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Sure would you not have a small bit?


Humour: Fifty Shades of Shite – Vol V

Posted July 24, 2012 by Karen Mulreid in Ramp Archives
50 shades

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?’


‘Harder, Ana?’


‘More, do you want more?’


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.

About the Author

Karen Mulreid

  • http://www.lisamcinerney.com Lisa McInerney

    I only got as far as “coughing ‘Moy Jayziz’ into her teacloth” before I lost it altogether. 

    So, so funny.

  • http://twitter.com/beatingblog Karen Mulreid

    I, yet again, channelled my Da writing that. He’s forever smoking thousands of cigarettes, then coughing up a lung into the tea towel, eyes watering and saying ‘Jaysiz bleedin’ Christ’ like he’s annoyed at the AUDACITY of the toxic chemicals for making him cough. The CHEEK of them, can they not just leave a man to enjoy a smoke in peace?

  • http://www.redlemonade.blogspot.com/ Kitty Catastrophe

    Oh god Karen! The squeaky inflatable hammer! You’re a genius!

    • http://twitter.com/beatingblog Karen Mulreid

       Thank you! I figured there’d be a few knocking about after the Euros and people would be looking for an ‘alternative’ use for them!

  • http://twitter.com/Heres_Ty Tynan Hooper

    Pure Filth.. Shocking… I loved it 

  • http://twitter.com/Fearganainim Fearganainim

    My brother had a cleaner like that…

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