*Anastasia Steele, tiring of constant submission after five years with Christian Grey, finds herself lured into erotic conversations with another man: the shy and virginal tech support guy.*
## Content warning for the prologue:
**NSFW. This excerpt contains coarse language; graphic descriptions of male anatomy, sexual violence and physical punishment; and misogynistic viewpoints. In case these warnings aren’t sufficient to indicate the nature of this tale, it is best categorized as erotica, however warped and comedic, so bear that in mind.**
# PROLOGUE
“COPE!” He shouted, glaring at me across the desk. “You don’t understand – this isn’t fun for me. I don’t enjoy this like you think I do. This is all just one giant fucking *cope.* If I can’t ever have a woman, at least I can watch Chad fuck you.”
“Then why do you do this, if it’s not really what you want?” I asked the man, who was glaring at me furiously, his chest heaving with the effort these words had required from him. He pinched his lips together, and drew his brows towards each other in hostility.
“I want to understand this,” I continued, hoping his angry face would soften with my conciliation. “I think if I understood better, maybe I could help.”
“I’ve been explaining this for hours, and you still don’t get it,” he said hollowly, slumping forward in his chair, bringing a hand to his unruly hair. “It’s impossible.”
“No, it isn’t,” I protested. “Let me guess at why you do this.”
He didn’t respond. He hung his head in his hands and rested his elbows on his knees, seemingly defeated.
“You do it because, rather than participating yourself, watching us gives you pleasure,” I started, my voice low. His eyes flicked upwards and met mine: they were terrified, and his lips parted. He drew in a shocked breath. He was speechless.
“And more than that, your pleasure comes from…describing it, to yourself?” I continued. He swallowed, and shifted back in his chair, and still said nothing. I looked at him, and he flushed red, turning his face away from me, then blinked his eyes rapidly.
Despite his hatred for me and his constant rebuff of any kindness I’d shown him, I felt my own face redden with the power of this thought, which he’d, I supposed, tacitly accepted. I was sure that were I wrong, he would have screamed at my stupidity. I knew that silence wasn’t proof of any kind, so I had to ask another question of him, if he would answer.
“Is this why you work for him?” I asked. “Do you have this job just so you can watch me, together, with Christian?”
“Yes,” he burst out angrily, his words exploding through the room’s silence. “It’s *perfect,* you and him. It’s fucking perfect.” He was quiet for a minute, collecting his thoughts, then he leaned forward, and something seemed to overtake him: his voice grew deeper, conspiratorial, and he stared at me boldly as he spoke.
“He whips you,” he started, pausing and whetting his lips at the thought of this, “and your body bends like a reed in the morning breeze, and glows pink like the dawn when his punishment marks your skin. And then he takes you in his arms and kisses you, and when he enters you, you cry out in the same voice as when he strikes your flesh. Every touch he lavishes on your body is pure pleasure to you. It makes no difference how he violates you.”
“Oh,” I gasped, feeling desire wash down me like a river. I felt the place between my legs clench. I knew I should be screaming in horror, that I should be running out of this room in shock and anger, that this was something I never intended to have happen when I’d sympathetically reached out to the sad young man in IT who’d complained to me he was afraid he’d die alone.
“Tell me,” I was saying to him, despite myself. “Tell me what else you see, when you watch us.”
The papers which contained this tale of what he saw were lying on the desk in front of him, but he didn’t need them: he closed his eyes, and leaned back, reciting from memory, as though he were speaking the words of a sacred text.
“I see Chad, as though he were a God, the beginning and the ending of all who carry the same name,” he began. “Chad, six feet tall, muscles rippling as he strides towards you, his massive dick erect and bulging through his jeans, which hang off his hips, in that way, that way which passes human understanding. Truly, it is a mystery how they hang off those hips, which the poets could never penetrate, though they might spend a thousand words erecting an echo of his glorious tentpole. Pythagoras could not triangulate the angle of his hard cock against the fabric. Heisenberg would say that you could not measure both its size and the force of its thrust as though you could unwrap the mystery which surrounds his glorious phallus, which you would be no closer to knowing than before. Knowing its depth, knowing its breadth, knowing its power, is a Biblical knowing; it is carnal, and concealed within impenetrable darkness. His mighty rod is roped with heavy veins, like a monster who must be bound so he does not burst forth like the Leviathan from the sea.”
“Jeez,” I said, my breath hitching. “That’s-wow. That’s a lot of similes you’ve put in there.”
“I have,” he replied, nodding. “Not many people could understand these things the way I do. I grew up religious, so I have some issues surrounding sex, and I listen to, like, a LOT of science podcasts. And now, I am nothing more than a vessel for this vision of Chad, for this vision of him taking what is his.”
He looked at me intently, and I returned his gaze, my heart pounding. I knew his words weren’t exactly tasteful, romantic descriptions. I knew they were hyperbolic, even absurd. But because I also knew and wanted the man he described, I was moved, despite myself. I felt my own desire throb deep within me. I cleared my throat, and crossed my legs, then wiped my sweating palms on my left thigh.
“And how,” I asked, breathing shallowly, “And how does he take me?”
“He takes you,” he said, leaning forward across the desk, “by unsheathing his mighty sword, dripping with the fluid of lust, throbbing with the power of his sexual potence, and puts it into – your thing.”
“My… thing?” I breathed. This word was where I, too, always hesitated. I hated the crass terms men used for women’s bodies, for their sex. It seemed to violate a secret, to name the hidden as though its darkness were not part of its desirability. This location was what I’d always mentally referred to as “down there.”
“Your place,” he said, seriously, his slight lips parted and his thin chest heaving. “The sheath formed around his cock, and his cock alone. I cannot speak of it, but now that I know that you’ve only been with him in your previously young and virginal life, I also know with utter certainty that he has etched himself into your flesh as though it were florist’s foam, and his dick was the instrument by which he has inscribed a furrow for himself with the savage thrusts of his body. You are seeded with the fruits of his loins, which burst forth into flowering when he comes.”
“OH,” I gasped. I’d hesitated when he’d invoked the florist’s foam, as my mind was preoccupied by the aromanticism of the unnaturally dense material, dyed false green, but when he arrived at the flowers, I was emptied of thought itself. I ached with desire as I clutched onto the edge of the desk.
“Tell me more about how he comes,” I said, my voice soft and low, catching in my throat.
“First, he commands you,” he said, closing his eyes and exhaling deeply through his nose. “He tells you to “come on.” Since he regularly tells you to “come” when he means “follow me,” I think he must mean “come on” as in “come on demand.” And you do, and then his dick pulses, and the movement is so powerful it quivers through his hips as though his body were a bow, unleashing his arrows into you. His face clenches as though a mountain stream flows from his loins, into your shallow pool, which collects the mighty torrent of his ejaculate, and it soon breaches your walls, dripping and staining the sheets as he sows his fertile seed. You are not enough to contain him.”
I was silent as a spasm rippled through me like waves passing over the surface of the water. I shook with the force of my body releasing me from the clenching grasp of my own satiety as I held onto the edge of the desk for support. “Oh my God,” I moaned, when it was over. “I’ve never felt so turned on in my life. This makes me feel so dirty. But it feels so good.”
“What?” he said, visibly annoyed. “Ew. That’s gross. I don’t want to hear about that. Yuck.”
“Sorry,” I said, collecting myself. I brought my hand to my brow, and it was damp with sweat. “I don’t know what came over me. I think that story is the most erotic thing I’ve ever heard.”
He looked disgusted: with me, or with himself, I wasn’t sure. “And that is why I’m going to die alone,” he intoned softly. “I’m not him. I can never be him. I can only look at him, and perceive what I don’t have, myself, as though he were a mirror for my own deficiencies.”
“You’re not going to die alone,” I insisted, still clutching the edge of the table as I tried to regulate my breathing. “That was really quite something. When you fall in love, you’ll be able to talk like that to the girl you want, a girl who will appreciate all your elaborate thoughts, and she’ll be quite beside herself.”
“No,” he said, sadly. “I’ve tried, with many other women. I’ve shown them my stories. And none of them want to hear it. They all say it’s creepy I’m so obsessed with describing another man’s penis and the way he has sex. Sometimes they call me gay, sometimes they tell me I need therapy, and then they always, always block me. They don’t get it. You seem to enjoy it, but I can only conclude this is because you’re fucked up like I am. And you’re taken.”
“I *am* taken,” I said. “And my husband is a possessive man. Even though we’re talking about him, I don’t know why I’m daring to speak to you like this, in his office, no less, while he’s away on business. You’re sure the security cameras aren’t recording right now, and that it won’t be suspicious? We’ve been here for hours. If you weren’t responsible for the equipment in this room I’d never dare to say these things.”
“I’ve fed the cameras with previously recorded footage of me working here, alone, on a loop,” he said. “I’ve recorded a few minutes of when you walked into the room to consult with me about your supposed computer emergency you’re pretending to have. I’ll make it look like you just came in five minutes before you leave here again. But if you keep holding onto the desk like a whore bracing for entry, you’ll give us away when I switch back to the live feed,” he said, annoyed.
“Sorry,” I said, releasing my hands and clutching them together instead.
“As if he’d worry for a second about me, alone with you,” he said, his voice cracking. “He knows I’m shit under his heel. I’m just a beta cuck. I’m not even a cuck because I’ve never had anyone. And I never will, because I’m too ugly.”
“You’re not bad-looking,” I insisted. “You’re not very traditionally masculine, I grant you that, but you’re not unattractive.”
“Sure, Stacey,” he said peevishly. I didn’t understand these code names; he had his own view of the world and its actors which I didn’t share. “There’s a reason you gave your virginity to Chad and not to me.”
“Christian,” I said. “To Christian. And I met Christian long before I met you, so I have no idea how you think that was ever going to be a possibility.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “You’re all the same, you women – you all want him, and none of you will ever want me.”
“Are we all the same?” I asked rhetorically. “You said no other woman would appreciate your stories, but I enjoyed that one. Doesn’t that show you that we aren’t all of one mind?”
“All it shows me is that you’re a freak,” he said savagely. “I can’t say I find it attractive, even, that you like it. I’m not sure I want to talk to you anymore about this.”
“Fine,” I replied, though my heart sank. “I understand that you might not want to tell me more. Your writing does seem rather intimate. But don’t you think you might be happier in life if you gave up watching, if it makes you so miserable, and tried to find someone to love, yourself?”
“No,” he said, harshly. “I’ve tried, and I’ve failed. Please don’t take this from me. This is all I have in life, to be the eyes that watch you with him.”
My heart wrenched with sympathy. I had to make him feel the untruth of this, to let him know that he could be desirable if he wasn’t so poisoned by self-hatred; that he’d find love if he could only perceive the beauty in himself.
“Now look here,” I intoned softly. “You’re being too hard on yourself. You don’t know how attractive you could be to someone, if you just let them speak with you without being so defensive, if you just approached them in the right way.”
“Bullshit,” he said flatly.
“It’s not,” I protested. “You have a very expressive face. It could be appealing, if you weren’t so angry all the time.”
“The face of a sub-2 human,” he returned, curling his lip. “You’re lying to me.”
“I’m not. And your hands are beautiful – they’re so elegant. Let me see them…”
I reached for him before I knew what I was doing. I extended my hand and brushed the top of his knuckles lightly my fingers.
“NO!” he screamed, jerking his arm away from me. His frame shook as he recoiled from my touch, and he clutched his wrist as though it burned. His face twisted with fury. “How *dare* you,” he spat. “You can ride Chad’s dick all day if you want, but you dare to come on to me, just to test me. You selfish whore. You’re as evil as the rest of them.”
“I’m sorry,” I choked out, in confused apology. I was anguished. How could he have misinterpreted such an innocent gesture? I had to make him understand. “You’re mistaken,” I pleaded. “I wasn’t coming on to you. I wanted to make you feel better about yourself, that’s all.”
“Shut up,” he bellowed. “God. You’re ruining everything, with your stupid ideas. Just like every woman ever.”
“I truly am sorry,” I pleaded, wishing he’d stop yelling at me. “I’ll not touch you again.”
“If you ever break that promise,” he said, “I’m telling Christian.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” I gasped. His eyes were cold.
“Wouldn’t I?” He asked ominously. “Wouldn’t I?”
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/7dnb0b/nsfw_fanfic_50_shades_of_celibacy_m_f_parody