29 April 2013

Fifty Shades Fucked


Here's a special treat to help you ease in to your manic Monday routine. Penned by my friend, mentor, and now collaborator, A. Hazudó from Siren Song Publishing, this parody of the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy made me cry laughing! (I confess to having a Bruges moment when the dwarf made an appearance.) 


Missed the first two parts? Check out Fifty Shades of... Earl Gray? and Fifty Shades More Ridiculous.

 Emma xox

 * * *


 Part 3: Enter the Dwarf

Mihaela held the cudgel in her hand, uncertain as to what to do next. “Oh my,” she said to herself aloud (if that is even possible), “Does he really want me to put it in that naughty place? It might hurt,” she whispered in a husky voice. 

Meanwhile, Hairy Earl’s staff waved menacingly in the breeze (which was truly strange since they were in an airtight dungeon), like the pole of some clipper ship heading home to harbor. He jerked convulsively in his chains and hummed the following Supremes tune through gritted teeth:

“Baby love, oh baby love / Take that thing and poke and shove….” 

Mihaela knew what she had to do. She quickly lathered the entire content of the K-Y onto the cudgel, gripped it firmly in her right hand and, while grabbing his up-thrust manhood with her left, she proceeded to ram the cudgel into her own Devil’s Doorway up to the very hilt, all the while intoning “Yes, MASTER……” in an unusually high falsetto. 

Her left hand slid furiously down his shaft until the head turned a pure vermillion, and Hairy Earl started twitching like he had the St. Vitus dance upon him. She too shuddered convulsively, as she felt herself building up to a violent bowel movement. 

“OH….MY..EYE…EYE…..EYE…..EYE,” she screamed, just as Hairy Earl shuddered in ecstatic convulsion and spent in copious libations halfway across the room. 

Panting like a pony after a delightful canter, she pulled out the cudgel from her rear, all the while emitting a loud and pungent series of staccato farts that ending up in a perfect high “C” as she demurely squeezed her cheeks together so as not to offend. 

And as she did so, she felt something jingle behind her, and a smooth leather bridle descend over her muzzle, the bit gripping her tightly while separating her mouth into a ludicrous grin. 

Nervously, she turned around and saw a little man but three feet tall wearing nothing but an elf cap on his head and holding a riding crop in his tiny fists. “Oh my,” she trembled. “It is a dwarf,” she thought perceptively, “with his chunky little butt and his erect little dwarf penis.” 

“Yes,” groaned Hairy Earl. “It is truly he, borrowed from the film set of Game of Thrones. Note how he has a smooth mellifluous British accent, and his head is of ordinary size, while his dick leaves something to be desired. But no matter, do his bidding or face the consequences.” 

Although it was difficult for her to turn her head, Mihaela did so, noticing Peter (for that was the dwarf’s name) licking his lips lasciviously while holding in his hand his appendage of pleasure that truly looked no bigger than a cocktail wiener. 

Peter ordered her on all fours and attempted to mount her, but the best he could do was to climb onto her back. She felt with a thrill his hairy scrotum rub against her coccyx as he began to scream out the verses of “The Arab to his Steed” in his best fake Dublin accent. All the while, he wielded his crop and whipped Hairy Earl back into tumescence. 

What had started out as a brief canter, quickly turned into 3 minutes of unbridled passion. Peter rode her bareback, his tiny joint sticking up more like a weak comma than an exclamation mark. He screamed the words to the poem until he became a little hoarse, and Hairy Earl, stallion that he was, discharged yet another copious libation square into little Peter stylishly cropped hair. 

All three collapsed into a paroxysm of pleasure, with Mihaela’s “Oh my-s” drowning out the neigh-sayers. Slowly she gathered herself together and undid the chains of her now limp lover. Little Peter too had collapsed and lost consciousness, and she stroked his hair lovingly as she undid the bridle from her mouth. She noticed how her fingers were covered in something slick, and she noticed that his hair had changed colors and how strands now danced in the sunlight (though they were in a dungeon underground). 

“Oh, my,” she intoned. “It is truly 50 shades of Gray.” 

And off she went, a woman satisfied, a woman who had rediscovered her sexual identity, a woman well-shtupped. 

She did not forget to slip the cudgel into her purse as she snapped the bolts on the dungeon door, that place where she had been made whole.

The End


Photo credits: Naked Happy Women

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

This was ridiculously funny.

Emmanuelle Undine said...

@ Anonymous: I know! I laughed so hard my insides hurt!