That fucking book had so much to answer for. She’d lost her husband, pissed off her kids and even her Mother had sided with Jeremy.
‘50 shades of Grey’ she mused, 50 shades of fucking shite more like.
She thought back. It was Sally who’d insisted she’d read it. It was because she’d been moaning to Sally about the lack of ‘yahoo’ in her sex-life. Jeremy was unadventurous, perfunctory and brief and she wasn’t getting any thrills, but to be fair, she was just as unaware of some of the, errrm, more daring moves that she’d read about in the book.
Then began the coffee-machine flirting with Steve. He was taller than Jeremy, and was a cheeky sod. He’d spotted the book poking out of the top of her handbag and had teased her incessantly about it ever since. He kept making outrageous suggestions but yet again it was Sally who’d egged her on. Sally had suggested that Steve might help her ‘blow away a few cobwebs’ and eventually she thought ‘fuck it, I’m going to call his bluff’. And she did.
Only Steve wasn’t bluffing. Steve was quite serious. Steve agreed to wine her, dine her, and then he ‘69ed’ her. And it was fan-bloody-tastic!
It was so good that she soon decided that Jeremy had to go. So she wrote him a ‘Dear Jeremy’, packed her bags and moved out. Mum gave her such a bollocking. It wasn’t leaving Jeremy so much, but leaving Stefan and Elisabeth was ‘unforgiveable’, and deep down she knew it was too, but she was having fun for the first time in, well, ever…
The handcuffs were too tight. The gag was uncomfortable and she couldn’t spit it out. The smell of sweat and rubber was making her feel quite sick but the gag was stopping her from doing anything.
She couldn’t move, couldn’t use their safe word, couldn’t scream, couldn’t even whimper and she was struggling to breathe.
And Steve wasn’t paying any bloody attention to her. He was no help. He was fucking dead on the fucking floor.
Dead. And she was trapped.
He’d tripped over one of the handcuffs and smacked his head on the sideboard on the way down. The trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth and the glassy sightless gaze told her all she needed to know.
So her predicament was looking serious – a dawning realisation that she might not make it through the night and would be found bound, chained and gagged in all her glory was an inglorious way to go…
50 shades of Grey. She harrumphed again. I wonder if they’ll carve that on my head stone?
Not the epitaph she’d have picked for herself.