50 shades pic

The next installment of my Fifty Shades of Grey parody, in which I ponder on what it would be like if Christian Grey was a Dubliner …

 

Fifty Shades of Shite – Vol V

 

Git Grey hurried around his penthouse apartment, tidying up plates and cups and old newspapers from the past few days, hoping he’d be finished by the time Ana got there.

His housekeeper Mrs Jones was supposed to have done all this, but she was off sick again. Something to do with her kidneys – or ‘me watherworks’ as she called it – so he was forced to do it himself.

She wasn’t the best, Mrs Jones. She spent most of her time drinking tea and eating his biscuits, while smoking 40 Gold Bond and coughing ‘Moy Jayziz’ into her teacloth. She also point-blank refused to clean his playroom. The first time she’d seen it she’d given him a clip around the ear and told him to go to Confession, so they’d come to an agreement that she’d clean everywhere but in there.

He might see if he could convince her when she came back. It was a pain in the hoop cleaning the playroom. All those dildos and butt plugs and whips… nothing but dust gatherers.

He shoved the last of the newspapers under the sofa, and had just enough time to fling some plates into the dishwasher before the doorbell rang, announcing the arrival of his Ana.

His Inner God strutted around to Staying Alive, snapping his fingers and clapping as he anticipated the evening ahead. He hadn’t had his bit in days; he was going to destroy her.

Flinging open the door, he ushered a nervous Ana into the penthouse, barely giving her a minute to take off her coat before he was pulling her into the playroom.

‘Get ‘em off love,’ he breathed. ‘I’m just going to slip into something, er, more comfortable.’ Moments later he returned bare-chested, wearing his oldest jeans, the ones he kept for painting and cutting the grass. No point in spoiling decent clothes after all.

Approaching a wide-eyed, naked Ana he grinned slowly as his Inner God browsed through a copy of Jugs; this was going to be good. She’d got herself undressed which was great – he couldn’t be doing with bras, stupid yokes – just her panties were left and they wouldn’t last long.

‘I’m going to shackle you now, Ana,’ he said quietly, approaching her stealthily, like a panther. His Inner God looked up briefly and gave him a brief ‘Gowan!’ before returning to his magazine. There were some good articles this month.

‘It’s the chain off me bicycle. I thought it’d be kinky. The oil will come out, don’t worry,’ Git reassured her, lashing her to the chandelier. His Inner God was doing the YMCA at this stage, really living it up.

Slowly he peeled Ana’s panties down her slender legs and keeping eye contact, brought them to his nose, inhaling deeply… Fuck! The bang off them! That was the last time he’d believe anything he read in a book. There was nothing sexy about smelling your girlfriend’s kaks. Noth. Ing.

‘Eh, sorry about that Ana,’ he said, trying to ignore his Inner God, who was wetting himself laughin’. ‘Let’s get back on track shall we? Now I’m going to beat you ’til you come, would you like that?’

Opening a cupboard, he took out his newest toy. He stroked it lovingly, knowing Ana was going to go mad for it. Walking around her naked form he gently tapped her arse, the rubber from the squeaky inflatable Euro 2012 hammer sliding pleasantly against her bare skin. Yeah, that was the stuff. His Inner God was paying attention now; the PlayStation was most definitely turned off.

Again and again he hit her with the hammer, the tempo of the squeak getting faster and faster as he lost himself in the moment. Ana was looking at him, slightly puzzled – probably her come face – as he beat her over and over.

He was so hard right now, his Inner God urging him on, closer and closer to the finish line.

‘Do you like that, Ana?’

Squeak.

‘Harder, Ana?’

Squeak.

‘More, do you want more?’

Squeak.

God this was sexy, he was so close.

‘Ana!’ Squeak ‘This.’ Squeak ‘Is.’ Squeak ‘So.’ Squeak ‘Bleedin’.’ Squeak ‘Hot.’ Squeak ‘This. Hammer. Was. Seventy. Percent. Off.’ Squeeeeeeaaakkk.

His inflatable hammer was almost a blur as he whipped her tender body, the tricolour flashing before his eyes, his Inner God holding a scarf aloft, singing The Fields of Athenry.

‘Oh Ana, Jaysis, Ana.’ Squeeeeaaak. ‘I can’t hold back any longer…’ Squeak. ‘Oh God, oh God, oh… TRAPATTONI!’

Collapsing in a heap on the floor, Git’s breathing slowly returned to normal. Thank God that hammer was wipe clean, his Inner God thought, winking slyly.

Unshackling Ana from the ceiling Git drew her towards him, settling down for a snooze, exhausted after all the hot lovin’.

‘Git,’ Ana said softly, sitting up and looking at him intently. Ah Jaysis, she wanted to talk. Why did burds always want to talk after the ride? Still, better humour her.

‘Yes Ana,’ he said, wondering if she’d notice if he closed his eyes, but deciding against it.

‘Do you think we should talk about, well, the sex? You know how it’s … how I don’t … ever …’

‘How you don’t ever know what you’re doing?’ Git interrupted, covering a yawn with his hand. ‘Nah, don’t worry about it, honest to God, it’s grand. You were a virgin sure, don’t worry, stick with me, you’ll learn.’

Getting up from the floor he stretched hugely, scratching his crotch – probably should throw these jeans in the wash – cutting off whatever waffle Ana was going on with and pulling her to her feet.

‘Listen, we’ve been going out now a few weeks, how would you feel about comin’ home to meet me Ma and Da on Sunday?’ he asked. ‘They’ve been annoyin’ the arse off me asking about you, so I said we’d go over for the dinner next week. Alright?’

‘Oh Git, I’m not sure … I don’t know … I … I’m not sure if I want … actually go on yeah, this I have to see,’ Ana said, looking amused all of a sudden.

Crazy bitch.

She’d be laughing on the other side of her face on Sunday when she saw what he had planned for her at his folks’ house. His Inner God rubbed his hands together and ordered a Chinese. Now the fun could really begin.

 

Fifty Shades of Shite – Vol VI

 

Git Grey stood at the Docklands Luas stop, waiting anxiously for Ana to arrive. He was bringing her to meet his Ma and Da and he was a bit worried; his family were bound to slag him, he’d never brought a girl home before.

His eyes brightened as he saw his love stumbling towards him across the tracks – Jaysis she was clumsy, she’d want to get her inner ear checked – taking in her slender body in her tight minidress. She wasn’t leaving much to the imagination. The sluh.

‘Howaya love,’ he said, grabbing her arse – no knickers – and planting a kiss on her forehead. ‘I got yer ticket here, a return, so put yisser money away.’ He knew how to treat women, did Git Grey, nobody could say otherwise.

‘I would have brought the Hummer today,’ he explained, as his Inner God mooched about looking for toast, dying from the night before. ‘But the Luas goes right past the house in Ballyer and I thought I’d save a bit on petrol, cos of the recession, you know yourself. Anyway, the last time I brought the Hummer the little bastards on the road had it up on blocks before I was even in the door.’

Forty-five minutes later they were walking up the drive of his parents’ house, Ana’s mouth open with shock, hardly able to take it in.

‘Lovely isn’t it,’ Git said, grinning. ‘Those are real stone lions there. I got them made specially. D’ya like the garden gnomes? There’s 47 of them, each handcrafted in Italy. This marble cladding didn’t come cheap either, I can tell ya. And the water feature there, d’ya see it? Pure class. Some of the neighbours said they thought it was a bit much for a terraced council house but they’re oney jealous.’

Taking a deep breath, Git rang the bell – Greensleeves – and waited for his parents to open the door. This was the moment of truth. Git’s mother opened the door, a wide smile on her face. Small and dark, wearing a pair of trousers and a top, she was swathed in an Italia 90 apron, her cheeks flushed from the heat of the oven.

‘Come in, come in,’ she said, welcoming them both into the hall. ‘Your father’s in the lounge, watching the television as usual. MOSSY! Get out here, Git’s here with his young wan.’

Git’s father lumbered out from the room next to the hall, glasses slipping off his face, an annoyed look about him. ‘Howaya,’ he said, briefly. ‘I’m just watchin’ Flog It, they’re about to find out how much the World War II medal is worth. I’ll be in for me dinner in a minneh.’

Mrs Grey ushered them in to the kitchen, where the preparations for Sunday dinner were well underway. Git’s sister Nikita and brother Darren were setting the table and there was a delicious smell coming from the oven.

The kitchen was homely and cluttered, shelves straining under the weight of photographs of Git and his siblings along with every single one of their relatives. A framed photograph of the Sacred Heart complete with glowing red lightbulb was on the far wall along with a poster of the Greys’ favourite local politician. Vote Vincent ‘Ballyfermot’ Jackson Number One, it said, below a picture of the cheery-faced local.

‘A grand lad, Vinno,’ Mr Grey said, coming into the kitchen and catching Ana staring at the poster. ‘Honest as the day is long and a lovely fella. Normal. He’d talk to yeh like, gameball so he is. Gameball.’

Git pulled Ana into the chair next to him as the dinner was served up, his Inner God groaning on the sofa, head pounding, trying to get a look up Ana’s skirt.

‘Now,’ Mrs Grey said, bustling around, organising plates. ‘I decided to take it easy today so we’d have more chance to chat, so I ordered in for the dinner. I’ve just been keepin’ it warm in a low oven. Mr Lam’s finest, the best takeaway Ballyer has to offer.’

‘Chinese?’ Ana asked, looking expectantly at the food being dished up.

‘Jaysis no, I don’t hold with that foreign muck at all,’ Mrs Grey said, horrified. ‘No, it’s chicken balls and chips and a few o’ them prawn cracker yokes. There’s a tub of curry sauce there as well if you want it. Mossy, pour the wine.’

Mr Grey appeared behind Ana, brandishing the bottle. ‘Show us your glass there love,’ he said, belching quietly. ”scuse me. A glass of Liebfraumlich, how’s that for ya?’

The Greys tucked into the food, laughing and joking companionably, devouring the lot before turning their attention to Ana.

‘So Ana,’ Darren said throwing a wicked grin at Git. ‘We’re surprised to see you here today. Git’s never brought a girl home. We thought he was a knob jockey.’

‘Darren!’ Mrs Grey exploded, belting him on the arm. ‘Don’t use that language in this house! An’ anyways, even if he was a knob jockey it wouldn’t matter, sure it wouldn’t love?’ she asked fondly, squeezing Git’s hand.

‘Eh, yeah, grand,’ Git said, standing up from the table hurriedly, trying to ignore his Inner God pissing himself shouting ‘knob jockey!’ over and over. ‘I’m just going to show Ana the grounds before we have to head off.’

Dragging Ana by the hand, he led her out to the back garden, a long narrow strip of land leading to an empty field. A souped up Subaru – Nikita’s pet project – took up a decent portion of the garden and a myriad of patio furniture cluttered the rest of it.

‘Through here,’ Git said directing Ana right to the bottom of the garden. ‘This is where I used to do all me thinkin’, me get rich schemes when I was a kid.’

Ana’s eyes widened as she saw a rundown shed with an old pool table in the centre, which had definitely seen better days. It only had three legs and was held up by a pile of old newspapers.

‘C’mon Ana,’ Git said, breathing harshly now. ‘I haven’t had me bit in three full hours; I can’t believe I’ve lasted this long. I know we’re in my parents’ house and my whole family is just metres away so you’d think I’d be able to control myself but I can’t, I have to have you now!’

He threw her head first onto the pool table – he had been right about the no knickers – and dived after her, the table rocking alarmingly, spurring him on.

Shoving up her dress, he pulled down his trousers – they were hanging off him, he didn’t even need to undo the top button – and started to thrust deeply into her. His Inner God slowly unzipped himself and started stroking his considerable length as he watched. The perv.

‘Ana,’ Git groaned. ‘We don’t have time for hot lovin’ now, someone could find us at any minute. This is just for me ok? You’re not to come. I know that sounds selfish but, trust me, it’ll make you feel closer to me.’

Ignoring Ana’s muttered ‘Nothing new there’ – burds wha’? – he thrust into her again and again, the table shuddering and clanking as he rode her faster and faster.

Git watched excitedly as Ana’s head knocked repeatedly off a group of snooker balls close to the top left corner. He was going to win on both levels tonight.

‘Yes Ana,’ he shouted, plunging into her, ‘almost there, ALMOST THERE! Four more, three more, two more … ah Jaysis, I’m … I’m … I’m going to POT THE EIGHT BALLLLL ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!’

Collapsing on top of Ana, breathing heavily, he grinned as he heard the satisfying plonk of the balls into the pockets; he’d always been good at snooker. Rolling over he wondered if his Ma had any dessert left. He could deffo go a few Mr Kipling tarts after that. This was turning out to be the best Sunday he’d had in years.

 

 To be continued …

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