Authors · Literature · other · Popular Fiction

Buzzfeed’s, Create Your Own Fifty Shades of Grey.

I am as addicted to Buzzfeed’s quizzes as I am to chocolates. This particular post is fan-fiction. If many of you can’t view the excerpt, then let me tell you about it again. As already understood by the title of the post, Buzzfeed gave a chance to its readers to create their own Fifty Shades of Grey and see if we could write it better than E.L. James. The team had given a passage from one of the books; with certain words and phrases omitted and in place of them, blank spaces. They had further given us the task to click on the blank spaces and choose the appropriate words to fill in the blanks (there were options). I came up with this. It was pretty hilarious. Enjoy reading.

At dinner we fill up on wine and decide to skip straight to dessert. Christian leads me to the Citadel. I slip out of my fedora and bend over the 1992 Ford Fiesta.

He blindfolds me, and binds my wrists with quantum strings.

The wine has my head spinning, and the feel of his Winter Soldier in control of my body has me wetter than a Mosasaurus.

Christian leans over and whispers in my ear, “I’m going to stick my Steve Rogers in your Minion.”

I can’t see, but my other senses are electrified. My skin becomes translucent as I hear him behind me filing his venom.

He inspects my sex and I squeal in delight, the sharp pain making my Zuul search for the Keymaster. I want more. “Christian, please, wingardium my leviosa.”

I’ve spoken out of turn, and he spanks my sex. I hear him unwrap a condom. The anticipation has my knees shaking. My dark crystal is glowing.

He grabs my hips, slowly sliding his Hannibal Lecter deep into my fortress of solitude and I gasp as he starts berating me like the Mighty Thor.

He grabs a handful of my pot pourri and I cling to a fibre glass model of HMS Victory amidst the might of his Groot.

“Your Downton Abbey feels so good,” he whispers, encrypting his Two Ronnies into my Hermione Granger. He reaches round and deftly Nevilles my Longbottom as our bodies collide faster and harder.

My heart is pounding, and my body is tense in anticipation of his impending Inbox zero. I feel my own excitement build as he starts to set up base camp inside me, his fingers tapping out morse code on my First Generation iPod.

”I am going to depart for Valhalla,” he tells me. “Would you like permission to ride the apocalypse with me?”

”Yes,” I gasp, glad he’s not going to make me beg for his angry sauce.

“Where do you want it,” he asks, pulling hard on my hair. We’re both right on the edge.

“In my cave of forgotten dreams please.” I manage to utter as my body tightens and convulses, a powerful Kaiju exploding through me as he teleports his Riders of Rohan into my Arctic tundra.

He unties me and we slump to the floor, panting, delirious, covered in each other’s ramen broth.

“I enjoyed that,” I tell him. “I like it when you operate covert military drone strikes against my Avengers.”

“My cock plays bass in a Neil Diamond tribute band,” he grins, as we lie together in temporary bliss.


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