Expensive-looking 50 Shades of Grey thread of mommy-porn

[Raw Ting]

Thread needs more descriptions of basic shit

[Necrometer]

I'll get on it soon

[james]

well if it gets people having better sex it can't be all bad?

There's nothing wrong with this book or its success at all, even if it is a pile of shit. It's just easy to make fun of. Quite frankly I'm always fucking ecstatic to see something overtly and positively sexual being tossed around in the America mainstream.

[Necrometer]

agreed, James

“What do your siblings do?”
“Elliot’s in construction, and my little sister is
in Paris, studying cookery under some renowned
French chef.” His eyes cloud with irritation. He
doesn’t want to talk about his family or himself.
“I hear Paris is lovely,” I murmur. Why
doesn’t he want to talk about his family? Is it
because he’s adopted?
“It’s beautiful. Have you been?” he asks, his
irritation forgotten.
“I’ve never left mainland USA.” So now we’re
back to banalities. What is he hiding?
“Would you like to go?”
“To Paris?” I squeak. This has thrown me –
who wouldn’t want to go to Paris?

I stand at the breakfast bar watching him as
he opens the refrigerator and pulls out a plate of
different cheeses with two large bunches of green
and red grapes. He sets the plate down on the
worktop and proceeds to cut up a French
baguette.

Little Miss European Pigtails returns, all coy
glances and swaying hips, with our entrée: a beef
Wellington, I think. Fortunately, she gives us our
plates and then leaves, although she lingers
handing Christian his. He looks quizzically at me
as I watch her close the dining room door.
“So what was wrong with the Parisians?”
Elliot asks his sister. “Didn’t they take to your
winsome ways?”
“Ugh, no they didn’t. And Monsieur Floubert,
the ogre I was working for, he was such a
domineering tyrant.”
I splutter into my wine.
“Anastasia, are you okay?” Christian asks
solicitously, taking his hand off my thigh.
Humor has returned to his voice. Oh thank
heavens. When I nod, he pats my back gently,
and only removes his hand when he knows I’ve
recovered.
The beef is delicious and served with roasted
sweet potatoes, carrots, parsnips, and green
beans. It is even more palatable since Christian
manages to retain his good humor for the rest of
the meal. I suspect that it’s because I’m eating so
the meal. I suspect that it’s because I’m eating so
heartily. The conversation flows freely among the
Greys, warm and caring, gently teasing each
other. Over our dessert of lemon syllabub, Mia
regales us with her exploits in Paris, lapsing at
one point into fluent French. We all stare at her,
and she stares back puzzled, until Christian tells
her in equally fluent French what she’s done,
whereupon she bursts into a fit of giggles. She
has a very infectious laugh and soon we’re all in
stitches.

there is no footnote for syllabub, which I thought was a foolish move on the part of the author

[Necrometer]

SPOILERSPOILER_SHOW

“When did you start your period, Anastasia?”
he asks out of the blue, gazing down at me.
“Err... yesterday,” I mumble in my highly
aroused state.
“Good.” He releases me and turns me around.
“Hold on to the sink,” he orders and pulls my
hips back again, like he did in the playroom, so
I’m bending down.
He reaches between my legs and pulls on the
blue string – what?! – and gently pulls my
tampon out and tosses it into the nearby toilet.
Holy fuck. Sweet mother of all… Jeez. And then
he’s inside me… ah! Skin against skin… moving
slowly at first… easily, testing me, pushing me…
oh my. I grip on to the sink, panting, forcing
myself back on him, feeling him inside me. Oh
the sweet agony… his hands clasp my hips. He
sets a punishing rhythm – in, out, and he reaches
around and finds my clitoris, massaging me… oh
jeez. I can feel myself quicken.
“That’s right, baby,” he rasps as he grinds
into me, angling his hips, and it’s enough to send
me flying, flying high.
Whoa… and I come, loudly, gripping for dear
life onto the sink as I spiral down through my
orgasm, everything spinning and clenching at
once. He follows, clasping me tightly, his front on
my back as he climaxes and calls my name like
it’s a litany or a prayer.
“Oh, Ana!” His breathing is ragged in my ear,
in perfect synergy with mine. “Oh, baby, will I
ever get enough of you?” he whispers.
Will it always be like this? So overwhelming,
so all-consuming, so bewildering and beguiling. I
wanted to talk, but now I’m spent and dazed
from his lovemaking and wondering if I will ever
get enough of him ?
We sink slowly to the floor, and he wraps his
arms around me, imprisoning me. I am curled on
his lap, my head against his chest, as we both
calm. Very subtly, I inhale his sweet, intoxicating
Christian scent. I must not nuzzle. I must not
nuzzle. I repeat the mantra in my head – though
I am so tempted to do so. I want to lift my hand
and draw patterns in his chest hair with my
fingertips… but I resist, knowing that he’ll hate it
if I do. We are both quiet, lost in our thoughts. I
am lost in him… lost to him.
I remember that I have my period.
“I’m bleeding,” I murmur.
“Doesn’t bother me,” he breathes.
“I noticed.” I can’t keep the dryness out of my
voice.

3-hit thesaurus combo!


actually, James, for a bunch of BDSM n00bs to read this shit... I think it's bad form at the least... that stuff isn't supposed to be rapey in the mind of the person experiencing it. but then this is fantasy-fulfillment so for all the women with their dirty-secret rape fantasies, I guess this speaks to that

SPOILERSPOILER_SHOW

I close my eyes, bracing myself for the blow.
It comes hard, snapping across my backside, and
the bite of the belt is everything I feared. I cry
out involuntarily, and take a huge gulp of air.
“Count, Anastasia!” he commands.
“One!” I shout at him, and it sounds like an
expletive.
He hits me again, and the pain pulses and
echoes along the line of the belt. Holy shit… that
smarts.
“Two!” I scream. It feels so good to scream.
His breathing is ragged and harsh, whereas
mine is almost nonexistent as I desperately
mine is almost nonexistent as I desperately
scrabble around my psyche looking for some
internal strength. The belt cuts into my flesh
again.
“Three!” Tears spring unwelcome into my
eyes. Jeez – this is harder than I thought – so
much harder than the spanking. He’s not holding
anything back.
“Four!” I yell as the belt bites me again, and
now the tears are streaming down my face. I
don’t want to cry. It angers me that I am crying.
He hits me again.
“Five.” My voice is more a choked, strangled
sob, and in this moment I think I hate him. One
more, I can do one more. My backside feels as if
it’s on fire.
“Six,” I whisper as the blistering pain cuts
across me again, and I hear him drop the belt
behind me, and he’s pulling me into his arms, all
breathless and compassionate… and I want none
of him.
“Let go… no... ” And I find myself struggling
out of his grasp, pushing him away. Fighting
him. “Don’t touch me!” I hiss. I straighten and
stare at him, and he’s watching me as if I might
bolt, gray eyes wide, bemused. I dash the tears
angrily out of my eyes with the backs of my
hands, glaring at him.
hands, glaring at him.
“This is what you really like? Me, like this?” I
use the sleeve of the bathrobe to wipe my nose.
He gazes at me warily.
“Well, you are one fucked-up son of a bitch.”
“Ana,” he pleads, shocked.
“Don’t you dare ‘Ana’ me! You need to sort
your shit out, Grey!” And with that, I turn stiffly,
and I walk out of the playroom, closing the door
quietly behind me.
I clasp the door handle behind me and briefly
lean back against the door. Where to go? Do I
run? Do I stay? I am so mad, angry scalding
tears spill down my cheeks, and I brush them
furiously aside. I just want to curl up. Curl up
and recuperate in some way. Heal my shattered
faith. How could I have been so stupid? Of
course it hurts.
Tentatively, I rub my backside. Aah! It’s sore.

[soiled depends]

Hey guys, I'm rockin' a stiffy!!!!!

[Necrometer]

SPOILERSPOILER_SHOW

Fuck my mouth… hmm. I remember him pushing
his thumb in my mouth and asking me to suck,
hard. His mouth drops open slightly as his
breathing increases. I lean forward, while he has
his eyes closed, and place my lips around him
and tentatively suck, running my tongue over the
tip.
“Whoa… Ana.” His eyes fly open, and I suck
harder.
Hmm… he’s soft and hard at once, like steel
encased in velvet, and surprisingly tasty – salty
and smooth.
“Christ,” he groans, and he closes his eyes
again.
Moving down, I push him into my mouth. He
groans again. Ha! My inner goddess is thrilled. I
can do this. I can fuck him with my mouth. I twirl
my tongue around the tip again, and he flexes his
hips. His eyes are open now, blistering with heat.
His teeth are clenched as he flexes again, and I
push him deeper into my mouth, supporting
myself on his thighs. I feel his legs tense beneath
my hands. He reaches up and grabs my pigtails
and starts to really move.
“Oh… baby… that feels good,” he murmurs. I
suck harder, flicking my tongue across the head
of his impressive erection. Wrapping my teeth
behind my lips, I clamp my mouth around him.
His breath hisses between his teeth, and he
groans.
“Jesus. How far can you go?” he whispers.
Hmm … I pull him deeper into my mouth so I
can feel him at the back of my throat and then to
the front again. My tongue swirls around the end.
He’s my very own Christian Grey flavor popsicle.
I suck harder and harder, pushing him deeper
and deeper, swirling my tongue round and
round. Hmm … I had no idea giving pleasure
could be such a turn-on, watching him writhe
subtly with carnal longing. My inner goddess is
doing the merengue with some salsa moves.
“Anastasia, I’m going to come in your
mouth,” his breathy tone is warning. “If you don’t
want me to, stop now.” He flexes his hips again,
his eyes are wide, wary, and filled with salacious
need – need for me. Need for my mouth... oh
my.
Holy crap. His hands are really gripping my
hair. I can do this. I push even harder and, in a
moment of extraordinary confidence, I bare my
teeth. It tips him over the edge. He cries out and
stills, and I can feel warm, salty liquid oozing
down my throat. I swallow quickly. Ugh… I’m not
sure about this. But one look at him, and he’s
come apart in the bath because of me, and I
don’t care. I sit back and watch him, a
triumphant, gloating smile tugging at the corners
of my lips. His breathing is ragged. Opening his
eyes, he glares at me.
“Don’t you have a gag reflex?” he asks,
astonished. “Christ, Ana… that was… good, really
good, unexpected though.” He frowns. “You
know, you never cease to amaze me.”
I smile and consciously bite my lip. He eyes
me speculatively.
“Have you done that before?”
“No.” And I can’t help the small tinge of pride
in my denial.
“Good,” he says complacently and, I think,
relieved. “Yet another first, Miss Steele.” He looks
appraisingly at me. “Well, you get an A in oral
skills. Come, let’s go to bed, I owe you an
orgasm.”

[caldwell.the.great]

actually, James, for a bunch of BDSM n00bs to read this shit... I think it's bad form at the least... that stuff isn't supposed to be rapey in the mind of the person experiencing it. but then this is fantasy-fulfillment so for all the women with their dirty-secret rape fantasies, I guess this speaks to that

There's plenty of better written smut out there, lots of it with more going on than infantile fantasy fulfillment. Bad form is the least of its problems.

[Necrometer]

SPOILERSPOILER_SHOW

Once in the apartment, I open the gift box and find my
MacBook Pro laptop, the Blackberry, and another
rectangular box. What is this? I unwrap the silver paper.
Inside is a black, slim, leather case.
Opening the case, I find an iPad. Holy shit . . . an
iPad. A white card is resting on the screen with a message
written in Christian’s handwriting:

Anastasia -- This is for you.
I know what you want to hear.
The music on here says it for me.
Christian

Holy cow. I have a Christian Grey mix-tape in the
guise of a high-end iPad. I shake my head in disapproval
because of the expense, but deep down I love it. Jack at
the office has one, so I know how they work.
I switch it on and gasp as the wallpaper image appears:
a small model glider. Oh my. It’s the Blanik L23 [Ed: this is a model plane]
I gave him, mounted on a glass stand and sitting on what I think is
Christian’s desk at his office. I gape at it.
He built it! He really did build it. I remember now he
mentioned it in the note with the flowers. I’m reeling, and I
know in that instant that he’s put a great deal of thought
into this gift.
I slide the arrow at the bottom of the screen to unlock
I slide the arrow at the bottom of the screen to unlock
it and gasp again. The background photograph is of
Christian and me at my graduation in the marquee. It’s the
one that appeared in the Seattle Times. Christian looks so
handsome and I can’t help my face-splitting grin, as my
inner goddess curls up hugging herself on her chaise longue
—Yes, and he’s mine!
With a swipe of my finger, the icons shift, and several
new ones appear on the next screen. A Kindle app,
iBooks, Words—whatever that is.
Holy shit! The British Library? I touch the icon and a
menu appears: HISTORICAL COLLECTION. Scrolling down,
I select NOVELS OF THE 18TH AND 19TH CENTURY.
Another menu. I tap on a title: THE AMERICAN BY HENRY
JAMES. A new window opens, offering me a scanned
copy of the book to read. Holy crap—it’s an early edition,
published in 1879, and it’s on my iPad! He’s bought me
the British Library at a touch of a button.
I exit quickly, knowing that I could be lost in this app
for an eternity. I notice a “good food” app that makes me
roll my eyes and smile at the same time, a news app, a
weather app, but his note mentioned music. I go back to
the main screen, hit the iPod icon and a playlist appears. I
scroll through the songs, and the list makes me smile.
Thomas Tallis—I’m not going to forget that in a hurry. I
heard it twice, after all, while he flogged and fucked me.

“Cold?” Christian asks softly and bends to lick and
suckle all the ice cream off me once more, his mouth hot
compared to the cool of the ice.
Oh my. It’s torture. As it starts to melt, the ice cream
runs off me in rivulets on to the bed. His lips continue their
slow torture, sucking hard, nuzzling, softly—Oh please!—
I’m panting.
“Want some?” And before I can confirm or deny his
offer, his tongue is in my mouth, and it’s cold and skilled
and tastes of Christian and vanilla. Delicious.
And just as I am getting used to the sensation, he sits
up again and trails a spoonful of ice cream down the center
of my body, across my stomach, and into my navel where
he deposits a large dollop of ice cream. Oh, this is chillier
than before, but weirdly it burns.
“Now, you’ve done this before.” Christian’s eyes
shine. “You’re going to have to stay still, or there will be
ice cream all over the bed.” He kisses each of my breasts
and sucks each of my nipples hard, then follows the line of
ice cream down my body, sucking and licking as he goes.
And I try, I try to stay still despite the heady
combination of cold and his inflaming touch. But my hips
start to move involuntarily, gyrating to their own rhythm,
caught up in his cool vanilla spell. He shifts lower and
starts eating the ice cream in my belly, swirling his tongue
into and around my navel.
I moan. Holy cow. It’s cold, it’s hot, it’s tantalizing,
but he doesn’t stop. He trails the ice cream further down
my body, into my pubic hair, on to my clitoris. I cry out,
loudly.
“Hush now,” Christian says softly as his magical tongue
sets to work lapping up the vanilla, and now I’m keening
quietly.
“Oh . . . please . . . Christian.”
“I know, baby, I know,” he breathes as his tongue
works its magic. He doesn’t stop, just doesn’t stop, and
my body is climbing—higher, higher. He slips one finger
inside me, then another and he moves them with agonizing
slowness in and out.
“Just here,” he murmurs, and he rhythmically strokes
the front wall of my vagina while he continues the exquisite,
relentless licking and sucking. Holy fucking cow.
I erupt unexpectedly into a mind-blowing orgasm that
stuns all my senses, obliterating all that’s happening outside
of my body as I writhe and groan. Jeez, that was so
quick.
I am vaguely aware that he has stopped his
ministrations. He’s hovering over me, sliding on a condom,
and then he’s inside me, hard and fast.
“Oh yes!” He groans as he slams into me. He’s sticky
—the residual melted ice cream spreading between us.

“What’s this?” I hold up the silver bullet thing.
“Always hungry for information, Miss Steele. That’s a
butt plug,” he says gently.
“Oh . . .”
“Bought for you.”
What? “For me?”
He nods slowly, his face now serious and wary.
I frown. “You buy new, er . . . toys . . . for each
submissive?”
submissive?”
“Some things. Yes.”
“Butt plugs?”
“Yes.”
Okay . . . I swallow. Butt plug. It’s solid metal—surely
that’s uncomfortable? I remember our discussion about
sex toys and hard limits after I graduated. I think at the
time I said I would try. Now, actually seeing one, I don’t
know if it’s something I want to do. I examine it once
more and place it back in the drawer.
“And this?” I take out a long, black rubbery object,
made of gradually diminishing spherical bubbles joined
together, the first one large and the last much smaller. Eight
bubbles in total.
“Anal beads,” says Christian, watching me carefully.
Oh! I examine them with fascinated horror. All of
these, inside me . . . there! I had no idea.
“They have quite an effect if you pull them out midorgasm,”
he adds matter-of-factly.
“This is for me?” I whisper.
“For you.” He nods slowly.
“This is the butt drawer?”
He smirks. “If you like.”

[Geeheeb]

oh man that is terrible.

i gave boo a mix tape in the form of a mix tape what does that say about me?

[Natas]

One of my dumbass married friends started raving about it at my house to us and how is wife is sexually fired up blah blah blah we gotta get it for our women too!... this was like 2 weeks ago and the first time I've ever heard of this bullshit.

The next day he makes a status update on his seldom-used facebook about how nice and awesome his family and life is, and I said something like "Fifty Shades of Grey still paying off eh?" and he panicked and deleted it right away Then he immediately makes a separate post on my own facebook "super uncool ray, u got me in trouble for that one" He still hasn't the decency to tell me how he got in "trouble"

Glad I could unintentionally make that bullshit backfire on his neutered married man ass... all because I simply referenced some shitty book every former-slut-now-married-to-guy-who-knocked-them-up are reading.

THIS RULES, RAY.

I didn't even realize what this book was all about. Imagine my surprise when I got fingererd last night...

THIS DOES TOO

[Dr Yail Bloor]

Is there a more erotic word in the english language than jeeze?

Jizz?

[The Bill]

Is there a more erotic word in the english language than jeeze?

I'm... I'm going to go with Mercury

[Necrometer]

Yeah Geoff, most of the idiotic "jeez"esque phrases are in italics, which denote her dialogue with her "inner goddess" or something that's apparently more inner than the her narrative.

oh man that is terrible.

i gave boo a mix tape in the form of a mix tape what does that say about me?

you sound like a renter to me

[Kurt Russell's Beard]

Great, the height of American popular literature in the last twenty years has been a string of young adult series, or books written by those who cannot write. Leave it to the U.S. ignorati mass cult to reject prose that isn't as dumb as they are. I'm living in an Onion story.

[THE KILL]

"Opening the case, I find an iPad. Holy shit . . . an iPad."

[Necrometer]

e-ham, the biggest challenge in writing this sort of thing is throwing away your dignity and taking a completely retarded and cynical view of what the average USA/UK woman really wants to read

it might be unfair to judge this shit as actual art though... I mean what does the porno I consume say about me as a human? this particular is passable as porn, reprehensible as literature

"Opening the case, I find an iPad. Holy shit . . . an iPad."

yeah, that was one case of italics I bothered to reproduce... there's so much shit like that

[riley-o]

That's the thing though, it's really just pornography. And ain't no dudes walking around watching facial comps on their holy shit, an iPad.

[Necrometer]

just searched for more instances of "ipad", and it returns hits for "helipad"

[Whiffleball Ace]

Great, the height of American popular literature in the last twenty years has been a string of young adult series, or books written by those who cannot write. Leave it to the U.S. ignorati mass cult to reject prose that isn't as dumb as they are. I'm living in an Onion story.

Thank you.

Someone had to say it.

I would bet my life that 50 Shades of Shit was somehow a product of one of those silly Graduate Creative Writing programs.

[Necrometer]

A hundred images dance through my head: the iPad,
the gliding, flying to see me, all his actions, his
possessiveness, one hundred thousand dollars for a dance.
Is this love?

I wander disconsolately into the bedroom, Wait a
moment—what is going on? The iPad is gone. Where’s
my Mac? Oh no.

SPOILERSPOILER_SHOW

Lying down on the bed, I gaze at my Mac, my iPad, and
my Blackberry. I am overwhelmed with technology. I set
about transferring Christian’s playlist from my iPad to the
Mac, then fire up Google to surf the net.
I’m lying across the bed looking at my Mac as Christian
enters.
“What are you doing?” he inquires softly.
I panic briefly, wondering if I should let him see the
website I’m on: Multiple Personality Disorder: The
Symptoms.
Stretching out beside me, he eyes the webpage with
amusement.
“On this site for a reason?” he asks nonchalantly.
Brusque Christian has gone—playful Christian is back.
How the hell am I supposed to keep up with this?
“Research. Into a difficult personality.” I give him my
most deadpan look.
His lips twitch with a suppressed smile. “A difficult
personality?”
“My own pet project.”
“I’m a pet project now? A sideline. Science
experiment maybe. When I thought I was everything. Miss
Steele, you wound me.”
“How do you know it’s you?”
“Wild guess.” He smirks.
“It’s true that you are the only fucked-up, mercurial,
control freak that I know, intimately.”
“I thought I was the only person you know intimately.”
He arches a brow.
I flush. “Yes. That, too.”
“Have you reached any conclusions yet?”
I turn and gaze at him. He’s on his side stretched out
beside me with his head resting on his elbow, his
expression soft, amused.
“I think you’re in need of intense therapy.”
He reaches up and gently tucks my hair behind my
ears.
“I think I’m in need of you. Here.” He hands me a tube
of lipstick.
I frown at him, perplexed. It’s harlot red, not my color
at all.
“You want me to wear this?” I squeak.
He laughs. “No, Anastasia, not unless you want to.
Not sure it’s your color,” he finishes dryly.
He sits up on the bed cross-legged and

[DR. THRAXX]

I read that the author is pulling in over a million a week currently.

Fuck...

[riley-o]

Every time you post a longer excerpt I'm amazed at how precisely it reads like it was written by a high school girl

[Spooky Apparition]

I would bet my life that 50 Shades of Shit was somehow a product of one of those silly Graduate Creative Writing programs.

the prose ross is posting is like freshman-level writing. graduate programs may be filled with terribly conceived and executed ideas, but on a technical level, this 50 shades stuff is on an entirely separate plane of shittiness. also i'm pretty sure it started as twilight fan fiction (someone might have mentioned that already?)

this is so bad i'm not totally convinced ross isn't editing what he's posting... i don't want to believe so many people could force themselves to read hundreds of pages of this stuff.

[Necrometer]

graduate programs may be filled with terribly conceived and executed ideas, but on a technical level, this 50 shades stuff is on an entirely separate plane of shittiness. also i'm pretty sure it started as twilight fan fiction (someone might have mentioned that already?)

and yeah it used to be Twilight fan-fic (same characters but no vampire stuff) and was called "Master of the Universe" - she pretty much did a find/replace... self-lip-biting runs rampant

this is so bad i'm not totally convinced ross isn't editing what he's posting... i don't want to believe so many people could force themselves to read hundreds of pages of this stuff.

I'm absolutely not editing the shit - if anything the excerpts I post will seem less retarded because I am not italicizing all the "oh my" stuff which somehow makes it seem stupider. As for how it can be real and be that bad... think of the dialogue in porn films!