50 Shades of Dronfield

Fifty Shades of Dronfield

Following on from the spectacular success of E. L. James’ mommy-porn prize-winner, Fifty Shades of Grey, a handful of Dronfield writers have teamed together to penetrate readers’ minds with their intoxicating erotic literature. A book so filthy, it was described by Derbyshire Time’s Michael Broomhead as ‘bloody raunchy from cover to blurb, it’s fucking filth’.

Update: following the release of the film…

Here are some excerpts from the book, which is due to be released in early January:

His arms are wrapped around me I can still smell the cheesy chips and garlic mayo on his breath. He’s pulling me towards him, hard, fast, grasping at my ponytail with his grease-ridden hands to tilt my head up, kissing me like a disgraced childrens entertainer from the 70s. He drags the hair tie painfully out of my hair – like a disgraced childrens entertainer from the 70s, again – stopping only briefly to take a sip from his Tennants Super, but I d0n’t care. He needs me, for whatever reason, at this point in time and I have never felt so desired and coveted.

We lie there on Gosforth Fields together, muddy and pissing freezing, waiting for our breathing to slow so we can comfortably share a Sterling Superking without coughing. He gently strokes my hair. That wasn’t so bad. I’m more stoic than I thought but I can’t help realising it’s past 10pm and there’s nowhere to buy a bottle of Black Tower.  

He leans down and kisses me, in the shadow of the Peel Monument, his fingers still moving rhythmically inside me like he was trying to conduct the theme tune to Jurassic Park, his thumb circling and pressing. His other hand scoops my hair off my head and holds my head in place while several Volvo estates drive by looking over suspiciously. His tongue mirrors the actions of his fingers, which at this point were moving so rapidly I felt like his hand had been replaced by electric whisks.

You beguile me, Christian. Completely overwhelm me. I feel like Icarus flying too close to the sun or a stolen JCB excavator smashing through the wall of a HSBC bank. Take me, take me like a bunch of stolen money from a cash point. 

Other contributions that didn’t make it into the final cut:

He looked at me, with a look that made me feel uneasy but as moist as a well-cooked Victoria sponge. Then he did me rate hard up against the bins behind the Civic, it made me feel like I was 16 again. Some unfortunate soul was going to find my knickers somewhere round here tomorrow I thought, but que sara sara, knickers they’ll see, they’ll see.

I was proper up for it, I dropped my pants and he lunged at me like Richard Parker, the tiger from Life of Pi. I bent over the park bench and Sindefingen became a totally different place, they should rename it single finger. I wasn’t at my best, I had my M&S basics underwear on and he could sense how grubby I was. They were wet through like the Swan after 4AM on a Thursday Night. 

Hot stuff indeed. If you were affected by anything you have just read, please contact us to let us know badly you want to buy a copy.

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