Fifty Shades Effed – Chapter Seven

It’s Bea’s big night with her friends. Eric and his partner have been helping plan my surprise. I get the call saying she has left the office, so I drive there. As I pull up, I notice a pickup truck with a large present on wheels in the bed. Eric and Neil are strapping it down.

“I thought I was jumping out of a cake?” I ask out my Jeep’s window.
“The cake was booked, Mormon. This will do just fine,” Eric assures me.
“If you say so.”

I reach under my passenger seat and extract the second Hustler bag, kept secret from my Lovergirl.

“What have you there?” Neil asks.

I whip out the Cockasaurus Rex as their eyes light up. I’m not sure if it’s envy, arousal, or fear.

“In the words of Otter Stratton, ‘She’ll take this seriously,'” I exclaim while dangling the largest strap-on known to man (or horse, for that matter).

“Oh, my,” the boys gasp in stereo.
“Sorry, fellas. Rex is unavailable this evening. He is to ride securely next to my leg, making all the ladies dewy with desire.”
“Come inside and try on your outfit, Officer Clydesdale,” Neil suggests.

Why haven’t I learned to trust my instincts? Naturally, the police uniform is specifically designed for parades at which I would not dare leave the curb. The pants are faux leather with both ass cheeks cut out. There’s matching navy, T-back underwear. The belt contains handcuffs and a whip, not a gun. The shirt pockets have flaps with nipple clamps. A somewhat normal cap and mirrored Ray-Bans are all I have left to hide under.

When I emerge from the bathroom to model the costume, Eric and Neil nearly convulse in laughter.

“Turn around, Mormon.”
“No.”
“Oh, come on,” Neil encourages.
“I have hair on my ass, Neil. This won’t do.”
“We could shave you,” suggests Eric.
“Stop, Lover. It’s sexy, Mormon,” Neil insists. “Men are supposed to have hair. I see the salami fit perfectly.”
“Yum, yum,” Eric teases. “Pass the Poupon.”
“All right, knock it off before I change my mind. What’s the plan?”

Eric informs me that a limo bus is taking the women barhopping downtown, and it will be best to do my thing at the restaurant they’re meeting in for Happy Hour. He insists it won’t be crowded. Neil has a Bose wireless speaker linked to an iPod to provide music for my routine.

“Climb into the box and we’ll be on our way.”
“What? Why can’t I ride with you?”
“You’ll be seen. Get in. It’s only ten miles or so.”
“Fine. Fetch thee my tequila for the ride. It’s in the bag.”

I sit Indian-style in the box. I barely fit. Luckily the ride isn’t too bumpy. When we come to a stop, I lift the top to look around. I see the limo bus. Eric pushes the lid back down.

“Hey! No peeking. You’ll be seen.”
“Fuck. Fine. Hurry up.”

Eric lifts the top a sliver again.

“What?”
“How much of that did you drink?”
“Three fingers, if you must know.” I take another pull. “Make that four.”
“Stay down until you hear the music begin. Shh.”
“Got it.”

Eric and Neil drop the door on the truck bed and lift out the large gift box. They roll me across the parking lot while I take one more swig. Their whispering and giggling is making me nervous. Once inside, I hear various muffled voices.

“Ladies, can I have your attention,” Eric begins. “Miss, will you please have a seat right here. Thank you. And now …”

Joe Cocker’s “You Can Leave Your Hat On” begins blaring–my cue to begin. I stand and throw the lid off the box. I hear gasps. Oh, fuck! It’s a bingo hall filled with senior citizens and seated in the chair in front of me, instead of my Lovergirl, is Grandma Aspinwald.

Fifty Shades Effed – Chapter Six

After dinner, we dunk warm Toll House cookies in milk and catch up on Nurse Jackie episodes. Zoey rules! Bea’s appetite–both for food and for sex–is growing, and I’m keeping up, so far.

“One more cookie, Lovergirl. I bet my boy is smiling,” I tease as I pat her belly.
“Uncle M, you constantly impress me. You bake?”
“I slaved all night making sure the batter was just right.”
“Swoon!”
“Oh, and please ignore the Nestle bag in the garbage.”
“Cheater.”
“I need to take it easy, with all those heavy medals soon to be hanging around my neck. My poor back.”
“Speaking of, I believe it’s time for another event.”
“I’ll do some deep knee bends and change into my track suit.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“What’s the event?”
“The Grip Test. I noticed two plugs in the bag of fun.”
“But …”
“Exactly.”
“Let me chug this wine first.” *Gulp* “OK, what are the rules?” I ask as Bea removes the intimidating butt plugs and tube of mint lube from the Hustler bag.
“We each insert one of these and then get it on, missionary-style. Whoever knocks the plug out of the other person’s butt, without using hands, wins.”
“So embarrassing.”
“You can forfeit if you like.”
“You may take my pride, but you’ll never take my butt plug!”

Lovergirl hands me the plugs and lube, and goes into the kitchen.

“What are you doing?”
“We need this, too,” she replies while showing me the pepper shaker.
“Pepper?”
“You’ll see, Uncle M.”

We disrobe, pull down the comforter, and place two towels on the bed. Shit. How intimidating!

“My virgin butt is going to need lots of foreplay, kind words, and a thick layer of lube.”
“You can still back out.”
“No way. I’m tight, y’all.”

Lovergirl lathers the lube onto the plugs and hands me one.

“I don’t think I’ve had anything up there since a thermometer in the sixties.”
“Kinky.”
“How do we do this? I can’t put it in myself,” I protest while noticing hers is already in place.
“Gimme.”
Yikes!
“Be gentle,” I mewl.

She manages to get it in and then mounts me. I concentrate on squeezing my cheeks without pushing as she slams away on top of me.

“Do you like it, Uncle M?”
“It’s … different. Stop trying to distract me,” I insist.

I bite my bottom lip as she slams harder and harder. All this concentration is delaying my orgasm, so there’s one benefit. She orgasms twice, but her plug is cemented; mine is slipping.

Bea covers my eyes and reaches toward the bedside table. What’s she up to? I hear shaking and, suddenly, I smell pepper.

“Aaaaaah CHOO!” I sneeze, which sends my butt plug flying. Rats! 
“Bless you.”

Canada has her first gold.

Fifty Shades Effed – Chapter Five

Bea accepts my offer to cook dinner–stuffed artichokes and filet kabobs. When she arrives, I’m on my second glass of wine. I’ve left the sex toys in the plain paper bag between our place settings.

“What’s in the bag?”
“Dessert, my love. No peeking!”
“You’re no fun.”
“Oh, just you wait.”
“I’ll go upstairs and freshen up. Be right back.”

I continue cooking with wine, my unconventional way. Sure, I’m a little heavy on the garlic salt, but it makes everything better, as long as both lovers partake.

“Sweetie?”
“Yes.”
“Can you come up here a minute?”
“Sure.” Uh, oh. What did she find?

When I step into my master bath, she’s wearing one of my button-downs and her lace undies, standing sideways in front of the full-length mirror.

“Look!” she glows, showing the first signs of a baby bump.
“Hm. I’ve got two words for you: salad bar.”
“Hey.”
“Light beer?”
“Stop it.”
“Can you feel that lunch burrito kicking?”
“Ha, ha. Not yet. I’m just over four months, so this is about right. No more top buttons for me,” she pouts.
“So cute. Can I take a picture and post it as little Pippino’s first update on Facebook?”
“No, Gordon will not have a Facebook account until he is sixteen.”
“Gordon?”
“You can call him Gordie.”
“You can call him Pip.”
“I have a suggestion: Let’s settle this child-naming thing with a contest.”
“I’m listening.”
“A Sexual Olympics of sort,” she offers.
“Ooh, I love a challenge. You’re going down, woman.”
“And so are you. The first event is the sideways sixty-nine sprint to orgasm.”
“Huh?”
“The first one to bring the other to orgasm wins.”
“Now?”
“Go turn off the stove and grill, and get your butt back up here.”
“Italy shall have its first gold medal of this Olympiad,” I tease, as I sprint downstairs and turn down the heat. “Dun, DUN-duh, dun dun DUN dun …”
“That sounds more like ‘Rocky’ to me.”
“Shut it.”

I sneak into the Hustler bag and arm myself with the We-Vibe vibrator–dual sensation with penetration. I can’t be defeated. Bea’s already on the bed. I dive next to her and tickle her toes, then remove her undies as she frees Little Mormon from my jeans.

Lovergirl is quite skilled. At this angle, she’s able to bury me deep into her throat. I run through baseball statistics to avoid the inevitable. I draw the alphabet and flip on the We-Vibe. Fuck! I must hurry … I’m so close!

Once I have the vibrator in place, she gasps and squeezes my head tightly between her thighs. Ouch! She’s the best chiropractor I ever met. I hear her muffled ecstasy.

“Oh … my … effing … GOD!” she arches toward climax.
“Booyah, motherfucker,” I beam with pride.

She let’s loose a thunderous orgasm and finishes me off seconds later. Being the mature type, I do my touchdown dance around the bedroom with my glazed love eclair and purple weapon.

“What is that, and where did you get it?”
“This, Lovergirl, is yet another weapon in my arsenal. Make that Italy one, Canada nil,” I bow. “Raise the flag, fuckers! Pippino must be so proud of his poppa.”
“You’ve won the battle, Uncle M, not the war. Now, go finish my dinner.”
“Yes, dear.”

We laugh through dinner as Bea inspects the bag of badness. I’ve impressed my love, but I suspect she’ll step up her game.

Fifty Shades Effed – Chapter Four

I’m greeted at the door of the Hustler Store by a lovely young lady wearing an apron. She asks if I need help. Lots. Do I dare ask about the apron? No.

It’s a vast store with stripper wear on the first floor and stairs leading up to the loft of kinkery.

“My name is Nelly. Do you have anything special in mind?”
“I don’t even know where to begin, Nelly.”
“Well,” she asks, “is it for a man or a woman?”
“For this man’s woman.”
“Excellent. What does she enjoy?”
“Overtime goals and zucchini.”
“Um …”
“Right. You can see my predicament.”

She leads me along a wall of dildos and vibrators. I’m not one to blush, but this place has me crimson.

“What does this do?” I ask while attempting to read the price without touching the U-shaped device.
“Ah, this one is very popular. You have a good eye, Sir.” She sounds like she’s selling me a BMW. “This vibrator stimulates the woman, both inside and out.”

I stand perplexed.

“Her clitoris and her G-spot.”
“Of course. I’d like one in purple. Oh, and someone stole my Fukuoku Glove, so I’ll need one of those too–in black, please. Anything else you can recommend?”
“Lotions?”
“Do you have bacon-flavored?”
“…”
“Kidding. Something minty will do.”
“Excellent. Anything else? Perhaps more advanced devices for the adventuresome?”
“Bring it.”

She leads me over to the corner with triangular dildo-ish toys and strings with different sized beads and a ring that reminds me of the merry-go-round ride of my childhood.

“Do you know what these are?”
“Dog toys?”
“No, silly, these are for anal play.” Ouch. “These are butt plugs and these are anal beads. They’ll both go well with your minty lube. Have you used either before?”
“Of course, I have. I’m a skilled plugologist.”
“Great. Then, you’ll require his and hers.”
“Whoa, Nelly–only hers.”
“Ever tried it?”
“No.”
“How about a pinky?” she gestures.
“What?”
“You know, during a blowjob. It heightens the sensation.”
“Exit only.”
“Don’t be like that. It doesn’t mean you’re gay. The anus is quite sensitive and pleasurable.”
“Yes, it is,” adds a boy-stander I’m unaware is standing by me. “You must try the beads too. They all go in except the ring, and just when you’re ready to pop, have your lover yank them out with the ring. Heavenly!”

My virgin butt hole puckers as I try to digest their suggestions.

“Fine. Double bag them. Here’s my card.”

Lovergirl has me outmatched, but I plan to prove I can hang. I’ll whip out my new arsenal and wear her ass (tee, hee) out before she leaves for her girls’ night. Shit! I almost forgot.

“I also need a big black strap-on.”
“Will The Cockasaurus Rex do?” she asks while dangling something resembling a toasted Genao Salami in front of me.
“I believe it will.”

Fifty Shades Effed – Chapter Three

On my way home, Bea’s assistant, Eric, calls to invite me to lunch. He refuses to tell me his motive over the phone. Maybe I can scarf more of those little yellow pills to help keep up with my sexual dynamo.

I get a few more blog entries done and meet Eric at the San Diego County Fair. Hmm, beer battered chocolate covered bacon for lunch? Sure, why not? You only die once. I hope he’s not a fan of rides, as my stomach has never appreciated them.

“Big E, what’s happening?”
“Good to see you, Mormon,” he greets while giving me the handshake, shoulder-bump man-hug. “Let’s hit the food court. I’m starving.”
“Me too.”
“So, I wasn’t sure if Bea told you, but she has asked me to walk her down the aisle Saturday, and I wanted to make sure you’re cool with that.”
“Dude, of course I am. You know, she rarely speaks about her parents.”
“She was twelve when they had the accident. Her grandmother and various nannies raised her.”
“Well, she turned out perfectly crazy and I’m absolutely crazy about her. I just wish there were some way to win over Grandma and make Chris disappear.”
“I’m sure it will work out. Love conquers all, Mormon. Ooh, and speaking of love,” Eric beams as a handsome fellow approaches, “here comes my man, Neil.”

We greet and stroll around the Fair, sampling the artery cloggery that abounds.

“So, gentlemen, I’d like to enlist your help in a stunt I’m planning. Bea is having a girls’ night with her friends on Thursday. I want to surprise them with something. Should I hire a male stripper?”
“Wait. Wasn’t she on stage for your party?”
“Indeed she was.”
“Then you must return the favor,” Neil adds.
Ha! No fucking way.
“Yes, dress up in a police uniform and jump out of a cake,” Eric teases.
“Right.”
“I’m serious. It would be hysterical.”
“It would be traumatizing. I’m fifty. I eat cake.”
“Oh my god, I still have that uniform from the Pride Parade. It comes with handcuffs too,” Neil offers.
“Perfect,” Eric cheers, “and you two are similar size. You must, Mormon. Come on. We’ll both be there to provide oral, I mean moral support.”
“Seriously?”
“Please,” they chime, in stereo.
“Fine. Fuck it. I’ll chug half a bottle of tequila and do it.”
“I’ll arrange for the cake and bring Neil’s costume to work with me tomorrow,” Eric insists.
“Can’t believe I’m going to do this. Will Grandma be there?”
“No, Thursday is bingo night at the The Rock Church. She’d never miss that.”
“Phew. Now I need a favor from you, Eric.”
“Anything.”
“Got any more of those pain-thrillers Bea borrowed from you?”
“Indeed I do,” Eric agrees.
“Might I have a handful for the honeymoon? I’m probably going to need all the help I can get.”
“Of course.”

The three of us enjoy the sights, then go our separate ways. I brainstorm ideas to make my emergence from pastry more amusing. This calls for restraints, a whip, and the biggest, blackest strap-on I can find. Hustler Store, here I come.

Fifty Shades Effed – Chapter Two

After good-morning nookie in my lover’s condo, Bea hits the shower and I hit eggs on the side of an omelet pan. Once again, I’m derailed by the clinking of spoon against coffee mug. The beast rises.

“Top o’ the morning to you, Ms. Aspinwald,” I greet and bow.
“French Toast.”
“Huh?”
“I’d like French Toast with cinnamon butter.”
“Wouldn’t you prefer blueberry muffins with a side of rabbit?” I sneer. I can hardly look at her since she defiled my glove.
“You do realize, Blobber, that this wedding isn’t going to happen.”
“It most certainly is going to happen. Didn’t you get the invitation? This Saturday, Coronado Beach, noon-ish. Guests are encouraged to bring covered plates. I could sign you up for deviled eggs.”
“Chris is a powerful man. I don’t know if you’re more brave or stupid … I’m betting on stupid.”
“You know dill-weed has a girlfriend, right? Annie, I believe, was her name. Innocent thing with horrible taste in men.”
“She’s insignificant,” Grandma sniffs as she pushes her reading glasses up her nose and stares at printed pages. “Do you know what this is, Blobber?”
“An excerpt from my blob?”
“Five forty five.”
“Ah, it’s your weight analysis,” I respond while dipping bread in egg batter.
“It’s your credit score.”
Nosy little nit.
“Right. So?”
“You’re behind on mortgage payments and you have four maxed-out credit cards.”
“I also have an hairy mole on my ass,” I respond while glaring at her.
“My granddaughter will soon realize you’re marrying her to get your hands on my money. She’ll dispose of you like dryer lint.”
“I’m marrying her because I love her, and I’ll gladly sign a pre-nup.”
“Why don’t you accept the offer from Chris, pay off your debts, and find a more appropriate mate–perhaps one with four legs.”
“You two will never buy me off. Stop wasting your time.”
“Warm up my coffee, and flip those before they burn.”

I endure breakfast with the beast as I hear the shower turn off and wait for my love to rescue me.

“I must admit, you’re a decent cook. I could put in a word for you at Denny’s,” Grandma remarks.
“How kind of you.”

As Bea emerges from the bedroom in her silk robe, Grandma rises to leave. Naturally, she places my credit report in front of Bea on her way out.

“Have a wonderful morning. Bea, your future ex isn’t a bad cook at all. He’ll make someone a nice housewife someday,” Grandma remarks as she exits.
“You made her breakfast? You’re such a sweetie,” Bea compliments as she crumbles the credit report, tosses it in the garbage, and checks the pan. “Ooh, French Toast. Are these for me?”
“They are.”
“And, I see you found the syrup,” she teases as she dangles the Mrs. Butterworth from her index finger. “I love syrup.”
“Do you know what I’m going to do with that syrup later?”
“Pancakes?”

I take the bottle from her, squeeze a dot on my left index finger, and place it in her mouth. She sucks the tip, teasingly. I slide my finger down her chin, over her neck, and down her chest, parting her robe as I do. Bea tips her head back. I squeeze a bit more between her breasts and let it run a bit before catching the sugary stream with my tongue and planting a sweet kiss on her soft lips.

“I’m going to coat you and lick you to nirvana.”

Fifty Shades Effed – Chapter One

I’m playing catch with my teenage son. He has his mother’s blond hair. It’s a typical July day in San Diego–warm, bright sunshine, and not a cloud in the sky. The only sounds are distant birds and the slap of baseball against mitt. Little stinker has quite an arm.


“No curve balls,” I warn.
“I know. So, Pop,” he asks as he hurls a four-seamer.
*BZZZT, CRACK*
Ouch.
“Yes?”
“I’ve been kind of seeing this girl at school.”
“Seeing her or seeing her?” I pry as I toss the ball back a little harder.
*PFFFT, SLAP*
Not bad for sixty-seven. The old man still has it.
“You know, seeing her. Anyway, I was at her house last night, helping with Calculus.”
“Uh huh.”
*BZZZT, CRACK*
“Her parents called her downstairs, so I did some exploration.”
“And, what did you find?”
*PFFFT, POP*
“Well, since you’re always warning me to avoid bedside tables, that was the first place I looked.”
Oh, Jesus.
“And?”
“What’s a butt plug?”
*BZZZT, DINK, BONK* — Curve ball, square in the nuts.
“Argggh!”

I double over and feel as though my balls have shot out my ears.

“Honey. Wake up.”

Who’s shaking me?
“Mormon. Hey.”
Oh, it’s Bea.
“You had a bad dream, sweetie.”
I check my package. All good. “Phew, that was a strange one.”
“Tell me.”
“I was playing catch with our son.”
“Really? We haven’t determined that it’s going to be a boy, have we?”
“Well …”
“OK, I’ll play along. What did he look like?”
“A cross between a young Wayne Gretzky and the most beautiful woman in the world,” I tease as I boop her nose and give her a kiss.
“Aw. And, his name?”
“Pippino.”
“What?”
“Pippino. If we have a boy, that has to be his name,” I state, matter-of-factly.
“Ha, ha. You’re silly.”
“I’m not kidding. It’s Italian tradition. My first son must be named after my father, Pippino Silveri.”
“No freaking way.”
Is she serious?
“Yes, freaking way. I’ll wrestle you for it,” I say as I attack her. She giggles. “How do you manage to smell so good in the morning?”
“Don’t change the subject, mister. Our son will not be named Pippino.”
“Resistance is futile,” I warn as I tug down on the waistband of her pajamas. “Do you hear that, Pippino?” I speak into her pelvis with my fake Italian accept. “You mamma, she’s ashamed of-a you name.”
“I think it’s going to be a girl, anyway.”
“Ah, Pippina!”

We laugh and wrestle, which naturally turns into morning sex. Ah, no better way to start the day. I’m thankful her morning sickness subsided, but I never realized women get hornier when pregnant. I’m definitely going to need assistance.

Fifty Shades Shadier – Chapter Fifteen

I drive down to the Hyatt, fighting traffic all the way. I park on the level near the Blue Room and text Bea.

Mormon Silver: The package has arrived.
Bea Plastique: Ha! Is it still in its hard, protective shell?
Mormon Silver: No, luckily it has returned to its original shape.
Bea Plastique: Not lucky for me. :( Anyway, I’m running late and will be there in thirty minutes. You can go ahead in and wait for me.
Mormon Silver: I don’t have a key.
Bea Plastique: Check your email. I sent you the link and code.
Mormon Silver: OK. See you soon.
Bea Plastique: And don’t touch anything in there … yet.
Mormon Silver: Yes, ma’am.

Sure enough, I have an email from her on my iPhone. I click the link and enter the code. The door buzzes open. Fancy! I bring along my love glove. Time for exploration.

I cruise around the room, inspecting the various unfamiliar instruments. Dickhead’s paddle is still hanging on the wall. I have half a mind to take it to her mischievous butt. I didn’t realize my last time here that there are additional rooms. I find one with an actual (non-rubberized) bed, a TV, and, naturally, a mirror on the ceiling. Then, I try another door, which opens to a playroom with a pool table and an air hockey machine. Hm.

The bed looks comfy so I plop down on it and begin thumbing the remote. Thankfully, the video that comes into focus isn’t me in panties, but it is porn. There’s no limit to her kinkiness. The video shows a nude redhead wearing a masquerade mask, lying on a bed next to a tray filled with assorted lubes, fruit, and vegetables. There’s a dim, sexy candlelight flickering. I feel a twitch. Looks tasty. I know I haven’t had my six servings.

The woman is playing to the camera. She drizzles lube just above her shaven pussy and allows it to drip like syrup down her luscious lips. More twitching in my pants. Oh, boy. She smiles toward the camera as she spreads the lube with her fingers, arching her back in pleasure. The bed and room look familiar.

She begins sampling the fruit and veggie tray, as Little Mormon begs to come out and play. First, she lubes up a healthy-sized zucchini. She inserts it a few inches, pulls it out, rubs it on her love button, and reaches to the tray for another item: a yellow squash. Wow, she’s a trooper!

Then, I realize the bed in her video is the one I’m currently lying on. This was filmed here? Hot! I look beneath the TV and see a tripod stand and camera. Thank God, the camera is off. I wonder who … it couldn’t be, could it? Shit. It is. The woman in the video is my luscious Lovergirl wearing a red wig. I should have recognized her by that amazing body.

It’s hard to resist pleasuring myself while watching Lovergirl play with her food. I hear the front door buzz and welcome the voice of my vixen.

“Hello, Uncle M.”
“Hello, Lovergirl.”
“What are you up to?”
“Just checking out the Food Network. I never knew Rachael Ray was so talented, nor zucchini that versatile.”

Bea enters the bedroom and notices my lump.

“Hard still?”
“Hard again. I’m dying to see what she does with eggplant. Meanwhile,” I slide into my love glove, “somebody here was exceptionally fiendish today, and deserves a spanking.”
“Ooh, yes, I was very bad,” Bea admits as she removes her undies and dives across me, lying perpendicular across my waist. She lifts her skirt. “How many lashes shall I receive, Master?”
“Five should do. But, it will have to wait until my show is over.”

She turns her head toward me and gives that lower-lip pout I can’t resist.

“Fine,” I agree. I hit pause on the remote, turn my love glove on slow vibration, and strike her lightly on the bum.
“Was that supposed to hurt? Are you trying to punish me or tickle me?”
“I don’t think I could ever bring myself to hit a woman harder than that. Sorry, sweetness. Perhaps you would accept alternative punishment in the form of a deep vaginal massage.”
“Yes, please.”

Once again, my glove and my love–a match made in sensuality.

Fifty Shades Shadier – Chapter Fourteen

After our backseat booty bouncing, I finally get a bit of bend in my bone.  She flips around to face me. Now, to other pressing matters.

“How was your meeting with Grandma?”
“Funny you should ask. There was a special guest appearance.”
“Who? Kazuko?”
“No, a big fan of yours who is becoming a festering boil on my rump.”
“No!”
“Yes. Chris.”
“Oh, Mormon. I’m so sorry. Did he threaten you?”
“Actually, he tried to bribe me.”
“Ugh. That’s how he operates. When he can’t have his way he buys it.”
“Yep. So, I’m five dollars richer and you’re about to marry into major douchebaggery.”
“That’s not funny.”
“He threw in a Ginsu.”
“I’d like to throw a Ginsu at him. He has such nerve. What did he say?”
“He insists this thing between us is a tryst, and you’ll return to him.”
“No chance. You know this is real, my love,” she insists as she touches my cheek and stares into my eyes with clarity and sincerity.

I raise my gloved hand and give her a thumbs-up. We break into laughter–two lovers, midday, in the back seat acting like horny teenagers.

“I have to get back inside. Another meeting. Why don’t you meet me in the Blue Room around six tonight?”
“Hm, that might be fun.” Oh shit, stiffness is returning.
“It most definitely will be,” she assures as she leans forward, kisses my throbber, and crawls into the front.
“I almost forgot. You fucking drugged me, you maniac!”
“It was an accident.”
“You will be harshly punished for this misdeed later, Lovergirl.”
“I sure hope so.”

Bea blows a kiss and walks back into her office. I holster my meat and climb into the driver’s seat. Maybe I can get some writing done this afternoon. The distraction may persuade my blood to stop pooling in my groin.

As I pull away, my phone rings through Bluetooth; it’s my buddy, Grant.
“What up, G?”
“You.”
“Ha! You have no idea.”
“What time should I pick you up tomorrow?”
“For?’
“The shindig. You’re not driving.”
“What shindig?”
“Bachelor Party part one at The Purple Church.”
“Huh?”
“Oh, shit. Was that supposed to be a surprise?”
Who’s behind this?
“Spill, dude.”
“I got a Facebook event notice from Bea. Thought for sure you were on it.”
“I probably am. I haven’t had a chance to sign in. Been a little occupied.”
What’s she up to?
“So, what time? It starts at eight.”
“Pick me up at seven-thirty, I guess.”
“See you tomorrow.”
“Cool.”

A man my age shouldn’t have a bachelor party; he should have a nice dinner outdoors with friends, Cuban cigars, and expensive tequila. Fine. I’ll play the role.

Fifty Shades Shadier – Chapter Thirteen

I’m fuming over his nonsense, and becoming concerned over No-Longer-Little Mormon. I’d love to work off some anger at the gym, but that’s not going to happen in my current state. Maybe a bath will do.

I phone Bea on the way home. It goes straight to voice mail, so I call her office. Eric answers.

“How’s it going, Eric?”
“Fine. And you, Mr. Silver?”
“I’ve seen better days. Is she around?”
“In a meeting right now. She should be done around noon. Is it an emergency?”
“Um,” I hesitate, “no, not really.”
“What’s up?”
“Funny you should ask in such a way. I have a problem with two dicks.”
“Ooh, do tell!”
“The first dick–the larger of the two–is Bea’s ex, Chris. Know him?”
“I do, and you’re right–he’s a dick.”
“He’s trying to work his way back into her life by buying me off.”
“An incorrigible dick.”
“What you said.”
“And the other dick?”
“My own, actually. For the last hour, I’ve had petrified wood with no signs of ever bending again.”
Eric laughs.
“I’m not exaggerating … and, I have to pee.”
Eric laughs harder.
“I’m happy to amuse you.”
“Oh, shit, wait. Oh my god, that crazy woman. Did you take a little yellow pill today, by chance?”
“What pill?” I ask. I can hear Eric fumble around his desk.
No way.
“Ms. Plastique borrowed a few pills from me recently.”
“What sort of pills?”
“Cialis.” 
Fuckity fuck bubbles. It wasn’t Ibu she handed me this morning. Great.
“Well, that explains it. Now, what am I supposed to do with this?”
“It says something on the label: ‘If your erection lasts more than four hours, call Eric.'”
“Very funny. And, why would Eric have such pills in his possession?”
“My mature boyfriend sometimes needs assistance, so we keep a supply handy.”
She fucking drugged me. She will be spanked.

“Now, I have to sit around for another three hours wondering what to do with this.” I pinch the swollen helmet. “Lovely.”
“You could hammer down loose floorboards. Pole vault? Ring toss? Masturbate?”
“Right. I’m going to unload a batch, soak in the tub, and hope for the best.”
“Need a hand?”
“No, Eric, I don’t need a hand; I have two. Tell Bea to call me the minute she gets out of that meeting.”
“Will do. Oh, and Mr. Silver?”
“Yes?”
“I’m pulling for you … I mean with Ms. Plastique.”
“Thank you, Eric.”

Once home, I manage to pee through my turgidity without spraying the walls. I launch a quick batch. Still hard. I fill the tub and soak. My periscope points up at me, refusing to subside. She made me this way; it’s her duty to fix it.

I dry off, dress, and drive to Bea’s office. I park in the rear, climb into the back, and lie down.

Mormon Silver: I’m at your office, you naughty woman. Meet me out back when you’re done with your meeting.
Bea Plastique: Why?
Mormon Silver: You know why. Two hours now. I think I’m dying.
Bea Plastique: Don’t be so hard on yourself. ;)
Mormon Silver: Nice.
Bea Plastique: Wood you like to see me or not?
Mormon Silver: Oh, you’re a riot, Alice.

Fifteen minutes later, I hear the clicking of her heals as she approaches my Jeep. I’m still full tilt. She peeks in the passenger window and giggles.

“Oh, my.” She climbs in the passenger seat.
“You created this beast, now you’re going to help me get rid of it. Get back here.”
“My pleasure.”
“Wait. First, open my glove compartment.”
She does, and reacts like a kid opening a Christmas present as she pulls out my Fukuoku love glove.
“What’s this and why is it here?”
“That is a glove compartment, is it not?”
“Good point.”
“Bring it back here with you.”
“Yes, Uncle M.”

She crawls between the seats into the back and hands me the glove. She slides down her undies and opens my jeans.

“Oh, my!” she remarks at my steel beam, which is beginning to turn as purple as Prince.

I slide into the glove and turn it on low. She mounts me, Reverse Cowgirl style. God, what an ass on this woman! I reach around with my left hand and go to town on her clit as she lowers herself and grinds on my rod. She comes quickly when Uncle M wears the glove. I’m mostly numb, but enjoying it nonetheless. She fucks me so thoroughly that the thought of that other dick fades away … for the time being.

Fifty Shades Shadier – Chapter Twelve

Making sure I’m not late, I zip down the coast and rumble over the train tracks. I feel an odd sensation as Little Mormon begins to rise in my jeans. Hm, the slightest thought of my Lovergirl does this to me?

As I park and approach the E Street Cafe, I “adjust” myself and hope the lump in my pants isn’t noticeable. A text beeps in.

Bea Plastique: How’s your head?
Mormon Silver: Still throbbing.
Bea Plastique: LOL! Oh, I bet.
Mormon Silver: And that’s funny why?
Bea Plastique: No particular reason. Would you like Nurse Lovergirl to take a look?
Mormon Silver: Huh?
Bea Plastique: … at the swelling? Tee, hee.
Holy shit, she can see me.
Mormon Silver: Where are you? Thought you said you had to go to the Ranch office today.
Bea Plastique: That’s where I am.
Mormon Silver: Then, how can you see my swelling?

I adjust my package again. A woman sitting inside the window has noticed. She wrinkles her nose. The door opens as I send the last text; it’s Grandma.

“Well, it’s about time. Let’s go. I only have an hour.”
“Where’s mini-she?”
“Kazuko is keeping an eye on the shop,” Grandma explains as she leads me to her table. “Why are you limping? Did you hurt yourself, you clumsy oaf?”
Oh, shit. How can I spin this?
“Um, yes, I stubbed my toe on the bedpost this morning. How nice of you to care.”
“I didn’t say I cared, did I?”

When we arrive at her table, a tall, handsome man stands to greet me. He’s wearing a gray suit and a smirk.

“Mormon, this is Chris.”
Seriously? Not THE Chris!
I shake his hand and size him up. He has a good six inches, twenty years, and forty pounds of muscle on me.

“Let me guess: You’re the woman-beating douche who sent me flowers.”
“I sent flowers to my fiance, Bea, actually.”
“What’s he doing here?” I ask Grandma.
“Look, Mormon,” she toys, “we all know you’re a temporary distraction for my granddaughter. She’s having a tough time dealing with her fiance being out of town so much, …”
“… and, now that I’m back in town,” Chris adds, “I need you to go away so we can resume our wedding plans.”
“Right. Why would I do that?”
“Well, I suppose I could give you a few thousand reasons,” he offers as he pulls a checkbook and pen from his vest pocket.
“Not millions?”
He presses his slimy lips into a thin line, “Mr. Silver, you should be thankful I’m offering anything as you’re frankly not even worth hundreds to me.”
“I see. Just so we’re clear, Bea isn’t worth hundreds, thousands, or millions to me–she’s priceless. She’s also a free woman who prefers to be treated like a lady, not a racehorse.”

I try to stay calm, but I can feel my face flush. He definitely can beat my ass, so I’m not going there. Oddly, through all this, I now have a raging hard-on, which Grandma discovers. She shows disdain toward me as usual.

“Dear Lord, Mr. Silver. Can’t you control yourself?” Grandma quips.

Great fucking timing!

I ignore her and continue. “So, Chris, put away your checkbook, stop sending flowers, and crawl back into whatever leather-walled dungeon you crawled from. You had your shot and you blew it. Bea is marrying me.”

I turn to leave.

“This isn’t over, Silver. She’ll be mine again soon. You don’t know what Bea needs; I do. She’s out of your league, Silver!”
We’ll see.

Fifty Shades Shadier – Chapter Eleven

“What is it, honey?” Bea asks from the bedroom.
“Nothing. Be right there.”

I stuff the roses into the garbage disposal. It grinds loudly. Bea emerges from the bedroom, already down to her lacy undergarments. How can I be mad at her when she’s so delicious?

“What are you doing?”
“Oh, that was a delivery for you,” I inform as I hand her the card. “I was trying to water the lovely roses and, oops, they slipped into the drain.”
“He’s such a jerk.”
“Are you absolutely certain this thing between you two is over?”
“Way over. He’s a freak and I want nothing to do with him.”
“Why did you break it off in the first place?”
“He’s twisted. All he wanted to do was dress me, force me to eat, and spank me. I felt like cattle he was fattening for slaughter. He used to leave bruises on me.”
“Sounds like he needs a beating.”
“I know, Mormon, but he’s not worth it. He’s way up in Seattle anyway. Just ignore him. Please?”
“So, we’re not breaking up tonight?”
“Quite the opposite, my love,” she assures as she tosses the card into the garbage.

We scurry into the bedroom before the melted white chocolate cools.

“You first, Lovergirl,” I insist as she giddily complies by removing her undergarments.
“Would you like me sunny-side up or over easy?”
“Hm. Let’s start with up.”

I take the cool creme de mente and run a river from her neck to her navel. I see goosebumps. I drip a bit over my index finger and touch it teasingly to her lips. She takes my finger in and teases the tip with her tongue. Time for another sensation. I take a honey ladle, dip it into the thick melted chocolate and dollop a bit on each nipple, both sides of her neck, and in the crease where her thighs meet her hips.

“Is that too hot, Lovergirl?”
“It’s perfect, Uncle M.”

I spray whipped cream, leaving a white stripe next to the minty green river. This is beginning to resemble a New York Jets uniform. Not that I’m a football fan, but I will definitely fuck this tight end tonight.

Time for the fruit. While the chocolate dries on her, I take a strawberry, dip it in the fondue pot, spray a spot of cream on the tip and feed her. We kiss while she chews. The pink juices run down her neck; I catch them and lick her clean.

We take turns coating each other and enjoying the sensations: the mix of flavors, the cool, the warm, the runny, the firm. My Lovergirl is the most delicious treat I’ve ever experienced, and there will be no leftovers for CG.

A night of love wears on me as my fifty-year-old body makes me pay for my twenty-year-old thoughts. Bea dresses next to the bed as I wake up.

“Ugh. Could you dim that light please?”
“That’s the sun, silly man,” she giggles as she tickles my foot. “You had better get up. You have an interview in one hour.”
“Huh? Oh, Jesus. Grandma?”
“Yep. She’s meeting you at the E Street Cafe in Encinitas at ten.”
“Shit. I have an owie,” I remark while rubbing my eyes. “My head feels like someone is pinching my brain stem with needle-nose pliers.”
“Here,” she hands me a pill and bottle of water.
“Ibu?”
“Something like that.”

I down the pill and hit the shower. Bea stops by and gives me a kiss on her way out. If I can get past her evil ancestor and abusive ex, I’m confident there’s a wonderful life ahead of us.

Fifty Shades Shadier – Chapter Ten

I suffer through the painful end of the overtime win by the Canadiens, wondering how to free myself. Then I hear a buzz and unlatching of the door. It swings open. Shit. Not again.

The same two housekeepers who caught me in a bind in Bea’s suite walk in carrying mops while giggling at my expense.

“Hello, sir. We were told there was a spill in aisle Blue.”
“Har-de-fucking-har. Untie me.”
“Wow, somebody’s in a bad mood.”
“I don’t think I like his attitude,” the second maid adds.
“Fine. Please untie me.”
“That’s better, but …”
“Pretty please, with a twenty-dollar tip on top.”
“As you wish.”

They untie me and I try to get the circulation flowing to my hands and feet again. I gather my clothes and wallet. I peel off a twenty for my rescuers and pocket my gift card. At least I netted five dollars and Bea’s amazing posterior in the transaction. I consider myself ahead.

I go to the valet and retrieve my Jeep. Once home, I flop onto the couch, in desperate need of a nap. Not fifteen minutes into it, my phone beeps.

Bea Plastique: How’s it hanging, Uncle M?
Mormon Silver: I am going to beat your little butt next time I see you.
Bea Plastique: Promises, promises. Oh, and when might that be?
Mormon Silver: How about dinner at my place tonight?
I sure could use home field advantage for once.
Bea Plastique: Sounds fun. When?
Mormon Silver: 7ish.
Bea Plastique: What can I bring?
Mormon Silver: Toppings: spray whipped cream, Hershey’s syrup, and creme de menthe.
Bea Plastique: Yum!

I scurry through the grocery store gathering toy food. The checkout clerk wears an odd expression as she types the produce codes.

“Someone is planning quite the feast.”
“Indeed.”
“Who’s the lucky girl you’re going to eat this off … I mean, with?”
I grab a banana. “Behave yourself. I’m licensed to carry, and I have a big banana.”
“Ooh, even luckier.”

Bea shows up fashionably late with the bag of toppings, as requested. I’m going to devour them and her. I make sure my Broad Street Bullies DVD plays while we eat dinner. Teasingly, I leave the dessert tray on the counter: bananas, strawberries, and pomegranate. I also have a fondu pot simmering with melted white chocolate.

She rushes through dinner, but I intentionally stall.

“Is it time for dessert yet?” she begs.
“Not until Uncle M has cleared his plate,” I tease as I spoon another helping of green bean casserole.

She sticks out her lower lip and crosses her arms like an infant. I laugh at her expression.

“OK, Lovergirl. Let’s have dessert.”
“Yay!”

She claps and grabs her bag of toppings. I gather the food tray and fondue pot, then lead her into my bedroom.

“What’s this?” she asks as she sees the big blue tarp covering my bed.
“I can’t afford your architect, so this baseball mound cover will have to do for my version of a Blue Room.”

It’s often wise to improvise.

Naturally, as we’re about to dine on each other, the doorbell rings.

“Are you kidding me? If this is people here to talk about Jesus, I’m going to send them to meet him.”
“I’ll do a little grounds maintenance while you’re gone,” Bea offers as she begins undressing.

I answer the door to a delivery man holding a dozen red roses. WTF? Did Bea send me roses? There’s a note attached.

Dearest Bea, I hope you and your future ex-lover enjoy your break up sex. I’ll be waiting. CG

Fucker!

Fifty Shades Shadier – Chapter Nine

I’m tempted to leave her strapped down, but I can’t bring myself to do it. As our heartbeats return to normal, Bea leads me into a side room–an amazing bathroom with black tile, a whirlpool, and a shower that rains from above. Bea turns on the shower and taps buttons on a control panel to change the mood of the music. Sade sings while we scrub the oils from each other. I’m hard again. I can’t resist her. If this keeps up I’ll need an IV. Then again, I do love my Kindle and I’m two orgasms away from another $25 gift card.

As we make love on the edge of the tub, my jealous thoughts of Chris G. subside. Her second orgasm is explosive as I’m beginning to learn how to push her love buttons.

We dry off, put on soft robes, and return to the play area. I fiddle with the straps on the funky swing, trying to imagine what goes where and how.

“The next time we make love, I want you to tell me exactly what you want and how you want it,” I suggest.
“As long as you talk dirty to me.”
“I do.”
“Not really; you’re more like PG. I prefer triple-X.”
“Really? Like what?”
“You know.”
“I don’t, otherwise I’d comply … probably. I say ‘fuck’ a lot. That’s good, right?”
“Sure, but there are other naughty words.”
“Oh, that’s right: you’re into hockey stuff. OK, how about punishment for ‘High Dicking,’ ‘Cross-Licking,’ and ‘El-blowing’ penalties?”
“Funny. No, I mean other swear words.”
“Like?”
“I can’t say them. I don’t swear, remember?”
“Fine. I’ll say a swear word and you give me a hotness reading on a scale of one to ten, with ten being sizzling. Cool?”
“Cool.”
“Pussy.”
“Three.”
“What? That deserves a six, minimum. All right. Cock.”
“Seven.”
“Hmm, better. How about twat?”
“That one depends.”
“On?”
“The adjective.”
“Ah, I got this. So, something like honey dripping hungry little twat is good and stinky twat is bad.”
“You’re catching on.”

We continue playing the word games, then Bea offers to demonstrate the swing to me.

“Let me strap you in.”
“Ha! No way.”
“Don’t you trust me?”
“Not really.”
“I’m hurt, Uncle M. Oh well. Pity. You were so close to getting that Kindle gift card.”
Jesus. She knows my weaknesses.
“OK, fine. Be gentle.”
“Of course.”

Bea straps my wrists and ankles, and runs a harness under my lower back. The bungee straps give a bit, so I bounce playfully.

“Say, why don’t you climb aboard, Lovergirl,” I dare her.
“Nope.”
Ah, that’s right–dirty talk.
“Get your delicious cunt over here right now and straddle my fuck stick.”

Her eyed widen, she drops the robe, undoes mine, and saddles up. We bounce like crazy as I wonder if the straps might give way. Orgasm number three comes in minutes as Uncle M relishes the thought of another conquest and another eBook.

Bea dismounts, walks away, and begins dressing. Oh, no.

“Um, Lovergirl?”
She ignores me.
“Sweetie?”
Nothing.
“Honey?”
Shit.

Bea–fully dressed now–changes the channel on the TV I’m facing. A DVD begins playing: NHL Playoff Series, Game 1. April 24, 2008: Montreal Canadiens 4, Philadelphia Flyers 3.

She reaches into her purse, pulls out a gift card, tosses it my way, winks, and leaves me hanging.

Fifty Shades Shadier – Chapter Eight

I sneak away before the two-headed beast can find me. I search for the Blue Room. When I arrive, it looks like an ordinary janitor’s closet. As I reach to knock, I hear a buzz of the door unlocking. I open it and feel to the right for a light switch. It is a closet. Odd. Suddenly, the wall with shelves swings open to my glistening Lovergirl.

“Hello, Uncle M.”
“This is some Get Smart shit right here.”
“Some what?”
“Never mind. Before your time. You look delicious, my love.”
“And you look … like a server who was dragged around the beaches of Normandy,” she giggles.
I’m happy, as usual, to provide entertainment.
“Ugh, no kidding.”
“Ready for your tour?”
“Lead the way.”

The room is a BDSM fantasy suite. There are rubberized floors, like you’d see in a gym. The walls have mirrors, TVs, and cabinets. There’s blue leather furniture throughout. Bea looks so sexy, shining in the subtle golden light. Nine Inch Nails’ “Closer” thumps while walk.

“What’s this?” I ask as I examine a swing set with odd straps and pulleys.
“Oh, that’s for advanced lovers. We need to work up to that.”
“Looks like a back ache to me.”

There’s a laminated wooden paddle hanging on the wall next to three whips. The paddle has some obvious wear and a brass plaque with the initials CG.

“Who’s CG?”
“Nobody important. Check this out,” she redirects as we approach what resembles a large kid’s pool with a raised rubber mattress and Velcro straps in four corners. “Wanna take a dip?”
Distracted, but the thought’s not extracted. I’ll find out who CG is.
“Fuck yes.”
“Mm, what do you want to do me, Uncle M?”
“Well, Lovergirl, I want to strap you down, massage you nose to toes, and then fuck you in the ass so hard you’ll limp for days.”
“Oh my god! YES! Do it!” she commands as she dives onto the mattress and spreads her arms and legs.

I work quickly as the NIN music and the thought of conquering her luscious ass motivates me. I strap her ankles and wrists, undress myself, and climb into the oily pool. Oil and body hair doesn’t mix well. I must remember to trim.

She arches her buttocks up toward me as I bring her to her first peak with my probing fingers. She’s wet and slippery, ready for me. Hm, this is an ideal position for interrogation.

I kneel between her legs, reach outside the pool for my apron, and grab the squirt gun I confiscated at the luncheon. It’s time for Uncle M’s version of water boarding.

“What are you doing? Get inside me.”
“Not quite yet. First, I want to know who CG is?” I have an idea who it might be.
“I told you–nobody.”
“Wrong answer,” I respond as I squirt her in the clit.
“Hey,” she squeaks.
“I’ll repeat the question: Who [squirt] is [squirt] C [squirt] G?”
“Stop! Jesus. OK, fine.”
“I’m waiting.”
“Chris … my ex.”
That motherfucker!
“Why is his paddle here?”
“Don’t you want me, Uncle M?”
I squirt her again. “Answer the question.”
“He’s an architect. He designed this room.”
“Are you still seeing him?”
“No! I love you, Uncle M,” she reassures me. Now she’ll pay.
“You’ve been a bad Lovergirl. Now, I’m going to take my billy club to your naughty ass.”
“Yes, please.”

I toss the squirt gun, climb onto her, and insert myself slowly. She’s so tight. The sensation gives me the urge to come in the first thrust. I reach around her right hip and stroke her clit while I slowly grind deeper and deeper. I kiss her neck, bite her ear, and lose myself in the moment, while Chris G. weighs on me.