PurePassionBoxSet

Pure Passion

A Box Set by Horny Devil Publishing

By Alex Cook, Indigo Sin, Taylor L Ray, and LaVerne Thompson Published by Horny Devil Publishing

ISBN 978-1-62518-084-1

Edited by Kat Marshall and Colette Stone

Cover art by Dee Allen (www.deeallencoverart.com) Electronic book publication

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Horny Devil Publishing LLC, P.O. Box 2508, Palm City, FL 34991.

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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imag ination and used fictitiously.

Fifty-Seven Shades of Shit

Rude Awakening

By Alex Cook

Chapter One

Before I could change, I had to wait for my wife to leave. “George? I’m going now.”

“Ok dear,” Kate said she was leaving twelve minutes ago, why was she still here? “Drive safely.”

“Don’t I always?” she called back.

“Not always dear.” Oh shit. It was out before I could stop it. And then there was nothing. Not a single sound, but I knew it was coming. I’d blame it on waking up at the butt crack of dawn; hence my brain being out of sync with my mouth.

“What did you say?” Kate’s voice dropped to a monotone. “Nothing,” but since you insist, if you carry on riding the clutch, it’s

going to fall through the floor. Everyone will be calling you Fred Flintstone, including me.

My ‘nothing’ bought me seventeen seconds, at best to pull something phenomenal out of my ass. At 6 foot 1, weighing in at 200lbs I was no lightweight but even my muscles sagged under the clogging dread. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a pussy by any stretch but… I wasn’t stupid either. Two words kept my good sense in check. SEX BAN.

“Say it.” An impatient Labouty —why couldn’t they name designer shoes by color? — heel tapped expectantly on the hardwood flooring at the bottom of the stairs.

Think, think, think, think. “You were right dear; we should have gone for the Chevy. Even Danica Patrick couldn’t drive our car.” I answered over chirpily as the bated breath I held mocked my lack of balls.

“I blame the Japanese.” She said launching into a rant ab out how shitty our Mitsubishi was.

Even Alex Rodriguez would have been proud of my home run. “Me too dear.”

“Don’t be a slob. Get dressed. Bye, George” she ordered slamming the front door behind her.

Kate argued that working from home was an excuse to dress down. To keep arguments to a bare minimum, which was my main goal in life, I avoided the fights by diligently doing as I was told. Unexpectedly, my ass vibrated. Wrestling my cell from the back pocket of the tight fitting man jeans that my wife insisted were a fashion statement, I grunted as I read the caller ID. John Pratt was calling for the third time today and it wasn’t even 8 O clock. What the hell did he want? I toyed with the idea of ignoring the incessant and very annoying Crazy Frog ring tone my daughter, Cassidy, had downloaded when a text message flashed across the screen. Could I even read it while I ignored his call or would the latest technology inform John that I had already skimmed his note, revealing my feigned lack of absence? I gave up trying to pull the jeans out of my ass. At this point they were asphyxiating my balls and they were turning fifty seven shades of black & blue. Finally, Kate left. I yanked off the second skin before my voice box permanently resembled the chipmunks and stepped into a comfortable pair of pajamas, otherwise known as my work uniform.

Technology had given birth to a new phobia that I would add to my already growing list of mid-life crisis crap to deal with. Trying to pretend you were not available was almost impossible, especially since your location from Nano’s diner to the restroom crap house was blasted all over Facebook. What was the world coming to when I couldn’t even take a shit in peace?

I wasn’t answering his call or reading the tracking device, also known as text messaging. Firing up my laptop, I attempted to work. I sat down in my comfortable pretend- CEO’s chair and scrolled down the list of prison supplies I had to ship out. I made a few notes before I noticed the influx of new mail. Backed up with orders caused by the crashing of my website this past weekend, the complaints from government officials exploded in front of my eyes. I tapped madly at the keys, making a to-do list. I decided that I was my own fucking boss and work could wait a few minutes. I needed coffee and making the list was proactive, since I was planning ‘to - do’ it at some point. Later. Eventually.

I didn’t hear the front door. “So you finally got off your butt?” a knowing tone floated from the kitchen and up the stairs without losing momentum before the sound blasted me with contempt. What ever happened to ‘Hi honey, I’m home?’

“Yes dear.” I shot back, annoyed. What the hell was Kate doing back home less than an hour after she left?

“I’ve come to pick up Cassidy’s lunch. She forg ot it when she left for school.”

“Ok dear.” Was she psychic now too?

“Don’t forget the mortgage payment. It’s due today.”

countered

Now, in our fifteen years of marriage I’d never forgott en a payment. Having no money to pay it was a completely different story. One Kate would never let me forget every time we managed to actually have sex, wasting a perfectly good hard-on.

“Shut up George.”

“Yes, dear.” I mumbled automatically.

“It’s almost Valentine’s Day. Don’t forgee - eett” She finished on a sing song note. My head sagged before it crashed onto my mahogany work desk as the front door slammed shut. I reminded myself that a gun along with a fatal head wound, accompanied by a bloody mess for her to find and eventually clean-up was probably unromantic.

Pulling on my proverbial big man boxers, I ran downstairs, grabbed a pop tart and a mug of coffee before getting comfortable again. I clicked onto Google and typed ‘romantic things to buy my wife’ in the search bar. I scrolled through the list and clicked on the flashing red ‘Sale’ icon which lead me to a list of ‘must haves’ Cosmopolitan insisted a woman could not live without. If she had to have it, and it happened to be last season’s half -price deal, no one would ever have to know. I mentally rejected the dildos and G-string panties since I could hear her disdain clear in my head. ‘You are not shoving that thing in me,’ or ‘Are you trying to make my ass look fat?”

There were certain moments in a marriage when it was ok to lie. The day you said I do, you didn’t just say I do. What you really said was, ‘I promise to love you for ever and never look at another woman, lie about your weight, honor, lie about your looks, obey, lie if it makes you feel better and let you call me an asshole without retaliation. The fact that she had piled on the pounds didn’t mean shit because relaying that information was dangerous ground, and should come with a warning label like Hazardous-Ninja-Throwing-Stars-Will-Appear-Out-Of-Thin-Air-And-Slice-Your-Balls-Off-If-You-Say-The-Fat- Word. And so the ‘I just had a baby’ excuse became customary thirteen years ago with a never ending sell by date. If I wanted to keep my one bang a month, thongs were a definite no-no.

Running a hand through my distressed bed- head I wasn’t in any fit state to purchase anything, since one of my eyes was still fused shut. Coffee ignited a false adrenaline, so I tried to tackle the mess that was waiting for me. I tapped angrily at the keys because I actually had to work instead of following my still glued eye back to bed. Compiling the supplies with each order I emailed the list to the delivery guys with the correct addresses and locations while promptly ignoring the doorbell. A few minutes later the melodic Bing-Bong designed to get my attention transformed into a distressed pounding that was hard enough to splinter the wood. Images from The Rocky Horror Picture show flashed in my mind and suddenly I could see a distraught couple soaked to the bone, desperate and begging to use the telephone hammering away at the front door. If we lived in Romania, instead of a New York suburb I’d take a pick axe along for the ride. Sliding out from behind the desk, I dashed into the bedroom to grab some pant s; I didn’t want to freak anyone out with my super hero pajamas and jogged down the stairs. A quick glance in the hall way mirror confirmed that half of my too-long wavy jet black hair was stuck to the side of my head while the other half looked like it had just wrestled with the electric chair. Fingering the strands made no difference and I wasn’t going all the way upstairs again, risk a heart attack from over exhaustion, just to comb it. I gambled that it was probably the delivery guy with a parcel and he wouldn’t remember me tomorrow which pushed the decision in my favour. Grabbing the handle, I pulled the door open and stared into the thick bottle type glasses of John Pratt. Jesus, could the man not take a hint? He barged through the threshold and stormed into my living room.

“Come in, won’t you?” I spat sarcastically as I closed the door and followed him in.

John Pratt, husband to Macy, best friend to Kate, was lean with a receding hair line. Even if he argued that he wasn’t balding the evidence was c lear. They’d been our neighbours for eleven years. That however, didn’t make John my buddy, and I’d tried all ways known to man to get rid of him. Nothing worked. Naturally blonde, nearly 6 feet tall and lithe with a killer body, Macy was the opposite of my Kate’s 5 foot 4 frame, long dark hair and deliciously curvy physique.

“What are your plans for Valentine’s Day?” he asked I sunk down into the leather couch and flicked on the TV. Muting the

sound so I could deliver a quippy comeback. I skimmed the channels before stopping on The Today Show.

“I’m touched Mr Clean, but you’re not my type.” As expected, a cushion I had housed and treated kindly by not farting on it became a traitor as it attacked my head.

“Stop fucking around. Macy is sweating my balls about the infamous V day and the very special present she is expecting. And she insists it had better not be anything like last year’s crockpot disaster,” he paced the length of the room giving the carpet, carpet burns as he rubbed his head, “That shit is heavy duty. I can still feel the dent in my head.”

“Did you tell her what I told you to say?” I asked carefully. I wanted to see if it would work before I used that excuse on my own wife.

Another traitorous pillow smacked me in the face. “Yeah, jackass. Remind me to never ask for your advice again.”

I arched a brow and laughed “And isn’t that exactly what you are doing now?”

The supply of ammunition in the form of couch cushions had run out. “I’m asking a question. Please and do explain this in depth. Ho w is

telling my wife that Valentine’s Day is a big publicity giant designed to rob the poor helpful?”

Scratching my cheek, I searched desperately for the logic. “And did you add the most important part at the end? The bit where you say that you don’t need one day a year to show her you love her, and that you love her every day?” I shrugged confused, because I had nothing if that shit didn’t work. No matter what old couples, who had been wed when dinosaurs roamed the earth said, you never got to know the opposite species; you just gambled your way through most of it and hoped for the best. John’s shoulders sagged in defeat. He followed suit by falling backwards onto the opposite couch. “No, I never got that far. She called me an unromantic tight ass.” The gla re he gave me was nothing compared to the look the wife would have given me if I had dropped that spiel in her lap. Thank fuck!

My gaze flicked over to the soundless screen. Matt Lauer flashed that dazzling smile as he held up a book. A Valentine’s Day spe cial banner flashed across the screen. The camera zeroed in on the women clapping in the audience before snapping back to the host for a close up. Squinting, I barely caught the title let alone the authors name but I was sure I could recognise the front cover at the local Barnes & Noble.

“Did you see that?”

John frowned, “no, what?”

“There’s a book women are getting excited over for Valentine’s Day. We could swing down to the local mall and pick it up as a gift.”

“What if it’s shit?”

John made an excellent point. “Well Matt endorsed it, and the women looked like they really liked it.” I stood up. “I figure it’s got to be better than a vacuum, washer/drier or dishwasher right?”

Throwing his hands up in the air, John gave in. “I’m not going anywhere with yo u looking like a twelve year old superman groupie.”

I pinned him with a level glare as I backed out the room and up the stairs to get dressed.

Chapter Two

If you weren’t married, Barnes and Noble was one of the best places to pick up lonely and delusional women. And if you were married and in need of an affair, you’d better have the damn good sense to remove your wedding ring because that was the first thing these desperate romance loving readers hunted for. No way could you be their knight in shining armour with fifty seven kids and a ton of alimony payments. These fanatical woman were as smart as shit, we simple men didn’t stand a chance. We moved swiftly like the FBI through the different sections desperately scanning the shelves for the book with the infamous tie picture. Within seconds of our arrival we were ambushed by an anorexic red head flashing a veneer smile. John looked like he just shit his pants, which sparked off another laughing fit as I patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll save you.” I m ocked.

“Hey there Munchkin,” she purred, eyeing Johns puny arms. Munchkin? He was 6 foot 4. What kind of paranormal crack was this crazy lady smoking? I slapped his arm and flexed my hip, capturing her attention. How I knew that particular move is a story for another day, but it involves emotional terrorism from Kate and Wesley Snipes in a dress. I displayed a charming grin from my 6 foot 1 short ass and raised my voice a little. “My boyfriend is such a womenphobe. He gets all choked up and doesn’t know hat to say when one speaks to him,”— I glared at John before I fluttered my eyes for her benefit —“Right Elton baby?”

If John’s mouth could drop any lower, an elephant would have mistaken it for the entrance to Noah’s Ark. He gurgled once and I gave her a p ointed ‘see’ look. She laughed and fanned us with her breath. John turned green from the toxic gas. Entwining my fingers with his, her eyes zeroed in on our wedding rings. “Promise rings,”— I assured her —“we’ll make it official when Vegas sanctions gay mar riages” I finished before I pulled the statuesque John behind me and headed for the best sellers section.

I think John punched me in the head. I was a little dizzy for a few seconds, but I couldn’t be sure if it was his feeble blow or the death breath of said red head still lingering on my shirt and face. I eyed our immediate area, making sure we were clear of any predators looking to elevate the divorce rate, using us as examples before I glared at John.

“Did you just pummel the back of my head?”

“Friendly warning,” he confirmed.

“Then I’m either a pussy or you are a fucking wimp.” “I’ll take pussy for 500 please Alex.”

“I bet you paid way more than that in college.”

John hissed back like a man handled Cobra “You just told her I was gay!”

“No shit, Sherl ock. And now the Queen of Anthrax is gone. We can shop for five whole minutes before we will reach the point of no return.”

“What point is that, stupiditus?”

“Close,” I concurred. If you asked any woman on the planet, she’d insist we were born with the disease. Not true, it took years to perfect the balance between stupidity and semi-funny. Shopping however, was a member of the torture family and not to be confused with blatant stupidity. At 35 going on dead, I was old enough to remember the torture of school punishments before the stupid ‘don’t spank the children’ rule came into play.

“So what are we looking for?” John asked as his fingers trailed along the top of the book spines lined up for sale.

“A dark blackish cover with a tie on it, I think.”

“You and thinking never helps any situation.”

“It’s all we have, unless you count rubbing your bald patch while you wait on inspiration.” I shot back.

Subconsciously, John rubbed his head, comforting the shiny skin I’d just offended. He cursed once before he turned on his heel and headed for a sales clerk. I waited on his return, pretending to look thoroughly interested in a book that happened to be upside down.

Marching behind the female clerk, John pointed unnecessarily to the back of her head like I coul dn’t see help had arrived. Mrs B&N stopped a foot short of me, and smashed her too-thin-no-point-wearing-them glasses back into the bridge of her nose, almost dislocating it. Obviously she was as blind as a bat because she was looking up and over my shoulder like I was a giant whose eyes were suspended in mid-air near the ceiling.

“Hello sir, I’m Stacy. Your ex -boyfriend tells me that you are looking for a book to help you get over the break up that is still troubling you three years later.” John grinned be hind her and flipped me off. What a dick.

“Yes.” I said, gritting my teeth.

“You were looking for a book you saw on TV with only a tie on the front.”

I sent him a warning stare over her shoulder before I dry wiped my right eye dramatically. Nodding slowly in understanding, I clasped my hands and held them up to my heart. “Yes I would like to read that book. The tie reminds me of a similar one my ex- lover,” I glared at John, “had at our former home. He enjoyed forcing me tie him up and leave him naked for two days so he could be at one with his wild side.” Fuck you John , I said by way of a smirk. He turned a darker shade of red. “But I think it would help me in some small way to get over the loss.”

Stacy led the way. We moved stealthily behind her, ducking our heads in case we were recognised or gang-raped in the romance section. Turning to face us, she held out a book housing the front cover I was looking for and asked me the dreaded question. “Which book in the series do you want?”

I looked at John ques tioningly. He shrugged, which didn’t fucking help the situation. We looked like two of the lame Stooges missing the funny along with brother number three. At least I was the good looking one of the duo, John had only snagged a hot wife on a technicality. He got rich, fast. I desperately searched for the ounce of literary knowledge I knew I didn’t have, so I smiled and faked it. “I hear this is a popular, sought after series.”

“It’s a trilogy.”

“I knew that.” HA “And how many books are there in this trilogy?” “Three.” She answered dumbfounded.

Three! If I bought her too much, she’d accuse me of fucking someone else. Then again, if it wasn’t enough, hello blue balls. “We’ll take two sets of all three, please.” I decided quickly. John’s smart retort nixed her ‘why do you need two sets’ question.

“In the few short minute’s I’ve spent in your store, I’ve decided to rekindle my romance with George. Thank you B&N for reuniting us.” Like tennis match fanatic, her gaze shot back over my head.

“Oh…darling,” I tried not to choke, “that makes me all kinds of rainbow striped happy and I just want to hug a pony in delight, “I sighed dramatically, “Now come here stud muffin and give me a big wet kiss.” I pursed my lips, and flapped my tongue at John.

“Oh, fuck off.” He grabbed the book from the clerks hand and stormed off to find a cashier.

I smiled at her, grabbed the remaining literature and followed him to the counter.

“Crash and burn you mother fucker.” I gloated because no matter how hard he tried; he’d never be as good as me.

“Careful or I’ll fuck yours.”

I elbowed him in the ribs. Now I wasn’t stupid enough to choose the momma’s boy title over my wife’s property stamp because that was a quick death, but nobody insulted my mother.

“You wouldn’t stand a chance wit h Lady-Vixen- Bethers.” The cashier frowned as she looked us both over.

Changing subject he arched a brow. “Out of interest, who’s the bitch?” John queried as he handed over his credit card.

“Obviously, you are.” I confirmed.

“Wait, I’m taller. You should be the bitch” he exclaimed. “Height has nothing to do with it.”

“What does then?”

“Girth,” I finished and handed over a crisp $50 bill.

“And how the fuck do you know if your dick is bigger than mine?” “Eleven years ago, a whole keg and a ruler,” I reminde d him. “That was pre dick pumps. You’re the bitch.”

She rang up our purchases before handing us two gift bags. We left the stressful clogging atmosphere of the down town New York mall and headed back to my house. Once inside, we dumped the gifts on the mahogany dining table that looked more like a miniature, seats-six, Viking bench than a place to eat. John pulled a book out and read the back briefly before dumping it back in the half crumpled gift bag.

“Any good?” I queried.

“How the fuck should I know? I got bored after the first word.” I dug around and pulled out the first book my fingers found. Turning

it over, I skimmed the first line.

“Well…” John urged.

“You’re right, it sounds boring. Want a beer?”

“Save them. Macy is forcing me to come over here later. We’re going to need a keg at this rate.”

Pulling open the top drawer of the cabinet, I dug through the cutlery, nearly chopping my finger off on a Gordon Ramsey must-have knife, and retrieved a small box. I handed him my spare pair of discreet silicone ear plugs. He grinned and slipped them in his jacket pocket, thanked me and left promptly.

He wasn’t my friend, he was a fellow man in desperate need, and even I couldn’t ignore the call for a life saver. I jogged back up the stairs for the third time that day. Finally I had the house to myself so I ripped off all of my clothes. The only danger of parading al fresco was the risk of Mrs Jones walking past, catching a glimpse of the Donkey Dick, as I liked to call it, and her dying on the spot of heart failure. I took a quick shower before I sat down at my desk, sans the comfort of the Superman cotton and cleared the backlog.

Chapter Three

For the second time in twelve hours, I was freshening up in the shower I didn’t need, for the guests I didn’t invi te. Kate insisted I had an issue with hygiene. No one ever came close enough to smell if I was clean or not, so I didn’t see how it made a difference. She’d sent Cassidy to her mom’s for the weekend so we could have some alone time. Now, that didn’t equate to a weekend sex-athon, it just meant that she was very busy and the chances of sex were only slightly higher. Scrubbing my body raw, in case I missed one dead skin cell, I regretted the earlier decision of waiting until later to have a beer. Now I’d have to engage in conversation and suffer until I managed to get wasted.

“Georgeeeee what the hell are you doing up there, wrestling a god damn beach whale?”

Increasing the speed of the power- jet sprays didn’t drown her out. Judging by the sound of her elevated screeching, John and Macy had just arrived. Telling her I wasn’t in fact wrestling a beach whale because she wasn’t showering with me was a suicide mission because now she had reinforcements. I say reinforcements because John was a pussy when Macy was a round. So if she agreed with Kate, so did John. See why we weren’t friends?

I towelled myself dry and slipped into a pair of jeans with a slightly more oxygen flow than the latest fashion and buttoned up a black YSL shirt that was fashionable…10 years ago . Plastering a fake smile I stepped into the kitchen. John returned my fake shit- eating grin as he patted the keg he’d brought for our personal enjoyment.

“Hello Macy. It’s been too long.” I enthused automatically. Two fucking days was nowhere near long enough . I did the air blow-a-kiss thing and moved behind Kate. I’d never understand the logic of screaming when you saw the friend you’d left only three hours ago. My fingers shaped her ass before I pinched the thick of her flesh. Maybe she’d get horny, ki ck them out and make this my lucky day. Swatting my hands away, she moved across the kitchen without caring to shield my boner and plopped down on the bench next to Macy. John held up two fingers like a peace sign, and mimed a bottle of wine behind poured down his throat. I was in no mood to argue with wine fuelled women, so I pulled a mug from the cabinet and filled it up to the top with beer.

The hours passed in a blur, while topics of conversation jumped from their disturbing monthlies, to who was hotter than George Clooney or Ashton K. The latest fashion took precedence for about an hour or seven before the fish-eating dead-cell beauty treatments were thoroughly analysed. All topics designed to bore the shit out of anyone interesting zoomed over my head, and all I had to do to make it go away was hum and nod in the right places, followed by a chorus of excited ‘absolutely honey’s’. If I shadowed the designated evening plan, I’d get longer periods of peace because being agreeable paid off. And just maybe I’d get more sex. Resting my spinning head in the palm of my hand, my propped elbow slid from the table top as another squeal penetrated my brain. Raising a brow, I checked back in to the conversation.

“Did you really George????” Kate quizzed as her eyes doubled in size.

Uh oh , did I? “I sure did honey.”

“Honestly and truthfully?” added Macy. At Johns nod, she squealed and jumped in his lap. Ok, what the fuck did I miss and take note that I was praying to god that I did do thing I just agreed to.

“Oh my god, oh my god…oh my….goooooooooood,” screeched my wife as she jumped up from her seat. She stopped to belly dance between Cha-Cha sliding across the tiles from the other side of the kitchen. Squishing her boobs, Kate made grabby hands in the air while sh outing, “Give it to me.”

Both my brows shot up in surprise before Budweiser courage urged my body into action. I sprang up, unzipped my jeans and gripped the waist band of my boxers. The scream that followed shot to my groin like an ice laser freezing any and all further action. Rapidly packing my shit away, I donned a wholly innocent look while successfully ignoring John and Macy’s presence before I sat back down.

“If you can’t handle your drink, George, then maybe you should have Cola from now on.” Kate reprimanded.

“What can I say, I have a beautiful wife and I just can’t control myself around you, honey.” I motioned her over and patted my lap; winking away the tension you’d need a meat cleaver to cut open. Opportunism never hurt anyone but my ego. She stayed where she was, extending an open palm in expectation. Throw a drunken man a bone, god dammit. I still didn’t know what the fuck she was talking about, and I said as much with a half quizzical expression. John was too busy being fondled to care about my current predicament.

“You could always redeem your lack of attention by giving me my Valentine’s Day present now.” It sounded like a choice, but it wasn’t. That meant do it or face the two dreaded words I loathed to hear. You remember them, right? SEX BAN.

V day was a publicity stunt but if it would please her, get me off of the hook and land me a blow job before bed time, I was game. Pointing to the top of the refrigerator I easily gave in to her demand. Kate squealed and practically climbed the frid ge to get to the gift. Polar bears couldn’t rip into their fish as fast and she destroyed the bag.

When Macy held up identical books, more screaming ensued and they both started jumping up and down like Meerkats in unison .

“And there are three of them! I only thought there was one.” That was the closest to thank you I was going to get.

“Yes. Happy early Valentine’s no -more-gifts- coming Day,” I congratulated. “Where’s mine?” I half joked.

She shushed me and hugged Macy. “You get yours on Valentine’s Day.” See? It was one rule for her and Fifty Seven Shades of Depends-On-What-It-Is shit for me.

Resting my head on the table top to recover from the tinnitus I just developed, caused by their conjoined banshee initiation screech fest, I felt slightly faint. I’ d had about five mugs of beer by this point and I was almost wasted. It was then that I heard three sets of footsteps heading towards the direction of the living room, clacking across the hardwood floor of the hallway, yet no one thought to carry my ass. How important was I in this foursome?

I stood, grabbed a clean glass and refilled it to the top before I swayed across the kitchen and headed to the living room to join them. John was stabbing the unlit fire place with a broken tennis racket trying to look useful. I plopped down on the single armchair and set my beer down on the coffee table.

“Oh my god, this guy is fucking hot.” Kate squirmed in her seat as she flicked though the book while Macy joined in with agreeable noises. The signal for sex night was Kate rubbing her thighs together as she eye fucked me from across the room. The thought sent shock waves to my cock, like an air raid siren. Incoming, incoming, sex alert, get ready but hold your fire until I give the command. The question was, why was she doing that now? Was if I misreading the signals again? Hanging back was a smart move since I was borderline wasted.

“Darling, what’s a butt plug?”

This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill. I looked at John whose mouth did the whole Noah’s Ark thing again.

“A device you put in your ass.” I supplied.

“Thank you Einstein. Do you have one?”

Why the hell would I have a butt plug? That didn’t stop me from hoping there was a cleverly nestled one somewhere in the junk room. John chose that exact mom ent to grab Macy’s hand, drag her up off the couch and disappear into the hallway. I checked my watch; it looked like 2 am four times over.

“Night guys, we’re going home.” Macy giggled from outside, as John barked a hurried ‘later’

The front door closed, and the lights dimmed by themselves. I leaned back into the comfortable embrace of the soft leather armchair and rested my head.

“George…” Kate purred, rousing me from what I knew to be a ten second power nap. I cracked open an eye.

“Turn the lights on, I can’t see a thing.”

She complied while I bribed my neck to work. Heels complete with fishnet stockings, a leather skirt and tank top came into view as she hugged the door frame.

“When did you change?” Hello!

“While you were busy, snoring.” She scolded as she bent down. Tracing her fingers erotically back up the length of her stocking, Kate’s mood switched when they came to a halt on her pebbled nipples.

Fuck me ! She picked the night I couldn’t see straight as sex night? I was fucked without actually ge tting to fuck anyone. I’d waste time praying I was just being Punk’d but I wasn’t rich enough for that kind of luck. “George...” she said, coyly, “I want to play BDSM.”

I gathered the few wits I had left as I wrestled with the bulge in my pants. “Sure honey, we can play whatever you like.” Screw anyone who judged me. If she wanted me to tie her up and fuck her savagely instead of the usual wham bam, I’d play her damn game until I passed out.

“Well,” Kate grabbed the book I bought her off of the floor and flicked through the pages, “you need to bend over and let me spank the shit out of you.”

What ever happened to the damn missionary position? “I’m sure that’s not what BDSM is.” I choked out.

“Oh and when did you become an expert?” she opposed. “When did you?” I hedged.

“Since I read the first book,” She admitted smugly while letting me know my gift wasn’t great or original. Maybe a book on gardening would have been safer?

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d read it?” I asked carefully. Shaking her head, she came and dropped onto my lap, crushing my

balls. “Blame Joanna from personnel, she emailed me the first book on PDF and I skimmed through it. Reading from a computer screen is a pain in the ass.”

“That’s fraud,” I pointed out.

“I have redeemed myself,” s he said waving the hardcopy. I tried to pull her top up with one hand, while drunken fingers dug

into her curvy hip, holding her steady as I thrust upwards and into her thigh. “Wait,” she ordered and stealthily jumped back up to finger the

pages.

The desperation for any form of physical contact pumped adrenaline into my drunken limbs forcing me to haul ass off the couch. Pulling her half-dressed body closer to my chest, I ripped the book from her grip, chucked it over my shoulder and kissed her deeply. She softened in my arms, and hummed sounds of delight that recharged my Donkey Dick as my fingers crawled up her short skirt to get reach the on button.

She pulled away quickly and dived for the stupid book. I sighed and gave in.

“We need some ribbon. Oh and a….” Kate didn’t even finish before she shot out of the living room. I could hear every clatter when she rummaged through every kitchen drawer before she finally came back. Holding a piece of string in the air, and another hand cryptically hidden behind her back she smiled.

“What exactly do you think you are going to do with the unused part of our clothesline?”

“Use it, what else?” she said it like I was the dumbass of this pair. “Use it how?” I pressed as the beginnings of a news flash fired a

makeshift bazooka into my balls.

“It says right here” she tapped the page, emphasizing the words, “that he tied her up and spanked her. So turn around, pull your pants down and bend over the couch.”

The key to getting what I wanted without giving in to her demands was evasion. It was the answer to every tough situation. “Who is ‘he’?”

“Christian Grey ,” she huffed like I was supposed to have his name committed to memory.

“And what makes this Christian Gay so knowledgeable?” I questioned.

“It’s Grey and he isn’t g ay. He just has some issues in life and he found ways to manage them by spanking a range of women he sleeps with until one special woman comes along and stops all of that.”

“I can see why he murdered his wife then.”

“He didn’t kill her! And my daddy who has lots of shot guns calls my cell every day. And you know full well he will notice if I’m gone, George Bethers.” That earned me a glare, but she had a point because the early years of our marriage were spent reminding myself of those very same facts.

“Honey, how could you even think such a thing?” I exclaimed, hoping it was convincing.

“Quit with the side tracking and strip.”

Evasion owed me a refund. “Let’s recap. You said he tied her up.” “Well I equate the version of myself I have buried deeply to h is

character.”

What the fuck did that mean? “How’d you figure that?” She gave me the dumbass look. “He’s a control freak, I’m a control

freak, so that means you are the tied up party and I’m the one doing the spanking.”

“Assuming I agree,” Which I wasn’t, “we don’t have ribbons, butt plugs,” for her, “or a paddle.” Again, for her.

Kate’s wide grin scared me first, before she pulled out her secret weapon, scaring me again.

“Look what I have.” She waved it in the air.

“Two pieces of rope and a stainless steel spatula don’t equate to foreplay.”

“You sound disappointed. I’m sure I can find something in the kitchen that would fit nicely into your rear, dear.” She finished sardonically. Where the hell was my once a month seven-minute non sex-mad wife gone?

I motioned a come here with my fingers, demanding the book while trying to feign a possible interest. I knew a little about BDSM, obviously not enough to compete with the charming, and very rich character that mocked my sex life from the pages.

Once again I dumped his gay ass, and lowered my voice holding out a palm. “Give me the rope Kate. Then lay face up on the sofa. Do it now.” My tone said it left room for no arguments. As usual she ignored it.

“Why?”

Like Duracell, I begun to run out of power. If we were going to get anywhere at all, I had to take control. I grabbed the clinical items from her hands and dumped them ceremoniously on the arm rest.

“Because I want to hear you scream for me, honey.” I circled her wrist and pulled her to the wide, deep leather of the large couch, gently pushing her down. Hiding my surprise at her easiest surrender ever, I bound her wrists and pushed them above her head. “Don’t move those hands.” I instructed. She squirmed, rubbing her thighs together. D.D was pushing violently against my jeans, gaining a permanent zipper indentation.

I pulled her tank top up, and squeezed each bra-less breast as I leaned down to suck on her hardened nipples. Raising her hips, she butted me out of the way. Taking the hint, I pulled her skirt down, bringing her panties along with it.

“Pull your legs back and hold them against your stomach.” “Can’t. My hands are tied up.”

“For fuck sake, just do it and pretend they’re above your head.” “Fine. Just hurry up before I fall asleep.”

“If you’d kindly shut up for a minute, I will.” Pulling the T -shirt over my head, I ripped my jeans off and stood over her awkwardly bound position, naked as a jay bird.

Like clockwork. “Did you pay the mortgage?” Kate reminded me. “Yes, I did dear.” Fuck! I knew I forgot something today. “Where’s the receipt?”

Raising a palm, I smacked her fleshy butt cheek once, drawing a hitched breath from her.

“Comfortable, honey?” I gloated hoping the redirection worked. “Fuck off, George. And stop waving your cock in my face.” She spat

out as I rubbed her pink tinged skin.

“This is how the game you wanted to play works. So, stop ordering me around.” I grabbed the spatula and grinned

“Don’t you dare.” She warned.

Gently, I tapped her naked sex with the cool metal. Kate hissed, bucking wildly. “Untie me.”

“No. Stop talking.” I did it again, this time a little harder since she wanted the Grey guy to step out of the book and into our living room.

Stars were all I saw as the carpet morphed into a make shift safety net.

Blonde tresses swished my face as two big eyes peered down at me accusingly.

“Shit, George. Are you ok?” she said unconvincingly before the venom slipped out.“It’s your fault anyway. You should have listened.”

Unsurprisingly, I was to blame. “What the fuck Kate?” I accused rubbing my now throbbing face.

“I kicked you in the head.” She revealed.

“I’m not playing this game anymore,” I was dead serious. “Yes you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

I hissed as her nails dug into my untouched skin.

“You are.”

Gritting my teeth, I spat out. “I’ll fucking think about it, get me an ice- pack.”

“You’ll do more than think about it,” she warned before she skipped off to the kitchen.

If I closed my eyes now, maybe I wouldn’t wake up by morning. A bag of frozen vegetables was promptly dumped on my face with a

mumbled ‘sorry’ before she told me to meet her upstairs. I wasn’t moving any time soon and the sex would have to wait.

Chapter Four

Daylight broke through the crack in the curtains, lashing my face. I rolled over, only to be greeted with a mouth full of fur and a rug burn on my balls. My eyes flew open as I spat out the bits of carpet and looked around the living room for signs of life. My back creaked in outrage as I heaved my still alcohol tainted body up from the floor. I paid a quick visit to the kitchen to start the fresh free flow of coffee before I headed upstairs.

Falling onto the mattress next to Kate, she stirred.

“What time is it?” her morning man -voice drawled.

“Butt crack of dawn.” I answered groggily as I pulled the quilt over my naked body. Contrary to popular belief, women were the ones who hogged the covers because no matter the season, they were always fucking cold.

The mattress dipped before my silent scream turned into a choke when Kate’s finger nail scraped a layer of skin from my ass cheek. Not only did she fucking Ninja-kick my face off, now she was assaulting my flesh. She wanted something, and it wasn’t sex.

“Fucking ouch.”

“Are you awake sweetheart?”

Sweetheart? This was going to be epic.

“Yes,” no, “dear.”

“Oh good. Did you have fun last night?”

No. “Do we have any antiseptic wipes?”

“What for?”

“The infection that’s forming on my ass as we speak.” I said. “I don’t have rabies!”

That was questionable since I’d wondered the same thin g more than once.

“Just to curb the contamination honey.”

The sharp bite of her slap on my now red and bleeding ass robbed me of breath while she reprimanded my neuroticism. If only I could reach her neck…

“Did you like our BDSM?” Kate asked me warily.

“It was fantastic. I especially liked the part where you dislocated my nose and left me cold and naked on the floor.”

After last night, I didn’t want to ever hear that acronym again. Her palm circled my dick. One wrong move and she wouldn’t think twice a bout giving D.D a Chinese burn.

“Not that part, obviously. What. About. The. Rest.” Patience was not her first or last name, since each word was emphasized with abrupt strokes like she was de-skinning a chicken.

“I like the sex we have already. I don’t need to get all fancy.” I assured, guarding my balls as I casually slid from her grasp.

“Oh. Well I know it didn’t go that well, but we can practise later.” In light of the hour I rolled dramatically on my other side, evading

her glare and the hands of death.

“No Kate.” I said from the other side of the bed. I was taking a small stand since I was no longer within mauling distance.

“Fine.”

“Fine.” I parroted.

The dreaded fine that meant everything was the complete opposite of fine. I’d expected that since it wasn’t fucking fine with me either. I’ve been accustomed to women speak for three years. It took me ten to actually figure this kind of shit out, could she claim the same?

“Ok.”

“Ok then.” I finished and dug my head further under the pillow of safety.

There was good news and bad news. The good news was that Kate’s ok meant, ok for now since she’d run out of good retorts. My Ok meant, whatever, I win. The bad news was I had only 12 hours to prepare myself. Before I could smile, I was greeted by the ceiling when she rolled me onto my back and slung the pillow across the room. While being attacked by the killer claws, Kate’s warm mouth sucked my cock. Stunned that I’d miscalculated her vengeance, I strained my neck muscles trying to stem the effects of plush, silky wet lips swallowing my manhood one slow inch at a time. Striking a low blow, she did that thing with my balls in her palms, warming them up before smacking them lightly. Maybe I’ve been her bitch all along and I didn’t even know it. I’d anal yse that later on. I thrust upwards and decided I didn’t give a shit about anything as I rocked into her mouth.

I sunk further into the mindless ocean of insanity. Pleasure waves of lightning crawled across my skin igniting the slow burn of my orgasm before a freezing cold shock wave dragged me back to reality and the lesson I was supposed to be learning.

Kate smirked at me, and wiped her mouth before she climbed off the bed.

“What the fuck did you do that for?” I quizzed dragging the dry corners to the middle and rolling the quilt into a ball.

“Oh it’s only water, quit whining.” I wasn’t fucking whining, this was on a full scale, pissed off, one man army standoff.

“Why didn’t I think of that when I was buried between your legs last month?” Courage skirt ed the edges of my voice, interjecting a poisonous retort before it ebbed.

“We’re going to play BDSM again or I’ll never suck you like that again.” She promised.

One of the two people in a marriage is far better at bribing than their counterpart. That was the reason why some nuptials worked. I was down, but I wasn’t out.

“And if I see that book again, I won’t let you use my head as your own real live lick machine to grind on for hours.” I replied, easily faking politeness.

We had a minor staring match. For the first twelve seconds I could feel every dust mite feeding on my retinas until she caved first. Thank fuck, I was just about to go blind. Spinning on her heel, Kate headed for the master bathroom before she left silently for work.

*****

Five days passed in a blur of business fuck ups, tax crap and a school play before I realised Kate hadn’t actually spoken to me since our ‘I - won’ cunnilingus bribing contest. Granted, I hadn’t seen the book designed to make my life a misery either but messages or orders had been passed via Cassidy. An old saying popped into my head of how winning battles didn’t mean shit when it came to the war. Deep in thought I stroked my short stubble rapidly since it helped me think and relaxed back into the chair. Screechy bongs from the doorbell resonated up the stairs, jarring my body into the state of awareness it was avoiding. That thing needed a hammer like I needed an Advil. I stood up, closed the laptop and headed for bed. Fuck who was at the door.

Pulling my T-shirt and pants off, I slid between the cool sheets and buried my head in the pillows.

After another round of Bing Bongs, whoever it was bypassed knocking and opted for hammering on the door instead. A deep voiced roared through the letter slot, or the hole they had punched through the door. I couldn’t be sure.

“OPEN UP, THIS IS THE POLICE!”

Isn’t it funny when you hear the word ‘police’ you automatically scramble around looking guilty? After falling head first onto the wooden floor, my legs flopped forwards forming a perfect gymnast’s pose before I landed in a heap. I jumped up, forced the T-shirt over my body before realising my head wouldn’t fit through the arm hole. “I’m coming.” I said forcefully.

Another warning was issued as I righted my top. Was this about a parking ticket? Maybe something had happened to Cassidy!

“I’ll be right there,” I called back louder. Desperately, I ran out the bedroom and flew down the stairs, stopping by the hallway mirror to grab some coverage for my face. Just as I yanked the door open, I remembered I wasn’t wearing any pants.

“Are you a secret Kermit the Frog fan?” John leaned on the doorframe, choking on his own laughter. I hoped he would drop dead.

Coincidentally, Kate had neglected the laundry for the same amount of days she had ignored my existence, and this Christmas joke was the only clean pair left.

“What SB sums you up for $1000?” John clucked like the Jeopardy host.

“You are a sick bastard!” I spat as I shoved the front door. “Correct.” He congratulated, jamming his gia nt sized shoe over the

threshold before he barged it open and invited himself in. “I see your stalker skills aren’t improving. You are supposed to be

neither seen nor heard.”

“It didn’t pay well, so I turned to a brighter future as a professionally annoy ing fuck.”

“I guess I should be congratulating you on your promotion at MPAFOTP.” I retorted, flipping the coffee machine switch.

“What the hell is that?”

“Most Professionally Annoying Fuck on the Planet.” I revealed. John sat on the bench. “Fuck you as well. Got a beer?” “It’s nine O clock in the morning.” I said, grabbing an extra -large

mug.

“In La -La land, EST calls it 1 PM.

“Fuck, really?” I quizzed looking back at him. A white hot pain shot up my arm when scolding water poached my skin half-off. I skidded across the floor, thrust my hand under the tap and blasted the lobster red patches with freezing cold water.

“Do you normally answer the door in shades?” John asked calmly. “You should know, you knock on it too often. Hint hint, fuck off so I

can tend to my wound in peace.”

“Kate’s right, you are such a baby.”

“Beat’s being Macys he - bitch.” I spat venomously as my hand numbed.

“It has its benefits.” He agreed on a hissed breath.

“Why are you sitting like the Hunch Back of Notre Dame?” “No reason.”

He was lying. “Why are you here, again?”

Frowning, I noticed he was leaning to one side.

“Just came over to say hello, how’s it going. What happened the night I left? You know the usual.”

Narrowing my eyes at John, I shook the water excess water off my hand and closed the tap before I wrapped my frost bitten fist in a towel.

“Hi. Good. Nothing, bye!” Why’d he want to know about that night? Shifting clumsily, he folded a leg under his body as he nodded to

Kate’s Ray - Bans I’d mistakenly donned.

“New fashion statement to go with the Freddy Mercury jeans?” he mocked.

“Seeking fashion advice, John?” I asked, sarcastically. “When I want to look like Tom Cruises alter ego, I’ll cut off my legs

and follow your dress sense.” He nodded to my lack of pants and stretched out T-shirt.

“Maybe you need help in the personal department then. Can’t get it up?” I goaded.

He shuffled awkwardly in his seat, palming the bottle of beer he got for himself when my fingers were burning to death.

“Don’t be a dumbass; I have the best sex life.” He declared. “Mine’s better,” I countered childishly

His brows shot up. “So you get pussy more than twice a month now?”

“More than that,” I lied. Temporarily cast back to the past, I was that lanky spotty prick at high-school again. I shivered inwardly.

“Bullshit.” He called me out.

“I’m a master at BDSM. Don’t hate me.”

“You can’t be.”

“Yes I fucking can.” I argued.

“You can’t use the master’s title, since I already claimed it.” John said matter of factly.

“By whose standards?”

“Macy said as much.”

“Well Kate said I was, and she’s in the fashion industry. That trumps being a secretary to an un- funny, balding old fart.”

“You’re a year older,” John reminded me.