Fifty Shames of Earl Grey: A Parody by Fanny Merkin (reading an ebook .TXT) 📗

hands are pinning my wrists against the headboard. He’s fussing with his tie . . . Wait! He’s tied me up! I am spread eagle, naked before him, my arms raised above my head and tied to one of the bedposts.

He steps back and surveys his work. “Nice,” he says. “I like seeing you tied up. So helpless, so defenseless . . .”

His sadistic impulses are in full force this evening. It’s kind of hot to temporarily give up control to him. He’s driving me crazy with anticipation. “Please, Mr. Grey,” I pout. “Please use me.”

“No whining,” he says. “If you do, I will put a ball gag in your mouth.”

“Yes, put your balls in my mouth,” I say. “I want to eat your balls.”

He pauses. “I meant a ball gag, which is a rubber ball,” he says.

“Oh,” I say disappointedly.

“Hold tight,” he says, licking his lips. “I’m going to get something to drink.”

I watch him leave the room, his muscular butt visible through his pants. I can hear him opening the refrigerator in the kitchen. He returns, a filled wineglass in his hand.

“I hope you’re thirsty,” he says, nearing the bed.

He puts it to my mouth, and I sip the carbonated purple drink. It’s chilled, and tastes like a cross between grape Kool-Aid and Miller High Life.

He pulls it back. “You can’t even buy this anymore, you know,” he says.

“It’s delicious,” I say. “What is it?”

“Four Loko,” Earl says. “It has twelve percent alcohol and enough caffeine to wake Paula Deen from a diabetic coma. It’s so powerful that the federal government made them reformulate it to remove the caffeine and herbs. Thankfully, I have cases of the original formulation stashed here in my wine cellar.”

“So it’s illegal,” I say.

“According to the government,” he says. “But this will be our little secret, okay?”

“Okay. Now are we going to have sex?” My lady boner is throbbing in anticipation of his Bilbo Baggins.

“Not yet,” he says. “First, I’m going to have a little fun . . .”

Earl drips Four Loko onto my sternum and it pools between my breasts. “Hold still,” he says.

“It’s cold!” I shriek.

Earl, still fully clothed, bends his head to my chest and begins lapping up the Four Loko with his tongue like a cat drinking from a water bowl.

“How nice does this feel, Anna?” he says, raising his head and looking me in the eyes. My chest is now just sticky instead of wet. I feel some of the cool liquid dripping into my armpits.

“It’s . . . kinky,” I say. Is it supposed to feel good? When he was licking it up, it tickled. Now I just feel gross.

“You want more,” he says, pouring the liquid on my stomach. It trails off into my pubic hair. I can’t wait to get into the shower after this is over.

He laps it up again, and this time the tickling sensation is too much. I squirm involuntarily, accidentally bringing my knee up and into his chin. He drops the glass of Four Loko, spilling it onto the bed. It runs underneath my ass. “Dammit!” I scream.

Earl rolls off me and falls off the bed onto the floor. It’s a few moments before he says anything or moves. Then I see a hand on the bed, and he picks himself up. “Dammit? Why did you say ‛dammit’? I was the one who was kicked in the face.”

“The Four Loko is cold. It ran under my butt,” I say. “Sorry.”

He shakes his head. “I didn’t realize you could kick so hard. You surprise me so much,” he says, rubbing his chin. “It’s like I learn something new about you every day.”

“Maybe it’s because we’ve only known each other for a week,” I say.

“There is that.” After a pause, he adds, “But let’s get back to our little game, shall we?”

“Please,” I say. My arms are getting tired and now my butt cheeks are sticking together; I don’t know how much longer I can take this. If we ever do get around to the actual sex, perhaps I’ll quickly fake an orgasm so I can get to the shower sooner.

He kneels between my legs, and spreads them even farther apart. He’s in his suit still, and I can see the Four Loko getting his pants damp. I hope he has a dry cleaner on this island. I’m sure he does—he has everything.

“Now it’s time for me to drink you, Anna,” he says, lying down on the bed and positioning his head between my legs.

“Shoot!” I yell. There’s something I forgot, something that’s suddenly a very pressing matter.

He looks up at me. “What is it?”

“Well . . .”

“Tell me, Anna. You can tell me anything.”

How do I say this delicately? There’s no easy way, so I just launch into it. “I was spotting blood this afternoon after all the sexy time over the past few days,” I say. “I’m supposed to get my period this week, so I thought I might be getting it early. I wasn’t sure. I put a tampon in to be safe.” I leave off the part about knowing I’m not on my period because I’m pregnant with his child.

“It’s okay, Anna,” he says. “I’m no stranger to blood.” The way his gray eyes suddenly light up when he says “blood” worries me a little. Like he’s thirsty for it . . .

He reaches a hand between my legs and, using his long fingers, grasps the tiny string at my heavenly gates. “Hold still,” he says, tugging gently on it. The tampon slides out easily; much to my relief, there’s very little blood on it. I should have used a panty liner, but I didn’t have any with me. Oh well. No harm done.

Earl tosses the tampon into a short trash can beside the bed. “Now back to business,” he says, diving back toward me.

He furrows his brow. He has great, attractive eyebrows that lend themselves to brow furrowing. They’re like two animated caterpillars doing the Hokey-Pokey above his