Pink Is the New Black

Author's note: this may possibly be sarcastic. Do not keep reading if fluffy pink Femdom BDSM offends you. Or do. It's not my fault.

—

Marylyn sat sprawled out on the couch, a bowl of popcorn at her side and her pink fuzzy slippers wrapped around her pink, fuzzy toes which were pink and fuzzy thanks to the overwhelmingly impressive work of her manicurist, who'd done an excellent job on her toes and her fingers, which were slightly less fuzzy by now due to the addition of popcorn to the equation. In fact, her fingers were slightly sticky with butter and sugar, and she held out her hand.

"Richard!" she hollered.

Richard stumbled into the room, tripping over his leather dangling cuffs, chains, and various assorted D-rings of various and unmentionable sizes.

"What, goddess whom I am not fit to... oh what the fuck," he grumbled, sitting down beside her and taking her hand. "Hey, Mary."

"Hi, dear."

"What's the matter, goddess of the couch."

Marylyn giggled a little bit and shifted over, giving him room on the (understandably pink) couch. "My fingers are sticky. Fix this for me."

"Depends," Richard said dubiously, giving her hands a little bit of a look. She tugged on his (also understandably pink) collar and with a sigh, Richard went down on his knees and took her fingers in his hands, licking them off one by one. Marylyn giggled a bit more, but let him go to work on her freshly manicured hands. If they were fuzzy before, they were not fuzzy by the time he was done with them.

She stared ruefully at the brilliantly pink chick flick before her. "I'm bored," she declared, kicking off her slippers. "On your knees, miserable peon of mine!"

"Already am, goddess of the couch."

"Bugger! Well. Here, massage my feet."

Richard sat down beside her feet and took them in his hardened hands, gently exploring them with his fingertips. "You got your nails done."

"Yep!"

"Pink and fuzzy, I see."

"Yep!"

"I am ever grateful that you haven't thought to paint my nails."

"Oh, hey, that's a good idea!"

"It is most definitely not a good idea." He gently kissed her feet. "Tell you what, I'll go get a facecloth for your hands."

"That would indeed be more practical," she declared, and waved a hand for him. He got up, adjusting his collar and his cuffs and his arm cuffs and his armpit cuffs and his shoulder cuffs and his elbow shackles and his sparkly pink neck adornment as well as his slightly interesting hat of consideration, and headed over to the kitchen.

"The facecloths are in the linen closet!" she yelled.

"Not after I did the laundry, goddess of the couch!"

She made a face that could only be described as something along the lines of a capital D with a glare. Richard, however, returned with a dish cloth (pink) soaked in warm water and cleaned off her hands, which subdued her anger, but not entirely. "This is a dish cloth."

"Is there a difference?"

"Well, yes. You're washing my goddessfulnessy hands with a cloth intended for the washing of miserable, lowly dishes."

"Oh." Richard considered this. "It still got them clean."

"Yes, well."

He tossed the cloth onto the table.

"I might have to punish you for that," she speculated aloud.

"You're already watching very loud My Little Pony reruns. That is a punishment not fit for a dog."

"This is not My Little Pony!" Marylyn protested.

"To be fair," Richard admitted, "I wasn't paying all that much attention to what was on. I was paying attention to your, uh, goddessfulnessy hands. And feet. And possibly breasts."

"My Little Pony is for two year old girls! Even our children are older than that!"

"And definitely breasts."

"Our children are in college!"

"Definitely the breasts," Richard said cheerfully, sitting down beside her and putting an arm over her shoulder. "So, my dear goddess of the couch, have I ever told you how beautiful I think you are?"

"Many times. Wax poetic for me, baby."

"Your, uh, eyes are like the moon, and um... refrigerator?"

"Harder! Or I'll poetic wax on your back!"

"Soft, what light through yonder window breaks! It is the east, and not the west, for couch goddess is the sun!"

Marylyn may have facepalmed at that point. Richard didn't notice because he was too busy laughing his ass off. He sank into the couch, chuckling heartily. "I'm not a poet, my dear. I'm afraid I'm limited to stealing lines from greeting cards and Shakespeare, which is not worthy of your incredible goddessfulness."

She considered this for a moment. "Well, all right. Fine. I'll take that as an apology, unworthy human scum not worthy of licking the popcorn from my feet." She tossed a piece of popcorn at his face.

"There is no popcorn on your feet."

"I could put it there."

He snatched the bowl away from her. "Please don't. It would be a terrible waste of popco—uhh—" Richard plucked a piece of popcorn from the bowl, put it on her foot and ate it off under the disarmingly withering heated scowl she inflicted upon his brow. "I mean, anything for you, my dear goddess, let me do it for you, oh my, what beautiful feet you have."

"The better to crush you with, my dear."

He smiled and got back up. "Can we just share the popcorn, dear?"

"Sure." She took a handful. "But I'm still going to punish you for the facecloth deal."

"The not-facecloth, you mean."

"Yes, scum." She leaned over, resting her head on his shoulder with a sigh. "I'm just trying to think of a fitting punishment."

"I already did the laundry."

"I know, that's why I'm thinking."

"I was naked."

"Oh, really? And I missed this?"

"I suppose."

"Hm."

They shared a happy quiet moment, ruined only by the chick flick ending. Marylyn popped another piece of sugary popcorn into her mouth and cleaned off her fingers with the facecloth.

"My pussy needs licking!" she declared, tossing the cloth back down.

"That's not a punishment!" Richard complained.

"I know!" She grinned at him.

Richard gave a heavy, dramatic, definitely over the top sigh and swept aside the fluffy entrance to her nether regions. His eyes narrowed slightly. "...Did you dye your pubic hair pink?"

"Maaaaybe?"

"No..." Richard reached out and parted her pussy lips. "I think this is a definitely, dear."

"Yes, well... maybe."

"Yes, dear."

Eventually, Marylyn came, squirting all over the place. "Argh. Get something to clean this up." She paused for a moment as he got up, and then added as he reached over, "not the dish cloth!"

[fin]