Fifty Shades Shadier – Chapter Eight


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.

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Author of humorous essays about relationships and lifestyles.