Fitty of Pink: A Parody

by Faythe America

  Hell yeah! Where’s the magic carpet Aladdin?

  The ceiling sparkled like a freaking pink diamond! No wait! It WAS a pink diamond! HOLY FUCK? “Is that one diamond?”

  “Yes.”

  “No shit! I mean, total shit! I mean, you’ve blown the shit out of my mind! Isn’t that like the world’s biggest diamond?”

  Mr. Pink grinned and his dick gave his hand a high-five through his pants! Oh sweet Susan! “I’m the owner of many of the biggest things in the world.” He said, tone as cocky as his cock.

  “Oh my!”

  “Oh my what, babe?”

  “Are those My Lil Horsies? No fucking way! I used to play with these when I was a little girl.”

  Mr. Pink tilted his head. “Why did you stop?”

  “I don’t know. Turned 10. I mean, it’s not like you can play with My Lil Horsies for forever.”

  “Why not?” Mr. Pink demanded, his cheeks flushed.

  “Well…” My cheeks flushed too.

  “Why can’t you do what you want when you’re a grown man?” He bellowed, slamming his fist into the pink yarn carpet on the floor. “Why can’t you play with My Lil Horsies when you’re the most fucking successful billionaire on the planet? Why not? I have all the fucking money in the entire world! I should be able to do what I want!”

  “Dude,” I said. “That is so fucking right. Why can’t billionaires play with Ponies? Fuck!”

  His nostrils flared as his cheeks flushed again! Mine flushed too, right after his did! And we began a flushing war, one person’s cheeks flushing, and then the others, until both our faces were so red that steam was coming out the top like little red teapots!

  “You’re fucking right,” Mr. Pink said. He grabbed me and slammed me against the bedpost. The ridge of the post rubbed right against my ass. I moaned and pushed into it. “I’m so glad you understand. Fuck! You don’t know how hard it is to control myself around you, Miss Sterling.”

  He pushed me down onto the bed, his hands gripping my shoulders so tight that already I could feel them bruise.

  “Hey dude! That fucking hurts!” I yelled, slamming my fist into his neck. “Oh shit! Way too hard! Sorry!”

  Mr. Pink moaned and arched his back. “Again!”

  “What?” I frowned.

  “Do it again! Fuck! Again! Harder!”

  “What the hell is wrong, dude? Do you like have Tourette’s or something?”

  “The ball gag is in the end table next to the bed.”

  “Ball gag?”

  He licked his lips, looking down at me with untamed eagerness, as if he were 16 years old and having sex for the first time on his girlfriend’s couch while her parents were at church. “You’re mad that I used a pet name, aren’t you, baby? There, I did it again,” he whispered, leaning forward. “I’m such a bad boy. Tell me how bad I am and spank me!”

  “FUCK!” I yelled. This dude was messed up!

  I pushed him and he fell back on the bed. “That’s right!” He yelled, spreading his legs. He pulled down his pants. “Please, Mistress Sterling. Pick up the riding crop by the door and punish your bad little boy! Turn my ass cheeks fitty $hades of pink!”

  Chapter 11

  My cheeks turned fitty $hades of pink. (My face cheeks. Not my ass cheeks.) “What?” I whispered, backing up. Mr. Pink was still on the bed. Fucking humping the bed. That’s right. He doesn’t make love. He just humps hard. And apparently he must need to reupholster his furniture all the freaking time!

  Oh lordy me!

  “Remember the hard limits.” He licked his lips. “And no bowling on hump night, Mistress Sterling. The only strikes you’re gonna get are coming from me.”

  “What the freaking big-will(ow)y-style-fuck is going on here?” I looked up. “Is that a freaking disco light?”

  “I want the night to sparkle!” Mr. Pink declared, jumping on the bed and clapping his hands. “There’s a dildo in the bedside drawer, too. Want to ravage my ass?”

  There are some words that are repeated again and again and again in Romance novels.

  Seduction is a boring example. Surrender is a little sexier, but still pretty damn tame. And then there are the words that start with the letter right before S. Like racecar (which is almost never used in Romance novels), and rumble (which totally should be used in romance novels more. Let’s rumble in the bed sheets!)

  And ravage.

  Oh yes, ravage is quite a word. First, because it is a word, and second, because it is a saucy word. A word full of ingredients of meaning. Like fucking. Taking. Conquering. Penis shoving into the vagina super hardcore, until he squirts his man sauce into her apple pie, aka her baby making nightmare abyss of HELL!

  But that doesn’t matter. The point is, ravage is what dicks do to woman swamp holes.

  Ravage is not what a piece of plastic does to a billionaire’s ass.

  “Oh ungodly holy fire!” I whimpered.

  Mr. Pink frowned. Sat. Pulled up his pants. “Miss Sterling, I am going to ask you a question, and I want you to answer it honestly.”

  “Alright. Think I can do that.”

  “No, you do not think you can do it, you will do it.”

  “That too.”

  “Miss Sterling,” he punctuated each syllable like a Shakespearean actor, so spit was flying everywhere. I was glad his eight foot Rainbow Brilliant doll had the front seat and not me. “Did you read the nondisclosure agreement?”

  Hot diggity do-dad (ha-ha! You thought I was gonna say Hot DOG! Psych!) Freaky totally freaky-freaky-in-the-room-without-a-peeky fuck! “Uh…I didn’t. I mean, I was planning on…not reading it. But I was going to…think about what could be in it.”

  “What?” Mr. Pink gasped. He hadn’t finished his word before he started gasping, so he ended up choking and I gave him the Heimlich maneuver to save his life. Then, we got back in our positions, each of us on either side the #1 enemy of weatherman everywhere, our mediator Rainbow Brilliant.

  “Look. It was like long and stuff. Not quite as long as my history book, but fuck, I didn’t read that either!”

  “You should never sign something before you read it! Hell, before you get your lawyer’s opinion on it!”

  “Lawyer?” I laughed. “Fuck! I’m like, in my early twenties or something.” No idea how old I really was, because I hadn’t really planned that far ahead when I started this story. “How many people in their twenties have a fucking lawyer?”

  “I do!”

  “You’re not in your twenties. You’re like in your eighties and just got plastic surgery to look like you were in your twenties.”

  “WHAT?” Mr. Pink raged.

  “You have a lot of shit for a twenty year old.”

  “I have a lot of shit,” Mr. Pink rasped, “because I like my own things. I have a lot of shit because I’ve worked harder than everyone else to gain my position, so that no one can ever tell me what I want and do not want, what I can do and can’t do, again. That’s right, mommy!” He screamed, pointing an accusatory finger towards the sea of diamonds in the sky. “It is NOT my bedtime yet!”

  “Wow,” I whispered, my lips glistening with sweat. My sweat probably made my lips look like diamonds. Or maybe I should have said spittle, because why the flying fuck face-fuck would my lips be sweating at all, let alone that much? But then again, both are pretty fucking disgusting, so it probably would have been better if I hadn’t said anything at all.

  Mr. Pink shook his head back and forth, like he was looking both ways before crossing the street. Watch out for sk8 boarding ruffians, yo! “Now, are you honestly telling me that you did absolutely no research on Loving Female Authority?”

  “Huh?”

  Mr. Pink rolled his eyes. “Alright. Do you know anything at all about femdoms?”

  “Fem? Dom? Is that like a fermented dome banana from Iowa or something?”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  I squinted at him. Face-palm masterful fuck! Faythe wasn’t here to give me
cue card notes! If only she were here to tell me what to say! Then Mr. Pink might like me!

  Mr. Pink sighed and started to head bang as if he were listening to Striper. Fuck! Calm the tiger, manisupial! (That’s a man marsupial, in case that wasn’t clear.) You’re gonna freaking get whiplash!

  “Do you even know anything about sex?” It sounded like he was talking through a fan because he was still head banging like a motherfucker.

  “No. I’m still a virgin.”

  Mr. Pink spun around. “What?”

  “Never ‘done the nasty’.”

  “What?”

  “Never been porked.” Snort snort!

  “WHAT?”

  “Never been boned, man.”

  He grabbed my shoulders and shook me, shook me so hard, as if I were salt and pepper and he had some foul meat that was in desperate need of seasoning to cover up the rancid taste. “You’re untouched?”

  “Come on, dude! I bathe myself! I’ll go a week or a month sometimes without busting out the soap bar, if ya know what I mean, but come on, 21 years is a little too much, don’t you think?” Oh, so that’s how old I was!

  He picked me up and threw me down on my back. “No! No! You can’t be a virgin.”

  “Huh?”

  He bit his fist and looked around all paranoid, like a fish that was afraid it would be out of water. (Fishes do not like to play ‘Marco Polo’, especially when they are the only fish in the swimming pool.) “No. I must save you. I must…” His fingers dug into my shoulders. “I must rid you of your hymen!”

  “My hymen!” Oh goodness me!

  “Yes. That foul cage that traps your blissful woman fruit!”

  “Woman fruit? What does it taste like?” Hey! I told you there was a reason I brought up bananas earlier! That’s a bull’s-eye for the bull with a little circle around its eye! Ride me, rodeo clown! (Cowboys are so passé.)

  “Yes. I can’t feast upon it until your body is ready for me.”

  I looked at him. Really looked. Like, really hard and super close. Maybe I shouldn’t have looked so close. I mean, he was like the hottest guy in the world, right? Well, even the hottest guy in the world has a few flaws, and I was seeing them since we were in low lighting and our faces were super close. Like, he had a few blackheads on his nose and one of his eyelids closed a little further over his eye than the other eyelid. Oh I can’t believe it’s not not-buttery fuck! I mean, FUCK! I felt like such a bitch for bringing it up, but it was true.

  And then, a tear started to bud in my eye like a budding rose. Luckily, there are such things as thornless roses, because holy shit, it would have hurt super bad for a rose to be growing inside my eyeball.

  Sniff! Sniff! Does it smell like Old Sauce in here? Fuck, get some anal bleach, man!

  “I can’t!” I cried, throwing myself on the bed and dramatically pressing the back of my wrist to my forehead. Then, I cried again, throwing myself over a pink chair he had next to his vanity. Then I cried, thrice, and belly flopped onto the floor at his feet.

  “Why not?” Mr. Pink cried. He couldn’t stand anymore because his need for me was so great, so he decided to crush my ribs by slapping his junk on my face. And no, I’m not talking about his cock junk, I’m talking about his My lil Horsie parts, and they weren’t erotic! A stampede of pastel rainbow colored ponies leaped from the shelf he’d shipwrecked himself on (doesn’t that sound more dramatic than ‘threw himself on’?).

  I rolled on the floor, groaning.

  Mr. Pink saw his misplaced horsie friends and collapsed. “Why can’t you let me hump you dry?”

  “Dry? Dude, don’t hump your laundry!” What would a sassy middle-aged maid think? Well, unless he planned to hang up his wet clothes on his massive dick stick.

  Mr. Pink crouched over me, like a fallen angel crouching over a sinner who had died before the fallen angel could save the sinner’s soul, thereby condemning both himself (because he failed his one chance to regain God’s favor) and the sinner (for failing to be saved) to an eternity in Hell.

  But luckily that dramatic fate wasn’t in the cards for either of us. Even though my face flushed right again, which must be a world record for face-flushing or something, I wasn’t dead. And Mr. Pink was no angel.

  Not a dark man like him. With such a tight, white ass that he wanted me to turn fitty $hades of pink.

  Oh my double craps!

  I looked away. Oh, I wasn’t worthy! I would never be! “I can’t let you hump me! I’m not pretty enough.”

  “Miss Sterling, right now you could be the ugliest woman on the planet and I’d still want to fuck you because I have a raging boner.”

  I looked at him and wailed. “WAAAA! YOU THINK I’M FAT!”

  “What? When did I say that?”

  “You’d fuck me even if I was the ugliest girl!”

  “Well, yes, but that’s because I respect your beautiful mind! And I seriously want to fuck that sweet, tight cunt!”

  I pushed him away. Mr. Pink wasn’t next to me when I started to push, so I had to get up to push him, then I got back down on the floor.

  “Look, why would a delicate skunkweed like you think that you’re ugly?” He asked.

  Skunkweed? Damn his honeyed tongue! But I was not some butterfly that would blindly bind herself to any man who offered me sugar! “I’m just not hot and I know it, alright?” I mean, did I really have to relay my horrible experience at that ‘Hot or Not’ website?

  “Have you ever looked in a mirror?” Mr. Pink rasped.

  My blood responded to his husky, sexy, manly tone by scrubbing up and down like a dish woman’s washrag. I glanced at a rhinestone studded mirror in the corner and started to think about what I looked like.

  I wasn’t hideous. Alright, I looked pretty good, in that innocent girl cute kind of way. In that super model runway kind of way. In that way that every girl on the planet wants to look kind of way. But shit like that doesn’t mean shit if you have a Mary Sue complex!

  “Look, I don’t understand why I think I’m so ugly or unattractive. It’s almost like I’m a paper-thin character in a thinly plotted novel. It’s like, some author wanted to give me a problem but didn’t actually want to give me one so they gave me a fake problem, and all it does is make me look even more perfect than I already am! Because no one will love me unless I’m perfect! I have to be a drop-dead-gorgeous yet curiously-quirky virgin or else I won’t be worthy of being a manwhore stalker’s sex toy! And I can’t have interesting thoughts or else I’ll wonder why I’m wasting away my life waiting for that said, manipulative, creepy daddy-figure to realize that he wants me to be his trophy wife instead of doing something that I WANT TO DO!”

  “So, you agree you’re cute, right?” Mr. Pink asked.

  “Yes. But that still doesn’t explain why you like me.”

  He grinned. “You want to know?”

  “Yeah. I do.”

  “Really?”

  “Really!”

  He nodded. “It’s the way you bite your lip,” he said. “No other girl on the face of this earth bites her lip in that way.”

  “Um, what?”

  “I can read fifty thousand things into that single lip bite.”

  Was he on something? “Like what?”

  “Like, that you want me. Like, that you want me to bite it.”

  He leaned forward and took it between his lips, softly, far more softly than I did. Slowly, his tongue ran over it

  “And when I kiss that lip that has been so vigorously gnawed on, it’s rough, rough as sandpaper, such an erotic contrast to your smooth, silky tongue,” he said.

  My cunt clenched. Did he just make sand paper—sand paper on a girl’s—no, on MY lips—sound sexy?

  “With lips like sandpaper, how can you possibly stay away from me?” I asked.

  It sounded ridiculous, but Mr. Pink was seriously hardcore. “How can I is right. You could polish wood with those lips.”

  “Polish wood? Now that’s just ridiculous.” />
  “I wasn’t talking about wood from trees, sweetheart.”

  I took a step back. “What wood isn’t from trees?”

  He grinned at me, and my gaze followed his, to the tepee in his trousers.

  My heart stopped.

  “I think you finally got it,” he said. “How would you like to polish my wood, sweetheart?”

  My throat closed, as if it was already gagged by his…‘wood.’

  “I can handle a little bit of pain from you. You can rock me like Woodley tha Wood-Pecker.”

  Chapter 12

  More from the Interior Goddess…Ugh…

  Maggie’s voice echoes somewhere in the distance: Oh sweet Hannah Savannah! But before her hardcore bossy tones can be heard from all over the valley, another voice calls out!

  Hot Dogs: Hey, don’t forget about us! You used to make a hot dog reference like three times every freaking paragraph! Now you’re all ‘shit’ and ‘fuck’ and ‘crap.’ Aren’t you worried about how all the children who read this book are going to react to your potty mouth?

  Interior Goddess: Shut up you stupid Hot Dogs! I know your real plan! You’re trying to find the evil hot dog factory so you can inject yourselves with rabies so you can bite everyone who dares to eat another hot dog and turn them into zombie hot dogs!

  Hot Dogs: Ho! How did you find out our master plan?

  Interior Goddess: I knew you hot dogs were up to something! With all those “diggitys” and getting it on with corn!

  Hot Dogs: I’d like some mustard on that FUCK! Wait! No, it doesn’t matter! Because Maggie doesn’t know how to talk to her Interior Goddess!

  Interior Goddess: Wait! NOOO!!!!!

  Hot Dogs: *laugh as smoke rises from the forests of the night* Yes! Soon the world will be nothing but hot dogs! And then the burritos and the hamburgers, which look down on us now, will know the true taste of vengeance! Which is, by the way, the taste of pureed broccoli!

  Interior Goddess: *screams as her golden form is swallowed by the darkness of hell*