E L James' trilogy, Fifty Shades of Grey, explores themes of control and dominance in a relationship through bondage-laden sex, and we love it. It's not surprising, however, that the Fifty Shades book started as Twilight fan fiction.
Let's face it, America's roots in Puritanical religious beliefs have created a nation of women who are sexually repressed as compared to most European women, who have a more casual viewpoint when it comes to getting down between the sheets.
Twilight is about Bella Swan, a young woman who's so repressed sexually, she's willing to get involved with a vampire, tempted by his desire to penetrate her flesh with his fangs.
Fifty Shades of Grey, however, is the shadow version of the Twilight story. Again, another virgin who's so repressed sexually, she's willing to engage in a one-sided relationship where she has no power over her body at all.
Anastasia even lets Christian Grey reach into her nether region and remove her tampon because he wants her immediately — it's as if he's jealous of the lump of cotton she's put into her vagina. Of course, we all know that blood makes a terrible lubricant, but Mr. Grey doesn't seem to care.
Here's the scene from Chapter 23:
His breathing is ragged, matching mine.
"When did you start your period, Anastasia?" he asks out of the blue, gazing down at me.
"Err… yesterday," I mumble in my highly aroused state.
"Good." He releases me and turns me around.
"Hold on to the sink," he orders and pulls my hips back again, like he did in the playroom, so I'm bending down.
He reaches between my legs and pulls on the blue string… what! And… gently pulls my tampon out and tosses it into the nearby toilet. Holy f***. Sweet mother of all… Jeez. And then he's inside me… ah! Skin against skin… moving slowly at first… easily, testing me, pushing me… oh my. I grip on to the sink, panting, forcing myself back on him, feeling him inside me. Oh the sweet agony… his hands clasp my hips. He sets a punishing rhythm — in, out, and he reaches around and finds my clitoris, massaging me… oh jeez. I can feel myself quicken.
"That’s right, baby," he rasps as he grinds into me, angling his hips, and it's enough to send me flying, flying high.
Whoa… and I come, loudly, gripping for dear life on to the sink as I spiral down through my orgasm, everything spinning and clenching at once. He follows, clasping me tightly, his front on my back as he climaxes and calls my name like it’s a litany or a prayer.
"Oh, Ana!" His breathing is ragged in my ear, in perfect synergy with mine. "Oh, baby, will I ever get enough of you?" he whispers.
Will it always be like this? So overwhelming, so all-consuming, so bewildering and beguiling. I wanted to talk, but now I’m spent and dazed from his lovemaking and wondering if I will ever get enough of him.
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