What a Nice Guy by Phil Torcivia

Thursday, June 14, 2012

Fifty Shades Effed - Chapter Five

Bea accepts my offer to cook dinner--stuffed artichokes and filet kabobs. When she arrives, I'm on my second glass of wine. I've left the sex toys in the plain paper bag between our place settings.

"What's in the bag?"
"Dessert, my love. No peeking!"
"You're no fun."
"Oh, just you wait."
"I'll go upstairs and freshen up. Be right back."

I continue cooking with wine, my unconventional way. Sure, I'm a little heavy on the garlic salt, but it makes everything better, as long as both lovers partake.

"Sweetie?"
"Yes."
"Can you come up here a minute?"
"Sure." Uh, oh. What did she find?

When I step into my master bath, she's wearing one of my button-downs and her lace undies, standing sideways in front of the full-length mirror.

"Look!" she glows, showing the first signs of a baby bump.
"Hm. I've got two words for you: salad bar."
"Hey."
"Light beer?"
"Stop it."
"Can you feel that lunch burrito kicking?"
"Ha, ha. Not yet. I'm just over four months, so this is about right. No more top buttons for me," she pouts.
"So cute. Can I take a picture and post it as little Pippino's first update on Facebook?"
"No, Gordon will not have a Facebook account until he is sixteen."
"Gordon?"
"You can call him Gordie."
"You can call him Pip."
"I have a suggestion: Let's settle this child-naming thing with a contest."
"I'm listening."
"A Sexual Olympics of sort," she offers.
"Ooh, I love a challenge. You're going down, woman."
"And so are you. The first event is the sideways sixty-nine sprint to orgasm."
"Huh?"
"The first one to bring the other to orgasm wins."
"Now?"
"Go turn off the stove and grill, and get your butt back up here."
"Italy shall have its first gold medal of this Olympiad," I tease, as I sprint downstairs and turn down the heat. "Dun, DUN-duh, dun dun DUN dun ..."
"That sounds more like 'Rocky' to me."
"Shut it."

I sneak into the Hustler bag and arm myself with the We-Vibe vibrator--dual sensation with penetration. I can't be defeated. Bea's already on the bed. I dive next to her and tickle her toes, then remove her undies as she frees Little Mormon from my jeans.

Lovergirl is quite skilled. At this angle, she's able to bury me deep into her throat. I run through baseball statistics to avoid the inevitable. I draw the alphabet and flip on the We-Vibe. Fuck! I must hurry ... I'm so close!

Once I have the vibrator in place, she gasps and squeezes my head tightly between her thighs. Ouch! She's the best chiropractor I ever met. I hear her muffled ecstasy.

"Oh ... my ... effing ... GOD!" she arches toward climax.
"Booyah, motherfucker," I beam with pride.

She let's loose a thunderous orgasm and finishes me off seconds later. Being the mature type, I do my touchdown dance around the bedroom with my glazed love eclair and purple weapon.

"What is that, and where did you get it?"
"This, Lovergirl, is yet another weapon in my arsenal. Make that Italy one, Canada nil," I bow. "Raise the flag, fuckers! Pippino must be so proud of his poppa."
"You've won the battle, Uncle M, not the war. Now, go finish my dinner."
"Yes, dear."

We laugh through dinner as Bea inspects the bag of badness. I've impressed my love, but I suspect she'll step up her game.

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