In the earlier version of “Paging Dr. Steele,” Christian had a surprising and appalled reaction to Transcutaneous Electrical Nerve Stimulation (TENS). However, after years of writing this story and research that took me in directions that I never knew I would go, I have discovered the TENS may have a role in his past and/or his future. As a result, I have changed his reaction to the mention of “Electrical Play” from one of horror to no reaction at all.
This is a work of creativity. As such, you may see words, concepts, scenes, actions, behaviors, pictures, implements, and people that may or may not be socially acceptable and/or offensive. If you are sensitive to adverse and alternative subject matter of any kind, please do not proceed, because I guarantee you’ll find it here. You have been warned. Read at your own risk.
I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy, or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY story in MY interpretation as a fan. If something that I say displeases you, please, just leave. If you don’t like this story or me, please don’t spoil this experience for everyone. Just go away. For the rest of you, the saga continues…
My beautiful Butterfly has gone to get us some refreshments which allows time for me to go to the bathroom and put some cool water on my flaccid, tingling, slightly tender dick. Come on, Buddy. You can’t be out just yet. I’ve got plans for that gorgeous body that’s in the kitchen right now. I get a small bit of relief from the cool water, but Greystone has to rest for a moment before he’s up for any more action. I put on a pair of pajama pants and go back to the bed as we have vowed to continue our talk when she returns.
My little Butterfly returns with the melon skewers and the Thai chicken on a tray with two glasses of iced mineral water and lime.
Did I mention that she was perfect?
She removes her shoes and climbs into bed with me setting the tray between us. She hands me one of the glasses of water while putting the other glass on the nightstand nearest to her and settles back on a propped-up pillow. I take a drink before I start the conversation.
“I want you to keep the surveillance,” I say. She sighs.
“Christian, really. I can take care of myself.”
“And I completely believe that you can. But…” Now I have to come clean… again. “In the spirit of honesty, I have something to tell you. I talked to David today after you left the market.” Her eyes widen and she stops chewing.
“You did?” she asks incredulously.
“Why?” she asks.
“Because I wanted to see where his head was.” She swallows her food.
“Are you sure you just didn’t want to cock strut?” I twist my face a little.
“I’ll be honest and say that there may have been a little of that in my intention, but mostly I just wanted him to stay away from you and stop harassing you. Ana, he has no intention of doing that.”
“Well, that’s why I’m getting a restraining order,” she states.
“And I still want you to do that, but David has no intention of honoring that restraining order.” Her face turns pale and she sits up. “I don’t know what happened between the time that you guys broke up and now, but he thinks that he’ll always be on your mind and that you are always going to be his. The way that he talks about you, you’re cheating on him right now. You’re the lowdown dirty whore and nobody should want you—but the fact that somebody does is driving him insane. He’s not thinking straight. Some of the things that he said about you were so horrible that I had to literally shut down listening to him to keep from killing him right there and then; and I’m certain that this is not the same man that you had dinner with last night because the Ana I know wouldn’t have sat through appetizers with this monster.”
“He’s hurt,” she says softly. “He lashes out when he’s hurt.” Now I’m shocked.
“Are you defending him?” I ask, bemused.
“No! Absolutely not!” she snaps. Thank God for that. “I’m just saying that I recognize this behavior.”
“Well,” I continue, “he’s beyond hurt. He’s enraged. His words aren’t just unkind—they’re vicious. And even though I’m fully aware that you can take care of yourself and that you’ll have a restraining order in place, it would make me feel so much better if you let me have one of the guys keep an eye on you.” She sighs heavily and I hope I’m about to win this one.
“One of the guys… I don’t want the whole damn Secret Service following me around Seattle!” She points her finger at me. Yes, Mistress! Damn!
“And I get to know his damn name… and how to contact him.” Fair enough.
“And don’t keep things like this from me anymore, Grey. It’s only going to piss me off when I find out… and I will find out!” That’s a hard one, but I believe her when she says she will find out. And she’s calling me Grey again. Ouch! She’s serious.
“I’m a very private man, Ana. It’s a hard habit to break… but I’ll do my best. You have to be patient with me on that one.” She smiles.
“As long as I know you’re trying. Rome wasn’t built in a day.” Getting serious again, I say,
“Your guy has been Davenport so far. That’s probably who we’re going to keep.” She nods. “I’ll make sure you guys meet soon… formally, that is.” She nods again. “I also have a guy on David…”
“Oh, seriously, Christian, is that necessary?” she protests.
“I think so, and tomorrow, he’s going to be groveling for his job because I want to know why David was able to get within ten feet of you today!” She drops her head and puts her hand on her forehead. I move the tray from between us and take her in my arms.
“I know that you can take care of yourself,” I say softly. “I’ve seen you do it, but would you rather have had to grab this jerk by the balls today or would you rather have just kept shopping for your rhododendrons?”
I can tell I’ve made my point since I recall several flowers being crushed in the confusion this afternoon. She snuggles into my chest. Strangely, I kind of like it, but she must have realized what she’s doing because she freezes and raises her eyes to me.
“It’s okay,” I say, “It feels a little different this way.”
“Will you tell me one day why it’s a problem… touching your chest?” she asks.
“It’s very hard to talk about, Ana.” I don’t know how to begin to tell her what happened to me.
“I understand. So, what’s the problem with eye rolling? It’s such a small thing, and most often it’s just a reflex. Why is it an issue?” She quickly changes the subject.
“Because it is disrespectful and it makes me want to punish you,” I say sternly.
“Punish me!?” she gasps. “You mean with those things you have in that room?”
“Maybe,” I say, “Maybe just a good spanking until you little ass turns pink.”
“You’re insane,” she laughs, “You’re not going to hit me with those things.”
“I have to ask you, then. Why were you so turned on in the playroom if those things bother you so? I know that you were. Don’t bother trying to deny it.” She can’t deny it. Her breathing changes and her skin gets a little sweaty when she’s sexually aroused.
“In my profession, you have to be prepared for anything and one of the things my advisor told me was to study alternative lifestyles. So, I decided to look into BDSM. I took a human sexuality class just so that I could be partially informed on the lifestyle. I’ll admit that some of the stuff that I saw grossed me out, particularly blood play, needle torture, and fisting. Other things really piqued my curiosity. After I finished the class, I did a little research of my own.”
She did outside research on the lifestyle? Do tell, Ms. Steele. She sits up a little.
“There’s a problem when you start to delve into the human brain. Often you find that civilized human beings are capable of extremely uncivilized things.” She’s squirming a bit and she seems uncomfortable. “I had seen some pretty horrendous things in my research—mostly on the internet. I went to this one site that was all about electrical play and I swear, I felt queasy for hours.”
“What did you see?” I ask, curious about what she may have seen on whatever website she visited.
“Well,” she begins nervously, “apparently some guys get off on strapping electrodes to their genitals. It’s called Transcutaneous Electrical Nerve Stimulation or TENS. Some women do it, too. And that’s not the worst of it. There’s this thing called a ‘sub zapper.’ It’s basically a cattle prod.” I frown.
“A cattle prod?” I ask incredulously. “A real cattle prod?”
“I don’t think it’s a real cattle prod—a zap from one of those could kill you, but it looks like one.”
Yeah, um, cattle prods… no. I always thought of myself as one sick fuck—not because of what I do, but why I do what I do. It’s kind of comforting to know that there are some sicker fucks out there than me.
“Okay.” I have to get her back on track because cattle prods on people is some sick shit, even for me. “This tells me how you know about the lifestyle, but it doesn’t tell me why you were so aroused.” She turns the cutest shade of pink. Oh, Anastasia, I would love to see if your whole body blushes like that… with the right tools.
“I went to a fetish club one night with one of my classmates.” She takes a deep breath and lets it out. “It was one of those things where you could watch but not participate. They had several different demonstrations going on that I could observe pretty impassively, but there was this one…” She blushes uncomfortably again. She can’t be embarrassed to tell me, not after she’s seen my playroom. “… She was bound to a cross like the one that you have. She was very pretty. She was wearing nipple clamps—they looked pretty brutal. This guy was dressed all in black and he was whipping her with—I don’t know if it was a cat or a flogger…” I’m impressed that she knows there’s a difference. “He wasn’t beating her; it was more like a gentle lashing, if I’m making any sense.” I understand perfectly. “She was so petite and the way it wrapped around her body, I don’t know…” She drops her head. She is embarrassed recounting this. I lift her chin and make her look at me to finish the story. “It was more like a caress… and she loved it! She was enjoying it so much, and except for the fact that those nipple clamps looked like they had teeth, it seemed like something that I may enjoy, too, with the right person. I said I might try it someday and when I saw your dungeon…” I glare at her. I don’t have a fucking dungeon. “Sorry… your ‘playroom,’ it just brought to mind some of the stuff that I studied and saw, and… don’t get it twisted, Grey. You’re never going to whip me, beat me, or cane me!” she cautions.
“But you’re saying that you may be willing to play a little?” Oh God, please say yes!
“With specific attention to several hard limits, yes.” Did she just say hard limits? Hot-diggity-dog! And I thought she was a complete novice.
“Ana!” I say, “I’m impressed!”
“Why? Because I know the terminology?”
“I’m not a submissive, Christian,” she warns.
“Oh, that, I know,” I reply. The last thing you are, Ms. Steele, is submissive, but we’ll just see how far we can test that theory.
“But I like as much adventure, excitement, and kinkiness as the next girl, so… in the near future, I’m willing to experiment.” I pull her close to me and squeeze. I want to hug her and I want to fuck her. How the hell did I get so damn lucky?
“Oh, Ana. You have no idea how happy you have just made me,” I say as I reach down and gently squeeze her ass.
“Oh, I have an idea,” she chuckles.
“I’m curious about something else, Ana.” I turn to her a bit. “Now don’t take this the wrong way, because I really love it… but I get the idea from you and from David that he’s the only lover you’ve ever had. But you’re a real sex kitten. I mean you’re a fucking natural—insatiable, talented… damn! How does that happen?” She smiles coyly but there is a little sadness behind it, too. I pull her closer as she tells her story.
“More outside research, so to speak. I wish I could say that was a happy circumstance.” She sighs heavily. “The truth is that I threw myself into being sexy for Edward—how to please a man, how to fuck, how to talk, what to do, what to wear, the whole nine yards. But he was still insistent on seeing what Seattle had to offer, so my ‘skills’ lay dormant for a long time.” She lay on my chest again, and I pull her in, until I can feel my own heartbeat. “I was very lonely—not because men didn’t want me, because they did—but because the man I wanted didn’t want me. That’s a terrible feeling.” She nuzzles into my side like she could disappear there. “Every man in the world can want you, but if you love somebody and they don’t love you back, you just want to die.” For the first time, I got a glimpse of how some of my subs must have felt—when they wanted more and I sent them away because I wasn’t capable—or willing—to give them what they wanted. I still contend that it wasn’t my fault because they knew the arrangement coming in, but this was different. This was a sensual, sexy, beautiful woman who thought she had found her one and only, and he’s out trolling the streets while she’s at home perfecting her seduction skills for him. And now, for some reason, God has chosen to drop her into my hands—a fucked up sadist who beats brunettes because of his dead mommy issues. I just hope He doesn’t see fit to take her away from me. I put my hand under her chin and lift her face up so that I can look at her.
“Keep going,” I say. I want her to get it all out and never think about this asshole again.
“I walked in on him with another woman at a restaurant. Al forced me to go. I knew what was going on all along, yet I convinced myself that if I didn’t see it, it wasn’t happening. Isn’t that the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard?” She laughs in a way that sounds like a sob. “Anyway, I put him out that night and I secretly wished for months that he would come back to me.” She quickly wipes away a tear. “After that, I gave up and closed myself off—no dates, no blind dates, no ‘I’ve got this friend you would really like’—nothing! I concentrated on finishing my internship and getting my license, and when I did, it was the happiest day of my life—second to the day that I left Henderson for good. I was able to let go of old ghosts and move on for the most part, but I didn’t realize that there was one ghost that I didn’t release.” She tries to disappear into my side again, but I wouldn’t let her. What old ghost?
“There really isn’t much more to the story,” she sighs.
“Why did you go to dinner with him last night?” I ask. If she doesn’t love him anymore and she doesn’t have any residual feelings for him, then why have a meal with him? She shakes her head like she’s trying to shake away a bad thought.
“That was more for him than it was for me,” she says. It sounds like a confession. “I thought it was the other way around—that I was looking for closure, but that’s not true. I’m only just now realizing that…” And there’s that tragic laugh again. “Shortly after I felt I had gotten over him, he started contacting me again, asking me to take him back and if we could talk and clear the air. I constantly denied him, but everything changed the weekend before the most recent group sessions started. He showed up at one of my dinner parties uninvited. He waited until everybody left and he pushed himself on me. I almost gave in. I was so lonely and was all I had ever known…” She shakes her head, sadly. “… But all of those feelings of hurt and betrayal came back, and I knew I couldn’t let him near my heart ever again.”
She tries to hide again, but quickly realizes that the effort would be futile and readjusts herself. I move the tray off the bed before she snuggles back into my chest. “He pestered me for years to talk to him, trying to get me back. I agreed to dinner in a moment of weakness. I was trying to get some sleep and he wouldn’t let me get off the damn phone. I thought it was for the best, because I thought if I talked to him civilly without all of the anger, he would understand that there’s simply no more chance for us. I was wrong.”
“Is there no more chance for you two?” I ask cautiously. She looks up at me.
“Sure… A snowball’s chance in hell,” she shrugs.
“And you don’t love him anymore?”
“About as much as you would love a boil in the crack of your ass,” she responds. I laugh. I think that’s a “no.”
“Then that’s enough for tonight.” I say as I gently kiss her lips. They’re so soft and I just want to bury myself in her kiss. This beautiful, sexy, bruised goddess lying here next to me—I want to make her whole, and I want her to make me whole, too. We feast on each other’s lips and tongues for several minutes. This is something that I’ve never done—kiss a woman for longer than a few moments. But Ana, I could kiss her until my lips went numb. When we finally come up for air, Ana takes the dishes and the tray back to the kitchen. When she leaves the room, I go to the playroom, careful not to alert her in the kitchen. From there I retrieve a blindfold, citrus body oil, a fur glove, and the bullet vibrator and bring them back to the bedroom. I go into my closet and grab the first tie I see—navy blue, Ana’s favorite color. I place all of the items in plain sight on the night table for when she returns.
“What’s all this?” she says coyly when she sees the display as she walks back into the room.
“This is our first session of playtime. Would you like to play?” She looks at me tentatively. After a few moments of silence, I add “Do you trust me?” She swallows.
“Do you promise not to hurt me?” she says, her blue eyes questioning.
“Of course, Ana,” I say, holding her face in my hands. “I’ll never hurt you.” She sighs.
“Then I’ll trust you,” she says softly. I kiss her gently and lead her to the bed.
“Lie down for me.” She lies down, face up. “Put your hands together.” As I bind her hands together with the blue tie, I see a small amount fear in her eyes. I sit her up and sit on the bed next to her. “Ana, I’m going to blindfold you. Do you trust me?” She nods, her eyes large and frightened. I put my hand on her cheek. “Do you want to stop?”
“No,” she says, just above a whisper. She’s afraid and I can tell. This is her first experience with any type of bondage and she doesn’t know what to expect. I’ll make this a wonderful experience for her.
“If you want to stop at any time, you need a safe word. I need you to choose two words, Ana, words that you’ll remember. The first word will mean that you’re getting close to your limit and the second word means that you want me to stop immediately. Choose your first safeword, Ana,” I say in my Dom voice. She’s breathing deeply, so I know it’s affecting her.
“Bells,” she says, timidly.
“Bells,” I repeat. She nods. “Choose your second safeword, Ana.” She’s staring at me. Her heart rate has risen and her eyes are an ocean blue. Her chest is rising and falling rhythmically. She’s ready and I won’t touch her yet. I’ll only command her now. “Your second safeword, Ana,” I repeat.
“Whistles,” she gasps. Bells and whistles. I should have known.
“Whistles,” I repeat. She nods. I pick up the blindfold. “Are you ready, Ana?”
“Yes,” she breathes. I put the blindfold on her and her breathing immediately quickens. “Lie back.” She slowly lies on her back. I go over to my iPod dock and put one song on repeat—Quincy Jones, “Secret Garden.” I go back over to Ana and gently stroke her calves. She flinches from the surprise. I untie the strings on her dress and then I straddle her. I put my face close to hers. I can feel her breath on my cheek and she can feel mine.
“I have three rules tonight, Ms. Steele. If you address me, address me as ‘Sir.’ Do you understand the first rule?”
“Yes, Sir.” Good girl.
“Second rule,” I put her hands over her head. “Do not move your hands. Do you understand the second rule?”
“Third rule… you cannot come until I give you permission. Do you understand the third rule?” She pauses for a moment. She knows this is payback for her blowjob. “Do you understand the third rule, Anastasia?”
“Yes, Sir,” she whimpers.
“Good.” I sit up and peel her dress off of her—achingly slowly. I allow the elastic in the built-in bra to rub against her nipples as I pull it down from her breasts. Her lips are parted and she’s panting heavily. Not knowing what’s happening is both frightening for her as well as arousing. She whimpers a little in her breathing as I remove her dress completely. She’s lying before me gloriously naked in my bed. I start with her feet, a delicious massage with the citrus oil. When I put pressure on her instep and graze the pad of her toe with my teeth, she nearly snatches her foot away from me. I can tell that she didn’t expect those points to be connected to her pleasure center. I move on to the fur glove—from one arm to the other and down the sides of her body. She anticipates that I’ll rub her breasts, so I bypass them and caress her from head to toe, avoiding her nipples and her pleasure center. I know her skin is tingling and I have to tell her to control her breathing so she doesn’t hyperventilate. Yes, my little Butterfly, the shoe is on the other foot now.
My body is on fire! He did something with my feet that went straight to my core. I’ve never felt that before and I was afraid I was going to kick him in the teeth!
He wants me to call him “Sir.” I know that is some submission shit… but it’s so fucking sexy!
And I can’t come? Shit! How the hell am I going to stop myself from coming… especially if he does that thing with my feet again? When he stops touching me, it seems like ages before he touches me again, even though I know it’s only moments. Now he’s touching me with something fuzzy. Furry? He’s gently stroking it over every part of my body—all of my exposed skin. Why am I so damn sensitive? Shit! When he goes down the sides of my body, I feel like I’m going to combust! Good God, what is he doing to me? I push my breasts forward, but he ignores my silent request and continues to tease the rest of my body. Hell, not touching them is leaving me yearning and my breath is coming in short. Now he’s at my hips… my thighs… the back of my knees… Que le ciel me vienne en aide!
“Control your breathing, Anastasia,” he says, “like you told me… in through your nose, out through your mouth…” Yeah, I know this is payback for that orgasm denial blowjob, Sir. Fine. I’ll take it like a big girl.
Is this supposed to be a punishment?
Something like that.
Once my breathing has regulated, he brings the glove between my legs and strokes the tender meat of both of my thighs but doesn’t touch my center. Oh, douce agonie!
“Ooh,” I whine in frustration.
“Something the matter, Ms. Steele?” he taunts.
“No, Sir,” I whimper. There’s nothing to hold on to above my head and I’m supposed to keep my hands up here. I find the rim of the mattress and hold on tight or this part of the deal will surely be broken. I smell citrus again and now he is fondling my nipples with oiled hands.
“Oooooohhh!” All the anticipation has my nipples tingling to the slightest touch and he’s pinching and rolling—fuck, can you come this way? If he doesn’t stop, I’m going to find out. “Aaaaaaahhhh!”
“Quiet, Ms. Steele!” he orders. Are you kidding me? I can’t move my hands, I can’t come, and now I can’t make any noise? He has some really high expectations! Nonetheless, I’m a good sport, so I’ll try to do what he says, but I’m not going to make it easy for him, either.
My body writhes and I thrust my hips forward. I hear the sharp intake of air from Christian and, without my sight I’m not quite sure what’s happening. I only know this movement has affected him in some way. That’s right, Grey. If I have to suffer, you have to suffer a little, too.
He’s still incessantly pinching my nipples. When his mouth replaces one of his hands, I’m sure I’m about to come. The warmth of his lips and the massage of his talented tongue…
“Sir,” I mewl, “I’m going to come.”
“I know,” he says against my breast. Bastard. You told me not to come!
“Sir… please….” My legs are open and I bite my lip to keep from crying out… and he stops, right at that critical moment. “Fuck!” I yell.
“Ms. Steele!” he scolds, “Language.” I’m so going to make him pay for this. He starts his stimulation of my tender nipples again. Oh, shit! You didn’t give the first one the chance to subside! Shit, shit, shit. I won’t say anything this time. I won’t, oh fuck, I won’t…oh… “Non non non… pas encore.”
“Français à nouveau, mademoiselle Steele? Comment érotique.” I didn’t know I had verbalized that last statement until he responded in my “native tongue” nearly sending me over the fucking edge.
And he stops again.
I cry out in frustration. His hands are running down my body now, still oily… and I made the mistake of opening my legs earlier. He goes right for the money.
“Fuck, Ana, you are dripping wet!” he says as he sinks a finger into my sex. You don’t say, you beautiful asshole? I arch my back to meet his hand. Fuck being quiet.
“Aaaaahhhhhh!” Oh, great day in the morning! He puts another finger in and massages my walls. “Oh, my God!”
“Oh, Ana. You’re so responsive. You’re getting wetter and wetter.” I’m keening to keep from crying out. He takes his thumbs and massages my clitoris while his two fingers work the inside.
“Fuck!” I scream, and he stops again. I’m panting again.
Fuck! He wins. He wins!
No! Not yet!
I’m going to make you start saying stupid shit and not even Bosco’s going to be able to help you!
I said… no… Oh, fuck.
While I‘m arguing with The Bitch, I feel something vibrating against my stomach. What the hell is that? It moves down to my pelvic line. “Aaaahhh.” It’s shooting right to my center and he’s not even there yet.
“Can you take it?” he says, his voice husky.
“I don’t know, Sir,” I gasp, clinging to the mattress for dear life.
“Why don’t we see?” he slowly inches the small vibrator down to the lips of my vagina.
“Aahh!” I gasp. I feel the sweat now. My hair is sticking to my face and my skin is all clammy.
He moves the vibrator lower and inside, directly on my clit. Shit, here it comes.
“Oh, fuck! Christian!” He pauses.
“What did you call me?” he says.
“Sir… Sir… bells… bells…!” I’m panting. I can’t take anymore. If I don’t come, I’m going to pass out.
“Are you ready to come now?” he taunts.
“Yes, Sir… please.” He removes my blindfold. The lights are so low… just enough to see his face. I don’t know when, but he has taken off his clothes… and he’s naked! He’s finally completely naked! OhmercifulGodFatherinheavenMarySweetMotherofJesus and every other sacred exclamation there is! The sight alone is enough to make me come.
“Let go of the mattress.”
“Let go!” he orders gently. I release the mattress. My hands hurt from how hard I was holding on to it. He straightens my left leg and holds it down with his right hand, then he wraps my right leg around his hip and bends his left leg up for traction. It feels strange at first and I’m thinking how the hell is this going to work? I soon find out that he knows exactly what the fuck he’s doing.
He starts to stroke me with his erection, outside of my lips and then the head in the folds.
“Are you still wet for me Ana?” he says, his voice husky and cracking a bit from the pleasure.
“Yes, Sir,” I whisper, my eyes closed.
“Open your eyes,” he commands. I open my eyes to see his hooded grays, filled with desire.
“Let’s see.” And with a pivot of his hips, he slams into me.
“Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!” I scream. In this position, I feel everything! One leg is up, allowing every stroke to slide against my clit. The other leg is down, so my vaginal walls are close, allowing me to feel every thrust. Now, he has begun a hard, punishing rhythm that’s hitting my sweet spot deep inside. Also, his hands are holding both thighs into position, his fingers digging slightly into the meat and pulling or pushing me into him with every stroke. Finally, he has resumed that agonizingly delicious stimulation of my breasts again with his mouth and teeth.
There’s nothing I can do, but surrender to him. His fingers clamp in a vice-like hold on my thighs. The grip is slightly painful, but the animalistic sensation it induces is pushing me closer and closer to my release. He’s pounding relentlessly deliciously into my core and I’m whimpering terribly because he hasn’t told me that I can come yet. I hear him groan deeply, as he thrusts into me and gyrates his hips, mercilessly massaging my clit with his pelvis and my inner walls with his massive throbbing manhood. Oh, God, I can’t take this much longer. I feel tears burning my eyes because this orgasm is coming whether he says it can or not and I’m afraid he’s going to stop again. Just as the sensation rises in my thighs, I let out a gasping sob and he knows it’s there.
“Come for me, baby.” he growls in my ear. Oh, good Lord, I feel like I’m dying. My thighs start to tingle, then burn and the sensation moves to my core. I arch my back for the first wave and open my mouth to cry out but nothing happens. My breath has left my body again. The sensation moves back down to my thighs down to my feet and back up to my core again. I’m panting and breathing through this one, but still no voice. The ride isn’t over just yet and he knows it. “Give it to me, baby,” he groans as he licks my neck and tortures me with a new, deep rhythmic thrust to coax the remains of my orgasm from me. I can feel my walls still clenching and this orgasm is still going on. The final wave hits from tits to toes to twat and now I think I’m about to black out. Christian takes my tied hands and quickly throws them around his neck. He grabs a handful of hair and pulls and now comes the scream—loud, high, and in some language I’m not even sure of—English, French, Swahili, I don’t know. But it causes him to thrust three more times, then come loudly right behind me. “Oh, Ana! Fuck, you feel so good!”
With the intense, crazy, magnificent orgasms that this woman has given me in the last 36 hours, I had to make sure that she had at least one that was the same intensity as what she had done to me. Judging from the sweat, the tears, and the wheezing, I’d say “Mission accomplished.” I unhook her arms from around my neck and release the tie from her wrist. She whimpers and I know that she’s in a bit of discomfort. We lie in this position for a few more moments to catch our breath. When I hear her breath regulating, I roll off of her and gently massage her hands, her wrists, her arms, and her shoulders. At first, she protests a bit—I think she broke a couple of nails on the mattress—but soon she relaxes into the massage.
“How is that, Ms. Steele?”
“Wonderful, Mr. Grey,” she coos.
“Well, you’re right. You’re not a submissive, but you sure are fun to play with,” I say softly. She attempts to smile, but just weakly puts her arms around my neck instead. Oh, her body feels divine. I adore being in her arms. She feels heavenly—and I’m the lucky fuck who gets to hold her. She smells of delicious citrus mixtures… and of sex… and of Ana. She soothes me as I gaze into her beautiful blue eyes—all my ghosts and nightmares disappear. I see a road untraveled, a road that I want to take hand in hand with my beautiful Butterfly. Just for a moment, I see the darkness and the evil that are my soul melting away to be replaced my light and happiness, kindness and serenity, beauty and love that is my Butterfly.
What the hell do you know about love, Grey?
I didn’t say love…
… Did I?
Her fingers run gently through my hair as I lay half on my side and half on her, gazing at her beauty. I’m drawn to her, hypnotized. I stroke her soft, supple skin and kiss her shoulders while my hands travel down her delicate sides to the small of her back.
And then I feel it.
She tries to jerk away, but it’s too late. “No…” she protests, but it’s just a whisper.
“Ana,” I say softly, “what is it?” She closes her eyes and covers her face with one of her hands.
“Don’t ask about it. I can’t… I…” Her voice is cracking.
“Ana? Baby? What is it?” She’s crying now. I can’t leave it like this. I can’t. I have to know. I turn on the bedside light and turn back around to my little Butterfly. “Let me see it.”
“NO!” she wails. Doesn’t she understand that at some point, I’m going to see it? We’re lovers., I’m going to see it. I sit up on the bed with Ana in my arms.
“Ana… please….” I say softly. I pull her hands down from her face and wipe her tears away with my thumbs. “Please, baby…” I implore. She covers her face again and slowly turns around with her back to me. I look down to examine her back while she weeps. In the small of her back are grotesquely misshapen letters burned into her flesh…
I gasp when I see them, causing her to weep even harder. I wrap her in my arms, her back to my front, and pull her to me with all the strength I can muster.
“Oh, Ana!” I whisper in her ear as she sobs, her body shaking frantically. “Sssshhhhh,” I rock her and kiss her hair. These had to be the burns I saw in the pictures. They’re horrible—and she was only 15 at the time. Who did this to her?
“Ssssshhhh,” I stroke her hair gently while I continue to rock her, to offer her some comfort. “Please don’t cry, baby. You’re safe now. No one can hurt you now.” She cries and cries until it seems she can’t cry anymore. I didn’t know a little body could hold so much water! When she’s finally able to catch her breath, I lean her back against my body to help her relax for a moment. She’s sweating profusely, so I lay her down and go to the bathroom. I wet a washcloth with cold water and come back to the bed.
“This is going to be cool,” I warn and she nods. I gently wipe the sweat and tears from her forehead and her face. She calms down immediately.
“Can you tell me how this happened?” I whisper. She whimpers like a small, wounded animal and starts to shake again. “Okay, okay, Baby. You don’t have to talk about it right now.” I say as I stroke her hair. The shaking is subsiding again. “But when you’re ready… and able… I really want to know. Okay?” She nods silently.
She hasn’t said a word since before she started crying. My poor Ana. My beautiful little Butterfly. I want to kill somebody right now. I really want to kill someone with my bare hands right now, but my beautiful Butterfly needs me. So, I lay down and pull her to me. I nuzzle my nose in her hair. “Sleep, Baby.” She sniffles hard and is asleep almost immediately. I lay there for what feels like hours, watching her sleep and feeling her breathe.
I close my eyes for what I thought was just a second and when I open them, it’s nearly dawn. I look over at my sleeping beauty and she is lying on her stomach, hugging her pillow. I gently move the covers down so as not to rouse her, and the horrible scarring is staring back at me. I bend down and place tender kisses on the marred flesh.
“Who did this to you?” I whisper and I lay my head on her back just above the scarring. “What is this I’m feeling for you?” I ask aloud, quietly but to myself. “What are you doing to me, Ana?” I say as I gently stroke the letters emblazoned on her skin.
I don’t know what I’m feeling, but I know that I’ve never felt it before. It’s making me feel weak inside, like I may feel physical pain if she is not around me. I want to see someone pay dearly for the pain they caused her. I want someone to hang for this! I kiss her scars again. I want to touch them and kiss them and make them go away—all of the pain, and the fear she feels because of them, I want it all to just go away. “No one will ever hurt you again, Butterfly.” I kiss them again and again as I gently stroke her skin. “Beautiful…” and again, “beautiful, beautiful girl…”
“They’re brands,” she says just above a whisper. She startles me a bit. I didn’t know that she was awake, but I must have heard her wrong. Did she say brands?
“Ana… did I hear you say brands? Like cattle brands?” I ask incredulously.
“Exactly like cattle brands,” she says softly. Now I’m livid. It’s taking every bit of control I have not to explode this very instant. I need to be strong for Ana, but right now, I want to wring somebody’s fucking neck!
“Ana! They branded you!?” I whisper in horror.
“Yes…” She’s about to break down again.
“Who?” I gasp. “Why?” I must know. I need to know. I can tell she’s not ready to tell me, but she chokes out the next sentence anyway.
“I had the audacity to allow myself to be raped by the most popular boy in school.” What the fuck? “When I exposed him, he called me a liar and this happened to me.” I’m counting again.
“Who did this?” I say through clenched teeth. “Did he do this to you?”
“I’m not sure,” she squeaks. How can you not be sure? I remember every single burn the crack whore’s pimp did to me… every single one. How can you not be sure?
“Ana, look at me.” She won’t turn to me. “Ana, please… look at me.” She slowly rolls to face me. “How can you not be sure who did this to you?”
“Because it was dark,” she chokes, and she’s sobbing again, “And I was scared… and they were… all… w-wearing masks!” she spits. That’s why she couldn’t get justice. There was no way for her to get justice because she couldn’t identify the fuckers that did this to her.
“Do you remember where you were?” I ask, gently stroking her face.
“N-no! They at-tacked m-me from… behind… and put me… in the trunk of… a c-car!” Oh shit, I can’t hear too fucking much more of this, but I need a few more answers.
“How many of them were there, Ana?” I say, trying to remain calm.
“I… don’t know. A… a lot!” So, a whole gang of people attacked her because she supposedly lied on one of the popular kids. They could have killed her!
“Baby, how did you get away?” I’m getting angrier and angrier by the second.
“I didn’t,” she says, softly. “Someone found them… someone… stopped them… before they… finished the brand.” I have to admit, I’m partially curious about what who means, but I dare not ask. As if she could read my mind, she answered, “It was supposed to be whore.” Oh, fucking hell! Son of a bitch shit eating fucking rat bastards from hell!
“Someone stopped them, but no one was arrested?” I’m turning a bit into the CEO with my questioning, but I don’t quite know it yet. Ana looks at me—fear developing in her eyes.
“I don’t… know what happened…” she says still sniffling. “I was… un… unconscious.”
“Who found you?” I ask.
“The cop… on the report.” Well, that’s someplace to start. Since these fuckers can’t do their jobs, I’m going to see if I can help them out a bit.
“What was his name?” I’m seething.
“W-what?” she stutters through her tears.
“What was his name? The fucker that raped you… what was his name?” My voice has more force than I want and she shies away from me a bit.
“N-n-no. No!” She curls up into a ball. I’m a bit stunned. I’ve never seen her like this. My heart immediately softens at the sight of my Butterfly cowering at the head of the bed.
“Ana! Ana, what is it? What’s wrong?” I’m afraid to touch her for fear that she’ll bolt out of the bed and out of my life completely. “Baby, what is it? Please talk to me.”
“Please, Christian… p-please… leave it a… alone… please…” How can I leave it alone? These bastards tortured her!
“Please! P… please, Christian…” There’s more to this story. I know there is. She’s not telling me something and there is a lot more going on here. But right now, she needs for me to leave it alone. I don’t know why she needs this, but she needs it right now so I’ll do what she asks… and I desperately need to hold her.
“Okay, baby. I’ll leave it alone.” For now.
“You… you will?” She looks up at me with red swollen eyes.
“Yes. baby,” I put my hand on her cheek and kiss her lips gently. “I will.” She calms again and I lay her on her back and cradle her close in my arms as I kiss her hair. “It’s still early. Do you want to rest some more?” She shakes her head. “Do you want to get up?” She looks up at me with beautiful ocean blue eyes and shakes her head again. On cue, my cock starts to twitch and I gather her in my arms, brushing my lips tenderly across hers. Her lips are so soft because she’s been crying.
“Ana…” I whisper before kissing her passionately. Our tongues are dancing a feverish sexy tango and the rhythm is drawing me in… every fiber of my being. What is she doing to me? I yearn for her. I have to have her. I can’t lose her and I can’t let her hurt. My beautiful, beautiful Butterfly. She calls to my dark, twisted soul and it rises from its demonic worship in search of healing and light… her light.
We made love for hours—at least that’s what it felt like. I don’t know if Edward ever made love to me since most of our relationship was a lie. So, I don’t know what it feels like to make love, but if I had to imagine what it felt like, this would be it! Christian caressed my entire body, kissed me from head to toe, cradled me gently in his arms while he slowly and deeply buried himself in me over and over again. We moved as if we were one person—like I didn’t know where I ended or where he began. My favorite part is where he sat with his legs crossed on the bed and I straddled him, my legs crossed behind him. He rocked me gently while we sated each other, and he caressed my bare back—there, in the forbidden zone—kissing my neck, my chin, my cheek, my ears… and proclaiming my beauty the entire time. If you can have an orgasm in your soul, I had several soulgasms today. It was healing. It was heavenly. It was magical… and now, I am Cinderella at the ball.
We lay facing each other after hours of being lost in each other, and Christian is napping. He looks glorious—his copper waves falling gently over his face; long, gorgeous eyelashes splayed over his cheeks, his delicious pouty lips just begging to be kissed. I giggle a little as I wonder what he’s dreaming about—his face so full of contentment. My hands are gently clasped over my breasts as I allow my eyes to wander from his angelic face to his pecks—and the circular scars I see beneath a sexy dusting of reddish-brown hair there. I want to touch it, but he begged me not to—and I understand that feeling, so I won’t. What was his brand, I think to myself? A pen? Some type of cooking utensil…?
“Cigarettes.” I nearly jump out of my skin! I had no idea he was awake.
“I’m sorry… I…” I hold my clasped hands closer to my breasts. “I didn’t touch them. I promise,” I say like a scolded child.
“I know,” he says softly. He takes one of my hands in his, turns it around, and lays it flat on his chest. I gasp. He was panic-stricken last night when he thought I would touch his chest. And now…
“Christian…?” I say softly.
“Your pain,” he says, his voice strained. “Your pain is my pain, too.” I think he’s going to cry. I don’t want him to cry, I don’t think I could take it.
“Christian, please…” I try to move my hand, but he holds it flat against his chest.
“I want to heal you, Ana,” he says through deep breaths. “I want to take away your pain… and your fear.” He’s nearly gasping now. “But…”
“What? Christian, what is it?” I’m desperate to know what he was going to say. He looks at me with tortured, pained gray eyes.
“Who’s going to heal me?” His eyes are glassy and I’m afraid a tear is going to drop any minute. He’s searching my eyes for his answer. And here we are… two broken, tortured beings looking for something or someone to heal what has been hurting all these years. I scramble to my knees as he props himself up on his elbow. I put my free hand on his cheek and he leans into it.
“I will,” I whisper. “I will… if you let me.” I hear him sigh heavily and I bend down to kiss his chest where he had been brutalized. The scars are very faint, but to Christian, they are brand new open wounds oozing with the puss of hatred and the infection of abuse. Don’t worry, Baby. Dr. Steele is here now.
“All better,” I say as I kiss one scar. “All better,” I repeat as I move from scar to scar, gently kissing each as if to pull his pain into myself and negate my own. Christian lies back on the bed, taking me with him as I continue to kiss his scars over and over again. He tangles his fingers in my hair and his lips are parted. He is breathing heavily, almost as if he is in the throes of passion. I rest my head gently on his chest, my hands resting softly against him on either side of my head, my eyes closed. I listen to his heartbeat as he begins to slow his breathing. “There’s more,” I hear through his chest. I lift my head to look at him.
“What?” I squeak, softly. More? There’s more? Oh, God. Christian rolls over and returns to his spot next to me to reveal more circular bruising on his back.
“Christian…?” I ask the question with just his name, my voice cracking. I want to weep for him, but I can’t. I’m too horrified.
“My birth mother… was a drug addict. She had sex with men to feed her habit… and her pimp’s habit. I don’t know if I came along before or during, but I know that I was in the way. I lived in squalor and filth—the son of a crack whore—that’s what he called me… all the time… when he wasn’t calling me ‘little shit.’ On days when he was particularly mad at her… or me… or the world… or no one in particular… he liked to put cigarettes out on my skin.” I gasp as I listen to this horrific tale. I don’t know whose story is worse—his or mine. I was a teenager, but he was a baby. I was raped and then beaten near to death and branded with irons; he suffered famine, neglect, and abuse for God only knows how long and was branded repeatedly with cigarettes. How do you compare horror stories and determine whose is worse?
“Who else has seen these?” I ask.
“Only a few people,” he says, almost timidly, “but no one has really ever touched them.” Huh?
“Christian, are you telling me that you’ve never let anyone touch your back or your chest?” He sighs heavily.
“Not on purpose,” he says softly. “Only my little sister, and even then, only with clothes on.” I gasp.
“Not even your mother—your adopted mother?”
“Not even her.”
“Not even your… Domme?” I ask carefully.
“Especially not her.” I knew there was more to that statement, but I didn’t want to explore it right now.
“Oh, Christian,” I say, gently touching his back and leaning in to place tender kisses on the scars there. I can’t explain how it feels to know that no one has been allowed here before me.
No one before me.
More reasons why he’s never had a girlfriend. They’ve all been subs! All subs before me—and he surely wouldn’t let them touch him.
I straddle his back and he doesn’t move. He lies with his eyes closed, his arms bent. He looks utterly content. I know what this means to him. I know just how big a deal this really is—and I want him to know that I know. I look over at the night table and see the citrus oil we used last night. I open it and squeeze just a little in my hands—enough just to cover and make it slippery. I start at his neck and rub gently down to his shoulders, not a kneading massage just a gentle rub. He gasps, then settles back down on the bed. I stroke my hand tenderly over his shoulders, then carefully across the skin of his back. His breathing is rhythmic and occasionally, he moans like he’s in ecstasy. As I read the contentment in his voice, I begin to hum a tune that seems appropriate for what we’re both feeling right now. I don’t think either of us will admit to love this soon, but the affection that we feel for each other is undeniable. So, I think my song is appropriate.
“What’s that song?” he asks softly after several moments of allowing me to caress him.
“It’s called ‘Love All The Hurt Away.'” I reply. He spins around artfully underneath me and captures me in his arms, surprising me a bit. I have my elbows on his shoulders. He holds me there for several moments, his face so close to mine that I can only see his eyes. I can’t place the emotion there. I only know that it reaches down in me and touches me so deep that I almost can’t breathe.
“Christian…” is all I can whimper.
“Baby,” he replies before he kisses me. Well, maybe kiss isn’t the right word. He worships my lips—yeah, that’s it. He worships my lips—for a very long time! There’s no sex at this time, just a feverish meeting of the mouths. We’re all over each other. I’m naked in his arms and I love it! There’s no more forbidden zone… for either of us. As he rubs my entire back, I want to meld into him—make him a part of me forever. I would never be alone again—and I was safe. I would keep him safe in my arms, and I would fix whatever was wrong in his broken soul. I touch him everywhere. I’m uninhibited. This man is mine, and I am his. I feel like we’re two teenagers necking in the backseat of the car, except we’re naked… wrapped in 1200 thread count sheets… caressing each other’s hurt soul and scarred bodies… and loving the pain way.
I see myself in your face a reflection of pain
Somebody made you cry over and over again
Still, you and I made it through all of this for a reason
Could it be that we created affair for all seasons
‘Cause you and I were meant to be lovers
The search is over for us, there’s no other
We’re finally at the rainbow’s end
Baby, together we’ll mend all the cracks in our heart
And just love all the hurt away.
Que le ciel me Vienne en aide! —May Heaven help me!
Oh, douce agonie!—Oh, sweet agony!
Non non non… pas encore.—No no no… not yet.
“Français à nouveau, mademoiselle Steele? Comment érotique.”—”French again, Miss Steele, how erotic.”
Love All The Hurt Away—Aretha Franklin and George Benson
Personal branding irons are on my Pinterest page – nothing grotesque! Just a personal branding iron, so you can see what they look like. http://www.pinterest.com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele/
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