Book Review: Fifty Shades of Grey by E.L. James

(If you like this shit, check out my book Hot Naked Tits.)

Right now, your mom is masturbating to a dirty book about a guy who duct tapes a young girl to a chair, blindfolds her, gags her, beats the shit out of her, then pulls a tampon out of her cooch and fucks her period pussy before spraying hot, salty jizz all over her face.  With his huge cock.  His huge, huge cock.  So huge that she is scared of it, your mom in character as this 21 year old girl. The girl whom she is pretending to be while she is flicking her middle-aged bean is younger than you.  She is younger than your younger sister.  She is a mere four years older than you were when your mom would have been horrified to find a pack of purloined Virginia Slims crumpled up in your Levis when she was doing your laundry.

Right now your mom is pretending to be a girl who literally just turned old enough to drink, who meets a notorious but reclusive billionaire “industrialist” who made huge sums of money in the way that women think “industrialists” make money, which is: they don’t know, so he just owns a bunch of factories where things are made by hand right here in the good old U S of A and a bunch of farms where man and beast alike are treated ethically and humanely.  When asked about his massive hoard of non-inherited money bootstrapped from nothing with the sweat of his brow the man, who is under thirty, speaks of how he “knows people” and the key is his forty thousand employees, all of whom he has hand-selected and pays what they’re worth and listens to their ideas and etc., even though his army of hot young blonde secretaries are terrified of him.  The girl had to interview him for the school paper when her cub journalist roommate got sick, and then he tracked her down and made the girl his fuckslave.

This is what your middle aged suburban mom likes to think about when she pulls her Rabbit™, which is a bright purple larger-than-average artificial penis with rotating pearl-like bearings along the shaft and a clitoral stimulator shaped like the eponymous animal—when your 55 year old presumably overweight mother who has not groomed her salt and pepper pubic area in several decades and has what appears to be the scalp of 1982 Jerry Garcia affixed to her crotch—when she pulls this machine out of the dishwasher after your father has passed out in front of Sportscenter, when she unbuttons the top few buttons of her generously cut Walmart® Faded Glory™ jeans and teases the top of her mons pubis slightly with the tip of her index finger, she is beginning to think about this steely-eyed, young, and virile master of the universe—of her hot, moist universe. She is thinking about being a lithe virginal 21 year old whose pussy tastes like butterscotch, having the back of her neck held in a Vulcan death grip and her face forced into a  pillow near to the point of suffocation while her wrists are duct taped behind her back with duct tape that this man– who looks exactly like Robert Pattinson, since the story originated as TWILIGHT fan fiction— this man purchased right in front of her, personally, at the hardware store where she had part time employment in her college town.  He made a special trip and carved time out of his billionaire’s day to travel to her small community and purchase the accoutrements of brutal sexual bondage at the quaint mom and pop Tru Value where she earns $7.50 an hour, so as to communicate in a menacing but alluring manner that this accidental substitute cub reporter for the college newspaper was his desired catamite.

So she is thinking about being quasi-forcibly penetrated with this man’s impossibly generous and perfectly complected cock, your mom.  A cock which is stretching her 21 year old butterscotch tasting pussy that even though said pussy has drunk deeply of this same member on a few prior occasions, this bone-white and rigid member is so impossibly huge that it still manages to push her open and stretch and sting. And yet somehow it miraculously fits, inside your mom.  Who had hoped to have a sort of luxurious drawn out teasing period with the tip of her index finger on her mons pubis and outer labia before going whole hog with the Rabbit™ but the thought of his hot breath on her neck as he leaned on her and pushed her gagged face into the mattress was just too hot and she just plunged the whirring churning rotating rabbit inside her right up to the hilt and came instantly like a volcano; she couldn’t help herself.  Your mom.

So in conclusion: five stars.

Tags: book review, fifty shades of grey, your mom