That would best describe both Fran’s mental and vaginal states as she loped, somewhat kangaroo-like, into her home, muttering “gotta have it, gotta have it”. Fran’s bladder and her vagina had become one, a not so romantic union that most of us guard against with every fiber in our soul. Fran was experiencing a unique brand of genital hysteria that not even the most experienced of gynocologists would recognize. Ana Grey may have found this bladder sex erotic, but Fran’s version didn’t seem to be quite as arousing. Her competitive side had take over, however, and by God, if Ana could do it, so could Fran!
And there sat her poor hubby, Stanley, quivering with a lump in his throat at what he feared could turn into a sexual, sadistic meltdown. A penal fear like he’d never known. Since his wife had found Christian Grey, their whole world had changed. Fun-lovin Fran had turned into f**kin-lovin Fran with a man-eating horniness he’d never before witnessed. There had been a time when Stanley could have “risen” to the occasion, not any type of Red Room explosion mind you, more of the ole faithful, slow and steady type, but never the less, Stan used to fan Fran’s flame. But those days were over. Fran had butchered his proverbial meat. As he stared down at his “flat stanley” and his shriveled up peanut of a penis whispered “run Stanley, run”! If the whips has caused him to pass out, what was her bulging bladder going to do to him. The thought of trying to mount this woman at this point was not only nauseating but mind altering. Even if she got her Ana-grade “O”, a little pressure at the wrong angle could potentially generate a flood not seen since Biblical times.
Unfortunately for them, Fran’s sweet children spotted her at this point and having lost all reason, as she watched them racing towards her for some affection, all she could see was Christian Grey escaping from her. On instinct, she flung open the closest bathroom door and shoved her friend Bitsy and her two kids inside. Running like lightening towards Stanley, she grabbed him by the neck and padlocked their bathroom. Fran looked pantingly at him and wasnt sure which was more arousing, Stanley or the commode. Stanley stood frozen, mortified at his tigress of a wife. Realizing he was of no use, Fran quickly threw her hair into a braid and resourcefully handcuffed her own hands and legs together, grabbed her Kindle, and commanded Stanley to read. She WAS going to reenact this, to HELL with everyone!
Stuttering and quivering, Stanley began…”You’re going to have to absorb all the pleasure….don’t move.” Fran moaned. Stanley cleared his throating, shifting uncomfortably, “You drive me crazy…so I am going to drive you crazy….biting, sucking…tasting, exploring, dominating.” As Stanley read, Fran’s desired mounted and mounted….and MOUNTED! “Do you want me?….. Then you’ll have me….” This wasn’t exactly the way Fran wanted it, but it would have to do. “Still baby, I want you,” Stanley read, “You’ll feel more this way…..” And just as Fran was about to “detonate”, her son came banging on the bathroom door, “mommy, mommy, why did you lock me in the bathroom, and did you buy me a “popsicle” today like you promised??”
“Popcicle”, said Fran? “That’s the ‘safe’ word!” “Who said the ‘safe’ word??” “I can’t hear the ‘safe’ word right now, that ruins everything!!” Watching Fran and the look of rage on her face, Stanley decides he’s the one not feeling safe. He lugs blindfolded, handcuffed Fran off the floor, her braid swinging back and forth, plops her on the commode, and under a veil of Grey shame, escapes!
As Fran finally remedied her distended bladder, chanting some Hindu-like mantra, Stanley furiously scanned the yellow pages. His wife couldn’t be the only compulsive, addicted, horny, Chrstianite nutcase to turn her life over to BDSM all because of Christian Grey….there had to be a FSOG 12-step program out there. Bondage, discipline, dominance, submission, sadism, masochism…..all Franny’s favorite words…..poor Stan was desperate!