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. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too.
Chapter 29 – Full Disclosure
I know this is a big house, but where the hell is my mother?
I’ve checked her room, the library, the music room, the parlor. I even checked the media room and the billiards room. I find myself in Mia’s room. She’s lying on her bed.
“Cwis,” she says when I enter the room.
“Meelo.” I say, sitting on her bed. “Where’s Mom?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen her since she went nuclear on Barbazoid,” she replies while flipping through a fashion magazine. I laugh a little.
“Boy, you and Elliot can really come up with some names,” I say, remembering the choice names Elliot has for The Pedophile. Mia sits up and leans on my shoulder.
“So… Anakins,” she says and just leaves it there.
“Yeah,” I respond, and she knows it means more than just yeah.
“Mom really likes her.” I know this, but I want to know what Meelo thinks.
“What makes you say that?” I ask looking over my shoulder. She looks at me incredulously.
“When’s the last time Mom went postal?” I have to nod at this.
“Blondie has been the same Mean-Girl-Wanna-Be for the last two and a half years, and Mom has never lost her cool, but when she started jabbing at Anakins…” Mia spreads her hands and makes a sound like an explosion.
“Yeah, it’s been a while since I saw that. When was the last time?”
“About eight years ago when you and Eli got into that fight in Aspen.”
“Oh yeah,” I shudder. “That was bad!” My family loves hard, but we fight hard, too. “She’s pulling that shit on Ana… the same shit she pulled on you?”
“Yeah, look how well that worked out for her,” Mia shoots. “She needs a muzzle.”
“She won’t get the best of Ana,” I say. “Ana’s different. She’s like you… but different. It’s hard to explain. I’ve never met anybody like her. She’s strong, yet vulnerable. She’s commanding, yet demure. You know the story Helen of Troy?”
“Yeeeeess?” Mia says, questioningly.
“She could bring down my empire if she wanted to,” I say matter-of-factly. Mia’s face goes pale.
“Christian! Are you in love?” she asks incredulously. I nod, tentatively. “Does she love you?” I nod again.
“You should have seen her last night. You would know,” I say.
“What happened last night?” Mia asks.
“Let’s just say that Mrs. Lincoln got a little too close.” Mia shivers.
“Why does that woman always make me feel dirty when she’s around?” she asks, rightfully so. Was I the only one that was blind to this snake?
“Well, I had asked her several times to get her hands off me, and I went into one of my cold sweats. Ana pushed her so hard, I swear she broke something.” Mia cackles loudly.
“Ana pushed Mrs. Lincoln?” she says in disbelief.
“Shoved would be a better word,” I laugh with Mia.
“God, I hate that I missed that!” Mia says. “I knew there was a reason I liked her.”
Well, I’ve checked everywhere and there’s no sign of Mom. I wonder if she and Carrick left. If she left without saying anything, she was really pissed! I come back down to the dining room just in time to catch sight of Ana walking away from the garden. Who’s standing out there with her but none other than the Pedophile? This woman just doesn’t fucking know when to quit! I am just about to step out to my Butterfly when I hear the Pedophile shout something to her.
“I’ll be there for him, you know. I’ll be there for him when he realizes the truth—that you’re nothing more than a pastime. You’re nothing long-term or even worthwhile. He’s wasting his time on you. He always comes back to me. Always!” She sounds desperate. Butterfly turns back to face her.
“The only truth that I’m concerned about is when he’s touching me, when he’s holding me, when he’s kissing me, when he’s fucking me, when I’m riding him, and when he’s telling me that he loves me—that’s it. I’m not concerned about your version of the truth. So, you can just miss me with all of that because I really don’t want to hear it. You say that I’m not enough for him… who knows? But you’re not the one who can tell me that—he’s the one that’s going to have to tell me that! If that day ever comes, then you can gloat. Until then, you need to keep your mouth shut, because I’m ready to reach down to my foot, come back up and bitch slap your ass!” Yikes! The Tiger is loose again.
“You’ll never be enough for him. Face it. You’re just a plaything. And when he’s done with you, you’ll be no more important to him than one of his ex-subs, Number 16!” Okay, I’ve heard enough. Time to hit Elena where I know it hurts the most. I stride out to where they’re standing before Butterfly has time to retort. Let me have a stab at her, Baby.
“Excuse me, Mistress,” I say, loud enough to be heard, but low enough to be contrite. I remember my training. I watch the Pedophile in my peripheral but keep my eyes on Butterfly who has her back to me. The Pedophile is horror-struck. I actually think she whimpers. As Ana slowly turns to face me, I dropped my gaze to the ground.
“Yes, Mr. Grey,” she says in a delicate voice, not the sexual one that she uses to make me submit, but just as powerful. She makes it easy to fall into the role with her.
“I can’t find my mother, Mistress. I think we should probably just leave if that’s what you wish.”
“You may look at me, Mr. Grey,” she says softly. I raise my eyes to her, but not my head. I see the Pedophile behind her looking like her head is about to explode. “What would you like to do?” she asks me gently.
“I would like to leave, Mistress. Present company makes me uncomfortable and since my mother isn’t here… I would like to leave, please,” I say meekly. She nods.
“We can leave then, Mr. Grey. Would you go collect our things, please?”
“Right away, Mistress.” I turn to leave without ever looking at the Pedophile or even acknowledging her presence except for the “uncomfortable” statement.
“What is this!?” The Pedophile shrieks. “I didn’t train you to be a submissive to her! This little nothing! This little nobody! How dare you waste your life—your skills—on her!” The Pedophile is screaming at the top of her lungs. She has lost every bit of control over herself and she’s completely dysfunctional now. I knew seeing me as Butterfly’s submissive would push her over the edge, but this worked out better than even I thought. I turn around slowly with my eye to the ground. I can see the Pedophile’s Jimmy Choos have moved in front of Butterfly’s Michael Kors.
“Permission to engage the enemy, Mistress,” I say to Butterfly.
“Permission granted,” she says, softly. I look up at the Pedophile, cold and unfeeling. There’s anger and rage brewing in my soul for her, and I let it come out in my eyes when I glare at her. She appears to shrink before me. She looks so small now. I know what she did to me last night and she knows, too. She put me in a mental cage—one where I couldn’t move or think or barely breathe. Not only did my chest burn when she touched it, but my shoulders, back, and stomach burned, too. It was her way of reminding me, her way of trying to regain control. It was the wrong move.
“You. Are never. Allowed. To touch. Me. Again. If you do, I will break your fucking wrist! If you pull that move around my family one more time, I’m going to make a public announcement as to why I am not speaking to you. By the time I’m done with you, nobody will come near you—no charity balls, no social gatherings, no friends, no nothing. So, stop with your little games, because I’m not playing with you. Leave Anastasia alone. Stop harassing her every time you see her, or I will put my plans into motion just for the hell of it. Act like that blonde bleach job hasn’t cooked all the brain cells in your head and get. The fucking. Message. I’m not going to ask you if that’s clear, because I feel like I’m talking to a preschooler every time you say ‘yes’ and then turn around and do some stupid shit like this!” The Pedophile is shaking profusely.
“I know that you’re going to snap out of this spell she has on you. I know you are! I’ve known you for too long.” I think she’s saying it more for herself than for me. She then makes the mistake of putting her hand on my arm. Is she deliberately doing exactly what I tell her not to do? I look in Butterfly’s direction so that I can see her face in my peripheral. She knows I’m asking for permission to speak again. She nods her consent.
I grab the Pedophile’s free wrist and twist. She cries out in pain. I know she’s not faking because I know this move well. She may need a brace on her wrist for a few days after this. “I said don’t ever touch me again! Your touch is toxic to me. Now get your hand off me, you manipulative witch!” She removes her hand from my arm and I release her wrist. I look to Butterfly once more, and once more she gives her permission.
“You believe whatever you want, Mrs. Lincoln, if it helps you sleep at night. But if you don’t heed my words, I will destroy you. And if you don’t believe me, try me.” I turn back to Butterfly. “Thank you, Mistress.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Grey. You may go now.” I turn around and walk back to the house. I think I made my point.
I tried to make my point and leave, but this bitch just won’t leave me alone.
I’ve got those zingers still stacked up if you need them.
Yeah, I might. Hold that thought.
I give her yet another piece of my mind and she comes back with a crack about me being Sub #16! That bitch!
Well, technically, you are Sub #16.
Yeah, and technically, you’re a figment of my imagination, so shut up if you’re not on my side.
That’s more like it.
I am just about to light into this bitch when I hear a voice behind me say, “Excuse me, Mistress.”
I almost don’t recognize it as Christian’s voice, but the look on She-Thing’s face gives it away. She looks like she’s just seen a ghost. And then I understand it… Christian is subbing for me—in front of her! She’s the only one who had him as a submissive, and mostly while he was a child. Now he’s a successful billionaire, creator of his own destiny… and my submissive…
… And he wants her to know it.
I turn around slowly and he drops his gaze to the ground. Good boy. We carry on a conversation where he only speaks when he’s spoken to, and only looks at me with permission. When he’s dismissed, She-Thing has a full-on panic attack and she’s screaming at Christian!
“What is this!? I didn’t train you to be a submissive to her! This little nothing! This little nobody! How dare you waste your life—your skills—on her!”
She looks like fire is going to come flying out of her eye sockets! After asking for permission to speak to her, Christian glares at her with so much hatred in his eyes, it sends chills through me. He warns her not to touch him and to stay away from us—but the bitch still won’t listen. The first thing she does when he stops talking is touch him. I know she likes pain, but this is ridiculous. Christian asks for permission to engage her twice more. The first time, I thought he was making good on his promise to break her wrist. Part of me wanted to stop him and the other part said, “Nah!” The second time he reinforces his first statement to her. He then thanks me, and I dismiss him again. She-Thing whips around to me and I’m too busy smiling to be mad anymore. Christian has just made me the happiest girl in the world. He trusted me to be his Domme in front of another person—in front of her! We took our cues from each other and it was magnificent. I’m going to fuck his brains out later!
“What have you done?” she cries. “What have you done to him? He’s beautiful and strong and you’ve turned him into a sub! You’ve ruined him!” She’s actually crying as she holds her sore wrist in her good hand.
“No, I haven’t,” I say with a smile. “He’s still beautiful and strong. Master of his own destiny. He dominated me this morning in his old bedroom. I didn’t even get a chance to get ‘Yes, Sir’ out of my mouth! And Thursday in the playroom was phenomenal! He’s my first Dom, you know, and he’s magnificent! He’s a master at what he does, but you already know that. And while you say that I can’t give him what he needs, I beg to differ.” I open my hands and show her the faint, disappearing scarring from the chains in Christian’s playroom. Her face goes pale as she recognizes the scars immediately. “In your attempt to justify manipulating and victimizing a minor, you taught him something very valuable. Each BDSM relationship is determined by the couple. The parameters are defined by the participants. Sound familiar?” She has fallen silent, so I continue to speak.
“Your relationship was pedophilia. Molestation. Our relationship is filled with that thing you say is only for fools. And he’s drunk on it. He’s drunk on it even more than he’s drunk on power. He has surrendered himself to me, and I have surrendered myself to him. We have the best of both worlds. TPE in whichever direction he needs it, and all the love his heart and soul can hold. Not you or what you think you have to offer, or anything that he had with any of his subs can compare to that. The last time you saw Christian Grey submit was with you when he was a teenager. And now, beautiful billionaire CEO Christian Grey is calling me Mistress. How does that make you feel, Elena? I didn’t have to brainwash a 15-year-old boy. I got the real thing, and I didn’t have to use lies or trickery to do it. Do you even realize how much more of a woman and a Domme than you I am because of those simple facts?”
She starts to say something else to me, but I look up to see that Christian is talking to Grace, who is looking out at us.
I leave She-Thing where she’s standing and run to Christian and Grace.
“Grace, are you okay?” I ask when I get to them.
“I’m fine, dear,” she says kindly. I look to Christian.
“I haven’t told her yet,” he says. She looks to Christian then back to me.
“Told me what?” she asks.
“Mom, I need to tell you something. It’s going to be hard for me to say and even harder for you to hear.” I can hear She-Thing coming up quickly behind me.
“Why don’t you take this conversation to somewhere more private?” I say.
“Okay. We can use the library,” Grace says. She takes Christian’s hand and leads him down the hall. I hear him call, “Ana?”
“Yes?” I answer.
“Come.” Gladly. The last thing I want is to be left here with She-Thing!
The library is a beautiful two-story, circular room—the same place Christian brought me last night when he played piano for me, but it was dark then and only illuminated by moonlight. Today, the high noon sun shines in through two sets of hinged patio doors on the first story and several round-top double hinged windows on the second story. A vast collection of books adorns the built-in cherry wood bookshelves that match the wood of the doors and windows. A white floor-to-ceiling fireplace matches the oversized white sofa and loveseat—which contrast the mauve sitting chairs and soft maple coffee table that make up the sitting area of the room. Various floor lamps with mauve or white shades as well as strategically placed flora, baskets, and decorations round out the library’s homey yet opulent décor, the largest contrast in the room being the beautiful Steinway classic grand piano—a piece that both stands out and fits in at the same time.
Christian and his mother take a seat on the sofa while I sit on the love seat to the left of them. Christian looks like a child that has been pulled into the principal’s office, but this is a very serious situation, so I completely understand his nerves.
“Christian? Son, what is this all about?” Christian takes a deep breath and then takes his mother’s hand.
“Mom, there’s a reason that Mrs. Lincoln took liberties with me last night. She and I are business partners in her Esclava Salon chain and up until about a week ago, we were friends.” Grace is surprised.
“Okay. How did that come about?” she asks him. He looks over to me.
“Go ahead, Christian,” I coax. I need him to be strong and get this out. At that moment, there’s a knock and She-Thing bursts through the door.
“She’s poisoning him!” she screams. “She has him under some sort of spell! I’ve never seen him like this before!”
“Yes, you have!” I spit. “Would you like for me to tell her when?” She doesn’t know that Christian is about to tell his mother anyway. Elena falls into a terrified silence, but doesn’t move. “Now, this is a private conversation. Please leave and don’t come back!” I snap. She hesitates and Christian growls, clearly in his Dom voice:
“Get out!” Both his mother and I are affected, so I know Elena is shitting her designer jeans right now. She slowly backs out of the room and closes the door behind her. I go over to the door and stand there for a moment. I know she’s on the other side. I hit the door hard.
“Ow!” I hear from the other side. I open the door.
“Do you really want to play with me?” I say glaring at her. She turns and walks across the foyer to the other side of the house. I close the door and take my seat again. Christian starts talking again.
“Mrs. Lincoln lent me the money to start Grey Enterprises. It was just a loan, and I paid her back. But after Linc left her, she was left with comparatively very little. So, I invested in the salon chain and we’ve been business partners ever since.” Grace is still confused.
“That’s a bit unusual, but it’s not a horrible story, Christian. I still don’t understand what the problem is,” she says to him. His hand grabs nervously at his hair and I can see him starting to come apart a bit.
“Christian, baby, you can do this,” I say softly. He looks over to me like a lost puppy. I smile, nod, and mouth “You can do it.” He clears his throat.
“Mom, before I tell you this, you have to promise me something.”
“I can’t promise anything without knowing what I’m promising, Christian, but I’ll do my best,” Grace answers.
“Please, Mom, please… don’t blame yourself for what you are about to hear. It would really kill me, Mom…” He holds his head down.
She looks at me and then back at Christian. She puts her hand on his cheek.
“Son, please, you’re scaring me,” she says, her voice trembling.
“Tell her, Christian,” I plead. “Don’t make her wait any longer.”
“Mom, Mrs. Lincoln and I… had a relationship.” Grace’s hands fly up to her mouth.
“What!?” she says, her voice muffled by her hands.
“Linc left her because he found out about us.” Now, I didn’t know that part. I knew she was divorced, but I didn’t know what brought it about.
“Christian,” she says, her voice cracking, “That was years ago. You couldn’t have been more than 23 or 24 years old…”
“Twenty-one,” he says quietly. Grace rises from her seat. She starts to count backwards.
“She’s 20 years older than you, Christian. And one of my closest friends! Why?” Christian runs his hands through his hair again.
“We had been seeing each other for years, Mom.” Grace’s eyes glaze over as she is finally starting to get the thrust of the conversation. She sits down next to Christian again, shaking her head incredulously.
“How many years, Christian?” she asks flatly.
“Three were consensual… three were…” And he freezes. Grace looks to him to answer, but he can’t get the words out of his mouth. Grace looks at me. I can’t let this go on any longer. I sit on the coffee table in front of her and turn on the psychologist. This is what I was trained for.
“Mrs. Lincoln is an active pedophile, Grace.” Her eyebrows burrow and she frowns.
“Active?” she repeats. Now, I need to take a deep breath. I know why this was so hard for Christian. Spit it out, Steele.
“She has admitted to molesting children. We have no idea how many or how long. She molested Christian for three years, from the age of 15.” Grace gasps and then screams.
“Oh my GOD!” she cries. “NO! NO! NOT MY BABY!” She’s going slightly hysterical. She runs to the wall, her back to the bookshelves facing us and screaming. She’s having a breakdown. I run over to her, Christian right behind me.
“Grace, Grace, listen to me!” She looks at me with her hands over her mouth, weeping hysterically. “It’s going to be okay. I promise you. Everything is going to be okay.” She’s still weeping when Elliot and Kate burst through the doors. Grace doesn’t respond to the interruption and neither do I.
“What is she doing to her?” Kate barks.
“Shut up!” Christian growls. I focus on Grace.
“Look at your son, Grace. Look at your son.” She looks over at Christian. “He’s beautiful, he’s intelligent, he’s successful. She didn’t break him, Grace. She didn’t break him.” Grace’s breathing starts to calm. “He’s fine. In fact, he’s never been better.” I smile at him and he smiles back.
“She’s right, Mom,” Christian says. Grace breaks down again as Christian takes her into his arms.
“I’m sorry, son. I’m so sorry,” she cries. He clutches her tightly.
“No, Mom. Please. Don’t. This is not your fault,” he soothes.
“I trusted her! I told her everything! Everything.” She continues to wail.
“I know, Mom. But she’s the bad guy, not you.” He pulls her back and holds her face. “She’s a predator, and that’s what predators do. They prey on weaknesses.” Grace nods as Elliot comes over and gives her a handkerchief for her tear-stained face.
“I don’t understand,” Grace says. “How could this happen?” Christian turns to Elliot.
“Elliot, you can stay, but she has to leave,” Christian says referring to Kate.
“Why can she stay and I can’t?” Kate protests.
“Kate!” Elliot growls through clenched teeth. Kate holds her hands up in surrender and leaves, closing the door behind her. I guide Grace back to the sofa. Before I start talking I softly say to Elliot, “Hit the door… hard!” Taking the hint, Elliot hit the door with a loud thud. There is a frightened yelp on the other side.
“Get away from the fucking door, Kate!” Elliot growls. I hear the sound of expensive high-heeled shoes running across marble. I think it’s safe to say that he has scared her away. I take my seat back on the coffee table across from Grace and Christian, who is now squatting next to his mother holding her hand.
“It takes a special kind of sick to be a pedophile,” I say to Grace. “Who in their right mind would want to hurt a child, right… much less have a sexual relationship with one? The pedophile will transfer the guilt to anyone who will take it, especially the child. That’s how they maintain control. You saw for yourself, she walked in here and tried to transfer it to me! If you continue to blame yourself for her disgusting and manipulative actions, she wins. She has managed to make everyone else feel horrible about her actions but herself. She feels no remorse. The only pain she feels right now is in losing Christian and she’s battling that pain with everything she has. She’ll use anything in her arsenal to regain control over him, but she didn’t anticipate me.”
“Why have you never told me, Christian?” Grace asks.
“Because for a long time, it was our secret,” he replies. “It helped to straighten me out. I behaved in school, stopped drinking, stopped fighting—even went to college… for a minute.” He chuckles.
“Did she… hurt you?” she croaks. He swallows hard. Tell her, Grey.
“Yes, Mom. She did.” Grace breaks down again. Elliot comes over to sit on the sofa next to his mother.
“You told her? Everything?” Elliot says to Christian. Before Christian could answer, Grace turns to Elliot.
“You knew?” she asks aghast.
“He only just told me, Mom… but… she tried it with me, too,” Elliot confesses.
“Oh my God, what!?” Grace gasps.
“She never got to me, Mom,” Elliot says quickly. “She tried, but she never got to me.”
“What did she do, Elliot?” Grace asks. He’s just as uncomfortable talking about it as Christian is.
“She touched me in inappropriate ways and she would say things that you shouldn’t say to a kid.” He shivers as he recalls the situation… a tell that he speaks the truth. “She just creeped me out, so I just left whenever she showed up.”
“You still do,” Grace observes in hindsight. “I always wondered what that was about, but I never caught on.” She sighs. “So, I know why he didn’t tell me,” she says, pointing to Christian, “but why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I really didn’t think it was that big a deal. She creeped me out, I stayed out of her way, nobody got hurt… or so I thought.” Elliot rubs the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, Bro. Maybe if I had said something sooner…”
“It’s not your fault, Elliot.” I chime in. “There’s nobody to blame here, but She-Thing!” Elliot looks up at me and laughs.
“What did you just call her?” he says through his chuckles. My hand flies up to my mouth as I look from Elliot to Christian to Grace, all with signs of mirth on their faces.
“Uh,” I don’t know what to say. “I, uh…” Ummm… “Did I say that out loud?”
“You certainly did,” Grace says through a small giggle. I wave my hand.
“I have my own experience with Mrs. Lincoln,” I say.
“Yeah, you should see the video,” Christian jokes. I sit straight up and look at him. My hands are poised in front of me, fingers wide and bent like I’m holding a melon.
“You cannot show that to anybody!” I exclaim. “You can talk about it all you want, but you cannot let another living soul see that! Do you understand me, Christian Trevelyan Grey!?”
“Yes, Ma’am!” he replies through his laughter with a mock salute.
“Don’t worry, Ana. I have nicknames for her, too. They usually involve the word creep… You have a video of a catfight?” Elliot adds intrigued.
“I was an accident!” I yelp.
“An accidental catfight?” Grace says.
“No… Yes… No… An accident that it was recorded. I was just trying to get her to leave,” I whine.
“Like last night,” Elliot says.
“Exactly like last night. Boy, she doesn’t take no for an answer, does she?” I say.
“Well, it turns out that it’s bigger than we thought,” Grace says as she stands and starts to pace the room.
“Bigger how, Mom?” Elliot asks.
“Well, she’s clearly obsessed with Christian. You’ll have to sever all ties with her after this. Cut communication completely, or she’ll never go away. You may even have to get a restraining order,” Grace says.
“She hasn’t done anything that warrants a restraining order. If anything, she could get one against me and Ana faster than I could get one against her,” Christian protests.
“What do you call molesting you, Christian?” Grace asks.
“That was 12 years ago, Mom. It’s not going to hold now,” Christian informs her.
“Harassment?” Grace is still searching.
“That might work, but she has to harass me.” Christian says.
“She showed up at your apartment when you told her not to come. She showed up at your office uninvited after you told her not to come to your apartment. Then she refused to move her hands from you last night after you told her to get her hands off you, and subsequently touched you again in the garden after you specifically told her not to. That’s not harassment enough?” I said, counting down She-Thing’s many misdemeanors.
“Yes, since you put it that way…” Christian begins.
“We’ll see what Carrick says,” Grace answers.
“Ugh,” Christian groans. “I forgot about Dad.” His face falls into his hand as he shakes his head. Elliot is also turning a lovely shade of lime green.
“Don’t worry, Boys. We’ll tell him together,” Grace holds her sons’ hands. “And we have this lovely girl here to help explain it all.” She says, smiling at me and causing me to blush. “Where did you find her, Christian?”
“It’s a long story, Mom. I’ll tell you about it later. Right now, I think we need to go take out the trash.”
“Right you are,” Grace says. They all stand simultaneously and march out of the library together, with me close behind.
She-Thing and the Blonde Bonehead are sitting on opposite sofas in the great room when we enter, probably exchanging Ana horror stories no doubt. Grace marches over to She-Thing who stands when we enter the room like the Fantastic Four. “Speak of the devil—La Creepazoid is here.” Elliot says.
“Grace, dear. Is everything alright?” She-Thing’s voice oozes from her. Grace looks at her impassively, pulls back and sucker-punches her in the jaw so hard that somehow—don’t ask me how—she ends up behind the damn couch!
“Oh!” Kate squeaks in horror as she jumps up from the opposite couch. “What’s going on?” she whispers to Elliot, who doesn’t respond. He and Christian are in a state of shock.
“How dare you victimize my children, you wicked old goat!” she sneers at She-Thing. A wisp of flaxen blonde hair appears behind the sofa and a pale hand with red claws struggles to assist the demon in regaining her footing.
“Grace! Grace, please! Let me explain!” she says desperately, dizzily stumbling about.
“What’s there to explain? What can you possibly say to me, you sick, twisted animal?” Grace is furious. I can clearly tell that all of her feelings are coming out right now and she could very easily kill this woman. She betrayed Grace’s trust and used trusted information to victimize Grace’s son. No matter what Christian says, Grace will forever feel responsible for what happened to him, for not being able to save him—and now, she’s taking her fury out on the source.
“Grace, please! It’s not what you think! I swear, it was consensual,” she defends.
“Consensual? Consensual? He was 15, you wretched, lying sack of silicon! And you were my friend! How could you? How could you do this to me? To HIM? How could you?” Grace is screaming now. Carrick and Mia have now joined the room to find out what the commotion is.
“What is going on in here?” Carrick growls. Elliot moves to restrain his mother who looks as if she’s going to launch herself at She-Thing any second. Kate is standing around not knowing what to do. Christian clasps my hand and pulls me close to him. She-Thing is looking for support from anywhere possible and finding none.
“Mrs. Lincoln was just leaving,” Grace spits.
“Grace, please, we’ve been friends for so many years…” She-Thing begins to cry, but not those phony croc-tears I’ve been seeing. She’s really reaching down to that place where, normally, one would find a soul.
“Please what? I want nothing else to do with you! You tried to seduce my oldest son when he was…” She looks over to Elliot, who says, “Fourteen.” Grace almost gags.
“Fourteen!?” she gasps at Elliot. “Fourteen, Elena?” She shrieks at She-Thing. “You really need professional help!” Mia has made her way to her mother’s side and Carrick stands next to Christian and me. “You seduce children, and then you molested a 15-year-old child!”
“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” Carrick’s hands are flailing wildly in the air. “Molested? Molested who?”
Grace, Elliot, and I all say “Christian” at the same time that Christian says “Me.” Carrick’s face flushes and he’s almost instantly filled with rage. Mia goes pale, momentarily trying to process the information that she just heard.
“Cwis?” she says in a soft, childlike voice. “You?”
Christian nods. At that moment, the kitten that is Mia turns into a hellcat!
“You molested my brother?” She growls at She-Thing, who hasn’t taken her eyes off Grace.
She probably should have.
The next thing I know, I see long raven hair, blue skinny jeans, and black Manolo Blahniks flying in the air as Mia takes off before anybody can catch her, runs the few steps across the room, up the sofa—yes, she runs up the sofa—and lunges at She-Thing, who turns around just in time for Mia to land on her back.
“You molested my brother, you sick cow!” she screams while viciously banging her fist on top of She-Thing’s head. Mia legs wrap around her body so she can’t get away, her arm holding She-Thing in a chokehold.
“Wow!” That’s all I can manage to say. This is incredible. She-Thing has managed to drive every woman in this room to blows except for the Blonde Bonehead. She-Thing spins, crying and screaming, trying to get air and get Mia off her back. She finally just falls to the floor.
“Get off me!” She-Thing cries. “You’re crazy!”
“And you’re twisted and disgusting!” Mia screams, now taking fistfuls of She-Thing’s hair and banging her face on the floor. The men in the room all rush over to the fight, trying to get in to get Mia without getting hit. As I make my way over to stand next to Grace, holding her hand, She-Thing reaches behind her and grabs a handful of Mia’s hair.
“Let go of my hair, you bleached blonde bitch!” Mia screams, wildly swinging at She-Thing and never missing a hit.
“Get her off me!” She-Thing is pleading. Elliot finally finds an “in” and grabs Mia around the waist, burying his face in her back to avoid being hit. He’s trying to pull her away, but She-Thing still has a grip on Mia’s hair.
“Let go of her hair, Creeperella, or I’ll put her back on you!” Elliot demands. She-Thing immediately lets go and Elliot pulls a flailing Mia away from the scene of the crime. She-Thing finally stumbles to her feet and starts to leave, but not before she throws one final blow at Christian.
Second only to lying for four days with my birth mother’s decaying corpse, this has to be the worst event of my entire life to date. I had to break my mother’s heart and tell her that her best friend molested me for three years as a child; that when my mother confided in her about my issues and my problems, she used that information to victimize the child that Grace had saved from squalor and abuse. I had to watch my mother fall apart and blame herself for bringing a predator into our midst. But worst of all, I had to reveal the worst secret about myself to everyone in my family and to the woman I love.
“Do they know about us, Christian? Do they?” The Pedophile barks as she reaches the doorway leading to the foyer. I know what she’s asking and I’m not going to do this… or so I thought.
“I have told them everything they need to know, Mrs. Lincoln. The only thing that they don’t know is how many children that you’ve molested, and that’s only because I don’t know either. I don’t how long you did it before me, or how long after me, or if you’re even still doing it. But I do know this—I want nothing else to do with you—ever! You should have listened to me. You should have backed off when I told you to, but you just don’t listen,” I say calmly.
“Do they know about our lifestyle, Christian? Did you tell them about that, little Angel Boy?” she snaps. Everyone in the room looks to me for the answer.
“I’ll tell you all later,” I say, trying to diffuse the situation.
“B-D-S-M!” she announces proudly. “We get off on inflicting pain on other people, don’t we, Christian?”
I cannot fucking believe she just did that. I can’t believe she just made this announcement to my family!
“You really want to have this conversation now? You really want to have it now? Fine!” I turn around to face my family. “My relationship with Mrs. Lincoln started when I was cleaning her yard one day…”
“I remember that,” Grace says. “You were going over there almost every day. I thought the physical work would be good for you.”
“That’s right, Mom. I said something disrespectful to Mrs. Lincoln and she slapped me, and then she kissed me. I was intrigued by it. The next day I came back, and she fucked me. Each day, after that I came back, and she slowly introduced me to various factors of the BDSM lifestyle.” I turn around and looked at the Pedophile. “At 15 years old, I was beaten, flogged, whipped, caned, bound, handcuffed, gagged, suspended, tortured, and anally raped!” Her face turned white as I described our playtime in grotesque detail to virgin ears. You didn’t think I’d go that far, did you, bitch? Well, you opened this can of worms and now these mother fuckers are going to crawl all over you. I turn back to my stunned family.
“Every time I messed up in school, I was flogged. If I drank or got into a fight, I was whipped. If I even looked at the girls at school, I was caned. She got word that I slept with a girl at Harvard. When I came home for Christmas that year, she beat the hell out of me.” My mother’s sharp intake of breath indicates that this was becoming too much for her. Butterfly is looking at me with tears in her eyes and Mia has stopped flailing. “I learned control, and that’s why I continued. She had complete control over me and I wanted that control back. So, we switched roles shortly after I became an adult. I became the Dom and she was the submissive. She taught me all that I needed to know about the lifestyle. She introduced me to others that were part of the lifestyle—women who wanted to sub for me… and that’s all I knew. She taught me that there was no other way for me… that love makes you weak and pathetic. She taught me that the lifestyle was the only way to live, and I believed her. Hell, she trained me since I was a teenager. It really was all that I knew.” I turn back to her. “I didn’t have any friends, no social life, except for contracted subs that helped me maintain control. I only saw them on weekends, all consenting adults, all very legal.”
“Ana, did you know about this?” Grace asks. Butterfly looks from me to my mother, and nods. “Do you two….?”
“Yes,” Butterfly answers. “But not to the degree that he just described,” she adds. “I’ve never been caned, whipped, tortured, none of that crap!” she spits glaring at The Pedophile. “And neither has he, not by me anyway. Our submission is totally different.” She looks back at my mother. “It’s based on need, emotion, and arousal… not on sadism.”
“You evil bitch,” Grace says to the Pedophile. She’s flabbergasted. She expected for everything to fall apart when this piece of information came out, but my family is still silently rallying behind me. And she can tell, but she had one last trump to throw.
“Does she know, Christian?” she says through clenched teeth. “Does she know why all of your subs were little pale brunettes?” Venom is oozing from her words. And here I stand at a crossroads—where I’m forced to tell my beautiful Butterfly in front of my family what attracted me to her in the first place—even though it has nothing to do with why I love her. I turn to Butterfly and take her hands in mine.
“Baby, this might be hard for you to hear.” She looks at me with questioning eyes. I take a deep breath. “I’m attracted to brunettes because you all look like my birth mother. I used to beat them to take out the frustrations of what the crack whore and her pimp did to me. I hope you know that you’re different.” She’s horrified. I see it in her eyes.
I’ve lost her.
I drop her hands and walk over to the Pedophile. This woman is a pestilence. She devours everything that she touches… and she must be destroyed. “You’re done,” I say quietly. “This is where it ends for you.” I ache inside. If I’m going to lose my Butterfly, I’m going to take up a new pastime. The full and total destruction of Elena Lincoln.
“You can’t ruin me without ruining yourself—your reputation, your family name!” she spits.
“You shouldn’t be worried about my reputation, my family name or my money.” She recognizes the control in my voice. You’re talking to the CEO now, and he means business, bitch. “What you should be worried about is the fact that I’m going to pour my life, my heart, and my soul into making you suffer.”
Oh, that got her attention. What’s left of life blood slowly drains from her face.
“I’m going to concentrate my efforts into making you unhappy. When I’m sitting around twiddling my thumbs with nothing to do, the first thing that will pop into my mind is how can I make Elena Lincoln miserable? That’s what you should be worried about!” I close the space between myself and the battered Pedophile. Hatred is emanating from my body onto her and she starts to shiver.
“You have taken every good thing away from me that I have ever had. You blocked me from being loved and you lost your mind when you lost your control over me. And now you’re sinking—drowning in your own mire—and after everything you’ve already done to me, you want to take me with you. You taught me too well, Elena! I won’t go down with you. Anything that you think you can do to me, go… do it. And when you do, I’m going to bury you. I’m going to make you wish you had never been born.” She falls completely silent. I now turn my eyes to the ever-present, ever-wicked, chomping at the bit Ms. Katherine Kavanaugh.
“One word,” I say through clenched teeth, “One word of this in print… one word… and I will bury you, too!” She looks up at me with fear in her eyes. Good, we understand each other, but it’s not enough. She needs to acknowledge it. I stand there, staring at her, wishing that my glare alone could kill her… and she slowly and shakily nods.
I don’t even turn around to face my Butterfly. I can’t stand to see her leave me. I can’t stand to see that look of horror on her face again. I turn on my heels and leave the room. I walk through the foyer, past the stairs, and out the French doors on the side of the house.
My soul is hurting.
My family is destroyed.
I’ve lost my Butterfly.
I need my quiet place. I need my quiet place now—silence all the voices in my head, the noises that are around me. I walk across the grass to the tree-house. It used to be my hiding place when I wanted to get away from all the family love. Now I’m using it to escape the family’s hatred, disgust, and disdain.
What they must think of me…
What Butterfly must think of me…
The sadistic things that I’ve done to women… it makes me sick to even imagine those things being done to my Butterfly.
They all hate me. I know they do.
I climb the stairs and go inside. I always wondered why they called this a tree-house. It’s more like a mini-condo in the woods. It has two rooms, a reading nook, and a tower. It even has a gangplank that leads to a separate deck with seating. I sit in the window seat in the reading nook. I used to love it up here. I used to sit and think of how I would be rich someday. I’d have a hot girlfriend and a hot car, and all those stuck-up bitches from high school that wouldn’t give me the time of day would be salivating all over themselves. It’s funny because many of those girls are the daughters of those insufferable women that come to these damn charity meetings. They’re gagging for me now… and I want none of them.
I want Ana.
I want my Butterfly.
Elena took this house away from me. She told me that it was time to come out of boyish ways and be a man. So, at 16, I stopped coming up here. I had never been back until now. I succeeded.
I became a man.
I have several hot cars.
And I lost my hot girlfriend.
I look out of the window of the reading nook and I hear someone weeping. It takes me a moment to realize that it’s me.
Oh. My. God.
I look like his dead mother?
Oh. My. God!
This can’t be true! This can’t be happening. Is this some kind of sick joke?
I look like his dead mother.
Listen to everything, psychologist. Not just that one piece. You’re about to lose the best thing that ever happened to you.
I go over his words again in my head.
“I am attracted to brunettes because you all look like my birth mother. I used to beat them to take out the frustrations of what the crack whore and her pimp did to me. I hope you know that you’re different.”
I look like his dead mother.
Not that part!
“I hope you know that you’re different.”
“I hope you know that you’re different.”
“I hope you know that you’re different.”
“… You‘re different.”
“… You‘re different.”
Christian turns around and verbally cuts She-Thing to shreds. I wouldn’t want to be her tomorrow morning. He then turns and warns Katherine about her big journalist’s mouth and subsequently leaves the room.
What about me? Why did he leave me behind… without a word?
“I hope you’re happy now!” She-Thing shoots at me. You really want some of this?
“Oh, don’t give me that shit!” I retort. “I was 9 when you came on to Elliot and 12 when you molested Christian. What you did is all on you, not me. Get a grip and accept the consequences of your actions and stop blaming everybody else. Maybe then you can get on with a semblance of a life!”
“You’re not fooling anybody…” she begins.
“Shut up!” I yell. “Nobody here wants to hear anything that you have to say, least of all me! And three of us want to beat your ass! So, leave before we give in to our urges—starting with the wildcat over there!”
She looks at Mia and back at me then decides that it is probably wise to beat a hasty retreat. The tears start falling down my face—a combination of adrenaline and anger. The scene that just played out before me, before Christian’s family, was deplorable—all because a pedophile can’t take responsibility for her actions.
“Huh! Kinky sex! I knew she was just a plaything.” Kate says, quietly. I walk over to her and glare at her for a while. There’s nothing behind those beautiful, smirking, green eyes. Her soul is empty. She’s miserable. She’s trying to find some happiness, but it keeps evading her. Right now, the only happiness that she can find is in making others as miserable as she is. I almost feel sorry for her…
I pull back and slap her so hard that her chignon comes loose.
Elliot moves, but thinks better of it. I never take my eyes off this sorry excuse for a woman. With all the tragedy that just happened to this family, this is all she can come up with. My fists are clenched at my sides and I’m waiting, daring her to say another word. She looks at my clenched fists and back at me, holding her face where I slapped her—but she doesn’t speak.
“Ana,” Elliot’s voice says from beside me. I turn to look at him. “Go to him. He needs you now.”
He’s right. This damaged Barbie with the broke-back hair deserves no more of my time. I leave a stunned Kate standing there and go in search of my man.
Several minutes later, I have looked everywhere. His room, the study, the parlor, the garden, the library… Is there some vortex in this house that these people disappear into when they don’t want to be found? The car is still here so I know he hasn’t gone back to Seattle without me, but I can’t find him. I’m standing on the patio, flustered and worried.
What is he doing?
What is he thinking?
I start to get a sick feeling and I put one hand on my forehead, the other on my waist, bending over a bit. I swear, I feel like I’m about to hurl.
“Where is he?” I mumble to myself.
“Anakins?” Mia is behind me
“Yes, Mia?” I ask meekly, without turning around.
“Are you okay?”
“I can’t find him,” I say, my voice cracking with unshed tears.
“You can’t find him? Who?” she asks.
“Christian,” I squeak. She’s quiet for a moment.
“He’s not in his room?” Of course, he’s not in his room!
“No,” I say defeated.
“Have you checked the tree-house?” she asks.
“The tree-house. He used to go there all the time to be alone.” A grown man in a tree-house? As tall as he is, he probably wouldn’t even fit in a tree-house anymore. What have I got to lose?
“Um, where’s the tree-house?” I ask.
“Follow me.” She smiles, taking my hand. We walk back into the house through the foyer and out another set of doors. As we start across the yard, I see him. White linen shirt, black jeans, and Oxfords. His head is bent and his hands are shoved in his pockets. He’s walking towards us without looking up. He looks like a broken man.
“Christian,” I breathe softly, his name a prayer on my lips.
I start walking faster towards him.
“Christian.” I’m still saying his name softly. I thought he left me behind, but he’s right there… broken and emotionally battered, but he’s here.
“Christian.” He still can’t hear me, but I will him to look up at me. Please, baby, please…
After a long time has passed and no one has come from the house, I assume that they all just don’t give a damn about me. And why would they? After all the shit I just unloaded on them, why would any of them care about me? I guess I’ll go in and get my things and go home. I’ll have to see Ana safely home… if she’ll let me. One last chance to say goodbye.
I turn off the generator in the tree-house, go down the stairs and walk towards the house… and my fate. I can feel that familiar pull to my Butterfly even though she’s not out here. I hurt so much. I don’t know what I’m going to do without her. I don’t know if I can survive. I walk with my head bowed, my hands shoved in my pockets, trying to figure out how I’m going to make it through a day… a moment… knowing that I’ve lost my Butterfly. I want to fall to my knees and wail, like a wolf crying to the moon. Instead, I will myself to keep walking. I can see her one last time. The pull is getting stronger the closer I get to the house.
That’s our souls calling to each other… or at least mine calling to her.
I feel it every time she’s near me. It started as a spark on the dance floor at the McElvoy—The Awakening—and it’s gotten stronger and stronger ever since. God, why would you let me experience Nirvana just to take it away from me so soon?
The pull is turning into an intense ache without her. I lift my head to draw in some air… and I see Mia. She’s standing in the distance—about 50 feet away. Darling Meelo.
Twenty feet away, I see beautiful brown tresses bouncing in the sunlight. She’s running to me. She’s getting closer.
As she closes the space between us, her arms open and she lunges at me. I catch her in my arms in midair, pulling her close to me, feeling her skin, touching her hair.
“Butterfly,” I whisper. Am I dreaming? Is this the daytime delusions of a broken-hearted, shattered man in love? If I am, please don’t let me wake up.
I’m so overcome with emotion that my legs can’t hold me anymore. I fall to my knees, taking Butterfly with me. We’re clinging to one another, kissing frantically and trying to get our words out.
“You scared me…” kiss. “… to death!” she scolds.
“I thought…” kiss “… you wouldn’t…” kiss, kiss. “… want me anymore,” I confess.
“Why…” kiss. “… would you think…” kiss. “… that?” she asks.
“My mother…” kiss, kiss. “… the subs…” kiss. “… brunette…” kiss, kiss, kiss.
“I’m different…” kiss, kiss. “… you said I’m different.” kiss, kiss.
“Yes…” kiss. “… different…” kiss, kiss. “… so different…” kiss.
“I…” kiss, kiss. “… love you, Christian.”
“Oh, God, I love you, too, Ana.” Long kiss.
We lay on the lawn looking at the sky—me on my back, and Butterfly lies perpendicular to me, her head on my stomach and me playing with her hair. I’m in heaven, floating on a cloud with an angel with me.
“I thought I lost you,” I say.
“I thought I lost you,” she replies.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“There’s no reason for you to be sorry… And your family is worried about you.” Worried about me? After what I just unloaded on them?
“They don’t need to worry. I’ll be fine,” I say.
“But they are, Christian.” She turns her head to look at me. “It took a lot of heart and guts to do what you did today. And you can’t go off alone running and hiding from them… or from me.” I hate being wrong.
“You’re right. I know. I just don’t know what to do or how to feel,” I admit.
“Well, you can start by understanding that none of this was your fault. You were the victim here. Yes, you made your own choices as an adult, but it was the result of intense conditioning starting at the age of 15. Unfortunately, she got you right at the perfect time to mold a new habit into you that would stick for the rest of your life. I don’t know if she planned it that way or not, but she probably did considering that she tried to recruit Elliot at 14.”
“I know you’re trying to make me feel better, Butterfly, but whatever the rationalization, I just put my family through hell again. My mother was screaming in the library. She decked her best friend. Mia went totally kamikaze on the bitch. Elliot had to reveal what she did to him, and Carrick walked right in on the mayhem. It’s like I’m a walking disaster waiting to happen.” She sits up and glares down at me.
“I am not,” she begins, her voice forceful and her blue eyes piercing, “going to listen to you talk about yourself that way. We’ve talked about this and you said you wouldn’t do it!” I swallow hard at her intensity.
Fuck! Yes, Mistress!
“Now, I understand you feeling guilty about your role in what happened later, and for that you’re just going to have to forgive yourself. But I will not let you walk around with this cloud of doom hanging over your head because you fell victim to a sick ass bitch! That mentality is what made you vulnerable to her in the first place. You know all about control—now take control of your life and your destiny and don’t let this control you, Mr. Grey!”
I feel a twitch in that magic spot when she says it… that name that she mostly only uses in Delicate Domme mode. But right now, she’s mad… and serious… and hot!
“I’m going to fuck your brains out when we get home,” I say before I even think about it. Surprise registers on her face. She just tilts her head to the side and shakes her head.
“I’ll never understand that. I never know what to expect from you,” she says, laughing a little.
“Good. It’s more interesting if I keep you guessing.” I sit up and kiss her on the forehead gently stroking her cheek.
“Christian, in light of the events of the day and the deep, dark secret that you were forced to reveal, I think there’s something that I should tell you.” This time, I freeze. Oh, fuck, what’s wrong?
“Okay,” I say, steeling myself for what’s about to come out of Butterfly’s mouth.
“I’ve been on birth control since I was 15 years old.” Oh, good grief, is that all? She scared me shitless to tell me that she’s been on birth control since she was a teenager?
“Okay,” I say with finality, thinking that’s the end of the story.
“There’s a reason I’ve been on birth control for so long,” she adds.
“Okay…” Is she sick? Is something wrong? She takes a deep breath and says,
“After the rape… and the beating… I found out that was pregnant.”
Yeah, you really fucked up big time this time, didn’t you Mrs. Lincoln?
But I couldn’t help it. I know that little bitch is at the bottom of all of this! I know that she turned Christian against me because everything was fine until she showed up. So it had to be her. It had to be—filling his head with this nonsense and bullshit about love.
Ha! Love! Right!
As if anybody besides me could love possibly Christian the way that he needs. And what is it about her that has him so mesmerized? There’s nothing remarkable about her! Greta is far more attractive than she is! What does she have?
But Christian is completely taken with her. I can’t see what it is. He’s totally and completely stricken by her. If I believed in witchcraft, I would say that she has truly cast a spell on him. I’ve never seen him like this before.
He’s doing things that he has never done.
He’s saying things that he has never said.
He’s not even the Christian that I created anymore. She has destroyed him, and he doesn’t even know it yet.
But if she thinks that I’m going to go away that easily, she is sorely mistaken.
I know that my Christian is still in there
I know that he can be reached.
He needs me to save him from whatever she has done to him, and I am going to do it whether he thinks I should or not! I am going to make sure that whatever she has done to him, I am going to undo.
I can’t believe he told his family everything! Everything! The whole humiliating package. And Elliot! He was more of a man at 14 than he is now, the sniveling little weasel. Letting that little piece of trash lead him around by the nose and he couldn’t even keep his mouth shut. I’ll make sure to take care of his little meddling ass, too. What is going on with the Grey men?
I can’t believe this. I can’t believe it has come to this. I surely thought just the threat of them discovering the lifestyle would make him come to his senses. It’s something that he never wanted them to know about him. But he told them everything, just because she was present. I just don’t understand it. I don’t understand any of this, but I am going to get to the bottom of it! I am going to get my Christian back. This little bitch has no idea who she’s dealing with.
And Grace. Fucking hell. Grace is never going to forgive me. We’re never going to get past this. I’m going to have to start doing some damage control in social circles, but I’m not sure what to do…
Spread a rumor?
Talk about Grace being unstable?
Plant seeds of a marital breakdown?
These things are all poison pills in our circles. I’m not sure what I’m going to do, but somehow or another I’m going to have to save my ass or my name is going to be worthless by morning. I guess I’ve got some calls to make. But that’s going to have to wait, because right now I have some pent-up aggression that needs immediate release. It’s time for my latest candidate to entertain me.
Thank God, it’s Sunday and school is out…
The Fantastic Four is a fictional superhero group from Marvel Comics. It has also been made into a movie. I have taken a little liberty using it here since the Fantastic Four was actually three men and a woman and I have used it here to represent two men and two women – Christian, Elliot, Grace, and Ana.
Lots and lots and lots of stuff on my interest page, including the recipe for Ana’s cheesy potatoes! http://www.pinterest.com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele/
Next chapter – the final bit of the family affair… and some much-awaited lemony goodness!
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Love and handcuffs!