit, high-end boutique tucked away near the mostly abandoned fringe of the mall, near the security and maintenance offices.

She spent twenty leisurely minutes running her fingers over delicate lace and silk before selecting something wickedly sheer and impossibly provocative. A piece designed to test every shred of Travis' self control when he hit thirty-one next month.

​From there, she drifted through the department stores, letting herself linger over racks of striking cocktail dresses, versatile new work outfits, and sleek designer shoes.

She picked out a pair of buttery leather handbags before walking into the men's boutique to select a rich, monogrammed leather wallet for Travis that easily cost more than her mortgage payment.

​Needing a sugar hit after the heavy lifting of retail therapy, she made a detour to Cinnabon, savoring the warm, gooey center of a roll while people-watching from a nearby bench.

​That sweetness melted right into her next appointment: a ninety-minute deep-tissue massage where the therapist worked out the final, stubborn knots in her shoulders and coaxed the last vestiges of hospital stress from her muscles.

Floating on a cloud of relaxed euphoria, she drifted upstairs to the salon, trading her hospital-scrub ponytail for a sharp, professional cut and style, finished off with a fresh mani-pedi in a deep, glossy cherry red.

Heading out to the Rogue as the sun dipped low, she felt loose, pampered, and ready for what she had been craving all day.

Ch 03 Cumin' Home

​Erika turned into the driveway and cut the engine. Travis was simply a pair of legs, clad in worn gray gym shorts and beat-up brown work boots sticking out from beneath the chassis of the pickup.

One leg was bent at the knee, the other stretched out straight, the foot twitching slightly to some rhythm only he could hear. He was deep in the belly of the beast, completely absorbed, giving her a deliciously naughty idea.

She knew all too well how laser-focused and single-minded Travis got when he was elbow-deep in a new project. Slipping out of her Rogue, she eased the driver's side door shut with a soft click.

She slipped off her shoes and pussyfooted into the garage, and up to the driver side of the antique pick-up. Her eyes locked on his strong legs. The nylon shorts were faded from years of wear. She could see the muscles in his calves tense and relax as he worked.

She squatted down and looked toward the street. With the way her car was parked, they would be hidden from anyone out walking their dog, or cruising down the street.

She crouched down, the hem of her sundress brushed against the dusty floor. Her fingers, still cool from the air-conditioned car, reached out and slid up the leg of his shorts.

She caressed his full balls and smiled. "Have you been thinking about me, Daddy?" There was a muffled yelp from under the car, followed by the clatter of a metal tool hitting the concrete. The legs jerked, feet scrabbling for purchase on the creeper's surface.

She took his shaft in her hand and began to caress his length. ​"Keep working, daddy," she whispered in a low purr. "Let me make you feel good."

When she felt it start to grow, she hooked into the waistband of his shorts. She paused, her heart giving a little thump against her ribs. Then, with a single, smooth tug, she pulled them down to his knees.

Erika didn't hesitate. She leaned in, her breath warm against his skin, and took his entire length into her mouth as she used her body to keep their salacious actions hidden.

He was soft at first, surprised by the sudden, intimate intrusion. She felt the jolt of his shock travel through his entire body.

A string of muffled curses echoed from under the chassis, but they were quickly replaced by a low, guttural groan as she swirled her tongue around his rapidly thickening shaft. She worked with a practiced, unhurried rhythm, her tongue tracing slow, deliberate circles.

She could feel the change in him, the rapid, involuntary response of his body. The tension in his legs melted away, replaced by a new kind of rigidity. His feet, which had been twitching with effort, were now still.

The sounds from beneath the car changed from frustration to something else entirely, a deep, resonant hum of pleasure that vibrated through the metal frame and into her bones. She gripped his thighs, her fingers pressing into the firm muscle.

​When he was fully hard, she pulled back, releasing him with a soft, lingering sigh. She straightened up, her knees protesting slightly against the strain.

Without a single word, she swung one leg over his hips, straddling the narrow metal frame of the creeper. Positioning herself directly above him, she braced her hands on the cool, dusty chassis of the truck for support.

She lowered herself down onto him slowly, taking him inch by aching inch as the soft fabric of her sundress draped like a canopy over them both.

A sharp gasp escaped her lips as he filled her completely. The position was awkward, the angle strange, but it was electrifying.

She began to move, a slow, rocking motion that was dictated by the limited space. Her knees pressed into the hard side panel of the truck. Each downward thrust was met by an upward push from him, a silent, powerful response.

The only sounds were their harsh breaths, the soft slap of skin against skin, and the faint creak of the creeper's wheels. She closed her eyes, losing herself in the raw, physical connection, the scent of oil and sweat and her perfume mingling in the humid air.

The rhythm built, a frantic, desperate climb toward release. Her hands slipped on the grimy metal, leaving faint smudges. She could feel the tension in his body, the coiled spring of his need, and she pushed harder, faster.

Her eyes closed, as she concentrated on the physical sensations of him inside her Someplace where they might be seen. She rode him fast like it was a race to finish before some passerby saw their wanton behavior.

With a final, shuddering cry, she felt him pulse inside her, and her own release crashed over her in a hot, blinding wave. She collapsed against the car, her body trembling, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

For a long moment, they stayed like that, tangled together in the dim, oil-scented space. Then, with a sigh, Erika carefully disentangled herself. She pulled her skirt down, her legs feeling unsteady.

She left him where he was, a pair of legs sticking out from under the car, now looking thoroughly debauched. She walked toward the door leading into the house, a satisfied smile playing on her lips.

Inside, the house was cool and quiet except for the sound of the shower in the master bathroom. She walked down the hall, eyebrows furrowed as she paused outside the door.

When she pushed it open, Steam billowed out, obstructing her view for several seconds. Through the glass shower door, she could see Travis's silhouette, his head tilted back under the spray.

She slid the door open. "Having fun without me?" she asked, her voice a low purr.

Travis jumped, spinning around. Water streamed down his face and chest. "Erika! You scared me." He wiped a hand over his eyes.

She leaned against the door. "How'd you get here so fast? I left you in the garage, and I didn't see you pass me."

He chuckled. "That wasn't me. That was Georgie. A few of the nuts were so rusted I'd'a broken 'em. So I called Georgie and asked him to bring his magnetic nut buster. Got some rust in my eye so I came in to wash them out while Georgie finishes up."

Erika's smile faltered. "That... that wasn't... wasn't you... under the car?"

Travis shook his head, water flying from his hair. "Nope. Not me, why?" He shut off the water and stepped out of the shower. "Are you okay? You look pale as a ghost?"

"I... I left something... in the car." She dashed out of the room and frantically ran to the garage. "He's kidding. This is a joke. It has to be."

The cool air of the kitchen hit Erika like a physical blow as she skidded to a halt.

Leaning casually against the white refrigerator was Georgie. A handful of ice cubes was pressed firmly against a nasty, swelling knot on his forehead.

​He blinked at her, a mixture of utter bewilderment and dazed euphoria clouding his eyes.

​"You wouldn't believe what just happened..." Georgie muttered, his voice trailing off as he stared at her, completely oblivious to the panic threatening to swallow her whole.