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 60—I’m A Woman of My Word
Christian made love to me last night in every way imaginable. I don’t know what got into us, but we were all over that damn suite! I came so many times, I absolutely lost count, and I am certain that Christian held out because he only came once. Granted, it was pretty cosmic when he did, but it was only once. We both know that I’m quite multi-orgasmic. I might have to see just how multi-orgasmic my boyfriend is. For now, I put on a pair of workout shorties, a sports bra, and my athletic shoes and head for the gym to make good on my promise to do some working out before my muscles get all wimpy.
The third-floor gym actually has a punching bag which is right up my alley. Oh, joy! I let out some steam on that puppy and it feels great! I imagine the Pedo-bitch’s face, David’s balls, Carla’s head, Stephen’s gut—it’s fabulous, cathartic even. I don’t know how much work I’ve put in, but I’ve worked up a good dripping sweat when I hear “Yoo hoo” off to the right of me. I stop and catch the punching back to see Christian standing in the door, looking delicious in black jean shorts and his signature linen shirt.
“Hey,” I say, jumping from foot to foot to cool down and trying to catch my breath. “Why are you standing way back there?” I pant.
“Because the last time I got between you and a punching bag, I ended up with a black eye,” he says entering the room. Oh yeah, I forgot about that. “You hit that thing with some serious precision.” I dance around a bit more swinging at the air.
“Yeah. Luc’s a pretty good teacher… when he’s not being a pompous, chauvinistic asshole, that is.” I start to cool down and catch my breath.
“I think he has a thing for you,” Christian says.
“Not for me, just my skills,” I say, matter-of-factly. “We talked during our last session. I told him that if he ever pulled that macho bullshit on me, I was going to break his neck. After the workout, he admitted that he was sure that I was good enough to go pro and he thought that I would. So that whole exhibition room workout was just him and his sour grapes.”
I’m stretching now as my breathing has regulated and I’m starting to feel the pull in my muscles from the workout. I’m definitely going to need the hot tub. Hmmm… indoor or outdoor?
“Good God, Ana, do you usually sweat this much? You work out like a man.” I shrug.
“I tend to overdo it sometimes, especially if I’m working off some aggression,” I answer.
“Yes, I’ve seen that. What aggression would you be working off today?” he asks cautiously.
“Same shit—thoughts of the Mortons, Pedo-Bitch, that bastard Edward David…” I say, taking a swing at the bag again.
“Can I see the strength of your strike?” I’m assuming he wants to use the target focus boxing mitts.
“Okay.” He puts the mitts on and takes stance, one foot behind the other and bending his knees so that his hands are at a height comfortable for me. “No unexpected moves, Grey. I’ll lay you out and not even know that I hit you,” I warn. He chuckles a bit.
“Really?” he responds with mirth.
“Yes, really. I’ve done it twice before with big guys who didn’t think I could, and I’ve already given you a black eye once.” I’m a little affronted. Are you being a chauvinist, too, Mr. Grey? He shrugs.
“Duly noted,” he says, taking his stance again. What is it with men? They look at my stature and automatically assume I’m too weak to defend myself. That’s right, underestimate me… please!
I put my fists up and decide to show Mr. Grey a thing or two. He went a round with Hysterical Me who probably—like any hysterical person—has the strength of 10 men. He’s never gone a round with, well, just Me.
Remembering Luc’s instructions about force and pressure, I let loose on those focus mitts, laying into Christian’s hands with everything I’ve got. I hit with pinpoint precision every time, right at the palm—strike, follow through, and snatch back—with my best speed and strength. Halfway through, I notice that he has to stiffen his stance. He didn’t prepare for the hits to be so hard. I tried to tell you—don’t let the bite-sized body fool you. I continue to pound mercilessly on those focus mitts, never making eye contact with Christian and never giving his palms an opportunity to rest before the next hit comes. I’m concentrating so deeply that his voice actually startles me.
“Okay, pause,” he says a little sternly, and I stop, surprised. “Jesus! Did I piss you off?” he asks.
“Huh?” I say, successfully feigning confusion. He takes his hands out of the mitts and flexes his hands.
“Hell, it feels like you were trying to take my hands off!” he says, accusing.
“That’s how I hit!” I say, my voice going up an octave or two. “Didn’t you see me with the punching bag?”
“You said you were picturing people who you hate with the bag. Is that what you were doing with my hands?” See? That’s what you get for underestimating me, you big pussy!
“Christian,” I shift my weight to one leg and fold my arms, “this is one of my workouts. In case you don’t know, you have to punch with some force and drive otherwise you’re just wasting your time. I’m not playing ‘patty-cake’ here, you know.”
“I know you’re not playing ‘patty-cake,’ Anastasia. That just seemed a little personal.” Anastasia. Okay. It was personal, Grey. You laughed at me, but I think I made my point now.
“You know what?” I say, laughing sarcastically and ripping off my gloves. “One thing I’m not going to do is stand here and argue with you about how hard I hit. I’m going to take a shower.” I turn around and march out of the workout room, taking the stairs two at a time. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, you presumptuous, condescending idiot!
After a quick shower to wash off the grime, I put on my black strapless bikini with fashionable holes lining the top of the bra and all along the sides of the panties and my Raybans, grab a bag of my candy and go to the outdoor hot tub to relax my muscles a bit. I kept about eight pounds of the chocolate and nuts and sent the rest back with Keri to give to kids or whatever. What the hell was I going to do with 100 pounds of candy? I rarely eat candy as it is!
The hot water and the jets are relaxing my muscles and I’m lying back, eating my candy and gazing at the thin fluffy clouds in the sky when he walks into my line of sight and looks down at me.
“May I join you?” he asks.
“It’s a free country,” I respond. I’m still a little salty with you, Grey, but not salty enough to send you away. He sinks down into the hot tub, gasping a bit as he relaxes into the heat.
“Admit it, Ana. You were purposely putting a little force behind those strikes, weren’t you?” he asks.
“I was a little miffed at your disparaging me, but that is how I hit. You said yourself that you wanted to see my strength and I wasn’t going to go easy just because it was you,” I respond.
“When did I disparage you?” he asks innocently. I raise my head to look at him.
“Cut the crap, Grey,” I say, calmly. “The only person you’re fooling is yourself. You know damn well that you were snickering at me when I told you not to make any sudden moves.” He snickers again. “And there it is,” I say, pointing at him.
“I’m sorry, baby. I had this little woman telling me that she would lay me out,” he says, snickering again.
“Um-hmm, and that’s why your hands hurt,” I say, laying my head back again and closing my eyes this time. The laughter stops.
“Touché,” I hear from the other side of the hot tub. I hear the water splash a bit and when I raise my head, he’s in front of me, his hands on either side of me.
“Forgive me?” he says, his face breaths away from mine.
“I’m not going to screw you in this hot tub, Grey,” I say firmly.
“Mmm, that’s a lovely idea, but I hadn’t planned on it,” he says, kissing my neck and stretching his arms so that his hands reach mine, entwining our fingers, “and stop calling me Grey.”
His tongue runs up my neck to my ear and he gently sucks the lobe between his lips. I gasp and instinctively push my chest forward, nearly forgetting what I said about refusing to screw him in the hot tub. His tongue follows around my jawline to my chin and he gives it a little nip, eliciting another little gasp. I open my eyes and he looks at me, expecting.
“Christian,” I say, just above a whisper, and his mouth gently finds mine, his lips molding against my lips and his tongue seeking entry. I open my mouth to accept the intruder and he hungrily devours my kisses, causing me to moan salaciously against him. His hands slide back up my arms and into the water, landing on the seat on both sides of me. He pushes himself between my thighs and I instinctively wrap both of my legs around him.
“I’m not screwing you in this hot tub, Christian,” I repeat.
“No, but you will come in this hot tub,” he says as his hand quickly slides into my bikini bottoms and finds my sex. I gasp loudly.
“Christian, no!” I exclaim quietly, trying to move away from his delightful hand, but there’s actually nowhere I can go as he has me trapped against the tub and the seat.
“Yessss,” he hisses, as his fingers search my folds and find their destination.
“Aah!” I gasp as his index and middle finger sink into me, immediately finding that magic spot and making me tremble.
“Ssssshhh,” he coaxes, “someone might come outside. You don’t want them to know what I’m doing to you.”
No, I don’t want that.
His mouth finds mine again as he massages me with his fingers. I don’t have much room to move so I can only absorb the feeling as his fingers thrust in and out of me rubbing that spot on the inside that makes me burn while his thumb stimulates the pleasure center on the outside.
“My God, Christian!” I whisper, fighting to keep from crying out.
“You like that, baby?” he says against my lips.
“Yes, oh, yes,” I gasp.
“I like that, too,” he moans. “I love the way you feel… all of you… in my hands, on my dick, in my mouth. I can’t get enough of you,” he breathes. Oh, hell, his words are doing as much to bring me to orgasm as is hands are!
“Christian…” I breathe, lost in the ecstasy he’s wrapping around me. I bring my hands up to his shoulders and wrap my arms around him.
“That’s right, baby,” he says softly in my ear. “Hold me. Let me feel you.” He kisses me on my neck, then my shoulder-blade. His tongue follows my collar-bone around to the other side where he repeats the process, kissing the exposed skin while continuing the intense massage of my core.
“I’m addicted to you. If I could kiss you and make you come 100 times a day, that’s all I would do… watch you come apart in my arms, taste your flavor on my lips and feel you wrap around me and pull the juices from me with your magnificent body.”
Oh, fuck… I felt that in my chest, and I can’t cry out. The things this man makes me feel are insane. His voice can make me wet… I wonder if it can make me come? No matter, because I’m about to come in a matter of moments.
“God, Christian… you drive me wild,” I whisper as I sink my hands into his hair and throw my head back.
“Then we’re even,” he says as he slips his free arm around my waist and pulls me against him, assaulting my mouth again with his. The warm water swirling around me, Christian’s hard body pressing against me, his delicious mouth and tongue teasing mine, and his skilled hand thrumming my ladyparts while he releases a hungry, vibrating moan into my mouth—I’m gone.
I explode from all the mental and physical stimulation, crying out into his mouth almost weeping from the pleasure. I tremble against his hand and shake out the last of my pelvic spasms. He starts to kiss me softly, repeatedly as I come down from my orgasm. Good God, how many orgasms have I had in the last 24 hours and this man has only had one!? That’s it. I vow to myself that at some point during this weekend, I’m going to make him come so many times that he’ll have to beg me to stop.
“I’m going to pay you back for that, Mr. Grey,” I say, completely satisfied. He pulls back to look me in the face.
“Is that a threat?” he says almost humming.
“Oh, no,” I say in the sexiest voice I can muster, looking at him with I’m going to fuck you eyes before closing the space between us and licking his mouth salaciously, moaning as my tongue rolls over his kiss-swollen lips. “That’s a promise,” I whisper, stretching out the “s” a little longer. He gasps and I feel his manhood twitch between us.
“You said I couldn’t fuck you in the hot tub,” he warns.
“You can’t… and we won’t,” I say, my voice still dripping with sex, “but when I do get a hold of you, I am going to make you scream.”
“Sweet Mother of God, can I possibly love and want you any more than I do right now?” he growls.
“We’ll find out.”
Christian has decided that we will spend the rest of the weekend alone. I thought my promise may have prompted this decision, but he assures me that he had this planned from the beginning. He told me to pack for overnight and to include something nice to wear, but to wear something casual and athletic for the day.
I have plans for my beloved boyfriend. I have worn my angel outfit—now it’s time for my naughty outfit, which I quickly pack into my dress bag with my evening dress. I go to his underwear drawer and grab the restraints. Mr. Grey will be quite the happy camper when I’m done with him. I then notice that he had brought more toys than I thought he had—some of them still in the packaging. I look among them to see if there was anything that would aid in my plight. Besides the flavored massage oil, I thought I’d bring the blindfold and… what’s this? A wand? Dirty little thoughts go flying through my head at the speed of light. Oh yes! This is perfect! I shove the toys into the overnight case with my toiletries and we take off.
Christian informs me that he wants to take me to the top of this cliff that he hiked the other day. When I tell him that I had no wish to do any cliff walking—yes, I heard him—he tells me that there was a way to get there that doesn’t involve cliff walking, but it means that we have to walk through the brush. We leave our bags in the car and park just before the thick brush that surrounds the road to Anguillita. Christian has a picnic satchel on one arm and holds my hand tightly with the other. Before going into the brush, he points out the route that he had hiked a few days earlier. I’m not afraid of heights but I don’t prefer them. So, I tell him that I would take his word for it without looking over the edge. He smiles at me and leads me through the brush to the end of the long trail and oh… my… God.
The water is so blue, and we are up so high, you can see clear across the island.
“That’s Anguillita,” he says, pointing west to the little cay just off the shore.
“That little patch of land there?” I ask. I was expecting it to be so much more, especially the way that he talked about it. I’m quickly reminded by a tropicbird soaring overhead that this experience was not about the size of the island, but about the journey getting there actually being able to see it. I stand there for a moment looking out over the beautiful blue water and a little blue bird with a white chest lands on my shoulder. This moment seems a little surreal to me. I mean, seriously… birds don’t just come and land on your damn shoulder. I’m not Cinderella, for Christ’s sake.
Christian is setting up our picnic lunch. Picnic on a cliff… imagine that. He hasn’t noticed the bird on my shoulder. “Christian!” I call quietly but earnestly, trying to get his attention without startling the bird. “Christian!” I call again.
“Yeah, baby, what’s up?” I hear him say behind me.
“Look,” I say, straining my neck to look over at the little bird. I hear Christian quietly come up behind me. “What is it?” I ask.
“It’s a bird, Butterfly,” he laughs. Don’t make me slap you, Grey!
“I know that! I was asking if you knew what kind of a bird it was,” I snap quietly.
“I know, baby. I was just teasing you. I think it’s a partridge… no, maybe a sparrow…” he guesses.
“Are partridges and sparrows common in Anguilla?” I ask, still standing very still so that I don’t disturb my new friend.
“I’m not sure. I think sparrows are pretty common here. So, I’d say it’s a sparrow.” I smile at my little friend.
“I’ll call you Bleu,” I say, straining my neck a bit to see him… or her. “Simple enough, right?” Bleu does this little chirping thing and I get a bit too comfortable. I lift my finger towards the sparrow, but I knew before I did it that it was a daring move. Sure enough, Bleu quickly spreads her little wings and takes off into the brush. I smile at Christian in disbelief.
“Nothing like that has ever happened to me before,” I gasp. “A bird landed on my damn shoulder!” I’m feeling a little giggly.
“You attract good things, Butterfly,” he says, sliding his arms around my waist and pulling me against him. “Good things happen when you’re around.” He kisses my hair. I wish I could believe him. “Talk to me, Butterfly,” he says, instantly noticing my tension.
“Well… I just…” I sigh. “Bad things keep happening to me, Christian. Horrible things. I can’t help but wonder who I pissed off up there that unthinkable things keep befalling me.” I shake a little at my own words. “I was raped and tortured. I have the worst mother in the world… well, maybe not the worst, but pretty damn bad. A whole town of people conspired against me. Now I get kidnapped by my psycho ex.” I drop my head. “I’ve never been the ‘woe me’ type, but I seriously want to know when I’ll be able to just take a breath and live.” Christian turns me around to face him.
“I want you to be happy,” he says, his eyes soft and caressing mine with his love. “I want to be one of the reasons why you are happy. I want to love you and protect you… and make sure that these bad things don’t cross your path ever again. We’ll take down every last one of those Green Valley bastards and David’s ass, too. Then we’ll make sure the world knows that the invincible Anastasia Grey is no one to fuck with.” He smiles then gently presses his lips to mine. I tangle my fingers in his hair and sink into his embrace.
Then it hit me.
I quickly pull away to make eye contact with him. He is at first confused, then worried.
“What’s wrong, Baby?” he asks.
“Christian, did you hear what you said?” I ask, searching his eyes. Still confusion.
“Yes. Did I say something wrong?” Now the worry is back.
“Did you hear what you called me?” I ask softly, trembling a bit in his arms. I can see him playing the conversation over in his head, then realization dawns and he looks down at me.
“Well, you said you would marry me,” he replies, his eyes now content boasting a beautiful sleepy gray. I gasp.
“You remember,” I squeak, fighting back the tears. He pulls me closer to him again.
“Of course, I remember. The love of my life said that she would marry me… when the time is right. A guy doesn’t forget something like that,” he says dreamily.
“Oh, Christian!” I jump into his arms and we fall back on the blanket he has laid out for our picnic. God, I want to fuck him right here, but I’ll have to make do with some serious Christian Grey petting and making out. That’ll do me just fine… for now.
Anastasia Grey. I called her Anastasia Grey. Thank God she didn’t run away screaming. It just seemed so natural, so perfect.
I could never tire of hearing it, but I certainly don’t want to pressure her before the time is right for us. There’s so much that we need to do to get our lives on track and going in the same direction. We have a wonderful talk during our picnic on the cliff… after all the kissing and groping, that is. I can’t help wanting to touch her so much. She has this little bite-sized body that fits into my hands so perfectly; insane muscle tone that allows her to climb me like a damn tree; a delectable, round ass that I can cup with a whole cheek in each hand; and her breasts… good God, her breasts! She’s the smallest D-cup I’ve ever seen! You would think they would be too big for someone so petite, but not Butterfly. They fit perfectly on her beautiful toned body, and they’re so round and flawless—natural and exquisite. Women pay good money to have breasts that look like that. She has them naturally… and they’re all mine to play with!
I want to put her in a plexiglass box and lock her away from the world and everything that could harm her, but I’m the first person to know that Butterfly is a free spirit and cannot be tied down that way. That’s one of the things that drew me to her, as much as I didn’t want to admit it. The fact that she didn’t want me and couldn’t be controlled by me made me want her more. It’s also one of the reasons that, even though I’m afraid, I’m ready to let go of the way that I used to cope with things. I can exercise all the control that I need in the boardroom, and as much as is necessary in the bedroom. She loves that, and so do I, but I’ll need her help to make sure that I don’t go too far.
We enjoy the breeze and the sea air as we lunch on grilled chicken salad, crab cakes, fresh fruit cocktail, gourmet cheese and crackers, and wine spritzers. We talk for hours about her fears and mine and how we plan to tackle them when we got back to Seattle. It turns out that, for the most part, we want the same things. We both want a house and a family before we get too old to deal with teenagers. We’re both open to how many children we want, agreeing that nature should take its course depending on where we are in our lives. She wants to help me through what she knows will be a difficult and delicate transition, but she’s afraid of blurring the lines between girlfriend and psychiatrist. It’s something that we’ve agreed that we’ll need John’s help with, though I still don’t think Butterfly completely trusts him. She’ll do it for me, though, and I only ask that she give it a chance before she writes poor John off completely.
I ask her, cautiously, if she wants to go back to her condo anytime soon… as in, to live. I would prefer that she stay with me and won’t pressure her to stay or go either way, but I would like to know if it’s something that she plans on doing any time soon. David’s in jail and he can’t hurt her now and Harris is dead. Though there’s still the Mortons to be concerned about and the paparazzi since everyone now knows that she’s my girlfriend, I would worry myself sick if she left and went to that condo alone. I’m so accustomed to having her with me every night, I would probably just follow her anyway, like I did before all the back-to-back fiascos started happening. She indicates that she wants to go and check things out, make sure that the neighbors don’t think she has moved away completely, but she has no interest in staying in the condo at the present.
“I still love my condo,” she assures me, “I just don’t want to stay there right now… if that’s okay.”
Of course, it’s okay! I’m having a wall taken out in my bedroom so that your clothes can fit in my closet! Elliot is already examining the apartment to decide where to best install the waterwall, and I’m hoping we can find some local art pieces here that you can put in your office… and anywhere else you choose.
Of course, I don’t say these things out loud. I’ll suggest the art pieces when we’re shopping tomorrow. Nonetheless, for the most part, Butterfly has already moved in with me, and that’s how I’ll see it until she tells me otherwise.
We make our way back through the brush and down to the car around 3pm. We stop by the villa to get Davenport and he drops us at the airport with our bags. We’ll take a charter plane back to St. Maarten where we will get a flight through WinAir to take us to Saba Island for the night. I have given the “staff” instructions to enjoy the evening and to pick us up tomorrow just after lunchtime so that we’ll have time to do some shopping. Nothing will happen to us on Saba Island. The entire island is only about eight square miles.
The trip is very short to Saba Island. It’s only about 30 miles from St. Maarten, so the flight was 15 minutes tops. Butterfly has a hard time with the flight as WinAir’s plane was an older propeller plane and the ride is a little bumpy. The landing, however, is the worst part.
We watch Saba Island come into view from the windows of the small propeller plane. Saba Island is a dormant volcano, most of which is usually in the clouds as the highest point of the island is 3000 feet. However, as you approach the Saba Island “airport” for lack of a better word, you can see the entire landing strip from the window of the plane! The damn thing is only 1300 feet long I would later discover—most runways are 5000 – 7000 feet long—with “X’s” at the end of each end of the runway. The “X’s” are actually there to denote that the runway is closed to all air traffic except for those aircraft given waivers from the Netherlands Antilles’ Civil Aviation Authority.
The pilot later tells me that you have to land between those “X’s” which is actually only 1000 feet of runway—not 1300. On the other side of each X—should you miss the mark—is a cliff and a 200-foot drop into the Caribbean Sea… no pressure, though.
Oh, but it still gets worse. The moment that the loud, buzzing, antiquated airplane hits the runway, it stops. I mean it stops on a damn dime! It hits the ground and brake! You don’t know if you crashed, or something malfunctioned or what. Poor Butterfly can’t wait to get off of this thing, and I have to say that I share her sentiment. I hate to see what kind of adventure taking off tomorrow is going to be.
A taxi is waiting to take us to our overnight accommodations—the Carolina Cottage. Butterfly’s eyes bulge out of her head when she sees the size of the place.
“I thought you said this was a cottage,” she says, taking her bag from the taxi.
“It is a cottage,” I say, looking at the large white edifice.
“This is not a cottage, Christian. This is a house! A big house! Boy, you go big or go home, don’t you?” she says with mirth.
“To be honest, I didn’t know it was this big either. That explains the price.” I take her bag from her as we enter the “cottage”—living room, dining room, media room, kitchen, two bedrooms, three bathrooms, grilling area, terrace and a hammock porch… not to mention the full-sized outdoor pool. Butterfly was right, this is a house.
“Well, it’s kind of late, close to dinner. What would you like to do?” I ask, remembering her threat to make me scream.
“We should have dinner, Mr. Grey. You’re going to need your strength,” she says, coyly before grabbing her dress bag and overnight case and sashaying her round ass off to the bedroom. Fuck! My dick is getting hard already!
Thirty minutes later, I’m waiting for Butterfly in the living room. I was banned to the guest room as I was not allowed to interfere with her while she was getting dressed.
Now I know why.
Butterfly emerges from the bedroom in a sexy long-sleeved lavender wrap mini-dress, black sheer thigh-high stockings, and a pair of Louboutin leather purple peep-toe stilettos. I can tell that the stockings are thigh-high because every time she moves, I can see the top of the stockings in the split of the wrap.
“Butterfly… you look stunning,” I breathe.
“Thank you,” she says, walking over to me. “Are we ready?”
“Taxi will be here in just a few minutes.”
“Good,” she says with a smile and turns to walk away from me. That’s when I see that those stockings have a black seam up the back… and my dick is hard again.
She’s going to torture me all evening.
We have dinner at a restaurant called Eden. How appropriate as I feel like I’m going to be taking a bite straight from the forbidden fruit tonight. The moment we’re seated, Butterfly sashays off to the ladies’ room, literally assaulting me with a view of her irresistible curvy ass leaving the room, those seams a road map to the promised land. Sure as hell, I look around and several men in the restaurant are watching her walk away as well… including men with dates. One of them turns around, catches my glare, and immediately buries his face in his menu.
When she returns to the table, I watch her glide back into the dining area. I can tell that she feels sexy because of how she’s carrying herself—and that sexy walk… subtle but sassy. Her breasts are sitting up beautifully and perfectly in that dress and her ass is swaying back and forth with just enough tease for you to want to see what’s under the gift wrapping but not enough sway to reveal the forbidden fruit.
“You have to stop doing that,” I warn as she takes her seat.
“Doing what?” she purrs. Shit, even her voice is sexy tonight.
“Walking and moving your ass like that. I’m going to have an incurable hard-on all night if you don’t stop and so is every other man in a 50-foot radius,” I growl, gently stroking her thigh and quickly moving my hands.
“Well, I can’t help every other man, but you… that’s my intention,” she states, never tearing her sensual blue eyes from mine.
“Anastasia, if you don’t stop, I’m going to grab your ass—blatantly and openly—and hold it until that wiggle calms down.” Her eyes get big, then she leans into me and says,
“Just use a soft grip.” She quickly runs her tongue across her bottom lip then to the corner of her mouth before sinking her teeth into her lip… and I’m about to explode out of my pants.
“Anastasia,” I warn, attempting to adjust my painful erection, “you’re going to unleash something that you can’t tame.”
“Oh, I can tame it… and I plan to prove it,” she says, now looking at her menu. I’m a dead man.
She teases me all through dinner with that dress. I pull every trick in the book to try to get the upper hand and she just plays off of every little thing I do.
I reach over during dinner and seductively stroke the exposed skin of her breast.
She opens the dress a bit so that I can get a peek of whatever sexy-as-hell purple and black lingerie she’s wearing.
She has some chocolate mousse on her lip and I sensually lick it off.
She takes her fork and put some of the confection in the valley of her breasts. Once she brings it to my attention, she scoops it out with her fingertip and sticks the finger in her mouth, suggestively sucking her finger clean then seductively saying, “Mmmmm, delicious.”
After that, I have her sit next to me so that I can torture the tender meat of her inner thighs. She opens her legs and moves my hand to her crotch, stroking it up and down on her thong.
“Much better, isn’t it?” she says, trying to hide her arousal. Oh, but now you’re playing with fire Butterfly.
“You know I will make you come in this restaurant,” I threaten, pinching her clit through her panties. She gasps.
“I’ll just do the same thing to you,” she says, and her hand is squeezing and rubbing my dick through my pants… hard! “And I won’t be discreet,” she growls, and I notice that she has worked my zipper down and has her hand inside my pants, now working her way around my boxer briefs. When I feel the skin of her hand against me, I know that she is dead serious. I grab her wrist with my free hand and pinch her clit once more before ending my assault.
“Okay, okay, I believe you.” I remove both of our hands from each other’s genitals. “What has gotten into you?”
“You,” she says without missing a beat, “several times, last night. For whatever reason, you only came once. I intend to rectify that. ” She takes another sip of her Cabernet Sauvignon.
“You know you don’t have to do that,” I say. Our relationship has never been quid pro quo in that sense. I make her feel good because it makes me feel good. Not coming just means I last longer.
“Oh, on the contrary, Mr. Grey, I look forward to it,” she says, licking the rim of her glass. That’s it for me…
I did everything I could to get the upper hand, but tonight, I’m out of my league. Butterfly means business, and I’m about to discover that this is a night that I won’t soon forget.
The bedroom is dimly lit, and we’re standing on opposite sides. She’s leaning against the wall looking at me and I’m standing with my hands in my pocket gazing at her.
“Take off your shirt,” she says softly. When I don’t move, she repeats herself, enunciating every word…
“Take. Off. Your. Shirt.”
Okay… she means business. I pull my shirt out of my slacks and remove my cuff links. I unbutton my shirt and remove it.
“Drop it,” she commands, and I let it fall to the floor. “Your shoes and socks.” I quickly toe out of my shoes and remove my socks.
“Now your T-shirt,” she says, emerging out of the shadows and moving closer to me. I see that wiggle and I get hard… again. I remove my T-shirt and it joins the rest of my clothes in the pile on the floor. She walks over to me and places open-mouthed kisses on my chest.
“Butterfly,” I moan as I take in her scent and the feel of her kisses.
“I’ll take care of these,” she says as she rubs my dick again through my pants. Shit, that feels good.
“Sssss, Baby…” I warn. You’ve been teasing me all night. I don’t know how much more I can take before this party starts without you!
“Oh Christian, we’re just warming up,” she says as she undoes my belt, then my zipper and button and drops my trousers for me. She pulls my face down to hers and kisses me deeply while she grabs my ass and I return the favor. She steps back from me then sticks her hand down the front of my boxer briefs.
“Oh, hell, Ana…” I almost can’t think with her hand grasping me. “Shit, baby.”
“You like that?” she asks, pumping my erection.
“Oh, yes, very much.”
“Well, there’s much more where that came from,” she says as she moves her hand around and removes my underwear.
“I’m going to restrain you. Is that okay?” Huh?
“Restrain me with what?” I ask.
“I brought the restraints.” She brought the restraints. Ms. Steele has a plan and she’s serious. So, let’s see where this takes me.
“You can do anything you like, Butterfly. Where do you want me?” I ask softly.
“Anywhere and everywhere I can get you, but right now, I’ll take you in the chair behind you,” she responds shamelessly. I turn around and there’s a metal reclining chair with a black frame and gray padding. Something is underneath the chair and I’m assuming that’s where she has the restraints. I follow instructions and sit in the chair.
“Put your hands on your lap,” she says, and I obey. She attaches the adjustable straps tightly to each armrest then she produces the restraints.
“Your wrists, Mr. Grey,” she says, her voice husky and sexy. I hold my wrists out to her, and she attaches the wrist restraints. She clips each restraint onto an armrest and then bends over in my face, planting deep wet kisses on my mouth.
“You’re wearing too many clothes, Ms. Steele,” I say, aching to see her out of that dress.
“I know,” she says backing away and running her hands up her body, “a situation that I intend to rectify right now.” She brings her hand to the sash on the hip of her barely decent mini-dress and slowly starts to pull. “I was going to blindfold you,” she begins, prolonging the agonizing process, “but I think you might want to see the freaky things that’ll transpire tonight.”
Fuck! Those words have my dick throbbing already! It’s a good thing I’m already free of clothing.
“Move your ass to the edge of the seat. Don’t worry, it’s sturdy enough for my requirements.”
Her requirements. She really has planned this out. The last time she planned something out this meticulously, I was begging to come all day… and it was fabulous!
I scoot my ass to the edge of the seat and sit back. The chair reclines just slightly, but not enough to lift the foot rest.
“Open your legs,” she commands, “I want to see my dick.”
Sweet hell, she’s something else today! I can tell she’s not in Domme mode, but she’s pretty damn close, and I’m going to obey like she is because she’s so close to the edge that she can slip in at any second. As she pulls the last sash, her dress falls open and she lets it fall to the floor.
“Oh… my… God.” Those are the only words that I can get out of my mouth. She looks edible. She’s wearing a purple and black striped structured corset and her perfect breasts are nearly spilling out of the top of it. She’s wearing a purple thong with shiny silver accents and the damn thing has a large hollowed-out butterfly stretched across her pelvis and down to her pussy. The thigh highs have no suspenders, so nothing is blocking my view of those soft, slightly bronzed, sun-kissed thighs… and she’s still wearing those sexy purple stilettos.
Greystone is at full attention and my legs fly open almost involuntarily. He wobbles around a bit to take in his surroundings and I swear, he stops to stare at Anastasia.
I know, right?
She goes over her purse and pulls out her glasses. What? She puts them on and slowly walks over to me and bends so that those perfect breasts are in my face again… and I can’t touch them. She looks at me over those glasses and licks her lips. It’s a good thing she tied me down, otherwise I would be balls deep in her at this very moment.
“I’m going to make you come many different ways tonight until you beg me to stop,” she says, her mouth breaths away from mine so that I can feel the heat of her words against my lips. “You can use your sexual safeword if it becomes uncomfortable for you. Otherwise, you can just tell me to stop and I will stop. When it gets good to you, whatever I’m fucking you with, I want you to fuck me back. I want you to thrust into whatever is satisfying you because I want to see those sexy abs ripple in ecstasy. Do you understand?”
“Baby, you are beautiful, and you are sexy, and you can do whatever you want to me, but if you make me come while you’re wearing those glasses, I’ll never allow you to wear them in public again.”
At first, she looks affronted, just for a flash. Then she fights a snicker, takes the glasses off, and puts them on the nightstand.
She comes back to stand in front of me and says, “I wish I had brought one of your collars.” I knew she was a sneeze away from Domme mode, and it’s driving me wild. She reaches down and grabs my erection and slowly begins to stroke me.
“Ah!” I moan. I was aching for her to touch me. “Shit, that feels good.” She smiles at me.
“Oh, Mr. Grey,” she laughs softly, “the night is young.” She steps back and slowly rubs her thighs. She brings her hands up her body, pausing momentarily to moan and appreciate her sweet pussy, but then continuing up to her luscious breasts. I’m pulsating violently as she pushes those two ripe melons together and the first hook comes open on her corset.
“Oops,” she says coyly, and she moves her hands down and squeezes her body again, popping the second and then the third hooks. She’s fucking torturing me. Greystone is having a temper tantrum, begging her to come and play with him. He’s getting harder and pinker by the second. Once she’s out on display, her corset half-open and her beautiful tits calling to me, she drops on her knees in front of me and pushes my legs further apart.
Here we go.
She reaches under the seat and produces a bottle of massage oil. Oh, hell, Grey, you are going to come tonight. She puts an ample amount of oil on her hands and spreads it over her breasts. As she pinches her nipples and they become taut, she moans in pleasure and bites her lip.
“Fuck, baby, you’re killing me here,” I complain, my manhood now banging viciously against my stomach.
“Oh, really? Well, we should do something about that.” In a second, her oily hand is gripping and stroking my dick—deep and hard.
“Goddammit!” I growl, and my hips rise out of the seat. “Damn, damn, damn!” This feels so good, but it’s over almost the moment it starts. I see the look in her eye, and I’m hopeful as hell for what’s coming next. Is she going to do what I think she is!? Oh, please tell me she is. Good God, she positions herself over me and I know what she’s about to do.
She’s going to let me fuck her tits…
Or fuck me with her tits…
Who cares? She’s going to make me come with her tits!
I’m like a little kid at Christmas! I can barely control my breathing as she positions me at the valley of her breasts and pushes them together over my manhood. Then she starts to move, slowly at first pushing me up between those soft, juicy, oily, beautiful balls of flesh. The visual almost makes me lose it completely.
“Oh, Ana, this is… so… hot…” I grunt as I feel my hips stiffening to allow her more access to Greystone, who keeps happily peeking out of the tops of her breasts.
“You like that, baby?” She asks as she pushes her breasts together and begins to pick up the pace.
“Ugh! Oh, God, yes!” I grunt again and start to move my hips to match her strokes. “Ah, fuck.”
“That’s it, baby. Fuck my tits,” she growls, and with those words, I’m off. My hands are gripping the chair and she’s skillfully holding my legs open with her body. There’s nowhere for me to go but deeper into her breasts, which I do gladly. I’m wildly stroking between her lady mounds, once again, a perfect fit. I get a little carried away and my dick slips out of its happy place. That’s no problem for the beautiful Anastasia. She grabs my dick and rubs it between her left breast and her hand.
“Ah, fuck!” I exclaim as the feeling is so good and I know I’m going to come any minute now. She replaces Greystone into Happy Valley and continues to fuck me with her breasts. I stroke deeply and I know my explosion is not far off.
“Open your eyes,” she commands. I didn’t know I had closed them. “Don’t look away. I want you to see this.” I train my eyes on her and watch her bend down and suck the head of my dick into her mouth each time it emerges between her breasts.
“Ah! Aw fuck!” I’m a goner. Watching that shit and feeling the suction on my head from her mouth and the oily friction on my shaft from her tits, I’m pumping like a jackhammer, coming ferociously and watching my seed squirt into her mouth. I grunt loudly with each stroke as I watch her accept long squirts of my release in her mouth and it spurs me on further. It’s so fucking hot, and I sound like a damn animal—grunting out my orgasm. Her strokes slow and I finally try to get a handle on my breathing.
“My God, Anastasia. That was incredible,” I choke out between breaths. I love titty-fucking and I didn’t know if or when I would get the chance to do it with Butterfly. She rises from her knees.
“You get a moment to compose yourself,” she says before gently kissing my lips. I taste myself in her mouth and it’s so arousing. Greystone slightly starts to twitch again, and I know he’s getting himself ready for round two. She moves off to the right of me somewhere and then I hear music begin to play. I hear a woman’s voice, high-pitched and sexy, and my Butterfly is back in my view. The song is old, and the woman sounds like she’s in ecstasy, talking about loving to love.
Butterfly begins to sway in front of me and suddenly, I resent being in these damn restraints. My baby can move, and she looks so sexy and I just want to touch her so badly. She sways back and forth in front of me and rubs her hands over her body, making the same sounds as the woman in the song. She stands with her legs apart and throws her head back. When she makes eye contact with me again, she squeezes her body once more releasing the last three hooks on her corset and this sexy ass song is still playing. She picked the right music because it’s doing things to me, and Greystone is starting to respond again.
She releases her lovely body from the corset, and I get to see these pretty panties that she’s wearing while she caresses her body again, twisting her nipples and licking her lips.
The word escapes my lips before I know it and Butterfly responds by straddling me. The music changes tempo a bit and I’m now getting the most luscious lap dance as Butterfly grinds her hips and her panty-clad sex over my erection.
“Ugh!” I grunt at the stimulation. She puts one hand on the chair over my head and the other on my arm to steady herself and she’s grinding into my dick. “Oh, yes, that is so good, baby.”
“I know,” she breathes, and I know she’s aroused. Her lips come down on mine and she bites my lip before sucking it into her mouth. Oh, God, I’m going to expire. She runs her tongue through my mouth then moves her lips to my ear. “I’m wet, baby,” she pants. “Can you feel it?” Fuck yeah, I feel it! Your panties are drenched.
“Yes,” I growl as she bites and licks my earlobe. She stops her movement suddenly and grabs my face, her eyes closed.
“No… no…” she breathes, more to herself than to me, her forehead on mine. I know she just stopped herself from coming. Oh, hell. Is she going to deny herself every orgasm? This is going to be intense. Just as she rises from me, the song changes and a base beat fills the room shortly followed by a male group talking about getting freaky and licking someone all over. Right at that moment, Butterfly bends over and sticks her ass out at me as she slides her panties down her legs.
I think Greystone just squirted a bit.
She backs her ass up against my dick and sits right on my nuts. I have this delicious view of my dick—erect and hungry—between her ass cheeks as she starts to rock a bit. My erection sways from side to side between her butt cheeks and her wet pussy is squeezing and massaging my nuts, literally twitching on my balls. The feeling is phenomenal, and I’m losing my breath again, panting because I can feel her core tightening on my balls while her ass is rocking back and forth on my dick.
“Oh, damn, baby,” I breathe as she moves in time with the music and I’m watching my dick throbbing against her ass, rocking and growing. She’s supporting her weight on my knees with her hands as she grinds into me. When the music changes and Maxwell talks about screwing until somebody calls the cops, she shifts to pull me between her thighs teasing me again by stroking my dick with her wet folds, driving me wild again. I drop my head back and absorb the pleasure as, once again, I can’t go anywhere. She’s so fucking good, and she’s about to show me just how good she is.
She closes her legs and start to slide up and down my erection, just in that space between her vagina and her thighs.
“Oh shit, shit, shit!” I groan and my cock is hard as a damn rock. She drops some more oil between her legs to make it good and slippery. Then she leans back onto me, clasps her hands on my wrists to steady herself, crosses her legs at the ankle and begins to stroke.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! She’s squeezing my dick in the gap between her sweet, hot pussy and those insanely muscular thighs and she’s stroking like she’s fucking and chasing an orgasm. She’s even moaning!
“Ana…shit!” I pant. Here comes number two. I can’t stop it. She’s enjoying herself too much and Greystone doesn’t stand a chance.
“Ana! Ah, shit!” As instructed, I thrust hard into that opening between her thighs against her pussy. I now realize that she’s getting some stimulation from the friction which is why she’s moaning… which in turn is making me stroke faster and harder, ensuring that I’ll blow any fucking second! It’s hot… and slick… and tight… and it feels so good.
“Oooooo, baby,” she mews, “that’s it. Stroke it hard, baby. Mmmm, come on, baby. Come for me,” she says as she lays her head back on my shoulder and bites my earlobe, squeezing her thighs together even tighter—as if she could. The shot of pain from my earlobe goes straight to my dick. I look down her body and see my engorged head popping up between her legs with each stroke. I feel my legs trembling a bit and I explode, thrusting myself hard between her legs and cursing shamelessly as my second orgasm burns through me. She grabs the head of my dick around the sensitive rim with just her fingertips and squeezes hard as I’m cursing out my release and I swear that with this explosion, Greystone is down for the count.
But my Sex Vixen has other plans.
That’s two, and with that last violent shake, I think he may need motivation before I get a rise out of him again… but he hasn’t begged me yet, so I’m not stopping.
That last one almost sent me over the edge, feeling his hard dick between my legs, the friction and pressure heating up my clitoris. I couldn’t stop until he came and it’s a good thing he did because I was almost there… right there.
I take a moment to compose myself because what I plan to do next will have me coming in an instant if I don’t wait a moment. The product of his orgasm has squirted all over my stomach and we’re both struggling a bit to catch our breath.
“You make me so hot, Christian,” I whisper as I reach behind me and tangle my fingers in his hair. I smear some of his seed on my finger and move down to my clitoris, gently spreading his wetness there while making him watch. It’s almost unbearable and I hear him gasp. He leans down and bites the meat on my shoulder.
“Ahaa!” I moan and fuck if he didn’t almost make me come. I snatch a handful of his hair and pull. Naughty boy!
“Stop it!” I say through clenched teeth, still stroking my clitoris. He gasps and hisses and I know he’s getting aroused again.
“Yes. Yes. Okay. Sorry,” he whispers, and I feel him twitch underneath me again. He’s responding but he’s not quite there yet. I slowly rise from him and slap him gently across the face. His eyes turn glassy and sharp, desire and heat buried dangerously therein. I stand over him and grab his hair again, jerking his head back hard.
“Ah!” he breathes as I bring his eyes to meet mine.
“Don’t touch unless I say that you can!” I hiss. That does it. I feel him jerk straight up and the head of his dick brushes against my pussy.
“O… kay…” he breathes, barely able to contain his arousal. This is why we have to tweak our BDSM lifestyle, but we can’t get rid of it altogether because we like it too much. Christian loves to be handled roughly—pain turns him on. A small sting gets me going but pain is his aphrodisiac. We’re going in for round three, folks. Three is usually his limit, but I’ve learned that Christian Grey is an extremely virile young man and his dick can almost respond on command. Lucky me! I reach under his chair, grab the cloth that hides my “tools” and clean his seed from my stomach. His erection is staring at me, expecting—not as hard as it has been tonight, but hard, nonetheless. In a moment of spontaneity, I slap it to the side.
“Fuck! Oh, fuck!” He jerks from his chair and drops back to his seat. His fists are clenched, and he’s breathing hard, nearly growling like an angry animal. I don’t know if this is a good thing or a bad thing until he growls,
He startles me so badly that I reflexively slap the shit out of his dick.
“GOD! Oh God!” He flexes back in the seat, his dick sticking straight up at me. He looks glorious—tortured and aroused, begging me to slap his dick and cause this exquisite pain he yearns.
“Again, oh God… Ana… again… please…” Far be it from me to deny the man his request. I slap him again a little harder this time and he cries out, his head back and his mouth hanging open. Before he has the chance to ask me again, I slap it again, and again, and again until he is nearly wailing, and I see pre-cum present on the head of his dick. Fuck, I can’t take this shit anymore. He looks absolutely fucking irresistible. I drop to my knees and slam his dick into my mouth, all the way to the back of my throat, down to the balls.
“AaaaahaahaahaaaaooooohGod!” he cries and if the arms of the chair weren’t metal, they’d be broken. My little move hurt my throat a bit—I was too anxious. However, I adjust myself after I quickly wipe away my gag tears and now, I’m ferociously attacking this delicious penis-pop, sucking and slurping like my life depends on it.
“God! Godohgod! God, yes! Yes!” He’s banging his head against the back of this chair. I’m working him too hard and too fast for him to even thrust into my mouth. I’m using every move I know on this man at this moment because this dick feels and tastes damn good.
Cupping my hands just under his balls to push them up to my mouth, I run my tongue roughly and salaciously over his balls while giving open-mouthed wet sucking kisses up and down the side of his shaft, deliciously running my lips hungrily along his length.
I clamp my hands around the base of his balls and the base of his dick and lick continuously with long strokes from the bottom of his nuts to the head of his dick. He rises out of the chair each time I get to the head. The last time I get to the head, I clamp down on it and suck hard and now he’s thrusting into my mouth, calling out to a higher power and begging me not to stop. I reach both hands up to his chest and scratch hard while I clamp onto his dick with the full intent to bring him to his third orgasm.
“Baby! Baby! Fu-uck!” he cries as I scratch him again and he thrusts a few more times into my mouth before his dick throbs his release down my throat. That’s three.
I release him with a pop and he now has his head down… again… trying to catch his breath. I push a large ottoman over in front of him and sit down, waiting for him to tell me that he’s had enough. I’m sitting there in front of him, wearing only my stockings and stilettos and waiting for the magic words, but he doesn’t say them.
“I’m okay,” he says, “I just need to… breathe for a second.” That’s as close as I’m going to get to surrender, I’m sure… for now anyway.
I lean back on the ottoman and grab the massage oil. I squirt it down my naked body and start to rub it into my skin. I like my Anguilla tan. I’ve always been so pale, and I never thought about tanning or anything, but I look pretty damn hot with a little glow to my skin. I may be looking into tanning when I get back to Seattle. I run my hands along my skin, across my breasts, down my tight stomach, admiring my muscle tone in my pelvis and my thighs. My vagina has a light dusting of hair as it has been a little minute since I got my last Brazilian wax. I run my fingers through the hair there and make the mistake of grazing my clit.
“Ah,” I breathe as the heat from the refused orgasm ignites again. I press my hand down over my sex, one finger sliding inside, and I sink into the stimulation.
“Ah!” I whimper again as I throw my head back and lose myself. The feeling is exquisite, and I am on fire. I thrust into my finger, wondering at the feeling I’m bringing myself.
“Fuck, you look so good.” His voice nearly breaks my concentration. I actually forgot he was there.
Right, Steele, you have a mission here. Enough wiggling your bean.
Just a little longer… I won’t come.
Yeah, good luck with that.
I throw my legs over his arms still tied down to the armrests and I pleasure myself while sitting on the ottoman in front of him.
“Oh, Ana, you’re so wet,” he encourages. “Go deeper. It looks so good.”
I follow directions and go deeper and cry out from the ecstasy.
“It’s so hot, Christian,” I say, “and tight. It feels so good.” I’m breathing heavily and I start to sweat a bit. I lick my lips and pinch my nipple and right before I come, I stop. “Ah! Ah! No, no, not yet,” I pant. That was fucking close. I make eye contact with Christian and his eyes are fire again. That drove him nuts because I just denied myself an orgasm… for the third time.
I rise from the ottoman and straddle him again, pushing my boobs together and pressing my breasts into his mouth.
“Suck!” I say salaciously, and he obeys, pulling a nipple into his mouth sucking and licking expertly. I don’t know where I got this bright idea because this can make me come, too. His skills bring me to the edge like they always do and now I’m all hot and horny which of course makes him hot and horny.
“I can smell your arousal, baby,” he says against my breast.
“Of course, you can smell me. I’m unbelievably hot for you,” I state the obvious. I reach down and grab his cock, pumping it with my fist between my legs. He groans and intensifies his technique on my breast. Oh, shit…
“Stop,” I say soft and longing and he releases my nipple immediately. I moan a little as I sit down on the ottoman, his semi-erection still in my hands. I concentrate on his cock—his beautiful pink cock. I put a little more oil on my hand and set out to give him a full hand job while R. Kelly is telling us to bump and grind.
“Oh, Ana,” he breathes as his semi-erection becomes a full erection. I work my oily hands up and down his shaft in opposing circles, first soft and fast and then strong, tight strokes from base to tip. He’s going to have to give in soon because dammit I want to come, and I said I would wait until he did. This is starting to kill me.
“Damn. Your hands are magic!” he groans as his dick pulsates in my hands. I work him some more, stroking that beautiful piece of meat in my hands and loving every minute of it. I’ve slowed down enough that he can stroke into my hand and I see his leg tremble a bit. Time to wrap this up. I grab the head of his dick and stimulate—stroke and squeeze—just the top half and most sensitive part, from middle to head. With my other oily hand, I massage his balls.
“Christ! Oh, Christ!” He stiffens again, his hips thrust forward to absorb the pleasure. “Oh… G… God, Ana… y… you’re… magnifi… cent!” he chokes just before his orgasm. Yes, I know.
“Look at me,” I command as I clamp both hands on his dick again and pull repeatedly. He opens his eyes just in time to watch his come spray over my tits.
“Oh fuck! God, b… baby! F… fuck,” he stutters as his leg bounces violently and he chokes over his release. I’m not even giving him a chance to recuperate from this one. What I have planned next will do all the work for him and blow his fucking mind.
Time to pull out the big guns.
I’ve waited for years to be able to do this to someone, so I’m extremely excited to see how this turns out. I reach for the cloth again and clean my breasts and then push the ottoman all the way against the foot rest of the chair. I recline the back a little more which causes Christian’s hips to go forward and up a bit. He looks at me puzzled as I open my legs around his recliner. I pull him forward and rest either of his legs on top of mine so that his legs are wide open, and his dick, balls, perineum, and anus are fully exposed.
“Oh, good hell,” he says softly, because he knows that he’s at my mercy now and that whatever I’m about to do is going to be very intense and quite memorable. I can tell that he’s preparing himself for sexual torture, as well he should. Once I have him in position, I reach down and reveal the wand.
His eyes have become a glassy gray, almost clear, and I can tell that he’s not thrilled about the idea of having this kind of toy used on him. I can only assume that it has something to do with She-Thing and her sub training, but I don’t want to think about that, and I don’t want him to think about that either. If this goes as planned, this will be the grand finale. So, I can guarantee that he doesn’t want to miss this.
“This will be all for your pleasure,” I say seductively. “I would never do anything to emasculate you or make you feel uncomfortable. Do you trust me?”
He pauses for a moment and I can still see uncertainty in his eyes. Nonetheless, he nods hesitantly.
“Good. Now I want you to sit back and relax, baby. Remember, if anything becomes too intense for you, use your sexual safe word. If you’re uncomfortable with anything, just tell me to stop, and I’ll stop immediately. Okay?” He nods again. “I need to hear you say it.” I tell him, putting my hand gently on his cheek.
“Okay. Yes, I understand. I’ll tell you to stop if I don’t like it,” he says softly, almost like a child. What did she do to him? Part of me almost doesn’t want to do this, but the sexual sensual Bitch is jumping up and down and daring me to back out now. I kiss him gently on his lips, then his chest, then his stomach before I push his shoulders back to recline the chair then sit on the ottoman in front of him—my legs open and his legs open. He’s laid out in front of me like the sacrificial lamb. If he has anything left after this one, I’ll declare him the winner and sex his brains out. I’ve let three orgasms pass me by so that I could keep my passion and my nature up and I could screw a damn light pole right now! Let the sexual torture begin!
He’s completely flaccid as he had his most recent orgasm not 10 minutes ago. I cover my hands with the massage oil and gently caress his balls. He’s watching me carefully and he’s still unsure about this. He’s going to have to relax. I move one hand further down and back to his perineum and his anus, only spreading oil on the skin on the outside. I know that his prostate is right behind the perineum and ultimately, the most intense stimulation would be a finger in his butt and a direct massage of the prostate. However, I have a feeling that She-Thing has done something cruel or unthinkable to him—something that made his beautiful gray eyes turn white at the mere thought of a toy near his genitals—so invasive ass-play is out.
I continue to gently massage his testicles, applying a small amount of pressure as I rub the perineum. I look seductively into his eyes and lick my lips as I massage him, and I feel his body relax just a fraction with that gesture.
“Only for you pleasure, okay?” I say softly. He nods again.
“Yes… okay,” he responds, his voice barely audible. I can hear the simultaneous fear and arousal when he speaks. I reach under his balls and tickle his anus and he stiffens again. I stand and place a gentle kiss on his lips.
“Relax,” I whisper.
“Okay.” His voice is shaking a bit. I put more oil on my hands and massage his testicles some more. When I hear his breathing slow a bit, I begin to gently massage his penis with my oily hands—no stroking, just gentle rubbing. He’s starting to twitch just a bit, so I continue to rub the oil on his penis and testicles, holding my hands vertically on his manhood and allowing it slide between my fingers as I bring my palms back down to his balls. After a few moments of this massage, I can feel Christian start to relax and his sex starts to respond to my touch.
Now it’s time for the wand. When I turn it on, he immediately tenses again. I don’t make eye contact with him this time. He has to know that I’m confident that he’ll enjoy what I’m about to do. I set the wand on its second lowest setting and place it gently on his perineum just under his balls so that his scrotum and his prostate get a nice little humming vibration from the outside. He jumps and tenses for a moment, but with the chair slightly reclined, there was nowhere that he can run.
I don’t make any sudden moves… and still no eye contact. I gently move the wand over his perineum, rubbing the top of his scrotum and softly pressing them into the wand. He slowly begins to relax again, and I think he’s beginning to enjoy the sensation. Good, I knew that he would. He seems afraid to close his eyes—he wants to watch. He doesn’t want any surprises, but he’s starting the clench the arms of the chair slightly and after a minute or so, his balls begin to jump. They are once again getting hard along with his shaft and starting to fill the nut sack.
I guess he finally decides to trust me because his head falls back and his chest starts to rise and fall intensely. The flag will be flying at full-staff once again in just a few moments. Every so often, a deep quite moan escapes with his breathing. That’s right, baby. Let it happen. I’m going to make you feel so good… and forget about whatever it is that bitch did to you.
I increase the setting on the wand just one notch, and I know that he’s getting a good and constant vibration on his prostate. I know it’s not high enough to be uncomfortable, but I have to wait to see if it’s high enough to be productive since I’m massaging from the outside and—let’s face it—this is my first time trying this. I know what’s supposed to happen, I just don’t know if it will. I move it around just a bit and apply a small amount of pressure. I think it’s having the desired result because Christian starts to twitch a bit—a little reaction to the stimulation. His eyes are screwed shut and I can see the sweat starting to form on his chest, which is rising and falling faster than before.
“Do you want me to stop?” I say softly without removing the wand or ceasing the rotation.
“Yes…! No…! I don’t know… no! Don’t stop!” His voice is very breathy, and he never raises his head. His fingers are stretched out straight and his palms are flat… hard onto the armrests like they’re stuck there. This is a new feeling for him, I know. Allowing someone anywhere near his prostate would put him at their mercy… in a position of weakness, so to speak—and Master Grey does not do weakness, nor are you likely to find him at anyone’s mercy. Yet here he is, trusting me not to violate him when all the signs indicate that he has been violated this way before. I’m even more determined to make sure that he never forgets this experience, but I have to be careful not to make him come too soon. We just want the milk… the orgasm comes later, and it will be insane!
Christian is now panting, and his dick is getting harder and harder, but I won’t touch it because that stimulation is sure to lead to his release. I’m still only massaging the prostate with a gentle stroke now and then on the balls. His dick is once again turning that shade of pink with the purple veins and now, he’s so aroused that his dick looks like a tree truck—every vein protruding from his skin. Careful, Steele, that bomb is going to blow before you’re ready.
I lean down and blow gently on the head in an attempt to tame the monster.
“Ah! Ana!” he mewls. That’s different. He mewled! Hmm… I think I’m going to like this. I know that his penis is tender from the number of times that he has already come which is why I’m almost sure this will be our finale, but the pleasure that he’s feeling right now is overriding any tenderness or discomfort. What’s more is that he can’t do anything to stop this arousal because I’m stimulating one of the three glands that is the direct cause for arousal and ejaculation. The other two are building up nicely in his balls for the final “presentation.”
Christian is gently pressing back against the wand intensifying the depth of the vibration to his perineum and subsequently, to his prostate. He’s now sitting on the very edge of the chair and his legs are open as far as they can go. This is delicious! He looks so sexy and vulnerable like this and it’s everything I can do not to stick a finger into my pussy and just come all over his sexy ass! I push the wand back against him, giving him the pressure that he’s seeking and here comes the first milking.
Wow! I did it… without having to invade his asshole!
It’s white, like I expected, but very watery—not thick at all since the other two components of come are not present—and there are only a few drops of it escaping from the slit at the mouth of his erection, maybe five or six drops at the most. Now I’ve done my research and with each milking, all of the milk has to come out and sometimes it needs a little help. I take my free hand and run my thumb against the length of his penis over that thick vein in the front, then squeeze the rim of his head gently to release the drops of watery white fluid. There’s no stroking or groping or this party will be over. This feeling is supposed to be pleasurable and refreshing, but not like an orgasm.
Sure enough, Christian is moaning gently between pants, his head thrown back almost in a state of comfort and resignation, beautiful sun-kissed fiery copper hair hanging from his scalp over the back of the chair. He has never had his prostate milked before and I’m certain that this is a whole new experience for him. He’s not jerking or twitching at this moment. He’s holding very still, riding out whatever sensation there is from the massage and the milking. There’s no tension in his body whatsoever—except of course the rock-hard dick—and he begins gently pressing against the wand again for that penetration to his prostate. The look on his face, his body reaction, and even his gentle moaning, is almost like he’s in a subconscious state all by himself… and I don’t say a word. I’m only going to bring him pleasure and he’s going to take from this experience what he needs.
When his first milking is over, he slowly raises his head trying to breathe. His breath is staggered like he has held it for a while. He relaxes his hips for a moment while he tries to take in oxygen.
“How does it feel, baby?” I ask softly. Watching his reaction is making me so hot, I’m only too certain that my voice is dripping with sex, but my boyfriend is too far gone to notice.
“Good… It feels good… It feels good…” he whispers between pants before dropping his head back again. Now I’ve seen the videos where men have used stimuli to milk themselves up to eight times in a session. We won’t be doing that to Mr. Grey. This man has already come four times. My hat goes off to him, he’s a fucking machine—pun intended. A few more minutes of gentle stimulation and one more milking and we should be reading to put the icing on the cake, so to speak.
I increase the setting on the wand once again and gently rub his penis, just enough to bring the blood a little more to the surface, but not enough to cause the volcano to erupt. Now he’s back to gripping the arms of the chair again and the sweat in forming more and more on his body… his hair starting to turn dark brown where it has come in contact with his perspiration. I can tell that the intensity is starting to get to him. Now I’m alternating between my oily hand and the wand on his perineum and his balls. While massaging his balls with the oily hand, I have the wand on prostate. When I run the wand up the perineum to his balls, I rub the prostate area with my oily fingers. He actually yelps at the feeling since my finger occasionally wanders to bundle of nerves that is his anus, but I don’t break the barrier, and the wand is now stimulating the sack that will empty for our “swan song.”
“Oh, Ana… oh my God… oh, that feels so good…” Again… different… His voice is probably three keys higher than I’m accustomed to and he almost sounds like he’s softly whining. I have never in my life heard this man this aroused… I swear, he sounds like me. He’s working to control his breath and still moaning his pleasure. He starts to jerk again, and soon the milky watery liquid is dripping from his erection again.
“Oh… oh… oh… oh… oh…” he moans with each breath. He sounds like he is floating! I’m a little jealous! This man is off on a sexual starship and he has left me behind! Oh well, the show must go on.
Once I’ve jerked the rest of the milk from the head, I know it’s time for the big one. I increase the speed of the wand once again. It’s now set on the setting below its highest setting. The highest setting might send him to the moon and he’s already on a starship! Maybe we’ll test that theory… I start working the wand slowly up his dick. Now he’s really starting to squirm since the vibrations are directly on his shaft. He’s thrusting forward a bit and his legs begin to tremble. His feet are flat on the floor and his butt is starting to rise out of the chair. His abs are rock hard, tensed beautiful and on display, and he’s completely at my mercy. His head thrown back and high-pitched—well, high-pitched for Christian anyway—cries of ecstasy shamelessly escape his throat while his erection is subjected to my will and the vibrations of the wand.
As he’s obviously approaching his orgasm, his body is tensed and almost completely straight in this recliner, his feet still on the floor and his dick still thrusting forward into the vibrations of that wand. At one point, he actually picked up the chair… which is pretty lightweight anyway. His poor dick is pulsating and bouncing around like crazy. Purple is an understatement… he’s so engorged, he’s almost blue! I’m still relentlessly running this wand slowly up and down his erection and now picking up speed the closer I get to his head. I sit the wand at the base for a few seconds, and he’s standing again, his mouth hanging open…
“Ah… (pant)… ah… (pant)… aah… (pant)… aaah… (pant)… aah…”
I’ve got him on the run now. I roll the palm of my free oiled hand around on the head of his dick and there’s nowhere that he can go, although I’m sure that he would have taken flight at that moment if he could.
“Mmmmmmmm! Mmm! Mm! Mm! Mm!” Oh, he can’t take much more of this, I’m sure. His nuts are literally dancing now! I lean down and lick them salaciously, running my tongue over every part of his exposed skin and pulling them gently into my mouth, one by one, teasing them with my tongue and letting them pop out through my lips—all while moving the wand along the bottom half of his dick and my hand around the head. His legs are shaking violently, and I don’t know how they are holding him up.
“Ana… h… h… God… h… h… Ana…” his voice is barely a whisper and he’s suddenly drenched in sweat… like someone threw a bucket of water on him! I switch my hand and the wand… hand at the base and the wand at the head…
…and my boyfriend becomes a bitch.
“Aaaaaaaaaahh!” He is wailing! When I say wailing, I mean mourning widow wailing! I think it was more from the surprise at first and then from the sensation. I mean let’s be realistic—blue-purple highly engorged aroused penis head meets powerful wand on its second to highest setting. Hmmm…
I squeeze the base of his dick, stroking madly, still licking his balls while I run the wand on the underside of his shaft from the center up to that little sensitive spot right under the head. He’s shamelessly lost in his arousal. His cries are higher than I’ve ever heard, and his dick is harder than I have ever seen. Time to end this torment.
I put the wand on its highest setting and stabilize his dick with my free hand, pressing the wand against the vein and the head at a faster pace to push him to orgasm. We had to build up to this because if we had jumped to this in the beginning, he would be hurting before his release. As it stands, I expect for him to not be able to do anything once this is over. Each time that wand moves up to the head, I get a high-pitched moan out of him, so I know he’s about to come. I know there was a tiny buildup in his balls now from the fluids that weren’t released during the prostate milking. So, although I expect an ejaculation, I don’t expect it to be huge.
Boy, was I wrong!
I don’t dare stop moving this wand or release my hand and right when I see that the pulsating has reached the fever pitch and he is about to let go, I move the wand right to the underside of the head to that sensitive part at the rim and leave it there.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH GGGOOOOOOOOOOODDDDDD!” He cries out high and loud and explodes wildly! I could hear him echoing off the mountain! I swear, they had to hear him on the big island! And he is spurting… hard! I’m moving the wand up and down at the head only about an inch and his first spurt shot clean up to his chest, leaving a trail from his chest to his stomach. He spurts like that six more times, each spurt a little shorter than the last. I keep that wand going until he stops screaming and trembling, because his dick is still hard, and he’s still pushing against the wand. He’s now sitting back in the chair, his head drooped forward, completely out of breath, drenched in sweat and covered in his own come.
“Stop… stop… no more… please… no more…”
And there it is. I told you that you would beg me to stop. I turn off the wand and drop it on the floor.
A/N: Soundtrack for this chapter:
Donna Summer – Love to Love You baby (extended version)
Silk – Freak Me
Maxwell – Til The Cops Come Knocking
R. Kelly – Bump N Grind Remix
Marvin Gaye – Sexual Healing and Let’s Get It On (not mentioned in the story)
When I did the French Kiss, I gave you a link to medical diagram of the vagina. If you would like a medical diagram of the penis, it is here:
I searched a lot of sources, but if you are interested in learning more about prostate massage, some good information can be found at these two sites:
You’ll find some good videos if you search on YouTube as well (yes, really!).
Pictures for this chapter are at http://www.pinterest.com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele-the-trip-to-anquilla/
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.