Fitty of Pink: A Parody

by Faythe America

  FITTY $HADES OF PINK, A PARODY

  By Faythe America

  Copyright © 2012 Faythe America, all rights reserved.

  Cover Stock © wimdemo — SXC

  Fonts (Cardo and Evilz) from http://www.fontsquirrel.com/

  http://faytheamerica.com

  Click here to subscribe to Faythe America’s New Release List. Faythe will only send you an email when she has a new book out. You will be able to unsubscribe at any time.

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters, products, trademarks, places, and situations are either a figment of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. This parody has been made without the author E. L. James’ permission. E. L. James does not endorse this book unless otherwise specified. No assosication between Faythe America and E. L. James is expressed or implied, and the parody Fitty Shades of Pink should in no way be regarded as affecting the validity of E. L. James’ art.

  Prologue

  Pink. It’s the color of innocence, or at least that’s what you’re supposed to believe. Little girls wear pink dresses with pink frills, play with pink dolls, and eat cupcakes adorned with pink frosting and sparkles. I know because I was once one of those little girls. I thought that pink is the color of fairy tales and saccharine dreams.

  I was wrong.

  Pink is really the color of salvation and sin. Of pain and ecstasy.

  It’s the name of the man who would introduce me to a world I’d never dreamed possible.

  A world you can never leave once you’ve tasted its forbidden pleasures.

  Even if staying destroys you.

  Chapter 1

  Mr. Pink’s tower stood erect in the center of the city, as pink as his namesake. According to the rumors, it was so freaking huge that you could see it from space. A year ago, some upstart named Monsieur Gris had tried to build a bigger skyscraper. Mr. Pink did not let that challenge stand…unchallenged. Immediately, he organized his cabal of underpaid Mexican immigrants to make his skyscraper bigger. Better. Meatier.

  Well, Monsieur Gris’ puny tower took one look at Mr. Pink’s epic size and crumbled to the ground. All that was left of the conquered man’s valiant efforts was the skeleton of a building, a sea of noxious ash, and one man’s broken dream. Yeah, that’s right; Mr. Pink ate shit like that for breakfast. He then bought the pile of rubble and left it in its pathetic state to warn any who might dare to try to cockblock him again.

  A shiver shot through me. Damn, the man was ruthless! But you couldn’t fault his business acumen, or his charitable nature. He let poor kids play at the building site. Well, after they’d received tetanus shots, of course, and signed a waiver stating that Mr. Pink was not liable for any damage their little bodies might sustain while monkey-baring up 300 feet of rusty metal that could collapse at any moment.

  Fuck! Shit fuck! Collapse like me! Lordy, I’d been stuck in his teak and gold elevator for like fifteen minutes or something. I rolled my shoulders. Ugh! Charlie Horse! Even my ankles were cramping from standing so long. I mean, it took forever to get to the top, because again, you could see this shit from space. But the fact that he was willing to inconvenience everyone who wanted to talk to him, and himself every day when he went to work, was just proof of how this guy was the shit.

  The elevator dinged and the doors slid open.

  I screamed.

  Sitting in front of me, at the pink desk in front of a lush, pink carpet, dressed in a revealing pink business suit, was some chick with the most glorious tits I’d ever seen. A little light pink lace peeked out around her cleavage. It made her look almost innocent, although this woman couldn’t possibly be innocent. Because she wore a unicorn mask over her head.

  The white horse mask stretched all the way down to her neck. Varying shades of pink hair sprouted from the mane. The horn was gold and…Fuck! I thought as I took a closer look. It had a freaking 14 karat stamp on it! That was a real gold horn!

  Holy Macaroni!

  “You must be Mr. Pink’s two o’clock.”

  “Um, what?”

  Unicorn Secretary groaned as she handed me a pink form. At the bottom of the form was a black rose.

  Black rose? My heart skipped a beat. Who would have thought Mr. Pink was so deep? I mean, it was a flower, but it was black. Flowers weren’t black. They were pretty colors. And his name was pink. Why was the rose the single black thing? What did it mean????

  But before I could ponder this longer, Unicorn Secretary interrupted my thoughts. “Fill this out. He’ll see you in a few minutes.”

  I leaned over and accepted the pen she handed me. It was carpeted in pink feathers, and had pink, feathery sparkles sprouting from the top. Damn, Mr. Pink was classy.

  I looked down at the form.

  “Oh, and make sure to sign here.” Unicorn Secretary nodded her head, slapping the bottom part of the form with her horn.

  I frowned. What was my favorite food? What was my favorite color? Did I like hot dogs? What was up with these questions? “Well, I will sign when I get to that part—”

  “No! Now!” Unicorn Secretary neighed.

  “Lady, look—”

  Her chair clattered to the floor as she reared. She whinnied and slapped her horn down on the page again.

  Wowsers!

  “Okay, okay,” I yelled, signing my name. My hand shook because her freaking horn was out of control, and it kept bonking my hand as she chanted: sign! sign! sign! Holy mother of shit-faced Christ, this bitch was crazy! “There!” I yelled! “I did what you asked! Are you happy!?”

  She sat down, shook her head once, and folded her hands on the top of the desk. “Alright, Mr. Pink will see you now.”

  A shiver shot through my entire body.

  The pink feathers on the pink quill seemed to quiver from the breeze—i.e. the air conditioner blasting fucking freezing air from the corner.

  Fuck! I mean, super fuck! Why did I feel like I’d just signed away my fate?

  “Through those doors,” Unicorn Secretary said.

  I nodded and opened them, but nothing in my 21 years on this planet could prepare me for what I discovered inside.

  Chapter 2

  I ran my hands over my arms as I stepped into the room. It was cold. Ruthlessly, passionately cold. But not as ruthless, or passionate, or cold as the man seated before me in the pink leather chair.

  It was said that the hearts of most women stopped for a second when they first laid eyes on Mr. Pink. Some women’s hearts even stopped completely. He had a face that could kill. A face a woman would die for.

  My left arm went numb. A searing pain shot through my chest as if I’d been stabbed. This dude gave heart breaker a whole new meaning!

  He was ruggedly handsome, yet as lithe and graceful as David. The devastatingly sharp angles of his face were softened by his quirky, upturned lips. And those eyes…hot diggity damn! His eyes bore into me, as if he could see the deepest, darkest secrets of my soul.

  Ha! Too bad I don’t have any deep, dark secrets, dude! There’s nothing going on upstairs at all!

  “Miss America?”

  Double fuck! His voice was so hot! Like a roid raging The Bat-Man. I began to claw at my chest, and buttons popped off like a machine gun fire.

  “Miss America?” He repeated.

  “Ughhhh!” I moaned, shutting my eyes. Good thing I’d come prepared by wearing three shirts! Ha again! So many girls started stripping once they saw Mr. Pink that I’d decided to come prepared! I ripped off my top shirt and gave it a few victory waves around my head before tossing it off to the side.

  It was also said that most girls fainted when they saw Mr. Pink.

  Well, I wasn’t like most girls. I didn’t f
aint.

  Instead, I belly flopped onto the floor.

  The pink rug was cushy, but my head still pounded as my chin slammed into the ground. Triple whammy fuck! The papers containing my interview questions floated around me. Quadruple whammy fuck fest!

  “Miss America, are you alright?” He sounded bored. I guess he was used to women hemorrhaging in front of him.

  My arms kept giving out each time I tried to sit up, as if I were a car whose battery had died, and my brain kept stabbing the key into the ignition, swearing and screaming and hoping to God someone with car jacks would stop and get her running again.

  Did Mr. Pink have car jacks?

  No wait! I couldn’t ask him! Then he’d know what affect he had on me!

  I leaped up, put my hand on my hip, smiled, and said: “Nice rug you got there,” like I’d planned the whole thing.

  He frowned.

  Ha! Totally fooled him! Good one! Then I snickered, because nothing is more awesome than laughing at your own jokes.

  “Are you alright, Miss America?”

  “Oh yeah, dude…” I trailed off. Something was wrong. But what is it?

  “Would you like a seat, Miss America?”

  A little light bulb turned on inside my head. Literally. Because that’s totally anatomically possible. Oh, the irony. Wait, why did that light bulb turn on again? Oh yeah! I just remembered! “Hey, I am not Miss America!”

  “Oh?” He raised his brow. “And who might you be, then?”

  “I might be Maggie. I mean, not might be. That’s my name and stuff.”

  “Maggie,” he repeated, with a quirk of his lips.

  “Yeah. Maggie Sterling. As in silver.” I cocked out my hip to show my attitude, then leaned over shuffled the papers but did not pick them up. “Faythe is sick. She was totally gross and crusty this morning. Puked everywhere like it was Niagara Falls.”

  Mr. Pink’s face turned green. “Excuse me?”

  “Anyways, she gave me the questions. I’m just gonna rattle them off and tape them for her, is that alright?”

  “That’s fine,” he said. “You know, I don’t usually allow these sorts of things to be taped.”

  “Oh? Well, thanks, I guess.”

  “I’m making an exception for you,” he said after a dramatic pause.

  “Cool-e-o.” I decided that I’d shuffled the papers enough so I fumbled them for a few moments. Then, after I’d given myself my tenth paper cut, I decided to pick them up. They were all out of order, but what did I care?

  I stood, and then grimaced. Fuckery! What was wrong with me today? Immediately, I looked at the mirror hanging conveniently on his wall, because I realized I hadn’t described my physical appearance yet.

  Ugh! I almost cried out when I saw my face!

  My lips were too pouty. My eyes too large and far apart. Also, way too blue, like a perfect, cloudless summer day. My skin too porcelain. My head too heart-shaped. And that nose! Ugh! Cute as a freaking button!

  I looked away in disgust, shaking my wavy, brown hair that refused to be tamed. Silky, sexy tendrils flopped over my face and breasts. Burning shit on the sidewalk! Why were my breasts so damn perky? What did they have to be so happy about? It wasn’t their fucking birthday. And why did they have to bounce around when I walked and stuff?

  I glanced over at Mr. Pink.

  Now that I no longer suffered from heart palpations, I could take in my surroundings. Everything in the room was the palest shade of pink, save for him. He was dressed in vibrant, mesmerizing pink. And yeah, he totally rocked the salmon shirt. Hot diggity dog, he was the hottest thing I’d ever seen.

  “Are you ready, Miss Sterling?”

  Light streamed through the double windows, casting his body in black. He looked like the devil incarnate himself. As if on cue, two doves flew from the window behind him. Then two crows, cawing. Then, a bald eagle soared past.

  Wowsers! Mr. Pink was nothing if not an American. And he knew how to rock a salmon shirt!

  But seriously, I couldn’t let his patriotism or his sexiness distract me. Black rose! Doves! Crows! It was like the universe was trying to tell me something through clichéd biblical imagery! But what did it mean? And why was none of it pink?

  “Miss Sterling, you have done nothing but stare at me for the past three minutes.”

  Oh fuck! “Oh, uh…”

  He lowered his voice. “Do you have things on your mind other than our interview?”

  “No, of course not. I’m super dependable, and a real-time thinker.” Yeah! I remembered to use a big word! And even added something else that sounded super good. I cleared my throat and read off the first question on the page. “Have you ever been with a man?”

  “What?”

  My eyes went wide. Was that really the question? Oh my! Dearest me! “I mean, have you ever done a business deal with a man before. You know, not sexual stuff but like, business stuff…” I babbled.

  He frowned. “Yes. I’ve done business deals with men before.”

  I swallowed. “Oh really? Wow. How did they go?”

  “Depends on the deal and who I was working with.”

  “Oh, that’s nice,” I whispered. Time for a new question. I wet my lips as I started the next. “Have you ever checked out a guy’s ass?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  I looked down at the paper. Was that really what was written? “I mean…” I fumbled. The papers fell to the floor. Again. Oh God, what if he read what was on them? There was only one thing I could do!

  I jumped up on my chair.

  Mr. Pink’s eyes bugged out of his head. “Miss Sterling!”

  Paying him no heed, I swan dove over the papers. Once I hit, I started doing the butterfly, because even though it’s not the most graceful swim stroke, it sure sounds pretty.

  “Miss Sterling?” He asked, obviously worried he’d allowed a crazy woman into his office.

  I had to think of something fast! “That’s not what I mean. I mean. That’s not it. I mean,”

  “Yes?”

  “I mean, you have a nice ass,” I said.

  Worst. Cover. Up. Ever.

  “You think I have a nice ass?” He repeated slowly.

  “Uh, yeah.” I whispered to the carpet.

  “I’m surprised, Miss Sterling.”

  Oh, the fact that he was surprised totally didn’t surprise me.

  “Look, I’m not normally like this,” I said, shooting up. I grabbed the questions in a wad and stuffed them behind my back.

  He touched his lips. “Oh? That’s a bit disappointing.” Before I could make sense of that, he continued. “That’s not what I was surprised by, though, Miss Sterling.”

  “Oh, then what was it?”

  “It was that you haven’t seen my ass yet.”

  I felt all the blood drain out of my face. “What?”

  “I mean, you haven’t seen my ass yet. I’ve been sitting down this entire time.” He tilted his head to the side. “Unless, of course, you’ve seen it before at some point.”

  “No, I’ve never seen anyone like you. I’d remember if I did.”

  “Of course you would.” He smiled, as if he was sharing a secret with me. “So, is that why you were on the floor?”

  “Is what why?”

  “So you could get a better look.”

  I had a sinking feeling I didn’t like where this was going. “A better look?” I choked.

  “Yes. A better look at my ass.”

  At that moment, I died a little. And not the kind of “little death” that the French talk about in their orgasms. I mean fifty tons of steel dropped on my head. Fifty tigers ripped my body to shreds. Fifty feathers tickled my remains, giving me, in my last moments, fifty kinds of agony.

  And I think, right at that second, that my cheeks turned fitty $hades of pink.

  Goodness gracious! I had to stop this! But I couldn’t think of how to reverse the situation with my mind powers. So I reached for a paper and read the first ques
tion I saw. “Have you ever been gagged?”

  I should really know better than to keep reading stuff off this list of questions. Stupid, stupid! But I didn’t know what to say!

  He leans back, expression thoughtful. “Why? Do you want to gag me, Maggie?”

  “No,” I squeaked.

  “These are oddly specific questions.”

  “Well, you know Faythe,” I said, then realized he actually didn’t know Faythe. “Well,” I began again, “she has specific interests.”

  “I’d feel more comfortable answering these questions if I knew they wouldn’t be appearing in your friend’s thesis paper.” He leaned forward, eyes locking on mine in challenge. “In fact, I think it’s a little odd that a her thesis would require me to comment on my own ass.”

  “Oh,” I murmured. That was kind of weird.

  Still…it’s probably a nice ass…

  “If you want, we could go someplace private and discuss a few things…off the record.”

  “That isn’t necessary!” I blurted out, suddenly hot. Hell, who was I kidding? I’d been hot since this interview started. “I mean, I’m sure she meant had you ever been gagged on something like a legal document.”

  “No one has ever thrust legal documents down my throat before.”

  “Metaphorical legal document!” I said. “No, wait, metaphorical gagging. Like, you know. A simile or some shit. Like, your eagerness to write up this legal document was like a dog gagging on his treats.”

  “I have to admit I’m extremely confused, Maggie.”

  “So am I! And I’m the one who has to live inside this brain!”

  He raised a brow. “Touché.”

  I blew air out my mouth. “Indeed.” Alright. Time to get sophisticated. Otherwise he’d think I was a freak! Aha! There was one that sounded pretty damn smarto. “Have you ever teabagged someone?”

  He blanched.

  I looked at the teapot in between us. “I guess I can put that down as a yes. I really like tea too, you know, and sometimes you do have to dip the bag up and down in the pot to get all the flavor out…”

  “No, wait Miss—”

  “It’s alright. I like tea more than coffee too.” I winked. “I’ll never tell.”