2: Fifty Shades Delivered
Part 2 of the thrilling new BDSM soap story...
I check my phone and look nervously at the clock. No message since an email first thing this morning when I was assured of my Fifty Shades already being in transit. Does this mean that there has been an accident? Is my preferred model - the perfect companion to my resident dishwasher - lying broken and rain-splattered in a ditch, already developing distressing signs of rust on the immobilising clamps? This time I want my Fifty properly trussed, secure from both internal and external damage. Oh, my Fifty Shades. I’ll look after you for the rest of your life if only you arrive safely in one piece.
I remember the all too brief encounter of yesterday morning and all the muscles below my waistline clench. Hard. Oh my. Such a deep delicious effect from the mere memory. How can I carry on if I never have the chance to caress that beautiful body again? Grey, sexy machine, what have you done to me? I am in a spin, entirely bewitched by you. Only a week ago I had no knowledge of your existence. Now there is the constant awareness of a certain hole in my kitchen unit that needs to be filled.
Where are you? I bite my lip, worrying the skin with my teeth. I said I’d wait for you but maybe I should have called the whole thing off while I still had the chance. I can’t keep going through this torment day after day. The suspense is surely going to make me combust. Call yourself a Christian? Text me, dammit! If you’ve stopped off for lunch at least have the common courtesy to let me know the extent of the delay. My thoughts are dark. I too have needs... I’m tempted to forego this torture in favour of some soft scoop vanilla, but opt instead for a calming cup of Twinings. The tea soothes the pangs temporarily.
Suddenly there is an alert and everything is happening at once. Tightly tied with plastic straps, coyly - but sensibly given the weather - clad in multiple layers of protective polythene, loaded onto a metal appliance trolley, roughly wheeled over the uneven gravel down the side of the house direct to the kitchen door and bumped up over the concrete step... Oh, we’ve been here before, and I’m so ready... This time I want to see you stripped and perfect before me. Please...
Bodies manoeuvre in practiced synchronisation. Then the prolonged torment of slow unwrapping, followed by the familiar crack of polystyrene breaking into a million pieces all over the floor... Oh yes! Despite the kinky fuckery of yesterday, today you are perfection personified and at last you are all mine. Is home ordering always this good? I wonder idly why anyone ever hits the High Street. Surely nothing could surpass the euphoric sensation of a slick direct delivery. My subconscious has a stern look on her face again. Oh go away. Don’t burst my happy bubble by reminding me that although intact on the outside, the inner workings could still be the stuff of nightmare.
Later, as my inner domestic goddess insists I tackle the pressing matter of a large pile of over-dry clothing left languishing all week while she sulked over the untimely departure of my previous sub(-standard laundry appliance), I cast surreptitious glances towards the utility area.
“I thought I’d lost you forever,” I murmur, as my damp pants steam against the board under the firm pressure of hot, hard iron. “Never leave me again!”
My somnolent Fifty Shades does not make a sound. We have not yet attempted to connect up the hose. My subconscious smiles indulgently whilst sneakily admiring such well-balanced and serene repose. It is enough to know that being factory tested there will surely be an immediate and gratifying response at the first flick of a switch. The plug is poised for that electric moment of initial turn on. I’m the one in control here, with detergent on hand, colours sorted, ready to choose my moment. The future for family laundry looks mighty fine from here. Frankly it’s a load off my mind. Fifty, if I’m really economical with the new Surf.
*
Coming soon! Look out for the last part of the trilogy, Fifty Shades Connected Turned On, in which, fingers firmly crossed, I test out the promised large load capacity. Plus perverse weather permitting, rediscover suspension by clothespins out of doors. But not before Sunday, because I'm off to London for the day with my daughter tomorrow. Laters... ;-)
I check my phone and look nervously at the clock. No message since an email first thing this morning when I was assured of my Fifty Shades already being in transit. Does this mean that there has been an accident? Is my preferred model - the perfect companion to my resident dishwasher - lying broken and rain-splattered in a ditch, already developing distressing signs of rust on the immobilising clamps? This time I want my Fifty properly trussed, secure from both internal and external damage. Oh, my Fifty Shades. I’ll look after you for the rest of your life if only you arrive safely in one piece.
I remember the all too brief encounter of yesterday morning and all the muscles below my waistline clench. Hard. Oh my. Such a deep delicious effect from the mere memory. How can I carry on if I never have the chance to caress that beautiful body again? Grey, sexy machine, what have you done to me? I am in a spin, entirely bewitched by you. Only a week ago I had no knowledge of your existence. Now there is the constant awareness of a certain hole in my kitchen unit that needs to be filled.
Where are you? I bite my lip, worrying the skin with my teeth. I said I’d wait for you but maybe I should have called the whole thing off while I still had the chance. I can’t keep going through this torment day after day. The suspense is surely going to make me combust. Call yourself a Christian? Text me, dammit! If you’ve stopped off for lunch at least have the common courtesy to let me know the extent of the delay. My thoughts are dark. I too have needs... I’m tempted to forego this torture in favour of some soft scoop vanilla, but opt instead for a calming cup of Twinings. The tea soothes the pangs temporarily.
Suddenly there is an alert and everything is happening at once. Tightly tied with plastic straps, coyly - but sensibly given the weather - clad in multiple layers of protective polythene, loaded onto a metal appliance trolley, roughly wheeled over the uneven gravel down the side of the house direct to the kitchen door and bumped up over the concrete step... Oh, we’ve been here before, and I’m so ready... This time I want to see you stripped and perfect before me. Please...
Bodies manoeuvre in practiced synchronisation. Then the prolonged torment of slow unwrapping, followed by the familiar crack of polystyrene breaking into a million pieces all over the floor... Oh yes! Despite the kinky fuckery of yesterday, today you are perfection personified and at last you are all mine. Is home ordering always this good? I wonder idly why anyone ever hits the High Street. Surely nothing could surpass the euphoric sensation of a slick direct delivery. My subconscious has a stern look on her face again. Oh go away. Don’t burst my happy bubble by reminding me that although intact on the outside, the inner workings could still be the stuff of nightmare.
Later, as my inner domestic goddess insists I tackle the pressing matter of a large pile of over-dry clothing left languishing all week while she sulked over the untimely departure of my previous sub(-standard laundry appliance), I cast surreptitious glances towards the utility area.
“I thought I’d lost you forever,” I murmur, as my damp pants steam against the board under the firm pressure of hot, hard iron. “Never leave me again!”
My somnolent Fifty Shades does not make a sound. We have not yet attempted to connect up the hose. My subconscious smiles indulgently whilst sneakily admiring such well-balanced and serene repose. It is enough to know that being factory tested there will surely be an immediate and gratifying response at the first flick of a switch. The plug is poised for that electric moment of initial turn on. I’m the one in control here, with detergent on hand, colours sorted, ready to choose my moment. The future for family laundry looks mighty fine from here. Frankly it’s a load off my mind. Fifty, if I’m really economical with the new Surf.
*
Coming soon! Look out for the last part of the trilogy, Fifty Shades Connected Turned On, in which, fingers firmly crossed, I test out the promised large load capacity. Plus perverse weather permitting, rediscover suspension by clothespins out of doors. But not before Sunday, because I'm off to London for the day with my daughter tomorrow. Laters... ;-)