50 Shades Freed – Chapter Three

After punishment sex on Christian’s yacht – in which Anna was told not to pee but we never found out why – she woke up the next morning, looked at herself in the mirror and gasped. Probably because she just realised that she’s actually two-dimensional.

Read Chapter Two.

Fifty Shades Freed
Chapter Three

I gaze in horror at the red marks all over my breasts. Hickeys!

Oh my goodness! A man who likes to tie you up and beat you gave you hickeys! Heaven forfend!

My subconscious peers over her half-moon specs … while my inner goddess slumbers on her chaise longue.

Did you wish EL James had forgotten about these two? So did I.

I know why he’s done this. Damn control freak.

So he’s eaten her breasts so she can’t get them out? Healthy.

Stepping back into the bedroom, I hurl the hairbrush at him, turn, and leave.

Oh no, it’s OK because she’s emotionally stunted too.

She storms up on deck and ‘flees towards the bow’ like she’s Rose off Titanic. I can only hope this boat sinks too. He asks how mad she is and she says, on a scale of one to ten, about fifty. Ha ha ha ha.

I want to shout at him, but I don’t want to push him too far. Heaven knows what he’d do.

So you can’t get angry with him because you’re afraid of what he might do? IS THIS NOT EMOTIONAL ABUSE?

“Okay,” he says, his voice placating. “I get it.”

Oh good, the beating will wait until another day.

I scold him, mulishly.

Mushily? Mulchily? I had to read that word several times before I understood what she was getting at.

“I’ve just learned that you’ve a good arm and a good aim, Mrs Grey.”
“I can throw and shoot straight, Mr Grey.”

Placing my bets now: I reckon Anna will shoot and kill psycho ex whats-her-name.

Everything is forgotten. They eat dinner on the deck.

“Why do you always braid my hair?” I ask.
“I don’t want your hair catching in anything.”

Like what? Your penis?

Suddenly he frowns and his eyes widen with alarm. It’s something painful, some early childhood memory.

What? Ask him what! Pry, damn you!

“No, it doesn’t matter. I don’t need to know.”

Ugh, FINE.

“What’s with the no going to the bathroom thing?”

Aha, asking the question we all want answered.

“The fuller your bladder, the more intense your orgasm, Ana.”

Um, up to a point.

“Come to bed with me?” he whispers.
Christian, you had me at ‘I do’ two and a half weeks ago.

Oh, he had you a lot longer ago than that.

Fade to black, no sex scene, they wake up on the boat again. Could this all have been condensed into one scene? No, no, I’m sure EL James must have thought about that in some depth.

I remember Christian’s joy in London when he’d discovered that I’d shaved off my pubic hair out of curiosity.

Jesus, Ana. Thanks for that.

Of course, I hadn’t done it to Mr Exacting’s high standards.

Argh, stop!

Nope, no stopping, she’s going to flashback instead.

“I thought … this is what you’d like.”
“You beguile me,” he whispers.

Well, that’s one word for it.

“I think I should do a thorough inspection of your handiwork, Mrs Grey.”
“What? No.”

Your husband wants to look at your vagina? Unimaginable!

“I think you missed a bit,” he mutters.

Ever the perfectionist.

He returns moments later, carrying a glass of water, a mug, my razor, his shaving brush, soap and a towel.

Oh dear, that’s a lot of items. Pity, I can’t remember them all.

He puts the water, brush, soap, and razor on the bedside table.

Ah, that’s better!

“It’s just wrong!” My voice is prissy and whiny.

Why is it wrong?!

“If it makes you happy, Christian, go ahead. You are so kinky.”

This really isn’t the kinkiest thing he’s done.

It tickles … but in a good way.

Of course in a good way, it’s your VAGINA.

End of flashback. Beginning to wonder why EL James didn’t just pick up this book where the last one left off. Again, I’m sure she had plenty of carefully thought out reasons.

Saint-Paul-de-Vence is a fortified medieval hilltop village. I stroll arm in arm with Christian … with my hand in the back pocket of his shorts.

How utterly sickening.

Taylor and either Gaston or Philippe – I can’t tell the difference between them…

Casual racism?

They go into a gallery to buy some art and spend the whole time talking to each other in murmurs whist they chew on each other’s ears. Mysteriously, nobody shoots them in the face.

We have finished lunch and are relaxing over coffee at the Hotel Le Saint Paul.

They’re abroad, do you get it? No? Let’s include more French names!

“You asked me why I braid your hair. … The crack whore used to let me play with her hair, I think. I don’t know if it’s a memory or a dream.”

Knowing this book, it’s a bloody dream.

“I think you loved your birth mother, Christian.”

Seems like a reasonable guess.

He frowns, exhaling deeply. Have I overstepped the mark?
“You know I don’t like talking about all that shit. It’s done. Finished.”
No, Christian, it isn’t.

For once she has a point, albeit unspoken.

He’ll always be Fifty Shades … my Fifty Shades.

IT’S THE TITLE IT’S THE TITLE IT’S THE TITLE.

They go into a shop and he buys her a bracelet of platinum flowers, each studded with a diamond. Apparently this village caters only to millionaires.

“I don’t need this.” I shake my wrist.

Christ, nobody NEEDS diamonds.

“I do,” he says with utter sincerity.

I stand corrected.

I kiss him … not for giving me the bracelet but for being mine.

I can’t stand much more of this. Some vengeful arsehole had better show up soon.

Back in the car he’s introspective. One of the twins – I think it’s Gaston – is driving.

Oh, thank God, it’s not racism. They’re twins.

I’m wearing a short, full, blue and white skirt, and a blue, fitted, sleeveless shirt.

And you could weave an entirely new outfit from all those commas.

“I want to look at your ankles,” Christian offers his quiet explanation.

Ooooooo…k.

He looks at the marks the handcuffs left and says he feels uncomfortable. She says not to worry, the sex was incredible. Then he gets a call: there’s a fire in the server room! I didn’t know he even had a server room!

“We don’t know for sure that it was arson,” he says.

Yeh, we do though.

My hand clutches my throat in fear.

Aw, merciful heavens! Bartholomew, fetch me my smelling salts!

What next?

I don’t know, EL James. That’s YOUR job.


Read Chapter Four.

Why not let me know what you think? You can buy the book here, or the entire trilogy, if you’re a glutton for punishment. Ironically.

About abusive relationships
Domestic violence helpline 0808 2000 247
Help for abused men 0808 801 0327

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Eating disorder helpline 0845 634 1414

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2 Comments on “50 Shades Freed – Chapter Three

  1. “Saint-Paul-de-Vence is a fortified medieval hilltop village. I stroll arm in arm with Christian … with my hand in the back pocket of his shorts.”

    Arm in arm and also in a pocket. It can be either one, or a mighty uncomfortable “arm in arm” – WTF?

    “My voice is prissy and whiny.”

    It’s how I always imagine her voice.

    Also… “My hand clutches my throat in fear.”

    Didn’t you… just for a second… wish she had squeezed and squeezed and squeezed?

    Must say, it always annoys me when C refers to his mother as “crack whore” while he’s projecting all his sexual mommy fantasies on his wife (or in the past his sex slaves), and then of course I wonder about his inclination towards little girl looking women and it annoys me more.

    Thanks for the update! Hope you’re doing well.

    • Haha, I hadn’t thought about arm in arm AND hand in pocket! Neither, apparently, did EL James…

      I’m doing great – hope you are too!

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