Mending Dr. Steele: Chapter 25—Hopin’ and Wishin’ and Thinkin’ and Prayin’

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 25—Hopin’ and Wishin’ and Thinkin’ and Prayin’


Why would they taint something as beautiful and joyous as my engagement with the shit that those fuckers did to me in Green Valley? These heartless, cruel, bastards… why? In related news my ass! How does my getting engaged have anything to do with these fuckers damn near killing me when I was a teenager? It took them two weeks after I returned from Green Valley to even get word in Seattle that I had identified the people who attacked me. Yet, it took two days for those assholes to link that story to my engagement—a story that broke just over 12 hours ago. I’m so angry, I can’t even think straight.

Christian puts his arms around me and pulls me in to his chest. I know that everyone thinks that I should be happy that these monsters are being arrested—and they’re right. I should be happy, but not today… any day but today…

I feel like I just can’t seem to catch a break. I make up my mind that I’m going to live life to the fullest, and things just keep happening to try to knock me down—David’s insanity plea might fly; Christian has to deal with the pictures from the Pedo-Bitch. I have taken everything on the chin—Green Valley, a new psychiatrist, crazy blonde bitches that want to kick my ass for no reason—and the shit just keeps on coming! How the fuck much more can one person take!?

“Ana… don’t cry…”

That is a voice that I don’t recognize. I look up to see who it is, and everyone is staring at… Selena! What the hell? Am I in an alternate universe? She’s been treating me like shit since Friday, and now… Ignoring everyone’s stares, she continues to speak.

It’s a really shitty thing that happened to you. I had no idea… I…” She sighs heavily. “Don’t let those fuckers ruin your day. Have a glass of wine and some tiramisu and enjoy your day. Fuck ’em!”

I am stunned… again! Who is this woman and what has she done with the catty witch that has plagued the wedding for the last two days?

I know, I know, I’ve been a bitch all weekend, but I…” she keeps cutting off her sentence and, as a psychologist, I know there’s something that she’s not saying. “This is different. Don’t let them ruin your day. Celebrate. The sons of bitches were arrested. This is a good thing. Consider it an engagement present.”

Good God, she is so right. What the fuck was I thinking? Get it together, Steele. This is what you wanted.

“Good grief, you’re right,” I say through my tears. “What the hell is wrong with me? This is definitely a reason to celebrate. Why the hell am I sitting here crying?”

It’s your first reaction, Honey,” Maxie says. “I would have preferred that they didn’t announce it right next to the engagement as well, but we have to take it as it comes—accept the good with the bad and celebrate the triumphs… and this is a triumph, Ana. The timing is terrible, but it’s still a triumph.” I take a deep breath and nod. I really need to pull it together. I look over to Selena who is still looking at me.

Thank you,” I say to her, sincerely. She smiles a half-smile and nods. Whoda thunk she’d be the one to pull me out of my funk… but there’s a story there.

We sort of get the brunch back on track, but we can’t avoid the elephant in the room. There are about eight people who have no idea what happened to me. I simply revealed that I was brutally beaten as a teenager to be made an example of by the rich kids. I was in a coma for three weeks and my unborn baby was killed. I left out the part about being raped and my crazy mother and her drunken, greedy husband, and tell them that I didn’t want to say anymore about it, and we left it at that. However, very shortly after I told my story, Selena excuses herself from the table to go to the ladies’ room. Maxie stood to follow her, but I gestured for Maxie to stay in her seat and went in search of Selena.

She was in the ladies’ room, arms folded, leaning against the sink when I came in. I didn’t even know how to approach her, so she put me out of my misery.

“We all have a story,” she says, “Some open case, unsolved mystery, or dirty little family secret.” She turns around to face the mirror and check her makeup. “The baby—a surprise?” I try not to glare at her.

“You could say that,” I answer, giving her nothing.

“Yeah, that’s usually the case. They can’t take no for an answer.” She looks at me in the mirror. I don’t know what to say. “I told you, we all have a story.”

Good grief, am I wearing mine on my forehead? “How could you possibly know?” She laughs nervously.

I’m an excellent judge of people. I knew that Christian was going to ask you to marry him. It was written all over his face. I didn’t know when, but I knew that it was coming. There may have been some spite in my question, but I was genuine in asking, because I knew it was coming.”

“Okay, but… why be spiteful?” I ask. Her shoulders drop.

People are drawn to you. I can see it. People like me hate people like you, until we find out that in many ways, we are the same person. We just went to different extremes.” She drops her head. “That man would kill for you. Gregory would kill for me. They’re protectors. They are inherently drawn to people like us, but for different reasons. Gregory wants to save me because I’m broken. Christian wants to save you because you mean the world to him. Anyone can see it. If he could keep dust from falling on you, he would.” I just stare at her.

“Why do you say that you’re broken?” I ask, the doctor in me coming out.

“Because I am, Dear. No doubt about it, no questions asks—I’m shattered with no hope of repair,” she laments. I frown.

“Did a professional bring you to this conclusion?” I ask, horrified. She laughs a disbelieving squeaky laugh. I would really like to know what quack led her to believe that she was irreparable. When my expression doesn’t change, her face falls.

“You don’t know, do you?” she asks. Know what, my head and apparently my expression screamed. “I am a professional,” she declares, “or was, I should say. I’m a failed psychologist.”

Oh good Lord! So she’s the quack that lead herself to believe that she was irreparable.

“No offense, but if you are a failed psychologist, don’t you think you should get a second opinion about your situation?” I ask.

“No second opinion necessary—I’m hopeless,” she answers, matter-of-factly.

“No one is hopeless, Selena…”

I’m hopeless!” she interrupts me. “I can’t forgive, I can’t let go, and I can’t heal! The anger has festered in me and it’s taking over. I know that I’m a bitch and there’s nothing I can do about it. I have a wonderful man who loves me and I’m going to lose him because I can’t fix this. I don’t even know why Maxine is still my friend. I’ve tried everything, Ana, believe me. There’s just too much hate and anger inside of me. Every time I think I’m overcoming it, it just comes back.” She sighs heavily. “I know you’re a doctor, and from what I can see, you’re a really good person—but I know my faults. I know my issues, I know my shortcomings, and I know my downfalls… and some people just can’t be fixed.”

The sadness in her face is utterly heartbreaking. I refuse to believe that people can’t be fixed, but when you are faced with someone who has given up, you can’t force them to be hopeful again. I squeeze her hand and nod.

“If you ever need to talk…” the words trail off. She smiles sadly at me.

I appreciate it, but I won’t.” She squeezes back and leaves the ladies room. I just sigh, check my not-so-puffy eyes again, and walk out. Christian is leaning against the wall across the hall from the restroom when I emerge.

“Are you okay?” he asks, approaching me slowly. I sigh.

Yeah, I’m fine.” I look down the hall at Selena’s retreating form. “She’s not, though. She’s got some huge, ginormous Space-Needle-sized monsters under her bed. I don’t know how she copes from day-to-day.” She is so unhappy. I don’t think I could survive it.

“I bet you never expected words of wisdom to come from that direction, did you?”

“Not from what I’ve seen!” I say. “You never know somebody’s story.”


We are attempting to check out of the hotel and get back to our respective destinations when it is quite clear that there is no way that we are going to get past the paparazzi. Christian has called in more security in an attempt to get everyone out unscathed, but this is one time that the press will not be denied. They are at all exits and relentlessly harassing all guests as they leave in the off-chance that they might have been at the wedding last night. I am personally sick of this damn three-ring circus and I just want to go home and get ready for my workday tomorrow—and maybe pick out some colors for my own damn wedding!

Various members of the security team are in a pow-wow with Christian and the men from the Scooby Gang, discussing the best way to handle the situation. I feel like that day that we left the hospital after I was kidnapped. I’m surprised there are no “black and whites” outside trying to aid in our escape. God, I am so sick of this shit! I’m looking at the mob of paparazzi just outside to front door, and I am certain that there is no way in the world that we are going to get through them. They were clamoring for a statement about Green Valley at Maxie’s shower and now the news has broken that we are engaged. Christian may have the market cornered on avoiding the press, but in my small amount of time in the limelight, I have dealt with them quite well.

I close my gray cashmere floor-length maxi coat and put on my large sunglasses. Looking and feeling very “Jackie O,” I call out to Chuck once and proceed towards the door. I ignore Christian’s warning calls to me and stride purposefully out to meet the press. I understand that this cannot be done all of the time, but I refuse to be held hostage by these people—much less to impose that fate upon an entire hotel full of guests. Chuck barely catches up to me as I burst through the doors, plastering on my prettiest smile. A few moments later, Christian is behind us, but I have already turned on the charm.

“Now, you guys know how this goes. I can’t hear everyone talking all at once,” I announce sweetly.

“Is the rumor true, Ana? Are you engaged?” One reporter yells. I hold up my hand flashing my ring and the cameras go wild.

“What are the details of the ring?” Another reporter asks. Christian told me everything about my ring, but my mind is drawing a blank.

“Although Mr. Grey did tell me the details of my ring, I was a bit stunned as he was explaining it. So I am afraid that you will have to ask him,” I say shyly.

Christian,” a female reporter oozes, of course a little too friendly, “tell us about the ring.” Christian looks like he would rather be anywhere but here right now and is obviously uncomfortable as he walks behind me and slides his arm around my waist.

“The ring is 3.2 total carats in a platinum setting,” he says flatly.

“…And who was the lucky jeweler?” she coos.

“Cartier and James Allen,” Christian replies. She looks confused.

“Which one?” she asks again.

Both,” he says, a man of a few words—well, at least right now anyway. She still looks at him expecting, like she can’t fathom that two high-end and very particular jewelers might have worked on one piece. I put my left hand lovingly on Christian’s arm, purposely flashing the ring against his burgundy full-length wool coat causing a rash of camera flashes again.

“The ring is a collaboration,” I reply to her. “The band is… James Allen?” I look up at Christian questioning and he nods. I turn back to the reporter. “The stone is princess-cut from Cartier.” After a short, moment of silence, the dreaded topics follow.

“Ana, how do you feel about the arrests in Green Valley?” This came from a male reporter off to the right. I steady myself.

I’m undecided right now,” I reply. “I feel partly vindicated and partly sad. I just don’t want to keep reliving the incident. It was a very traumatic time for me.”

“Is there anything that you can tell us about it?” someone else blurts out.

“Unfortunately, no. It’s once again an open case and I’m not allowed to discuss it.”

What about your mother?” someone yells from the back and I freeze. I wasn’t ready for that question and my mind goes in several different directions. What do I say about Carla? None of this is about her—except the money. Since that is part of the case…

“I’m afraid that I can’t discuss her, either,” I respond.

“Why not?” Another reporter blurts out, this one is female.

“As I said, it’s an open case,” I try to divert the question.

“What does your mother have to do with the case?” She presses. I glare at her.

“I’m sorry. Is there something unclear about my saying that this is an open case and I can’t discuss it?”

Okay, allow me to rephrase. Why aren’t you and your mother speaking?” Motherfuck! That bitch has been talking to the fucking press!

“Okay, allow me to rephrase. It has a lot to do with this open case that I can’t discuss,” I nearly hiss. She shrugs and smirks at me. She’s not backing down.

“I’m just trying to figure out how you can turn your back on your own mother. After all, you only get one mother and she seems to think that it has something to do with you now dating a billionaire. I know that I could never turn my back on my mother no matter how bad the situation,” she adds smugly. This. Fucking. Bitch! How fucking dare her even attempt to put herself in my shoes and she knows absolutely nothing about me! Noting the immediate tension in my body, Christian squeezes my hand.

“Ms…” Christian begins, waiting for the reporter to respond.

“Coffman, Mr. Grey. Hillary Coffman,” she says sweetly, apparently unaware that she is, no doubt, headed for gallows. Christian detests the press and he is about to address you directly. You should be afraid.

Ms. Coffman, yes, I’ll remember that.” He pulls me closer to him. “You are obviously trying to elicit a reaction from my fiancée, but—lucky you—you have elicited a reaction from me.” His words are menacing and Ms. Coffman shrinks a bit as the crowd of reporters falls silent. “No doubt, you are at least loosely aware of the facts surrounding the case in Green Valley, yes?” He awaits her response.

“Yes, I am. I mean, who doesn’t know about this story?” She is trying to get some support from fellow reporters around her, but still doesn’t seem to understand that she is about to become the story as no sound follows her question other than the cold Seattle wind.

Indeed,” Christian says. “Bearing that in mind, Ms. Steele has repeatedly told you that she cannot discuss the estrangement from her mother as it somehow relates to the case—she has made that abundantly clear, correct?” Ms. Coffman sighs as he points this out.

“Yes, but I was just…” He puts his hand up, silencing her.

“As we have established those two vital points and connected them, I must ask if you are completely stupid or just unreasonably arrogant that you don’t understand why this woman and her mother are not speaking. Even loosely knowing about this case, all the press ever says about it is ‘brutal beating’ and ‘murder.’ Repeatedly, that’s all you hear is ‘brutal beating’ and ‘murder.’ Without revealing anything about the case, if there is any relation whatsoever to this case and Ms. Steele’s mother, where is the confusion about their estrangement? Might I add that no matter what conclusions you draw from the facts or any conjecture about the details, if you can actually stand there and say that you can hold no ill will against your mother under similar circumstances, then either we are in the presence of the most recent candidate for sainthood or you are lying through your veneers. Since I see no representative present from the Vatican, I would say that sainthood is most likely out of the question!” Game. Point. Match.

I can’t help but smile at my fiancé as the cameras madly flash in Ms. Coffman’s direction. It looks like Christian has just landed his first sacrificial lamb. I squeeze his hand to bring him back to me as he is scowling at Ms. Coffman who is now trying to disappear into the crowd of reporters. He turns his eyes to me and his expression softens immediately. “Are you okay?” he says softly.

“I love you,” I whisper to him, and he smiles that full-on smile that I love so much. He pulls my hand to his lips and plants a gentle kiss on my fingers. I turn back to the reporter.

Ms. Coffman, I’ll answer your question,” I say, standing up straighter, and the crowd silences again. “My mother was not a mother when I needed her. At one of the very worst moments of my life, she left me—as a broken child—to fend for myself. She has never looked out for my well-being, putting the safety of her own child in the back seat while pursuing her own self-interests. If you can endure what I have endured while your mother stood by and watched and come out of it unscathed, then my fiancé is right. You are a candidate for sainthood and I’ve never met one personally, but there’s a first time for everything. I, on the other hand, must be the most selfish child in the world, because I will be getting a restraining order and requesting a gag order against her until this case is over.”

If I may, Ana?” One of the reporters up front, another female, asks. “Feel free to tell me to shut up—but your mother indicates that you ran away from home as a teenager and she didn’t know where you were until 11 years later when you were hospitalized after the kidnapping, at which time you shunned her when she tried to see you. She says that your boyfriend, his bodyguards, and your stepfather Raymond Steele, all prevented her from seeing you. Do you… care to elaborate?” She asks the question very cautiously. I understand her trepidation.

“What, did this woman have a press conference?” I ask, my voice squeaking.

“Actually, yes,” another reporter answers. My head whips around to Christian.

“How did we not know this!?” I ask him.

“It hasn’t made it to Seattle, yet,” the female reporter responds. Oh, yes… I forgot about the reporters’ “wire.” I rub my forehead.

“Butterfly?” Christian says softly. I put my hand up.

“I’m fine,” I respond before raising my head.

Of course, Mrs. Morton left a lot out of that story and I can’t elaborate much until after the trial. When the facts come out, anyone who believes that woman is going to be horrendously embarrassed, so I will just say ‘proceed with caution.’ I did, in fact, leave home the moment that I graduated from high school and I was still a teenager since teenagers graduate from high school. I had no wish to look back at that place or her ever again in my life, so no, I hadn’t seen her in 11 years. Yes, she did show up at the hospital after I was kidnapped and I had no wish to see her then, either. At my request, my fiancé and our bodyguards made sure that she and the late Mr. Morton were escorted from the hospital without incident while my father…” I stress that word very hard, “Raymond Steele, escorted me back to my room.” I sigh heavily before continuing. “Pass the word that I will not answer anymore questions about my mother from this point on. My answer to any questions about the Mortons will be ‘no comment’ or ‘next question’ or I will ignore them completely, and Ms. Coffman, enjoy sainthood.”

I turn from the crowd of reporters effectively indicating that the ‘press conference’ is over. Christian and Chuck rush me to the waiting Audi while some reporters continue to shout questions at me. I turn around before I enter the car.

“I thank you all for your time. Unfortunately, you want to know more about Carla Morton than I am willing or able to share at this time. So, I and my fiancé are going home to begin our wedding plans. Have a good day.” I duck into the SUV and hold my head down until we have cleared the driveway of the hotel and are headed down Clarion Point towards Lakeview Drive. I release a huge sigh and cover my face with both of my hands. “Did everybody get out of the hotel?” I ask. I hear no sound, so I raise my head to see Jason nodding and Christian looking bemused.

“That’s what this was about?” he asks. I don’t respond. “You were creating a diversion.” I finally nod. “One of these days, you are going to realize that there are other solutions to problems besides throwing yourself to the wolves.” I look up at him.

“I wasn’t throwing myself to the wolves, Christian. This is never going to end, don’t you see that? It’s either Green Valley or our engagement or Elena or Edward David, and now it’s Carla—and this bitch is talking to the press now, like she’s a victim!” I drop my head. “Can I do that, Christian? Can I get a gag order and make her shut the fuck up?” He puts his hand on my back.

“I don’t know, Butterfly. Gag orders usually apply to things that specifically have to do with the case.”

“We don’t have a relationship because she watched me suffer while her and her drunken husband spent $750,000 that they received as hush money to keep me from talking about the beating. By talking about our lack of relationship, she’s talking about the case,” I point out.

Butterfly, you are stretching the law to the very end of its limits and I’m not sure that a judge is going to be willing to stretch it with you,” he cautions. I’m beginning to regret that I opened this can of worms at all. Ironically, Friday’s session with Ace was mostly about Carla. It was very repetitive—I hate her, that is all. There was nothing else to discuss. There is no hope that I will ever forgive her, and though I am not completely hopeless like Selena feels that she is, that is a hurdle that I think I will never be able to clear nor to I have any desire to do so.

Although Ace thinks that I will not be able to fully heal until I forgive her, she is an open, seeping, highly infectious wound that has been left untended for 11 years. The shrink in me knows that it can’t heal unless I deal with it, but my anger at her callousness and betrayal runs too deep for me to even consider it. She’s not even remorseful for her role in my suffering. Her bastard, drunkard, selfish husband is dead and, at the risk of being alone for the rest of her life, she still feels no remorse. She still blames me, and now Christian and Daddy, for the state of our relationship, but she has yet to take any of the responsibility herself. Where could she possibly think that she has any place in my life?

“I want wedding books,” I say without raising my head.

“Huh?” Christian says. I know the request came out of nowhere, but I meant what I said weeks ago. I want to live—not exist, live. I feel like shit right now, and I can’t keep feeling this way so I want to start planning my wedding.

“Wedding books, I want wedding books. I want to decide on our colors before the day is out and I want to plan my wedding,” I say.

“Butterfly, we can hire a wedding planner to do all that. You’ve only just finished planning Maxine’s wedding…” My eyes shoot up at him and they feel as if they are burning.

“I want wedding books!” I announce and I sound like a petulant child even to myself. Dammit!

“Okay. We’ll get wedding books,” he relents, and I drop my head in my hands again.


I want wedding books!” she declares loudly and she is glaring at me, her eyes are glassy and she is on the brink of tears and I realize that she needs something—immediately—to take her mind off all the bad shit that’s going on right now.

“Okay. We’ll get wedding books,” I say softly. She nods… I think… and then her face is in her hands. She breathes a strangled sob and I pull her as close to me as our seatbelts will allow.

“Don’t cry, Butterfly,” I soothe her.

“I’m not crying,” she says raising her face to mine. “I’m so tired of crying. I hate it. I can’t cry anymore.” Oh, my love, there are no tears coming out of your eyes, but you are crying. Your chest is heaving and you voice is breaking and squeaking. I gently stroke her hair and whisper in her ear.

“Let it out, Baby.” She shakes her head belligerently but doesn’t remove her hands from her face. I release her seatbelt and my own and pull her into my lap. Jason nods at me as he knows that I am never in a moving car without a seatbelt. I brush my lips gently against Butterfly’s cheek and I feel the tension slowly leave her body.

“Let it out,” I coax her again, pressing gentle kisses on her temple and her cheeks.

No!” she wails, her voice muffled. I stroke my fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp while I wrap my other arm protectively around her. I’ve got you, Butterfly. It’s okay. I remove her hand from her face and gently kiss her palm. Her other hand drops to my chest and she looks into my eyes. She looks so pained and lost. I hate seeing her this way. I gently cup her cheek, my eyes silently begging…

Let it out, Baby… please…

My wordless urging has broken through her defenses and a deeply pained gasping sob escapes her chest. She clutches me around my neck tightly as her body is wracked with what appears to be painful sobs. She is shaking uncontrollably as she weeps and I hold her close, trying to protect her from all the monsters that were released at that impromptu press conference. I almost want to call Avery as I know this situation will get worse before it gets better.

There will be speculation about our engagement and Butterfly’s intention, even though we have made it abundantly clear that this is the real deal. We don’t know when any of the trials that we are supposed to attend will be coming up, with the exception of David’s trial, which is supposed to start in June—the same month that we have opted to marry. The Pedophile’s case is about to burst wide open and we have heard nothing from her since Butterfly bumped into her in the Marketplace sometime last month. I want to believe that she finally gets it and has given up, but I know better. We have the whole “Faces of Abuse” idea to work out and now, with the main defendants of the Green Valley case in custody, that situation is going to pick up speed as well.

Butterfly definitely needs a distraction, and the wedding books are sounding better and better.

What should have been about a 20-minute drive took more like 45 minutes as Jason was driving extremely carefully to appease me as well as allowing Butterfly to get her cry out. After a while, she was finally able to calm down and we made our way to Barnes & Noble downtown. I’m determined to make this fun for her and not clinical and businesslike. I dare not agree with her when she declares that she knows that she looks a fright after crying for long. I simply release her to go to the ladies room to wash her face and reapply her makeup.

I have Jason ask where the wedding section is as I don’t want to be ogled or mobbed today, not that there is ever a good time for that sort of thing. The store is enormous, and the wedding section is more daunting than I could even imagine. There are books and magazines and bags and planners and… I wouldn’t even know where to start. I am horrendously out of my element here. I thought we would just hire someone to take care of the details. I should have known that Butterfly would want to be hands-on with planning our day after spending the last several months planning the weddings of her father and of one of her dearest friends.

I walk over to the newsstand and pick up one of the many wedding magazines there. As I stand there mindlessly thumbing through it, I realize that I might as well be reading the encyclopedia on the mating habits of slugs with the amount of knowledge that I have about what is in front of me.

I’m getting married,” I say into the air, knowing that Jason is close-by.

“Yes, Sir,” he replies from behind me.

This is going to be a circus,” I lament.

Maybe, maybe not,” Jason says. “Her Highness is a very sensible woman. Maybe it won’t be as much fanfare as you think.” I feel her before I see her. She is floating towards me, fresh-faced like she hadn’t been crying her eyes out in the car not 10 minutes ago.

“Better?” I ask.

“A little,” she responds. “What are you looking at?” She turns her attention to the magazine in my hands.

“Nothing really, it’s more looking at me,” I say, and that breaks the tension a bit. She sighs heavily.

Well, we have to get our ‘save the date’ cards out immediately, but we can’t do that until we pick our colors and decide who we are inviting and where the wedding and the reception are going to be.” I shrug.

“I have no idea,” I look at her expecting.

This has to be a collaboration, Christian. I don’t want to do this alone. This is our wedding—it has to be part of both of us.”

“Okay, well let’s start by saying that whatever groomsmen that I choose will not be wearing those goofy suits that I saw in Maxine and Phil’s wedding. They will be wearing formal black tuxedos. Their accessories can be whatever color we choose, but even though they kind of worked out, those tuxedos were hideous. Whoever can’t afford a Brioni or a Caraceni or an Armani, I will buy them one myself!” I declare. Butterfly releases a heartfelt laugh and it does wonders for my soul.

“Deal!” she says, still chuckling as she takes a magazine from the shelf. “Colors.”

I groan. I have no idea what colors we should have at our wedding. I’m a dark colors kind of guy, but when it comes to weddings, I know that black and black are not an option.

“I don’t know, Butterfly. You choose the colors,” I say. She shakes her head.

Both of us, Christian. I will not be pairing eggshell with canary yellow and you tell me later that it was a bad idea… not that I ever would,” she says with a shudder.

“Okay, well, when I think weddings, I think white…”

No white! That can’t be one of the colors. It’s going to be somewhere anyway just like black. Think bigger, more creative, Mr. CEO,” she scolds gently. Back to square one…

“What if I want a color and you want a color and our colors completely clash?” She sighs.

“Then we pick other colors. Let’s do this. Besides white and black—and eggshell and canary yellow…” she shudders again, “we will both just call out the first colors that come to mind and work from there.” I nod.

“Okay, on the count of three… one… two… three…”

“Silver,” I declare.
“Blue,” Butterfly indicates. We both contemplate the colors.

“Not shiny silver,” I specify.

“Not baby blue or Tiffany,” she clarifies.

Matte silver? Satiny and elegant?” I add trepidatiously.

“Royal blue? Deep and regal?” she questions just as cautiously. We each wait for the other’s reaction and a small smile grows on her face.

“Wow, that was easy,” she says incredulously.

“Yeah,” I reply, surprised. “It’s not going to all be like that, though, is it?” She shakes her head.

“Don’t count on it, Grey. During the course of the planning, we are going to call this wedding off at least once,” she announces. I almost laugh.

“Don’t count on it, Steele,” I warn. She shrugs.

“We’ll see,” she says as she grabs more magazines and books than her arms can carry. I gesture to Jason who gets one of those little hand baskets, but she has soon filled two of those as well.

“How many people do you want to invite?” she asks as she is filling her third basket. Jason has opted to just take the baskets to the counter and bring them back empty for Butterfly to fill again.

“I don’t know. I guess I should ask my parents. I don’t have many friends besides the ones that you have introduced me to, you know… and Flynn.” Ugh, should I bring that up now? She freezes and looks up at me.

“Yes, I suppose he is your friend,” she relents and continues to pull items from shelves. She thumbs through one book and puts it back on the shelf. That’s the first one that she has put back on the shelf since we’ve been in the store. “It’s going to be a very busy few months,” she says, quickly changing the subject. “We’ve got to get this planning done and we have so many other things going on in our lives. We have to make sure that we make time for ourselves, not just sex, Christian. Real time for you and me to do anything or nothing, or we will certainly get lost in everything that’s going on.”

“Okay, should we decide now what time will definitely be set aside for us, that is in addition to whatever time that we stumble upon,” I suggest.

“That’s a good idea. One weekday and one weekend day?” she says. I shrug.

The weekday could be a little hard. You know how things go at GEH. Can we do the weekend day definitely and the weekday tentatively?” She nods.

Fair enough. Sunday seems to have worked out well for both of us lately.”

“I agree. Why don’t we make our tentative day Wednesday?” She nods again.

“That’s a good idea, the beginning and the middle of the week…”

Walking through Barnes & Noble, we managed to get a schedule together for the next three weeks, plan a couple of meetings with our families to discuss wedding plans, warn Ray that Carla had spoken to the press and to prepare himself for the fallout, touch bases with Allen about upcoming legal dates and the feasibility of getting a gag order against Mini-Morton, get tagged at Barnes & Noble on the unofficial “AnaChris” Facebook page three times, and decide that we wanted a local royal blue and silver wedding with a yet-to-be-numbered amount of guests. We leave the store with only a few paps flashing pictures.

Getting into Escala is a different story.

The paparazzi have the front of the building blocked and we aren’t even able to get into the parking garage.

“Oh, this is ridiculous!” Butterfly says. “We shouldn’t have to go through this everywhere we go. Do they really take this much joy in someone else’s calamity?”

“We were just spotted at the bookstore shopping for wedding books, Baby,” I remind her. She sighs.

Nonetheless… can we get into our own home, please?” she whines. Davenport gets out of the car along with Lawrence from the other SUV.

You are blocking private property. Get the fuck out of the way before you are all arrested! Anybody within the sound of my voice that doesn’t move and let these people into their homes will not be able to get within 1000 feet of ‘AnaChris’ after today!” Davenport yells.

“You can’t do that!” I hear one guy yell. Davenport takes a picture of him with his phone.

Wanna try me?” he challenges. Not willing to take the chance of being eliminated from the hope of getting the money shot, the sea of reporters parts and let us in.

Thank you for your cooperation,” I hear Davenport say sarcastically before getting back into the car. Like I said, he’s worth his weight in gold.

“Wow, Chuck. Impressive!” Butterfly says as Jason parks the car.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” he winks at her and I am never going to be comfortable with their level of familiarity.


We are sitting at the dining table eating what’s left of the finger food that we had prepared for the first meeting of our families. However, we chose to do it over Google hangouts instead since it was murder for me and Butterfly to get into Escala. We didn’t want to subject our family to that debacle. We discussed the possible guest list and venues for the wedding as well as security risks and the fact that the paparazzi will be an ever-present force in our lives for the next few months. They will be trying to get tidbits on the trial and the wedding, so we can all look forward to very little peace in the near future.

Butterfly is typing away at her laptop and marking things down in this planner binder-portfolio that she bought and I am scrolling through this site that she directed me to. It’s all Greek to me, but I wanted her to explain something to me.

“Butterfly, what exactly is this?” I ask. She types a little more into her laptop before taking the seat next to me and looking at my screen.

“What is what?” she asks expecting.

“All this,” I gesture to the screen.

All of this?” she asks and I nod. “Um, this is the packet that goes out with the invitations. Some people send this out separately…” She’s explaining the contents of the packet to me when her smell hits my nose and sends a shock straight to Greystone. Fuck! It’s almost too much to bear.

I really want to know what she is talking about, so I try to pay attention to what she is saying. I close the space between us and put my arm around the back of her chair and lean in while she explains about RSVP’s and registries and save-the-date cards.

“What exactly would we need to register for, Butterfly?” I ask, trying not to betray the intense longing inside of me. I think I failed as I hear her sharp intake of air next to me.

“Um…” she breathes heavily and collects herself, “we would actually go into the various locations and pick things that we think we might want… like our… first China patterns…” she says, trying to ignore my breath on her shoulders. She smells divine. She feels divine. I push her hair away from her shoulder and kiss her neck and then her earlobe.

“It’s Sunday,” she says wistfully, closing her eyes.

Our day,” I breathe against her flawless skin. Well, it’s night now.

“Not always sex, Christian,” she says, her chest rising and falling heavily.

“No, not always,” I kiss her cheek softly as I caress her back through her shirt. “But how can I possibly be in the room with you and not want to touch you?” My words ignite something in her and she turns to face me, her eyes filled with lust… or love… or longing… something. I feel like my chest is going to collapse just looking at her. Good grief!

She grabs my face and her lips crash into mine, hungrily and salaciously kissing me. It is everything that I can do not to rip her clothes off right here and now and take her in the middle of the dining table.

Apparently, she had a similar idea.

Without removing her lips from mine, she has stood from her chair and is wiggling out of her panties. She straddles my lap and feverishly—but effectively—loosens my belt, unzips my fly, and releases Greystone from his prison in my pants. Damn, she’s fast. I don’t even have time to protest as she lifts her skirt and positions herself over my erection. She slides slowly down onto me and I gasp at how tight and wet she is! Hell, what is this? She moans a high-pitched, almost painful cry and I look at her, concerned.

“Baby?” I squeeze out from the pleasure I feel in my loins and the aching I feel in my chest. Oh, Lord, this is so intense.

“You feel… so good…” she breathes. I can tell that she is fighting as much as I am to control the moment, what she’s feeling, but I can’t. It’s too much and I feel it everywhere… everywhere! I wrap my arms around the beautiful woman and let her love me, rocking my hips into her and she descends upon me, passionate moans escaping her lips with each grind.

Ooooooohhh,” she moans again, her cry an almost mournful weep. Her hands are on my shoulders, steadying her as she rides me before she moves her hands to my hair and holds me in place while she brings her lips to mine again.

Yes!” she breathes as she possesses me, loves me deeply and heavily. “We fit… we fit perfectly,” she nearly hisses, and a tear falls from her cheek to mine. Yes, Baby, we fit so perfectly. I groan from my chest and resist the urge to hold her tight and slam myself deeply into her to feel her surround me completely. As if she read my thoughts, she drops down onto me hard and deep and just stays there for a moment. I groan loudly in ecstasy as she repeats the motion, pulling my head back so that I am looking up at her, my lips slack and barely pulling in air.

Mine,” she whispers as her tongue and lips explore my neck, her tears still falling onto me. I feel my release building inside me as she controls this moment between us.

“Love me…” I whisper, and she grinds hard and deliberately into me. “Aah!” I cry out at the friction and the pleasure. God, what she does to me, I couldn’t control it if I wanted to. “Love me, please,” I whisper again, wanting her to consume me, to take complete advantage of me and make my body sing from the inside out. My words once again spur her on and she grinds into me again. I am panting now and I feel like my body is going to explode. I close my eyes and feel her—her luscious body moving in my arms, her thighs rubbing against mine and the unwelcome barrier of my pants between us, her hips grinding into me as her core extracts delicious torment and pleasure from my throbbing member.

“Baby…” she moans as I feel her start to tighten around me. She is moving purposefully on top of me and I am making no effort to hold back the pleasure that I feel, both physically and emotionally. It’s taking me over, consuming me as she loves me, giving as much as she is taking. She has me in her spell and I can barely breathe, hardly think, and definitely cannot move. I am hers, all hers…

Oh God, Ana,” I groan. My chest is heavy and it feels like it will cave in with all the emotion that I am feeling right now. I am connected to her in my soul and it aches, mourning that we are not one person and that at some point our bodies must separate. “I love you,” I groan into her neck. “I love you so much.”

At that moment, she sobs deeply as her body erupts in a powerful orgasm. She freezes around me as she weeps out her release, one arm wrapped around my back while the other hand buried in my hair. I grind into her a few more times as my own climax begins, burning and searing through me and binding me to her.

Oooohohoho my God…” I groan, my eyes closed tightly and focusing on the part of me buried deep inside of her and pulsating wildly and relentlessly as I hold her close to me and she breathes out her sobs. I am breathless as I hold her to me and bury my face in her neck.

“Ana… my love…” I breathe, “I am lost without you. You are everything to me.” I will her to feel what I feel at this moment. I brush my lips against her shoulder and try to transfuse my strength into her. I would die for her… I would honestly die for her…

“Christian… hold me. Please, don’t ever leave me. Don’t ever let me go,” she says, softly. “I will love you forever.”

Her words are a symphony to my war-torn spirit. She makes me whole. I couldn’t survive without her now that she is part of my life… part of me.

“Never, my love,” I cradle her body as she cradles mine. “Never.”


Anakins, I love you, but this is Christian Grey’s wedding—billionaire bachelor Christian Grey that no one thought would ever settle down. Women all over the country—maybe even the world—will be vicariously walking down the aisle to your man on your wedding day. This event can be nothing less than absolutely spectacular.” Oh, hell. I see that look in her eyes and I’ve seen it many times. Mia is about to go batshit crazy. We are all sitting around the dining table—in person this time—on a rainy Monday night, talking about just how spectacular we actually want this wedding to be. The entire family is here—both sides, including Valerie and Ethan as part of the extended family so to speak, and of course, Ray and Amanda.

“Mia, you are in charge of decorating and that’s it, and I will tell you what I want,” Butterfly says with finality. “Other than that, I will hire a wedding planner and I will tell them what I want. They will give me what I want and anyone who doesn’t give me what I want will be fired. I want this to be a classy, elegant, sophisticated party of the century, and we have to pull it off in approximately four months. For that reason, we will not have unicorns and trained dragons flying over mine and billionaire bachelor Christian Grey’s wedding. Part of me is thinking ‘destination wedding,’ but I don’t want anything cliché. There will be no getting married on the beach, although I am not adverse to a tropical climate. We won’t be getting married on a cruise… way too cliché. We also won’t be doing anything strange like skydiving and of course, Buckingham Palace is out of the question! Do you kind of get the idea that I am very particular about what I want?”

“Um, yeah…” Mia says, quite taken aback.

Do you also get the idea that I am likely to turn into Bridezilla and your worst nightmare if you don’t give me what I want or if anyone tries to shove something down my throat that I don’t like?” I add.

I can attest to that,” Amanda says while rubbing her baby bump. I recall Butterfly telling me about the whole “Daisy Decorator” incident and those damn branches at Ray and Amanda’s reception.

“So, is a destination wedding a real possibility?” Ray asks, skeptically. Butterfly shrugs.

I had considered it, but with the research that I have done so far, it just seems like it would be too much trouble. Most of the locations want you to have some kind of residency in order to have a civil ceremony which you must have before you can have a religious ceremony and only a civil ceremony is recognized in the area or province or whatever. Then there is the suggestion that you have the civil ceremony in your home country before you have the formal ceremony in the destination location, and I think that’s just a waste of time. If you’re going to have the civil ceremony in your own country, just have the whole damn thing in your own country,” she says, throwing her hands up.

“Okay, so… why are we still considering a destination wedding?” Elliot asks.

I just didn’t want to throw the idea out completely. I wanted to know what comments or suggestions that you guys might have,” she responds.

Well, destination weddings can be quite expensive and time-consuming,” Mom interjects. I just look at my mother. Seriously, Mom?

“Mom, I’m sure we can afford whatever destination Ana decides that she wants,” I tell her.

But can everyone else afford it?” Mom continues. “Are you willing to foot the bill for whatever number of guests that you all are willing to bring to this destination? How convenient will it be for them to get travel arrangements in such a short period of time? Will everyone be able to get the time off of their jobs? Does everyone have their passports in order? How many people will you have to end up eliminating from the guest list and maybe even the wedding party for one or more of these reasons or because they just don’t feel like dealing with the hassle?” God, I hate it when my mom is so damn logical, and so damn right. Butterfly twists her lips for a moment, then looks down into her trusty little planner and draws a dark line through something there.

“Well, destination wedding is out. So, what kind of venues do Seattle offer? I really liked the Marion Oliver McCaw Hall where the Adopt-A-Family Affair was held…” she moves on without missing a beat. I, along with a few others in the group are a bit taken aback.

Are you sure you’re okay with scrapping the idea of a destination wedding, Butterfly?” I ask her. She nods, noncommittal.

I told you, I just wanted to get suggestions and comments before I killed the idea completely. Let’s face it, that is way too much damn hassle to pull off in four months. I’m not the girl who dreamed of this day every night of my life when I was a kid, but I do want it to be nice… and hassle-free.” She smiles a cute smile and continues with the conversation. Wow, this may end up being a lot easier than I even imagined, especially since Hurricane Mia will not be in charge.

“Have you decided who your wedding planner will be yet?” Valerie asks. “Cassie Hamilton owes me a favor and you know that she’s nearly impossible to get.”

Oooo, can you get us an appointment with her this week… preferably Thursday?” Butterfly says. Cassie Hamilton—that name rings a bell… oh, fuck!

“Um… Butterfly, I would prefer that we use someone other than Ms. Hamilton,” I say as discreetly as possible.

“Why?” she says, frowning.

“Well, she’s a past acquaintance,” I respond. The light still hasn’t come on yet.

“You know her?” Butterfly asks. I sigh.

Biblically,” I say flatly. Just like that, her face falls and the disappointment is evident.

“Val, scratch Cassie Hamilton,” she says.

“Why? She’s one of the most sought-after planners in Seattle. She would be itching to plan your wedding,” Valerie protests.

“Then, we will pursue one of the other most sought-after planners in Seattle. Hamilton is out.”

“Is there something I missed here? Why in the world wouldn’t you want Cassie Hamilton to help plan your wedding? She’s like the best of the best…”

Valerie! Scratch. Cassie. Hamilton.” She lets Valerie know that the decision is final in no uncertain terms. After a few moments of silence, Valerie seems to finally get the point.

Okay. Scratch Cassie Hamilton,” she says, her voice somewhat meek. The mood in the dining room has changed significantly and no one seems to have anything to say anymore. Once again, my past is causing problems with my present.

“How about I refresh everyone’s drink?” My mother offers, which is strange since we are in my home.

“I’ll help you, Grace,” Valerie says, and she and my mother make a quick getaway to the kitchen. Butterfly starts to rub her forehead and excuses herself to the restroom. Amanda and Mia insist on following her to make sure that she’s okay.

“Boy, you can really clear a room, can’t you, Bro?” Elliot says to me. I glare at him.

“Excuse me?” I snap.

No offense, Christian,” Ray begins, “but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that you and Cassie Whatever-Her-Name-Is have some kind of history. Annie dropped that idea as quickly as Val put it in her head.”

“Okay, but how did clear the room? I wasn’t the one who kept insisting that we use the woman,” I defend.

“Oh, you’ve got a lot to learn, Kid,” Ray says with a knowing chuckle. I shake my head. I have to go and make sure that Butterfly is okay. I stand up from the table.

“Give her a moment, Christian. She’ll be fine. May I have a word?” Dad asks. Oh, this night is exhausting me already. What could he possibly want to talk to me about?”

“Sure, Dad. Please excuse us, Gentlemen,” I say as my father and I head to my study.

“I didn’t want to bring this up tonight, but since we have a break in the planning, now is as good a time as any,” Carrick says as I close the door.

“What is it?” I ask.

The police are looking for Lincoln. With all the pictures, they are certain that she has molested at least 10 young men in the last seven years. The problem is that she has completely dropped off the radar. They have no idea where she is,” he informs me. Damn. Right now, I can’t remember if I told Welch to keep watching her or to stop watching her since there seemed to be no need anymore. Now, it seems like we stopped since she has effectively gone into hiding.

“Nothing on her credit cards? Bank statements?” I ask.

“She has no money, Christian. If someone is helping her, we have no idea who it is.” Not knowing where that woman is makes my stomach turn and gives the sickening feeling of impending doom.

“Well, I guess we can’t do anything at this point but wait. Maybe she has left the state or the country and we’ll never hear from her again,” I respond.

“One can only hope…”


It’s not the end of the world. It’s just a little uncomfortable, that’s all. Fuck! I can’t get one of the most coveted wedding planners in the whole goddamn state because Mr. Pussy Parter fucked her! Shit!

Stop it! Stop it, Steele! You’re being unreasonable. You put this whole “Pussy Parter” thing to rest last week with the paddle, so you can’t keep bringing it up… not even to yourself. Besides, you have no idea how many women are in the lifestyle. No one would think you were in the lifestyle, even though it is only you and Christian.

“Fuck,” I say to myself as I lean on the sink in our en suite. Will I have to screen every woman I ever meet for fear that she may have had sexual relations with my soon-to-be husband? What if it’s a patient? I can’t very well ask “Excuse me, I know this might sound odd, but did you possibly sleep with my man in the past? Oh, forget about that silly NDA; this will be just between us girls.” Good grief!

“Ana, are you okay?” Mandy’s voice wafts through the doorway.

“Yes, I’m fine,” I say, weakly, not even convincing myself. “Give me just a moment.” I look at myself in the mirror, wave my hand and open the door. There stand Mia and Mandy with questioning eyes.

“Do I really have to spell it out for you guys?” I ask, a bit forlorn.

“No… not really,” Mia answers, “It was the big elephant in the room.”

“Pink elephant with big black, white, and purple spots,” Mandy adds. After a pause, I can’t help but laugh.

Uuugh!” I say, falling on the bed. “How do I plan this wedding without possibly running into someone my fiancé slept with? I mean, I didn’t ask for a list of his sexual partners, so I have no idea what women he slept with. I can’t ask for a background check for every woman that I ever speak to… it’s insane!”

Well, no, but you do have to accept the fact that you could run into someone that he slept with before. It’s a fact of life. Are you going to cut off the female gender because some of them were possibly intimate with your husband at one time? How will you possibly know?” Mandy points out.

Cassie Hamilton… her work is fantastic. It would have been outstanding,” Mia says wistfully. Mandy is right. I can’t hide my head in a hole because my fiancé was sexually active before we met. We are, however, talking about an ex-sub, not just an ex.

“You’re right, Mandy. I can’t ceremoniously shut down every possibility because my fiancé had a relationship with them in the past, but do I really want this woman planning my wedding?” I ask.

“That’s completely up to you. If you can move past this, and she’s a professional, I say why not? If you have the slightest bad feeling about it, leave it alone. There are plenty of wedding planners in the state.” My stepmom is really smart.

“I’m going to have Val set up the appointment.”

“I would rather you didn’t.” Christian is standing in the doorway very conspicuously. How did I not see him standing there?

Christian, I can’t run from this. I’m going to run into women that you’ve been with before. It’s the nature of the beast. I can’t tuck tail and hide every time that happens. She’s very good at what she does and I would like to meet with her. If she’s still stuck in the past, then I’ll leave. It’s that simple.” Christian sighs.

“I don’t want my past marring my future,” he says sitting on the bed next to me and ignoring the other two women in the room.

“It won’t,” I say. “She has nothing on me. I’m wearing the diamond. I’m planning the wedding. If she’s a good girl, she can participate. If not, then I’ll find someone else.”

“Can’t we just skip right to that last part?” Christian laments. I take his hand.

“Baby, there will be so much room for speculation if I didn’t at least try to get her. So try I shall.” I kiss him on the lips. “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine, I promise.” He groans loudly.

“Okay,” he relents, “but I’m not going with you. You meet with her and if it works out, then we’ll meet with her together. If it doesn’t, I don’t have to be involved at all.”

“Agreed,” I smile. We all go back into the dining room where the rest of the family is waiting for us.

“Val, make that appointment with Cassie Hamilton. I want to see what she’s got.” I’m sure that double entendre did not slip past Christian.

A/N: Little Ms. Tiger is meeting one of the subs. What do you think will happen? Catfight? Pissing contest? Nothing at all? Let me know.

Pictures of places, cars, fashion, etc. can be found at

You can join my mailing list on the “Contact Me” page. Just click the link and it will lead you to a form to join the list.

Feel free to review—it is greatly appreciated.

Love and Handcuffs!
Lynn x

Paging Dr. Steele: Chapter 54: The Scene Continues

Okay, so this long ass chapter is AAAAALLLLLLLL playtime. It’s intense, hot, and there is a myriad of emotions involved. So, sit back, get a glass of wine, and go somewhere that you will not be disturbed for a while. There is probably more instruction in this chapter than anything that I’ve ever written but be warned. The last scene in this chapter is very long, very detailed, and very hot. It took me several days to write it because I had to keep stopping to get laid… Seriously, I did…

Please refrain from sending me the reviews and PM’s that state that the chapter was too long and dragged on because it was 12,000 words of fucking. I’m telling you right now… it’s 12,000 words of fucking! This chapter took place from approximately 2am until dawn. If you don’t want to read it, please don’t. It’s ALL SEX… nothing else happens in this chapter. You have been warned.

I will thank all of my reviewers in the next chapter because I really need to just get to this one. It’s going to be a little controversial, I already know, and I can’t wait for your reviews and comments after you read it. I don’t mind opposing viewpoints but please, keep it respectful.

While you’re reading this, I need you guys to remember the difference between orgasm refusal and orgasm denial. Refusal is what Ana did to Christian during TPE. Denial is what Christian did to Ana in Fifty Shades Freed when she safe-worded. The sub has control over refusal—they can just come and take the punishment. The Dom/Domme has control over denial—they stop stimulation before the sub climaxes. It’s important that you remember that while reading this update. BDSM pros are probably going to beat me over the head with this one, but yes—I searched in the darkest corners of the internet and found some information on refusal vs denial, because if you do a search you will just find denial. I even asked an actual Domme (yes, I know one).

Long instructional Author’s Note at the end for those of you who would like to “try this at home,” and I do encourage it.

On with the story—all previous disclaimers apply to this chapter.

Chapter 54—The Scene Continues


“On the bed!” he commands. There’s no tenderness in his voice. At this point, he’s totally my Dom, no longer my Christian. I know that he won’t hurt me beyond what I can take, but I also know that tonight’s scenes will be nothing like the night that we were in the playroom. I climb on the bed on my knees.

“How does Sir want me?” I ask, trying to show contrition and a willingness to please.

“On your back, arms and legs out!” he snaps. Oookay, shut up, Steele. You are completely a sub today. I take in a deep breath and release it and lay down as instructed. My Dom attaches the straps to my restraints and pulls them hard. I can feel his displeasure as he tightens the straps. I close my eyes and let him finish. Once I am strapped eagle-spread on the bed, my breathing becomes erratic. I’m sure that he takes it as arousal, but as much as I don’t want to admit it, I’m afraid.

“Calm yourself, Ms. Steele!” he demands. His voice was so harsh that I take a breath in and hold it. I await your punishment, Sir. He blindfolds me and the next thing I know, the flogger comes down hard on my leg. I suck in a long gasp and don’t release. No prelim, no preparation, nothing. This flogger is different from the last one. The tails are longer and softer than the first one, but that means it covers more ground and he hits me a little harder. He uses the same technique as he used before—strike and pull—only this time, I’m lying down so it doesn’t wrap around my body. He strikes again, my thighs this time, and I jerk on the bed. Okay, I need to do some really fast deducing right now.

This is a pleasure/pain experience and the pleasure is going to excite me which will make me want to come. If I close out the pleasure completely, that will leave me with just the pain, and the pain experience alone is unbearable. The only way that I can do this without ending up completely resenting him later is to accept the whole pleasure/pain experience and then resist the orgasm when it comes. I turn my head away from the direction of the strikes. With the next strike, I release the breath that I was holding like I’m underwater. The minute the next strike comes, I gasp the air in again. Now, here’s what going on…

My Dom is angry with me because I have unequivocally decided that—at his instruction—I will keep myself from coming.

I’m angry with my Dom because I wanted control over a spanking that I don’t think I deserved in the first place. In my move to help him, I set myself up to get this spanking at a time when I wasn’t ready for it and when I did get it, it was a full-on discipline spank.

Now my Dom has restrained me, and the restraints are damn-near cutting off my circulation—not because the restraints are tight because I applied those restraints myself. No, it’s because the straps attached to the restraints are pulled so tight. I feel like I’m damn-near being drawn and quartered!

In an effort to calm his discontent with my breathing, I hold my breath for three strikes, then breath on the fourth inhaling on the fifth and starting the process all back over again. However, in doing this… in for one, hold for three, out for one… I’m cutting off the oxygen to my brain, so I’m starting to get this euphoric feeling along with the pleasure/pain feeling that comes with the flogging. Needless to say, this angers my Dom more… or at least I think it does…

Breathe, Anastasia!” he snaps. Okay, this isn’t going to work. I’m doing this to help him regain some of the control that I know he feels that he lost today, and he’s so busy repeatedly snapping at me that I’m certain he thinks otherwise. I release my breath and my whole body reacts. Everything drops and loosens. It even feels like the restraints loosen a bit. I’m contemplating stopping this scene without safewording and letting him know that it’s not working for us when I feel his hand right on my pussy. I gasp at the pressure and the surprise when he rips the little panties off with one movement. He thrusts his fingers inside of me and strokes, using his hand to manipulate my wet folds and clitoris, and my body betrays me.

“Ah!” I gasp, involuntarily. His hand feels so good as he does this squeezing motion where his palm does a downstroke when he pulls his fingers out and a luscious upstroke when he thrusts his fingers back in. The pleasure is extreme… especially in light of his treatment just moments ago. My skin is still on fire from the flogging and the added pleasure from his skilled fingers would surely push me over the edge… under normal circumstances… but not tonight. Tonight, I will absorb all of this pleasure and I will. Not. Come.

“Ms. Steele,” he says, increasing his manipulating as if he somehow read my resolve. “You’re so wet. I would think you were enjoying yourself,” he says. I can almost hear disdain in his voice. Well, think again, Buddy! My body may be responsive to this irresistible stimulation, but in my mind, I just want to slap you upside your head… hard!

I grind my teeth to keep from speaking, mewling, moaning… and he increases the pressure on my clit. No. No. I will not come. Oh, God, it feels so good and my breathing is going crazy… but I will not come. When he pulls his hand out, he pulls it up so that his fingers drag across my clit and I almost expire. He slowly drags his hand up my body to my mouth and pushes his fingers inside.

“Taste yourself, Anastasia,” my Dom says, and I raise my head and suck my juices from his fingers. This is so hot! He gasps as I suck his fingers into my mouth and lick salaciously. I can feel him leaning over the bed.

“Oh, God, Anastasia. See how hard I am for you? See how badly I want to fuck you right now?” He moves over so that his erection rests in my restrained hand. I instinctively grasp his member through his jeans and he feels magnificent as I clench and rub his dick.

“Fuck!” he hisses as he grinds into my hand repeatedly, his fingers still in my mouth. Now this is really messing with me. I want to fuck him so badly, feeling his cock stroking against my hand straining against the unforgiving denim. His breathing is becoming ragged and he snatches his hand out of my mouth and then he’s gone, probably to control himself. Dammit! A few moments later, I feel the bed dip and he’s over me—but his knees are near my arms.


Next, I feel tender meat against my lips and I smell the unmistakable musky fragrance of my Dom. Oooooo… do I get a treat?

“You know what to do,” my Dom growls. I stick out my tongue and feel the tender skin of his testicle. I extend my tongue and greedily lick the skin, pulling it between my lips occasionally. He gasps, and I feel his balls hit my lips then leave, then hit my lips then leave, so I know that he is stroking himself. Hell, that shit turns me on. I open my mouth and the next time his balls drop, I hungrily suck one into my mouth and gently roll it around.

“Sssssshit!” He hisses as I feel his legs tremble against me. I still can’t see him. I wish I could—to watch him come apart, but it would only prolong my agony since I can’t come. Instead, I enjoy the feeling of him in my mouth, greedily sucking his balls and teasing the skin, inhaling his scent deeply and knowing—nonetheless—that he’s coming apart in my mouth.

“Stop!” he commands, his voice thick with desire. I open my mouth immediately to release him. Mmmmm. I’ve missed the taste of his skin in my mouth. Oh, please, give me more. If I can’t come tonight, at least let me suck you off. My Dom obeys my silent wish and I next feel his erection touching my lips an straining against his skin.

Oh, thank you, Sir. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!

I stick out my tongue to gauge exactly where he is, then lift my head to run my tongue around the tender and sensitive ridge of his head before sucking it into my mouth.

“Ah!” he cries out as I apply suction and pressure just to his head. “Aw fuck!” He almost sounds like he’s crying. He strokes his head into my mouth a few times, then stills for a moment.

“Head down,” he commands, and I lie my head back on the pillow. Now he’s fucking my mouth. Oh hell! I have to control the pulsing in my pussy because this is making me so, so hot! He removes my blindfold and he’s watching me as he fucks my mouth. I’m watching his hips glide smoothly back and forth as my lips and tongue sear his throbbing cock. His sexy 6-pack is controlling his stroke and he looks glorious. I’m determined that he’s about to come even if he doesn’t think so.

I adjust my face so that I relay pure pleasure when he looks at me, then I regulate my breathing to match his movements so that he can do deep, uninterrupted strokes into my mouth. Once I tighten my lips and jaws and wrap my tongue around his cock as much as I can, I moan to indicate my pleasure for Sir’s reward.

“Aaaahh!” my Dom moans and deepens his stroke in my mouth. “Oh, shit!” he exclaims, his expression tortured and his shiny locks hanging a bit in his face. He gently grabs my head and starts to stroke deeply into my mouth, trying to control himself apparently so that he doesn’t choke me.

Have we met? Stop holding back!

I tip my head a bit so that on his downstroke, he goes into my throat.

“Fuuuck!” he yells and screws his eyes shut. He instinctively straightens his legs and supports his weight on his arms, stroking deeply into my mouth. Yes! Yes! That’s what I want. I moan again, hungrily taking all that he gives me.

“Fuck, Anastasia, fuck!” his legs start to tremble again, and his dick stiffens even more. I can feel him trying to withdraw, but I raise my head as far as I can to take him in my throat and prepare to swallow. I go down hard on his shaft and suck with all the strength in my jaws.

“Aaaaahhhh! Oh, Goooood!” he grunts as he pumps his seed hotly into my mouth. I swallow quickly then suck harder, pulling out all of his juices. The veins and muscles in his arms flex and tense and his eyes are screwed shut as he rides out his release, pumping into my mouth.

“Oh, fucking hell!” he cries as his cock throbs in my mouth and I clamp down on it relentlessly, massaging his head with my tongue.

“Stop,” he says when I have drained all the juice he’s willing to give this time. I release him, and he gently rubs his member, trying to catch his breath. I avert my eyes from him, suddenly remembering that at some time during this exchange, I made eye contact with him. I’m sure he’ll remember, and I’m almost resentful again as I’m sure he’ll punish me for it. He rises from me and releases my restraints.

“On your knees,” he commands. See? I knew it wasn’t a good idea to start in second position… but on my knees where? On the bed? On the floor? The last time I asked for clarification, he bit my head off. I do it on the bed. If he wants me elsewhere, he has to tell me.

I turn over and get on my knees as instructed, perfect position two—head down, legs apart, hands on my thighs, wearing only a garter belt, stockings, and stilettos. He pauses for a moment. I can see him standing there even though I can’t see what he’s doing. I take a deep breath and slowly let it out as I wonder to myself what I’ve done wrong now. He picks up the blindfold and walks over to me. He pulls my hair back over my shoulders and blindfolds me again.

“Raise your ass. Up on your knees,” he commands. I quickly raise my butt up off of my feet so that my arms hang freely in front of me. He positions my arms behind my back and clips the wrists restraints together. Satisfied that I’m duly restrained, he leaves, and I hear water running.


He opens a drawer… most likely that drawer… and a few moments later, I feel him near me again. He removes my garter belt but leaves my stockings. I’m surprised they stayed in place. I feel something trickling… right at the top of my butt and down the crack. It makes me shiver. What is that? Water? His hand rubs where the substance has dripped, and I feel that it’s oil. His oily hand feels divine rubbing in between my cheeks and against my asshole. My breathing increases again as I try to control my intense arousal. A few moments later, I feel something hard and slippery pressing against my hole then slowly entering me.

“Ah!” I moan. I couldn’t help it. I tried. I bite my lip immediately to stifle the whimper that follows.

“Quiet!” his command is whispered. A soft, sensual threat. My body is shaking as he pushes the object further inside me and I feel my ass close over on a large ball. Fuck!

I’m not going to make it, Hon.
Don’t fucking talk to me, I’m trying to concentrate here!

As soon as I think I have adjusted and can deal with the immense pleasure of what I think is a supersized anal bead, he’s pushing again and it’s entering my body even further. That’s when I realize that it’s glass and it’s either a dildo or a butt plug. I clench my fist and my body starts to tremble as the second ball enters my ass and my muscles clamp around it. I hiss loudly trying not to succumb completely to this sensation. He so doesn’t play fair… but then again, he’s not supposed to, now is he?

  1. Will. Not. Come. I. Will. Not. Come.

I open my mouth to get more air in as he turns the butt plug in my ass. Fuck! I whimper quietly, and I know he’s enjoying my torment, but I will not come. He reaches around me with his oily hand and rubs my now bulging clitoris. Oh fuck! I shake violently against him, but I will not come. His other hand comes around and teases my nipple until it’s so hard that it’s almost painful. The pleasure is nearly overloading my senses… but I will not come.

He stimulates me for so long that I almost lose my damn mind, pushing that damn butt plug into my ass with his body and stroking my clit with his oily fingers while teasing my nipple to the point of pain. Oh God, I’m going to go crazy, but I will not come.

He gives me a slight reprieve from the hand manipulation but leaves the butt plug in place. That reprieve is short-lived when I hear what sounds like a hundred metal balls against glass. What the fuck is that!? I then feel heavy balls over my shoulder… and they are very warm! And wet! The water trickles down my already sensitized skin and I flinch.

What the hell is that thing?

Whatever it is, my Dom has it traveling all over my body, trickling water in strategic places and now I have to control my breathing again. I don’t know what this thing is but the feel of it running against my skin, over my nipples, between my breasts, down my back, over my ass… is driving me insane!

He releases the wrists restraints from each other and commands me to shift to my hands and knees. I’m nearly fucking breathless. I drop to my hands and I hear the balls against the glass again, like he dropped them. I’m trying to pull air into my lungs, but my stomach is clenching so hard that it keeps pushing the air back out. I feel sweat forming all over my body—not that soft, sensual ladylike sex sheen, but water-pouring-out-of-my-skin-bench-pressing-twice-my-body-weight-running-six-miles-on-a-treadmill sweat! I feel it running down my face and trying to cool my raging libido with no luck.

I vaguely remember trying to control my pounding horniness just over 24 hours ago, only then I didn’t have a fully erect sex god no doubt about to drive several divine inches of hard velvet cock into me and a glass butt plug in my ass! Sure enough, before I could finish that thought properly, my Dom has slammed himself balls deep into my pussy, forcefully pulling me back onto his cock by my hips.

Oh, sweet fuck!

I fucking see stars! I actually fucking see stars! I don’t remember this man ever being this deep in me. I’m sure that he has but right now, I don’t remember it. He’s slamming so hard and deep into me that I can’t even make a sound. My pussy is screaming for release and my arms are barely holding me up. My thighs are shaking, and he’s pushing this butt plug into my ass with every thrust.

I… will… not… come…

My mouth is hanging open as I concentrate on pushing my vaginal muscles out because if I tighten them, I will explode… in magnificent bicentennial colors! The sweat is collecting heavily on my face and each time he thrusts forward, more of my hair sticks to my cheeks. I’m breathing in and out through my mouth when he grabs my hair and pulls hard, actually using it and the hand cupped over my right breast for leverage. I’m every bit a fucking sub right now and he is using me brutally. I feel the quivering of my threatening orgasm in my stomach again, so I try to concentrate on the pain of the hair pulling to distract me.

It works, but only marginally.

My Dom starts to grunt, and I know that he’s chasing his release now. If I can just hold on until…

He releases my hair and reaches his hand around and pinches my clit.


He’s lying on my back driving deeply into my pussy, deliciously tormenting my clitoris and my incredibly hard, tender, and sensitive nipple, and mercilessly driving a double-bulbed butt plug into my ass with every thrust. He’s moving not too fast and not too slow and in my mind’s eye, I can see his glutes tighten feverishly as he uses every muscle in his hips, pelvis, and ass to annihilate my resolve.

His teeth sink into the fleshy part of my back right at the base of my neck—not too hard, but hard enough—and that almost does it. I almost lose the fight. A single tear escapes and joins the sweat on my cheeks. It’s the adrenaline—it would be easily released if I just allow myself to come, but I won’t do it. I. Will. Not. Come.

I can’t even describe the tortured sound that I emit as he makes pre-orgasmic noises in my ear. All I know is that at this point, I swear I’m having some sort of out-of-body experience. My soul is crying from what it can only describe as some kind of separation anxiety, and I have to put that in the back of my mind for now. The Bitch had several things to say but for some reason, I can’t hear her anymore. All the conflicted feelings that I felt when we started aren’t there anymore but are now replaced by the lurking feeling of utter confusion.

I feel like I’m sitting somewhere watching this whole thing unfold… like I’m watching this man sexually torturing this woman and I feel sorry for her. Not sorry like she’s being abused, but sorry that she can’t come. Her whole body is on fire and he knows that. Her arms are shaking; her legs are shaking; there’s sweat pouring from every surface of her skin. Her tits are so aroused that they’ve swollen and are nearly numb. Her pussy is pulsating feverishly in a way that she has never known. The sensation from her ass and hips are making her damn near delirious and he just keeps pounding on and on while she kneels there trying not to fall forward—not that she could with the grip that he has on her breast and her pussy. I watch her eyes tighten as he strokes her clit deeply while he drives his dick deep into her center and she recites her mantra…

I… will… not… come…

She whispers a gasp as he finally thrusts hard into her and stills, his growl loud and primal as he pumps every bit of his angry semen into her. Her head drops and some of her wet stringy hair falls over her shoulder into her face. Her arms are still trembling… my arms are still trembling.

As I float back down to myself, I feel the burning inside of me—my stomach, my thighs, my arms… every muscle firing in my attempt to fend of my orgasm. When he pulls out of me, he snatches my air away with him and I involuntarily start coughing to get it back. This lasts for only a moment, because I don’t want to show any signs of weakness. That was all for naught when, once the coughing stops, my arms and legs go out on me and I find myself face down on the bed—still on my knees—my butt on my feet and my arms and legs curled under me, fighting for air.

I don’t know what he’s doing behind me for the few moments that feel like hours, but I now must endure the exquisite agony of him pulling the double-bulbed butt plug out of my ass. My muscles are too weak to fire, but my nature is still alive and well and fighting for release. I can no longer form a coherent thought now except…

I… will… not… come…

“I’m going to let you rest for a moment,” he says, no tenderness in his voice. A moment. That means he’s not done yet. He wants more.

I don’t speak. I don’t whimper. I don’t murmur. I don’t whine. I barely even breathe. I’m still wearing the blindfold and I have a mouthful of my hair. I’m going to meditate now… try to free my mind and my body of these random, confused thoughts and release the urge to come from a good, stiff breeze. I don’t know what he has in mind or how much longer he plans to torture me, but I won’t come. I… will… not… come…

I don’t know how much time has passed when I hear the glass and the balls again. He removes the blindfold and even the soft light from the night table is unkind to my eyes. I open them momentarily and, seeing him standing right in front of me—still naked—I close them again. I have gained a little strength from the mediation, not much, but a little. Not knowing what he’s expecting from me right now, I feel like the safest thing that I can do is get into position. I drag my upper body off of the bed and spread my legs. Hands on my thighs, head down, I take second position and what for instruction. I think I hear him gasp, but I’m not certain… my brain is scrambled eggs.

“Lie down on the bed, Ms. Steele, face up.” His voice is quieter now, softer–not as sharp as it was before. I slowly take position and he restrains me again, this time not as tightly as he did before. My eyes still closed, I hear the metal balls on glass again and then I feel warm water dripping on me.

Open your eyes, Anastasia.”

I slowly open my eyes to see him holding what looks like a flogger with tails made of metal beads. My eyes grow large and I gasp loudly. He’s not going to hit me with that damn thing… is he?

“This is not for striking, Anastasia,” he says as he lays the warm, wet tickler down on my chest and begins to pull it across my skin again. Oh, I remember this now, I think to myself as the shaking starts anew and the calming effect of the meditation goes completely out the window. He pulls the tickler over my body, my nipples, my stomach, awakening my senses once again. Then he pulls it over my pussy and my protruding clit… repeatedly.

Oh, my damn!

Coherent thought is leaving again… don’t come… don’t come…

Warm, wet, metal balls rolling repeatedly over my burning clit…

I… will… not… come…

I don’t know what to do. My clit is sticking out… I can’t move it away. It feels so good…

I… will… not… come…

When he stops… pauses… I don’t know… my clit is thrumming. Oh God, I can’t think. I’m pulling on my restraints and it’s only when I relax my arms that I realize I was damn near lifting off the bed. I can’t think.

“Oh, Ms. Steele, your clit looks so pretty from this angle. I bet you could come with the force of a thousand men if I licked that pretty little kitty right now.”

Oh, God! Just his words made my clit swell. He reaches past my head to something on the nightstand, but I can barely focus to see what it is. I’ve got to clear my head… I can’t think.

I feel something soft but not so soft on each breast and I think on my clit, too. I hear a noise, like the blood pressure pump, and these soft/hard things are tightening on my nipples and clit.

Okay, I’m whimpering now, mostly because I can’t find words at all. I want to come. And I can’t think… and now he has some strange magical machine sucking my titties and my clit at the same time!

I can’t think… focus, Steele… I will not come… oh, God, this feels so good.

The suction continues and right when I think the pleasure is unbearable, that damn things start to vibrate!

Holy cow, Batman!

“Aaahhh! Aaahhh!” I squeak, damn near sitting straight up in my restraints. I see him… stroking himself hard and deep and my body trembles… vibrates… violently and uncontrollably. He looks good. He looks hot… and I want to come.

I can’t think.

That vein in his head and neck are popping out as he pleasures himself. He’s enjoying this immensely. He’s positioned just between my legs right at my crotch where he has a bird’s-eye view of everything—my pulsing pussy, my swollen tits, my body and hair drenched from sweat, my arms and legs pulling helplessly on the restraints. I also have a bird’s-eye view of him—those pulsing pleasure veins, his washboard stomach adulating with each pull on his hard, swollen, engorged, red dick, him rising on his knees a bit every time his hand gets to the head indicating the intense sensation of the stroke.

Oh fuck, I can’t think.

I can’t come… my brain is crying… I can’t come…

“Aaaahaahaa!” I whine as the vibrations are quickly becoming unbearable.

“Quiet!” he barks, his voice very thick with pleasure and a pending third orgasm for him…

…and none for me…

Oh, God… I’m going to come… I can’t come…
My whole body is shaking…
I can’t control it anymore…
I can’t stop it…
I… will… not… come…
Hold your head back—try to get some air…
Straighten your arms…
I can’t… the more I relax, the more I want to come…
I can’t think…
My whole body is shaking.

The vibrating stops and the suction releases very quickly. No time for sighs of relief… my Dom thrusts into me yet again. Pleasuring himself all the way to the point right before release, he decides that he wants to have his orgasm inside of me… and it sets my whole body aflame… and my mind…

Delicious torture… and I can’t take it anymore.
I can’t think…
My whole body is shaking… on fire… aching…
I can’t take it anymore…
Oh, God, I can’t do it anymore…
I… will not… come…
I… can’t… come…
I… cant… think…
Oh God…
Oh God…
I can’t…
I can’t…
I can’t think… oh, God… I can’t… think…


My legs are shaking viciously as I jerk out my third release. I have been at her for hours… hours… and she didn’t come. I could see that at times it was nearly unbearable and the thought of how close she must be right now is actually making my dick twitch inside her with intense aftershocks.

“Fuck!” I hiss as I hold her hips up off the bed pressed hard against mine so that my balls almost sink into her as I tremble out the last of the sensation of my release. Her pussy is actually warm… no, it’s hot… and her entire body is one clinched muscle right now. I’ve never seen someone take orgasm refusal like she just did. She is the best, by far—better than anyone who has ever subbed for me… ever! Her control threshold is insane. She takes deep erotic stimulation and resists release better than anyone I’ve ever seen… almost better than me… when she’s prepared for it, that is. How the fuck did I get so damn lucky?

I needed extreme… I’ll admit it. I needed extreme control, extreme release, extreme punishment, and extreme pleasure. I couldn’t go the distance to which I have become accustomed—not with Ana—but I went as far as I could possibly go under the circumstances if not a little further… well, maybe a lot further.

I felt like she was deliberately defying me in the beginning. She had to be taught to remember who the Dom in this instance was. Her actions were irritating me—aggravating me more than I already was—and I had to use the tools at my disposal to remind her that when I am Dom, my control is omnipotent.

Her body is trembling ferociously as I pull out. After three hard releases and extremely gratifying control of Ana’s body and orgasms, I am completely sated and refreshed. I feel like myself again—not so lost in the confusions that plagued me just a few hours ago. She always knows what I need… always.

Her fists are clenched, and her head is back. She’s whimpering wildly as all four of her extremities pull against the restraints. She is sweating profusely and has managed to kick off one of her shoes. After all she endured, I would have let her release if she had succumbed. I was sure that she wouldn’t be able to withstand the vibrating triple suckers, but she resisted like a master. It must have been agony.

“Come down, Baby,” I say as I gently kiss her between her breasts. She jumps and whimpers again at my touch, her breathing extremely erratic. Now that I have regained my calm and control, her reaction leaves me feeling a bit uneasy… it feels like she doesn’t want me to touch her at all. I don’t want to untie her until I have her breathing and her body controlled. She might start convulsing or something, but she needs to control her breathing quickly before she hyperventilates.

“Come on, Baby,” I say softly against her cheek stroking her hair. “Come down for me.” I’m kissing her cheek and rubbing her arms. It takes her a while, but she slowly begins to regulate her breathing. Her nipples are pinker and harder than I’ve ever seen them before. Her breasts almost look swollen… bigger… like her clit, sticking out of her lower lips, swollen and aching. She still exhibits masterful control over her desire even though her body is singing… wailing… screaming for release. I’m in awe of her… and extremely proud.

She finally rests her back on the bed again. I know that she’s coming back to herself when she begins to flex her hands, no doubt her fingers tight from their clenched position. Her eyes are closed tightly, and I realize that it’s to prevent the sweat from running into them. I retrieve a cool cloth from the en suite as well as a glass of water and wipe the sweat from her face and eyelids. Her hair was fluffy and full when I came into the room earlier. Now it’s completely drenched, like she just stepped out of the shower. She looks so hot lying there eagle spread wearing nothing but stockings. I want to rub her beautiful tanned skin all over, but I don’t think she could take it right now.

It takes several minutes to calm her, but once she no longer sounds like she’s running a marathon, I begin to undo her restraints. I now see why she was wearing the restraints when I arrived. Her scars from her captivity are still only slightly pink—almost invisible, but not completely—and I wouldn’t have been able to attach the restraints over her scars.

She always knows what I need… always. She has once again put my feelings, my needs, before hers. My heart swells…

“Baby.” At that moment, I’m filled with so much love for this woman that I once again feel like my chest will burst. I quickly release the other wrist and bring them both to my mouth, kissing them gently and repeatedly. She keeps her eyes closed and says nothing as her body continues to tremble… more like shiver, like she’s cold. I hold her head up and give her some of the water to wet her throat. When I lay her head back down, she turns away and draws her hands up clasping them underneath her chin, her arms pressing her breast together deliciously without going near her hot, pink, sensitive nipples. That’s the second time tonight she appears to be drawing into herself.

Did I push her too far?

I release her ankles and remove her other shoe. I delicately remove her silk stockings and massage her feet, toes, and ankles before I climb in the bed next to her, pulling her to me while she’s lying partly on her side and partly on her back. Her body is still trembling and at first, she shrinks away from my touch a bit. Normally I would hold her breast, but as I accidentally run my hand across them, she jumps in discomfort. Instead I put my arms around her waist and hold her close to me in a gentle embrace, pressing my head against hers and kissing her shoulder. She’s completely spent from holding her orgasms, giving that control to me. Now, I lay here comfortable and sated while she’s struggling to ignore her desire, trembling and whimpering and aching—fully willing to try to sleep without release… for me… because I needed it.

I stroke her hair softly and her face contorts just a bit before she relaxes her muscles and settles back into me. I hear the change in her breathing as she quickly succumbs to exhaustion… but I know her body—she won’t rest. She’s wound so tight that even in her slumber, she’s still shaking like a leaf. She’s finding no repose. She gave me control… complete control… and I was happy to have it to find my center. For that, I am grateful, but I’m not at rest if she’s not at rest. I do need control, and she gave it to me. So, I am now going to exercise that control and make her come.

I gently move my hands up to her taut nipples, pinching them both between my fingertips. She jumps from a restless partial slumber.

“No…” she whines, begging me not to torture her further, the slight tremble in her body immediately intensifies.

“Ssssshhh,” I sooth, kissing her neck and sucking her earlobe into my mouth. She releases a tired and defeated moan.

“Please, no more…” she beseeches me, still fighting the sensation feverishly but quickly losing the battle.

“No more, Baby,” I breathe into her ear. “Come for me.” I tweak her nipples again and she cries out.

“Ah!” She reaches behind her and grabs my hip. I don’t think she knows what to do with herself, but she is… right… there… I roll her onto her back and cover her body with mine. I take a hard nipple in my mouth while pinching and teasing the other one.

“Aaaaaaahhhhhh,” she cries as she bucks her hips against mine looking for friction. I continue my assault on her tender nipples and I can tell she’s still fighting it. Nonetheless, a few moments later, her body goes rigid as she whimpers out her release, her hands falling on the bed above her head.

“Mmm… yes, Baby. That’s good,” I say, still gently teasing her nipples. I push her legs open and separate her folds with my semi-hard member. I couldn’t possibly muster up another orgasm right now, but the stiffness gives her just the right amount of pressure and friction against her clitoris and her folds to heighten her pleasure… and I’m extremely enjoying the closeness and what it’s doing to her body. She begins to mewl softy.

“Sir…” she breathes.

“No, Baby. It’s not a scene anymore,” I say as I rub my hands along her arms and up to her hands, intertwining her fingers with my own. “You feel good, Baby. Even like this, you feel so good.” I kiss her cheek next to her ear.

“Christian,” she whimpers, her voice tortured. She’s stuck between giving in to her release and her previous mind to resist.

“Oh, Baby,” I say, grinding my hips into hers, still rubbing my semi-hard cock against her now pulsating clit and super wet folds. I grab her leg and put it against my hip, opening her sex further.

“You can come from me, Baby, can’t you?” I hitch my voice to sound like I’m begging as I lick and kiss her beautiful neck and apply more pressure and friction to her sex. Her legs start to tremble and soon she’s calling my name again, squeezing my arms and breathing through her release… but still not the abandon that I’m looking for. She’s holding back. After resisting so hard for so long, she won’t let go.

I’m going to have to break her resistance down.

I take her hands from the bed over her head where she rested them again. I bring them to my lips and kiss her fingers one by one.

“So beautiful.” I whisper as I kiss each finger. “Remarkable… (kiss)… incredible… (kiss, kiss)… astounding… (kiss, kiss)… extraordinary… (kiss)… beautiful girl.” I kiss her remaining fingers and then her cheek near her ear.

“Do you have one more for me, Baby?” I breathe into her ear. Her breathing has picked up again.

“I don’t know,” she half-breathes/half-whimpers. Of course, you do, Beautiful Girl. You’re holding out on me, but your body must have total satisfaction, or you won’t be able to rest.

“Can I try?” I ask, knowing that I’m going to rip this orgasm right from her soul, but wanting her to give it to me as well.

“Yes,” she breathes, her voice full of longing.

“That’s my beautiful girl,” I say kissing her neck and fondling her breasts, her nipples becoming pebbles again to my touch. “Don’t move, Baby. Okay?” She nods.

“Okay.” she breathes. I retrieve the wrist restraints and attach them to the ankle restraints, effectively making the restraints twice as long. I then remove the straps from the bed legs and attach them higher up on the bed frame. Strapping the now-double-restraints to her thighs just above the knee on both sides, I tighten the straps so that her legs are as far open as they can comfortably go. I crawl back up her body until I’m looking her in the eyes.

“I didn’t warn you the last two times that I was doing something different, so I’m going to tell you now. I want you to relax. Don’t move your hips, not that you’ll be able to when I put you in position.”

Her eyes widen just before I kiss her deeply, sensually, running my tongue hungrily through every corner of her mouth, skillfully massaging her tongue and lips with my own. When she moans deeply into my mouth, I know that I have gotten the reaction that I was looking for. I pull my lips away from hers and she’s floating in ecstasy, her eyes barely open and pupils dilated, her chest rising and falling in arousal. I need her to remember that sensation while I do what I’m about to do.

“I’m going to French Kiss you now.” I tell her, still giving her open-mouthed kisses to her plump lips in between sentences.

“I’m going to kiss your beautiful, soft, wet, pink pussy until you come for me.” I kiss her again.

“It’s going to be slow and soft and deep. You are going to want me to move faster, but I won’t.” I kiss her again.

“When you really start to build, you’ll think you’re coming and that feeling will last for a while.” I kiss her again and she whimpers.

“I won’t touch you in the beginning—only my kiss. When I do, you will feel it in different parts of your body.” I kiss her again.

“If I touch you on your thighs, you may feel it in your feet. If I touch your hips, you may feel it in your arms or fingers.” I kiss her again.

This is one technique that I know well and never used more than once on a submissive. If they pleased me particularly well, I introduced them to the French Kiss. Very shortly thereafter, I’ve often had to dismiss them because they became clingy. I finally put it together and stopped using the French Kiss with my subs, but I never forgot the technique. Butterfly can be as clingy as she wants because she’s about to come harder than she ever has before. I guarantee it.

“When you come, it’s going to be incredibly, incredibly intense.” I say the words very slowly so that she knows that I am serious. “If you try to resist it, you might hurt yourself.” Her eyes widen again when I say that. “I tied your legs down because if I don’t, you might hurt me.”

Now she’s looking a little frightened.

“I need you to relax and enjoy it. It’s pure pleasure. Let it happen. Do you understand?” I speak to her in a soft, slow, comforting tone and she nods. “You can touch me anywhere you can reach, but don’t touch yourself… that’s for me to do. Are you ready?” I can see the hesitance in her eyes when she nods. Don’t worry, Baby. I’m going to make you feel so good. I’ll take care of you.

I put pillows under her ass and lower back, raising her hips off the bed. I kiss her once again on her mouth—that slow, deep, sensual technique that makes her moan into mine. I move the technique down to her neck and to her breasts, first one pebble nipple then the other. My mouth never leaves her body, so she connects the same sensation to every part of her that my lips touch—her beautiful mounds, her sternum, her navel. If I break the cycle, I have to start all over again.

I torture the skin where her thighs meet the promised land… that sensitive skin in the fold of her legs. She moans loudly as she attempts to move her hips, but the pillows and restraints give her no purchase to move. This makes the feeling that much more intense for her.

Now I get to kiss that sweet, juicy pussy. It’s sitting up high, served up to me like a fabulously decadent dessert. Just like with any kiss, I close my lips sensually over hers and run my tongue along the outside to gain purchase to the delicious fruit inside, just like I did that first night in her kitchen. I don’t attack her clitoris immediately. This is a process; it takes a while. Each part of the vagina has to be attended. I turn my head and gently suck first her left lip and then her right into my mouth, gently pressing my teeth into them like I would when I kiss her mouth. She gasps, and her breathing becomes erratic again.

Breathe, Baby. We’re just getting started.

Using only my lips, I part her outer lips and let my tongue, very slowly and agonizingly lightly, caress her inner lips just under her clitoris.

“Aaahaaha…” her voice is a sensual squeal of sorts, her hands stretched flat on the bed to keep from fisting into the sheets.

You’re still resisting, Butterfly. Here comes my first touch. I tangle my fingers in hers in both of her hands, clamping them down into mine and pulling her further into my “kiss” while my tongue lingeringly tastes the outer rim of her vaginal opening, achingly slowly traveling up the inside of her outer lips, over the top of her clitoral hood, back down the other side, and back to her vaginal opening exploring just inside like I would inside her mouth just before tongue play.

“Oooooohh,” she mewls softly as I repeat the trek with my tongue, very slowly, from the opening, between the inner and outer lips, over the clitoral hood, down the other side and back to her vaginal opening.

“Ugh!” she gasps, taking in a sharp breath as quickly as she let one out. I feel her hips relax into the pillow and I know that she’s sinking into the pleasure, releasing the mental restraint she was clinging to, grasping my hands and pulling against them. My mouth begins to water as the tip of my tongue massages the inside of her vaginal wall and I watch the juices of her arousal rise slowly and accumulate in a small pool and the base of her vaginal opening. Normally, I don’t see this because we’re so lost in passion that I either swallow them before I see them, or they end up smeared sensuously on my fingers or my dick. Now I watch as her clitoris begins to harden, and I can see her muscles clenching just inside her vaginal opening, pushing her juices out to meet me. It’s everything that I can do not to lap that delicious nectar this moment, but all in due time. Like I said, this is a process.

This is phase one of the French Kiss—preparation. I have licked every outer area of her center—every surface and fold—beginning with receptors in the crease of her legs to the lips that invited me with a smile, the moist folds inside that lead the way to her Valley of Pleasure and the tiny hood that covers the ultimate prize. I start my journey once more with the kiss and bite of the lips. Knowing what I’m doing at this point, she tries to lift her hips a fraction, but I have her perfectly positioned for my needs—for this excruciatingly delicious and sensual journey that can take as little as 15 minutes and as much as an hour. I’m determined that Butterfly’s ride won’t be more than half an hour, or she just might expire.

I continue now to phase two. This is harder than it sounds. I concentrate the efforts of my tongue on her urethral opening—the moist meat right above her vaginal opening and just below her clitoris. She gets a soft, wet, continuous massage of this area without touching her clit. I can imagine that the feeling must be similar to when a woman is teabagging me—where she has not pulled my most responsive part into her mouth, but the feeling on my sensitive balls is so fantastic that I can hardly keep still. This is why I need her immobile—one adjustment of the hips and her clit is in my mouth. Not yet, Baby.

“Uuuuuuhhh,” she keens softly, her voice heavy with content arousal. The massage involves sticking my tongue just under halfway into her vaginal opening and pulling it slowly and sensually out and up over her urethral opening until the tip of my tongue rests at her opening drawing soft, teasing circles in the meat there. I have had women crawling up the bed to get away from me during this phase because I’m told that the feeling is immensely arousing causing her desire to rise… and rise… and rise… but you never come. So, I could use it as a form of orgasm denial if I wanted. This is why I hold her hands going into phase two, but since she’s bound, I don’t have to worry about her crawling away from me. So, I release her hands because phase two requires a different touch.

With my second pass into her luscious vaginal opening, up along those soft and wet inner lips and ending with those concentrated circles at my destination, I gently stroke the skin inside of her inner thighs with the back of my fingers, imitating the movement I would do if I were stroking her cheek while kissing her.

“Christian,” she breathes amorously, her hands sliding up the bed. She strokes her face with the backs of both hands then runs them through her beautiful mahogany locks before they rest on the bed on either side of her head, her fingers curled gently as if she were asleep.

Oh my God, she is so beautiful.

I moan involuntarily when I realize that she has finally released her resistance and given herself to me. She gasps as I repeat the gentle, arousing massage before she mewls,

“Oh, mon amour…”

tenorOkay, I can usually control myself very easily, but when Butterfly starts with the French, I’m like Gomez Addams and it takes everything in my power to not snatch her ass off of this bed, bury my face deep in her pussy and suck her dry!

Control, Grey. The French Kiss. Control…

She continues to keen softly, her chest rising and falling with her arousal, but her breath seems very controlled. I look up her body to her face and her eyes are closed. Her face is soft, not tortured at all… almost serene. Her mouth is open as the soft, beautiful sounds of her heightened arousal repeatedly escape her lips.

So beautiful…

I don’t think I’ve ever heard her voice this soft and aroused. It’s usually deep, sultry sounds—sensuous moaning or hot, breathless panting. We have some of the panting, but for the most part it’s high-pitched keening like she can barely get her voice out of her mouth or her breath out of her chest. Small, tortured, sexually-charged squeaks and chirps that make her seem so vulnerable and sexy at the same time—make me want to satisfy her body gently and completely. The subs may have been practice, but the technique was perfected for her. Once I worked out all the bumps and kinks, I stopped doing it… until I got to her. This is no longer The French Kiss… this is Butterfly’s French Kiss.

I repeat the movement of my tongue—partially inside, along the inner lips, around the opening under her clit… over and over. I should have stopped sooner, but she sounds so wonderful lost in her desire and she looks so breathtaking that I didn’t want it to end. Each time I thought I should move on, her new, soft, aroused voice spurned me to continue…

“Oh, yes…”
“Ah, c’est si bon…”
“Oh, God, Baby…”

She feels absolutely wonderful, but her throbbing skin and her aroma tell me that it’s time to move on or she just might surprise me and come before the kiss is complete. I keep forgetting that my Butterfly is the most sexually responsive woman that I’ve ever seen, and her body is a treasure trove of unexpected and astonishing occurrences every time we make love. I move my hands to hold her on either side of her stomach just above her hips. I hold her with just a little pressure to make sure that she feels my touch—pressing her against me a bit to hold her in place without holding her down. I chance one more cycle of phase two before progressing into the phase that will ensure her orgasm.

Imagine that you are engaged in the most salacious kiss. Your lips are melding completely with your lover’s and your tongue relentlessly massages theirs while delicately licking other parts of their mouth—inside their lips, their inside cheek, the corner of their mouth…

This is what this stage of the newly named Butterfly’s French Kiss feels like. I start by opening my mouth wide, extending the lips of her pussy and stretching the vaginal opening. Then I stick my tongue deep into that wet, hot, soft core. She cries out in a sexually-charged squeal as I run my long tongue along her vaginal walls, lapping up the sweet juices her arousal has produced for me there. Her muscles are slightly quivering for me, so I have to be very careful with this next step or she will explode immediately.

Much like phase two, my tongue slowly runs the trail from inside her sweet canal, up along the inner lips, over the urethral opening and finally running repeatedly on the underside of her clitoris in very soft, very long, laboriously slow and tantalizing strokes almost like a tickle—my lips holding hers open the entire time, allowing the cool air to run over certain parts of her heated core while I concentrate briefly on the button that will produce the feast for me again in her center. I keep my tongue soft and flat for extended stimulation. I don’t use the hard tip as that manipulation would bring her to orgasm at this point, and we don’t want that yet.

She whines deep in her chest as her hands thrust into my hair. Oh, yes, Baby. That’s right… feel it! I only stroke her clit three or four times before the kiss takes me diving once again into her warm center to collect the delectable prize that I know is waiting for me there. I moan my approval before speaking into her pulsating pussy…

“Tu est délicieuse!”

“Uuuughnnn…” she moans in that sexy voice at the vibrations. “Ne t’arrête pas, s’il te plaît, ne t’arrête pas!”

She begs me not to stop… as if I would! I continue with the kiss, traveling back up to her nub again with three or four deep strokes.

“Ah… Christian…” The squeal is so high, I can barely understand what she’s saying. I repeat twice more… I can’t string her out for too long… hole, lips, then clit… hole, lips, then clit… Will she tell me, or will she just come?

“Oh oui, plus vite, s’il te plaît, Christian, plus fort.” There it is.

“Uh-uuuhhhhh.” I moan in her pussy, informing her that I will keep the same pace instead of “faster and harder” as she begs. She pulls my hair which causes me to inadvertently nibble her clit… not normally part of the French Kiss, but then again, neither is the talking—two adjustments to the new and improved Butterfly’s French Kiss, I guess. The nibble must have shot a jolt through her because she jumped and gasped… losing control of her breathing once more and longingly calling out my name. My God, she is so hot and delectable. Time for some more excitement from my bite-sized little morsel.

I move my hands slowly up her body until they finally rest on her lovely lady mounds—my entire hands cupping and massaging them softly while I allow my palms to run over her highly sensitized and firmly elongated nipples. She gently pushes her breasts into my palms with another aroused keen and I continue to tease her nipples with my palms while I feast on her soaking wet pussy, now adding just a very tiny bit of pressure to my long assaults on her clitoris.

The secret to the intensity of this orgasm is in the gentleness and the time that it takes to achieve it… not the normally rushed stimulation that attacks the nerves endings and results in the usual burst of pleasure. This is deep, intense teasing… paying attention to each surface and area, including those that are normally neglected. We’re often so eager to get to the clit and the hole that we don’t realize that a perfectly timed bite of the outer lip with just the right amount of pressure will cause her tits to point straight to the ceiling!

Butterfly’s upper body starts to squirm uncontrollably, and she’s calling out my name intermingled with various French phrases. So, I know that she’s at that point where her clit and her core have built to a frenzied heat and she actually feels like she’s coming even though she’s not coming yet. Her legs are shaking in the restraints and she’s clawing at my hair—but she hasn’t frozen yet, so I know she’s not coming. I reach my hands up to her pouty lips and stick my first two fingers inside. Time to end this.

She raises her head to meet my hand and I gyrate my fingers around as she gently sucks them. My fingers imitate the movement of my tongue and she connects them immediately. She mewls heavily with my fingers still in her mouth, her tongue skillfully and hungrily teasing my fingertips. I remember my penis deftly stroking between her lips hours earlier and moan into her pussy again, causing her to cry out in pleasure.

“Christian, please!” she begs, my fingers still in her mouth, and I continue the French Kiss… into the hole then long, slow strokes up to her clitoris with a few repeated, lengthy strokes on the sensitive underside. I start to increase the number of strokes on her clitoris each time the round brings me to her pleasure center. I can feel it stiffening and I feel her muscles quivering insanely every time my tongue enters her center.

Taste her juices then slide my tongue up her vagina, softly past the urethral opening then to the underside of her clit, then 1… 2… 3…

Back to her delicious juices, repeating the journey back up to her clit, then 1… 2… 3… 4…

“Christian! God, Christian!” I don’t recognize her voice anymore. She’s lost in pure ecstasy and she can only squeak out sounds of utter pleasure.

1… 2… 3… 4… 5…

“Aaahhh! Oh, pleeeeeeeaase!” I move my fingers from her mouth and pinch both of her nipples… not so hard to take the attention away from the “kiss” but hard enough to enhance it.

1… 2… 3… 4… 5… 6…

“Aaahahhaaa! Christian!”

1… 2… 3… 4… 5… 6… 7…

“Oh, God… please… please…” It won’t be long now.

1… 2… 3… 4… 5… 6… 7… 8…

“Ah… ah… ah… ah… ah… ah… ah… ah…” Once her moans start matching the licks, I know that I can’t stop. She’ll be gone by the time that I hit 30… I’m sure of it. Sure enough, at 22…

If I had not been the cause of it, the high-pitched squeal/moan/cry that comes from her mouth would have had me barreling into the room for fear that she was in agony. She rises from the bed like a possessed woman. Her stomach tightens, then her belly and her chest levitate followed by her shoulders and then her head. Her hair is brushing along the bed as she appears suspended by her shoulders with her head held back. She never uses her hands in this position as they’re still gripping my hair, so I can only say that this woman has some phenomenal back and stomach muscles. I don’t know how long that climax lasts because she screams for so long, her body jerking uncontrollably, and her coochie boner popping hard in my mouth like it would spit cum if it could…


When it appears that she was coming down, I take this moment to move my moistened fingers from her nipple to her ass, quickly impaling her just enough to stimulate the erotic sensitive nerves just on the inside and outside of her anus. I quickly shift from soft lick to a light suckle on her clitoris, applying only as much pressure as I would on a slightly hard nipple to relieve it’s erectness… she’ll never be able to sleep with it hard like this. Little did I know…

“God! God! Goohohohood! Oh Gooohooohoood!”

She sounds like she’s weeping. I think I ignited another orgasm. No wonder her clit was so hard! She falls back down onto the bed squirming in place and still calling to a higher power.

“Baby… oh, God, Baby…” Her voice is tortured, thick with arousal and tears. Her body is shaking, and her clit is softening a bit as I remove my finger from her anus and release the restraints from her knees.

“Baby…” she keens, still squirming on the bed as I have not released her clit yet. I rub my hands from her knees to her hips, knowing that her thighs would be stiff from being restrained.

“Oh, Baby…” she mewls. She has released the death grip on my hair and she now strokes her fingers lovingly through it while trying to catch her breath.

I rise to my knees and crawl up to her face, gathering her trembling body in my arms and gently kissing the orgasm tears from the side of her eyes. Although I’m not surprised, that’s one reaction I’ve never had from the French Kiss… yet another first.

I stroke the sweat-drenched hair from her face as I gently kiss her cheek and chin. She grabs my hair again and buries her lips in mine. She hungrily kisses me, mixing the juices of our mouths with that of her arousal and moans deep in her chest. I pull her closer to me, luxuriating in her kiss and how the emotion of it reaches down to the very core of me… if I wasn’t so completely satisfied right now, I would want to make love to her.

“I love you,” she whispers, breathlessly and tearfully into my mouth. “I love you…”

“Tu es à moi,” I moan, lost in her love and her beauty. “Tu m’appartiens.”

“Oui… oui… je suis à toi… je t’appartiens… corps et âme,” she breathes, clinging to my hair as I press her against my body, my face buried in her neck, one hand in her hair and one on her back. I have no idea how I’m holding her off the bed this way. All I know that we’re suspended in time and space, my heart clinging madly to hers, pulling life and feeling refreshed while I infuse her with my energy and love as the whisper of dawn breaks over the Caribbean Sea…

My heart…
My soul…
My love…
My Butterfly.

A/N: A WARNING ABOUT THE FRENCH KISS—My husband did this to me for the first time when we first got together. He calls it something else, I call it the French Kiss. I know that the description may sound a little clinical at times, but I did that on purpose because I want you guys to try it. My problem is that you have to know what the vagina looks like in order to get this right. So along with descriptions from my husband, knowing what it feels like on my end, and research to make sure I had the descriptions right, it took me four days to write this scene because not only did I have to run my business during that time, but I also couldn’t write it without getting excited. So, I had to keep stopping to get laid.

If you decide to other practice this technique with your significant other, if will result in one of the most earth-shattering orgasms ever experienced. The slowness of it takes a loooooot of patience and determination on the part of the person performing it because while you’re down there, you start getting into it and you want to go faster and harder and you can’t do that. That last phase slow lick is the pinnacle that will set that woman’s soul on fire! It’s better than a g-spot orgasm. But Christian’s warnings are correct:

Do NOT do this casually because once you do this with someone or have it done to you, it’s a wrap. You never forget it… and this will turn a slightly unstable booty-call into Fatal Attraction.

Until you have learned to control this massive orgasm, it is a very good idea to tie the legs down—just above the knees with legs wide, not at the ankles. Eagle spread, you get access to the vagina, but it’s not exposed. Tied down at the knees, everything opens up and sticks out, completely exposed—and it helps to immobilize the receiver. Christian put the pillow under her butt because with her hips already raised, she wouldn’t raise up into his face.

The immobilization prevents things like knees slaps to the ears right at that crucial moment, getting kicked in the face while flailing about, and the infamous “clit bite” when you instinctively raise your hips and that magic button comes in contact with someone’s unprotected incisors. My husband normally immobilizes my hands like Christian did when I’m getting to that crucial point or I’ll end up scratching his eyes out since I have long nails. Something to consider…

Ladies, do not try to fight or prolong this orgasm! You’ll burst blood vessels, pass out, all kinds of stuff! Relax, breathe, sit back and enjoy it. Let it happen. It’ll be fantastic when you come.

Fellows (or Ladies), the French kiss is all lips and tongue. Don’t stick your hand down there AT ALL! It becomes a completely different experience if you add a finger or a toy or anything. Just the lips and tongue… nothing else. If you do this with the intentions of giving someone a long, slow, deep, wet, sensual kiss, you’ll get it right.

The first time you try this, it’s going to arouse both of you so much that you might just have to stop and fuck and try it again later, but once you get it right from beginning to end, there’s nothing like it. The ass-play at the very end is extra and you don’t really have to do it to get the cosmic explosion… especially if your girl doesn’t like ass-play.

Because I am “strictly dickly” and I don’t do women’s’ vaginas, I had to have an anatomically correct picture with labels so that I would know exactly what was happening when I was feeling what I felt. Some of you may think you know the pussy inside and out, but just in case you need that picture, it can be found here: english_description.jpg

Sorry—I didn’t want to put an openly-exposed pussy on my Pinterest page although there is a link to it there.

Gomez Addams—I don’t know who may be versed on old American television besides Americans, but we used to have a sitcom called The Addams Family. The easiest way to explain it is that they were a weird ass family that celebrated Halloween all year long. Correction… they didn’t celebrate Halloween, there WERE Halloween. The series was only on television for two years before I was even born, but it was in syndication for decades. There were eventually three movies and a cartoon series made from the original. Anyway, Morticia—the wife—would occasional break off in speaking French. It drove Gomez—her husband—crazy and he started kissing up her arm.

Translations (Thank you, Nessi!)
“Oh, mon amour”—”Oh, my love”
“C’est si bon.”—”This is so good.”
“Tu est délicieuse!”-“You are delicious!”
“Ne t’arrête pas, s’il te plaît, ne t’arrête pas!” —”Don’t stop, please, don’t stop!”
“Tu es à moi.”-“You’re mine.”
“Tu m’appartiens.”—”You belong to me.”
“Oui… oui… je suis à toi.. je t’appartiens… corps et âme.”—”Yes… yes… I am yours… I belong to you body and soul.”

Again, I look forward to your comments. I will accept rebuttals, corrections, and criticisms, but please keep them respectful.


Pictures for this chapter are at except for the but plug and the anatomically correct vagina. There are links to both on the Pinterest though. Just look for the picture of the lip biting for the butt plug, and the Orgasmic Ana (you can’t miss it) for the coochie diagram.

You can join my mailing list on the “Contact Me” page.  Just click the link and it will lead you to a form to join the list.

~~love and handcuffs


Paging Dr Steele: Chapter 53: More Fences To Mend

I received different views about crossing the employer/employee “line” this week. Some were in favor of crossing the line and some were against it. I would say that once you take your housekeeper on a trip with no intention of her being a housekeeper and every intention of her being moral support for your girl, you’ve already crossed that line. Ana has blurred more lines for this man than he cares to admit. At this point in the story, it is well too late to talk about crossing that line. That line was cracked and thrown in the trash when Davenport became “Chuck” and Ana became “Your Highness.”

That line was destroyed the many times that Christian “fired” Taylor (because Taylor knew he was joking), when Taylor calls him “Boss,” (I indicated that Christian knows that Taylor reverts from “Sir” to “Boss” as a term of endearment), and that “line” was destroyed and flying across Puget Sound when they were in Taylor’s office CLUTCHING EACH OTHER trying not to laugh too loud when Ana was whipping Elena’s ass wearing nothing but Christian’s shirt. He sent his mother to comfort Gail when Ana was missing. So even though Christian may have brought it up the night before they left for Anguilla when he was talking about dinner, with Taylor and Gail… that line is non-existent and has been for a quite a while.

I tested my hand at one POV per chapter… I don’t like it. It won’t happen again.

So… will CG grovel? Is he any good at it? Will his long-term employees and—dare I say—friends forgive him for being a first-class ass? Let’s find out!

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…


Chapter 53—More Fences To Mend


As much as I don’t want to do it, I have to put a raincheck on private time with my sure thing Butterfly. I make it my priority to find Jason and Gail this evening and fix this whole messy situation. I can’t let it go on one more minute. Either Jason doesn’t know or simply doesn’t care that the tracking software was active on his phone. Davenport reluctantly locates him on the island and is told that, with threat of unemployment, Jason had better not discover that I’m on my way to his location before I get there. To be sure that he follows directions, I make him drive Ana and me to the location.

He and Gail are at an Anguilla nightspot called The Pumphouse. It looks like three refurbished barns lined up next to one another. One is a Heineken warehouse, so we know which beer is being served inside. It’s nearly full to the walls for a Sunday night, mostly tourists and a handful of locals. Some guy who I discover is named Omari Banks is playing live reggae music. I want to say that he was the same guy that was playing at DaVida’s last night, but I’m not sure. The place has a real island feel and it seems friendly enough.

Ana and I enter, and I immediately spot Jason and Gail on the dance floor. They look so happy together, not a care in the world. Jason is looking at Gail with adoring eyes as she laughs and flows smoothly around the dance floor in his arms, her blue print sarong dress swaying freely around her knees. Her sun-kissed blonde hair, normally pulled into a ponytail or a bun, is cascading down her shoulders making her look ten years younger. I feel that pang of jealousy again that reminds me why I’m here, but I want to turn around and leave instead of ruining their evening. Butterfly must have read my mind as she squeezes my hand.

“I’ll try to soften Jason up. You talk to Gail,” she says. I take a deep breath and nod. She kisses me on the cheek before walking over to the couple.

Their joyful and carefree expressions fall when they see her, no doubt because they know that I’m here with her. They stop dancing but continue to hold each other close as Butterfly says a few words to them, then points in my direction. They both follow her gesture and look at me. She says something else before Jason nods and releases Gail who marches off to her right to a table. Jason takes Butterfly in his arms… and again I’m jealous. I’ll never be able to see her in the arms of another man… any other man… except Ray… and maybe Al. I digress. I walk over to the table where Gail sits, her legs and arms crossed in an obviously defiant and protective pose.

“May I sit?” I ask. She hesitates before gesturing to the seat across from her. I remind myself why I’m here. I have to fix this. I have to talk to these people like my friends and not my employees.

“I’m a real idiot,” I say with no preamble. “You mean a lot to me. I don’t want to lose you. Can you ever forgive me?”

Her face remains impassive. After several moments, she finally says, “Why? Just tell me why.”

“Because I was jealous… am jealous. I want what you and Jason have for me and Ana. I want it right now, but I know it’s too soon. I didn’t know how to handle the feelings—this is all still really new to me. I know that’s no excuse for hurting you. I didn’t know how to say what I meant… but I didn’t mean what I said.”

“Do you know how to say it now?” she says. I sigh.

“I’ll try, but if I come off sounding like an insensitive idiot, please don’t hate me!” I say. Gail nods. “I don’t think it’s a mistake for the two of you to get married, but I am afraid that if things don’t work out for some reason, I might lose one or both of you. Secretly, I’ve been concerned about something like that happening for quite some time,” I say without lifting my head.

“Why didn’t you say this before now? It would have made all of this much easier to understand,” she asks.

“Because I don’t know how to say these things. Before Ana, if the two of you had broken up, I would have told Taylor to go get a piece of ass and I would have told you to get a glass of wine, have a good cry, and go talk to somebody,” I say. She gasps.

“So, you would have told Jason to go get laid, but not me,” she says a little affronted.

“Well, yeah, that’s just what guys do, but don’t you see the problem with either one of those? Because I sure do,” I say puzzled. Surely this couldn’t be getting past Gail’s level of comprehension.

“Of course, I see the problem with it,” she says. “I just don’t understand what was so hard about you saying this before.” I run my hand through my hair.

“How do you tell someone that you don’t want them to be happy because you’re afraid that it will mean that you won’t be happy?” She looks at me at first then just shakes her head.

“You poor man,” she says, almost with a chuckle.

“Don’t pity me. What I did was wrong, and I know it,” I respond.

“That’s why I pity you,” she begins. “You’re afraid that you were going to lose me or Jason if we ever broke up, yet when we tell you that we’re going to solidify our commitment, you do something that could possibly cause you to lose us both. What’s more is that you didn’t know it was wrong until it was almost too late. What finally turned the light on for you? Was it Ana?”

“Partially,” I sigh, “but even she couldn’t do it. About two hours on the treadmill turned the light on.” She looks at me and frowns.

“I don’t know what to say about that, Mr. Grey,” she says. That feels funny in this context.

“Can you call me Christian?” I ask, as I gesture for the waitress. Her eyes get big like marbles.

“Who are you!?” she asks, completely shocked and almost appalled.

“I’m someone who realizes that for the past several years, you’ve been more to me than just a housekeeper and a cook and I’ve been too caught up in my own bullshit to notice,” I respond. I turn to the drooling waitress and ask, “May I have a beer, please and whatever the lady wants?” I immediately turn my attention back to Gail so as not to encourage the teenager—or at least she looks like one—standing next to me.

“Beer please!” Gail barks. I can see the waitress flinch and Gail actually glares at her until she leaves the table.

“What was that all about?” I ask.

“Well, first of all, you have a woman who happens to be on the floor with my fiancé. I like her very much, so while you are in my presence, I will swat the flies away. Second of all, you’re sitting at the table with me, clearly making eye contact with me. She didn’t know that we weren’t ‘together,’ so why was she standing there gawking at you like that? Now I know what Ana was talking about,” she sneers.

“Oh?” I say, again pretending not to have heard their conversation. “What was Ana talking about?”

“Girl talk,” she says dismissively. “Back to you…” Before she could get her words out, the teenager is back with our beers and two glasses. That was fast.

“Do you do tabs here?” I ask.

“No, sir, we don’t,” she responds, apologetically. I pull out a 100-dollar bill.

“Can you run one with this?” I ask handing it to her.

“I don’t think it will be a problem, sir,” she says, taking the money and leaving the table. I turn back to Gail.

Back to me… you were saying?” I say, drinking my beer, straight from the bottle. She pours her beer into her glass.

“I’ve never said anything about your… relations… before this morning, but I am now. I am not one to judge. I’ve watched you for years change women like you change socks. Some stay around for a month, some stay for a few months. The last one was… a week, I think? I clean that room… I know what goes on in there, but I never judged. I don’t know what kind of person needs that kind of ‘motivation’ or why. I know it has something to do that contemptuous woman, but I didn’t know what.

“I only recently—over the last few months—got a picture of what the whole concept could possibly be because I didn’t dare ask. These women only came over on weekends which I was very happy to disappear because when I did encounter them, they were horribly rude. The youngest ones would call me things like Aunt Bee, Mrs. Roper, Mrs. Garrett, Mrs. Cunningham, Endora. Half of them weren’t old enough to even know who these people were, but they knew them enough to be able to use them as insults.”

I don’t want to tell her that I don’t know who some of those people were, but since I did like to watch reruns of Three’s Company when I was a kid and I know who Mrs. Roper was, I get the thrust of the conversation.

“I never complained because I knew it just meant that you would get rid of that one and bring in another one, who would most likely be worse than the one you had just dismissed. There were times when I accidentally saw things that I didn’t really want or need to see. You often carried girls out of that room and they were damn-near unconscious. I accidentally walked in on one of them in the shower and her back was striped like a damn tiger. I was horrified! I was sure she wouldn’t come back after that, but like clockwork she was back the next Friday night. Oh, and the way they were dismissed, it was ‘now you see me, now you don’t.’ You never even seemed to mourn the loss. You just kept going until the next one showed up.

“It wasn’t until Ana arrived that I realized that there was never an emotional connection for you… ever! I thought at the very least that these girls came around because you liked them in the beginning even if you quickly lost interest, but I saw the way that woman changed you from day one. She’s standing in the great room in nothing but your shirt apologizing to me because Jason was there. I immediately knew that something was different… immediately! I was happy and afraid at the same time because I didn’t know what she would bring out in you. It’s been a roller-coaster ride, that’s for sure, but I would take this roller-coaster ride with the blonde bimbo blood on the marble and the impromptu dinner parties and the emergency room visits and the kidnapping any day… repeatedly… to having to deal with just one of those brunette basket boneheads that I’ve been subjected to all of these years.

“With that history under your belt, I’m more than appalled that you had anything whatsoever to say about me or that you had any insinuation at all about my feelings for Jason or for Douglas. You were so far out of line, you couldn’t even see the line. I don’t know what kind of mechanics are at work in your head that you had to cause yourself some discomfort to be able to come to a logical conclusion about this, but Mr. Grey—Christian—you need to fix that! I know that you’re dealing with some emotions that you cannot identify, but if that’s the case you need to make that clear before you do irreparable damage to relationships that you claim to hold dear, because I’m here to tell you that if I had to leave this island on a rowboat, I was getting the hell out of here!”

Well! That was a mouthful, but I had to let her get it out and I somehow feel like this is not the end. I would normally never allow staff to talk to me this way, but again, I’m trying to salvage a friendship here.

“I’ll work on trying to communicate my thoughts better in the future if you remember this conversation,” I begin, “that I may not say the right thing, that I may even say something hurtful because I don’t know what to say yet. I’m expecting you, Ana, and Jason to tell me when I’m headed in the wrong direction, but don’t expect me to be perfect and don’t expect me to stop being Christian Grey, because that’s not going to happen. I’m working on a new, improved version of me, but I will never be Mr. Super-Sensitive because I’m not cut from that cloth. I guess what I’m trying to say is… meet me halfway.” Gail takes a large gulp of her beer.

“We’ll see how it works out. I’m still extremely hurt over what you’ve done and ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t make that go away. Because you are my employer, I felt the only way to rectify this situation was to quit, and I. Was. Ready. Having said that, I see a noted change in you all the way around… most particularly that we’re even having this conversation. So… we’ll see where it goes. I do accept your apology but know that I am still hurt,” she says looking at me with painful blue eyes. I cautiously take her hand.

“I really wish I could take that pain away, because I truly didn’t mean to hurt you. Even if you decide not to forgive me, know that I am so, so sorry and I really didn’t mean to hurt you,” I say sincerely.

She smiles sadly and drops her head before a lone tear falls from her eye. I really feel like shit. This woman has never done anything but care for me and my home, feed me, wash my clothes, care for my girl—never harmed me in any way, and this is how I treat her… this is how I make her feel. This is why I feel like everything that I touch, I destroy. I don’t know what my expression says, but she must have seen me headed towards the edge. She grasps both of our hands with her free one and says,

“I’ll find some way for you to make it up to me.” Her words shatter the darkened glass that was quickly building up in front of me and I start to feel better about what the future may hold… just a little bit. We sit there for a few more minutes silently holding hands and pondering the mysteries of life I guess before Butterfly shows up and put her hand on my shoulder.

“Is everything okay?” she asks with a smile. “Should I be worried?” Gail releases my hand with a chuckle.

“He’ll be fine,” she says drinking more of her beer.

“Will you?” I ask her, hopeful. She rolls her eyes a bit.

“We’ll see… but it looks good,” she replies. I sigh, knowing that I have wounded this relationship seriously, but hoping it’s not damaged beyond repair. I stand and kiss Gail on the cheek. Pure, unadulterated shock registers on her face. I turn to Butterfly.

“Where’s Jason?”

“At the bar,” she says, a smile forming on her lips again.

“What?” I ask.

“I’ll tell you later,” she says giving me a peck on my lips. “Go. Go to Jason.”

I release her hand and walk to my head of security like I’m headed to the gallows. I see him sitting at the bar and the bartender brings him a beer. He reaches for his wallet.

“He’s on my tab, as well as the lady over there in the black dress,” I say, pointing to Butterfly now sitting with Gail.

“We don’t have tabs here, sir,” he replies. The “teenager” shows up and whispers in his ear. “My apologies. I stand corrected, sir,” he says, walking away.

“I see that your power extends all the way to the Caribbean,” Jason says sarcastically. Okay…

“Not power. I just prepaid for the drinks.”

“Not a good idea to give a Caribbean bar your credit card,” he warns without making eye contact.

“That’s why I gave her cash,” I respond… and now the conversation has stalled. I gesture to the bartender and ask for another beer.

“Ana put you up to this?” he says, drinking more of his beer.

“I’ll admit, she tried, but she couldn’t convince me. I had to see for myself what I did wrong.”

“And what was that?” he says, less than convinced. He’s not making this easy for me at all.

“Act like a complete asshole when I should have been happy for you—feeling resentment because I feel like you’re getting your happy ending before I get mine.” He’s about to put his bottle to his mouth, but he stops and turns to glare at me.

“Oh, so you thought you were the only one allowed to be happy?” he says incredulously.

“Yes.” That answer throws him for a loop and he’s momentarily taken aback.

“Do you realize how ridiculous that is?” I’ve heard that a lot today.

“Yes,” I say honestly.

“Then what the fuck?” he spit. My friend… not my employee…

“I didn’t realize it when I was putting my foot in my mouth. I didn’t even understand what I was feeling! You gave your woman an engagement ring; I gave my woman a promise ring. We’re taking baby steps, you’re running marathons. I’m ready to marry her now, but I know it’s too soon. I’m trying to pace myself, but all I could see was standing in front of an officiant being a part of a wedding and it’s not mine and Ana’s.

“Don’t tell me how stupid it is because I already know—it’s fucking outrageous! More than anything, though, I need you to know that my statements to you this morning was no reflection on you or Gail or your relationship. It was me being stupid and jealous and not knowing how to say what I felt. It was me handling you like a GEH negotiation instead of admitting that I was feeling sickly jealous about you having the complete happiness that I yearn for with Butterfly.” He shakes his head at me.

“Man, you got real problems. I thought you were seeing a psychiatrist. Flynn? What the hell is that guy doing for you?” he asks, finally taking that drink of his beer.

“I can’t tell you,” I say running my hands through my hair. “He can only help me as far as I allow him and up until a month ago, we couldn’t even talk about Elena.” I hear a small growl in Taylor’s throat. “Yeah, I know, but I can’t hear what I don’t want to hear, and we have only touched on these brand new ‘feelings’ that I’m having.” I wave my hands in the air at the word feelings. “I don’t know what to say, Jason. I know it was a fucked up move and I probably won’t be able to fix it, but I am sorry.” He turns to me again.

“Well there’s something new.” He’s looking at me weird.

“What, the apology?”

“Yeah. Before this morning when you apologized to Gail, I have never heard you apologize to anybody—not to mention that you’ve probably called me ‘Jason’ maybe three times in my entire life.” He’s still looking at me. I sigh.

“It’s the Butterfly Effect,” I say, drinking some of my beer. He nods.

“She makes you a better man and as far as I’m concerned, you don’t deserve her, but I didn’t see that man today. I saw that same heartless, thoughtless, selfish, son of a bitch that I had been working for before she came along,” he says placing his beer on the counter. “I don’t know what Gail said to you, but I’m telling you that we’ve put up with a lot of your shit. Those soulless, brainless, brown-haired, Barbie-doll whipping posts that you brought through that place month after month after month—they were rude and classless and tasteless and crass, and I couldn’t help but wonder who the fuck raised them. Their attitudes and what they put up with made them unattractive and every time one of them was rude to Gail, I just wanted to bounce them out on their icy little asses!

“When Ana put you in your place at that community center, I knew that you were going to try to woo her… if for no other reason but so that you wouldn’t have to do those damn sessions. I had no idea you would succeed. She cut you off at every turn. Everything you tried failed. You kissed her, and she fled the building! We got a good laugh at your expense that day,” he chuckles. “The great Christian Grey was unable to bring a woman—a little woman—to her knees in a blubbering mess. That must have been so hard for you,” he teases mercilessly.

“Actually, it was,” I say, drinking more of my beer. “I was a goner from the first moment she put me in my place and I didn’t even know it.”

“I did,” he says. “I knew it the minute you stepped on the elevator. Once the background check was in process, I knew it was only a matter of time… her time, that is. That night you threatened her job and she nearly passed out in the parking lot, I thought you were going to jump out of the car to catch her.” I almost did. I remember that night. “She was the only person besides Lincoln and your mother that I had ever seen put you in your place, and you were the only person who didn’t seem to realize what kind of hold Lincoln had on you. It reminded me of that movie about the love potion, where the guy had to speak to the girl every two hours or the love potion wore off. You met with her every week without fail. She called you, texted you, showed up at GEH, at the penthouse. Every time you changed a girl, you changed the access codes and every time you changed the codes, she got them.”

I guess it’s time for Jason and Gail to finally get everything off their chests that they had wanted to tell me for years. We’re pulling back all the layers and it’s not a very comfortable process for me, especially when I’m accustomed to being in control. I look over at Davenport gyrating like crazy with some little beauty on the dance floor.

“How much has he had to drink?” Jason follows my gaze to Davenport then looks back at me—nearly appalled.

“Boy, you really don’t know shit, do you?” Oh, what the hell did I miss now? “Chuck doesn’t drink. He’s a recovering alcoholic,” he says. What the fuck! These people know that I don’t tolerate substance abuse of any kind, not even alcohol.

“How the hell did he pass the background check?” I ask.

“Hell if I know—it was there. It could be because when I hired him, you said you needed good, reliable men. At that time, he was 11 years sober. Although I may have dropped the ball with Harris, I would stake my life on the fact that Chuck is one of the best men that I know—and I think he has already proven that to you. If there’s anybody on this earth that can understand someone deserving a second chance, I would think it would be you.”

Ouch! Touché, Mr. Taylor. I just nod and try to drink more beer until I realize the bottle is empty. That’s two beers… I think that’s enough for me. I gesture to the bartender.

“Bottled water, please,” I say. He nods and goes to get the water.

“That’s something else I noticed since Ana has come around. You say please. I never even knew that word was part of your vocabulary,” he spit.

“Jason, how long do I have to be abused before I know whether you forgive me or not?” I understand what I;ve done, but I’m not going to just sit and be a proverbial punching bag. I’ve been raked over the coals by Gail until my skin is raw… I don’t have any more skin left for this particular endeavor.

“I don’t know,” he says, his voice deepening. “You can do whatever the fuck you want to me, I can take care of myself—but you hurt her. That’s unacceptable. If this had been any other man but you, I would have beaten your ass right there and then. I don’t know if you knew this, but we’re ready to leave, immediately! We would have packed our things and left you and your ivory tower and your money and your issues alone! We would have gotten ourselves a little place somewhere, I would have gotten a job with regular hours, and she would have gotten a job where she didn’t have to be offended or insulted by little tricks with daddy or boyfriend issues damn near fresh out of high school with not enough self-respect to demand to be treated like a lady!”

There’s that un-BDSM-educated narrow mind, but this is not the time or place to hash this out.

“I’m not going to sit here and try to explain to you how wrong you are about the lifestyle or those women and why they do what they do,” I say in a controlled voice. “I will note that when you speak about leaving, you’re using the past-tense. Is it safe to assume that you’ve changed your mind?”

“Give me one reason why I should,” he replies coldly. Oh, fucking hell! Enough of this fucking merry-go-round!

“Jason, you are my friend,” I say, my hands flailing in the air in frustration. “You and Gail, you are my friends. I couldn’t see that before because of my lifestyle… because of that crazy, blonde bitch who blinded me to everything good in my life. I’m certain that I will be completely dysfunctional if I lose you, or her, or both of you. You have to forgive me, but you also have to understand that my emotional growth is years behind yours… decades even. I don’t know if you ever considered me a friend before this or if you would ever consider me a friend after this. Consider me whatever the hell you want… just don’t leave!”

I’m nearly yelling now. This man has pushed me to the edge of my patience. This must be what Butterfly meant by groveling, because I’m at the point where I want him to either tell me that they’re not leaving or put me out of my fucking misery.

“You asshole, of course I considered you a friend. The only one that didn’t know that I considered you a friend was you. You and your drawing-your-lines-with-the-staff bullshit. You tried to kill your fool self over Ana, who went and got her? You want to run 25 miles to forget some deal you lost or some sub that pissed you off, who’s running behind you? You need some crazy bimbo dragged out of Escala because she’s hysterical that you terminated her contract at a moment’s notice, who’s doing the dragging? Do you think I put up with all your shit all these years because of a dollar? You’d drive a nun to drink, man!” Jason snaps before drinking the rest of his beer.

“So… where does this leave us now?” I ask nervously.

“What does my fiancée say?” he asks, tilting his head to the side.

“I may have a little more convincing to do with her, but she’s on board,” I say, taking a long drag of the bottled water. Jason sighs.

“In that case…” He proffers his hand. I take his hand and he holds firmly. “If you ever insult my woman again, I’ll take you down,” he says, seriously and without blinking. I return his grip.

“Duly noted… but I think she would take me down first,” I admit as we shake. Just as peace is restored to our area, commotion starts just a few tables away… where Butterfly and Gail are sitting. The women are surrounded by men who seem to have been drinking too much and the ladies’ faces say that they are certainly not pleased. Before I can speak Jason is up out of his seat and on his way to the table.

“Oh shit! Davenport!” I call out to the guard dancing with a young lady on the dance floor. He takes two seconds to assess the situation and makes a beeline straight to the table where the ladies are sitting. I’m right behind Jason walking across the club. When we get there, we can hardly get through the crowd of guys—about five of them—who have basically made a wall around our women.

“Excuse me,” Jason says. One of the guys slightly acknowledges Jason but turns back to the very uncomfortable ladies. Jason puts his hand on the guy’s shoulder and repeats, “I said ‘excuse me.'” The guy turns around and looks up into the face of the 6’2″ bodyguard and decides that it’s probably a good idea for him to be anywhere else but here. Fuck excuse me. I grab the guy closest to my Butterfly and shove him out of the way.

“Are you okay?” I ask her, shielding her body with mine.

“It’s not me, it’s Gail,” she says, pointing to a highly perturbed Gail who’s caged in by a drunken tourist. Jason leans down into the guy’s ear and says very loudly, “You might want to back up off of my fiancée.”

Drunken Tourist Guy looks over at Jason leaning on the table and says, “If she’s you fiancée, why weren’t you over here with her?”

“I’m over here now. Step. Back.” That’s two warnings, Junior. His buddy, just as drunk as he is, comes behind Jason saying, “Yo! We just havin’ some fun. She might want to know what it’s like to be with some real men.” To prevent Jason from killing Drunken Tourist Guy #2 and taking his concentration off of Drunken Tourist Guy #1, Davenport steps between him and #2 and gives #2 a good shove in the other direction.

“Are you fucking deaf?” he spits at #2. “He said that’s his fiancée!”

Drunken Tourist Guy #1 still hasn’t made any movement away from Gail. I still have Butterfly caged between me and the wall. One guy of the crew is still standing quietly idly by, and I don’t know what happened to the guy I pushed out of the way.

“I’m going to tell you one more time to step. The fuck. Back,” Jason says in a menacing tone. Now #1 decides to stand up straight to face off with Jason. At the same time, Jason stands up straight and now #1 realizes that Jason is a good six to eight inches taller than him. He pauses for a moment, but not to be made a wimp, he sucker-punches Jason straight in the chin.

Oh, fucking hell!

Drunken Tourist Guy #2 takes this moment of distraction to launch an attack on Davenport. Davenport is wailing into this guy within a matter of seconds. Tourist Guy #3—I don’t know if he was drunk or not—makes eye contact with me. I’m still covering Butterfly, but I’m a bull ready to charge… bring it on, Motherfucker.

Remember when I said that I don’t know what happened to the guy I pushed out of the way? Well, he chooses this moment to resurface. Since I’m bent down over Butterfly, he gets me in a headlock. I’m pushing off the wall to take the fight away from Butterfly, and as I’m doing this, Guy #3 starts wailing on my ribs. I’m not at 100% after today’s grueling workout and two beers, but I’m enough to get in a few good solid blind hits.

None of us account for my secret weapon.

A shrill voice comes from somewhere behind me and all I hear is:

“Get your hands off my man!” CRASH!

Suddenly, the weight on my neck is gone and I turn around momentarily to see Butterfly standing there with a broken Heineken bottle and Guy #4 out cold on the floor. She knocked the stars out of his ass! I shrug and turn to Guy #3 who now realizes he’s on his own. Before I even give him a chance to think about it, one good punch and he’s on the ground with his buddy.

“Thanks, Baby,” I say breathlessly and give her a quick kiss. I grab her hand and look to my bodyguards. Davenport has beaten #2 down to the floor—not unconscious, but on the floor—and Davenport is standing over him waiting to see if he wants to get up, which it seems that he doesn’t. Jason is banging #1 up against the wall and I swear if he lets the guy go, #1 will slide to the floor in a mound of flesh.

Still holding Butterfly’s hand, I step over to him and say, “Jason, I think he’s done.” He looks over at me and looks at Guy #1. Sure enough, he lets him go and Guy #1 drops in a mound on the floor. He turns to Gail.

“Are you okay, Love?” he says to his fiancée. She nods. He takes her hand and pulls her from the chair. I notice at this moment that although the tables cleared around us, the music never stopped. I wonder how often this happens in this place? Jason looks down on the floor at Guy #2.

“She already has a real man!” he spit. Gail and Butterfly are both giggling like school girls as the five of us run from the club, jump in our cars and drive back to the villa.

I talk to Davenport about the altercation and the outcome—it was a good fight for what it was. I look at the window at the passing scenery. Angry businessmen, I can handle that. Boardrooms full of department heads and heated negotiations for mergers, deciding the fates of hundreds of employees and eliminating redundancies in acquisitions—no sweat off my back whatsoever. Admitting that two of my longest-term employees are actually friends and that losing them would be devastating, subsequently having to apologize and grovel and beg for their forgiveness; coming face to face with my reaction to the improbable loss of Anastasia and a future unborn child—yes, I’ll admit it… I have no idea how to process this onslaught of emotions and I’m absolutely out of my element. I’m feeling completely off-balance and a total and utter loss of control.


The ride back was mainly Chuck and Christian talking about the idiots at The Pumphouse who effectively blocked me and Gail in at our table. I remember us talking about the conversation that she’d had with Christian and the fact that Jason didn’t really want to quit, but he would make Christian work to get him to stay after all that has happened and the years of uncomfortable crap that they had to endure in the wake of Christian subs. I’m so sure that Gail no longer cares about the NDA since she had planned on leaving anyway and Christian just basically begged her to stay. I was just commenting on how beautiful and young she looked tonight when these five assholes wandered over to the table like two classy ladies would want to be approached by their drunk asses. I immediately got flashbacks of Stephen Morton and I was ready to hurl all over their shoes…

Gail is being nice and trying to turn the first guy down gently, but the minute his buddy reaches his hand out to make a move in my direction, I’m hit with an immediate wave of nausea. The response is completely involuntarily when I squirm away from him, shrink up in my chair and start screaming, “Ew! Ew! Ew! Get away from me!” It’s one of those totally creepy, crawly feeling like being afraid of spiders and seeing on run across the floor. He’s actually kind of horrified by my reaction.

“Well, fuck you then!” he exclaims in a drunken slur.

“Oh, God, please don’t,” I say, sarcastically. Needless to say, none of them try to come on to me after that. Gail’s suitor takes her kindness for attraction and appears to be closing in on her further and further. By now, Gail is starting to get a little pale. Our table is against the wall, so even though no one is bent over me like this guy is bent over Gail, they still have us basically blocked up against the wall.

“You know, you guys are making us really uncomfortable and you should really back up,” I say, trying to get them to leave.

“You’re just mad because your girl is getting some attention and you’re not.” This comes from the same guy who just tried to come on to me.

“You really are drunk, aren’t you? You forgot just that quickly that you just tried to come on to me and grossed me the fuck out?” I reply. I’m more concerned about Gail, who’s starting to fidget in her seat with this guy closing in on her just about to kiss her.

“Leave her alone!” I yell and break him out of his amorous pursuit. Gail is now trying to push him away from her because she is clearly uncomfortable and a little afraid.

“Oooo, you got balls. No wonder you don’t have a man.” My would-be suitor says. I was about to show him my ring to correct him when I hear a voice bellowing across the bar.

“Oh shit! Davenport!”

I hiss because I know what’s about to happen. I look at Gail, she looks at me, and I turn back to the Counterfeit Casanova. I just shake my head.

“You’re about to find out just how wrong you are,” I say to him. Just as I finish my statement, he’s flying off to the left somewhere, his spot quickly occupied by Christian.

“Are you okay?” he asks me, concerned.

“It’s not me, it’s Gail,” I respond. My only concern is that they get this guy off of her. I could have handled the Drunken Don Juan, but Gail’s having a bit of a problem. Luckily, Jason has come to her aid and I take this time to assess the situation. There were five of them, but now there are three—one of the them is on the floor somewhere to the left of me and one of them just disappeared. The next thing I know, it’s like a chain reaction—first Jason, then Chuck, then Christian… fists flying, those awful cracking sounds when someone’s knuckles hits someone’s face. I manage to slide out when Christian pushed off the wall with the intention of getting to Gail and running for cover… when I see two men ganging up on my boyfriend.

Oh, the fuck you are!

I can’t find anything to use as a weapon. The nearest thing to my hand is a bottle. Here… have a beer!

“Get your hands off my man!” I bring that bottle down with all the force I can muster. The green bottle shatters over Vomit-Worthy Valentino’s head and he falls over in a mass on the floor releasing Christian’s neck. I’m a little dazed about what happened next, but I remember him saying thank you and grabbing my hand as I grabbed my purse and the five of us just scurried out of there. I’ve never in my life been in a barroom brawl and I’m infected with a rash of giggles as we leave.

When we get back to the Villa, we’re all pretty quiet entering the great room. Jason and Gail had ridden in the second car that they took earlier that evening, and no one knows exactly what to say now that we’re all in the same room. The sun had long since set, I’m nowhere near sleepy, and the tension of this entire day is wearing on me. I can feel my inner defenses starting to break down for some reason. I hadn’t fought with anyone this day, but I was running between all parties involved and it was exhausting! I look at my friends and my boyfriend all fidgeting with their fingers, purse, hair, each other, and I look at the crystal-clear water of the pool out beyond the patio. Fuck this shit—the hell if adrenaline is getting me today. I take off my ring and put it in the side pocket of my purse. I drop my purse right there on the floor and step out of my shoes as I run full speed through the sliding doors down the stairs and launch myself off of the edge of the pool, into the air, and into the water with a “Geronimooooooooooooooooooooooo!” SPLASH!

Fully dressed.

I swim to the far end of the pool, only too sure that everyone will think I’ve completely lost my mind, but not caring at this point because this day has just been too much on my psyche. I emerge at the far end of the pool, push my hair out of my face and turn around, prepared to see four faces standing in the great room staring at me like a little green man from Mars. Imagine my surprise when I turn around and see a gorgeous woman with beautiful, sun-bleached blonde hair flying through the air at full speed screaming “Cannonbaaaaaaaaall” before she, too, hits the water fully clothed.

That rash of schoolgirl giggles has returned the moment I’m splashed with cool pool water and once Gail emerges, we’re unable to control ourselves. Moments later, five fully grown, fully dressed adults are in the pool at a villa in Anguilla at 10:00 at night playing Marco Polo.

We all stay out at the pool for quite some time that night. We turn it into an adult fully dressed pool cocktail party. It’s actually pretty fun. We can more easily talk about Gail and Jason’s wedding since the hatchet has been buried. Christian offers them some time off to take a proper honeymoon, but they decline reserving the right to revisit the offer at a later date. Things flow pretty smoothly, and it’s just like a bunch of friends sitting around talking—even Chuck—but I can tell that something’s a little off about Christian. Not completely off, but just a little bit like he’s struggling to find his center.

As the moon begins to work its way to the other side of the sky, we start to make our way back into the villa to go to bed. Christian shakes Jason’s hand again and kisses Gail on the cheek before they go inside. He exchanges pleasantries with a tired Chuck and then sits down on one of the chaises.

“You’re not coming in?” I ask, rubbing his shoulders. He jumps a little like I startled him.

“Oh, yeah, Baby. I’ll be up in just a minute,” he responds absent-mindedly.

“Are you okay?” I ask, running my hand through his hair. He leans into my hand then brings it around to his lips and kisses it gently.

“Yes, Butterfly. I’m fine. I’m just working a few things out. I’ll be up soon,” he says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. Something is wrong… not terribly wrong, but wrong. I won’t push him, though. I don’t want this—whatever this is—to be harder for him than it is. I lean down and kiss him on the lips.

“I love you,” I say softly, holding his face in my hands.

“I love you, too, Butterfly,” he responds. I turn and walk inside to the elevator.

I’ve showered and washed my hair and put on a bathrobe when I come out of the en suite to find that Christian still hasn’t joined me yet. I can see the pool from our balcony and he’s just sitting there with a tumbler in his hand. It’s empty and there’s no bottle around him so there’s no telling how long it’s been empty. I turn around and go back to the bedroom. Part of me wants to go down and get him.

What is he working out? It must be really rough for him.

Will he go to the piano? It could disturb Chuck being on the same floor.

How long will he be down there?

The questions in my head leave me wide awake and unable to relax. I decide that I want to wear one of his shirts to bed tonight and I go to his drawer to get one. I’m frozen in place for a moment. I don’t quite know how to process what I’m seeing.

In his underwear/T-shirt drawer are two sets of soft leather fur-lined wrist restraints and four long adjustable straps. I see various other items—a blindfold, some massage oil… The thing that catches my attention is a flogger with a silver handle with a ball on the end and tails that are nearly two feet long. Incredibly, seeing the flogger immediately makes me wet—extremely wet!

Why didn’t he mention this to me? Did he not want to? I look at the wrist restraints and then at my wrists. Surely, he didn’t think I would relate our playtime to… Edward? That man held me captive against my will! Maybe he thinks I’m not ready. I can totally see why he would think that. I’m not 100% sure myself, but I honestly feel like I should just rip off the band-aid—and with the way he looks right now, I think I may have to do just that. I have the perfect outfit, too. I was saving it for… I don’t know what. Maybe I was saving it for this. He needs this right now—so much that he doesn’t know how to say it, and he’s not going to ask. So, it’s up to me.

This is the second time I’ve had to top him from the bottom. The first time was our very first time in his playroom. Like now, that time he was clearly at the edge of his control sanity. Each time I could hear it in his voice, see it in his face—but this time, it’s clouded with another emotion… one that’s taking him away from this place. Also, both times were—are--full of uncertainty. He wasn’t sure I was ready to go into the playroom even though he needed me there. When I showed up, he took me to levels of ecstasy I had never experienced before. Our lovemaking is fantastic, but I adore our playtime. He has to know that I won’t give it up just because he thinks I may not be ready.

I quickly dry my hair and brush it thoroughly until has a hazy halo look to it—full fluffy JBF hair and I haven’t even been fucked yet. I go to the closet and pull out the small garment bag that I had hidden back there for just such an emergency. Inside are a pair of white lace panties, a white boned corset with an embroidered lace pattern and frilly trim, a white suspender garter belt and a pair of white lace top silk stockings. In my shoe carrier was a pair of white Louboutin peep toe mesh platform stiletto slingbacks with a bow at the toe. Once I’ve donned my angelic, seductive costume, I apply a small amount of concealer to the barely visible bruises around my eye, a light amount of mascara to extend my lashes and a soft pink barely-there lip gloss… just enough to plump them a bit.

I take the restraints out of the drawer and, knowing that Christian won’t be able to bring himself to do it, I attach the four restraints securely to my wrists and ankles. Now… which position? I could do first position, but I don’t know where the night will lead us… I better save my strength. Second position… hmmm. Again, I could end up on my knees later—at least I hope I do. I guess it’ll be third position, then. I send a quick text to Christian:

**Can you come here for a moment please? **

I plug my iPhone into the charger and quickly select a jazz station on internet radio. I sit it on the night table. The level is perfect… not too loud. I turn off all the lights in the bedroom and except for the one right next to the bed. I put the four adjustable straps, the magnificent flogger, and a pink studded blindfold on the bed. Sitting in third position, butt on the edge of the bed, head down and hands in my lap, I wait… and wait… and wait.

At first, I think he may have fallen asleep at the pool. Right when I’m about to rise and throw on a robe, I hear the elevator indicating that he’s coming to the master suite. My heart starts racing and I have to control my breathing. He didn’t come to me immediately… what does that mean?

“Ana?” he calls out from the hallway leading to bedroom. Don’t move, Steele… and don’t speak. I hear him sigh heavily and then I see his feet inside the door. He takes in a loud gulp of air as he no doubt takes in my appearance—all white “fuck me now” lingerie and restraints on each appendage—in position three waiting for instruction. Please don’t let this backfire on me.

He walks into the room until his feet are right in front of mine. I can hear his breathing over Paul Brown’s melodic guitar.

“Stand,” he says, his voice low and controlled. I find the strength in my weakened knees to rise to my feet. He brushes my hair over one shoulder and then the other.

“You look magnificent, Anastasia,” he breathes. I can tell that he’s barely able to contain himself. Not only has his breathing become uneven, but he’s starting to rise in his jeans. He puts his hand under my chin to raise my head, but I only raise my eyes to look at him through my lashes. His lips part as he takes in a breath again, trying to control himself.

“Why?” he asks in that same controlled voice.

“Because I want it, Sir. I need it… and I think you do, too,” I answer softly.

“I don’t need this, Anastasia. I don’t want this if you don’t…” But you do need this, Christian. Your body is betraying you and so is your mind and emotions. You do need this.

“May I ask Sir a question?”

“What is it?”

“Why did you bring the toys?” If he didn’t think I was ready, why did he bring the toys? Do they have clubs on Anguilla? Oh God… did he bring them to play with someone else? He must have read the look on my face when he answers,

“No, Ana, only you, I swear. I just… wanted to be ready when you were.”

“I’m ready, Sir. Please…” I don’t know why I need it, I just need it. I know why he needs it, though, and he needs to stop beating around the bush and get on with it. He closes his eyes momentarily and when he opens them again, they’ve changed… piercing and demanding but hooded. I immediately divert my eyes to the floor.

My Dom is here.

“Good girl.” His voice has changed to that deep commanding sound that makes my heart beat faster and my panties wet. Don’t move. Wait for instruction.

“Take two steps forward, Anastasia.”

I step forward away from the bed. He then disappears behind me and I hear him adjusting the straps. Breathe, Anastasia. We’ve had some heavy sex and touches of kinky fuckery, but we haven’t had any real playtime in almost two weeks and even then, I wasn’t the sub. I called him Sir in the en suite in his childhood bedroom two weeks ago, but that only resulted in a hard fuck in the shower. Even this morning was just hot, hard sex. Honestly, I haven’t subbed for him for three and a half weeks… since that first time in the playroom. He’s been subbing for me.

Needless to say, I’m a little nervous.

Scratch that… I’m a lot nervous.

After a few moments, he comes around the bed to where I am standing.

“Turn around, Anastasia.” I turn around and my breath catches in my throat. He has removed his shirt and is only wearing his jeans. Although they aren’t the same jeans that he wore that day in the playroom, they fit just as well, and he has them pulled all the way down to where his pelvis starts to form that little “V”… and the top button is undone.

Fuck, he is so hot!

“What should I do, Anastasia?” he asks, his voice dark and expectant. What should you do? I have to pick my punishments now?

Pick my punishments. Dammit! I set myself up for this one, didn’t I?

“Spank me, Sir,” I say, remembering that I came when I was instructed not to.

“I can’t hear you, Anastasia,” he says sharply. I close my eyes and take in a deep breath. Part of me is angry because I planned on dictating when I got this spanking, but I inadvertently offered myself up like a sheep to the slaughter because he needs it right now. I choke back that small amount of spite and say in a clear, contrite voice, “Spank me please, Sir.” He sits on the bed in front of me.

“Very well,” he says. He pulls me down and I land across his lap. “Hands behind your back,” he commands. I bring my hands behind me and he clips the wrist restraints to one another. “What are your safe words, Anastasia?” he says as he caresses my behind.

“Bells and whistles,” I say, a little too sharply. I feel a hard, stinging slap on my ass that causes me to yelp and gasp involuntarily.

“What was that?” he demands. Shit, I forgot this hurts!

“Bells and whistles, Sir,” I choke out, duly chastised.

“Good,” he responds, rubbing my ass again. I have become so accustomed to his tenderness that the brutality of the initial blow shocks me a bit and a tear escapes. I’m glad he didn’t see it, or he would have stopped. I just need to prepare myself—remind myself of what this really is. With my face away from him, I have enough time to collect myself. It might be a good thing that the spanking came first. It’s like a warm-up to heavy exercise.

“I plan to push your limits tonight, Ms. Steele. You will use you safe words if you need them, correct?”

“Yes, Sir, I will,” I answer softly but clearly.

“What are your safe words again, Anastasia?”

“Bells and whistles, Sir.”

“Bells and whistles,” he repeats. “Very well.” He caresses my butt again then his hand leaves and SMACK!

Fu-u-uck me! I gasp in air to keep from crying out. There’s no pillow to smother my cries so I simply hang over his lap and bite my lip, absorbing the hits until one blow stings into the next. These are not erotic hits… he is spanking me. I am being punished. The blows are hard and crisp… nothing like the sexual sensual slaps that he uses that actually make me come.

You saw what he was like down there. You knew what he needed after the day he had. Are you going to wimp out, or are you going to take it like a woman?

I stopped biting my lip somewhere around blow #7 or #8. I clench my fists behind me and hold my breath. He continues my punishment—left cheek then right, then left thigh, then right. Fifteen blows. When he stops and starts to caress my butt again, I can’t relax. I’m prepared for him to hit me again. Once he releases the restraints from one another, I know this part of the night’s festivities are over and now it’s on to the next activities.

Why are you acting pissed? He didn’t ask you to do this. This was your idea.
Yes it was. So, I might as well stop acting Bitchy and suck it up.
Hey! Was that a crack at me?
Yes, it was.
Your mama!
My mama is your mama!

I slowly and quietly release the breath that I was holding as he instructs me to stand to my feet. I follow directions and stand in front of him, my head bowed and my hair covering my face. I make up my mind right there and then that when he tells me not to come, dammit, I’m not coming! He pushes my hair back over my shoulders. Please don’t look in my eyes, I silently beg. I know that all of my feelings—uncertainty, a bit of anger and spite, determination—would all show in my eyes and I’m determined to give him what he needs this night. Part of me is protesting, saying that I shouldn’t continue because this is supposed to be enjoyable to some degree for both of us. The other part of me is cheering me on, saying that the uncertainty will dissolve as soon as we get deep into playtime and I remember what I’m doing and why.

I hardly breathe as he pulls the ribbon at the top of my corset to untie the bow that was only there for show anyway. He deftly and easily releases the latches that it took forever for me to attach and frees my body from the boned restraint device. Although I’m a bit relieved to be free from it, I don’t let it be known. I’m his puppet this evening… er, morning now. I will only do as he asks. He runs his hands up my body from my thighs to my hips around my butt up my back around my waist across my breasts and up around my shoulders. Yes, he ignites me… he always ignites me… but I won’t do anything, feel anything, until he says so.

“You came today when I told you that you couldn’t,” he says, his voice almost a growl.

“Yes, Sir,” I say, my voice soft. Here it comes.

“You will not come tonight,” he commands. There it is.

“Yes, Sir,” I say, without hesitation or reaction. He pauses for a moment. I think he’s shocked, but I’m not sure since I’m not looking at his face.

“Do you understand?” he asks.

“Yes, Sir, I understand,” I say quickly without raising my head.

“What am I saying, Ms. Steele?” he sounds like a stranger.

“Sir is saying that I will not be allowed to come tonight,” I say clearly before involuntarily clamping my hands in front of me, almost like I’m covering myself. He pauses for a moment, then says, “Exactly,” and walks to the other side of the bed. I can hear in his voice that he sees my answer as an act of defiance. It’s strange because I mean it as an act of ultimate obedience, but I know that’s not how he’s taking it. It’s okay, though. I’m not here to battle wills with him. I’m here to give him what he needs… whatever it may be.

A/N: Aunt Bee, Mrs. Roper, Mrs. Garrett, Mrs. Cunningham, Endora—all of the names that previous bitchy little subs were calling Gail were all older ladies from very old sitcoms. Many were too old at the time that they were in the sitcom to even be compared to Gail who, in my story, is 38 years old.
Aunt Bee—The Andy Griffith Show (1960-1968—still in syndication)
Mrs. Roper—Three’s Company (1977-1984); The Ropers (1979-1980)
Mrs. Garrett—Diff’rent Strokes (1978-1986); The Facts of Life (1979-1988)
Mrs. Cunningham—Happy Days (1977-1984)
Endora—Bewitched (1964-1972)

Love Potion No. 9—This is the movie that Jason was talking about where a nerdy guy visits a gypsy who gives him a love potion that makes women instantly fall in love with him for two hours, but he has to talk to them again every two hours or else the potion wears off.

Make sure you check out the Pinterest at

You can join my mailing list on the “Contact Me” page. Just click the link and it will lead you to a form to join the list.

~~love and handcuffs



Why My Wedding?–Maxine


So, yet another of our characters have decided that enough questions have been asked about her intentions and enough statements have been made about her actions that she needs to be heard in her own voice. On that note, here is Maxine, who sweetly came to me and asked to divulge why she wanted Christian and Ana’s engagement to occur at her reception. You’re on, Maxie…

An Address from Maxine Saunders… err, I mean, Maxine Saunders-Guest
I’m sure that there are many of you that don’t like me and even more of you that don’t understand me. That’s okay. It’s not a problem for me. I am who I am and I do what I do and I make no apologies, except to those whom I hurt—everyone else is… what do you call it? Oh! A non-factor. That’s not to say that I don’t care what you think of me, but that is to say that I don’t tolerate judgment, especially from people who don’t know me or only know me marginally.

Having said that, let me ask a question. Am I the first bride ever to have a friend become engaged at her reception? I have to know this, because I’ve been seeing it said how it was so—unusual—to have this happen and that Christian and Ana’s effectively “stole my thunder.” I’m sorry, but I don’t see the big deal. I had this huge wedding in my Cinderella dress and glass slippers. Everybody’s looking at me; we’re eating, dancing, having a great time, and in the midst of it, one of my best friends adds to the celebration by getting engaged! What’s the problem? BG told me that a fight actually ensued at her wedding reception. Would you have preferred that happen at mine, too?

Now, not everybody had strong opinions about it, but a lot of people were questioning how this came about. So let me explain.

In harmless, usual conversation, Al told me how Christian had been mentioning to him that it was time for him to propose to Ana. He had intended on doing it on Christmas but then decided that it would just be too cliché. Then he thought about doing it on New Years Day, which is also cliché but not as much, except apparently, he and Ana were at odds that day. As more and more time passed and more and more shit was happening in their lives, he began to feel like there was never going to be the perfect time to get down on one knee according to Allen.

I began thinking about the impact that I have had on their lives and relationship. I damn near dragged Ana out of Christian’s apartment with a court order to throw her in a padded room. I ditched her as a patient with no notice, and in the midst of all of this, she still managed to plan me a fantastic wedding and still stood up for me as my maid of honor. I don’t know that I could have been that gracious to someone who had done the things to me that I had done do her. Even though my intentions were pure, it was still some pretty dirty shit—like serving a T-bone steak on a nasty garbage can lid.

Bearing all of this in mind, at one of the tuxedo fittings, I suggested to Allen that they plan something at the reception. We would all be there with the exception of the parents—which they made that happen anyway—and it would be a huge surprise because it would be the very last thing that Ana expected. That, of course, meant that we had to cut Ana out of the planning of the reception completely. I was sure that she was going to catch on to what was going on, but I think she was more flustered about having the reception taken away from her and even more confused that it was given to Christian. Truth be told, she had already done all of the planning and preparation for the reception—we just had to add this segment into it.

Why my reception? Because I love her. Because I wanted this. Because I was already on cloud nine and the anticipation of seeing her face after Christian proposed put me on cloud ten. Because she’s a wonderful, beautiful, kind and caring person and I disrespected her twice and I owed it to her to make it up to her and couldn’t think of a better way. Because I also wanted Christian to know that I recognize how important he is to my friend and how much they mean to each other. Because what he was doing was all about love and my day was all about love and I wanted to be a part of it, too. Because my wedding day was superb because of my dear, dear friend and to have that friend get engaged at my reception was the icing on the cake. Any more questions?

Ana planned my shower, planned my wedding, wrangled my bridesmaids—including bitchy ass Selena—bought a block of rooms at the Four Seasons for the hen night, got me a damn party bus—a luxury party bus no less—and made sure everything went off without a hitch with very little help from the wedding planner that I hired. Ana gave instructions and that chick just jumped, plain and simple. What’s more, Ana did all of this without breaking a sweat, even when I was being shitty to her and Christian…

Ana made it her business to help secure my happiness on one of the most important days of my life. Given the opportunity, why would I not want to be a part of hers?

Dr. Maxine E. Saunders-Guest, Ph.D.


Mending Dr. Steele: Why The Hell Did They Pick That Ring???

So, I already know that once my story goes to print, my characters will have formed and shaped themselves in everyone’s minds and they will have their own personalities. However, even though I have stretched that envelope to its very furthest reaching, people are still seeing E. L. James’ characters or even some of the very original characters in my stories. No matter how independent I make Ana, people are still seeing Belle or Bella or whatever her name is (please forgive me, when I tell you that I have not read Twilight, I’m serious—I have not read Twilight). Now from what I’ve heard, I don’t know how anyone could read my stories and still see Edward Whatever-His-Last-Name-Is, but I still get people who do that. My characters are still being compared to the very originals, so I know that my characters are being compared to E. L. James’ originals.

Having said that, now that I have posted the long-awaited engagement chapter, I know that I have people asking why the hell I didn’t put a bigger ring on Ana’s finger. The answer is very simple:

That’s not my Ana, and
That’s not my Christian.

Beyonce Ring NoSome of you are reading “Paging Dr. Steele” right now on the blog and waiting for the rest of the chapters. Other of you have already read it, so you’ve already seen the promise ring (sorry for the spoiler). It was beautiful, yet modest, remember? That was Ana’s taste and Christian’s interpretation of Ana’s taste. As much as people wanted him to do this, he wasn’t going to go from buying her a beautiful yet modest butterfly promise ring to giving her a 20-carat Beyonce engagement ring that needed to be carried by two people!

This is why he told her that designing an engagement ring for her was very difficult. He had to temper his need for “expensive and flashy” with her desire for “beautiful, but not so flashy.” She’s already dealing with the “gold digger” syndrome and constantly reminding idiots that she had money before she met Christian. If she shows up with a ring that has it’s own area code, what do you think that would say!? I mean seriously—for her to show up in a Beyonce/Paris Hilton/Kim Kardashian engagement ring and then pretend like nobody saw it… come on, People. What world do you live in where that shit would get by the press? (For those who didn’t know, Kim Kardashian’s engagement ring for her pretend engagement had to be delivered by armored truck.)

Kim Kardashian’s ring when she pretended to marry Kris Humphries.

Oh, yeah—one more issue that needed to be addressed. I got lots of suggestions for what Ana’s ring should look like and I thank you all for that, but please know this. My Ana lives in my head. If I don’t like it for Ana, then Ana doesn’t like it for Ana… sorry. Not only that, but yes, Ana is obsessed with Butterflies. However, everything she wears, does, likes is not going to be attached to a butterfly. Don’t get me wrong. A lot of what she wears, does, and likes is going to be related to butterflies, but not everything. Having said that, her engagement ring was never going to be a butterfly. Her promise ring was a butterfly. Her engagement ring needed to be very different.

I hope I have answered the questions as to why Christian and I chose the ring that we did, and trust me, we fought about this one too. We almost had another “Henry the Eighth” night over it, but I shut him down. Nonetheless, he did keep saying “bigger… bigger…” and I had a terrible time finding the ring. I was arguing with him about carats and points and size and clarity and the whole time, I’m telling him, “They’re not going to really see the ring, you asshole! They’re going to see a representation of it!” Then he told me, “You keep believing that. You find a ring that is representative of what we are trying to portray, and I’ll shut the hell up.”

It took me all damn night! I had to sleep on it, wake up, and choose the ring the next day.

I had like ten sites open including Tiffany, Cartier, Harry Winston, Blue Nile, James Allen… there was something like 15 tabs open in three or four windows in two browsers trying to find this damn ring. You would think with an unlimited budget, sky is the limit, get whatever you want, you should quickly be able to pick the perfect ring, right? Right? Yeah… right. It wasn’t even Ana—it was Christian’s ass! And he’s not even wearing the damn ring!

I ended up writing the chapter and leaving a hole that just said “DESCRIBE THE RING HERE” and then just kept writing the chapter because if I hadn’t, the chapter would have just stopped and gone nowhere! Fucking egocentric, know-it-all, arrogant, sexy, domineering, stubborn ass billionaires!

So, yeah… that’s why we chose that ring.

Love and handcuffs!
Lynn x AKA BG Holmes AKA Bronze Goddess