Updated on May 24, 2015
50 Shades of Grey – Chapter Twelve
I wonder whether Ana is going to sign the contract to become Christian’s sex slave? Quick, let’s get through this chapter before my eyes start bleeding. Again.
50 Shades of Grey
For the first time in my life I voluntarily go for a run.
No shock, no matter how earth-shattering, would ever incite me to go for a run.
I set off into the opal and aquamarine dusk.
EL James, don’t start trying to make us give a crap about poetic things like the colour of the dusk, when you have hitherto foregone any attempt at literary merit.
When she gets back home, Kate has been shopping for her holiday to Barbados. Like a true bitch, she shows Ana what she bought.
She has a curvy, slim figure to die for. She doesn’t do it on purpose, I know…
Yeh, she does. Eating healthily and exercising just to make you feel small, Ana. What a cow.
I email Christian.
Okay, I’ve seen enough. It was nice knowing you.
ANA HAS A SPINE?!
I press “send” … laughing at my little joke.
Oh, no she doesn’t.
I pout petulantly as I plug my iPod earbuds in, listen to Snow Patrol…
For the second time this chapter. Snow Patrol ain’t that good.
I don’t know why I glance up … but when I do, he’s standing in the doorway of my bedroom…
If nothing has yet made you run for the hills, surely this will?
…his pants doing that hanging from his hips thing…
Odd. I like to hang my pants from my ears.
I open my mouth and then close it again, twice.
I guess Christian Grey is a pescophile.
I glance around, plotting an escape route. No – there’s still only the door or window.
You mean Christian didn’t blast a new entryway in the ceiling when he turned up? Disappointing.
Finally my medulla oblongata recalls its purpose. I breathe.
I had to check that the medulla oblongata controls breathing. It does. Comforting to know EL James has been on the same Wikipedia page as me.
How am I going to dig myself out of this?
Here’s a wild idea. Talk to him.
I’m all deer/headlights, moth/flame, bird/snake …
Fuck full sentences. Waste of valuable time/energy.
Christian has decided to ‘remind Ana how nice it was knowing him’, so he pushes her backwards onto the bed, after she pre-emptively launches herself at him. (No, I don’t understand that description either.)
“Trust me?” he breathes.
I nod, wide-eyed, my heart bouncing off my ribs, my blood thundering through my body.
All of that sounds painful.
…he fastens my wrists together … he ties the other end of the tie to one of the spokes of my white iron headboard.
And he walks out of the room, a job well done.
I can barely contain myself, lying helpless, watching him move gracefully around my room.
He bends into a plié, raises his arms above his head and pirouettes into her arms.
He goes and gets some white wine, takes a sip and basically spits it into her mouth. Then he puts some in her belly button, along with an ice cube, so she can’t move without spilling wine all over the bed.
“Oh no. If you spill the wine, I will punish you, Miss Steele.”
By spitting warm wine into your mouth.
I hear him smile.
No, you don’t.
All I can concentrate on is his voice and touch. Nothing else is real. Nothing else matters, nothing else registers on my radar.
Still managing to keep your inanely repetitive narration going, though.
My legs begin to stiffen as I push against his hand. He gentles his hand, so I’m brought back from the brink. … It’s so frustrating.
That’s what you get for wasting perfectly good mouth-wine.
“Is this nice?” he breathes in my ear.
He’s taken to asking her if things are nice in this chapter. I think this is a reference to the ‘nice knowing you’ email, but now it’s getting creepy.
“Shall I fuck you this way, or this way, or this way? There’s an endless choice.”
And yet he gives no elaboration on these ‘ways’, or even makes any hand gestures. Tease.
“How nice is this?” he says as he strokes himself.
Seriously, stop it. It’s not erotic, it’s odd.
…he grabs me suddenly and flips me over … so my behind is in the air, and he slaps me hard. Before I can react, he plunges inside me.
I come instantly again and again … as he continues to slam deliciously into me.
Slam deliciously? Oh God, someone get this woman a thesaurus.
“How nice was that?” he asks through gritted teeth.
It was very pleasant, thank you.
They have a bit of a post-sex chat (DANGER, DANGER, developing real feelings!), in which he reveals that he still talks regularly to the woman who was his Dominant, and he offers to introduce Ana to one of his previous Submissives. She gets all pissy with him and refuses.
“I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“I’m not offended. I’m appalled.”
That he’s had sex before? That a woman would do the very things that you’re contemplating doing? That you might be able to talk to someone who knows what’s involved? Confused.
I know I’ll have to face the Katherine Kavanagh Inquisition after he’s gone.
FFS. NOW SHE’LL WANT TO KNOW WHETHER ANA SLEPT WITH THE HOT BILLIONAIRE WHO TURNED UP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY. WILL THE TORMENT NEVER END?
The surge of jealousy I felt … tells me that I have deeper feelings for him …
At last! Some sort of self-awareness! I’m sure nothing will come of it.
After he’s gone she collapses in tears behind the door and, imagine, Kate is there to pick her up and help her out. Bloody nosy bitch. Then Kate tells her that Ana’s mum can’t come to her graduation, because her husband has ‘sustained some injury’. Nice and vague deus ex machina.
Dear Mr. Grey,
Here is my list of issues.
She has problems with being beaten, being punished, obeying him in all things, the time commitments, BDSM sex toys and not being able to touch him. Sounds like NOT SIGNING might be the best option.
The food list goes or I do – deal breaker.
Of all the things to be a deal breaker.
GO TO BED, ANASTASIA.
Oh … shouty capitals!
Read my shouty capitals. LET THIS BOOK BE OVER, PLEASE.
Read Chapter Thirteen.