Fifty Shades Shadier (Fifty Shades of Silver)

by Phil Torcivia

  “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 crème de menthe and run a river from her neck to her navel. I see goose bumps. 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 huge football fan, but I will definitely fuck this tight end tonight.

  It’s 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, and the firm. My Lovergirl is the most delectable 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.

  Chapter Twelve

  Never let a problem to be solved become more important than the person to be loved. – Barbara Johnson

  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 fiancée, 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 fiancé being out of town so much.”

  “But, now that I’m back,” 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.

  Chapter Thirteen

  You have to walk carefully in the beginning of love; the running across fields into your lover’s arms can only come later when you’re sure they won’t laugh if you trip. – Jonathan Carroll

  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.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Be able to stick with a job until it is finished. Be able to bear an injustice without having to get even. Be able to carry money without spending it. Do your duty without being supervised. – Ann Landers

  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.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Your words are my food, your breath my wine. You are everything to me. – Sarah Bernhard

  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 last time 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 comfortable so I plop down on it and begin thumbing the remote. Thankfully, the video that comes into focus isn’t Mormon in panties, but it is porn. There’s no limit to her kinkiness. The video shows a nude brunette 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 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.”