Sally Saucy Side: Laying Siege (Patreon)

You stand at the front door of your new townhouse. Sally's dads sold you the renovated home at cost, claiming that the month they spent rebuilding the place was their wedding gift to you two. It’s your first day after moving in, but your wife is nowhere in sight despite her bicycle chained to the stand outside.

“Sally?” you call down the hallway.

A faint, familiar giggle replies, quickly cut short as if by hands being clasped over a mouth. You follow in its direction until the hallway ends. Where is she? Your house is by no means a mansion, but it’s big enough that searching room by room would be a hassle. You poke your head into the living room and let out a gasp: the room looks ransacked, its couch stripped bare of all its cushions and decorative throw pillows. If it weren’t for the television and your computer still being there, you would’ve suspected a robbery.

What is Sally up to?

You scan for clues—a cracked-open door, another stifled giggle, anything really—until you spot a pair of stockings knotted around the foot of the stairwell banister. Bemused, you head up to the second floor, swooping down as you go to retrieve an unzipped skirt from the middle step.

From there, you follow Sally’s trail of breadcrumbs: her jacket lies at the top of the staircase, its sleeves arranged so that they point down the hall. A few steps later, her shirt awaits outside the door of her art room. You enter.

Half-painted canvases have been pushed to the room’s perimeter to clear space in the middle. Sun from the skylight above, installed so Sally could have natural light to paint by, spotlights a pillow fort. Every single pillow in the house has been carefully piled atop one another in brick-like formation from largest to smallest; you recognize the missing living room cushions, the pillows off your bed, and even the padding from Schrodinger’s cat bed fortifying one corner. A faded, daisy-print bedsheet serves as the roof.

“How long did this take?” you ask.

“The castle is under siege, Schrodinger!” Sally’s cry is muffled from within the pillow fort. “Attack!”

As soon as she issues the command, Schrodinger darts out from a narrow gap between the cushions. The white cat pauses to twine himself affectionately between your legs, briefly permitting you to pet his head. Then he gives one last disgruntled glare at the “castle,” hisses, and flees the room before Sally can recapture him.

“Your troops fled the battlefield,” you inform Sally.

“Nooooooooo!” she cries theatrically. The fortress walls shake, and you hear her curse under her breath. “Wait one moment,” she says.

After a minute, the fortress stops wobbling, and the green handle of a Swifter emerges from beneath the bedsheet roof. A lacy pink bra is tied to its end.

“Is that your white flag?” you ask.

“Whites are in the laundry,” Sally retorts. “But this is my favorite bra.”

Your mouth goes dry as you realize that her last piece of clothing has just officially been surrendered. “How do I join you?”

“Entrance is around the back,” Sally says.

You circle the pillow fort to find an opening so small that you’re forced to drop onto the ground and elbow-crawl your way through. It’s awkward, but doesn’t diminish your anticipation. Inside the fort is surprisingly spacious, with enough room for you to sit upright.

Sally awaits, clutching a blanket around her that falls to reveal a freckled shoulder. She bites her bottom lip, eyes downcast with embarrassment that’s completely at odds from her former bravado.

“I, um, was trying to be sexy,” she admits softly. “Schrodinger was only in here with me because I worried that he’d knock over the fort if I let him run free.”

You smile, your hands reaching out to gently lower her blanket further. “You’re always sexy,” you inform her. “Trying isn’t necessary.”

She laughs. “Well, that’s a relief.”

Later, you lie in each other’s arms, the fort still (barely) intact but its blanket roof pulled down to allow you both to stare up at the night sky. The moon is a gold sliver, bright enough that you can make out Sally’s smile in the dark.

“I love you,” she says, snuggling closer. “I’m glad that we both surrendered.”