Fifty Types of Dreck – or, that “book” series everyone loves for some reason – Chapter Eight

Chapter 8. Grey is very frustrated and wants to know why she didn’t say anything. She points out that he never asked, and that she doesn’t tell everybody this fact, but she feels guilty for making him mad. He spits the word “Virgin” like it has a bad taste. Which, I guess, for Christian Grey, it does. He doesn’t understand how it’s possible. Possibly because her standards are way too high? And, in a way, she thinks he’s “some kind of monster.” SO WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE, YOU FUCKING BIMBO?

But Ana stays and bites her lip, causing Grey to discard his Master Plan (see what I did there?), at least temporarily, and “rectify the situation” right now. Wow, now that’s a come-on line if there ever was one. No pun intended. And ladies are fantasizing over this shit? Gimme a break.

She’s holding her breath and moist with anticipation, surely. He tells her he’s going to make love to her, which he generally doesn’t do, but for her, he might make an exception. So, wait, if he can make an exception for her for this, why can’t he try being vanilla for a little while and slowly integrate BDSM aspects as they go? Oh, but that would be more plausible, and obviously not escapist sexfic, so never mind. He’ll start her “training” tonight, forgetting about the rules for this instance. Training? Is that like, sadist Boot Camp? He tells her that she’s “brave.” She agrees to let him take her, and they go to the bedroom.

During this prolonged deflowering scene, Ana thinks stupid expressions like “oh my” and “holy Moses.” Who has thoughts like this during sexual encounters? Her vadge is there. That’s what she refers to it as. Someone needs a copy of “Our Bodies, Ourselves. ” And, perhaps, a thesaurus. And he licks and bites the instep of her foot, which sounds really bizarre and also a bit gross (sock lint, yummo), but I’m not into feet. He wants her to show him how she touches herself, which of course, she doesn’t. Somehow, he gives her an orgasm just from playing with her breasts, and painfully to boot (kneading breasts is not sexy terms), which sounds rather implausible, but I guess if you’ve never gotten any before, you’ve got years of pent-up energy just waiting for release.

More stupid expressions follow, such as “holy cow” upon her first viewing of Grey’s peen. And then he essentially punches his way through her. Yeah, that’s erotic. Not. Anyway, for her second climax, we get a “wow.” That at least makes sense, I guess, but I would imagine she’d also be plenty sore. And of course, she’s barely come down, and wants it all again. You’re just out-of-the-box, and had two orgasms. I’d call that a good Friday night and go to the fuck to sleep. But no, now he takes her from behind, pinning her down so she can’t move. I highly doubt she would feel this “delectable” this quickly. And she has a THIRD orgasm. And Grey had his second (he must work out, because I didn’t think guys were ready to go again this quickly). This finally wears her out, and she dozes off.

Upon waking, she’s alone and hears Grey playing the piano. He looks sad and lonely while he plays. The sight of his fingers on the keys makes her think of his hands on her. This makes her gasp, which causes him to stop playing. He tells her to go to bed, and walls her back to the bedroom. Ana tries to touch his naked chest, but he side-steps her and orders her into bed. (He had sex with his shirt on, too, and didn’t take it off until she was on her stomach; I’m sure that’s some weird reveal we’ll get later). The sheets have blood on them. Ew, you’re not gonna change the sheet? He puts on a t-shirt before he slips into bed next to her. As she drifts off, she wonders why Grey has a sad side. To balance the crazy, of course!

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1 Comment

Filed under romance novel

One response to “Fifty Types of Dreck – or, that “book” series everyone loves for some reason – Chapter Eight

  1. “Upon waking, she’s alone and hears Grey playing the piano.”
    I really want to imagine that he’s banging out a half-assed rendition of Chopsticks with occasional confused pauses as he tries to work out the proper fingering, his brow furrowed in puzzlement.

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