Fifty Shades of Silver Hair and Socks – Chapter 8

When I see my love she’s struggling to free her hands. I wink and point at her with a gloved finger. She lies back, exhausted. I walk past her bed into the bathroom.

“What are you doing, Silver?”
“Uncle M.”
“Untie me.”
“Nope.”

I lift the toilet seat like a gentleman and relieve myself.

“Are you peeing?”
“Yeppers. I was trying to hold it because, you know, once you break the seal …”
“And, I can’t believe you brought a gun here.”
“I didn’t.”
“You threatened Eric.”
“Truth be told, your kind Uncle M simply bribed him with a movie print.”
“Ugh, The Wizard of Oz, no doubt.”
“Very perceptive, Lovergirl. You see? I do my homework too.”

I shake twice and dab the tip with a sheet of TP. Bea has somehow managed to free her right arm. Her wrist is chafed. Serves her right.

“Where do you think you’re going?”
“You didn’t flush, you pig.”
“The Rules clearly require me to give samples. I’m one-fourth of the way there. Help yourself when I leave.”
“Gross.”
“Hmm, now, what other samples are required? That’s right, saliva.”

I crawl up from the foot of the bed, reach under her right thigh with my gloved left hand, and gently tug at the top of her glistening cock holster with my index and middle finger vibrating as they straddle her clit. I dive in tongue first as she grabs my hair and steers with her free hand. In mere minutes she arches into orgasmic bliss.

“That’s one orgasm and two fluids. I’m almost there.”
“Almost where, Uncle M?” Bea asks as she relaxes in the afterglow.
“I have one very hungry Kindle, my love. That Amazon gift certificate is two orgasms from being mine. There’s a new erotic series I’m dying to read.”
“Now, for that third fluid.”

I reach into my satchel, pull out a silver condom, unroll it down my average-sized penis, kneel in front of her, and slide myself in only a tiny bit.

“Shall we play ‘Just the Tip,’ Lovergirl?”
“No, Uncle M, I need you to fill me,” she begs as she grabs my hip, trying to pull me in.
“Answer one question and I’ll give you all my lovin’.”
“Fine.”
“What’s the story with your Uncle Tomas?”
“Oh, Jesus. I’m going to kill Eric.”
“Tell me,” I order as I withdraw a bit.
“You might not like it, Uncle M.”
“Tell me.”
“OK. He took my virginity.”

I withdraw entirely and try to process what I just heard. Kind of creepy; kind of gross; kind of hot, actually.

“That sick bastard! I hope that fucker is in jail.”
“Mmm, stop swearing and do me!”
“How old were you?”
“Eighteen and, actually, we were in love. He’s not a blood relative, Silver.”
“It’s still twisted.”
“Yet you seem hard as a rock.”

She’s right. Why does this turn me on? Yuck! Someday I’ll meet this man and make him pay, but right now I’m her uncle. I enter her fully as she arches in joy and comes again … and again, this time with me. I lie on top of her kissing her neck as she caresses my head and shoulders. I pull out, push myself up, slide off my condom, place it on the nightstand, and smile.

“Well, Lovergirl, that’s at least three orgasms, three fluids, and one gift card for Uncle M.”
“You’re one fluid short.”
“What? Blood? You don’t think I’m actually going to leave you a blood sample, do you?”
“No. I’m going to take one.”

I catch a glimpse of her right hand as her fist crashes into my jaw then, lights out.

(a bloody mess ensues)

Fifty Shades of Silver Hair and Socks – Chapter 7

“You’re a funny man, Eric. We need to have a little talk.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Silver, last I checked you weren’t the one signing my checks.”
“Hello?” Bea interrupts.
“Hush,” I tell her, “we’ll finish our business soon enough, Lovergirl. Eric, I have something that may persuade you.”

Sitting on the side of the bed with my back to Bea, I open my satchel and reveal Eric’s kryptonite.

“Oh my god, is that what I think it is?”
“Yes, Eric.”
“What is it?” asks Bea.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry but I’m going to have to do what Mr. Silver asks. He has a really big … um, gun.”
“Are you insane, Silver? It was just a little kinky fun.” Bea is definitely agitated. Good! I can play her games. I decide to let her stew as fear heightens the senses, making the orgasm parade I’m about to unleash on her more intense.
“We’ll be right back. Come with me to the kitchen, Eric, and no sudden moves, or else.”
“Yes, sir.”

I flip on the kitchen’s overhead light, hang my satchel over a chair, remove my weapon, and place in on the counter. Eric’s eyes widen.

“Is that … oh, it can’t be.”
“Yes?”
“It’s signed?”
“Indeed, as you can clearly see right here.”

I point to Judy Garland’s signature on a The Wizard of Oz promotional eight by ten print.

“Now, Eric, this ditty is a gift from me to you if you answer three questions.”

From the bedroom we can hear Bea struggling to free herself.

“Don’t you hurt him, Silver! Eric is a good man. He was only following orders.”
“Hush!” Eric and I respond in stereo as he admires the still.
“Fire away, Mr. Silver.”
“One, what’s your opinion of facial hair?”
“It doesn’t work for me personally, but I’ve heard a certain young lady remark how she adores the salt and pepper on your chin. I’d say keep it cropped and you’re fine. Please don’t ever color it, though. I mean, ew.”
“Thank you. OK, two, am I too old to be wearing plaid shirts and loafers?”
“Well, as long as you have on an undershirt, you’re fine. No V-necks, please. I highly recommend going sockless, but I know argyle is your ‘thing,’ so whatever. Have you tried John Varvatos? His fashions are ideal for the mature man.”
“Excellent tip. One more question.”
“Eric, don’t be a hero. Cooperate with him for now. We’ll make this right later,” Bea muffles.
“His gun is so big, Ms. P, what shall I do?” Eric hisses.
“Silver!”
“I like you, Eric. Now, the most important question: Where does Bea’s strange fascination with hockey-related sex stunts originate?”
Eric leans in and whispers, “Her Uncle was very influential in her upbringing, if you know what I mean. He played goalie for the Canadiens in the seventies.”
“Disturbing. Name?”
“Tomas LeBaleur.”
“You’re the best, Eric. This is for you.” I hand the signed print to Eric. He trembles as his eyes well up.
“I, I don’t know what to say. If you weren’t straight, I’d …”
“Tut, tut, tut. A ‘thank you’ is sufficient.”
“Thank you.”
“Now, do me one tiny favor and hang out in the lobby bar until I’m through with my naughty friend. There’s a kind bartender working down there.”
“Emily. She works for us.”
“I see. So can you manage keep Emily company for about thirty minutes?”
“Indeed I can.”

Eric blows a kiss to me and leaves.

“Eric? Silver? Hello? Anyone?”
“Yes, Lovergirl, how can Uncle M be of service?”

I turn on my glove and return to my love.

(three orgasms–four if you count mine–are on the way in chapter 8)

Fifty Shades of Silver Hair and Socks – Chapter 6

Eric. He’s the key to understanding this strange woman. Personal assistants know everything about their bosses. All I need is leverage. What do gay men like? Think, Silver, think!

I pace from room to room in my home and then it hits me. Of course. A hand-me-down I have been so tempted to toss finally comes to use. I place Eric’s kryptonite into my satchel along with Bea’s Rules and zip on down to Hustler to get the love glove she requested. Bea has no idea what she’s gotten into. Not since the great MJ has anyone been so skilled with a glove.

I swing by her office before our rendezvous, hoping to catch Eric by surprise, but her office is dark and the doors are locked. Missed him.

What does Bea have waiting for me on that 43rd floor? My stomach is tight. I need a drink.

I valet at the Hyatt and go straight to the lobby bar with my not-a-man-purse. Nothing soothes me more than a few ounces of Don Julio. The nurse behind the bar dispenses my sedative with salt and lime. The glass barely meets the bar before I throw it back and request another. I review Bea’s Rules again and wonder if she can get me weak enough to sign. Another glass of courage appears and the nurse smirks.

“Somebody must have an important meeting.”
“Darling, you have no idea.”
“What’s with the paper? Divorce settlement?”
“Not quite.”

I’m tempted to show it to my new friend as I’ve found the best advice often comes across a bar. Still, one of Bea’s Rules is no sharing. I need to see where this goes.

“Let’s just say I need to perform a service, best delivered with agave.”
“Go get her, Tiger. Oh, and I hope you like candles.”
“Wait … what?”

She smiles and walks away. I slam the shot and head for the elevator. As I stroll toward 4301 I hear Frank Sinatra crooning. The door is ajar. There’s flickering golden light and the scent of vanilla. I push slowly and enter the foyer of a massive penthouse. A path of candles leads toward the back. “The Way You Look Tonight” plays from an iPod stereo above the wet bar. I need another drink. I find a mini-bottle of Cuervo. This will do. Down it goes. Time to follow the yellow candlestick road.

As I round the corner the candles lead to the double doors of a master suite. I turn both knobs and slide the doors open. In the golden strobe of candlelight is my love, naked and tied spread eagle to the bed, wearing an old school hockey mask, a la Friday the 13th. Fuck! She’s so hot and mysterious.

“Hello, Lovergirl.”
“I seem to have gotten myself into a bind, Uncle M. Can you help me?” she muffles through the mask.
“Perhaps.”

I place my satchel next to the bed, remove the love glove from it’s package, and place it on my left hand like a surgeon.

“Black. As requested.”
“Mmm. Does that mean you have agreed to the terms of our arrangement?”
“Maybe.”

I flip the switch on the back of the glove and it vibrates gently. She’s going to pay for teasing me so. I lie next to her and kiss her ear and neck as I run my gloved hand up her left thigh. She arches her back in anticipation. I whisper in her ear.

“Do you have any idea what I’m going to do to you tonight?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think you do. You’re quite brave, Lovergirl. You don’t know me that well. I could be insane … and you’re so helpless right now. I could do almost anything to you.”
“I’m frightened.”
“You should be.”

I run my glove lightly across her engorged nipples as I bite her earlobe. She thrusts her hips when I run the glove down her torso, stopping just above her clit.

“Please, Uncle M, I need you.”
“Not yet, Lovergirl.”

I flip the glove switch off and get up from the bed.

“What are you doing? Get back down here, Silver!”
“Candles. I love candles.”

I take a candle from the side table and hold it over her body. She gasps as I drip hot wax onto her nipples. She’s about to explode. I place a gentle kiss on her love button.

Suddenly I hear a thump coming from the closet. Holy shit! Someone is here. I should have known. She couldn’t have tied herself.

You, in the closet, show yourself. As the door slides open, I see a man and a camera. Jesus.

“Eric? What the hell is going on?”
“Crap,” Bea exclaims.
“Come out of that closet right now, Eric.”
Eric smiles and responds, “Again?”

(she will pay in Chapter 7)

Fifty Shades of Silver Hair and Socks – Chapter 5

We made love in the shower until our toes pruned and the water ran cold. Bea wouldn’t speak to me.

I’m confused, lost, exhausted, and happily so. Still, I need to dig into her past and understand the root of her fetishes. Is this love?

I spend hours the following day Googling her name with assorted hockey terms. She was born in Canada. That explains her odd last name. Sure, Canadians love hockey, but this woman is obsessed. There must be something. I climb her family tree looking for clues. All I find is an uncle of hers whose name is on the Stanley Cup. Hmm.

As I go to learn more about this uncle a direct message pops up on my Twitter feed.

BPlastique: Check your bedside table. Initial, sign, and bring it to me in room 4301 at the downtown Hyatt tonight at 8pm.

Oh, Jesus. My bedside table is nothing that should be witnessed by anyone–old condoms, lotions, ugly watches, and my secret (no longer) weapon: the Fukuoku Pink Left Hand Five Finger Vibrating Massage Glove. I open the drawer slowly and find a document entitled “Rules of Sexual Engagement.” It lists ten clauses and is signed in blood red at the bottom by Beatrice Plastique. What the …?

As I read her rules I feel myself becoming slightly aroused. This disturbs me. I’m no submissive. Then I realize she has sprayed her luscious Chanel scent on the paper. I’m tempted to sexually relieve myself, but resist because this woman demands stamina. The rules convince me she truly is from Venus.

Rules of Sexual Engagement

  1. Mormon Silver (henceforth referred to as “Uncle M”) agrees to bring Beatrice Plastique (henceforth referred to as “Lovergirl”) to orgasm daily until the Stanley Cup is hoisted by the 2012 champions.
  2. On each day, if Uncle M brings Lovergirl to orgasm more than three times, he’ll receive a $25 Amazon gift card.
  3. Uncle M agrees to allow Lovergirl to shave his testicles.
  4. Uncle M will refrain from masturbating, eating buffalo wings, and watching NBA games.
  5. Uncle M will provide ejaculate, urine, saliva, and blood samples within 24 hours.
  6. Uncle M will not make love (yes, that includes blow jobs) to any other women.
  7. Uncle M will not discuss with anyone his sexual relationship with Lovergirl.
  8. Uncle M will answer every text message sent by Lovergirl within five minutes or he agrees to be tied to a bed face-down and lashed with a leather belt once for each minute late.
  9. Uncle M will discard his Fukuoku glove, buy a new one (in black, please), and bring it with him–sealed in its original packing–to the agreement signing meeting.
  10. Lovergirl will give up the ass to Uncle M.

The ass?! Oh my god, her luscious ass! I can hardly contain myself as my erection tears at my boxers. I resist, but why? I can’t agree to her silly rules. This is crazy. If I want to beat off, I’ll beat off. I’m a grown man. How would she know anyway?

As I grab my waistband and release my throbbing monster, my phone beeps.

Bea Plastique: Don’t you do it.

Shit.

(other things to come)

Fifty Shades of Silver Hair and Socks – Chapter 4

I’m home trying to understand what just happened. I went in for an interview with a billionaire babe and left with salty sex residue, a sore nipple, and no story. Eric said he’d reschedule me–often, I hope. Bea’s a strange woman, but she definitely has a mental grip on me. I wonder where her hockey fascination originated. She probably had a fucked up childhood like most of us.

My iPhone rings with an unfamiliar number. I’ve learned not to answer those, not that I have anything against Indians. Less than a minute later I get a text message from the same number.

How dare you ignore my call, Silver. That’s a major penalty. – B

How did she get my number? I should have known a woman with her resources would be, eh hem, resourceful. I tap on my recent calls and plan my approach. She answers after five rings. Clever girl.

“Who is this and how did you get my number?”
“Very funny, Bea. I was just about to ask you the same question.”
“Oh, Mr. Silver, how nice to hear from you. What are you up to, and are you naked by chance?”
“No, my dear, I’m not naked. I’m just trying to make corners meet.”
“Ends.”
“Excuse me?”
“Ends, Silver. The cliché is ‘making ends meet.’ Aren’t you a writer?”
“Yes, and actually I’m a writer who is doing laundry–folding my sheets.”
“Ah. So, your ends are meeting just fine, are they?”
“Fine enough.”
“Your home is a bit underwater, is it not?”
“Whose isn’t?”
“You know, I could help you, Silver, if you’d agreed to play with me … my way.”
“You could get me a loan modification? Put me in, coach.”
“Oh, I will, repeatedly. Bye for now.”
*click*

What a whacky woman! I need to Google her later.

I finish my laundry and go to the gym to clear my head, which is ear-to-ear full of Plastique. She fits me like a glove. Am I just a toy to her? It disturbs me to wonder how many other writers she has “had” in her office.

After a good sweat I return home. I hear water running. Is that damn toilet stuck again?

I bound up my staircase. It sounds like a shower–my master bath shower. Could it be?

I cautiously round the corner of my bathroom to find Bea in my shower. She’s partially obscured by steam and the foggy glass door. I watch the suds run from her golden mane down the line of her back, across her perfectly round buttocks, into the crevasse I want to make my home.

“Jesus, Bea! How did you get in here? For that matter, how did you know where I live?” My cock is so hard right now it practically tears through my sweats.

She turns to face me and speaks not a word as she raises an index finger to her lips to shush me. Then, she licks the tip of her finger and runs it down her chest, across her navel, to her love tunnel as she sits on my shower bench.

“You’re killing me, Ms. Plastique. I have a mind to come in there and clean up a very dirty girl.”

Bea smirks as she reaches my shower shelf and takes hold of my Gillette Fusion razor. With her other hand she grabs my Old Spice liquid soap and squirts a dab on her tiny patch of fur. She lathers up and stares longingly at me as she slowly lowers my razor toward her vagina.

“No! That’s my fucking Fusion! Do you have any idea how expensive those cartridges are? I beg you, don’t. Pubic hair is too coarse. It will dull and clog my blades. You evil beast. Noooooo!” I bang on the glass door. Oh, God, another hockey game! I’m like a rabid rink-side fan at the arena.

Bea teases me by pulling away the razor and inspecting it. She grows a devilish grin, puts the razor back under her navel and swipes a tiny path. I slap my head and cringe. She looks up with those huge toasted almond eyes and extends the razor toward me.

“Would you like to finish me, Silver?”

(this isn’t over)

Fifty Shades of Silver Hair and Socks – Chapter 3

“Did I s-s-stutter?”
“No, but I don’t recall what a hockey bang is … and you scratched me. I think my nipple is bleeding.”
“Don’t be a baby. You call yourself a fan, Silver? Get up.”

Bea climbs off of me and I stand. My jeans are uncomfortably tight with the recent addition of blood to the area … and my nipple smarts, but I don’t want to rub it as that would be extra creepy. Bea turns away from me and reaches over her desk toward her speakerphone. This exposes her underwear, which feature the Montreal Canadiens logo. Hmm, this crazy chick really is a fan. I prefer orange and black panties, but this will do. Bea removes the receiver and presses a button.

*Beep*
“What’s with the phone, Sugarbone?”
“You have two minutes,” she informs me as she shoves me backward.
“Hey, play nice!”
“Pansy.”
“Fucking psycho.”
“What did you call me?” she grabs the sleeves of my T-shirt and yanks.
“So, that’s the way you want to play. Fine.”

I grab her around the waist and pull her close. She slaps me and grabs my shirt again. Great, now my ear is ringing.

“Ouch! We’ll have no more of that, young lady.”

I pull her dress over her head but it snags on her hair and earrings. Well, at least her arms are tied up. Still, she struggles to slap me flailing her arms like a gator. I chuckle.

“Yes, baby. That’s it. Wait, are you laughing at me, Silver?”
“Maybe.”
“Take off my panties and get inside me … now!”

She writhes as I pull off her suck-y hockey team panties. Fuck Guy Lafleur. She’s soaked. I quickly undo my jeans and dive into her lusciousness. I can feel her insides quiver as I bury myself. Suddenly, I hear a voice from her speakerphone.

“One minute remaining; one minute left in the first period.”
I arch up. “What the fuck is that?”
“It’s Eric. You’d better hurry, Silver.”
“God damn it, woman! You can’t give a guy time limits like that. It’s too much pressure.”

I look down at her and smirk again about her dress tying up her arms. She reaches up regardless and pinches my sore nipple.

“Ouch!”
“Deeper. Please. I need you–all of you.”

I reach down and pull up her legs. Grabbing her behind the kneecaps, I push her knees toward her shoulders and grind to new depths. She moans.

“Thirty seconds; thirty seconds remaining.”
“Wait a second. Can Eric hear us?”
“Shut up, Silver. Shoot. Hurry.”
“He is gay, right?”
“Time is running out.” She gently touches my nipple, warning me.
“Fine.”

I slam away at her. She’s so wet and lovely. Time stands still. I shoot … a siren rings out and the office door flies open. Eric runs in and pulls us apart.

(more to come)

Fifty Shades of Silver Hair and Socks – Chapter 2

The interview begins.

“May I call you Beatrice?”
“No. You may call me Bea.”
“All right. Bea, as you can see, this NDA has been signed by me.”
“Would you like more chai tea?”
“Thank you, no, and touché, my sweetpea. I do have a question about the ground rules before we begin.”
“Yes?”
“It’s odd not being able to look you in the eyes. Where shall I look?”
“How about at my lips.”

Bea licks her glistening red lips sensually. I melt.

“Holy shit.”
“What did you say?” Bea asks as she leans forward.
“Um, sorry.” I can’t believe I just swore in front of the most influential woman in the county.
“I have this thing about swear words.”
“I apologize. I won’t let it happen again.”
“Why? I didn’t say it’s a bad thing, did I?”
“Huh?” Sexy and strange.
“Look, Silver, although I don’t use swear words, I’m not your typical lady. When a lover uses coarse language it makes me damp down there.”
“That’s fucking hot!” I try my luck.
“You’re not a lover, Silver… not yet.”
Yet?! “Oh. OK. I know you’re a busy woman, so let’s begin.”

I wriggle uncomfortably in my chair, pull my reading glasses from my shirt collar, slide them to the base of my nose, and flip open my legal pad.

“Don’t do that.”
“Bea, I can’t see the questions I’ve prepared without my glasses.”
“Don’t touch your nose.”
“What?” I do it again.
“Stop. I’m warning you, Silver.”
“Does it gross you out? Sorry.”
“No, it turns me on.”
“My nose?” Well, that’s a first.
“No, the act of touching it.”
“Do you want to touch my nose?” What a goddamned freak!
“What? No.”
“I’m sorry. Have I missed something obvious?”
“You don’t understand my world. It’s nothing you’ve ever been exposed to. I have certain needs and fetishes, and I can’t expect you to comprehend them.”
“Nose fetishes?”
“That’s one. I’ll try to explain it to you, but you’re not writing about this. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” I slowly scratch the tip of my nose.
“Oh, my god! Please stop.”
“Either tell me or I’ll do it again.”
“Your nose reminds me of my big beefy clitoris and when you touch it, it’s like you’re touching me.”
“There’s no fucking way your clit is as big as my Italian schnoz.” I exclaim as I pinch the tip.

Bea slaps her hands down on her desk, stands up, and glares at me.

“You just used the F-word again.”
“Bet your kinky fucking ass I did.”

She flies over the table knocking me and the chair over. She’s on top of my in full mount (as they say in MMA). I’m instantly erect as she balls my shirt up in each fist.

“You’re going to hockey bang me right here, right now, Silver, or I’m going to yell rape and have my assistant beat you to a bloody puddle.”
“Hockey bang?”

(to be continued)