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50 shades pic

The next two installments of my Fifty Shades of Grey parody, imagining what it would be like if Christian Grey was a Dubliner.

Fifty Shades of Shite – Vol III

Git Grey washed his hands in the en-suite bathroom and fixed his carefully mussed hair. Better crack a window in here, he thought, just in case Ana wants to use it later.

He thought of his love tied up and waiting for him in the next room. That had been some bombshell she’d dropped earlier. A virgin. Who would have thought it, eh?

Almost 22 years old, a college graduate and drop dead gorgeous. But never been kissed. Almost unbelievable really, he mused. Completely unbelievable if he was honest. If it was in a book or something that a gorgeous, early 20s goddess had never even held hands with someone, nobody would buy that book. But there she was, lying in his playroom.

He almost couldn’t believe his luck – how easy would it be to seduce a virgin? Sure they knew nothing! He wouldn’t even have to make an effort, none of that foreplay malarkey that most other burds were into.

He’d even be able to do the Mickey Mambo; tell her that women usually loved it. He really didn’t know why women didn’t enjoy that. Who wouldn’t want to watch a naked man lepping about waving his lad around? Women, he thought. Would you be up to them?

Opening the door to his playroom, he strode over to the enormous bed in the centre of the room, stumbling slightly as his trousers fell down around his ankles. Dammit, he still hadn’t got that belt; it was gone beyond a joke at this stage.

No matter, he thought, whipping the trousers off, he didn’t need these in here anyway. Just his jocks would do, he’d only changed them yesterday.

Ana was waiting for him, trembling, on the bed, eyes wide with anticipation as she took in his half-naked form coming towards him.

‘Are you alright, Git?’ she asked, flushing as she caught sight of his muscular thighs.

‘I’m grand yeah, just the oul garlic fries, you know, came out of me like water, but I’m grand,’ he replied, flexing.

He lay down on the bed beside her, drinking in her slight form; the way her breasts strained against the jersey she was wearing. She shifted on the bed beside him, a slight crackle of electricity – either from the heat between them or the 100 per cent polyester material – renting the air.

Dipping his head, Git went in for the kill, giving it socks, the ladies loved a load of tongue. Lazily, he tickled her teeth and grabbed a handful of boob.

Pulling Ana’s jersey off over her head, Git lowered his head to her breast, sucking on her right nipple like it was a Tangle Twister. His other hand tweaked her left one, ’round and ’round like he was tuning in the radio.

A few minutes later, he chanced a look at the clock on the wall. Five minutes. Surely she should have come by now? He’d read an entirely believable book that said that virgins come within seconds once you gave them a bit of nipple action. But Ana seemed to be holding back.

He knew what she wanted.

Sliding down the bed he nuzzled her, there, lapping at her, sucking and kissing like there was no tomorrow.

‘Git,’ Ana moaned, writhing beneath him.

This was more like it, listen to her, she was loving it. The durty bitch.

‘Git,’ she moaned again, grabbing his head as she panted. ‘That’s. Actually. My. Hipbone.’

Dammit. The red bulbs in his playroom made it difficult to see what he was doing. He was about eight inches left of where he should be.

He’d had enough, that was all she was getting out of him, time for him to get some.

Kneeling between her legs he produced a condom from behind her ear – that was the Paul Daniels in him, no matter where he went he could produce a condom – and rolled it on, noting Ana’s gasp as she saw his manhood for the first time.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he grinned. ‘You’re wondering how it’s going to fit, aren’t you?’

‘Er, no, I was just wondering what that lump is,’ she said, shrinking back against the duvet.

‘Nuttin’, nuttin’, it’s just a cyst from an old injury’, Git said quickly, turning the light down even further. ‘I saw a thing on YouTube about making it bigger using a Hoover …  anyway, it doesn’t matter, it’s grand.’

Gearing up for the main event Git thrust his way inside Ana, once, twice, three times.

‘Oh God,’ he moaned, lost in his own world, barely noticing Ana beneath him, yawning widely.

‘OH GOD,’ he moaned again. ‘I’m getting close, yes, almost there.’

‘OH GOD,’ he yelled triumphantly. ‘Oh … oh … oh… STEPHEN CLUXTON!!!!’

Spent, he dropped down on top of Ana, breathing heavily, limbs shaking. Moy Jaysis, he thought, that was A1. He looked at his watch, impressed. Four minutes! That was a record. She was surely impressed with that?

‘Ana, are you all right?’ he asked, shaking her slightly, finding her limp and unresponsive beneath him, almost as if she was asleep.

Probably passed out from the seeing to he’d just given her, he thought modestly, stretching hugely and then leaping to his feet. He’d leave her to recover on the bed and come back for her later – she’d probably want a second round.

Right now he needed a slash, a beer and Call of Duty in that order. He smiled – it was hard work being a billionaire playboy, but somebody had to do it.

 

Fifty Shades of Shite – Vol IV

 

Git Grey knotted his tie carefully, watching his reflection modestly in the mirror. Ana would cream herself when she saw what tie he was wearing; it was the one he’d trussed her up with and his favourite too.

Pure silk, thick and luxurious, it was perfect for his playroom – and every time he’d tugged it tighter the Simpsons theme tune had rung out. Who said novelty ties were dead?

Grinning widely, he rubbed his hands together, anticipating his next date with the delectable Ana. He was speaking at her graduation ceremony at Trinity College (no, he didn’t know why either) but after that he was going back to hers for some more hot lovin’. The lucky bitch.

An hour later Git sat on the stage at the ceremony listening to the official speeches, trying to find his Ana in the crowd. Ah, there she was. He could just glimpse her through the throng of other students. She was looking well. No bra. She knew how to turn him on, no matter how innocent she pretended to be.

He snapped back to attention upon hearing his name and jumped up to deliver his speech, ready to inspire. Trinners were, after all, winners.

‘Howayis, ladies and gentlemen. It is a profound honour to be asked to speak here today. Especially to talk to you about the work of the environmental science department in producing sustainable food for third-world countries. Like ourselves, wha’?

‘Through my new research, carried out at this very university, we have developed a way to clone a food product so synonymous with the great city of Dublin that nobody will ever go hungry again. I’m talking about, of course, the spice burger.

‘I know what it’s like to be hungry. Starving actually. I went on the tear and at about 3am I was so hungry me belly thought me throat had been cut. So I went to the chipper and bought a spice burger and I was instantly full. For a week. Maybe it was the mystery meat, maybe it was the MSG, maybe it was the pound of trans-fat, maybe it was the sawdust, who knows?

‘All I know is that from that moment on I vowed to not only make the country’s biggest spiceburger – for us all here in Ireland to share – but to come up with the technology to clone that spice burger, so that the world can eat. From Darfur to Darndale, nobody need ever be hungry again.

‘The good people at Trinity College were brilliant in helpin’ me in all in anyways and today I can announce that with my enormous spice burger I will succeed where that gobshite Bob Geldof failed – I will actually feed the world. Stick that in yer fuckin’ hippy pipe and smoke it.’

The applause almost deafened him as he sat back down, basking in the glory. If that didn’t get Ana on her back again, he didn’t know what would.

A while later, after all the certificates had been given out, he stood beside Ana, drinking in her beautiful pale face (a few iron tablets wouldn’t go astray) and tumbling brunette hair.

‘Git, this is my dad, Ray,’ she said, shyly, indicating an older man standing beside her.

‘Raymondo! How’s it hangin’?’ Git said, shaking the man’s hand like he gave a shite. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to be nice; he might have a few bob stashed away. Hey, he didn’t get to be a billionaire by spending it, that’s for sure. ‘Did you see me speech? What did yis think, brilliant wasn’t it?’

They were so stunned by his greatness that they couldn’t reply but it didn’t matter, there’d be plenty of time for talking about him later. He arranged to meet Ana at her house that evening – he had a graduation present for her – and strode off to stand by a window and stare moodily out of it.

That night he pulled up in front of Ana’s apartment – bit of a kip if he was honest – and rang the doorbell impatiently, dying to see her. Hopefully she was still braless.

She opened the door shyly, biting her lip and rolling her eyes at him, freaking him out a bit to be fair. Was she having a fit or something? No, it was grand, she was just trying to be sexy.

‘Howaya love,’ he said, breezing into the apartment and pinching her arse as he passed. ‘Are you ready for your graduation present?’

She nodded, looking at him excitedly, eyes round with excitement.

‘Well, you know the way I hate that banger of a car of yours? It’s not safe and I don’t want you driving it anymore. I want you safe when you travel. Sooooo …’ he pulled an envelope out of his pocket and presented it to Ana. ‘I got you this.’

Openmouthed, Ana ripped open the envelope and stood staring at its contents. ‘It’s … it’s … well … a …’

‘That’s right,’ Git said, smiling broadly. ‘It’s an annual Dublin Bus travel pass. Now you can get wherever you need to go safely without having to worry about driving. Isn’t it great?’

Ah Jaysis, she was so overwhelmed she was speechless. It made him so horny watching her gaping at him like a guppy.

‘C’mom, enough of the foreplay. Let’s go into the bedroom. I want to take our relationship to the next level. I’m going to slap the arse off ya,’ he breathed, excitement lighting his eyes.

Dragging her by the hand he threw her across the bed and pulled down her trousers, producing a wooden spoon from behind his back. ‘We’re going to do it old school,’ he said, caressing the length of the spoon, whacking her sharply with it.

‘Don’t. Make. Me. Come. Up. There!’ he shouted, as he spanked. ‘Don’t. Give. Me. Any. Of. Your. Lip! Oh God, Ana this is doing it for me, I’m almost there. This is going to make me come.’

Spanking her faster, he started screaming at the top of his voice, turning himself on even more. ‘Get. Back. Into. Bed. WAIT. UNTIL. YOUR. FATHER. GETS. HOME. Oh GOD! I’m there, I’m there … GETOUTTADATGARDEN!!!!!!

Breathing heavily he collapsed on top of Ana, feeling the warmth of her bare buttocks, red from his spanking, beneath him. That was something else altogether.

‘Git,’ Ana whispered. Obviously all shagged out. ‘My arse is killing me. Could you get me some oil or something to rub into it?’

Ever the gentleman, he hopped up straight away and made for the bathroom, rummaging in the cupboards and presses. Nothing. Thinking on his feet, he remembered seeing a deep fat fryer in the kitchen. That’d do.

Whistling, he sauntered towards the kitchen. Maybe he’d heat the oil up a bit, give her a full body massage. He’d stay schtum about where he got the oil though, burds were weird like that.

‘Ana,’ he sang as he made his way back to the bedroom. ‘I’ve got a surprise for you!’


50 shades pic

BACK in 2012 at the height of Fifty Shades of Grey mania – as the second and third installments of the books were released – I wrote a series of parody posts for Irish website Ramp.ie imagining what it would be like if Christian Gray was a Dubliner.

As the film version of the book is set to be released this coming weekend I thought it was time to resurrect Git Gray and let him out to play again.

I’ll be posting an installment (or two) of this saga every day this week in the run up to Valentine’s Day. Enjoy! *gasps* *bites lip*

 

Fifty Shades of Shite – Vol I

 

Christian Grey – Git to his friends – stood in his office on the top floor of Liberty Hall in Dublin and stared moodily at the silvery snake of the River Liffey below, watching its slow meander through the centre of town.

Jaysus he felt rough this morning. That last pint was definitely a mistake. And now he had some bint from the local rag coming in for an interview.

There was only one thing for it. He reached out with his extraordinarily long index finger and buzzed for his secretary, settling himself back into his chair as the cool blonde entered the office.

‘Git?’ she enquired, raising one perfectly groomed eyebrow.

‘Get us a breakfast roll will ya, love,’ he belched. ‘Extra hash browns, and don’t forget the black puddin’.’

He grinned, grey eyes glinting, noting her curvy hips and high, firm breasts beneath her demure office attire as she left the room.

She was a right little ride, so she was, a fine thing. He’d have a go at her later in the pub, buy her a bottle of WKD, the ladies loved that.

Twenty minutes later he wiped the grease from his fingers, adjusted his low slung trousers – he was going to have to buy a belt – and prepared for the interview.

Miss Anastasia Steele – stupid fucking name – fell into the room all big eyes and long hair, ivory skinned and delicate, biting constantly at her lower lip.

Probably coming down with a coldsore.

‘Alright?’ he asked, hoping to put her at her ease. She’d already dropped her notebook and looked mortified, though he couldn’t be sure that wasn’t her permanent expression. You could never tell with burds these day.

Botox and all that.

‘Tell me Mr Grey, um, Git, to what do you owe your success?’

Straight away in with the hard questions. He liked that.

‘Ah, a bit of this, a bit of that, you know yourself. Do you go out around town much?’

‘I’m sorry?’ She sounded confused.

‘Town. Do you go out much? At the weekends like. I love me weekends, can’t wait to get out of this kip,’ he grinned, deciding he’d throw her a bone after all.

‘What about hobbies?’ she asked, hurriedly moving on to the next question. ‘I read somewhere that you like music? And animals?’

‘Aslan,’ he replied, promptly. ‘Best band in the fuckin’ world. Christy Dignam in his bare feet, belting out Crazy World; it’s a religious experience. I’ve an oul mutt as well yeah. Leo Dowling, I call him. Looper, an absolute looper.’

‘Fine, right, em… Mr Grey, you’re never seen in the company of a woman more than once. Are you gay?’

‘WHA’?!’ he exploded out of his chair, almost losing his trousers in the process so low did they hang off his hips, lips tightening with rage.

‘Gay? Me? Not that there’s anything wrong with being gay, but Jaze, no! No! Who told you that?’

It was probably that bitch at the front desk. Just because of that one time he couldn’t get it up. But what did she expect after a feed of pints and a cheese curry chip? She hadn’t been complaining when she’d been lashing back the Smirnoff Ice.

‘No, Miss Steele, I’m not gay.’ And I’ll prove it to you, he thought, imagining the playroom in his penthouse apartment in the Docklands and what it’d be like to have her there.

You never know, she might clean it up a bit. It was in a jock after the last time, massage oil and lube all over the place. That shit was a pain to get off. Got everywhere. He’d lost count of the number of genuine leather couches from Cost Plus Sofas he’d destroyed.

When he had her stripped and tied up with the laces from his football boots, with a bluey from the three for €20 range at Xtravision playing on the flat screen, she’d know all about gay.

He bet she was a screamer. The shy ones were always screamers.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Gray. The question was just written here… I’ll go now,’ the girl said, blushing and rising to her feet.

‘Grand job, gameball, you’re grand,’ Git replied, seeing her out. She had a fine little arse on her all the same, she was probably a right goer.

Door safely closed, he sank into his chair and steepled his fingers under his chin – decisions, decisions. He wanted to know much more about Miss Anastasia Steele, but how?

His hand hovered over the speed-dial to call in his private detective but then he remembered Miss Steele was 21-years-old and there was probably an easier way.

A slow smile spread across his face as he called up his Internet browser. Of course. Facebook. And that was the rest of the morning sorted.

 

Fifty Shades of Shite – Vol II

 

Git Grey walked angrily towards the Mill Centre in Clondalkin hoping there’d be a coffee shop open. He needed caffeine after the night he’d had.

How could he have known that when he turned up at B&Q Liffey Valley – where the delectable Miss Anastasia Steele worked – to buy some supplies for his playroom, he’d end up spending a night in the cells being questioned by Gardaí?

Couldn’t a guy buy cable ties, lengths of rope, a shovel and a body bag without being arrested anymore? It was all perfectly innocent; if he’d been allowed to continue with his purchases, the gimp mask would have made it all clear.

But oh no, Ana’s supervisor Jenny couldn’t have that – so rough a bear wouldn’t hug her, by the way – and the cops were there before he knew it. Before he got to say more than two words to his love.

She’d been distraught when he’d been carted away, her porcelain skin flushed with distress as she’d apologised over and over.

‘Git, I’m so sorry. If it had just been those first few items it wouldn’t have been so bad. It was the bone saw that did the damage, Jenny just freaked out, you can see how it must have looked?’

Fair point, well made.

Anyway, at least Anastasia had agreed to see him again tonight. He was bringing her for dinner and then to his penthouse in the salubrious Docklands and if there was any justice in the world he’d be getting his hole as well.

Eight hours later he stood outside the Central Bank, copper hair carefully mussed – Jedward robbed that off him –  watching the delectable Miss Steele walk nervously towards him. She was wearing some sort of a skirt and top yoke, not bad. Nice tits.

‘Are ya right?’ he asked, hands in his jacket pockets.  ‘C’mon, I’m marvin, have to feed you up too, if you know wharrimean wha’?’

No point beating about the bush. He hoped not anyway, waxing made everything just so much easier.

They strolled along by the Bank of Ireland and Trinity College, towards Westmoreland Street, stopping outside Git’s favourite restaurant.

‘I’m not hungry,’ whispered Ana, chewing on her bottom lip, eyes wide and overwhelmed as she looked in the window.

‘You must eat, Ana,’ Git insisted, grey eyes flashing. ‘You will eat.’ He did not like to be disobeyed.

‘I can’t, not in there,’ Ana managed, her voice barely audible, trembling, eyeing the menu, real terror in her eyes.

‘Yeah, whatever,’ Git sighed, vowing to punish her later. He strode up to the counter. ‘A large Abrakebabra Meal with Coke and a side of garlic fries please,’ he ordered.

Women. Always on bloody diets. He was going to eat his fill anyway, his trousers were hanging off his hips, he was skin and bone.

After he’d finished eating they made their way back to his place – a quick call had summoned his driver – in Git’s personal limo. A Hummer. Tinted windows, the works. Total chick magnet.

His apartment was cool and dim when they entered and smelled like Mr Sheen. Only the best. Ana was silent as she took in the white leather couches, the white shag pile rug, the white flowers and the white flat screen surround sound.

‘Oh!’ she exclaimed softly, eyes widening. ‘It’s just like… like…’

‘Cribz,’ Git finished for her. ‘You’re right. 50 Cent has this exact apartment. Look at it there, pure class. See these leather-bound books? They’re actually DVD holders!’

Steering her towards the centre of the room, Git removed her jacket, his overly-long index fingers making short work of the buttons, throwing it on the sofa.

‘I want to show you my playroom, Anastasia,’ Git murmured, leading her towards the imposing glass-panelled door on the other side of the penthouse. He’d wood on him that’d repopulate the rain-forest, wait until she got a load of this.

Ana gasped as the door swung open, revealing a room every man dreamt of – posters of Jason Sherlock and Robbie Keane decorated the walls, there was a Wii and a PlayStation in one corner and a giant iPad in another, leather couches scattered everywhere. Centre stage was a super king-size bed with a mini-bar on each side and a 75 inch flat screen telly screwed to the ceiling above it.

‘When you’re in my playroom, you’ll dress appropriately, the way a real woman should dress,’ Git said, a ghost of a smile on his lips as he produced crotchless knickers and a Dublin jersey from behind his back.

Ana blushed, fingers trembling as she reached to take the items from his hands. Jaysis, she was gagging for it, he was going to hit that. Hard. Hit it with his rhythm stick.

When she was dressed, he led her towards the bed, binding her hands with the cable ties he’d bought in B&Q, his trousers barely able to contain the monster within.

‘Git, wait,’ Ana breathed. ‘There’s something I have to tell you before we do this. I’m a virgin.’

At her words Git felt something twist deep inside him. An unfamiliar sensation. Desire? Guilt? Fear?

‘Ana, my love,’ he gasped, suddenly recognising the sensation with sickening clarity. ‘I’ll be right back. I. Shouldn’t. Have. Had. The. Garlic. Fries.’

As he bolted for the en-suite he briefly wondered if Ana would be still there on his return – the door to the toilet wasn’t exactly soundproofed – but then he laughed. He’d seen her copping a sly look at his trouser truncheon. Of course she’d still be there. And then the fun could really begin.

 

To be continued …