The Perfect Cherry

[ChokeCherry]

  Respect! I was searching my desk for the coffee to dump over his head.

[bodwen]

Thanks guys, you're the best.  Karma for you all.   

[bodwen]

  “So Christian Grey saved your life,” Shari said pouring herself a glass of wine as we sat on the couch in the suite.
  “That’s one way to look at it,” I said.  “Another is that he chased me into the street and nearly got me killed.”
Shari refilled my glass.  “Couldn’t you have reasoned with him?  I mean told him you’d think about it after he promised to publish my book?”
Oh, my God.  She was incorrigible.  “Look, Shari.  The man wants to put his fist in my butt.  I’m not sure how cavernous your pucker is, but mine isn’t even remotely fist size!”
  “Yeah, I can see how that would be a deal breaker.”  She sighed, “I guess we’re better off without him, huh?”
 When she looked up her big green eyes were filled with unshed tears.  She got up and reached for her coat and scarf.  “Thanks anyway.  I know you had to be a good sport for my sake, and I’m grateful.  But I guess it just wasn’t in the cards.”
  “Where are you going?” I asked, unsure she should be alone.
  “Don’t worry, I’m meeting Enrique at the theatre.  We have tickets to see the Lion King at 3:00.  I’ll be back later.”
  “Have fun,” I said.
  She twisted her face into a sad little smirk.
  I polished off the last of the Zinfandel and showered to recover from my myriad of Grey related ordeals.  Poor Shari.  I told myself not to feel guilty.  It's not my fault Grey was the way he was. And there was no way I was taking one for the team.
  I wrapped myself in a towel and went into the room to change.
  And saw Enrique snoring peacefully in Shari’s bed.
  For one clueless moment I considered waking him and telling him he’d be late for the show.  But then I did the math.  Shari was meeting Enrique, but Enrique was here.  Why would she tell such an obvious lie, unless she was about to do something desperate?  She said the play started at 3:00.   The clock on the nightstand said 2:58.
  I went back into the other room to retrieve my cellphone.
  Except, of course, it was gone from the end table.
  Oh no, Shari.
  No, no, no, no, no.
  I broke a land speed record changing back into my clothes and chased after her, wet hair and all, determine to grab my phone out of her hand and smack her upside the head for even thinking of keeping her appointment after everything I’d been through in the past 24 hours.  I quickly spotted her standing in a park at the middle of a small footbridge.  Staring down into the churning water with my phone press to her ear.  She had her back to me, so she couldn’t see me approach.
  Shari and I were finished as friends, the backstabber!  I didn’t need her--I had my part time job at Party City.  As soon as we got back to Washington State, I was going to take all my things and vacate my wing of her family’s palatial hilltop mansion, and live out of my beat up old Volkswagen for the rest of the semester. 
  Yeah, that would show her.
  I slowed as I approached the bridge, my hands curled into claws ready to wring her skinny little neck.  She was thanking him profusely for saving her (or rather my) life, the traitor.  After all we’d been through.  I couldn’t believe she’s sell out our friendship to some psycho-whackball like this! 
  But what she said next made me stop short.
  “I just wanted you to know I’ve seen enough.  I’m withdrawing my entry for the Next Big Thing contest. It was nice knowing you.”  She sighed sadly.  “No I'm not just kidding.  It’s not you.  It’s me.  We want very different things out of life.  If we were to have a physical relationship it would have to be in the confines of a church sanctioned marriage, lights out and strictly missionary.  And I want kids, at least five or six.  And we’ll live in a house I’ll decorate myself, with pastels and my ceramic doll collection.  And you’ll have to watch the kids on Friday nights so I can have my girl’s night with my friends, and I’ll expect you to hang out with my bookclub at the Olive Garden every Tuesday.  Would be willing to do that for me? I didn’t think so either.  So I guess this is goodbye then.”
  She hung up, but when she turned around her eyes were triumphant.
  “Like I said, Junior, watch and learn.  And if he doesn't leave you alone, start bragging about your relationship all over twitter and Facebook until he takes out a restraining order against you.”
  “You dropped out of the contest?”
  She shrugged.  “We’re a team.  If you’re out, that means I’m out too.  I’d be a pretty messed up friend if I put my silly dreams ahead of your safety.  There will be other contests.  The important thing is that Christian Grey won’t be harassing you ever again.”
*
  I wish she were right.  I wish I could say that was the end of it.  I wish I can say that we enjoyed the rest of our trip in peace, before we flew home.  And in fact I can say that since that was what happened. 
  But it certainly wasn’t the end of it.
  I’d settled back into my routine at Party City, straightening up a display that had been knocking over by a small pack out rowdy schoolchildren when my boss walked over to me.
  “Fannie, we’re getting hammered up front.  I’ll need you to open another register.”
  Hammered up front.  I wondered if there was language like that in Christian Grey’s contract.  I felt myself biting my lip and blushing.  I grabbed a cash drawer from the office and loaded it into the empty register.  Then screamed when Christian Grey materialized before me holding a basket.
  “That’s a fetching cap and apron you’re wearing.”
  “What they hell are you doing here?”
 He pressed his lips together in a smile raised one eyebrow.  “Such language, Miss Bentley.  And with children present.  I’ve half a mind to paddle your fanny…Fannie.”
  I nearly swallowed my tongue in terror upon hearing my own name come out of his mouth.  The gig was up, but how did he know?  Then I noticed his gray gaze was burrowing into my left breast.  Crap.  My nametag.  It bit my lip in terror of his impending wrath.
  “A charmingly Victorian name.  It suits you.  But I can see why you prefer to be called Cherry.”
  Phew.  I released my lip.  “Yeah, they call me Cherry because I blush a lot.”
  “Really?  I assumed it was because you’re virgo intacta.”
  I turned the color of a ripe tomato.  Fortunately, no one in line seemed to understand Latin.  “I’m not virgo inta—anyway, you still haven’t told me why you’re here.”
  “I’m here in Washington on business, and I have to pick up a costume for a party.”
  Right.  He just happened to be in my home town, and he just happened to wander into the party supply store I work in, purely by coincidence, to buy some cheesy plastic costume even though he’s a billionaire and could probably have one flown to him overnight from a museum in Venice, Italy.  I wasn’t buying it. But it did raise some disturbing questions.  Seeing as how he didn’t know my real name until a few seconds ago.
  “And how did you know I worked here?” I said in a stern voice.
At first he tried to look innocent, until I cocked one eyebrow and he smiled at his own cleverness.  “Remember when I put my number into your phone?  I also did a reverse 411 on your work number.”
  “You only had my phone for a few seconds.”
  “A few seconds is all I need.”
  I bit my lip to keep from laughing.  Apparently, that went over the heads of the people in the line as well.
  “You bite your lip a lot.  I wonder what it tastes like.”
  At that moment I had a horrible image of my escorting Mr. Grey out into the alley and him nuzzling my body and raining light kisses on my neck up against the dumpster filled with garbage from the In-And-Out next door.  “Oohhh, Cherry, you’re so dirty.  You know how I like it.  Oh, god.  Whatever you do, don’t take that apron off.”
  I shuddered and cleared my throat.  “As much as I’d love to stand here and chat until my shift ends, I have a job to do.  So if you’re not ready to be rung up, I’ll have to ask you to move from the line.”
  “Oh, no,” he said in a breathy whisper.  “I’m more than ready.  I just worry that what I have might be more than you can handle.”
  A few of the mothers started fanning their faces.  Oh, that part they understood.  I grabbed the basket from his hand and started scanning the items.  One vibrating light saber, four pairs of handcuffs, a pair of black rubber boots, a roll of duct tape, a can of processed cheese spread, and one Batman cape with mask.  As he took a hundred from his wallet, I held up the last item.
  “Um, Mr. Grey.  I think you grabbed the wrong package.”
  “Oh, did I?”  He said with one brow raised and his tongue flicking his front teeth so it came out in kind of a lisp.  I chose to ignore the goofy face he was making for no apparent reason.
  “This isn’t the full costume; it’s just the cape and mask.  You can’t have a costume party without a costume.”
  The corners of Mr. Grey’s mouth lifted in a faint smile.  “Right.  Send one of the stock boys to get me another costume.  After all what sort of party could I possibly have wearing only boots, a mask and a cloak?”
  The kind of party that the neighbors write about to Dear Abby after he brains himself by jumping off the dresser and missing the bed, while the damsel he has handcuffed naked to the bedposts has to scream for hours before they hear her cries and call for an ambulance.  You don’t have to be the Riddler to figure that one out.  In fact, the women in line were all twittering and one was openly humping her cart like a monkey.
  The stockboy went to the back, and Mr. Grey leaned closer.
  “I thought a lot about what you said.  About how you want commitment and a relationship.  I think I’d be willing to give it a try.”
I bit my lip to keep from screaming.  “Huh, what?  You want to marry me?”
  “No, but I am willing to compromise.  You let me tie you up, beat you with whips, and cram foreign objects into your orifi, and in exchange I’ll take you to a restaurant, introduce you to my family, and let you be seen in public with me every once in a while.”
  I turned bright scarlet and the line behind him erupted into shocked squeals.
  My hand shook as I snatched the hundred, rang him up, and hurled his purchases at him, in two seconds flat.  “Take your stuff and get out of here before I call the police.”
  “What about my Batman costume?” he asked slyly.
  “Forget it,” I called out the stock boy.  “I’m sure he’s got at least one rubber suit at home.”
  Grey stood there and smirked.
  “I mean it,” I screamed.  “Leave, or I’ll shoot you.”
  “Fine,” he said.  “Like I said, we’ll try this your way. For now.”
  I slumped over the counter and the stockboy came over.  “Are you ok, Fannie?”
  “Please check the parking lot and make sure his car's gone.”

[To Be Continued]

[eallen99]

  Brilliant as usual and I love that Party City sells processed cheese spread! 

[lexcade]

I'm trying SO HARD not to burst out laughing right now... (At work)

[bodwen]

  That night I told the story of Christian Grey’s ill-fated courtship over several pitchers of drinks at our favorite bar, The Steel Trap.  Shari was driving so she only had wine.  Lots and lots of wine, but  Shari was such a lush it might be dangerous for her to stop drinking by this point.  The others swilled down margaritas and eyed me with skepticism.
  “Christian Grey asked you be his girlfriend and you turned him down?” Shari’s critique partner Dava Kretz said.  “That’s a little hard to believe.”
  Dava was probably my least favorite person in the world.  She’d taken an instant and intense dislike to me on the day Shari introduced us.  If that were all that annoyed me about her it would be enough.  But that was nothing compared to the truly unfortunate things that come out of her mouth, typically directed towards me.  Let just say that if it were probable to throw a brick at someone’s head and not go to jail, I’d bring a wheelbarrow of them to every event I knew she’d be at.  But Dava’s cousin’s neighbor’s nephew is the guy who cleans Nora Robert’s pool, and as far as Shari’s concerned, that’s as good as a title of nobility.
  “What’s hard to believe, Dava?  That Christian Grey is after me?  Or that the feeling isn’t mutual?”
  “That the feeling isn’t mutual,” my childhood friend Peter Footlong chimed in.  “After all, the guy’s wealthy, good looking, and extremely famous in a good way.  I mean how bad could the sex possibly be?  Just close your eyes and wait five minutes for the nightmare to end.”
  I eyed Peter over my margarita and tried to frown at him.  He was a half breed: half Native American, half Greek God,  and he was looking incredibly hot as usual with his jet black hair, his skin tight tee-shirt, and his slightly upturned nose.  “Oh, really, and I suppose you’d sign a contract with Christian Grey letting him have kinky sex with you?”
  “What?  Me with Christian Grey?” Peter slammed down his drink.  “Hell yes!  I don’t even need a contract.  I’d let him beat me like a rented mule!  He wouldn’t even need to take me out to dinner.  In fact if he made me a peanut butter sandwich, you’d probably never get me to shut up about it.” 
  I smiled.  Good old Peter.  The two of us went way back to when our dads served as police officers on the Indian reservation.  I couldn’t remember a time when I didn’t have a huge crush on Peter, but as we grew older I was just plain old Fannie while he was both the captain of the chess club and the football team.  Smart, athletic, incredibly handsome, and the total package.  I’d always figured he’d end up with a girl like Shari, so I was totally baffled when he asked me to the prom during our senior year.  I even worked a double shift to buy a designer prom dress, instead wearing the one I was crafting from electric tape and Starburst wrappers.  But that night when he came to pick me up in a white limo, along with star quarterback Jasper Elliot, it quickly became apparent that I was merely a plus-one.  As was homecoming queen Shari, who until that night had been Jasper’s steady girlfriend.   The two of us sat around as Jasper and Peter spent half the night talking, before they both snuck off to the hotel room Shari’s father had rented for the occasion.  So Shari and I just sat around and drank and cried and drank and then walked to her place where we drank some more and then tore up all of the photos with Jasper in them.  That was the night that I discovered that for two girls with nothing in common, Shari and I had a lot in common after all.  Fortunately, our friendship with Peter survived this betrayal and his subsequent coming out, since an evening with Dava without having him for backup would have been more than I could bear. 
  Case in point:  A few minutes later, Peter had to dismiss himself from the table, feeling ill after pounding down his tenth margarita.  No sooner had he left, Dava started in on me.
  “Here is what I don’t get: why does Christian Grey even notice you?  You’re too pale, too skinny, too uncoordinated, your long list of faults goes on and on.  Meanwhile, he’s got his own private jet.  He’s made Forbes list of hottest billionaires under thirty, and he was Time magazine’s person of the year.  I’d expect a man like that to end up with someone beautiful, poised, and polished like Shari, maybe.  Not some klutzy, blue-collar, minimum wage earning, low class slob like you.  No offense.”
  “Dava, how could I possible not take offense at that?”
  “Right,” Shari said.  “Fannie is a total babe.  Christian Grey would be lucky to have her.”
  “Then how come we rarely see her with any guy other than Peter?”
  See what I mean?
  “Speaking of whom,” I scooted to get at the purse next to me.  “I wonder what’s taking him so long.”
   “He might have passed out in the men's room," Shari said.  "He was looking pretty green around the gills.”
  “Yeah, I’d better give him a call.” I said retrieving my phone to put an end to the Dava inquisition.  But as I looked at my phone, my blood went cold.

  CHRISTIAN GREY
  Elapsed time: 15:42:22

  “Crap!” I cried out, a second after I hit the power button.
  “What’s wrong?”  Shari asked.
  “I just butt-dialed Christian Grey.”
  Shari went as white as I was.  “I’m sure he didn’t hear anything through your purse.”
  “Even so,” I said.  “He thinks I just tried to call him.  He’s been on the line for fifteen minutes.”
  “You’d better call him back and explain before he goes hunting for you at your work again,” Shari said.
  I nodded and dialed his number.  “Hello, Christian?”
  “Cherry!" He screamed through the phone.  "Where are you?”
  “It’s ok.  I’m at a bar.  Funny story, I sat on my purse and I accidently--”
  “Oh, my god!  You’re in a bar?  Have you been drinking?  Are there any men there?”
  I didn’t even look around.  “Well, yeah.  It is a bar after all.”
  “Stay right there, Cherry!  I’m coming right over there to get you!  Which bar is it?”
  “That really isn’t necessary.  I’m just sitting here having a few drinks with my friends--”
  “What’s the name of the bar?”
  “Um, it’s just some bar that my friend Cherr-iette  brought me to.  I don’t know the name of it.”
 Dava snorted.  “You don’t know the name of the bar?  It’s the Steel Trap!  We come here all the time.”
  Shari and I stared at Dava in disbelief. 
  “The Steel Trap?  I’ll be there in two minutes.”  Christian yelled before he hung up.
  “He’ll be here in two minutes,” I informed Shari as we jumped up and grabbed our coats and purses.
  “You’re leaving?” Dava said.  “Wait, what about the check?”
  Shari smiled.  “We’ll get the next one.”
  “Yeah, thanks for the drinks, Dava.”  I said.  I’d only a second to admire her slack-jawed expression before we raced out the exit like Batman and Robin.  As we burst out into the clean night air, Shari rushed for her car, but I stopped short when I saw Peter leaning against the side of the building with his eyes twisted shut and his skin tinted an odd shade of chartreuse.
  “Leave him,” Shari screamed.
  “Wait, I think he’s really sick.  Peter?  Are you ok.  We have to go now.”
  Peter opened his eyes and shambled toward me, then opened his mouth and geyser of pinkish goo surged out, coating me from chin to toe.
  “Peter!  Oh, gross.”
  Shari took one look at me and gave me a twisted grin.  “Sorry Fannie, but there is no way I’m letting you in my car now.  See you later.”
  And with that she was off.
  Peter shambled toward me with a crumpled handkerchief. “I’m sho shorry, Fannie.  Let me clean thish up.”
  I let out a scream as he stumbled about while pushing into my face, then tried to wipe the front of my blouse.
  “Stop it.”
  “It’sh ok.  I’m getting it off.” I look down and noticed that his fumbling had undone most of the buttons on my blouse so that the black bra I wore underneath was exposed and my shirt was hanging off my shoulders.
  “Get off me, Peter.  I mean it!”  I beat his chest with my fists which only caused him to stumble more and pin me against a brick wall where he collapsed with his full weight against me.
  “I don’t feel well, Fannie.” He said and started snoring.
  I heard the grinding of gravel and the slamming of a car door and the next thing I knew, Peter was being pulled off me by Christian Grey.  Peter’s face lit up and he managed a weak smile in the two seconds before Christian Grey hauled off and punched him in the nose. 
  I screamed as Peter’s hand flew to his bloody nose but that wasn’t the end of it, since Christian Grey hit him again and again until he was on the ground and even then Christian Grey kept hitting him.
  “Stop!” I screamed and tried to pull Christian Grey off of my friend, but the man had the strength of a lunatic and shrugged me off easily.  I was afraid Peter might be seriously hurt or killed so I looked around and screamed for help.  My cries went unheeded so I launched a swift kick at Christian Grey’s butt to get his attention.  That it did.  His fist caught me in the chin and I went flying.  Head first in the brick wall where my skull connected with a solid thwack before I sank to the ground.
  I lay there on the ground staring up at the night sky.  The last thing I saw was Christian Grey's manically grinning face looking down at me before everything went black.

[To be continued]

[eallen99]

Oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy  Is it time for kinky, gross, gratuitious, violent...yet somehow romantic...SEX???
You know? The kind overworked middle-aged mommies fantasize about having with their decent yet boring husbands???

Hit me 

[bodwen]

You mean like this?

            

[bodwen]

And I mustn't forget her subconscience and inner goddess...


        

[lexcade]

i love you guys.

[eallen99]

You mean like this?

            

And THAT is lightyears HOTTER than anything Ms. James attempted to write!

I'm especially aroused by the pirate...

[bodwen]

Warning: the following scene contains elements that some rational people might find frightening or disturbing.  But not nearly as frighting or disturbing as the graphic depiction of a woman using an acquaintance's toothbrush without his knowledge or permission.  Reader discretion is advised.

***

  I woke up with a throbbing headache and turned over in bed to a stunning penthouse view of the Seattle Skyline at daybreak.  Obviously, I wasn’t in my bedroom.  I turned over onto my other side and saw Christian Grey lying next to me, his bare chest rising and falling gently in his sleep.
  My first thought: Crap, just how much did I have to drink last night?
  Then the memory of the events of the previous night flooded back to me.  I peeked at my lacy blue bra and panties under the covers.
  Good news:  I was wearing underwear.
  Bad news: It wasn’t the underwear I had on last night.
   Holy crap.  My heart leapt into my mouth and I look around for a weapon to defend myself from this crazed madman.  The closest thing was the table lamp, which I intended to bash him over the head with before I escaped.  I reached for it, only to discover it had been bolted to the nightstand.
  “Here, let me get that for you,” Christian Grey said in a sleepy voice and his chest hairs tickled my bare back as he rolled over me to switch on the light.
  Ever watch those cartoons where the character is so startled that it runs from a raised platform so fast its feet don’t even touch the ground?
  That was me running out the door. 
  Unfortunately, it turned out to be the door to the bathroom. 
  I locked myself in.  The bathroom was huge.  It was all dark-chocolate colored marble, live orchids, and gold plated plumbing fixtures.  It also had no windows.  Not that it mattered, seeing as how I was on the top floor.  There was no getting around it.  The only way out of here was past Christian Grey. Fortunately, I was pretty sure I hadn't been violated.  Yet. I sighed and continued my hunt for a weapon, or at least a robe to cover up with before I ran screaming for the lobby.  On the counter was Christian Grey’s toothbrush, the bristles still wet from its last usage.  I could only hope that was all he’d put in his mouth last night. 
  The inside of my mouth tasted like the bottom of a birdcage.  I wanted to clean my teeth.  I reached for his toothpaste and squirted some onto my finger and used that to scrub the inside of my mouth.  As I caught my refection in the mirror, I felt myself blush crimson.  Not only was I wearing lacy underwear, but my hair had been done up into curly pigtails tied up with blue ribbons.  Screw the weapon.  I was ready to kill Christian Grey with my bare hands.
  I flung a towel across my shoulders and flung open the door.  Fortunately my new underthings were fancy enough to be mistaken for a bikini from a distance, but I was prepared to flee in less if I had to.  Christian Grey was sitting up in bed reading the newspaper in his gray boxers.  At least he hadn’t been commando last night.
  “Where is the camera?” I asked.
  He looked up from the paper.  “What camera?”
  My face flushed crimson.  “Don’t play innocent with me.  You knocked me out and dressed me up in lingerie and pigtails.  Men only do things like that when there’s a camera involved.”
 Christian Grey smiled sheepishly.  “I like to chain women up and then style their hair when they’re helpless to stop me.  It’s kind of my thing.”
  “And you’re sure you’re not gay?”
  His gaze became obsidian.  “What did you just say?”
  “I asked if anything happened last night.”
  “Cherry, you were comatose.  When I have sex with a corpse I prefer it to be cold, stiff, and slightly pungent.”
  I bit my lip and glanced around for a weapon.
  “Gotcha.” He said.  “Tell me, Cherry, did you use my toothbrush?”
  “God no.  That’s gross.” 
  “You’re such a little girl.”  Then suddenly his face became grave.  "When you were nearly run over by the taxicab - and I was holding you and you were looking up at me - all kiss me, kiss me, Christian--"
  “That’s not how I remember it.”
 He ignored my interruption. "I felt I owed you an apology and a warning.  Cherry, I'm not a hearts and flowers kind of man, I don't do romance. My tastes are very singular. You should steer clear from me."
  “Sure.  No problem.  Bye.”  I said, and went to the door, which suddenly burst open and four guys wheeled a series of metal carts in.  “What’s this?”
  “Breakfast,” Christian Grey said.  “I didn’t know what you wanted so I ordered one of everything on the menu.”
In other words, he’d spent thousands of dollars telling room service to send up one of everything, forcing the harried kitchen staff, which are paid strictly by the hour and not the item by the way, to put everyone else’s breakfast on hold to fill this freakishly complex order so the hot stuff comes out hot and the cold stuff comes out cold, all to impress some girl who was only going to take four bites before they threw the rest of it away.
  What a douchebag.  I was too stunned to escape with the wait staff.  “How is it even possible you’re a billionaire?”
 Grey eyes bored into mine.  “Pardon?”
  "Look, I’m no Donald Trump myself, grant you, but it’s my understanding that people get to be billionaires through shrewd negotiations and careful wealth management.  You have got to be the least shrewd person I’ve ever met.  Every time I look at you you’re just frittering away your time and money on incredibly stupid stuff.  I’ve yet to see you do any real work.  So how it is possible you built up this massive empire all by yourself in less than a decade?”
  “You assume I get my money through legal means.”
  I slapped my forehead.  Oh, course.  Silly naïve Fannie, the guy probably ran slave rings on five continents.
  His eyes became steel as he approached.  "Cherry, if you were mine, you wouldn't be able to sit down for a week after the stunt you pulled yesterday. You didn't eat, you got drunk, you put yourself at risk.  I hate to think what could have happened to you."
  I scowled back at him. “You mean like getting conked out by some weirdo and stripped naked in a hotel room?”
  “You were coated in vomit.  I had to hose you off.  I didn’t even look.  I just dumped you into the tub and sprayed you with the nozzle, before I turned out the light and gently toweled you off as I undid the clasp of your bra, and slowly unwrapped your soft supple body…”
  Suddenly, he lunged at me, pushing me against the wall. "Screw the paperwork," he growled pinning both on my wrists in one hand in a vice-like grip above my head, and held me to the wall using his hips.  Holy s***! His other hand grabbed one of my pigtails and yanked it down, bringing my face up, and his lips were on mine. I tried to scream, giving his tongue an opening. He took full advantage as it snaked its way into my mouth.
  So I kneed him so hard that I wouldn’t be surprised if his nuts got lodged in his esophagus.  As he collapsed retching and teary-eyed to the floor I ran for the exit, pausing only briefly to accept a bundle from the bodyguard stationed outside the hotel door.  They were my things from the other night, my purse, shoes and freshly laundered clothing.  I reached into my purse and pulled out my phone and frantically dialed from the relative safety of the stairwell.
  “911.  What’s your emergency?” 

[lexcade]

I think this is less a parody and more "the SANE version of 50 Shades."

[eallen99]

Of course, I can't help but remember reading the chapter with the massive breakfast overkill and thinking she should've writtent he following dialogue:

"So, Miss Steel, the only thing I did not order for you were eggs. How do you like them?"
"Over easy...like me."

Yeah, cliche, but it would've been worth a chuckle.

[lexcade]

LOL or cracked, like she is. Or "unfertilized."