Becoming Dr. Grey: Chapter 42—The Ties That (Should) Bind

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 42—The Ties That (Should) Bind


“Thank you, Jason,” I say when we return to Grey Crossing on Saturday evening. I had a little errand to run and with good intelligence, the right staff, and a little cooperation from the right people, it went off without a hitch and I’m back before dinner.

So I guess I never really understood the draw of the hookah bar. You go into this dark place. There might be loud music or no music; you have fruit bowls or tea or soda or whatever; and you all puff on this peace pipe that has fruity smoke in it and ponder life.

Yeah, okay… whatever floats your boat.

Whatever the case, dressed like a couple of black-clad ninja beatniks complete with sunglasses and baseball caps, Jason and I park a few blocks away and travel to one such locale on Saturday evening while Chuck continues his visit with his parents. We are floating surprisingly unnoticed through this establishment looking for one melon-clad bitch who may or may not be melon-clad this evening. It doesn’t take long to spot her. I seriously set my sights to find the tackiest girl in the room and zeroed in on her in seconds.

She’s wearing an oversized tan sweater that has truly seen better days. The sweater actually looks like it’s been frayed on the sides—like someone took a perfectly good cable-knit sweater and destroyed it… and she’s wearing it as a dress with a pair of army green, over-the-knee, fishnet, peep-toe boots. Somewhere, I’m sure this outfit is supposed to be stylish, maybe on the runways of Paris or something. However, I didn’t get the memo. Ana would ignite my twitchy palm if she dared ever leave the house in this catastrophe.

I prepare to settle in and wait for her to move, but as luck would have it, before my butt could find a seat, she’s on her way to the restroom. Perfect! I gesture to Jason, who nods and falls in a few feet behind me as I follow this bitch to the bathroom.

I wait for a second before I enter the facilities, much to the dismay of one shocked redhead touching up her lipstick in the mirror. I don’t say a word. I don’t remove my glasses. I just stare at her reflection in the mirror for a few seconds.

Needless to say, she thinks it best to leave.

After checking the other stalls and ensuring that only the hideous peeptoe army boots remain, I lock the door and wait.

After a respectable amount of time, I hear a toilet flush and Ms. Wilson emerges from the stall.

“What the…?” She’s clearly startled to see a man in the ladies’ room.  She digs in her purse for something, but I don’t give her the chance to find it. Her horror is compounded when she finds her purse and its contents splayed all over the bathroom floor with a quick swipe of my hand. She opens her mouth to scream and I put up my finger.

“You don’t want to do that,” I growl, employing my most menacing Domme voice. I could swear I see her tremble. I remove my hat and glasses so that she can see who I am.

“Mr. Grey… Christian!” she says, in disbelief.

“You were expecting someone else?” I ask, sardonically.

“You don’t think it’s odd that you’re in the ladies’ room?” she asks. “There are cameras everywhere.”

“First of all, nobody knows that I’m here. Nobody has a clue. There’s just some guy in all black that followed you into the bathroom. With your reputation, one of your admirers, no doubt. Second of all, there are no cameras in the ladies’ room. It’s against the law. So it’s my word against yours and who the hell do you think anybody is going to believe, especially since none of my cars are anywhere on the premises? As far as anybody knows—my staff, my wife, anybody—I’m entertaining out of town guests at my home. And speaking of my wife, exactly what people do you know… bitch?”

The color leaves her face as she ascertains the purpose of my visit. I made it clear to her that she wasn’t my favorite person when she was in my home, but apparently, she didn’t get the message. Let’s try again.

“I could break your scrawny little neck right now and walk right out of here.”

“But you won’t,” she says bravely.

“Oh, I won’t?” I say, employing my Dom voice as I begin to walk forward, backing her against the wall. “You came on to my wife,” I growl. “Do you have any idea how much I love her? How much I worship her? How obsessed I am with her?” I hiss. “Is it unhealthy? Probably so. Do I care? No! You came on to her, to my wife! To my goddess! So that makes you Public Enemy #1, but what’s worse… for you… is that you threatened her. That was a grave mistake on your part, little lady, a grave mistake.” I put one gloved hand around her neck and squeeze just enough to cause discomfort.

“Don’t be so sure that I won’t break your neck,” I breathe into her face, “because if the wind blows the wrong way in her direction, I’m coming for you, and nothing on Earth will be able to save you. Do you understand?” Glassy eyes focus on mine as she nods her understanding and I slowly release her neck. I take a few moments to breathe, count, and pop my neck.

“You may not believe this, but she made me a better person. If she hadn’t, you’d probably be dead by now. She taught me a lot and that’s why I’m so protective of her. I can lay down that better person at will, as you just saw. She can teach you to be a better person, too, if you allow her. She has the ability to bring out the best in people and unless you’re just a flaming whore who wanted to fuck another man’s pregnant wife, you saw that when you first met her. You have the opportunity to have her help bring out the best in you and help you grow. If you can’t do that, then walk away before it costs you more than just your goddamn trust fund!” I lean in close to her and put my finger on her lip in a “shush” position.

“I was never here,” I breathe in her face. “Are we confused about that?” She shakes her head, whimpering slightly. She’s terrified. I almost feel sorry for her, but she should have thought of that when she threatened my wife. “Good.” I smile and wink at her before exiting the same way that I came in.

I only need to remove the hat, sunglasses, and sweatshirt to look like a normal human being again before I enter the house. I saw that Lawrence was in the booth when we arrived, so Butterfly is already here. I wonder how long they’ve been here and I don’t bother stopping to ask him. We enter through the mud room and come in through the back of the house. As I walk through the lower level of the house, I see my wife staring into Atlantis. I take a deep breath and approach her.

“Hey, Baby,” I say, walking up to her. She looks at me and frowns. She looks back towards the elevator and back at me.

“Where are you coming from?” she asks. Shit, busted. She must have already known that I wasn’t down here.

“Truthfully?” I ask, as I slip my arms around her.

“No, lie to me,” she says sarcastically. I sigh.

“I paid a visit to the young Ms. Wilson,” I say. It takes a moment to sink in before she says, “Courtney?” I nod. She shakes her head.

“How did that go?”

“I think she’s all hot air,” I say, “but let’s just say she’s on notice.” She shrugs.

“Well, this should be interesting,” she says. “I saw Addie today and she was none too pleased about the information that I gave her concerning her beloved granddaughter.”

“Ew,” I say.

“Exactly. It escalated quickly and at one point I thought we might come to blows.” My eyes narrow.

“You’re not serious.”

“Yes, I am,” she tells me. “But no worries, crisis averted. I just think young Courtney might be in for the surprise of her life.”

“She might need it,” I say.

“’Might’ is not the word,” Butterfly says. “Keri had a little breakdown.”

“Really?” I ask, furrowing my brow. She nods.

“She’s lamenting over when she has to leave,” she says. “Apparently, she and Chuck have had the ‘coastal relationship’ conversation at some point, and hearing him tell Maddie that one day they may get married, just not now, made it very real to her that in a month and a half she’s going to have to leave. She was on the covered lounge again, but I made her come inside.” Oh boy. I know she told me that because of the whole spanking thing.

“Butterfly…” I lament.

“I just wanted you to know that I wasn’t in the cold, okay?” she says, beseeching and dismissing at the same time.

“Okay,” I concede. “Where is she now?”

“She’s gone to their suite to take a nap. She had a cry out and I suppose she won’t be back before dinner.”

“Speaking of which,” I say, putting my arms around her and my children and kissing her on the temple, “how about we go see how that’s coming along and get you and my family fed?” I sigh.

“I’m going to need a nap myself, Christian. I’m mentally and physically exhausted. There’s been quite a bit squeezed into this little day.” I pull her close to me.

“Then I guess I’ll just have to tuck you in, but no sleeping through dinner for you, young lady.”

“Yes, sir,” she says with a salute before I take her hand and walk her to the elevator.


After Butterfly’s nap, we have a very cheerful and jovial dinner, full of laughter and stories of Chuck’s childhood. Surprisingly, he and Joseph were good friends as young boys. Unfortunately, Chuck’s drinking put the kibosh on that, and we get the feeling that Joseph never forgave him for it. However, that fact that Joseph’s bitterness has carried him well into his adult years and cause him to blame Chuck for all of his woes is unreasonable and a cross that Joseph has to bear all on his own.

Keri does eventually join us midway through dinner looking refreshed and vibrant, and she clings to Chuck for the remainder of the evening, much to his delight. Mrs. Davenport often throws inconspicuous smiles and glances in their direction when they exchange affectionate gazes, tender kisses, or gentle strokes of the other’s hand. Keri seems to have recovered from her melancholy and appears intent to seize the day with her man. I, of all people, completely understand that concept.

We’ve all retired back to the family room where Chuck and his parents have spent most of the day. Chuck, Keri, Mrs. Davenport, and my wife are all looking at pictures of Chuck’s extended family projected onto the television screen from Mrs. Davenport’s email on Butterfly’s laptop. Mr. Davenport, however, is not in attendance. I decide to go in search of him, but didn’t have to go far. I locate him on the patio just off the family room. After retrieving my bomber jacket from a nearby coat closet, I go out and check on him.

“Are you okay, Mr. Davenport?” I ask. He turns around and I notice that he’s smoking a pipe.

“Surely, by now we should be on a first name basis, don’t you think?” he says with a raised eyebrow. I shrug one shoulder and walk over to him standing between the crick beams. “I never smoke indoors,” he continues. “I don’t think anybody else should ever be subjected to my bad habits unless they choose to.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” I tell him.

“I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for my boy,” Nelson says leaning over that banister.

“He’s done far more for me, sir… for my family. He is family now. My wife considers him a brother.” I snicker to myself. “I fired him once,” I say. His father looks over at me. “My wife and I had a falling out—a bad one—before we got married. She left me. I’m a hothead. I called off the wedding.”

“Oh, that one,” he says. “We’ve all had that one.”

“So I’ve heard,” I continue. “I fired him for losing sight of her, like it was his fault that she was gone. He took off after her, found her and stayed with her until she decided to come back. They’re inseparable.” His brow furrows.

“Does that ever worry you?” he asks. I shrug.

“It did, only once, but it’s only too clear how they feel about each other. Besides, I have no doubt that my wife adores me as much as I worship her, and Chuck is madly in love with Keri.”

“Yeah… Keri,” he laments. “Anguilla—she’s not a citizen.” My brow furrows.

“No…” I say expecting.

“She’s going to have to go back. She’s going to leave him.” Oh, yeah, that. I sigh.

“Yeah,” I concur, “none of us are looking forward to that, not even Keri.”

“Isn’t there something that can be done?” he asks hopeful. “Naturalization or something?”

“There’s a lot of things that can be done,” I tell him, “but we won’t do them unless they say so. Chuck can keep her here on his own if he wants. He has no expenses—besides his little house in Bainbridge. He’s paid very well, so most of his money is his own. That’s not an issue, but even if it were, we love Keri. We wouldn’t hesitate to help them with anything that they needed if that’s what they asked, but we won’t interfere if they don’t.” he nods.

“I understand that,” he says. “My boy. My boy is alive and doing very well. He has friends and a great life. I’ve felt so guilty for so many years, that I couldn’t help him, that I couldn’t save him. It hurt so bad. Joe tried to say that he was protecting us, but he wasn’t. He’s bitter. He blames Chuckie for everything that went wrong in his life and I have no idea why. Yes, Chuckie ruined the cake at his wedding, but that’s the only thing that Chuckie did to Joe… the only thing. The condition of Joe’s life before and after Chuckie left was completely Joe. We hurt because we couldn’t help him, because we couldn’t fix the problem, but the person most hurt by Chuckie’s drinking was Chuckie.

“We wanted to help him. We wanted to fix what was wrong, but he went and fixed it on his own. He tried to tell us, and Joe headed him off all these years. All these years we lost…” His voice cracks. “All the pain… We’re mourning the death and loss of our son and he was alive all this time.” He shakes his head. “I won’t ostracize Joe. I don’t hate him, but I’ll never forgive him for keeping Chuckie from me.” I look over at him.

“Try not to hold the grudge too long, sir,” I tell him. “The pain will eat you up and it can destroy you.” He looks back at me.

“You sound like you speak from experience, son.” I nod and look out at the water.

“Unfortunately, I do, sir,” I confess. “My wife saved me, taught me a lot, but that kind of pain will make you shut the world out,” I add looking over at him. He nods and turns to the lake.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, with a sigh. “I wish the family could see him. We’re close—my siblings, my wife’s sisters, Sunny and the kids… They’d be shocked as shit to find out that Chuckie’s still alive.” Of course, I get an idea as soon as he says that.

“How hard would it be to get them to Seattle?” I ask. He looks at me.

“They don’t have money like me, son… or time. They can’t just pick up and leave like that,” he says somberly.

“Well, what if money wasn’t an issue? How many of them do you think we could get here by, say, Christmas?”

“That’s four days, Christian!” he exclaims. “Finding flights for these people would be a nightmare! Accommodations this close to Christmas?” He’s thinking like a civilian.

“No offense, Nelson, but money talks,” I tell him. “I have a private jet that can seat up to sixteen on short notice—more, with slight renovations, but we don’t have that kind of time. If we need commercial flights, they’re not hard to find as long as you’re willing to pay for them. There’s not a hotel in Seattle that won’t empty every room they have for me. Even down to calling the members of your family and making the arrangements, I have staff for that. All we need is a list and a phone number for everybody that you want to come. You would have to compose a group email and shoot it out to everybody so that they know we’ll be contacting them. We can have arrangements for everybody that can make it by the 23rd. Everybody that can’t, we’ll Skype them in.” His eyes grow large, then his shoulders drop.

“I can’t ask you to do that,” he says.

“You’re not asking,” I interject. “I’m offering. With everything that you’ve been through and Chuck’s been through, this would be the perfect Christmas gift for him. There’s no way I could repay him for what he’s done for my family. There’s no dollar amount in the world. To me, this is a very small thing to show him what he means to us… how much we appreciate him.” His lips form a thin line. He’s a man’s man and he doesn’t like to let his emotions get away from him.

“My son is one lucky fella,” he says, smiling a tight smile at me.

“Thank you, sir, but we’re the lucky ones.”

Nelson and I stand on the patio banging out the details of “Operation Davenport Family Reunion.” He’s quickly firing off emails to key members of his family that can help contact others while I notify Andrea and Luma that we have a massive undertaking on our hands that involves possibly getting upwards of fifty people into Seattle with accommodations along with a ballroom and a Christmas meal in four days. And this is Saturday night.

Andrea wants to kill me.

We had no idea that we had been standing in the cold for over an hour until Maddie comes outside to ask us what the hell we’re doing. My wife is trailing behind her, wrapped tightly in an afghan.

“My phone is going insane, Nelson. Vivian is texting me from Chicago talking about coming here for Christmas! What’s going on?” Maddie inquires.

“Ssshhh!” Nelson chides. “Did you say anything in front of Chuckie?”

“No, I came out here to find out what the hell is going on.”

“Christian?” My wife says my name in that expecting tone.

“Yes, Butterfly, I’m trying to get his family here for Christmas… the whole family. And it’s a surprise,” I reveal. Maddie’s eyes grow large.

“Christian, that’s very nice, but that’s a lot of family!” she says. Nelson scoffs, and Maddie looks over at him.

“That little phone in his hand,” Nelson begins, pointing at my blackberry, “that little piece of machinery… magic!  Magic, I tell you. Mere mortals shouldn’t have that kind of power. Get ready, Momma. Christmas is coming to Seattle.” Maddie’s mouth falls open and Butterfly gingerly places her fingertips over her lips and giggles.

“Santa Claus,” I hear her say softly under her breath…


Maddie and I have to occupy Chuck and Keri for another hour while Christian and Nelson conspire to get the Family Davenport to Seattle for Christmas. Magic, indeed! By the time we’re saying Goodnight to Mr. and Mrs. Davenport and turning in for the evening, Christian has reserved a block of 25 rooms at the Fairmont Olympic along with the Garden—a 5100-square-foot, multi-level, botanical ballroom—for the main event, including conference Skyping capability for those who won’t be able to make it.

The main event will consist of a re-meet and greet for Chuck to get reacquainted with his family followed by a traditional Christmas dinner and dance where the Family Davenport will have a gift exchange. Those who are able will exchange gifts and those who are not will find that Christian has taken care of that problem for them. The morning after Christmas will bring a spectacular brunch—again, in the Garden—before the Davenport family begin to make their way back to their various destinations. The GEH jet and three pilots will leapfrog over the next two days combined with various first-class commercial flights to make sure that everyone that wants to attend will be able to get to Seattle.

Nelson and Andrea have tag-teamed most of the family and those members are in the process of tag-teaming others. Special instructions have been given not to contact Joseph by any means as this is a surprise for Chuck and if Joseph gets wind of it, he’s likely to let the cat out of the bag just to be spiteful. By Monday morning, we will have official head counts, travel arrangements, and final preparations for the family reunion. By Tuesday evening, most of the family should actually be in Seattle with the remainder of them arriving on Christmas morning. Christian is so excited that you would think it was his family coming together.

I’m very anxious to get over to the Radcliffs on Sunday afternoon to find out why the deliveries are being denied. This visit is much different than our visit to the Martins last year. It’s not a bad neighborhood, but the house is so run down, I don’t know how anybody lives in it, much less a newborn. It’s my understanding that Mr. Radcliff does have a job, but he just started working, so it’s very rough on the family right now, as evidenced by the fact that their phone is disconnected. Christian has to help me up the walkway to the very small stoop that leads to the front door. I have to knock a few times to get an answer. Just as we are about to leave, the door snatches open abruptly and a man in a work uniform with dark hair just stands there looking at us—no greeting, he’s just looking at us.


“Mr. Radcliff?” I ask. He narrows his eyes at me.

“Yeah, who wants to know?” he replies, gruffly.

“I’m Anastasia Grey. This is my husband, Christian…” He silences me by putting his hand up.

“Whatever you’re selling, we’re not buying,” he says and begins to close the door.

“Mr. Radcliff!” The force of Christian’s voice stops him from closing the door completely. I knew without looking at him that Christian didn’t appreciate the tone that he was taking with me. “We’re not selling anything. You were chosen by the Greater Seattle Adopt-A-Family Coalition to receive assistance this year for your family. It’s our understanding that you have a newborn baby…”

“Anastasia Grey?” I hear Thelma’s voice in the background. She comes to the door. My God, I thought I was small. She’s a waif of a woman… and she just had a baby?

“Thelma?” I acknowledge her.

“Yes! Hi! It’s nice to finally meet you in person.” She tries to open the door, but her husband stops her. “Jim, don’t be rude. They’re here to help.”

“You called them?” he asks, anger hidden in his voice.

“I signed up for help with the Coalition months ago. I didn’t know that we were still on the list, but thank God we are. We can get some help with food and clothes, maybe get the phone turned back on and some help with the gas bill…”

“You don’t have any heat?” I ask.

“Yes, we do, ma’am!” Mr. Radcliff snaps. “I just need to make payments on the bill, that’s all.” I can feel the tension oozing off of Christian.

“Your wife indicated that you needed help with food,” I press.

“We’re fine. We don’t need your help!” he snaps again. Thelma is trying to silence him, but Christian has had enough.

“Mr. Radcliff,” he says through his teeth, “I haven’t once disrespected your wife, so I’m going to have to ask you to watch your tone with mine.” Mr. Radcliff’s eyes narrow again, this time at Christian.

“We can alleviate that problem right now, Mr. Grey!” he hisses. He slams the door so hard in our faces that all of the windows in the front of the house shake. Thelma can be heard yelling at her husband, asking why he would turn away help that was right there in front of them. He just barks that he doesn’t need help and he can take care of his own family. Christian and I stand on the porch and listen to them argue back and forth about how they’re starving and soon will be in a cold house. He’s still trying to convince his wife that they just need a little time and they’ll be back on their feet again. We hear the baby start crying and Thelma’s voice gets faint as she goes to the back of the house to try to calm his cries.

“What kind of man is that?” Christian asks enraged. “They’re starving! They have no way to call for help if there’s an emergency! Pretty soon, they’re going to be in the cold and he just slammed the door on the answer to his troubles!”

“You don’t know what’s happening, Christian. We don’t know the whole story,” I try to defend.

“I don’t need to know the whole story. I know pride and ego when I see it! I wrote the goddamn book. He’s willing to allow his wife and child to die in there if it means that he doesn’t have to accept help from someone else. What kind of husband and father would let his family starve and freeze to death so that his pride can stay intact?” There’s a loud bang on the wall from inside the house.

“Get the fuck off my porch! You’re trespassing!” Mr. Radcliff’s voice reverberates through the paper thin walls. Christian response with a louder bang of his own that causes the windows to vibrate again.

“You got it, you selfish asshole!” he yells back.

“Christian!” I scold. He turns his glare to me.

“You’re a doctor. There’s a child suffering in there. You have to do something about it.” He silently turns and walks off the porch. Jason walks up to the porch and holds his hand out to me. I take his hand and he helps me down the stairs.

“You know he’s right,” Jason says, matter-of-factly.

“I know,” I respond as he helps me to the car. This is a topic that is very near to Christian’s heart and he can’t tolerate seeing a child suffer in any way. Neither can I, but I’m tormented by taking a child away from his mother—especially one where I can see that his mother is trying to get help.

The rest of the day is fitful. I’m trying my best to find another way to help Thelma and the baby even if her husband won’t allow it. There’s no way to do it as long as she’s in the house with him. I even ask Grace for help, for some kind of guidance that won’t result in Thelma losing her baby right before Christmas—or ever, if it can be avoided. Grace and I both regretfully come to the same conclusion. If James Radcliff won’t allow his wife and children the help they need to survive, one of us will have to contact Child Protective Services. Dealing with a man with such a volatile temper, we may have to call the police as well.

Monday morning, I’m sitting in my office at Helping Hands still pondering what—if anything—I can do to spare Thelma from the heartbreak that I’m about to bring upon her. I still have SUV’s full of clothes for her and the baby. I have gift cards that they could have used for appliances or even to pay the bills. I brought the food here to the shelter since I didn’t want it to go to waste. I have the furniture deliveries at the Crossing and at stores just waiting to know where they should go. I was supposed to be her savior and now, I’m going to be her worst nightmare. I screw up my courage and dial the number for child services.

“Anastasia, you’re needed in the community room.”

I’m both perturbed and relieved for the interruption over the intercom. Maybe I can wait until after Christmas… no. No, I can’t let that baby suffer another day. I’ve already allowed this to go on one day too long. Christian’s right. I’m a doctor and I’m bound by my oath and profession—not to mention my conscience—to report something like this when I see it. I won’t stall another second… well, maybe just one more second while I see what’s going on in the community room. My heart is heavy as I travel the short distance down the hallway. When I get to the community room, I see a sight that nearly brings me to tears.

“Thelma!” I nearly shriek.

She turns around to face me. She’s shivering and she looks more sickly than she did yesterday… and she’s been crying—still not battered or beaten, but tired and peaked. Her frail little boy is sucking hungrily on a bottle, one that came from the pantry here at the center.

“I… I…” She can barely get her words out. I lead her to a seat and she nearly falls into it. I take the baby from her weak little arms and continue to feed him.

“My… my milk stopped,” she weeps. “I couldn’t feed him anymore. J-Jim wouldn’t listen to me. Is my baby okay?” I look over at Marilyn.

“Go get Grace. Now!” She’s gone is two seconds.

“I’m so hungry,” she says through her tears.

“When is the last time you’ve eaten?” I ask her.

“I don’t know,” she says at first. “Potato chips… yesterday for breakfast.”

“Rachel!” I call to the relief worker that paged me.

“Yes, Ana?” She comes over to us, a concerned look in her eye.

“Please, go quickly. Get a bowl of soup and a turkey sandwich for Thelma.” She nods and runs off to the cafeteria. “Thelma, why wouldn’t he let you get help? Are you being abused?” She shakes her head.

“No,” she says. “He doesn’t hit me. He’s just proud—very proud. I couldn’t take it anymore. I’m hungry and sick all the time, and now I can’t produce any milk for my son.”

“Because you’re not eating enough,” I warn her. “You can’t feed him if you don’t eat.” Marilyn comes back into the room with Grace. She looks from Thelma to me and then at the child in my arms.

“Grace, this is Thelma Radcliff and this is…”

“Jimmy,” she says softly, her voice almost gone. Grace looks at Jimmy slurping hungrily on the bottle and holds her arms out for him. I put him in her arms and she continues to feed him.

“Well, hello, Jimmy,” she says sweetly. “How old is Jimmy, Thelma?”

“Four weeks,” she says weakly. Rachel finally comes back with the food I sent her for.

“Eat slowly, Thelma,” I tell her. “Take a bite of the sandwich and then some of the soup.” She nods and takes a small bite of the sandwich, then some of the soup.

“He’s a little light, Thelma,” Grace says, “but other than that, he looks pretty healthy.” She nods. “Do you mind if I sit down and take a closer look at him?”

“Not…” She clears her throat. Her voice is barely there. “Not at all. Please, do,” she replies. Grace smiles kindly and sits at a table, unwrapping the baby and looking closer at him.

“I did what I could until… the milk stopped.” Thelma takes another bite of the sandwich, almost too weak to chew. I listen to her as I watch Grace give instructions to Rachel. I hope the baby is alright.

“What are you going to do now?” I ask her. I need to know what’s going to happen to this baby. She shakes her head.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I can’t take Jimmy back there.” A single tear falls from her eye. “I can’t feed him anymore. If you can’t take me, will you please take Jimmy? Don’t let him die.”

My heart breaks immediately. I was just about to call Child Protective Services on this young mother who now sits here willing to give her child away to strangers if they just feed him and don’t let him die. I want to find her selfish, proud husband and beat his ass with a baseball bat. Rachel returns with Grace’s doctor bag and one of our baby starter kits—fresh diaper, wipes, onesie, bib, sleeper, cap, and receiving blanket.

“We’ll take you both, Thelma,” Grace says, from across the room while she’s examining Jimmy. “We’ll take care of you, okay?” Thelma breaks down into heart-wrenching sobs.

“Thank you…” she chokes, “thank you…”

“I need you to calm down and eat. Get something in your system. Maybe we can get your milk flowing again, and if not, then don’t worry. There’s plenty here for you and for Jimmy, okay?” She nods gratefully, continuing to eat her sandwich and soup. Grace has finished changing his clothes and is now burping little Jimmy since he has finished his bottle. She has checked his stomach and his diaper area. His clothes were tattered and stained, but all in all, he looks pretty good.

“You’ve done a wonderful job not to have had many resources, Thelma,” Grace tells her. “Jimmy is not sickly or malnourished. He’s a little small, but we’ll get him on a regular feeding schedule and he’ll be right as rain… and you, too.” She gives Thelma that kind smile that she gives you that makes you know all will be well in the world.

“I still have all those things Christian and I bought for you, Thelma,” I tell her. “The food is here, but I still have everything else. You finish eating, we’ll get you guys settled and you can decide what you want to do from there.” She smiles a deep sad smile.

“When I saw you on TV, I thought that they were just using you to get donations. I even saw you in that abuse commercial. I didn’t think it was real. I thought this place was front for… whatever. I was going to just ask you if you could just take my baby and…” She chokes up again, but quickly composes herself. “But now, I see you’re real. You’re a real person, not just some rich housewife looking for some camera time.”

“Yes, I’m real,” I tell her. “And I was really abused. I’m a psychologist if you need to talk, and I need you to know that being abused doesn’t always mean that you have to be hit. It could be a harsh word, or living in fear, or being deprived of basic necessities like food.” She shakes her head.

“He’s not a cruel man,” she says, “but I trusted him. He said that he would take care of us and I trusted him. I followed him, I did what he told me to do. I didn’t cross him, but when things got rough, he wouldn’t let me get help and I don’t know why. I was pregnant… I was eligible for everything, but he wouldn’t hear of it. We’re swamped in medical bills because he wouldn’t let me apply for medical assistance for me and the baby. We were eligible for food stamps, monetary assistance, housing assistance, everything, but he wouldn’t let me apply.”

“Well, you’re going to apply for all of those things now,” I tell her. “You have to, Thelma. You’ve got to take care of Jimmy. Once you’re approved, the state will retroactively pay your medical bills associated with your pregnancy.” Her eyes widen.

“They will?” she asks. I nod.

“Yes, they will, and they’ll help you with housing and food and child care and to get a job or go to school.”

“School? They’ll help me with school?” Now we’ve hit a nerve. I nod.

“Yes, they will. And once you find a place, we still have a boatload of furniture that needs to be delivered.” Her bottom lip starts to tremble.

“He told me that if anything was in the house from you guys when he got home, he was throwing it all out,” she says sadly. “He would have let us die rather than let me get help for us.” She looks down at her food and defiantly takes a huge bite of what is left of the sandwich. Good for you, Thelma! Gobble it up!

“He’s clean,” Grace tells me in a soft voice, gently rocking a now sleeping Jimmy, “really very healthy for her not to be getting the nourishment that she needs.”

“Please,” Thelma calls out to us, “don’t keep anything from me. Tell me the truth. Tell me all of it. If you have to call the police, I understand.” I frown. This woman has been through physical and emotional hell. I’ve just inherited a patient.

“No, Thelma,” I say, sitting down and taking her hand. “The truth that we need to tell you is that we need to get you well. Little Jimmy there is just as healthy as he can be, and I have no idea how you did it in the conditions that you were in. It’s amazing, but you… Thelma, you’re pale, your skin is dry, your hair looks like straw, your nails… You had a baby less than a month ago. What’s your normal pre-baby body weight?” She shrugs.

“Um, 140, 145, I think,” she guesses.

“You might be 120,” I tell her. Her eyes widen.

“That’s impossible,” she says.

“Totally possible,” I tell her. “When is the last time you’ve had a full meal?” She thinks about it. The fact that she has to think about it disgusts me. Thank God Christian isn’t here to see this. I have a feeling that there would be a certain husband unconscious in the snow right now.

“It doesn’t matter,” I tell her. “A drastic dieter can lose 15 pounds the first month of dieting. Don’t underestimate the body’s ability to lose weight.” She looks over at her sleeping baby, then down at her empty bowl.

“Would you like more?” Grace asks. She looks at her like a grateful child.

“Yes, please,” she says, softly.


Marilyn and Ben correspond with security to get a few of the items for Thelma and the baby delivered to Helping Hands so that they can have some fresh clothes, toiletries, and personal items here. I got her and the baby settled in one of the dorms tell her to relax for a while. We’ll get her paired up with the social worker later in the afternoon to get the ball rolling on the state services that she would need. If I thought that would be the most dramatic thing that would happen today, I was sorely mistaken.

“So what do I have to do to make this all go away?”

I get back to my office after getting Thelma and Jimmy squared away only to find Courtney standing defiantly in front of my desk.

“What are you doing here?” I say, almost forlorn. I thought I was done with her. She doesn’t want my help… or guidance… or whatever it is that I thought I was trying to do. So why is she back here?

“My grandmother’s not speaking to me. At all! She hasn’t spoken to me for two days! I figure this must be your doing.” My doing? My doing. This couldn’t possibly be anything that you did, huh?

“Then you send your husband to accost me in the ladies’ room at the Hookah Bar on Saturday night…” The ladies’ room? Does my husband have a thing with the ladies’ room? I frown at her.

“Look, I don’t know what they’re putting in hookah these days, but my husband and I were entertaining out-of-town guests and planning a massive Christmas party on Saturday night,” I tell her. It’s not a lie. That’s what we were doing.

“Yeah, he said you’d say that,” she says, folding her arms and leaning on my desk. “So like I said, what the hell do I have to do to make this shit go away?”

“I don’t know,” I say, walking around to my chair. “Maybe you should talk to your grandmother, but the very first thing you should do is get the fuck off my desk!” She stands up at my sharp tone, her brow furrowed.

“You won, Ms. Do-Gooder,” she mocks. “I’m at your beck and call. Now all I want is to get this shit over and get you off my back, so what do you want?” I put my hands on my desk.

“I don’t know what you think I want, but I want the same thing that I wanted the last time that you stood in that doorway and that’s for you to get the fuck out of my office,” I say with a frown. She looks at me gaped-mouthed.

“This is a joke, right?” she says, and she looks and sounds appalled. “You wanted me to heel, so I heeled! You conspired with my grandmother and I don’t know what your plan is now, but she’s never given me the silent treatment, so it has to be you! Then your husband shows up like some kind of henchman and traps me in the bathroom against the wall with his hand around my neck telling me what I can learn from the all-seeing, all-knowing Anastasia Grey…” My God, Christian can be so dramatic. “… And now I come here trying to find out the purpose of this goddamn exercise, and you act like you have no fucking clue what I’m talking about!”

I sit down and fold my arms. Apparently, Adelaide has had enough of her spoiled granddaughter and whatever she plans to do, if she plans to do anything, she’s going to do it in utter silence. The not knowing is driving Courtney up a wall. Couple that with the fact that Christian cornered her in the bathroom—no doubt to school her on the woes of threatening his wife, something that she hasn’t even mentioned in this conversation—and the only things she garnered from any of this is that this entire exercise meant that she needed to come to me and be my indentured servant for an undisclosed period of time until I tell her grandmother that she’s being a good little girl. What’s worse is that if that were the case, she doesn’t have the decency to be contrite about it.

“What in the name of all that is good and holy is it going to take for you to understand that the world does not revolve around your ass?” I scoff at her. “I’m done with this. I’ve had enough of you. If you want to be a useless sack of water with no redeeming qualities whatsoever, then so be it. I washed my hands of you last week. You say that my husband mysteriously slipped away from our company and party planning and visited you in the restroom at the hookah lounge…” I say the last part in a very mocking and disbelieving tone, “… well, what did he say? I have a hard time believing that he told you to come back here and see me after I told him that you threatened me! I don’t see him telling the person who wants to cause me harm to come back to me so that I could possibly do them some good, but that’s neither here nor there at this point, because it’s not like I would believe any fucking thing that came out of your mouth!”

“It’s true!” she wails. “I’m not making this up!”

“Yeah, and I’m secretly a biker chick at night,” I say sarcastically. Close… a Domme, not a biker chick… and only for one submissive. “What will it possibly take for you to see that human suffering does not begin and end at your feet? That you don’t have the fucking answers to every goddamn equation in the world? That rainbows and sunshine don’t originate from your eyeballs and terminate at your asshole? What is it going to take, Courtney? Is it going to take you having to get your ass on a bus back to Pawsawacky or whatever hickfuck town you came from back east, because that’s where your grandmother is headed, I can guarantee you. That’s probably why she’s not speaking to you. She’s probably tired of you knowing every goddamn thing and having it all figured out, being so fucking rebellious that nobody can tell you shit.”

Her eyes grow large at the revelation that Addie is considering sending her back to her parents. I never knew exactly where she came from because I’m not really interested, but apparently, returning to her hometown is a fate worse than death.

“You’re lying!” she exclaims. “She would never really send me back to that place!”

“I don’t give a flying fuck what you believe right now!” I shoot, my eyes blazing. “Go! Be free! Live your life! Do what the fuck you want! Inherit your millions; spend them; bathe in them; burn them, for all I care! Or go back to East Whereverthefuckyoucamefrom and flip burgers and fries in some obscure corner of the world. I don’t care! Just take your self-centered, broken, irreparable ass out of my sight! I don’t want to be around you. I don’t care what you do. I don’t give a fuck anymore! I don’t know why you’re here! This is not a conspiracy. This not a trick, a plan, or a plot to try to get you to behave. I don’t care, Courtney Wilson! I really don’t care! I want you to go the fuck away, and don’t come back. You’re not needed or wanted here. Go away!”

I’m screaming at her now. My voice brings Grace to my office door and she falls into stunned silence when she sees who I’m talking to. Courtney gazes at me and I swear she looks like she’s hurt, but I can’t feel her pain. She’s selfish and wicked and evil and I just want her out of here!

“You don’t have to talk to me like that…” she says, her voice small.

“Shut up!” I scream. “Just shut up! Your voice hurts my ears! Just leave! Just go! Go now! Tell Addie whatever you want. Tell her I failed. Tell her I’m useless. Tell her I had a nervous breakdown. Tell her my head exploded. Tell her whatever the fuck you want, just get the hell out of my office and don’t come back.” She stands there stunned, looking at me like she doesn’t know what to do. “Get out, now!” I scream, standing from my chair and pointing at the door. She bolts for the door, crying like I had hit her.

Good fucking riddance!

I stand at my desk, breathing like I’ve just run a marathon. I hear something sounding like it’s banging against something, but I don’t know what it is. My head is thumping and I immediately know that my blood pressure it up. Dammit! Right when Dr. Culley cleared me…

I hear the banging, rumbling sound again, but it must be my head. I can hear Grace tell someone to get me some water.

“Are you okay, Ana?” she asks.

“I’m fine,” I say, taking deep breaths. “Whoever’s bringing that water, have them bring me some gold compresses and ice water in a bowl.” After a few moments, some cold drinks and a few cold compresses, I finally manage to get the inner heat down a bit, but I’m still worried about what that rumbling I hear in my head until Grace says, “What’s that noise?” I look at her.

“You hear it, too?” I ask. She looks at me and immediately goes in search of the noise. Just as she points to my locked desk drawer, Marilyn and Ben both bend into the office and ask simultaneously, “Ana, where’s your phone?”

As I fumble to get the desk drawer open, I realize that the rumble was my phone. Somehow, it had been inadvertently set on vibrate, which is why I couldn’t hear it ringing. When I pull it out, eight missed calls from a certain copper-haired god. Oh, boy. Just as I’m about to dial him back, the phone starts vibrating again.

“Hello?” My voice is strained.

“Jesus, Ana, what the fuck?” My husband is not pleased.

“It was on vibrate. I didn’t know,” I whine. “Where’s the fire?”

“Yours first, I know you had one.”

“Mine was Courtney. She’s gone now.”

“Okay, that’s a fire, but we’ll discuss it later. Mine is bigger.”

“What’s your fire?

“James Radcliff.”



“Boy, that Keri is a godsend,” Nelson says. “She knows what Chuckie needs before he even asks for it. He’s been wobbling around here on those crutches all day. I’m thinking about hiding that wheelchair from him. I don’t think he needs it anymore. I know it’s not for me to say, though. He needs to hurry up and marry that Keri, though. He’s gonna be lost without her.”

“I can’t argue with you there,” I tell him. “How the operation coming along?”

“Fine so far. Nobody’s let the cat out of the bag yet. Joe’s sulking because we’re spending Christmas with Chuckie and not him. He’d better be lucky we’re not moving to the west coast after this stunt!”

Nelson is very angry with his son, but then again, I would be, too.

“Anyway, we’ve got a few coming in tonight, Chuckie’s aunts and uncles and a few of his cousins. The rest should be here tomorrow. No contingencies yet, so here’s hoping.”

“And Chuck is none the wiser?” I ask.

“Not for a second,” he says. “He just thinks his mom and the old man are sticking around for a week to catch up on old times.” Jason sticks his head in the door, frowning. I know this can’t be good.

“Well, that’s good to know. It’s looks like something just popped up her, Nelson, so I’m going to have to cut this conversation short. Make sure you call me if you need anything and if you can’t reach me, call Andrea, again.”

“Oh, no problem, Christian. Thanks again!” he says and ends the call.

“What’s going on?” I ask Jason.

“I was on my way to the cafeteria for a soda and I got a call. The police are in the lobby.” Fuck! Are you kidding me? Which one of my catastrophes is blowing up in my face now?

“Why?” I say, coming from behind my desk, intent for the elevator.

“That family we visited yesterday,” he begins, falling in line behind me.

“Ramsey?” I step into the elevator. Jason gets in and presses the lobby floor.

“Radcliff. He’s down there raving something about his wife?”

“Shit. What the fuck?”

The elevator doors open and Jason and I step out find Radcliff and two flatfoots standing in the lobby. Shit, I fucking hate cops and they don’t like me, either.

“That’s him!” Radcliff rants, pointing at me. “Where’s my wife, you asshole?” I frown hard at them. What the fuck is this?

“Mr. Radcliff, please,” one of the officers says calmly. He turns to me. “Forgive the intrusion, Mr. Grey…”

I’m immediately taken aback. Kindness? From law enforcement? Towards me? Jason is equally shocked. Okay, I can cooperate… with him.

“Can you please tell me what this is about, officer?” I say as politely as I can.

“You know what it’s about, fucker. Where the fuck is my wife?” Radcliff demands.

“Mr. Radcliff, I won’t ask you again,” the officer says, his voice calm and he stares at Radcliff, who only glares at me. “Mr. Radcliff!” He finally turns his glare to the officer. “Do you want to leave here in cuffs?”

“Why are you treating me this way? He’s the criminal!” Radcliff barks.

“Because you won’t listen, you’re acting irrational, and we haven’t established that he’s done anything wrong. Now are you going to be quiet and let me do my job or do want to leave here in cuffs?”

Radcliff is not the type of man who likes to take down to anyone. I can respect that in a man, but if you choose to be cocky, know when to use it; and by all means; have the authority and the power it back it up. This asshole has neither.

“That’s not a rhetorical question, Mr. Radcliff,” the officer repeats waiting for an answer.

“I’ll let you do your job,” he says begrudgingly, under his breath. We all notice that he didn’t say that he was going to be quiet.

“Thank you,” the officer says. “After all, you did call us.” He commands this bully with a quiet authority, and I know almost immediately that although we saw no immediate signs of abuse on her yesterday, this man’s wife has left him.

“Again, Mr. Grey, our apologies for the intrusion. I’m Officer Lockhart and that’s Officer Santiago. Mr. Radcliff here says that he came home from work for lunch and his wife and child were missing. He seems to think you may know something about it.”

“I assure you that I don’t,” I tell him. “The last time I saw this guy or his wife, I and my wife were trying to bring them food and clothing for Christmas and he turned us away!” I say, throwing my hand at the bullying bastard. “No offense, but do you normally take someone’s word who just blindly accuses someone of something like this?”

“This is very serious, Mr. Grey. We have to follow every lead, sir.” I kind of nod.

“Well, I guess you do. Let me call my wife and see if she knows anything.” I pull out my phone.

“Probably calling to tip her off,” Radcliff says under his breath. I frown at him again. What does he think, that someone has his wife and kid tied up in a basement somewhere? I look bewildered at the Lockhart, who just rolls his eyes. I can tell that he knows this is a useless endeavor, but he has to follow through.

“Call your wife, Mr. Grey,” Lockhart says. I shake my head and dial Butterfly. It rings and goes to voice mail. I end the call and dial again—same thing. I look up at Jason as I’m calling a third time.

“What is it, Boss?” he asks.

“She’s not answering,” I tell him as I call her a fourth time. “Call upstairs and have Andrea call Marilyn.” He’s dialing Andrea and I’m getting more and more agitated as I try to reach wife. This is not the time to play hide and seek, Butterfly.

“Ben, where the hell is Ana?” I hear Jason say as I’m dialing Butterfly again, and again. “Well, go fucking find her. The boss is about to have a conniption.” He ends the call. “He says she’s been at the center all day. He’s going to get her now. She’s in her office with Grace.”

“Shit, Mom!” Why didn’t I think of Mom? “Call Mom!” I say, dialing Butterfly’s number again.

“Hello?” Her soft, strained voice answers and I’m both relieved and pissed off.

“Jesus, Ana, what the fuck?” is all I can say

“It was on vibrate. I didn’t know. Where’s the fire?” she defends, sounding like a petulant child. I ask about her fire first and she tells me that the Melon Bitch showed up. Okay, we’ll have to cross that bridge later. Right now, I’ve got an angry bully, selfish ass husband in my lobby and I’m trying not to end up in front of Judge Hammer-Ass again, so we need to cut to the chase.

“He’s in my damn building with the police and he’s under the impressed that I know where his wife is.”

“Is that so?” she says. She’s not surprised. “He’s there with the police you say?”

“Uh, yeah.” She knows something.

“Put me on speaker, please.” Oh, hell. This is going to be good. I put the phone on speaker.

“You’re on, baby.”

“Can you hear me?” she asks.

“Loud and clear,” I respond.

“Can everybody hear me? Officers?” The cops look at each other, at Radcliff—who shrugs, and at my phone.

“Um, yes ma’am,” Lockhart says. “To whom am I speaking?”

“My name is Dr. Anastasia Steele-Grey,” she begins. “Thelma Radcliff came to my Center this morning, begging me to take her child because she is living in a house with no heat, no electricity, no phone, and no food. She’s been doing the best that she could for as long as she could, but this morning, her milk stopped producing so she couldn’t feed her baby anymore. Both I and the director here are doctors and have established that both Thelma and James Radcliff Jr are undernourished and Thelma’s case is severe. Her body has started to break down muscle tissue for food, she’s dangerously small to have just given birth and she should really be in the hospital.”

“So you took my wife?” Radcliff accuses.

“Do you have wax in your ears?” I ask. “Didn’t you just hear her say your wife came to the center because you kept her in a house with no heat, no lights, no phone, and no food? Was I the only one who heard that?” Lockhart starts taking notes.

“So your wife is affiliated with a charity?” he asks.

“Helping Hands,” I tell him. “She’s the assistant director.” He looks and points his pen at me.

“Oh, yeah,” he says, “I know who she is. She was in a really bad accident a little while back.” I nod.

“Yes, sir, but she’s much better now.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that. So this charity—is that how Mrs. Radcliff found you?” Lockhart asks.

“Not initially,” I say. “We’re members of the Greater Seattle Adopt-A-Family Coalition. Families in need apply to be adopted each year and the members and the chosen families are matched randomly. Mrs. Grey and I were matched with the Radcliffs.”

“I called Thelma a couple of weeks back when they still had a phone to arrange for the deliveries—furniture, appliances, clothing, food—even gift cards for department stores and cash cards for necessities… like heat!” Butterfly chimes in. Every man in the room throws a dirty look at Radcliff, but he’s oblivious to everything anyone says or does and is convinced that one of us kidnapped his wife. “When I spoke to her, I gave her my contact information at Helping Hands. That’s what led her here. It turns out that Mr. Radcliff turned away every delivery that we sent to the house and when we showed up yesterday to personally bring food and clothes, he turned us away, too.”

“Thank you, Dr. Steele-Grey. That’s what we needed,” Lockhart says.

“I’m coming down there to get my wife and son!” Radcliff barks. I clench my fist. Who the fuck is he yelling at?

“That’s completely up to Thelma, Mr. Radcliff. She came on her own free will and she can leave on her own free will,” Butterfly retorts.

“Well, I’m coming to get ‘em now, and you better have ‘em ready for me when I get there!” One… two… three…

“I’m not going to have anything ready for you, sir!” she hisses back at him. “I don’t know who you’re accustomed to speaking to that way, but you don’t order me to do anything because I am not your child. I’m glad you’re bringing the police with you, Mr. Radcliff, because if you come down here causing a disruption in this Center, I will not hesitate to have you arrested!”

“You talk all that shit now, but…” I immediately take the phone off speaker and bring it back to my ear, never taking my eyes off Radcliff.

“I’m on my way, baby,” I tell her.

“I know,” she says calmly. “I’ll see you when you get here. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” I end the call and glare at Radcliff. “I told you already that I didn’t disrespect your wife and you will not disrespect mine. Now, do you have anything that you need to say to me, Mr. Radcliff?” I say the entire speech through clenched teeth and growl his name at the end.

I don’t know what my voice, stance, or demeanor says, but there are four other men in this room—not including the guards at the security desk—and none of them move a muscle. Nobody breathes waiting to see what this fucker is going to do or say. He pushed my hot button and I glare unblinking at him. You used the wrong tone, the wrong words, and the wrong demeanor with my goddess. I will fuck you up and leave you for dead.

Hammer-Ass, here I come.

I see a once tall-standing, loud-mouthed, bully sweating at the end of a tunnel. He’s not saying a word, but buckets of water are rolling off his brow. Through the haze of red and heat and anger, I hear Jason’s voice floating towards me.

“Boss? Boss? Boss? Boss?…” He’s going to keep calling me until I acknowledge him.

“What?” I say, barely recognizing my own voice—low, grumbling… like a bear.

“Let’s go, Boss. Anastasia is waiting.” He says her whole name. He did that on purpose. It calms me a bit, but not much.

“Officers,” I growl. “I’ll take you to my wife.” My eyes never leave the sweating, blinking bully. I hear a soft voice behind me.

“Mr. Grey?”

I finally break my gaze to see Andrea standing there with my black wool coat and briefcase. Jason takes my coat from her and helps me into it and I take my briefcase.

“Thank you, Andrea,” I say, my voice softer and walk out the front door with Jason without making eye contact with Radcliff for fear that I might leave him face down in the snow.

A/N: Ana’s “Santa Claus” comment was a memory recall moment, in case you guys missed it. If you recall, Christian bought Ana a tiara in Paging Dr. Steele and when she opened it, she said, “Oh my God, I’m dating Santa Claus.” I like to throw those in every now and again.

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.

Love and handcuffs 🙂 
Lynn X


Becoming Dr. Grey: Chapter 41—Friends, Family, and Foes

If you haven’t received a personal response to your email, comment, or post, please accept this mass “thank you” because I’m having a bit of a hard time getting to everybody. Still kind of tired and still a bit under the weather, but trying to putter on.

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 41—Friends, Family, and Foes


“I need to speak to a certain young lady.”

I’m talking to Jason while we wait for Butterfly to finish her weekly de-stressing massage. She went to see Ace today and came back a little spent. I don’t know what the content of the conversation was, but she needs that massage in the worst way. I dare not tell her that her ankles are starting to swell.

“Oh?” Jason asks, with raised eyebrows.

“It’s not a social call and it won’t be pretty,” I continue. “It may be in a public place, but I need for no one to know that’s it me or that I was even in the area.” His expression changes.

“Wilson?” he asks. I nod.

“Wilson.” I confirm.



“When do you want to do this?”

“When she’s alone and we know exactly where she’s going to be,” I tell him.

“I got you covered, Boss,” he says. “It may take a few days’ surveillance.”

“That’s fine,” I tell him. “If she tries anything before then, drop her ass on sight.” He nods.

“No problem.”

So, the reason why we are waiting for Butterfly to finish her massage is because Chuck has asked us to convene in the common area downstairs. Jason gave him his parents’ contact information a few days ago and he’s been remiss to call them. He’s so uncertain about their intentions and how they feel about him, especially since he’s been trying to contact them all these years. The not knowing is really eating away at him, though. He shared with us just after the security meeting that it was like agony of Prometheus waiting for the eagle to eat his liver every day. What a gruesome analogy!

Butterfly comes floating out of her massage looking fresh as a bunny and as beautiful as ever. She’s wearing this beautiful long-sleeved wrap around maxi dress that looks like the sky, and her leg pokes out of it every time she takes a step.

“You’re trying to kill me here,” I say in her ear as she walks into my embrace.

“That doesn’t sound like a good thing,” she says with a half-smirk. I kiss her cheek.

“You look lovely and you smell delicious,” I tell her.

“Thank you, Mr. Grey,” she says coyly. I look down at her feet and see that she’s wearing slides—kitten heels. She hates kitten heels.

“I like the shoes,” I try to comfort her. They really are beautiful against her legs. She sighs.

“It begins,” she says, sadly, looking down at her foot as she points it out to the side. “My ankles are swelling.” I nod.

“Okay, that means that we need to keep you off your feet as much as possible.” I kiss her cheek. “I could carry you.” She smiles.

“You’re very sweet, Christian,” she says, returning the kiss to my cheek. “I’ll be fine, baby. Let’s focus on the task at hand. Chuck is going to need us.” I nod and take her hand. After kissing her knuckles, we walk to the elevator.

“Take your time, Chuck,” I tell him once we’re all sitting in the common area on the lower level. “You don’t have to rush.”

“I know,” he says, watching the phone like it’s going to dial itself or give him all the answers. Finally, he takes a deep breath and, while clinging to Keri’s hand, he dials the number, puts the phone on speaker and sits it on the table. It rings twice before a man picks up the line.

“Hello?” Chuck doesn’t speak for a moment. I think he’s lost his nerve. “Hello?”

“D…” He chokes, then clears his voice. “Dad?” There’s silence for a moment.

“Joe?” the man says, and my chest tightens for a moment. Chuck closes his eyes, then announces,

“It’s Chuck, Dad.” The line is silent for several more moments before a broken but bellowing voice rings,

“Chuckie? Chuckie, is that you? Is that really you? Maddie, it’s Chuckie!” he yells to someone in the background. “Chuckie’s on the phone! Chuckie, are you there?” Chuck chokes laughter through his tears.

“Yeah, Dad, I’m here,” he says weakly.

“Oh, Chuckie, it’s been so long. It’s so good… we thought… oh, Chuckie, we thought…” Mr. Davenport is weeping on the line.

“Nelson, what’s wrong?” I hear a woman say on the line. There’s some rustling and then her voice rings through, “Hello?”

“Hi, Mom,” Chuck says to his mother after over a decade.

“Joseph, what’s wrong with your voice? And what’s wrong with your father?”

“It’s not Joseph Mom it’s Chuck,” he says in one breath. There’s silence again and then a gasp.

“Oh my God!” she shrieks. “Oh my God, Chuckie! Chuckie, you’re alive! Oh my God, he’s really alive… Nelson!” His parents are nearly hysterical on the phone. This is one reunion that I wish could have been done in person, but for Chuck’s sake, I know why I couldn’t be.

“Mom, listen to me, please,” Chuck begs. His mother is weeping uncontrollably and there’s rustling on the line again before Mr. Davenport comes back.

“I’m here, Son,” he says, his voice shaky.

“Dad, I really need to see you guys. A lot has happened. My life has changed so much. I can’t begin to tell you everything. I live in Washington now…”

“Yeah, the guy who called us… he said you got a job out there, a bodyguard or something. I didn’t think it was real…”

“Yes, I went into personal protection after my tour was finished. There’s a lot I need to tell you, Dad. I really need to see you. I can’t travel right now, but I’ll fly you guys out here if you want…”

“There’s no need, Son. We’ll catch the next available flight out. We’ll be there as soon as the next bird can get us there. You just tell us where to be and we’ll get there.” I think everybody is surprised now. Joseph made it seem like they were strapped for cash.

“Dad, are you sure?”

“Yes, son, we’re sure. Wild horses couldn’t keep us away! We’ll be in the air as soon as… as soon as I can stop your mom from crying.” I almost want to laugh. Chuck does. “This is your number on the caller ID, son?”

“Yeah, Dad, that’s me,” Chuck squeaks.

“I’ll save it in my phone. As soon as I have our arrangements, I’ll call you and let you know. Washington… Seattle, right?”

“Yeah, Dad, Seattle,” Chuck says.

“The next bird, son. I’ll call you right back.”

“Okay.” There’s silence for a while again.

“It sure is good to hear your voice, Chuckie,” Mr. Davenport says.

“It’s good to hear yours, too, Dad,” Chuck chokes.

“Bye, Chuckie… for now.”

“Bye, Dad.” He ends the call and just stares at the phone for several moments. “Dammit!” He says, sobbing once more. “This bitch-boy crying shit has got to stop!”

“Well, Chuck, you’re about to see your parents after more than a decade and they thought you were dead. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the bitch-boy crying shit just started.” He does the crying-laughing thing again.

“This is the happiest day of my life,” he says through his tears.

“So far,” I tell him. “Wait until they get here.”


I have no idea why I just want to spend the evening making Butterfly come, but she gently tells me to let her rest as she has come so many times in the last two days that not only would her clit be a little desensitized to the pleasure, but it would also be a bit sore from the overstimulation. She also shares with me about the meltdown that poor Keri had yesterday because Chuck was trying to fuck her brains out. I laugh heartily and tell her that it must be something in the air and simply opt to massage her swollen ankles and feet and caress her beautiful curves and plump body while we indulge in an evening of Disney classics reclined in the luxurious bed-chairs in the theater room. Tonight’s features will be Fantasia and Snow White and The Seven Dwarves.

After one night in purgatory without my Butterfly, each morning I awake with her in my arms and my nose in her hair is paradise. I inhale deeply, still smelling a hint of vanilla and cinnamon on her skin and pulling her close to me. Mmm, it’s delightful. I snuggle into her warmth and comfort and feel our children stretch inside of her. She groans a bit as they move and I know that it’s a bit uncomfortable for her. I rub her stomach gently, putting more pressure on the point where there is the most activity—my way of chiding my children and telling them to settle down. It usually works.

“Better?” I ask as it appears our little acrobats seem to be calming a bit.

“Better,” she says sleepily as she rolls over onto her back and stretches. She opens sleepy eyes to me and I’m lost in my future. I cover her mouth with mine and use my tongue to caress hers. Mmm, she tastes so good. I feel warmth travel through my body almost immediately and culminate in my groin. Shit! She turns to face me and grasps my face, deepening the kiss. Hell, is my little soldier still irritated? I don’t care. I think she’s still tender, but I need to feel her touch. I take her hand and rub it against my groin.

“Christian…” she protests into my mouth.

“I just need you to touch me,” I breathe huskily, pushing into her hand. “I don’t need to come. I just need you to touch me.” I’m kissing her again as she grasps my erection and testicles firmly outside of my pajamas and boxer briefs, causing me to moan deep in my chest.

“Baby, you feel so good,” I whisper as I pull her closer to me, absorbing her warmth, her fragrance and her essence, consuming her kisses. We fit together when we’re side-by-side. Somehow, the children move aside and we can get close—like a puzzle. Her kisses become hungry—earnest, and she pushes her hand inside my boxers. I feel her skin against me, her palm grinding against my erection while her fingers cup and manipulate my balls. Yes!

I groan into her mouth. Fuck, her hand feels so good. I slide one arm underneath and wrap both arms around her. I fuck her hand—just a bit, I won’t come. She whimpers into my mouth and almost breaks me down. I gather her little gown in my fists and feel it rise off her ass. Cupping her bare ass, I grind into her hand and now I want to come. I really want to come.

“Christian,” she breathes against my lips, “I was wrong,” she pants. “I need you to fuck me. How is…?”

“I don’t care!” I growl. I move her hand and in record time, my erection is freed from my bottoms, her leg is over my hip, and Greystone is sinking deep into his happy place.


She gasps twice, loud and hard, like she’s been waiting her whole life for this.

“Slowly! Gently!” she gasps, clinging to my T-shirt. Her head is thrown back on the bed. I screw my eyes shut as she wraps around me. She doesn’t get it. I have to move slowly. If I move with any quickness, I’m coming in two strokes. I lay my head in her bosom and pull her close to me, very close, my hands on her bare back. She’s soft and wet and warm and tight and hot and oh my God!

“Christian, please…” she whimpers, tightening her leg around me. I push into her—gently, like she wants—and withdraw… starting a long, slow rhythm. I hold her against me, moving nothing but my hips to push my erection in and out of her core. Fuck, she’s so tight! How is she so tight?

“Christian!” she breathes, then swallows. Pulling my hair hard, she jerks my head back and thrusts her tongue into my mouth, ravaging my lips. She spurns my libido so drastically that I slam my hand against her ass instinctively, roughly grabbing the cheek and bringing her only slightly on top of me so that I can glide deeper into her. She jumps and coos into my mouth and her reaction coupled with the sting on my hand lets me know that was the right move.

She is so fucking hot.

“Fuck! Do it again!” she growls, her fingers tightening in my hair. Goddammit! Don’t thrust! Don’t thrust! My hand lands hard on her ass again and I squeeze possessively, immobilizing her, pushing her hips against me. The only movement she is allotted is the shiver of pleasure that reverberates through her body and she groans into my mouth as she assaults me with hot, delicious, passionate kisses.

Fuck, baby. You taste like sunshine and blue skies.

My dick is burning with endless pleasure as I slide in and out of her core. Her body is shaking as one of my hands has moved and is now holding her thigh against my hip while the other possessively presses against the Garden, preventing her escape. She’s pulling ferociously on my hair and our tongues are dancing a wild, wet and luscious tango while our bodies grind out a fire sure to consume Tiger Mountain Forest. Each of us feverishly composes a symphony and the recital culminates to a thunderous finale as we cling to each other, each one panting and violently attempting to devour the other.

“I’m coming! I’m coming!” I confess, unable to hold my eruption any longer, my forehead exploding in pain and fireworks as I attempt to prevent my orgasm.

“Come! Come!” she pants wildly as I feel her tighten around me, spurning my release. I take deep breaths of sweet freedom as pleasure envelops my entire body and sprays endlessly from my dick. She moans deeply with each spray, as if she can feel the same pleasure that I do. When the muscle stops squeezing ejaculate from willing testicles through the divining rod pulsing inside her, her walls slow their vibrations and her body falls limp against mine and the bed and she keens quietly with each breath. I reverently kiss her entire face, her shoulders, the exposed part of her chest, silently thanking her for being the beautiful, sexy, lustful goddess that she is.

“Come,” I whisper against her skin. “Let me clean you.”

I slide out of her to both our protest and roll off the bed. I help her out bed and lead her to my en suite.

“Do you need to use the restroom?” I ask and she nods. I gesture to the toilet and go over to the shower to give her a bit of privacy. I turn on the shower to allow it to get warm and strip off my T-shirt, pajama pants, and boxer briefs. She comes up behind me and touches my back. Mmm, I love the feel of her skin. I turn around and take her hand.

“My turn,” I say, kissing her palm before I go to relieve myself. When I return, she’s already in the shower, letting the water run over her body. God, she’s beautiful. The last time we were in this shower together…

Time to replace that memory.

I step in the shower with her and kiss her shoulder. My wife… my beautiful, fragile wife. Well, sometimes fragile. I wet the bath sponge and fill it with shower gel. When I’ve worked it into a lather, I kiss every part of her body before I gently scrub it with the bath sponge—her shoulders, her chest, her breasts, her arms, her hands, her torso, her stomach, her back, her butt, her thighs, her calves, her ankles, her feet, her shins, her knees, her hips, her pelvis, and right back to her swollen, pulsing clit until she begs me to stop. She’s breathless and wanton and sated when I rinse the soap from her body and she has to lean on me as I wash and condition her hair. I quickly clean my own body and hair and rinse them clean before making sure the conditioner is out of hers so that we can leave the shower together. Her legs are a little wobbly from our escapade, so I wrap myself in a towel and her in a bath sheet before I carry her to her dressing room to pick her attire for the day.

“What would my lady Anastasia like to wear?” I ask after thoroughly drying her beautiful skin. She giggles sweetly and sends a flush of warmth through my body.

“You choose,” she says, softly. I smile and kiss her on the nose. Going over to her wardrobe and mindful that we will have company today after breakfast and that she has an appointment later this afternoon, I choose a red tartan turtleneck mini-dress with a long red cardigan—simple and cute, and it makes my maternal goddess look dainty. After I adorn her in comfortable underwear and nice, warm tights, I help her into her dress and cardigan and she is pleased with the combination. A stable pair of thick-heeled three-inch red, leather Nicolette knee boots with a full-length zipper makes her very happy as she has the stability of the thick heel and support on her ankles without the stiletto or having to completely give up her high-heels. We will find her more boots like these to finish out her pregnancy.

I have no idea how she manages this gorgeous swooping thing she does with her hair these days to cover the spot where the scar is, so I just watch admirably as she puts her hair in a messy bun, pulls a little out on the side and swoops it easily up with the rest, securing it with some little hair pin. A pair of black and gold hoops, some black beads, and a red, black and gold art-deco bracelet later, and she’s ready to take on the world.

“You look stunning, Lady Anastasia,” I say, kissing her gently on the lips.

“Thanks to you, Sir Christian,” she says after a girlish giggle.


“Easy nuh, Choonks. You wotty yuhself to dett!”

Keri tries to calm her boyfriend as he sits bouncing his good leg nervously in the wheelchair. His cast has been changed out to a more lightweight one to help him move around more, but he’s still primarily in the wheelchair. Good or bad, this reunion will be too emotional to chance on crutches. The rest of us—Jason, Gail, Butterfly, and I—wait patiently with him in the living room for the arrival of his parents. Their plane arrived at SeaTac this morning and after breakfast and getting settled in at the Fairmont Olympic, they phoned Chuck to say they would be right over.

We don’t have to wait long. The moment the doorbell rings, Butterfly and I rise to meet them in the grand entry as we know that Windsor will have the door open and will be relieving them of their coats in no time flat. I’ve never had a butler before and I never really paid attention to my parents’ staff except to ignore Leona, but I find myself wondering how we ever functioned without him.

I’ve always wondered where certain children get their genes. Although Chuck and Joseph favor their father very much, they’re both better than six feet tall while Mr. and Mrs. Davenport couldn’t be taller than five eight. I extend my hand to him.

“Mr. Davenport?” I ask. He takes my hand and shakes firmly. Chuck’s eyes look back at me from a slightly older, more rugged face.

Chuck and Nelson

“Nelson,” he says. “This is my wife, Madeline.”  The small blonde holds her husband’s elbow and smiles warmly at us.

“Hello,” she says, sweetly. I nod and smile.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both. I’m Christian Grey and this is my wife, Anastasia.” Mrs. Davenport beams at Butterfly.

“Anastasia,” she says, “what a beautiful name.”

“Thank you,” Butterfly says, “but please, call me Ana.” She opens her arms and gestures to the living room. “I’m sure you don’t want to wait any longer. Please…” I gesture that way as well and the Davenports head in that direction. When they reach the top of the stairs to the living room, Chuck looks up and sees his parents for the first time in over ten years. Mrs. Davenport gasps and her fingertips fly to her lips, both arms trembling and her breath coming in short. They stare at each other for several moments while the room is suspended in silence. Mr. Davenport finally puts his hand in the small of his wife’s back.

“Go, Momma,” he says softly in her ear. “Go.”

Mrs. Davenport’s breath catches in her throat before she scurries down the stairs to Chuck’s side. She takes his face in her hands like he was ten years old.

“My boy!” she weeps. “My beautiful boy! My beautiful boy! My beautiful boy!” She can’t say anything else. Chuck’s face screws into a grimace and he begins to weep. They are caught in a sobbing embrace while his mother repeats the phrase over and over again, stroking his hair and rubbing his back. Mr. Davenport smiles softly and enters the living room, taking notice of the other occupants. Jason stands and proffers his hand.

“Mr. Davenport?” he says very lowly, “I’m Jason Taylor. We spoke on the phone.”

He looks at Jason, then at his wife and son still locked in an emotional, sobbing embrace, then back at Taylor. He purses his lips tightly, then grabs Jason’s hand with his right hand and his arm with his left.

“Thank you, sir,” he chokes over his emotion. “Thank you. Thank you…” He swallows, attempting not to break down completely. Jason covers their clasps hands with his other hand.

“It was my pleasure, Mr. Davenport,” Jason says, reverently. Mr. Davenport nods.

“Nelson, please,” he says, trying to force a smile over his emotion. Jason nods once and gestures to Gail.

“Nelson, this is my wife, Gail,” he says. Mr. Davenport turns his attention to Gail and gently takes her outstretched hand after releasing Jason’s.

“Gail, lovely to meet you. Real stand-up guy you have here.” She looks up at Jason.

“I know,” she says with an adoring smile before turning back to Mr. Davenport. “Thank you, sir… Real stand-up son you have there.” He smiles sadly at her.

“I know,” he says, his voice almost gone. Butterfly squeezes my arm and I look down to see tears streaming down her lovely face.  I wipe them away with my thumbs.

“Don’t you cry, too, now,” I say softly as I kiss her nose. She smiles at me as I tuck her hand into my elbow and help her down the stairs and back to her seat. Keri has relinquished her seat next to Chuck so that Mrs. Davenport could sit and weep with her son, but the sobbing is now down to controlled sniffles as she clings to the arm of his wheelchair while his father now clings to him a manly version of the same reunion of moments ago. Ms. Solomon quietly comes in with the coffee service and agrees to return in a few moments to serve.

“You look good, son,” Mr. Davenport says once everyone has composed themselves. “Fit… well, except for the chair, of course.” Chuck nods.

“I’m a little flabby right now, Dad,” he says. “I haven’t been able to exercise, but I’m up and down. I start therapy in a couple of weeks and then I’ll be out of this thing for good.” Mr. Davenport nods.

“That’s good, son. That’s good to hear.”

“There’s so much I have to tell you guys,” he says. He reaches his hand out to Keri. Her eyes grow large, but she walks over to him without hesitation. “This is my girlfriend, Keri,” Chuck says immediately, erasing any doubt about Keri’s identity. Mrs. Davenport gasps and touches her lips with her fingers. Keri is clearly a bit uncomfortable with the gesture and quite frankly, so am I.

“Chuckie,” Mrs. Davenport says, not taking her eyes off of Keri, “she’s stunning!”

A collective sigh of relief can be heard throughout the room. Keri’s look of concern immediately changes to a beaming and sincere smile. “You’re beautiful,” she says directly to Keri.

“Tank you, ma’am,” Keri says, shyly, causing another gasp from Mrs. Davenport.

“Oh, my, where are you from?” she asks.

“Anguilla, ma’am,” Keri says, “Btitish Vuhgin Islands.”

“How exotic!” she coos. “Chuckie…” she teases her son playfully causing him to blush. Mr. Davenport’s coy expression indicates that he approves of Chuck’s choice as well. He relinquishes his seat next to Chuck and takes another seat nearby, allowing Keri to sit next to her beau, and the family is all smiles.

“Keri, along with everybody you see in this room, have been my lifeline,” Chuck begins. “They’ve been my other family. They’ve helped to keep me alive, to keep me sober, to keep me sane… Individually or collectively, each person here is an integral part of my survival.”

All of the women lose the battle to fight their tears and like the good little girl scout, Ms. Solomon is back with boxes of tissue and to serve the coffee.

“We can’t thank you all enough for being there for our Chuckie,” Mr. Davenport says. “I just wish we could have been there. We’ve lost so much time.”

“That’s not your fault, Dad,” Chuck says.

“We should have tried harder,” his father retorts, convicted. Tried harder…?

“You tried?” Chuck says, voicing my thoughts. “You tried to find me?”

“Hindsight being 20/20, I don’t think we did, Chuckie,” Mr. Davenport laments sitting back in his seat. “We left the task to Joe. He told us the trail came up dry. He even told us that he talked to the police and they told him that if you weren’t contacting us that you were either dead or homeless and unless a body popped up, there was no way to find you.” He takes his coffee from Ms. Solomon. “When Mr. Taylor… Jason… told us that you were in the military for a while, that’s when we knew. We knew Joe had lied to us because there was no way that you would have been missing for all that time, we file a missing person’s report, and they couldn’t find you in the service. There’s no way.” Chuck shakes his head.

“I went into the military right after rehab,” he says. “I sent letters to you guys at the address at Stahelin and I never got a response. I thought everybody hated me and I couldn’t go back to living the way I was. I needed structure and discipline, so… I went to the service.”

“We had no idea,” Mrs. Davenport says. “We didn’t even know you were in rehab.” He raises his head, shocked at first, then drops it again.

“He really is Satan,” I hear Jason say, referring to Joseph, loud enough for us to hear, but not the Davenports.

“Tell me about it,” Butterfly concurs before taking a sip of her ginger tea.

“I have to ask you guys something,” Chuck says, moving forward in his chair. “Did you guys know that Joseph came to see me last week?” They look at each other astonished.

“He was here?” Mrs. Davenport asks incredulously. “Why didn’t he tell us?”

“Oh, boy,” I say without lowering my voice. Here we go…

“I need a real seat. Get me out of this thing.” We all watch in amazement as Keri springs into action. She effortlessly locks the wheels of the wheelchair, raises the footrests, grabs Chuck’s crutches and has him out of that wheelchair in 90 seconds flat. Jason has to scramble to get a real chair behind him so that he can sit down. He sighs contentedly. Keri whispers something to Butterfly and she reaches behind her and hands a pillow to Keri. I reach behind me and put my pillow behind Butterfly.

“Easy nuh,” Keri says, as she kneels and puts the pillow near his foot.

“I’m okay, baby. I don’t need that,” he protests.

“Don be givin’ meh noh poblem nuh, put de pillee unda yee foot!” Mrs. Davenport is a bit shocked, but Gail and Butterfly burst out laughing almost immediately and I can’t help but wonder if the fellas of the Crossing have been left out of a private joke.

“Yes, ma’am!” Chuck says and obediently lifts his foot. Keri fluffs the pillow and he places his foot on it.

“Dere. Don dat feel bettah nuh?” she says sweetly.

“Yes, baby, it does,” he says returning her smile, and now Mrs. Davenport chuckles.

“Do you plan on marrying this girl, Chuckie?” she asks. Ah, the question of the century. The entire room falls silent. Chuck and Keri look at one another with melancholy smiles. They’ve had this conversation.

“I don’t know, Mom. I guess it’s always a possibility, but not just now.” Keri is still smiling softly as is Chuck, but they are giving nothing away. He sighs heavily and gets the conversation back on track. “Mom, Dad, Joe has always known where I was. He knew I was in rehab. He knew I was in the service. He knew that I was here. He’s been listed as my next of kin for years—all this time. When I wrote you guys and I didn’t get a response, I thought you were dead. Joseph stopped talking to me, so his purpose was to claim my body or make my final arrangements… or pull the plug. When I got into the accident, Jason contacted them just like he contacted you, but we didn’t know if you guys were even alive until Joseph showed up here.

“I couldn’t believe that my own parents wouldn’t care if I was dead or alive,” he continues. “I woke up and the only person there was Keri, and she flew here all the way from Anguilla. She got a three-month visa and put her life on hold to come and be by my side, but my own family…” He trails off and sighs. “When Joseph showed up, it was weeks after the accident. I could have been dead already, but he took a chance. When he got here, he took shots at everybody for me to Keri to Ana… Nobody was off limits. Ana cut him off right in the middle of a racial slur.”

Mrs. Davenport gasps and covers her mouth. The color leaves her face and I can only assume that she’s embarrassed that this is her son that we’re talking about. She looks over at Keri with apologetic eyes.

“It’s allight, Misses Dahvenpolt,” Keri says.

“Maddie,” she says softly, smiling at Keri and rubbing her hand. Chuck continues.

“I wanted to know if you guys knew that he came here because he said that he was coming on your behalf. He said that you needed money, but he wouldn’t tell me why. I refused him and told him that you guys needed to contact me about what you needed and I would help you and he went berserk.”

“He said what!?” Mr. Davenport roars, rising from his seat. Butterfly nearly jumps out of her skin. I quickly wrap my arms around her and she’s shaking. I’ve got you, baby. He’s not angry with you. Mrs. Davenport is equally awestruck, staring at Chuck like he just spoke some foreign language. He frowns and looks from his father to his mother and back to his father.

“That’s why I asked if you were sure you could afford your plane tickets,” he defends. “He made it sound like you were losing your house or buried under horrible medical bills or something, but he wouldn’t tell me what it was! When I turned him down and told him to have you guys call me, he insulted everything about me—my accomplishments, my life, my family, my home, my job, my sobriety, everything! He made it sound like none of you wanted anything at all to do with me; that you all knew exactly where I was all the time and you just didn’t care; that the only thing you wanted was money and that if I wasn’t going to give it to you, that you didn’t have any use for me.

“When I discovered that you guys were actually alive, I had Jason and our corporate head of security track you down. I guess because Joseph had hidden us from each other all these years, he thought he could continue to do it because he didn’t know what resources I had available to me. When I knew for sure that you guys were alive, I looked for you myself. When I found you and I discovered that you were happy that I was alive, I was going to send for you. I thought you were broke!”

“We’re not broke! Joe is broke!” Mrs. Davenport exclaims.

“What?” I ask, before I realize that I’m not necessarily part of the conversation.

“Yes, Joe is virtually penniless,” she says. “He lost everything in the divorce and he lives like a poor bachelor. He’s living in some little place above a restaurant or something in Spearfish. The kids can’t even come and see him. Sunny has to bring the kids to our house to visit.”

“I’ll be damned!” Mr. Davenport exclaims quietly. “I’ll be goddamned.”

“Nelson, what it is?” his wife says.

“Last week,” he says, raising his eyes to his wife. “The out-of-town interview, Maddie? You kept asking him who does an interview on Saturday.” She frowns and shakes her head.

“Oh!” she says after realization dawns. “Yeah. He kept evading the question. We gave him the money to go. Then he just said it didn’t go well…”

“He was here last Saturday,” Chuck confirms. “Saturday afternoon. He pissed me off so bad, I had to call my sponsor.”

“Your sponsor?” Mrs. Davenport asks.

“AA, Mom,” he says.

“You don’t drink at all?” she asks. He shakes his head.

“Not even socially.”

“Not even a beer?” his father asks. He shakes his head again.

“Not even a beer,” he says to his father. Mr. Davenport puts his hand on Chuck’s arm.

“Seeing Joseph made you want to drink again?” he asks. Chuck drops his head and sighs.

“All the feelings…” His voice cracks and he clears his throat. “I felt abandoned all back over again. I felt alone. He gave me… he gave me hope… and he snatched it away again it was worse than before.” He said the last part all in one breath. “For a brief moment, I remembered how alcohol made me forget everything and I needed a drink. I really. Needed. A drink!” He’s taking deep breaths like he’s trying to focus, trying not to slip into that same state of mind he was in a week ago today after he spoke to his brother.

“I was sinking—fast! The abyss was swallowing me up. But Christian told me that I wasn’t alone, that he… that they all had my back…” His voice is cracking again. “I knew I couldn’t let go. I knew I couldn’t go back. I wanted to be strong, but I needed some help so I called my sponsor.”

“How long, son?” his father asks. Chuck’s brow furrows. He doesn’t understand the question. “How long since your last drink?” Chuck gazes at his father for several seconds and swallows hard.

“Joe’s wedding,” he finally says.

Mr. Davenport’s lips form a thin line and he stands up straight, his fists clenched at his side and rage emanating from his pores. His wife looks at him with concern as he turns to me.

“Can you ask your guy to bring me my coat, please?” he says. I frown.

“I’ll get it,” Jason says, walking into the grand entry.

“Nelson?” Mrs. Davenport says.

“It’s alright, Momma,” he says. “Everything’s alright.” Chuck and his mother examine his father as Jason and Windsor return with Mr. Davenport’s coat. He fishes into his pocket and locates his cell phone.

“Thank you, sir,” he says to Windsor, turning his attention to his phone. Windsor looks to me and I nod, dismissing him. We all remain silent, waiting to see what Mr. Davenport is doing and his intentions become crystal clear with the next words out of his mouth after he touches the face of his phone a few times.

“Hey Joe, you got a minute?… Yeah, there’s somebody here that I need you to speak to really quick. One sec, okay?” He hands the phone to Chuck without another word.

“Hey Joseph,” Chuck says coolly. “I bet you really wish I was dead now, don’t you?” He says nothing else and hands the phone back to his parents.

“What ya know there, Joe?” Mr. Davenport says. After a pause, “I’m sure you do. I’m sure you’ve got quite a bit of explaining you’d like to do, but I can’t talk right now. I’ve got about thirteen years of catching up to do with my dead son!” He angrily ends the call and turns back to Chuck.

“I want to hear everything, Chuckie,” he says, “every little thing, whatever you have time to tell me and whatever you don’t have time to tell me, we’ll catch up later. I want to hear what you’ve been doing with your life, who you’ve met, where you’ve been, what you’ve seen… Do you have any children? Have you been married? Tell us everything, Chuckie. Everything!”

“Why don’t we move this reunion to the family room?” Butterfly suggests. “It’s so much more comfortable and less formal. You can kick off your shoes and put your feet up, we can get some music going, have some snacks and some soft drinks…”

“We don’t want to put you through any trouble,” Mrs. Davenport protests.

“Are you kidding?” Butterfly chuckles. “This is cause for celebration. Chuck is very special to us. I assure you, it’s no trouble whatsoever—that is, if Chuck doesn’t mind.” Chuck smiles widely.

“Chuck would like that very much,” he says genuinely. Butterfly smiles back.

“Then it’s settled,” Butterfly says as I help her from the sofa.

“Excellent!” Gail says, leaping from her seat. “I’ll rally the troops and we’ll whip up some munchies in no time.” She kisses Jason sweetly and scurries off to the kitchen. Mrs. Davenport’s brow furrows.

“She works here, too?” she asks. I scratch my head.

“Uh… yeah. See…” How do I explain this?

“We’re a strange little 21st Century family,” Butterfly begins. “Gail started off as Christian’s housekeeper and cook when he lived alone in a penthouse downtown. Jason was and still is his head of personal security. Jason and Gail fell in love. Enter me!” She raises her hand. “Gail and I became friends, much to my then-boyfriend’s dismay. Chuck became my personal security and we became friends simply because of all the time we spend together Jason and Christian’s relationship blossomed, so they discovered that they were best friends it helps that Jason saved Christian’s life and Christian was best man at Jason and Gail’s wedding and Jason was best man at Christian and my wedding so everybody moved here with us, although Chuck only wants to stay temporarily until his leg heals since he already has his own house and Gail is now house manager and we hired more staff so that she could be nanny and she didn’t have to do the cooking anymore but she still does the cooking because she likes it…”

Now, that’s not really how she’s talking, but that’s pretty much how it sounds to the untrained ear. Poor Mr. and Mrs. Davenport probably got lost somewhere around “Gail and I became friends” and they, along with Keri, are suffering from a case of MEGO. I put my hands on my wife’s shoulders and she halts her explanations.

“We discovered that when you spend a lot of time with people, it doesn’t matter if they’re on your payroll. You still tend to develop lasting relationships,” I say finitely.

“Too much information?” Butterfly asks, looking over her shoulder at me.

“Way too much,” I say, kissing her hair.”

“Very profound, Boss,” Jason says, raising his eyebrow in that knowing way. Yeah, I know, Mr. Employer/Employee Line is getting all sappy.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you’re fired,” I say.

“Sure,” he says with a smirk.

“Follow the rambler,” Butterfly says, waving her hand in the air and leading the way to the family room.


So after several hours of relaxing and talking, it’s painstakingly obvious that Nelson and Maddie never sent Joseph to talk to Chuck. They didn’t know where he was. Joseph had them convinced that Chuck was a burnt-out alcoholic that was either living on the street or in and out of rehab. They never got his letters. They didn’t know that he was trying to reach them. Joseph always headed them off. Joseph led them to believe that he didn’t know where Chuck was. If they had been in need of help or money, it wouldn’t have been the first thing they asked when they found him. The first thing they would have asked was, “How are you? How have you been? Are you alright? How has your life been? Are you married? Do we have any grandchildren?” Those kinds of questions, which were of course the questions that they asked, not, “Hey, we hear you hit it big, we need some money.”

As it turns out, everybody calls him Chuckie because they love him and it’s a term of endearment—everybody, that is, except for Joseph. He took a term of endearment and corrupted it, referring to Chucky as the evil doll from the movie Child’s Play. This explains why Chuck became damn near violent when his brother called him Chucky, but never reacted when his parents called him Chuckie.


Chuck does his best to recount his life after rehab—the reasons he went to the service and the tours overseas. He tells his parents that it wasn’t all bad, but it wasn’t easy. He explains that working for us is very fulfilling and admits that it can be dangerous sometimes. It takes both of us to explain the accident that left me in a coma and Chuck in a wheelchair.

“He saved your life?” Maddie asks me with glassy eyes. I nod.

“And you’re carrying twins?” I wrap my arms around my stomach and nod, smiling softly.

“And the babies are okay?” Christian slides his arm around me as I continue to nod, now becoming emotional.

“He saved us all,” I say, my voice cracking. “He’s a remarkable and decent man, and I’ll never be able to repay him as long as I live.”

We’ll never be able to repay him,” Christian adds. “This is my whole life right here and he kept them safe at great personal risk. We’ve weighed the odds and there were other options, but he put himself directly in the line of fire to make sure that my family was safe. I don’t have the words, ma’am. No disrespect intended, but he’s part of our family, too, now.”

She smiles widely through her tears as she clasps her hands together tightly and gazes lovingly at her son.

“Oh, Chuckie,” she gushes, “I’m so proud of you! I’m so glad you’re okay!” Chuck unsuccessfully attempts to fight his tears.

“I have to tell you ‘I’m sorry,’ Mom…” he begins.

“Chuckie, no…”

“Mom, I have to,” he beseeches. “I should have led with that. It’s part of my recovery. You, too, Dad.” She looks at him and nods, squeezing his hand.

“Later, son, okay? Not at this moment. We’ll let you do it, later. Is that okay?” she pleads sweetly. He looks at her and concedes her moment. She wraps her arms around him, weeping bitterly the tears of a mother who has finally found her long lost son.

“I love you, Chuckie,” she sobs. “I love you so much!”

“I love you, too, Mom,” he chokes. Nelson pinches his lips tightly together, his chin trembling slightly. He walks over to Chuck and squeezes his shoulder.

“Good deal, son!” he says gruffly, his voice scratchy in his throat betraying unshed tears. He’s obviously a man of very few words, but of the few words he could have chosen, these were the best as they pull the reluctant tears from Chuck’s eyes that start to stream down his cheeks. I smile tightly, wiping the tears from my own eyes. Marilyn appears in the doorway of the kitchen, signaling to me that it’s time for my dreaded lunch with Addie. I sigh heavily that I have to leave this sweet reunion to go talk to this woman about her shrew, harpy ass granddaughter, but it has to be done. I gesture to Christian to follow me to the kitchen.

“I have to go,” I tell him sadly. “Extend my apologies for me. Pressing, less pleasant matters to attend to.”

“Okay, baby.” He kisses my cheek. “Did you get a chance to tour Bear Creek or Broadmoor yet?”

“Broadmoor, yes. I didn’t get a chance to see Bear Creek, yet.”

“Did you like Broadmoor?” he asks.

“I did.”

“Go with Broadmoor,” he says, “or did you want to go see the others first?” I raise my eyebrows.

“No, if you’re a proponent for Broadmoor, then Broadmoor it is!” I confirm quietly. “We’ll need sponsors.” He chuckles sardonically.

“We’ll get sponsors,” he says. “In fact, we’ll be able to choose our sponsors.”

“Really?” I ask.

“Really.” He winks at me. “This is your ball. I’ll let you run with it. You let me know if you need me?” He knows I need this. He knows that I need to be front and center on this. I stand on my toes and kiss him deeply.

“I love you, Mr. Grey,” I say, with a smile.

“I love you, too, Mrs. Grey.” He caresses my cheek before I turn and leave with Marilyn.


“Addie, I can’t do it,” I say sadly after we are seated in the club and the waiter has brought our drinks. She frowns.

“What do you mean?” she asks. Over lunch, I explain to Addie every tactic I’ve attempted with her granddaughter and the outcome, or I should say the flaming failure, of each.

“Everything I’ve heard about her is bad and everything I’ve seen of her is bad. She even threatened me. I’ve put my hands on her money and I believe that she’ll make me go away if she can. I’ve already voiced my concerns to my husband.”

“Ana, it can’t be that serious,” she replies appalled.

After School Special“Her words to me were ‘I know people, Bitch.’ How serious is that to you? She leaned in on my desk and told me to leave her the fuck alone, and that’s what I’m willing to do.” I look down and shake my head, scoffing at myself. “I was thinking that I was going to take this troubled soul and expose her to real world circumstances so that she could see…” I trail off. “I don’t know, I was expecting some ‘after-school-special connection/transformation and the one that learned the real lesson was me, because that’s just not how it works in the real world.”

“So, you’re giving up on her.” It’s a statement, not a question. I raise my eyes to her.

“She’s already given up on herself!” I snap back. “You can’t mold clay that’s already set! She doesn’t see anything wrong with how she is. She’s just fine being the snaky, classless debutante with a bad reputation too low to even be considered a social climber. Whatever legacy you have will die when you do—which is what she’s waiting for—unless you have some other plans for part of your wealth that will allow your legacy to live on.” Her head snaps back and her eyes grow large.

“That’s pretty harsh, don’t you think?” she hisses at me. “I’ll admit that she’s a more than bit misled, but you’re throwing judgments out there that are completely unfounded! Who are you to draw these types of conclusions after only knowing her for a week?” and now, she’s getting angry with me.

“And you’ve known her for ten years, which is why you asked me to take her under my wing after I had already told you that I didn’t want to do it!” Realization dawns as she suddenly remembers that conversation. Our exchange has been sharp up to this point, but has not gotten loud… yet. “And on the contrary, Mrs. Wilson, as a medical, mental health professional, I do my very best not to throw judgments or draw conclusions on anybody, because that’s very dangerous ground. I can assure you that anything that I am saying to you is based on information that is not filtered from my interpretation, but came straight from your granddaughter’s mouth!” She turns piercing, dagger eyes to me.

“What are you talking about?” Now her voice is getting loud, garnering the attention of the ladies at the next table. I don’t care. If you want them to know about your melon-clad lost cause of a granddaughter, it doesn’t make me any difference.

“Oh, surely you know,” I say in a conspiratorial tone. She throws a menacing glance at the onlookers who have all but abandoned their lunch to listen to our conversation. They catch her glance and immediately turn their attention back to their salmon fillet and chicken salad. Addie turns her attention back to me. “She’s biding her time to collect her trust fund. After that, she hopes to land a rich husband, even though she would prefer to land a rich wife. If that’s successful—or unsuccessful—she’s then just going to wait for you to die so that she can collect her inheritance from you.”

Addie’s brown eyes are still piercing, but her expression becomes more impassive.

“She said that?” she asks with a menacing calm.

“Again, her exact words were, ‘I won’t have anything to worry about anyway. My grandparents won’t leave me penniless.’”

“She could have been talking about her trust fund.” Her voice is controlled and I can hear that she’s a bit hurt by this revelation. Unfortunately, I believe that even though Addie is cooperating with this whole plan to turn her granddaughter around, she’s in a bit of denial, too.

“She was not,” I say gently. “This was her answer when I asked her what she planned to do when the money from the trust fund runs out. I mentioned that you and Fred wouldn’t live forever.” Again, her face doesn’t change, but her eyes become a bit glassy. She takes her napkin from her lap and dabs the corners of her mouth.

“Well,” she says, pushing her chair away from the table, “this has been very enlightening. I hope you don’t mind, but I won’t be able to stay to finish lunch. Please excuse me.” She stands from the table and rushes out. I frown, looking at Marilyn and now at the whispering ladies at the next table. We’re at her country club and she just left us in the room. We watch as she says something to the waiter before she dashes out the door.

“Get ready for the walk of shame, Mare,” I say to her as the waiter comes over to our table.

“Ladies, Mrs. Wilson has informed me that she was unavoidably called away and will be unable to continue her lunch with you. However, as her guests, she has asked that I make sure that you have everything that you need to enjoy your meal. Would you like more ginger tea, Mrs. Grey?”

Oh! Well, now, I’m very pleasantly surprised.

“Yes, please, that would be lovely,” I respond.

“Another lemonade for you, Ms. Caldwell?” Marilyn is taken aback.

“Yes, thank you,” she says with a wide smile. He nods and leaves to retrieve out drinks.

“Nobody calls ‘Ms. Caldwell!’” she gushes when he’s out of earshot. I’m pleased that we weren’t ceremoniously escorted off the premises, but now I feel a bit sorry for Addie and I have no idea what’s in store for her ungrateful granddaughter.


“Thanks for coming with me on a Saturday, Mare,” I tell her when we get back to Grey Crossing late Saturday afternoon. “I know it was cowardice, but I just didn’t want to face Addie alone today, especially if she brought Courtney with her. Either way, I didn’t plan to mince my words, but you see how it went with no Courtney. I can only imagine what kind of performance I would have had to endure had she joined us.”

“Yes, I think it probably would have been best-actress material,” she concurs. “My office is finished—cozy and functional. I like it a lot, thanks for the space. Do you need me tomorrow for the visit to the Radcliffs or will you and Christian be able to handle it?”

“No, I think we’ll be fine,” I tell her. “Once we establish that it was us that was sending the items that were refused, it’ll only be a matter of having the deliveries rescheduled and sent back to them. We’ll coordinate that and Monday and we’ll have to find some way to get the things that were delivered here taken to their house, hopefully before the holidays. Oh! If we have any tours scheduled for any of the other country clubs, you can cancel them. Set a reminder to call Broadmoor on Monday and let them know that Mr. and Mrs. Grey will need sponsors.” She raises her eyebrows.

“Really?” she says. “Christian’s okay with that?”

“He suggested it!” I reveal. “He said Bear Creek or Broadmoor, and when I told him that we had toured Broadmoor and I liked it, he told to go for it and he put me in charge.”

“Wow. That’s fantastic!”

“I know, right? I’m really excited. So, make sure that they know that Mr. Grey and I will want to interview the couples that would like to sponsor us and that all candidates should be submitted to me through you and not Mr. Grey. Make that clear however you need to.”

“Shouldn’t that be the other way around—that the sponsor couples should be interviewing you?” she asks. I just cock my head at her and raise my eyebrows. “Right. Sorry. Momentary lapse.”

“Forgiven,” I say with a chuckle. “They’re going to try to go over my head and call Christian—well, maybe they won’t because they were really nice, but if you get the feeling that that might, please let them know that if they do, we’re going with Bear Creek.”

“Got it, Killer,” she says, typing into her iPad. I had already written off Harbor House or Harbor Club or Harbor Ass, whatever the hell they were called, but they etched that shit in stone when they called Christian. God, I’m so tired. I need to go lie down or something. I wonder if Chuck’s parents are still here?

“Go on home, Mare. You and Gary will be at Food and Libations on New Year’s Eve, won’t you?”

“Yep,” she says, sliding into her coat. “Text me if you need me.”

“Will do,” I say, stretching my back and considering what I want to do for the rest of the evening. I should take a nap, but I’ll see if we still have company first.

I’m on my way upstairs and just as I’m passing Atlantis, there’s Keri out on the covered lounge again. I sigh. Nope, not gonna do it. I open the door and immediately garner her attention.

“Now the last time I came out here to talk to you without a coat, I got in trouble, so why don’t you come in where it’s warm and let’s have a chat?” I tell her. I’ve had the coats removed right after my session with Ace last night, so I’m not venturing out there this time, nor do I want to. It really is cold! Keri obliges my wishes and comes inside, closing the French doors behind her. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, eve’yting is fine,” she says, looking at my aquarium. “Dat is Anguilla fish, yes?” she says, pointing at Marty.

“Yes,” I confirm. “The butterfly fish I saw when we were snorkeling.” I watch Marty with her for a moment.

“He tell his mudda eets a possibility he matty me,” she says, her arms folded over her sweater. I look over at her. “We talk about it while he sick, when he leg in de udda cast, but me have a life in Anguilla an he have a life heyah.” She stares into Atlantis. “Mah visa run out in Febuwety. De closah we get to dah deht, I die a leetle inside.”

She speaks so softly I can barely hear her words, like if she doesn’t say it out loud, it won’t come true. I know that feeling well.

“I luv him, Anah,” she says, a single tear falling down her cheek, “really much, but I can’t pick up mah life an leave. Anguilla is my… home.” She begins to weep. I wrap my arms around her and feel the pain in her chest as she covers her mouth and tries to muffle her cries. I let her cry it out for a while until her body stops shaking and she begins to wipe her tears on her sleeve. When she has composed herself for a moment and she can listen, I try to say what I can to comfort her.

“I can’t imagine having to make that choice—the man that I and the land that I love. Your children, your home, your life… But you’re here now. Love him now,” I say, holding her hands and looking into her eyes. “Love him now and let tomorrow take care of itself. There’s no use in worrying about it. Enjoy what time you have. Take pictures and make wonderful memories, and when it is time to go back home, you will tell all of your friends about the wonderful time you had in America with a wonderful man. You’ll remember all of those good times until you see him again. You’ll let them sustain you and you’ll keep them in your heart, because you’ll know that’s not the last time you’ll see him. You’ll talk to him and you’ll remember that you love him. That love will keep you strong until you can hold him in your arms. In the meantime, hold him now. Don’t shed anymore tears, not while you’re here. Take this time and only love him, okay?” She nods, hiccuping and trying to control her shuddering breaths.

“You ah vety smaht, Anah,” she says. I smile sadly.

“It didn’t come easily,” I reply. She puts her head down.

“I go tek a nap,” she says. “Chatles is still tahking to his mum and dad. If he look foh me…”

“I’ll tell him the emotion was a bit much for you.” I finish her sentence. She smiles a weak smile and heads off to their suite. I sigh heavily. I knew there would be a problem when it was time for her to leave, but I didn’t know that it would be this soon. Hearing Chuck say that the future holds a possibility of marriage for them brought home the reality to her that life decisions will have to be made in the not-so-distant future which will mean that she just may have to spend some extended time without her Choonks. If the thought of being away from him a month and a half from now does this to her now, what is actually being away from him going to do to her when she has to leave?

A/N: Greek mythology again… In the Trick of Mecone, Prometheus tricked Zeus into accepting an offering that resulted in mortals offering bones to the gods instead of meat. Zeus got pissed and hid fire from the mortals, but Prometheus stole it back and returned it to the mortals. In addition to having Pandora released on mankind (self-explanatory, I hope), Zeus had Prometheus chained to a rock and an eagle came to eat his liver out every day. His liver regenerated daily because Prometheus was immortal. So, of course, this was intended to be an eternal punishment and the torment continued for 30 years until Hercules eventually comes along during one of his “trials” and kills the eagle, rescuing Prometheus. 

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Love and handcuffs 🙂 
Lynn X









Becoming Dr. Grey: Chapter 40—The Day After… Again

 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 40—The Day After… Again


I’m in my own bed. Butterfly is sleeping comfortably next to me. There’s a fire going in the fireplace… and I’ve got to piss. Damn, I don’t want to move.

I move as quietly as I can, trying not to rouse her. The alarm hasn’t gone off yet and the fire is still going that I built last night before we fell asleep. It’s dwindling, but not dead yet. I slide out of the bed and go the en suite. I prepare myself to lift and aim so that there isn’t urine all over the seat, then I remember that I’m no longer wearing the chastity device.

Thank God!

Sweet unrestrained relief! I almost don’t want it to end. I examine my penis carefully. I only wore it this time for 24 hours, so there’s no chafing or bruising, but it’s still sore as fuck from the restraint and from last night’s workout. There’s a tiny bit of tenderness around the head and I’m not sure what’s causing it. A&D Ointment will do the trick for that.

I clean myself thoroughly and apply the ointment to the head of my cock. The relief is immediate, but I still feel the tenderness. It looks like I’m out of commission for a couple of days or soul.

“Sssss, fuck!” I hiss, grimacing with the pain. I don’t know if it was the chastity device, the blowjob, the hand job, or the endless fucking, but that little sensitive ridge can’t stand any contact to speak of this morning. I put a little more ointment around the ridge.

“Well, I was about to get jealous, but that doesn’t look pleasurable.”

Her voice startles the shit out of me. It looks like I was unsuccessful in attempting not to wake her.

“Sorry. I was trying to be quiet.”

“The noise didn’t wake me. Your absence did,” she says, walking into the en suite. “Are you alright?” I nod.

“Just a little irritation,” I reply. “Nothing serious.”

“Let me see.” She kneels down and puts her face right at my dick. Fuck, that shit turns me on. Settle down, Grey. You’re out of commission, remember? “You’re right,” she declares upon closer examination. “That’s a bit of friction burn. You’re using the right thing, though. You should be right as rain if you use the ointment for about 24 hours, three or four times. Has this happened before?” I shake my head.

“Not that I can remember,” I respond.

“Have you ever been in a chastity device before?” I nod.

“Many times,” I tell her, “but for unreasonably longer periods of time. They cause chaffing, but usually after several days.” She looks down at my penis.

“Well, that’s not chaffing, so we know that’s not it.” She seems relieved.

“You were worried?” I ask.

“A bit,” she responds. “You came so quickly when I released you. I was just hoping… you know…” she trails off. It was a new experience for both of us.

“You made your point, Mistress,” I say, pulling her into my arms. “I belong to Anastasia Grey… and I need to remember that before I make dumb decisions.” I lean down and kiss her chastely before touching my forehead to hers. “And Anastasia Grey belongs to me.”

“Yes,” she whispers, closing her eyes and touching my cheek. “Please remember that before you make dumb decisions.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I say softly, kissing her again.

We’re cuddling in bed again, caressing each other’s skin after I have put another log on the fire.

“Wings,” she says softly. I frown. What made her think of that? “I should know what it is, but I don’t remember,” she whispers. I stroke her hair softly and kiss her forehead.

“It’s my sexual safeword,” I tell her. “You told me not to come. I didn’t know if I could, but I couldn’t stop it. I tried to safeword, but it was too late.” She releases a quick and heavy breath.

“I knew it!” she laments quietly. “I knew it was a safeword.”

“I didn’t tell you,” I try to explain. “I only gave you sails and knots. You had no way of knowing… and you didn’t punish me for coming. I would have called foul if you had.”

“I still don’t…” she sighs heavily. “It’s a safeword. I don’t know what I should have done.”

“You did what you should have done,” I assure her. “You comforted me; you let me know that it was okay that I came; and we continued without a problem.” I raise her head to meet my eyes. “It was a remarkable night, and I’ll never forget it.” She searches my eyes for answers, then gently strokes my cheek.

“It was bearable, then?” she asks, a bit uncertain.

“Bearable?” I ask, bemused. “Any more bearable and I would be the one pregnant!” I didn’t know what else to say. She literally fucked me senseless! With her hand, with her mouth, with her body, with her mind—I nearly went insane. She bursts into quiet laughter and shakes her head. Crisis averted. When her laughter has subsided, I capture her gaze again.

“You were perfect,” I say softly. “The perfect Mistress, the perfect Domme, the perfect lover… perfect—in every way.” I kiss her gently, reverently, and she relaxes, but only for a moment. She narrows her eyes at me and pauses. “What?” She stares again, then turns on the bedside lamp. “What is it?”

“We have a problem,” she says, still examining me.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, anxiously.

“The collar,” she says, her voice and expression full of dismay, “it left a bruise.” My hand instinctively goes to my neck. I don’t feel anything. How did we not see it in the bathroom?

“It’s okay, Baby,” I say.

“How is that okay?” she protests. “Now I know how you felt after you spanked me.”

“That was different,” I say, sitting up to face her. “I’m not black and blue—and even if I were, what you did with the collar, you did with the purpose of pleasure. You even tried to take it off and I told you not to, remember?” I glare at her, waiting for her to recall my request. She nods.

“Yes, I remember,” she replies.

“You punished me,” I say. “You paddled me… humanely. Even then, you paused and checked, and I wasn’t black and blue. Chastity cages can be brutal and cruel. Believe me, I know. Even with your use of the cage, you were lenient and caring. The punishment fit the crime. What I did to you…” I shake my head. “That was different.”

“I don’t understand,” she says, frowning.

“You couldn’t lay on that side, Ana,” I respond firmly. “You weren’t even yourself the next day. I don’t like how it made you feel and I don’t like how it made me feel and I won’t do it again!” Her eyes grow wide.

“You won’t spank me again?” she asks, dismayed again.

“Not like that,” I point out. “I should have exercised some restraint. I shouldn’t have spanked you on your hip, and I shouldn’t have done it while your skin was wet. I don’t know what else I shouldn’t have done, but I just know that I won’t do that to you again.”

“Don’t you see that’s how I feel about this?” she says, gently touching my neck. I sigh.

“Baby,” I begin, taking her hand in mine, “did you find any pleasure in that spanking I gave you?”

“I came really hard,” she replies.

“That was after and that was because of the sex, not the spanking. Was there anything pleasurable about the spanking? Anything that you can remember?” She looks at me and then shakes her head.

“No,” she replies. “There wasn’t.”

“When it was over, you cried… and cried and cried and cried. The next day, you were… stoic, for lack of a better word. When I came home and found coats at every door—even balcony doors that we haven’t even used—that’s the behavior of someone who’s traumatized, not someone who has learned a lesson. I feel like I abused you and I scared you and even Dr. Baker couldn’t make me feel differently. Is that how you feel about this?” I ask, pointing to my neck. I haven’t even seen the bruising, but whatever it is, it’s not as bad as what I did to her.

“No,” she says, her voice shaking a bit.

“When you think of that spanking, does it make you want to fuck me?” I ask.

“No!” she says, almost appalled, and that answers my question.

“The collar,” I breathe, “was pleasurable. From the moment you put it on me, I felt the ownership of belonging to you. Whenever I touched it, I thought of you. I had to cover it with a scarf to go to the doctor’s office, and though I was unhappy about not making it to the appointment, I was relieved that I no longer had to cover my collar. When you tightened it…” I slide my arms around her and kiss her gently under her earlobe, “that enhanced my orgasms, and you knew that. The collar was never for punishment; but you still managed to use it for pleasure. When you wanted to remove it, I begged you not to.” I trail kisses down her neck to the hollow just above her chest. “And when I think about it now, I want to fuck you even though I know I can’t. So yes, this is different because this…” I bite her chin and she gasps and whimpers, “… battle scars, baby.”

I hold her head and kiss her passionately. She melts in my arms and moans in my mouth, making me want her more and more. I run my hand down her naked body and over her baby bump, stopping when I get to the promised land. She’s hot and wet, and I sink two fingers into her.

“Ah!” she cries, breaking our kiss. “Christian! Wait… you…” she’s panting.

“Sssshhh,” I soothe, brushing my lips against hers. “Come for me.” I cover her mouth again, kissing and massaging her until she’s trembling in my arms again.


Butterfly has taken the day off from Helping Hands while she and Marilyn attempt to ascertain what’s happening with the deliveries that should be going to the Radcliffs. I haven’t met them yet, but Butterfly tells me that they are very much in need of the things we’ve purchased. I know that we plan to see them this weekend, but I agree that if for some reason the deliveries are being denied, we should hold off on sending anything else to the address until we have the opportunity to speak to them.

I feel like a whole new man today, but it didn’t come without a bit of a bumpy ride in the morning hours. I’ve expressed my regret to my wife about that extreme spanking I administered a couple of weeks ago and after she was duly sated and resting in my arms, we had agreed that we wouldn’t take spankings off the table and that there definitely had to be more moderation in the act than there was when I spanked her then. However, the conversation came at a bit of a cost.

Earlier that morning…

“Why did you fight Brian in the first place?” she asks as we’re getting dressed. “You’re a bit of a firecracker, I’ll admit, but I’ve never seen you pushed to violence like that. It couldn’t have been that he was going to tell me about the baby, so what was it?” I run my fingers through my hair. I’ve been punished for my malfeasance and I sure as hell won’t do it again. Why do we have to rehash this now?

“He wouldn’t go away,” I tell her. “He proved it when he showed up at the house. Your speech was powerful, but he already knew all that. Yet, he still showed up here. I don’t know if he just had to tell you that he loved you or he had to be rejected by you face to face, but he just wouldn’t go away, and I’m not sure that he’s going to stay away now.” I won’t tell her that I think he’s as unstable as David and I think he’s going to come back for her. I don’t know what this power is that she has over men, because she has the same power over me, but they have to have her—even if it’s to her detriment. I don’t think we’ve seen the last of this fucker no matter what he says.

“The Pedophile wouldn’t go away, and you weren’t pushed to violence over her…” she begins.

“No, but you were,” I point out. She pauses. Knocking her over a sofa in a room full of people, knives at her throat, nectarines upside her head, ultimately choking her out and landing her Pedophile ass in the hospital… she has to know what I felt. I can see the scenes playing in her head just as they played in mine.

“He might come back,” she laments, confirming my fears from before. “Then what? Are you going to be in this fight again?” I shake my head.

“No, Butterfly, I’ve learned my lesson. I already knew, but there’s nothing like the hand of my Mistress to drive the point home.” She raises her eyebrows.

“How do I know this?” she asks. “Ultimately, the punishment was desirable for you… or at least that’s what you led me to believe.” I swallow hard.

“In the end, yes,” I admit. “The orgasm that I had after you removed the chastity device was unmatched, mostly because of your gentle touch and the fact that I’ve never been handled after being released from the cage. But the device is not just physical—it’s psychological; I’m sure you’re already aware of that. It’s extreme, because it not only physically prevents you from touching yourself, but you mentally understand that your dick is not yours. That’s a tough pill for a man to swallow.

“For this to have been your first time using the device, I’m surprised that you were so knowledgeable on how it should be used,” I tell her. “When used as a punishment, the cage can be brutal. Believe me, I know. I’ve been forced to wear it for up to a week.” A shadow falls over her face and she frowns deeply.

“A week??” she squeals, appalled. I nod.

“It wasn’t used as a punishment or to teach me a lesson. It was used to break me down—like you would break a horse… and it worked. When I saw that thing in your hand, I wasn’t pleased. I felt like if you were going to go to the extremes that she did, I would safeword and you would have to release me, but I was fully prepared to be restrained for longer than I was.”

“That’s horrible,” she gasps. “That’s just awful to do that to someone for days on end.”

“I knew I deserved punishment,” I tell her. “I knew that the pain that I had caused by my actions required something drastic. You have to know, though, that the chastity device has never been used as an effective means of punishment for me until you.” She frowns again.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I have intensely magnificent orgasms when we’re together, the best of my life. I know pleasure; it’s something that I’m not unfamiliar with. I also know the agony of being restrained in a chastity device, but I’ve never known one right after the other,” I point out. “Whenever I was released from the chastity device, it was ‘go take a shower,’ and that was it. I knew the discomfort of it; I knew what was going to happen when it was all over and I just prepared my mind for it when I saw it coming. In the end, it just pissed me off. It made me fear her, not revere her, which is why she had so much control over me for so many years.

“When you employed the device, I was able to feel immense pleasure after immense discomfort and it left a lasting impression on me. I was helpless, I was spent, and I had no control over my orgasm—none whatsoever. That’s never happened. I was able to see the difference between the two extremes immediately and it was enough for me to know that I would want to avoid the chastity device again if I had to. Considering what got me to that point, I have no will or desire to see Colostomy any time again ever in my life. If he has information that would save my life, he has to talk to my security—not me ever again.”

“That’s how I feel about the coats,” she points out, and I still think it’s different. “That still doesn’t tell me what pushed you to fight him in the first place.” I don’t know how to explain it to her so that she’ll understand.

“I had reached my limit, Butterfly,” I tell her. “I couldn’t take it anymore. I just couldn’t. He was always there, always around. He taunted me that he wouldn’t go away and he was enjoying it. I just couldn’t take it anymore. Even Jason and Welch saw that this guy wouldn’t quit. They told him how pathetic he was acting and he didn’t even flinch. If another man told me that I was acting pathetic, not only would I change the behavior that made me appear pathetic, but I’d probably shove my fist down his throat…”

“Maybe that’s why he wanted to shove his fist down yours,” she says, kneeling on the bed in her underwear. She looks really hot.

“We were both ready for that,” I say after pulling a T-shirt over my head and pulling Butterfly’s key from under it. “We would have gladly ripped each other apart at a moment’s notice. The mere hint of it was just fuel on the fire.”

“What, did he threaten you?” I shake my head.

“No, except with information,” I say. Her brow furrows.

“Okay, so what did you mean by ‘the hint threw fuel on the fire?’” I pull a turtleneck out of the chest of drawers and pull it over my head.

“He was acting all cocky like he had something to hold over my head. I knew the information was useless, but he was just going to keep digging until he found something. When he found nothing, he would just stick around to irritate me. That’s when Jason and Welch told him how pathetic he was—how sad it was that he was pining after a woman that he could never have. Then he starts talking about how he waited for you; the whole sob story about how he sat on the sidelines while you were getting over David and how I pretty much came in like a thief and stole you away.” I pull on a pair of black jeans.

“The more he talked, the more pitiful he sounded. It was like his whole life was centered and focused on this one thing and if he couldn’t have it, he was going to make our lives as miserable as possible. Then he was taunting me and telling me that he was never going away and I just kept thinking, ‘Fuck. I’ll never be rid of this asshole.’ Finally, Welch suggested that we slug it out in the ring and get it over with, so that’s what we did.” Her baby blues suddenly sharpen as she blinks, bobbles her head, and refocuses.

“What?” she exclaims. Okay, what did I say wrong? “Okay, wait a minute. This wasn’t a spur of the moment thing? You guys actually planned this?”

“Well, no, I think it was a bit of both,” I respond. “It wasn’t like ‘Showdown at the O.K. Corral at high noon’ or anything like that, but it was a bit spur of the moment.”

“Okay, Christian,” she begins, a frown marring her beautiful face. “I really need you to help me understand this, because if I’m hearing you correctly, all of this happened because you succumbed to peer pressure from your security team.” I have no idea why that statement rubs me so wrong, but now I feel like I need to defend my honor… and my adulthood.

“That’s not it at all!” I retort. “You make it sound like we were a bunch of pugnacious kids just looking for a fight. I’m willing to take my medicine for my mistakes and I made several, but what I won’t allow you to believe is that the mere suggestion that I fight this guy was what led me to beat his ass—that I’m so impressionable that someone can just say ‘fight’ and I fight. I was at the end of my rope. I had overlooked him, fought him with words, a few times he even came to me with information that he felt would be damning to our relationship and I told him to just tell you. Anything! Just get the fuck out of my face! I did everything I could! I used every tactic in the book—intimidation, jealousy, belittling, ignoring him, information, everything! And he just kept coming back! He wouldn’t go away! He was like an incurable disease. Hell, even you told him there was no hope. You made him swear to protect me, for fuck’s sake! Yes, Jason and Welch made a suggestion, but believe me, I had already thought of it at least a hundred times before. I wasn’t coaxed or led into a fight like a schoolyard boy—I wanted to kick his ass. I wanted it so badly, I could taste it! But I didn’t think about what it could cost me in the end. I only thought of the moment. My actions have consequences, and I need to see that.”

I can never adequately describe the look she gives me. It’s confusion mixed with horror mixed with something else I can’t even explain.

“Why didn’t you tell me this?” she asks, her voice begging, but searching at the same time.

“Because if I had, you would have gone easy on me,” I replies.

“You’re right!” she shrieks. “I thought you were being mindless and careless and selfish! I wanted to show you that your behavior is unacceptable!” Her blood pressure is no doubt rising and I have to make it stop. I snatch her in my arms and hold her tight, close to my body.

“Don’t you see?” I implore her. “I was! I was being mindless and careless and selfish! I didn’t think ahead! I should have thought of how this would have affected others—you, my babies, my mother, those incompetent fucks at Mercer Hospital, Ray, Amanda… this shit reached so far and I didn’t think about any of that!”

“That’s not your fault!” she says, fighting to look up at me. “That’s his fault. He didn’t care…”

“I can’t blame him. I can’t hold him responsible for my actions. I have to think before I act…”

“He provoked you!” she protests. “Beyond reason! It was much worse than I ever could have imagined and you didn’t tell me.”

“He’s not responsible for my decisions,” I say again. “He’s an asshole. He deserved what he got, but I can’t hold him responsible for what I did. I can try to explain it away, but the truth is the truth. I was thinking about me… not you.” She suddenly stops struggling in my arms and falls limp, not a surrendering limp. It’s different. I look down at her and I can see the wheels turning.

“We’re not talking about the fight anymore… are we?”

Are we? Shit. I don’t think we are. I sigh. I can’t even lie to her. I didn’t know the conversation had turned until she just said it. She’s right. We’re not talking about the fight anymore. I release her so that I can look into her eyes

“Christian?” I can’t even answer her. I can’t find the words. “Oh God, Christian, no…” She sits back on her feet and covers her mouth.

“Baby…” I try to stop those wheels from turning.

“Christian, please tell me I’m off track… please…” she beseeches me. She’s a smart woman. I can’t tell her that she’s wrong because I know that she’s right. “Oh, God.” She covers her face with her hands. I tried to keep it from her. I didn’t want her to know, but in all honesty, I figured why not kill two birds with one stone?

“My actions have consequences,” I tell her. “You told me that. Dr. Baker told me that. I can’t just run around doing whatever I want anymore. It’s not just me.” She’s shaking her head feverishly.

“No,” she says, shaking like she’s trying to shake away a bad thought. “This is not right. This is not how this is supposed to go…”

“I was wrong, Baby,” I say softly. “I was wrong when I got in the ring with Brian, and I was wrong when I spanked you that way.”

“But this is not how this is supposed to be!” she wails, shaking her fist on each word. “Don’t you see? It can’t be like that! It can’t!” She’s getting more and more upset. I sit on the bed next to her.

“Listen to me,” I begin. “Nothing anyone could have said or done could have fixed what I did or how I felt about what I did. In this instance, the punishment did fit the crime. I was selfish and thoughtless, and you couldn’t go easy on me. I told you what you needed to know—the basics. It was the truth.” Her shoulders drop. She knows I purposely omitted some of the crucial information—and I did, particularly after I fully realized my role in everything that happened.

“Christian, please don’t ever do that again,” she says, obviously fighting back tears. “I asked you… I asked you why, and you didn’t tell me. You only gave me a part of the story… a small part… and you knew that I wouldn’t accept that.” She drops her face in her hands. “We agreed,” she laments. “We agreed that there would be no punishment for punishment. Whatever discipline we had in our relationship would be warranted. We agreed…”

“And it was warranted, Butterfly,” I try to comfort her. “No matter how I felt about what I did to you those weeks ago, this punishment was warranted—for all the reasons that you mentioned. I could have lost so much because I was aching to beat that man’s ass. I could have handled it differently. I really could have. Looking back on it, I had plenty of other options, but I was so caught in the moment that all I could think of was teaching him a lesson. I couldn’t see the consequences until I had to face the consequences, and Baby, that can’t happen again.”

Her big blue eyes bore through me right into my soul. I need her to understand that sometimes, there’s only one way that I can learn; that pain really is a teacher for me, but only when that power is wielded properly.

“It’s masochistic, Christian,” she tells me, shaking her head. “It’s not the nature of our relationship. I don’t like it and I won’t participate in it.”

“Baby, I promise you that I’m not ‘tit-for-tatting’ here, but don’t you think that you accepting that spanking was a bit masochistic?”

“No!” she says without missing a beat. “There were no missing facts with my punishment. I’ll admit that I didn’t like the fact that you waited until I went to bed and got comfortable. I feel like you deliberately let me fall into a false sense of security only to rip me from my comfort zone and punish me. You wanted subdued and that’s what I felt—for the whole day I felt subdued…”

She’s yelling now, not about what she did to me, but about what I did to her. She’s had some repressed feelings, too. When I wanted her to talk about them, she wouldn’t. Maybe she couldn’t. She’s letting it all out now, and it only took two weeks and a punishment on me for her to release it. She’s weeping now and her rant goes on for several minutes, but she never once says that she regrets the spanking.

“Can you tell me that you never thought about that spanking while you were punishing me?” I ask her. She sighs.

“I thought about it once… before we started the scene. Only once, and even then, only in the context of me putting myself and the babies at risk and you putting all of us at risk. I was confused and a bit resentful because you punished me for it and then turned around and did the same thing yourself. But it was never revenge, Christian—never revenge, and I can’t do this anymore if that’s what it’s going to be.”

“It won’t, Baby,” I say, taking her face in my hands. “You felt like the punishment you received fit the crime. You just weren’t pleased with how it was carried out. I understand that. I really do. There were a lot of extremes that I crossed that night, and I needed you to tell me what they were. Only one was visible, but the rest weren’t.” I raise my eyes to the wrap hanging near the balcony door in the sitting room. “I should really say two were visible.” She drops her head, but I put my finger under her chin to raise her eyes back to mine.

“I felt like the punishment that I received fit the crime, too,” I tell her. “I don’t like the chastity device. I would prefer that we don’t use it again, but it’s not a hard limit. I don’t feel like anything that you did was extreme. I didn’t deliberately withhold information from you, but when you asked me what happened, I gave you the bare bones and nothing more. I wasn’t being masochistic although part of me did feel like I deserved a portion of the punishment for what I did to you. If anything, it may have been a bit of topping from the bottom, so to speak. A lesson that you need to learn as a Domme is that as long as you’re not cruel or acting out of anger, if your intention is to teach, you need to go with your first mind. It was effective. That’s what you wanted. It wasn’t cruel. Do you understand?” She closes her eyes and sighs heavily. I think she gets part of it, but still not all of it.

“I’m going to move the coats,” she says softly. I nod.

“Good, because I didn’t like seeing them.”

“That’s not why I put them there,” she begins to protest.

“I know,” I stop her. “You’ve already explained why you put them there, but I’m glad that you see that they’re not necessary.” I pause for a moment, trying to find a way to lift her heavy heart. “I won’t do this to you again—the extreme spanking, ripping you from your comfort zone… and I won’t use you punishing me to satisfy my own guilt.” She raises her eyes to me. “We need to be more open with each other. It’s almost like we’re afraid to talk. We’re about to be parents. That’ll never do.”

She nods, surrender evident in her posture, even though she’s still sitting on her feet in the bed.

“Can I tell you a secret?” I say. She raises glassy eyes to me again. “Do you know what the worst part of the punishment was?” She shakes her head. “That I didn’t get to sleep with you.”

Sadness clouds her eyes as she stares at me.

“I thought about you all day, about the lesson I was supposed to learn. I slept like a baby in my den because I fell asleep reciting my mantra… I belong to Anastasia Grey.” I kiss her gently on the cheek. “The punishment fit the crime, Baby. We’ve just forgotten how to talk to each other, and we can’t let that happen. It’s causing too many problems.”

She drops her head again, nodding in agreement, before her body starts to shake with sobs. I envelop her in my arms and kiss her hair. We’ve both learned a lot, but we’ve still got a lot of learning left to do…


She has agreed to see Dr. Baker with me on my next visit since Dr. Baker already knows all about what I’ve done and how I feel. She’s supposed to go see Ace today, so I don’t know what that visit will be like, but I think she should see him alone so she can freely discuss how she feels.

We talk about the country clubs for a moment. God, I hate country clubs. I just never saw a use for them—except for the ones with marinas where I could moor my boat, and I could moor my boat at any marina for a fee. Now, I have my own marina. So what’s the use?

However, in my new and enlightened level of understanding, I can see why she wants to join. Big or small, Anastasia Steele has always had her own merit. She didn’t make her accomplishments by being Ray’s daughter, Allen’s friend, or David’s girlfriend. Her achievements were all her own. All of a sudden, she meets me and everything that identifies her is Christian’s girlfriend, Christian’s fiancée, Grey’s wife. She had a simple life before she met me, but it was still her life. She had a thriving practice, so successful that she could afford to live in a million-dollar downtown condo overlooking Elliot Bay; she had a waiting list longer than the Constitution; and she could afford a very comfortable lifestyle—including a new car and a stylish wardrobe—all while only working two and a half days a week.

She could come and go as she pleased and didn’t need a bodyguard following her everywhere she went. She’s skilled in martial arts and can take down a man twice her size, and when fear and danger reared their ugly heads, she didn’t hide from them. Instead, Annie got her guns. She is the embodiment and the epitome of the quintessential independent woman and she’s got more people than not placing her importance on “Grey,” including Grey. She has proven that she could handle the media. She’s never really misstepped in front of them. She momentarily froze while leaving the brunch the day after Maxine’s wedding and she was just discovering that she was pregnant when she barfed all over David’s attorney.

I did just drop the iron hammer on her when I said that she couldn’t do those radio spots. I didn’t even talk to her. Maybe she can still do one or two of the interviews. We can talk about it, but I have to insist that she wait until after the babies are born. If her opinion and her voice are important to them now, they will still be important to them in a few months.

I have my follow-up appointment for my eyes today. Butterfly came along to be sure and tell the good doctor that I was following instructions. He was surprised to see that most of the bruising was gone. I told him that it was a homeopathic remedy that helped restore my coloring, but doctors tend not to be pleased with that information. So that’s all the information that I gave him. The issues with my eyes have nearly corrected themselves and as long as I don’t get into any barroom brawls in the near future, the doctor has given me a clean bill of health. I was hoping that this meant that things were looking up for us, until I got a bit of information from my wife that set me off.

“Christian, I have a question for you,” she says as we’re walking into the grand entry and Windsor takes our coats.

“What is it?”

“Where are my guns?” Her guns? Shit! I was hoping we wouldn’t need to have this conversation anytime soon. I sigh heavily.

“I was dreading this day,” I begin, “but I knew it would come. I really wish you wouldn’t carry them, especially with the babies about to be born, but I know I can’t stop you and I know that the threats to us are real. Security has your guns. They’ve had them since the accident. You can have them whenever you want. There’s a safe in the bookshelf in your office for them.” She nods.

“I want them,” she says. I nod, feeling somber and a bit forlorn.

“May I ask what brought this on?” I ask. She pauses for a moment, then sighs.

“Courtney threatened me,” she says softly. What the fuck? That melon-clad bitch that came on to my wife is now threatening her?

“What?” I snap.

“She’s upset because Addie gave me control over her trust fund to make her behave while she was at Helping Hands. It didn’t work. It just pissed her off even more. I’m meeting Addie for lunch tomorrow to let her know that I’m giving up. I don’t want to do this anymore. I’m not putting myself or my children at risk because this little brat doesn’t want to be taught, but I don’t know what that means for Ms. Courtney. She was very clear yet very vague in her threat.”

“What did she say?”

“’I know people, Bitch.’” Oh, yeah, that was a threat. This woman must be on meth. She can’t believe that her name holds more power than Grey. She must be really desperate to get Ana out of the way, but what she doesn’t know is that after the last couple of weeks we’ve had, she couldn’t have picked a worse time to make such a fatal mistake.


I didn’t know that I had been standing there silent for so long until she calls my name. This cunt thinks she regrets she ever met us now? She ain’t seen nothing yet.

“Activate two-way communications.” Beep. “Locate Jason Taylor.”

“Yes?” Jason’s voice comes over the intercom system.

“Please bring Mrs. Grey’s firearms to my den.” Without hesitation, Jason replies, “Yes, sir.”

“We need to have a quick security meeting in fifteen.”

“Has something happened, sir?”

“Yes, it has,” he says. “Fifteen.”

“Yes, sir.”

“End two-way communications.”

“Christian, I don’t really want to make a federal case about this. I just wanted to bring it to your attention.”

“I’m glad that you did and it is a federal case, baby. When someone threatens you, take it seriously. You never know what they’re thinking or what they’re capable of and you’re messing with her money.” I gently touch her cheek. “And if something happens to you and my children, I don’t know what I would do… so, yes, this is a federal case.” She gazes at me for a moment, then she nods.

“You’re right. It’s very serious. I don’t know what she’s capable of either and I don’t want another psycho bitch situation on my hands,” she says with a sigh.

“Don’t worry, Baby. You won’t. I’ll make sure of it.” I lead her by the elbow through the house to the elevator. I’m doing my best to control my anger as we ride to the ground floor. This bitch must be insane to threaten my wife. It’s not enough that she came on to her like some common floosy in a nightclub. Now, she’s throwing threats like she’s got some kind of power.

When the elevator opens, Jason is already standing there with a lockbox in one hand and an attaché in the other. He, too, is trying to remain impassive, but I see it in his eyes. We’re a family—a strange little family, but a family nonetheless. When you attack one of us, you attack us all, and he wants to know why she wants her guns.

“Your highness,” he says, handing her the attaché.

“Thank you, Jason,” she says with a nod. “The Beretta?”

“Yes,” he says. “The Glock and Magnum are in here. Where would you like them?”

“Hold on to them and bring them with us,” she says. Jason raises his eyebrows.

“Us?” he says.

“Yes, us,” she replies with missing a beat. “Too many decisions that affect me are made without my knowledge or input. I didn’t sit helplessly by while life happened to me before I was Anastasia Grey and I’m not about to start now. This woman threatened me and I know that this meeting will be about security measures and changes that are going to take place in light of this and in light of Asswipe Cholometes and his latest actions. If you think for one second that I’m going to sit on the sidelines when I learned how to shoot before he did…” she points to me, “…you’re mistaken. And if you want to talk about whether or not you think I can take it because you have an extra appendage between your legs that I don’t, carry two human lives in your body for nine months and then push them out through a hole that starts about as round as a sharpie and has to expand to about the size of a grapefruit and then we can talk.”

Fucking hell, I didn’t need that visual!


Her Highness has spoken and I’m waiting for the boys to say something. I think Christian is stuck on the sharpie/grapefruit analogy. Jason is just standing there frowning.

“Boss?” he says, looking to Christian for guidance. Yeah, Boss?

“Huh?” Christian is still stunned. Snap out of it, Grey! I put my free hand on my hip.

“If you want my cooperation, you’re going to have to accept my participation,” I say.

“Oy!” Jason says, putting his hand on his forehead. Christian finally shakes off his stupor.

“No, she’s right,” he says, finally. “She’s thoroughly trained in self-defense, trained and license to carry and fire a concealed weapon, and now she’s not only a target because of who I am, but because of who she is. She should be present to be apprised of and part of security protocols, especially as they apply to the immediate family.”

I try to hide my immediate shock that he agreed with me so easily, first on the country clubs and now this. I’m so accustomed to dealing with Iron-Fist-Control-Freak Grey that Agreeable-We’re-A-Team Grey is catching me a bit off guard.

“You expected me to fight you on this?” he asks.

“A little, yeah,” I respond. I’m only being honest. I had security before I even knew I had security. He took off to Vegas without consulting me and that was totally about me. He put a tracker in my phone without telling me. Yes, it eventually saved my life, for which I am eternally grateful, but it still would have been nice if someone had told me this was happening… or better yet, asked me if this was okay. The first time I talked to the press in Anguilla, he had a total meltdown—and that situation turned out to beneficial because it sniffed out the mole in his public relations department. Even then, he still wouldn’t concede that I may just know what I was doing and all this time later—and several interviews later—he still doesn’t trust me to have a structured interview with the press.

He sent spies to my hen party. He didn’t tell me about the hacker until it almost ruined our marriage—that and the fund-raising fiasco, that is. I had no idea why Brian was in on the whole thing until I put two-and-two together for myself, which resulted in a lovely anxiety attack. Then, after the man inadvertently put our entire family in danger because he and his fellow Neanderthal wanted to go Mano y Mano, he sneaks the man into our home to discuss buying Brian property for his misconduct. My ideas are shot down like I’m some birdbrain who has no idea what I’m talking about; decisions are made about my life before I even have an inkling of what’s going on; and I am completely and totally kept out of the loop on security protocols more often than not. Forgive me if I’m a bit skeptical!

“More talking, remember?” he says, reminding me of our conversation this morning. “More communication—no more being left out of the loop; no more hiding things.” His eyes examine mine, looking for a connection. I’m still a little stunned, much like he was moments ago with the sharpie/grapefruit analogy. I blink a few times and acknowledge his statement.

“Thank you,” I say sincerely. It feels good knowing that we will both be a part of these important decisions from now on. He smiles and takes my free hand. “Jason, lead the way.”

“Den or center?” Jason asks. Center? What the hell is Center?

Matrix Handprint“Center,” Christian responds. Jason nods and begins walking towards the den. Christian and I follow behind him and we actually pass Christian’s den. He places his hand on the wall and it actually lights up green—like The Matrix. It’s a handprint panel lock disguised behind what looks like veneer or veneer paper or something. Of course, the wall opens and he leads us into a small dark vestibule. Once the wall closes behind us, he has to clear another panel lock and the wall in front of us opens…

… And we’re in Security Central, like Jason’s office at Escala, but on steroids. Once again, I am reminded of a top-secret installation where a lone harmless-looking security officer sits guard over an elevator that takes you down to a facility that will change your life forever…


Four other people that I’ve never met look up from computers or papers or down from monitors and every last one of them does a double-take when we enter the room.

“Mrs. Grey!” One of them says, leaping to his feet at his seat. The others stand as well, though not as urgently as the first guy. Why the shock? This is my house.

“Is Mrs. Grey the only person you see?” Christian says tersely. Urgent Guy clears his throat.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he begins. “No offense, but I just never thought we would even see Mrs. Grey in here.” I roll my eyes. Of course, you didn’t, Merry Man.

“Please have a seat,” Jason says, gesturing to the conference table in the middle of this huge room. That’s it—I’m certain that the people who lived here before were preparing for Armageddon or something. There’s just no other reason for a room this large to be hiding behind the wall. You could hide a family in here!

I put my attaché down on the table and take a seat with Christian next to me. Moments after I sit, Ben is wheeling Chuck into the same entrance that we just came through, followed by Chance and three other guys that I don’t know.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Chuck says, trying to keep the atmosphere light, yet it’s anything but. “Wow, tough crowd,” he says, rolling up to the table. Once everyone is seated except for the two guys watching monitors, Jason says, “The floor is yours, Boss.” Christian entwines his fingers on the table.

“That same melon-clad bitch who came on to my wife at the Adopt-A-Family Affair has now threatened my wife,” he says. Jason raises his eyebrows.

“Wilson?” he asks incredulously. I nod. “What brought that on?”

“I had lunch with Adelaide last week and she and I agreed that her spoiled granddaughter would learn some valuable lessons if she spent time with the less fortunate. So, it was arranged that she would spend some time volunteering at Helping Hands.”

“Obviously, that didn’t go over so well,” Chuck chimes in. I scoff.

“Like a lead balloon,” I confirm. “She was insufferable, so Addie gave me control of her trust fund to get her to cooperate.”

“Oooo,” Chance says and a lot of the other men react in similar fashion.

“You have control of her money?” Jason asks.

Had,” I correct him. “She doesn’t want anything to do with this project. She has a plan for her life and as ridiculous as that plan is, she feels that she doesn’t need my help to fix her or anything else. The only reason she was coming to the center was because Addie—through me—was threatening her trust fund. I don’t think she really believed that I had control of her trust fund until she lost $120,000 and now has to wait a year longer than before in order to collect.” Now there’s hissing all over the room. Apparently, many of these people would react similarly had I taken money from them.

“May I ask how that came about?” Jason probes.

“She didn’t show up at the Center one day. No matter how insufferable she behaved, she never just didn’t show up. So, I called Addie to find out if she was okay and Addie was certain that she had just stood me up. We came up with a formula of how much it would cost her for however long it took her to check in with Addie. She froze Courtney’s accounts and discontinued her cell service. Courtney came into the Center yesterday breathing fire. She basically told me to get the hell out of her life and leave her alone. Then she issued the threat.”

“What was the threat?” Chuck asks.

“‘I know people, Bitch,’” I say.

“Eeeeeeeeeeyeah, that was a threat,” one of the other guys says.

“You all know that I don’t take any threats lightly, no matter how small,” Christian says. “If someone says they’re going to do something, you should believe that they’re going to do it—and this girl is an unknown. I don’t know if she’s blowing hot air to try to scare Ana or if she’s serious about her threats. I do know that my wife just asked me for her firearms, so she’s taking this very seriously.”

“Her firearms?” Ben asks. “I didn’t know you carried.”

“I don’t like the idea of carrying while I’m pregnant, but I dislike the idea of being unprepared even more.”

“I was wondering why the hot pregnant lady was carrying a Pelican Storm Attaché,” I hear one of the guys say under his breath. I look up to see who said it, but everyone is wearing a straight face. If Christian or Jason heard it, neither of them is letting on.

“Baby, in addition to a CPO, I want you to have covert surveillance for a while. I know how you hate having a lot of people looking over your shoulder, but…”

“No, no, it’s fine,” I interrupt him. “There’s going to be more once the babies are born, so I might as well get used to it.” He tries to hide his relief, but let’s face it—I don’t trust Melon Bitch. So, better safe than sorry.

“Jason, I’m going to need to discuss some particular needs with you, but right now, I don’t know what they are,” Christian says.

“Duly noted,” Jason answers.

“Chuck, how’s it looking? When does it look like you’ll be back on your feet?” Christian asks.

“I start physical therapy after Christmas, so I should be moving around mid- to late January. I guess it’ll be up to my boss when I can start doing ride-alongs,” he says.

“No, it’ll be up to the doctor,” Jason corrects him. Chuck scowls at him. “Don’t look at me like that. You’ve got a leg broken in two places and a bum chest cage. While I’m impressed with the whole crutches thing, you take it as quickly or as slowly as the doctor says you can.”

“That’s not fair,” Chuck mopes. “How long were you out after you got shot?”

“Don’t compare our injuries,” Jason scolds. “I had a hole in my arm. A few stitches, some stretches and a few rotary exercises and I was good as new. The bones that hold your body weight and make you able to run and move were shattered. Make sure they heal properly. Don’t rush it.”

“I need you in one piece,” I add, hoping that the words will calm his wayward wishes to roam too quickly.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he says, twisting his lips and begrudgingly admitting defeat.

“So, Butterfly,” Christian says, trying to get the conversation back on track, “what’s the plans with the guns? I know the Glock is usually in the glove box, but right now, there is no glove box. The Beretta normally stays by the bed. We don’t need that. You usually carry the Magnum.”

“I don’t know yet,” I admit. “I’m thinking about trading in the .44 for something lighter.”

“That’s a really small gun,” he says, his brow furrowed.

“It’s small, but it’s heavy,” I say. He nods. “The .44 is kissing up on two and a half pounds; the other two are less than two pounds loaded. To be honest, they’re all basically the same size. The Mag just looks smaller because of its contours. For now, I’m trying to decide if it will be the Beretta or the nine.”

“The .44 can’t be the same size as the Glock,” he says in disbelief. I shrug.

“You’ve got the lockbox. Look at it yourself,” I challenge him. Refusing to take my word for it, he puts the lockbox on the conference table and opens it. “Remove the Glock first. You know the drill,” I say, placing the attaché on the table and opening it to reveal my Beretta. We simultaneously remove the guns that are both without magazines. We release the slide to make sure that there are no rounds in the chamber. I set the Beretta down first and he sets the Glock down. It’s clear to see that with only slight differences, the guns are basically the same size.

“Well, of course those two are going to be similar,” he says.

“Yeah, but if we put one down and you size it up with the Mag, you’re going to think the other one is bigger. Now, the Mag…” I tell him, pointing at the Smith & Wesson still lying in the lockbox. He flips open the chamber to make sure it’s empty, then sets it down with the Glock and the Beretta.

“Son of a gun,” he says. “No pun intended. I would’ve sworn the Magnum was smaller.”

“Actually, it looks like it might be a hair bigger, but I don’t feel like pulling out the measuring stick,” I say facetiously.

“If that Glock is standard issue, the .44 is bigger—not by much, but it’s bigger.” Jason’s voice is the first we’ve heard since we started talking about the guns. Everyone else except Chuck is staring at me like some kind of exotic animal.

“Not to mention,” I begin, looking momentarily around the room before turning back to Christian, “I think I’m moving beyond a six-shooter life. It was simple when I could wave a gun and scare away the average predator. Now, the threats are a bit more menacing.” I scan the room again and no one’s eyes have moved. “What!?”

My tone of voice snaps many of them out of their stupor. A couple are still lost in some sort of trance. Jason loudly clears his throat to gain the attention of the last two gawkers.

“Forgive my staff, Your Highness,” he says, rolling his eyes. “No doubt, unless she was in combat scrubs, they’re not accustomed to seeing a woman handle a gun that way.”

“Your Highness? You really call her that?” one of them asks incredulously.

“Apparently, they’re not accustomed to a woman being in the room having functioning eyes and ears either,” I shoot at the idiot that just made that comment. “Yes, he really calls the hot pregnant lady carrying a Pelican Storm Attaché Your Highness,” I say, coining the phrase I heard from that general direction a few moments ago. “Not that it should be of any concern to anyone, but it’s a private joke from when we first met.” Some of the men shift nervously in their seats. Others just look at each other bemused.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I really didn’t mean any harm by it,” he says. Christian sits silently, clearly letting me take the floor with this group of He-Men. So, I do.

“Duly noted,” I say dismissively. “You all better get used to seeing a little bit more of me. Scratch that—make that a lot more of me, because I intend to be in on the planning for security protocol from here on out. My dad is a Marine. I’m licensed to carry and I can shoot all three of these handguns with precision. I’m trained in Krav Magna by a 6th Dan martial arts master. I can take any one of you down in a fair fight. Ask him,” I say, jerking my head at Christian. Several of them turn to Christian simultaneously, and I can see him nodding in my peripheral vision. I fold my arms over my baby bump.

“I realize that the fact that I’m sitting here looking like a frail and fragile, dainty little feminine whale makes it a bit difficult to see me as an equal. I also understand the fact that I don’t possess some of the essential machinery to be allowed into the boys’ room adds to that difficulty. However, this excess weight…” I gesture to my baby bump, “… will very soon be two little human beings for whom I would gladly risk my life, and not because I’m being paid for it. To that end, I will not be the little woman who stands by the side holding the babies while the big men protect me from the big bad world.” Christian sits back in his chair and crosses his ankle over his knee. Jason hasn’t moved or spoken, and the rest of the room is my captive audience.

“One last thing before we continue,” I say. “The next person that makes a derogatory statement or a comment about me like I’m not in the room, I will fire you. Either of these handsome gentlemen to my left or my right or the hero in the wheelchair will tell you that I do have that power.” Several of them look from Christian to Jason for confirmation.

“I don’t have the floor right now,” he says, perturbed at those still staring at him for confirmation. “You better listen to her because she’s the one talking.”

Clear enough for you, boys?

“I’m not a ball-buster. I’m not a socialite. I’m not a trophy wife. I’m not the little woman. If you cooperate with me, I will cooperate with you. What you give to me, you will get back. If you respect me, I will respect you. If you piss me off, you will know that I’m pissed. Is there anything that I just said that is unclear to anyone within the sound of my voice?” I hear murmurings, but no acknowledgement of my statement.

“Hello? Do I need a bullhorn?” I ask, my voice powering across this very large room. “Do you all understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?” Various attentive “yes ma’ams” float back at me from different directions. “Thank you. There’s no misunderstanding about anything that I said?” Again, various “no ma’ams” float at me. “Good, because if there’s anything unclear that you need clarified or anything that you need to discuss with me, now’s the fucking time!” I feel my blood pressure rising a bit and I fight to control it. Christian leans in and rubs my back, trying to calm me. The room falls silent and I have to say that I’m glad Christian let me handle that without interfering.

Shit, that felt great! Bunch of Neanderthal, male chauvinist…

“Now that we’ve established some ground rules,” Jason begins when the room falls silent, “we can discuss some changes in protocol that I see coming in the very near future—not only because of this recent threat, but also because of the pending birth of Mr. and Mrs. Grey’s children as well as the importance and vulnerability of the people who are closest to them on a regular basis.”

The conversation becomes very official with Jason confirming what Christian said, that I will have a covert surveillance officer assigned to me. Another officer is going to start shadowing Ben particularly when Marilyn is with me because there’s more than one person to protect, and there will permanently be more than one pretty soon anyway.

Courtney, of course, has gone on the watch list. I’ve told Christian that I plan to have lunch again with Addie tomorrow as I haven’t told her what’s happened between me and Courtney, yet. She probably thinks Courtney has been coming to the center these last two days and learned her lesson from losing a chunk of her trust fund and having to wait longer to collect. Nothing could be further from the truth and I’m not looking forward to her reaction when I tell her that I’m abandoning the project and why.

I am the last to know that Al has agreed to personal protection and that he will be assigned his CPO today. My father and Amanda vehemently declined, stating that they didn’t want that kind of infringement on their privacy. Christian has left the door open for them to change their minds, but if I know Daddy, he’s steadfast in his decision. I didn’t even know he had offered to security to my parents. Speaking of which, I can’t wait for Christmas next week because I really miss my little brother and I want to see him.

“It’s just a precaution, baby,” he tells me. “My parents agreed to covert surveillance. Mia turned it down flat, but Ethan was on board. So right now, it’s just covert for them, too.”

“And Elliot?” I ask, feeling the slightest twinge in my stomach about Valerie, but only the slightest twinge.

“Elliot agreed to covert because his shrew girlfriend wouldn’t have anything to do with GEH security. I get the feeling that if she could change him from being a Grey completely, she would do it.” I hold my head down.

“I didn’t ask about her,” I say, signaling that this part of the conversation is over. He gently holds my hand on the conference table.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Christian apologizes. I just nod and wave him off.

“So what’s next?” I ask.

“For you to ask Marilyn if she’s okay with having security of her own,” Jason asks. I frown.

“Why would Marilyn need security?” I ask.

“Because when you’re in public, you two are joined at the hip,” Jason replies.

“Exactly,” I retort, “which means I’ll already have a tribe of security for me and the babies. So, why would she need a separate officer?”

“For when you two are not joined at the hip,” he finishes. Oh… yeah, there is that.

“Do you really think she’s in some kind of danger working for me?” I ask. Jason twists his lips.

“I wouldn’t say that she’s in danger, but you are high profile now, which means she’s high profile. Honestly, Your Highness, it’s like the boss said—it’s just a precaution. If there were any real and present danger, we wouldn’t have let any of the family or personal staff turn down close personal protection.” I nod.

“Okay.” I’ll have to take his word for it. These are obviously things that were in the works before I came into the meetings, so I just have to pay attention and listen carefully… and try not to see Doomsday in every security initiative I hear. That’s easier said than done.

A/N: Remember in Paging Dr. Steele, Ana refers to Christian’s security team as “Men In Black.” When you first walk into the installation, there’s one guard, and an elevator that takes you down to the facility. 

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.

Love and handcuffs 🙂 
Lynn X


Becoming Dr. Grey: Chapter 39—Sweet Mistress…

A bit of advice… don’t hit the “next” button to move on to chapter 40. You will get caught in an infinite chapter 38-39 loop. (Don’t ask). Please, just go to the menu and manually select chapter 40. Thank you.

 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 39—Sweet Mistress…


My visit to the club on Mercer Island was very underwhelming. Breakfast was delicious and the manager, Chandra, was quite friendly and accommodating. Mercer is mostly a swim and tennis club with facilities for fitness and a lounge or three for private parties. Like our little island community, the club is extremely exclusive—so exclusive, in fact, that I wouldn’t be able to do nearly the amount of networking that I would like. A shame, too, because Chandra was really very nice.

Marilyn and I end up at Helping Hands earlier than expected since our visit to Mercer was pretty short. To my great surprise, Courtney is already there. She’s standing in front of my desk with her arms folded. I wasn’t expecting her for another hour if at all.

“Well, hello,” I greet her with mock pleasantness. “Fancy meeting you here.” I put my briefcase and iPad on the desk.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” she hisses at me. Ooo, she’s pissed. “A hundred and twenty grand off my trust fund? And I have to wait another whole year for it?” I raise my eyebrows.

“Ouch! That means that it either took you twelve more hours to contact your grandmother after we spoke, or it took you six hours, you lied about it, and you gave her lip. From the numbers, it sounds like she threw in an extra ten grand. You must have really pissed her off.” I sit down.

“I tried to call her earlier, but she turned off my fucking phone! She took my credit cards. She locked my bank accounts… I can’t even put gas in my car!”

“At least you get to keep your car,” I say matter-of-factly. She narrows her eyes at me.

“You are such a fucking bitch!” she snaps. “You married your goddamn billionaire. Why can’t you just leave me the fuck alone? I didn’t ask for this. I don’t need your help. I was doing just fine without you and I’ll do just fine when you’re gone!” She’s leaning on my desk now, trying to intimidate me, I think, or maybe it’s subconscious.

“You’re going to want to raise up off my desk,” I say menacingly. “I might feel a bit threatened and there’s a few things that may make you regret making me feel that way.”

“And what things would those be, Mrs. Grey?” she challenges.

“My crazy pregnancy hormones, the bodyguard in the lobby, and the Magnum in my purse,” I say, my eyes never leaving hers. Her eyes grow large for a moment, and she wisely—though slowly—rises off my desk.

“You’re right. You don’t need me. You can get the fuck out right now. I already told you I think you’re a lost cause. You’re too far gone. You’re too goddamn selfish. You can’t be fixed because you don’t want to be fixed…”

“I’m not broken!” she shoots.

“And there lies your fucking problem!” I shoot back. “You’re too arrogant, entitled, and stuck-up to even realize that you are broken. You think somebody’s always going to be there to bail you out. What are you going to do when your trust fund is gone? You’re young! Unless you plan on living a middle-class life at best or like a princess in the beginning and a pauper in the end, you can’t live the rest of your life off of your trust fund, and I don’t care how large it is. So, you get your trust fund, you spend it, it’s all gone. Now what?” Her lips turn up in a smirk.

“Do you think you’re the only one who can trip up and marry a billionaire?” she says. “I travel in these circles. I’m raised with the kids with the pedigrees. You got lucky. You may have four-leaf-slithered your way into a rich husband, but not so with me, Doctor. It’s a virtual guarantee for me—it’s written in my blood. I’m a thoroughbred!”

I gawk at her. That’s her plan? That’s the amazing plan that’s going to have her set for life? Marry rich? Land a rich husband? First of all, she’s a lesbian—does she even like men? Second of all, she’s in her mid-twenties. When does she intend to get started with this little plan of hers?

“So I’m assuming that there must be an arranged marriage on the horizon for you to be so fucking cocky, because you can’t be this stuck-up and arrogant and not have a foolproof plan. So tell me, which lucky ‘Biff’ is it?” I ask sarcastically. She laughs.

“Don’t you worry about me, Doc. When it’s time for me, I’ll have no problem landing my fish.”

“And what if you do?” I ask, leaning forward and entwining my fingers on my desk. “What if you go to the water and the creek is dry—all the little fishies have been caught and you’re standing on the bank with your pole and your bait… and no fish?”

“That won’t happen,” she says, still smirking.

“Humor me,” I respond, “because your grandparents sure aren’t going to live forever.” She shrugs.

“I won’t have anything to worry about anyway. My grandparents won’t leave me penniless.” My brow furrows.

“I’m confused,” I begin. “Am I to understand that your plan is to inherit your trust fund, marry some poor, rich bastard who doesn’t know you’re gay and if that doesn’t work out, wait until your grandparents kick it so you can collect from them?” She smirks.

“Boy, you are new to this, huh?” she says, mockingly. “How do you think old money stays old money?”

I’m appalled. This melon trick is more twisted and selfish than I thought. I fire up my computer to start my day. Where is the filthiest place I can put her today?

“So are you here to work?” I ask, not raising my head from the computer.

“Not particularly.”

“No problem. You can leave then.” There’s silence for a moment.

“I don’t have to stay?” she asks, bemused.

“You never have to stay,” I tell her, still looking at the screen, “and if you’re not going to work, I certainly don’t want you here.” She turns around and walks triumphantly to the door, but stops when she gets there and turns back around to face me. I’m already typing into my computer after pouring water from a bottle into a glass on my desk.

“But you’ll tell my grandmother,” she states.

“Yes, I will,” I say, taking a sip of my water.

“Then I have to stay,” she laments loudly. “I mean, that’s the whole purpose of this exercise, isn’t it? Fix broken little Courtney so your climber ass can get brownie points with my grandmother?” This little girl is working on my last nerve.

“And my climber ass is going to call your grandmother and tell her that you’re a lost cause, to donate your trust fund to charity and send your ass back to East Witchafuckatuck or wherever the hell you came from if you don’t stop insulting me with every breath that comes out of your mouth!”

“It’s not my fault you’re a disagreeable, wanna-be, charity-trophy-wife, climber bitch because that’s what you are! You’re trying to make a name for yourself in Wilson’s eyes climbing on my back and I’m not going to stand for it anymore!”

Is that what I’m doing? I mean I really thought I was trying to help this girl. I gave up. I told her grandmother that I gave up and I was willing to walk away. That’s not what I’m doing, but even if I were, she’s a lost cause. She doesn’t want this. She’s got her plan. It’s foolproof, and I’m stepping back.

“If that’s how you feel, stop talking to me and wasting both of our time and get out of my office,” I say as calmly as I can.

“I can’t!” she snaps back. “The climber bitch has her fist around my trust fund.” I rise from my chair.

“I’m not going to be too many more bitches, Courtney,” I tell her.

“Bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch…” Before I know it, I snatch the glass with the water in it and empty all over her face. She gasps and she’s stunned into silence. I just wanted it to stop, but I don’t want to fight this girl. I’m eight months pregnant. Remembering that I mentioned my Magnum, I reach for my purse and just lay my hand on top of it.

“I warned you that I wouldn’t be too many more bitches,” I say coolly. She is livid. She’s so hot that I would swear the water I just threw on her face was boiling.

“I know people… Bitch!” she says through her teeth. And that was a definite threat. I tilt my head sideways and glare at her. You have no idea that you just made a declaration of war, do you?

“Is that so? Well, I am people, Bitch!” I hiss back. “You want to fuck with Grey, you got it! I’ll be sure to pass your little message on to my husband and I can guarantee you that whoever you may know, they are not Christian Grey. Now get the fuck. Out. Of my office.”

Her expression lacks the conviction it had when she first made her threat. She’s not moving towards that goddamn door.

“Now!” I growl. In moments, Ben is at the door examining the situation. In two seconds, he assesses what’s happening and places himself between my desk and Courtney, staring down at her and waiting for her to move towards the door. I can still see her and I glare at her with narrowed eyes. Get the fuck out, bitch, before I forget that I’m pregnant!

She rolls her eyes at me, then at Ben and marches out of the office, pushing past Marilyn on her way out. I see Marilyn’s hand reach out and I’m not really sure what transpired, but Marilyn’s voice is powerful when it challenges her, her finger pointing at her assailant.

“Hey! I didn’t touch you and I didn’t say anything to you, so don’t fucking push me! I’m not pregnant and I’ll bust your ass right where you stand!” There’s a moment of silence that I assume is a standoff before I hear designer heels clicking away down the hallway. I watch Marilyn for a moment as she watches Melon Girl walk away down the hall. Neither of us moves until the clicking stops on the linoleum. I take my seat and turn my attention back to my computer.

“I didn’t you know you were carrying again,” Marilyn says, walking back into the office.

“I’m not,” I say without raising my head, “but she doesn’t know that. I will be after this, however.”


There wasn’t much else that I could do at Helping Hands today as I didn’t have much time to speak of after the tour of Mercer Island Country Club. I didn’t bother calling Addie because I just don’t see the need. Let her deal with her wayward granddaughter. If she wants to talk to me about the situation, she can call me and I’ll tell her that I’m throwing in the towel. That woman threatened me. She’s been disagreeable and uncooperative, she’s constantly disrespecting me and my work and now she’s threatening me. That’s a deal-breaker. Besides, she’s right. She’s an adult. She has the right to do whatever she wants with her life, whether I approve or not and I don’t have the right to tell her differently. So goodbye, Ms. Wilson. I wish you luck in your endeavors.

The babies chose today to debate about space and authority. I swear it feels like they’re fighting in there. The entire ride to the doctor’s office, they are in a complete and utter state of unrest. I can’t get comfortable to save my life. Maybe this is my punishment for leaving Christian in that chastity cage all day. I’m sure that he won’t forget his malfeasance after this. I didn’t mean for him to suffer through the pain of his teeth, though.

As my submissive, he never ends the two-way communications when I call him. Either he doesn’t think to do it, or he just lets me do it. This morning while I was waiting, I could hear his discomfort before he went to the restroom. Right before he left the guest room, I could hear him begging something to “go down” and I’m certain that he was speaking to his erection and his ever-ready morning woody. Mr. Grey is very proud of his family jewels—appropriately named Greystone—and I can understand why a chastity device would be an effective teaching tool for someone like him.

Let’s just hope that these particular lessons are few and far between… because I like his family jewels, too.

The thought of him is making me hot and horny and releasing pheromones, which apparently have calmed my children. That’s a little creepy. At least I know that if I get all hot and bothered, they will calm the hell down. As I’m attempting to calm my thoughts of Mr. Grey’s family jewels, I hear the familiar saxophone ringtone on my phone. When I fish it out of my purse, I see that it’s Jason. We’re pulling up to the doctor’s office now. Why is he calling me? Something’s wrong…

“Jason?” I answer, concerned.

“Your Highness,” he responds calmly. “Mr. Grey has asked that I call you and let you know that there’s an accident on the Murrow Bridge. We’ve been stuck here for 45 minutes. The police have the bridge blocked in front of us because of the accident and traffic has us trapped in the back. I’m afraid we’re not going to make it to your appointment with Dr. Culley.”

My first reaction is relief that nothing is wrong with Christian since Jason rarely calls me. My second reaction is confusion… why is Jason calling me? Then it hits me. I smile to myself as I realize that my loyal and obedient submissive has remembered that he can’t speak to me without my permission, but he had to get a message to me that he wouldn’t be able to make the appointment.

“Are you and Christian okay?” I ask.

“Yes, ma’am, bored out of my skull, but nothing more.”

“Thanks for calling, Jason. You guys get off that bridge and get back home as soon as you can, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And Jason?”


“Stop calling me ‘ma’am,’”

“Yes, ma’am.” Now he’s just being a pain in the ass.

“You’re fired,” I tell him.

“Of course,” he says, and I end the call.

“We can go on inside,” I tell Ben. “Jason and Christian are stuck on the I-90. They’re not going to make it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, getting out of the car. God, this ma’am is going to kill me today.


“Things are looking very good, Ana,” Dr. Culley says. “Your blood pressure looks good and so far, none of the issues we are watching are a concern right now.”

“That’s good to hear,” I tell her.

“The babies keeping you up at night?” she asks. I shake my head.

“Not so much. They get more restless during the day, if anything.” She nods and takes some notes.

“Christian’s usually with you.” She leaves the statement open as she makes a few more notes.

“He’s stuck in whatever’s happening on I-90,” I say.

“I-90?” she asks. I nod. “Where?”

“The Murrow.” She frowns.

“Hmm. I usually take that Bellevue.”

“Me, too,” I say. “You know I live on the Island now. I haven’t heard anything about the condition of the westbound traffic, but eastbound is gridlocked.”

“Well, thanks for letting me know,” she says. “I’ll prepare myself for a long, boring ride home just in case.”

“Dr. Culley, the OB checker at the hospital told me that I should be careful having sex,” I say, approaching the topic gingerly. “Was she saying that because of the concern for my blood pressure or the risk of pre-eclampsia… or is there concern because I’m in my third trimester or the fact that I’m carrying twins…”

“Slow down! Slow down!” she says, holding her hands up and closing my chart. “Of course, all of those things are cause for concern, Ana. You definitely should refrain from rough sex during your third trimester no matter what the conditions are in your pregnancy. Christian wants to be careful in how he handles you, because you tend to bruise more easily when you’re pregnant. Extensive sex may not be a good idea, either, so you just want to use good judgement.”  Really?

“Extensive as in constant stimulation?” I probe.

“As in constant penetration,” she clarifies. “You have to remember, the condo is occupado right now. You don’t want to set up a urinary tract infection or anything.”

“Okay, well how much is too much?” I ask her. “I’m asking because I have know idea. I’m a young, fertile woman with a young, virile husband and I just don’t want to overdo it.” She nods.

“I understand. Always take it slow and easy. I would say that as long as you don’t feel any discomfort, you should be fine, but if you must go with a number, do go higher than three times a week. I fear that you might be getting into the danger zone if you go higher than that.” I nod.

“Don’t worry, Doc. I’ll be safe. I don’t want anything to hinder the safe arrival of my wrestlers.”

“Oh, they have a new profession, now,” she jests.

“Yes. Yes, they do…

We share a few more moments of good humor before she gives me a few more instructions and a fairly clean bill of health and sends me on my way since we will have to battle rush hour traffic getting across the bridge. Ben and I turn right to traffic radio as soon as we get into the car. Might as well know what we’re facing. It takes a moment for them to get to what’s happening on the Murrow, but they finally get there right before we get to the bridge.

“Well, if you’re looking to get off of Mercer Island to Seattle this afternoon, you might want to consider a detour. The I-90 eastbound is backed up almost all the way to the 405 spaghetti bowl and you know what that means—rush hour is going to be a monster! If you’re already on the 405 with intentions of heading east, I suggest you take the long way through Bellevue up the 405 to the 520 and hit the I-5 southbound from there. If you’re headed south, just stay on the 405 and pick up the I-5, the 518, or the 167 near SeaTac. Apparently, there’s a rollover accident on the Murrow involving three vehicles and we’re told there might even be a fatality. Police are working to clear the scene, but traffic has been at a standstill for at least two hours. Traffic coming on to Mercer Island from Bellevue is being rerouted at exit 8, so you will have to do some surface driving to get to your destination—to the dismay of Mercer residents near the I-90. Traffic stuck between exit 8 and the Murrow is slooooooowly being rerouted to exit 7. Expect gawker delays in the westbound lanes as well as additional traffic delays being rerouted off of the island back to Bellevue. Honey, the hubby’s going to be late for dinner.”

It looks like the wife may be late, too.

Moments later, my phone starts to chime with text messages. The first is from Al.

**Check in, Jewel. Just got news on I-90. Are you okay?**

Of course, he’d be concerned about me.

**I and the beans are fine. Not looking forward to trying to get across this bridge though.**

I send the message back and my phone buzzes with another text. It’s Marilyn.

**Bosslady, still at that Crossing. More deliveries came today. I was about to go home, but the bridge… you okay?**

Before I can answer her, I get a similar message from Maxie and Mia and now my phone is ringing and it’s Daddy.

“Hi Daddy, I’m okay. Christian’s stuck in that mess, but he’s okay, too. My phone is going nuts, so I can’t talk now, but I love you.” There’s a moment of silence before he burst into laughter.

“I love you, too, Sunflower,” he says, his voice full of mirth. “Glad to hear you’re okay and I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye, Daddy,” I say with a smile before I end the call. I then send a mass message to the contingency list and Mia:

**I’m about to tackle the westbound I-90 to get home, but that accident was not me or Christian. He is unfortunately stuck in the eastbound traffic jam, but we are both fine. Love you all.**

I send off the text just in time for my phone to ring again. This time, it’s Grace.

“Hi Grace,” I say, my voice weary.

“Ana! Oh, thank God! I heard about an accident on the Murrow! Christian must be on his phone because he’s not answering and I’m frantic to know what’s going on.” She’s very worried and I dare not hang up from her now without getting her some answers.

“Ben, would you please call Jason and make sure they are okay?” I ask. He nods at me in the rearview and calls on the hands-free.

“I spoke to Jason before I went to the doctor and he and Christian were stuck in the traffic jam trying to get to the appointment,” I tell Grace. “They’re probably still trying to get out of it now.” I hear her sigh.

“Taylor,” I hear Jason’s voice over the radio speakers.

“Jay, Mrs. Grey and Dr. Trevelyan-Grey are checking on your status,” Ben says.

“We’re near the end of the line trying to be rerouted off of exit 7. There’s no way eastbound traffic is going to get moving again tonight. It’s a crime scene up there,” he says.

“Foul play?” Ben asks.

“I don’t know, but somebody died, so they can’t release the scene.”

“I have Grace on the phone,” I warn Jason. Don’t get too graphic. “She says that Christian is not answering his phone.”

“It’s charging,” Jason says. “He’s been on it the entire time we’ve been sitting here. His chops starting to bother him, so he took a couple of painkillers and now he’s napping in the back seat.”

“His chops?” Grace asks.

“He has a… retainer of sorts on his teeth. You know…” I trail off.

“Ah, yes,” she says in a displeased knowing tone. “Well, as long as I know the two of you are okay. Just tell Christian to call his mother when you guys get home, okay?”

“Sure thing, Grace. Love you.”

“Love you, too, Dear.” I end the call with Grace.

“Do you want me to wake him?” Jason says.

“No, let him rest. Sitting there must be agony. I’m sorry you guys had to spend your afternoon like that.”

“Thanks, Your Highness. We’ll live.”

“I’ll see you when you make it home,” I say, turning the conversation back over to Ben. Various people respond to my text that they are glad I’m okay. I rub my stomach. Dr. Culley says that I should start expressing colostrum in about three to four weeks to prepare for the babies. It’s not like I could deny it before, but it’s really real now. These babies are coming soon. They’re quiet again, thank God, because when they start to stir it’s truly like mountains moving around in there. I settle back into my seat and get comfortable for the ride.

I open my eyes at Grey Crossing and realize that I’ve fallen asleep in the back of the car. Twilight has fallen, and I’m starving. Ben opens my door and reaches his hand out to me. I look up at him.

“May I, ma’am?” he asks, apparently knowing that it’s going to be difficult for me to get out of the car after I’ve fallen asleep and haven’t had a chance to stretch. I take his hand and swing my feet out of the car. My attempt at graceful when I get to my feet comes off as slightly clumsy instead of bungling, and that makes me happy.

“Okay?” Ben checks to make sure I have my footing. I nod and smile at him.

“Thank you, Ben,” I say sweetly. He really didn’t have to help me.

“You’re welcome.” He smiles back and closes the door.  After he moves the car, I take this opportunity for a proper stretch before I go inside.

My heels click loudly on the marble floors and something about the silence and the stillness alerts me that he’s not here yet. Windsor is there to take my coat and briefcase, notifying me that Marilyn left only moments ago and will call in the morning for instructions. Christian has his doctor’s appointment in the morning and I haven’t yet decided if I’m going to Helping Hands once we’re done, although I am concerned about what’s going on with the Radcliffs and why all of the deliveries are being declined. Now, their phone is disconnected and I can’t even call to see what gives.

“Eating in the kitchen today?” Gail says in a knowing tone when I enter.

“Yes,” I reply sitting at the breakfast bar. “Can I get a cranberry spritzer, Gail?” She turns to the refrigerator and removes the ingredients, mixing them in a tall glass over crushed ice.

“You’re not waiting for Christian?” she asks as I look at my phone. I shake my head.

“I would, but I’m so hungry that I could gnaw off my own arm.” She bursts into laughter and startles me a bit before I realize that what I said was actually funny. “What’s for dinner?” I ask with a small chuckle.

“Quick chicken cordon bleu, skillet gnocchi with chard and white beans, and spaghetti squash with ginger-miso dressing.” My stomach is growling at the description. It all sounds so delicious.

“Oh my God, feed me!” I declare. She laughs again and fills one of the plates from the counter as I finish a text to Christian.

**Notify me when you arrive. Eat your dinner, call your mother, then take a shower. I’ll let you know what time I expect you in the bedroom.**

I put the phone down just as Gail places a plate before me full of beautiful winter colors and emitting such delicious fragrances that I almost forget that I’m a lady. I place my napkin on my lap and dig in, savoring the flavor of the chicken as Gail places two hot buttered rolls on a saucer on the counter next to my plate. I nod gratefully and look at my phone, irritated by the vibration and that someone would dare interrupt this spiritual moment.

**Yes, Mistress.**

Just that quickly, I forgot that I had texted him. I put the phone down and continue the religious journey that is dinner.

“Gail, it amazes me that we have a staff now, but you still cook dinner. Why is that?” I ask between bites.

“I like cooking,” she says. “I still want to do it when I get the opportunity, dinner in particular. When the twins get here, there won’t be as much chance to get into the kitchen, so…” She shrugs.

“You don’t regret agreeing to expand your duties, do you?” I ask cautiously.

“Of course not!” she exclaims. “I can’t wait for the twins to arrive.”

“Do you think you’ll need more help?” I ask. She shrugs.

“I don’t know,” she answers honestly. “I think that’s a bridge we’re going to have to cross when we get to it.” She puts the tea kettle on the stove to warm. “Did the doctor say everything was okay?” I feel guilty discussing my appointment with her before I talk to Christian, but there’s no significant news, so I figure no harm done.

“Everything is on schedule and going according to plan,” I tell her. “My blood pressure has levelled out, but you know I’m not out of the woods with that until the babies are born. Besides that, I have a clean bill of health.”

“Well, that’s good,” she says, tending to my ginger tea while I make quick work of what’s left of my dinner, savoring the last bite of those hot buttered rolls. The twins gratefully wiggle a bit as tasty morsels make their way through my digestive system. “Keri and Chuck seem to be hiding in their suite today,” she says.

“Is everything alright?” I ask. She shrugs.

“Keri doesn’t look distraught when she comes to get their meals, but if I were to guess, I would say it had something to do with his parents.” I sigh. Christian told me that Jason and Welch had found Chuck’s parents and that Jason spoke to them. The last I had heard, Chuck has their contact information, but there has been no communication between them.

“So you’ve seen Keri today, but no Chuck,” I confirm. She nods as she places a warm cup of ginger tea in front of me. I take a welcome sip and the warmth feels wonderful going down, assisting with my digestion and calming the twins at the same time.

“If he doesn’t come out of that cocoon for breakfast, he may require an intervention,” she says. “I don’t want to see him slip into depression and fall off the wagon.” I nod.

“Yes, that does present a problem, does…” I stop mid-sentence when I see Keri come from the family room, looking a little tired. Oh, no. This doesn’t look good. “Hi, Keri,” I say cautiously.

“Oh, hello Anah,” she says as if she’s startled to see me there. I frown.

“Are you alright?” I ask. She nods.

“Just a leettle tiyed,” she says as she loads two plates with food and rolls. She’s moving very sluggishly and I narrow my eyes at her. What’s wrong that she’s so tired?

“How’s Chuck?” Gail asks, expecting. Keri looks over her shoulder as if to see is anyone is coming.

“Insatiable!” she exclaims and I almost spew my ginger tea. “De mahn is a machine! Heh won’t let meh rest! Eve’y time I tink him done, him come back! Boing! Boing! Boing!” She makes the noise and bends her finger with each “boing” and I swear I just want to lose it. I know she is very serious, but her description of Chuck’s apparent unwavering sex drive is nothing short of hilarious.

“Oh, my,” Gail replies, attempting to maintain decorum. “So, he’s… not depressed,” she clarifies. Keri’s eyes grow large.

“Dee-ptessed!” she exclaims. “I shuld seh nawt! Him de grindsman! Him boink don die!”

I lose it—ginger tea everywhere. I have sprayed the entire counter in a most unladylike fashion and I’m covering my mouth choking on laughter. Gail is not making it any better as she attempts to clean the counter while hiding her own giggles.

“You tink dis funny?” Keri asks appalled. Unfortunately, I can’t feel her outrage. I use my napkin in a vain attempt to cover my laughter while this poor girl goes off on an American/Anguillan/Patois tangent of the woes of having a stallion for a lover.

“It nawt funny! Meh pum pum gwine fahl off! Him duggu-duggu lon time an di bruk did ah cum, I seh ‘Oh! I get rest!’ But noh! Him go eat unda sheet until hood go boink boink agin, den him rooks wi me some moh! Him even cock it up in mi punaani—hah you cock it up wit de broken lehg?”

Okay, I must admit that I understood maybe one sentence of what she just said. Nonetheless, I can’t stop laughing. I think “pum pum,” “lon time,” “boink boink,” and “cock it up” give me a vivid enough picture that our dear Chuck may be channeling his grief and anger through sex.

“Keri,” I say, trying and failing to stifle my laughter, “Say it with me… no.” She frowns deeply.

“Ya noh tell ya mahn ‘noh!’” she says, outraged that I would even suggest such a thing. “Ya noh gib ya mahn what he want him go out an find him a dancehall queen—go duhty wine wit sum udda woman! Noh!” She stands with her hands fisted on her hips, dug in that if she doesn’t allow Chuck to screw her senseless, he’ll go and find another woman. I sigh, mirth no longer in my voice.

“You need to talk to him, Keri,” I tell her. “A woman is not made to be drilled consistently for lots of reasons, the least of which is that it’s going to hurt. Talk to him. He’ll understand… or else ya pum pum gwine fahl off.” I mimic her voice and accent.

Her eyes immediately soften and try though she might, she can’t stop it. It starts with a scoff, then a cough, then a snicker. A few moments later, she’s laughing so hard that she’s crying. Gail takes my ruined tea away and cleans my spewed mess while I sit here looking at Keri and shaking my head.

“Did I rally seh dat?” she says, laughing. “Did I rally seh meh pum pum gwine fahl off?” I nod.

“You really said that,” I confirm. She covers her face, still laughing.

“Oh!” she laments. “Him buddy won goh down. We goh an we goh an him buddy won goh down.”

“You’re going to have to tell him to let you rest,” I tell her again. “Commend him on his sexual prowess and that he’s such a stallion that you just can’t go any longer.”

“Sttoke him ego,” she says.

“Exactly,” I nod. “He’ll give you a break, but you have to tell him.” Gail’s attention is drawn to her phone. She frowns. “What’s wrong, Gail?”

“I just got a text from Sophie,” she says. “Her mother is going away for Christmas to God only knows where. Sophie was hoping that Shalane would let her stay with us for Christmas, but the answer is an unequivocal ‘no.’” She sighs. “Jason was supposed to get weekends and holidays with Sophie in the custody agreement, but she crosses him every chance she gets. She’s such a witch!”

“Why doesn’t Jason protest this? He has court-ordered visitation and she won’t let him see his daughter!” I say.

“He has a high-risk job and he doesn’t want to rock the boat,” Gail says, typing in her phone again. “Shalane has threatened him more than once saying that she would tell the judge that his job is a danger to Sophie’s safety.”

“That’s ridiculous!” I declare. “If that were the case, law-enforcement agents and military men all over the world wouldn’t be able to have children!” She nods.

“I know that and you know that, but Jason doesn’t want to take the chance of losing visitation with his daughter completely.” She looks at the phone again. “They’ve finally been routed to exit 7. They have to take the surface streets home, but they should be here soon.” And that’s my cue.

“Keri… talk to him.” She rolls her eyes and sighs.

“I weel,” she says reluctantly, loading a rolling tray with food and drinks for their dinner while rolling her eyes. I shake my head and snicker again.

“I’m going upstairs, Gail. It’s been a longer day than it should have been and I’m going to take a shower.” Gail nods with little enthusiasm. “Don’t worry about Sophie, Gail,” I tell her. “It’ll all work out in the end. Women like that always get theirs. Look at my mother.” Come to think of it, I don’t even know where that woman is or if she’s dead or alive. “If all else fails, in a few years, Sophie can leave her mother and there’s nothing she can do about it.” I can’t stand when women use children as weapons against the father. Gail nods.

“I know,” she says. “I’ll help you with that, Keri,” and I can tell that she’s desperate to change the subject. I slide off the chair and take the stairs up to my bedroom.

I shower in the same vanilla/cinnamon soap that I used last night. Just as I’m getting out of the shower, the two-way communications system beeps in the bedroom.

“Yes,” I say, wrapping myself in a towel as I walk into the bedroom.

“I’m here, Mistress.” He sounds a bit weary. Jason said he was asleep in the back seat of the car. It’s obvious that he’s still groggy.

“Good. Have your dinner and your shower and make sure you call Grace. She saw the traffic report and tried to reach you. I’ll summon you shortly.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he replies. I listen as he silently leaves whatever room he’s in. I assume it’s his den.

“End two-way communications.” I say before going to my dressing room and sitting at my vanity. While Christian eats the wonderful meal that Gail has prepared, I layer my body in the candy-scented lotion again. The smell is titillating and I can’t help but wonder how Christian felt smelling it on my skin. He didn’t visibly react to it, not that he could, but something about the smell of it turns me on and makes me feel so sexy.

Black was the color of choice for last night. Tonight, it will be white. I put on a small pair of white panties with stay-put thigh high stockings and a white sheer negligee similar to the one I wore last night. This one has three-quarter sleeves and a plunging neckline that allows my boobs to sit up and fall out quite nicely. The front is adorned with seven ball buttons that hold it together. Again, I look sexy.

Please! Only You Can Prevent Forest Fires PosterI haven’t been to the salon to have my Brazilian for the last several months since the baby bump became a baby mountain and I sure as hell can’t see anything down there. I’m surprised Christian could find my clitoris last night while he was getting me off. Smokey the Bear should have jumped out of there warning him about forest fires. If it bothers him, he’s sweet enough not to ever say anything about it, but the ever-growing bush just gave me a great idea.

I have plans for Mr. Grey tonight. I think he’s suffered enough and has hopefully learned his lesson with this exercise. I’m not a seasoned Domme, but even so, I know that in any situation, overkill has the opposite effect of discipline. I go to my bathroom and set everything on my vanity for a shave—my razor, my aloe shaving cream, towels, and coconut oil as aftershave. I walk back to the bedroom and sit on the bed. I examine my stocking feet and consider wearing a pair of stilettos. No, I think not. The stockings are fine.

I relax there for about twenty minutes before I go to my bags and get the blindfold, the flogger, the crop, and the under-the-bed restraints. I attach the bed restraints to the bed legs by a hangman’s noose and keep the other items out of sight except for the wrist restraints before I summons Mr. Grey.

“Activate two-way communications.” Beep. “Locate Christian Grey.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“I will see you now.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“End two-way communications.” In moments, there is a knock at the door. It’s strange having him knock on our bedroom door.

“Come in.”

He looks refreshed when he enters the room, much better than he did this morning. No doubt, the nap on the way home had a lot to do with it.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Grey?” I ask.

“Well, Mistress,” he responds.

“Your gums?”

“Fine, Mistress. I took my medicine.” I nod.

“Very good. Disrobe.” He drops his robe to reveal his fantastic body—chiseled abs, well-defined pecks, rock-hard thighs and godlike calves. Oh, I’m going to have fun tonight.

Then again, so is he.

“You are one fine specimen, Mr. Grey,” I say, my voice sultry. I see him swallow hard. “Give me your hands.” He holds his hands out and I attach the wrist cuffs. “Follow me.” I walk into my bathroom and lead him to my vanity. “I’ve slacked on my grooming, Mr. Grey, and in my current condition, I need a little help. You may look at me.” He raises his eyes to mine and I gesture to the shaving products.

“I haven’t had a Brazilian in a while and in my current state of maternity, I dare not shave myself. So I’m afraid it’s a task that you will have to perform for me.” His expression doesn’t change, but his eyes can’t hide his obvious delight as his pupils dilate quickly and dramatically. “Do you have a problem with that?” I say, my voice inviting.

“Not at all, Mistress,” he replies, his voice controlled.

“Good. Take off my panties… slowly.” He crouches down and lifts the hem of my gown—slowly, like he unwrapping a present. When he gets to the top of my hips, he slides his hands under the elastic waistband of my underwear. His breath catches and I bite my lip in anticipation as he slowly and sensually peels my panties off my behind then down and around my hips, saving the front for last. I gasp when my panties separate from my core and I don’t know how I’m going to keep from coming while he’s shaving me. He drags the little white things down my legs until they get to my ankles and I step out of them. I’m almost breathless and he has a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead after that one small exercise.

“Fill the sink with hot water,” I command, my voice husky. He complies as I use a stepstool to climb up onto the vanity. When he looks at me again, I’m sitting on the vanity with my legs spread open—one hanging off the vanity and one around the sink.

I’ve paid attention to that cage around his dick… and he’s pinking up.

That impassive expression he had earlier is shot to hell and he licks his lips visibly while looking at me sprawled out over my vanity. He closes his eyes for a moment and takes a single breath and lets it out before I address him.

“Where do you want me?” I ask. He swallows again, the black in his eyes almost eclipsing the gray.

“That…” he has to clear his throat. “That’s fine, Mistress. Lean back, though.” He puts two fluffy towels under my elbows and I lean back, completely open and on display for him. He takes a deep breath, then shakes my shaving cream. He applies a very small amount over the top of my pubic hair, then makes a few quick passes, removing lots of hair quickly. I watch him intently in the mirror in front of me, but to the right and behind him. I positioned myself purposely this way. I don’t know if he’s ever shaved a woman’s genitals before, but he shaves his face without incident, so I have to trust him.

He empties the water in the sink and fills it again with clean, hot water to complete his task. Using a washcloth, he gently wipes away the remnants of the stray hair and extra shaving cream. My hungry clit is poking out a bit from my lips and the pass of his hand and the washcloth sends a chill up my spine. I have to keep still. This man has a razor at my pussy!

He applies a more generous coating of shaving cream to my slightly deforested pubic area and more slowly runs the blade over my skin—across my pubic line, the creases of my thighs, over and just inside both lips, down near my anus right at my perineum. His gentle touch and the scrape of the razor are so arousing. Once he has shaved the area, he cleans away the remaining shaving cream, residue, and excess hair clippings with a warm washcloth. I’m already hot and his touch is making me hotter. He cleans and dries the area thoroughly, including the sink, before he applies an ample amount of the coconut oil to my pelvis and begins to spread it generously over my sensitive shaved skin.

Good fuck, I’m on fire!

He’s thorough in covering the area that he shaved. I can’t tolerate any alcohol-based aftershave on my pubic area, so only natural oils will do. The thing about oils is…


His fingers glide from my perineum, up my lips and to the creases of my thighs. I’m leaning back on my elbows, panting, listening to his breath quicken only slightly as he concentrates on his task. He covers my pubic area completely, then makes one long pass on the shaved skin just inside the lips… and across my clit. I tremble with the pleasure—searing and burning over my skin and my sensitive core.

“Again!” I breathe. He doesn’t hesitate. His hand strokes masterfully from palm to fingertip over my lips and clit, causing me to cry out involuntarily.

“Yes! Yes! Don’t stop…” I beg, my clit screaming for more. He continues his stroke, this time with only his oily fingers—up and down and along the sides of my clit. He works me into a trembling, hot frenzy very quickly.

“Don’t… don’t let… me fall…” I pant. My elbows are going to give way the moment this orgasm hits, which will be any second now. Without missing a beat on the stroke of his right hand, his left arm slides around my body, his hand thrusting into my hair and cupping my head. He pulls me close to his body and continues his delicious manipulation of my throbbing clit. When I hear the stifled moan in his chest, I’m undone. I detonate in a fiery climax, silently begging him to kiss me.

I guess it wasn’t silent.

His lips bruise mine, his tongue roaming greedily through my mouth while his fingers continue to wring a painful orgasm from my core. I thrust my hands in his hair and pull and he groans into my mouth, spurring my climax on and on. I’m trembling, shaking, useless on my vanity when orgasm has waned. I release his hair and that’s his cue to stop the kiss.

He slowly and gently pulls his lips from mine. My eyes are closed, so I can’t see him. He lays my body down on the counter and steps away from me while I try to catch my breath. When I’ve regained just enough control to open my eyes, I see him standing in position one, panting, and counting. His penis is purple, almost blue in its cage. He’s so aroused that he can hardly control it.

“Meet me in the bedroom, Mr. Grey,” I say, my voice wistful and sated. “Remove the duvet.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he replies, his full of need and longing. He dutifully leaves the en suite and I take a few moments to collect myself. I didn’t intend to come while he shaved me, but his touch—I just couldn’t take it anymore. It’s probably good that I did, because now I’m loose and ready for what’s next.

Using the step stool, I get off the vanity and go to our bedroom, taking the coconut oil with me. He’s standing there facing the bed, head bowed, hands clasped in front of him. He has regulated his breathing, but I can tell that he’s still counting.

“On your knees on the bed, Mr. Grey,” I command him. “Face the headboard.” Without hesitation, he’s on his knees as instructed. I attach his wrist cuffs to the restraints on either leg at the head of the bed.

“Hold the headboard,” I tell him. He must lean forward to hold the headboard, and his back looks glorious! The image that immediately comes to mind is Atlas holding the world. I run my fingers over his back and he shivers, his breath catching in his throat.

ussteq“You’re beautiful,” I breathe, still caressing his skin.

“Thank you, Mistress,” he pants, his control slipping into oblivion. I step away from him and retrieve the blindfold and the flogger.

“I’m going to blindfold you, now,” I warn him as I pull the blindfold over his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, Mistress,” he says, his voice a little strained.

“Your safewords, Mr. Grey.” He takes a deep breath as if to steady himself.

“Sails and knots, Mistress.”

“Sails and knots. Very good.” I bring the flogger back and let the tails spray over his back and shoulder. He gasps loudly, but I can tell that it’s more from shock than pain. I swing again… and again. He throws his head forward, his chin in his chest, panting again. His hands grip the headboard and his muscles flex with each blow. His legs have slid apart even though he’s on his knees and I can see his penis throbbing in its cage. I rain the blows from his back over his shoulders and down his ass—sensual, but swift with just enough force to leave a slightly pink welt, just like he likes it. His breath is uncontrolled and he’s starting to sweat. He’s in ecstasy and I have to stop or he’ll float away.

I step away from him again, giving him a moment to catch his breath. I put the flogger down and pick up the crop—the Chanel crop that left the lovely “C’s” all over his ass the last time we used it.

“Are you alright, Mr. Grey.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he pants, his voice husky, thick with desire.

“Shall we continue?” I ask. He grips the headboard again.

“Yes, Mistress.”

I begin with the same soft, rhythmic slaps as always. Again, his breath catches and he moans in his chest. He won’t be able to take much of this. I continue the gentle slaps with the tip of the crop, then one good swift whack right across the soft meat. He grunts hard, but doesn’t cry out. I caress his ass for a moment and go back to the fast, rhythmic slaps before…


He cries out this time, a breathy groan, simultaneous agony and ecstasy. I stand at the foot of our bed, raining slower blows directly on the tops of his butt cheeks with the head of the crop. He jerks with each strike—harder than the rhythmic blows, but gentler than the swift whacks from the side. He tries to moan, but each subsequent blow shocks him to where his breath is taken away. The sweat is no longer a sheen. It’s beads now, rolling off of his slightly striped back and slowly changing the color of his hair. He’s in the perfect position and so am I.

I bring the flogger up swiftly but gently between his legs, hitting his testicles but not the cage.

“Gah! Ah! Aah! Ah!” He’s panting wildly, choking on air attempting to catch his breath…

… But still no safeword.

I strike again with the same intensity. I watch as the skin on his testicles tighten and the cage restraining his erection is actually jumping now. Just one more strike…

He sounds like a wounded animal, his voice begging for release, his chest and back heaving madly. He’s had enough.

I drop the crop and release his restraints. He’s still on his knees, holding on to the headboard, puffing like a winded dog.

“Sit, Mr. Grey,” I tell him. He feels his way around the headboard and sits gingerly on the bed, his back on the headboard. His head lolls back as he attempts to catch his breath. I reattach his restraints and quickly retrieve a washcloth from the en suite. I wipe the sweat from his forehead before removing the blindfold. Hungry gray eyes look up at mine before dropping obediently to his lap. His legs are open to give him some relief as that cage has now taken on a life of its own.

I place my hand under his chin and lift his head gently. Pressing my lips to his, I relay through my kiss that I want him as much as he wants me. Instinctively, his hands reach for me, but he’s stopped by the restraints—a good thing, too, as touching me would be cause for more punishment.

I break our kiss and sit on the bed between his legs. Removing the key from my neck, I unlock the lock on the chastity device. He pushes his head back hard into the padded headboard, his eyes screwed shut and mouth open wide, breathing loudly and shamelessly as his erection is freed. I release him from the chastity device and it’s like someone is inflating a balloon! In nanoseconds, he is fully erect, his penis throbbing, veiny, purple, and angry.

… And beautiful.

I resist the urge to immediately take it in my mouth. I know it’s tender, but I also know what he likes. As he catches his breath, I oil my hands generously. When his eyes fall down to his aching erection, I grab it with my oily hands and begin to stroke—hard.

He’s choking again, heaving and puffing, panting and squirming just a little, but it’s no use, because in no time flat…

“Mistress! Please! Wings! Wings! Wi… aahhaaaahhhhhhhh!”

He’s crying out like he’s in pain. Wings. He said “wings.” I don’t remember that one. Is that a safeword? Should I stop?

His entire body is frozen, his muscles solid and veins protruding everywhere. His face is stuck in a horrible grimace and his teeth are grinding. The way that his hips are thrust towards me, his dick pulsing and purple and shiny, spurting a fountain of semen that bubbles over like lava and mixes with the coconut oil on his shaft, I think stopping right now would not be the best idea.

Several moments pass, and I do mean several, while I stroke the seed out of his dick. I use hard, tight strokes, and I know that it hurts from him being constrained for so long; but I also know that the pain spurns him on, which is why I still get a little prize on each upstroke and his dick is still throbbing and pulsing madly in my hand. Yet, he’s silent—his fists and teeth clenched, his eyes squeezed shut. He’s holding his breath and still suspended in the same statue stance he was in before. He won’t move. He won’t breathe. It’s like he’s being electrocuted, and his muscles are stuck in permanent contraction.

Worried that this might be too much for him, I release his penis with one final upstroke. The moment I release him, he sucks in a large breath like he had been underwater for several minutes. His muscles release and his head falls forward. He’s leaning on the headboard, panting, gasping, swallowing huge gulps of air while his chest and stomach heave violently.

I use the washcloth to wipe the remnants of his ejaculate from my hands and from his still stiff, throbbing dick, weaving and bobbing with each violent breath he takes.

“I’m… sorry… I’m… sorry…” he pants wildly, repeating his apologies over and over again. I cup his chin and raise his face to mine. Still restrained and helpless, his sleepy gray eyes beg for my understanding.

“Ssshhh,” I soothe, bringing my lips to his and dominating his mouth with mine. A small whimper from his throat signals his surrender to me. My tongue laps hungrily over and around his, and where he would usually take command of the kiss, it’s my turn this time. I hold his face in place and roam the crevices of his mouth, burning my ownership into him as I suck his tongue then lick and bite his lips.

You’re mine, Grey. You belong to me!

I pull back to look into his eyes, full of contentment and submission. It’s heady and it makes me feel powerful… and wanton. I bite his chin, small nips along his jawline and he closes his eyes, still gasping softly. I can hear euphoria in his breathing. My hand travels to his groin again…

… And he’s still hard as a rock.



Fuck! Dom Dick is here. I’m not the Dom tonight! You can’t run this show! Shit, this thing is never going to go down, but tonight, I had another first. I’ve never come right after being released from the chastity device. I dare not ever do that for the horrid, wretched Domme that used it on me before…

“You know what to do. Take a cold shower until that thing goes down, then you can go.”

Once, she even made me watch while she exquisitely fucked someone else, my dick aching so hard to come that I later went to kickboxing practice and broke my trainer’s nose.

But never—never—has a Domme allowed me to come after removing the device. Mistress is looking ethereal and so desirable… sheer white fabric floating over her like a halo over her entire body, swollen and round and delectable. I tried to be strong. I tried to remain reverent, obedient, but when she released me, I was flooded with gratitude and need… gratitude that she wouldn’t cruelly leave me in that thing for a week and need to be touched or be inside her. Fuck the blindfold, I was already blinded with want and desire.

Then she touched me—her delicate oily hands grabbed my aching, painful, angry dick and she squeezed. Her touch is always my undoing, but I looked down at my swollen member already in agony from being released. It’s like being in cramped quarters for hours and not knowing that you are aching and uncomfortable until you get a chance to stretch. She flogged me and cropped me exquisitely, causing all of my senses to stand up and pay attention. When that thing hit my balls, my libido awakened again and the pounding started anew. I was so relieved to be released—to stretch—but when she stroked me and I looked down just in time to see the tender, red, horny head of my throbbing penis burst powerfully through her clenched, oily fist, once… twice… three times…

I lost all sense of space, time, and restraint. Every bit of my attention—my breath, my heartbeat, my sense of self, every nerve ending in my body—was all clustered in her tiny fist gripping the softest yet hardest part of my body at that moment. I could feel nothing else, nothing but the pain, the burn, the exquisite torment of having every inkling of my self-control stripped away from me in seconds. I tried to safeword, to beg for leniency, as she hadn’t given me permission to come yet, but it was no use. I cried out in defeat as my very essence oozed from every appendage of my body and erupted in endless, mindless pleasure from my loins, snatching with it my voice, my breath, and my will to fight. She held me captive as she continued to stroke, proving once again that this body wholly and completely belongs to her.

queen-of-the-damned-aaliyahThe pleasure and pain were mind-blowing, every cell in my body stuck in these inches clamped in her grasp, her grip draining life from my body like a vampire drains its prey, its victim caught in blissful Nirvana not knowing that they are willingly succumbing to their own demise.

Mistress… please… spare me….

My senses return in a second and I realize that she has released me. Fuck! I came! Harder than I’ve come in the three decades I’ve roamed this earth, but I came! Without permission. I’m weak and needy and I don’t think I can stand any more torment. Please, don’t punish me, Mistress. Please…

“I’m sorry…” is all I can think to say. I’m still throbbing from the orgasm, mindless from the pleasure and fearful of the pain. She’s exquisite and masterful and relentless and I’m terrified that her plans will be the end of me right now. Though my mind is screaming all of the perfect phrases that I would want to hear from an insolent submissive who has come without permission. I can form no other words but “I’m sorry.”


The soft hiss of her breath and gentle touch of her hand silences me immediately. I try to take in as much air as possible, to get oxygen to my brain to pay attention to my Mistress, but my air and will are snatched away again when her mouth meets mine and her tongue leads an erotic dance that sends my psyche floating once more. Gratitude and need once again escape my throat in a helpless whimper as she controls me and this kiss, my entire body…

Yours, Mistress, all yours.

Her lips gently separate from mine, pulling them with a gentle bite that sends shock waves all over me. She gazes at me, her own eyes full of lust and… something else…

Ownership. That ownership that lets me know that I belong to her.

Oh yes, Mistress. Yes, yes, I do.

She kisses and bites my chin, my jaw, my neck as her hand cups my needy member once again. Oh God, I can’t stand it.

Oh, please, Mistress. I want you so badly. I feel like I might expire.

She mounts me, but won’t let me inside of her. Fuck, I think I’m going to die.

Using the same key that she used on the chastity device, she unlocks my collar, but doesn’t take it off. Instead, she tightens it… one notch, maybe two. She moves nothing but her hands while she straddles me. Fuck, she owns me. She so owns me and she knows it.

My breath quickens and I feel hot as her fingers outline the collar, gently teasing my neck. Try to slow down, Grey. Try to breathe. I realize then that the collar is restraining my breath, just a bit, not too much. Her eyes meet mine again as she fondles my Adam’s Apple, bobbing from swallowing under the pressure of the tightened collar.

“Okay?” she asks softly. It’s tight; I’m a little heady, but it’s okay.

“Yes, Mistress,” I nod. Concern. Again, I’m floating. She places a chaste kiss on my lips.

“Stay put, now,” she says with a playful wink and rises from the bed. I lament the absence of her warmth and closeness. She leaves the room for a moment, but returns with what appear to be baby wipes that she places on the nightstand. A closer look reveals that they are genital wipes.


She goes over to this magic bag of tricks and produces a butt plug that has something on the end of it. What’s that? I pompom? She puts it in her mouth and approaches me.

Oh hell, is that for me? That sucker was pretty big and I haven’t been… penetrated… in years… since… since her.

Mistress doesn’t move her eyes from mine as she approaches the bed. She slowly unbuttons the ethereal white negligee and lets it fall open, but she doesn’t remove it. I should be laughing at this pompom protruding from her mouth, but somehow, it looks erotic as it moves around, no doubt being manipulated by her tongue.

Her tongue. Christ.

These restraints are becoming more and more unwelcome. My body is once again singing with need as I watch her. I don’t know if I should, but I’m mesmerized. I can’t move my eyes. Her body, her movements, that fucking pompom. Shit, I’m throbbing yet again and I can’t control my dick, which is standing straight up and pulsing, still shining a bit from its earlier massage.

And the squeeze of the collar is not helping.

Then it dawns on me. Of course! Erotic choking… that slight squeeze that makes sex and orgasm more intense. Fuck, I’m gonna die.

She comes over to the nightstand and retrieves the coconut oil. She’s breaths away from me, standing next to the bed. She coats her hands with the oil and turns away from me, her ass right in my face. Oh, hell, I love her ass. She has the prettiest ass in the West, I swear to God. Her oily hands caress her ass cheeks under the white, sheer material. Fuck she looks good, and Dom Dick agrees, giving me a painful jerk and reminder that he wants attention. He’s not accustomed to being made to wait, but this isn’t his party. It’s hers, and I try to ignore his demands as I watch her entice me with her delicious curves.

She moves the negligee away to reveal her beautiful, shiny bare ass. Fucking hell. She pulls her butt cheeks apart, separating them and pointing her open ass right at me. Fuck! This is cruel! She holds that stance for a moment, clenching her ass so that I can watch the little pink hole dance for a while.

Oh, God, my dick is starting to hurt again.

utimi-pompon-butt-plug-stainless-steel-metal-butt-plug-in-small-size-sexual-anus-rabbit-39-s-tail-fo__41nkqvnunylMore oil on her hands, she generously anoints her rosette. Oh, Mistress, why do you tease me so? The tip of her finger slides inside momentarily and I hear her gasp quietly. If I hadn’t just come a few minutes ago, I’d be squirting all over myself right now. I hear the pop from her mouth and as she runs the tip of the butt plug over her rosette, I realize that the plug is for her. Finding her mark, she pushes it in slowly while I watch. Oh, shit, I want to rip these restraints away and fuck her this minute! She moans as she pushes it in and once it’s in place, she releases her cheeks and rubs them once, pushing her ass closed over the plug and the pompom.

My lips are parted and I feel myself panting again. I’m losing control, faster this time because of the collar and the restricted airflow. She stands there for a moment, caressing her oily ass in my face and allowing me to examine her work. This is so fucking hot; I can’t stand it. I’ve never liked tails on butt plugs, but this pompom… sticking to her ass cheeks a bit and moving as she clenches her rosette, reminding me that the other end is buried inside of her hot, tight, insides… I groan audibly, unable to shake the visual of her ass tightening over the butt plug… or over my dick.

I’m a goner. I won’t be able to follow instructions. My mind is mush.

She throws a knowing look over her shoulder at me, a small smile gracing her lips. She turns to face me and climbs astride me again. Are you going to fuck me now? Please, Mistress? Please?

I lament that my torment is not quite over when she oils her hands again and begins to caress herself, slowly—one hand travels up the center of her chest, leaving a wide shiny trail on her skin between her breasts while the other starts from her shoulder and moves down, coating her round luscious mound all over and underneath before they both meet right at her nipple, covering and coating it and her areola with the oil. Her breathing changes as her nipple hardens and elongates under her touch, her pinching and gliding fingers spurring her arousal. I lick my lips. I can taste it, feel it against my tongue as she writhes beneath me. I moan quietly, yearning to have it in my mouth, between my teeth…

“You like that, Mr. Grey?” she breathes huskily as her other hand travels down the neglected breast, coating it thoroughly with the lucky coconut oil, her fingers taunting and teasing the second nipple while her first hand still manipulates the other breast.

“Yes, Mistress,” I groan, deeply, “very much.”

“Mmm,” she moans, throwing her head back and pinching her nipples hard before hungry eyes come back to meet mine. “I like that, too.” She tweaks her nipples once more before her hands move to my shoulders. Fuck me now? Please? She kisses me softly on the lips and looks into my eyes.

“You. Are. Mine,” she growls, her voice deep and commanding, and my entire body takes notice.

“Yes… Mistress,” I choke, the submissive coming alive again taming my will, but not dousing my need or desire…

… Or Dom Dick.

“Give yourself to me,” she says softly, licking the skin above my collar, causing me to burst into intense heat. I can’t think anymore… again.

“Yes… yes, Mistress,” I breathe, surrender setting in once again.

“You belong to me. Your pleasure is mine.” I feel her moving down my body, her oiled hands, her lips—draining all my resolve.

“Yes…” I breathe, mindlessly, lost, floating once again.

“Look at me,” she says, her voice clear. I didn’t realize that I had closed my eyes. I open them and she’s gone, but not. I look down and she’s over my legs on all fours, the negligee hanging off her back and to the side of her body so that her ass is pointing in the air, and the pompom is visible from where I sit. Fuck, it’s so erotic. Why didn’t I ever think of doing this before? It’s one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen!

Of course, she’s counting on that.

She’s caressing my erection again with her oily hands, gazing up at me with fiery blue eyes.

“Submit to me, Christian,” she breathes. She used my first name. Fuck, she wants all of me. All of me… and I can give her that. “I want you, body and soul. You’re mine, only mine.” Her hands are caressing me into mindless pleasure once again and I shake my head to try to clear my thoughts.

“Yes… yes…” I pant. Yours… only, yours… only you…

“Hold out as long as you can,” she instructs me. “When you can resist no longer, come for me.” She kisses the head of my dick and it twitches madly. Fuck, her lips! So soft. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Mistress!” I choke, nearly weeping for her to do that again. Please, Mistress…

She’s broken me down, mind and body. She knows that I won’t be able to resist her, but I will try. I’ll try my very best.

She kisses the head of my dick again and I whimper. When she licks it softly, I groan and throw my head back.

“Look at me!” she commands, licking the head again. I drop my eyes to her, ass in the air wiggling provocatively with the pompom sticking out of it, tongue gently lapping the rim of the head of my dick. Shit, this is insane!

“Watch me!” she growls. “Don’t close your eyes!” I can’t speak. I can only nod. Her hand goes to the base of my dick and she sucks the head in—hard. I cry out. I can’t stand it. She suckles the head nonstop for about sixty seconds, causing the air to leave my lungs as I watch her—her lips wrapped around my head and her hand wrapped around the base, ensuring that the blood never leaves the shaft. It’s so fucking sensitive, still painful from its stretch from the chastity device, and she is adding to that ache with a powerful suckling of the tender head and frenulum, her eyes never leaving mine.

Her ass still dances with the pompom and I almost don’t know whether to watch her ass and the pompom or her mouth on my dick. She knows that and she likes it, so she makes my choice harder for me. Her knees fall open a bit and she looks like she’s thrusting, her hips rolling back and forth, sometimes in a circle, and that damn pompom moving up and down the muscles of her clenching ass cheeks. Fuck, that’s enough to make me want to blow, but then she reminds me of her masterful oral skills as she moves her hand and allows my dick to stand at attention on its own while she bobs madly up and down my aching, burning, needful shaft.

“Fuck!” I exclaim, forgetting my station, clenching my fists and fighting to keep my eyes open. “Ah… ah…” I choke as she watches me, her tongue and lips wetting then sucking my erection dry. She drops down on me and I feel myself in the back of her throat, her muscles squeezing my head tight as she flexes them.

“Aaaauuuhhhhh!” I cry out, quickly losing the fight to hold on. Her mouth travels back to the head of my dick, sucking and teasing, her ass still bobbing, and the visual assault pushing me faster and faster to my release. She sucks the length of my dick several times, very hard, before she drops back down on it again, flexing the muscles in the back of her throat around my head.

“Aaaugggghhhh! Aaaauuugghhh!” Dom Dick, please! I can’t take anymore. The choking of collar, the magnificent feeling of her hot, hot and I do mean hot mouth on my dick, and the visual of her bobbing on my groin and grinding this sexy ass on this butt plug… I’m going to pass out! Please!

I hear and feel her moan with my dick in her mouth. Fuck! The vibration goes straight to my balls and Dom Dick is starting to give up, for this round anyway. She moans again and again and I can’t help it. I close my eyes and try to block out the visual of that delicious ass. It only makes me concentrate harder on the humming and the sucking. My balls are so tight that they hurt and I want to come, dammit! I look down at her just before she opens her eyes and looks back up at me. My hips thrust infinitesimally into her mouth because she is totally controlling this stroke and I can’t move. I’m turned on by my painfully tightened abs because I know that means I’m at the height of my pleasure. I pull on the restraints in a vain attempt to find some grounding of some kind while she relentlessly attacks my dick. Still watching me, she brings her hand up to my face and thrusts her fingers into my mouth.

Fuck! That smell. Her hand is wet… and her fingers… I didn’t see it! She was playing with herself! She was fucking that precious pussy and manipulating that delicious, hot clit. The flavor… the wetness… she fucking came! She came while she was humming and sucking on my hardening cock. When I recognize the taste of her orgasm, she drops down on me again several times, her tongue tormenting my shaft and her throat squeezing and massaging my head each time. I suck and lick her fingers clean and as the flavor makes it to the back of my mouth and slips down my throat, I come fantastically in her mouth—hot and hard and oh, fucking hell!

And she doesn’t stop. She keeps stroking and sucking, no doubt waiting until she can’t taste my cum anymore. The thought spurns a second eruption, or maybe the first never ended, but my balls are bouncing madly and the burn is so fucking good, I feel I may lose consciousness.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Please don’t stop, I beg internally as my dick pulses in her mouth. Again, I didn’t know I closed my eyes until I open them and look down at her, my hips rolling against her lips and my seed streaming down my dick from the sides of her mouth…

… And she’s still looking at me.

“Fuuuuuuuuuucccckkkk!” I cry as I can’t stop moving my hips to her luscious rhythm. Yes, I just came, very hard, and I want more! My mind is submissive, but my dick is Dom. What the fuck do I do about that?

She knows.

“You make me so hot!” she says, after she releases my dick, provocatively wiping the corners of her mouth. “I couldn’t help it, I had to come,” she purrs, moving to her knees and caressing her butt again. She looks down at my dick, covered in semen and coconut oil and still standing at attention. “I love it when he’s like that,” she says, producing the butt plug from behind her. “Insatiable, untamable…” She caresses it again and Dom Dick responds. He’s angry about the chastity device and refuses to go down. Probably the only thing that will make him succumb is the cold showers he’s accustomed to after that torment, but even the thought of it won’t make him relent.

“Anguilla,” she says, still examining my dick. “You were like this in Anguilla… unquenchable.” She reaches for the oil again. “We had a lot of fun that night.” She turns away from me, her ass still exposed. “Let’s see if we can recreate some of those memories.”

Fuck… I doubt that we could recreate those. That shit was intense, spontaneous, and extra-terrestrial, but again, I’m willing to give it a try.

She’s straddling me in the reverse-cowgirl position and backs herself up almost all the way to my dick. She squeezes some oil right at the top of her ass right before she separates the cheeks and allows me to see that her rosette is slightly open from the butt plug.

Oh, hell.

The oil slides down between her ass cheeks and over her rosette, some of it sliding inside before continuing down to her perineum and dripping generously on my dick and balls.

Fuck, this is killing me.

She spreads the oil over her rosette and inside and around her butt cheeks, causing Dom Dick to weep only once, even though he’s already covered in his own juices. After a few seconds of visual torment, she pushes back against me, my messy dick sliding between her ass cheeks and mixing the oil with the ejaculate covering my shaft.

Merciful heavens! It feels so good.

I moan deep in my chest, watching my dick slide between her ass, watching the fluids mix and thicken, causing a delicious friction as she grinds against me, and it’s like the blowjob never stopped. I’m hot and hard again, ready for action, not that I ever went down.

Her hands are on my thighs and she’s holding me down as she writhes against me. I can’t move, but again, she’s giving me one hell of a fucking visual and my dick is pink and veiny once again. How he’s managed to reload after these massive orgasms, I don’t know, and right now, I don’t fucking care!

Now, it’s time for her to really blow my mind. She bends over and separates her ass again so that the head of my dick can run across her oily rosette with each grind. Fuck, it looks good and feels even better.

“Yes,” I hiss quietly, hoping she didn’t hear me. She moans and arches her back, causing the head to catch in her rosette. Fuck, yes! I tighten my eyes and try to brace myself for what’s next, then I realize…

I want to see this!

I open my eyes and look down to see just the top of my head inside of her ass. I regulate my breathing. This ain’t the damn pompom; this is my dick—and this shit looks and feels amazing! She pushes down a little more, taking more of the head, but not quite all of it. Fuck, she’s savoring this, drawing it out, tormenting me, but what sweet torment.

Come on, give me that sweet ass. Just a little more, please…

She pushes down a little further and the head slides in with a “pop.” Oh, fucking hell, my head is inside. Don’t come, yet, Grey. Don’t come… as if Dom Dick would let me. Knowing that my orgasm is not yet imminent, I watch the erotic show a little more.

Her hole is tightening around my head as she holds her cheeks open. I get to see it and feel it. “Oh, God,” I whisper, committing these visuals to memory with hopes of dreaming of them again later. She circles her ass around my head and I suck air in through my teeth. Tight inner walls massage the skin as I attempt, yet again, to regulate my breathing. My dick begins to pulse again and although I know he’s still not ready to come yet, he demands more.

She must read my body because no sooner the thought is in my head, she pushes down a little more, my head and part of my shaft disappearing into her ass. That shit is too much to watch. I’m panting like a woman in labor. I may not be ready to come, my dick feels good as hell and I can’t control this shit. She starts to move—up and down, back and forth on the small portion of my dick that’s inside her. I forget that her ass dominates me even when it doesn’t, and I quickly start to rise as I feel the head and that small piece of my dick sliding in and out of her.

“Yes, oh, yes,” I breathe. I can’t help it. If she punishes me later, it will be worth it. This is magnificent!

She releases her ass and leans forward, grabbing my ankles. Now, my head is inside of her, and my shaft gets the massage of the friction from her oily, cum-smeared ass cheeks. I die a thousand hot deaths watching her ass drop on my dick while I’m inside of it, the round luscious cheeks fucking my shaft, and after a minute or so, she pushes down on me again, taking more of me inside of her. God, I don’t deserve this kind of pleasure!

I’m groaning helplessly while she’s bouncing and grinding and rolling and for once, I start to tremble. I know this means that Dom Dick will be giving up soon… but not yet. She pushes herself up slowly, grinding into me again with each movement. I feel myself going deeper and deeper inside of her. Fuck, the trembling intensifies. She sits up and I feel her rosette hit the base of me. I hiss loudly. I won’t last much longer. She leans back onto my chest, her head on my shoulder, and she rides—deep and hard, for about five minutes… I think.

“Oh, God! Oh, God!” I pant. I’m gonna come… hard… really hard… but she stops.

What? Why did she stop?

“Breathe,” she says softly. Breathe? Fuck! I try to catch my breath, remembering who’s the Dom and who’s the sub in this scenario. Dom Dick will make you forget sometimes.

Breathing, Mistress.

She rises off of me and my dick is standing at full attention, and I do mean full—ready to blow! She removes the ethereal negligee, takes some of the genital wipes and cleans herself, front and back. Is it over? Will I be left this way? I continue to breathe, trying to talk my erection down as it looks like the end for both of us. She removes more genital wipes and cleans me thoroughly—my dick, my balls, the head, the slit, everything. I couldn’t be cleaner had she bathed me, but it didn’t do anything for this raging woody. When she’s done, to my surprise, she climbs astride me again, facing me this time.

So, it’s not over.

Slowly, she slides down onto my erection. Good God, it feels better than her ass… and that says a lot, because her ass is phenomenal!

“Mmm,” I groan. Shit, she feels good. She reaches over and releases first one, then the other restraint from my wrist. Then she just sits there, looking in my eyes, my erection inside of her. After a while, she begins to move. I close my eyes.

“Look at me,” she says, firmly, her hips gliding smoothly, flawlessly over mine. I can barely breathe. She’s exquisite. “Touch me. Feel me…” I finally get to touch her… freely. Finally! My hands caress her beautiful skin; my fingers graze across the garden and her control slips for just a moment as I feel the shiver all through her body, culminating in her nether regions and all around my still painfully swollen dick.

“Gah!” I whisper a helpless gasp. I’m lost. She’s heaven. Ecstasy.

“Again,” she breathes, never taking her eyes off mine. “Do it again!” I caress her back again and her shiver takes over her body again… and mine. Oh, God, this is it. This is the best. I hold her close to me. Somehow, our children don’t cause a barrier. I can feel her breathing, her heartbeat. My hand moves to her hip and I resist the urge to push her down onto me and thrust hard into her, but I squeeze and hold, feeling the burn and the grind deep in my loins.

“Ah!” she breathes, her orgasm hiding in her voice. We’ll come together this time. We have to. Two nights of her coming without me… two—or three, I don’t remember—orgasms without her. We have to come together this time. She scrambles clumsily to remove my collar. No! I want it. I want you! I need you!

“Leave it!” I breathe. “Please…” I beg her with my eyes as she continues to love me. She nods and thrusts her fingers into my hair, kissing me passionately. I pull her closer to me and push up into her—gently, slowly. I want to go faster, harder, but I don’t want to hurt her. So I go deep… soft and deep… we’re equals now and I get to love her, and love her I do.

We’re both at the brink of our sanity in no time, our breath staccato—no rhythm whatsoever. We’re both sweating and burning inside and I can feel that she’s about to reach her climax.

“Oh!” she whimpers, throwing her head back once before bringing her eyes back to mine. “Look at me,” she breathes, barely able to get the words out. I gaze deeper into her eyes, and there’s that blue.

“Who won?” she breathes, gliding over me, her gaze never moving from mine. My breath catches in my throat. I swallow to stop the daggers stabbing my Adam’s apple.

“Who won?” she repeats, possessively holding my face and neck, her fingertips in my hair. She’s tightening around me. I feel it. Her skin is clammy—sweating, that arousal sheen. She’s coming… she’s coming right now. Her pupils are dilating. Her eyes are the royal blue of our playroom walls. Her body shivers, but her stroke, expression, and gaze doesn’t change. Even her breathing is constant now. She’s waiting for her answer. “Look at me. Tell me!” she demands. “Who won the fight?”

The answer is clear. I have her here—with me. She’s Mrs. Grey and wherever he is, she’ll never belong to him.

“I did,” I breathe.

“You did,” she confirms, loving me with purpose. “We did.” She grinds deeper into me.

“Ana,” I breathe helplessly, calling her name for the first time in two days.

“There’s no need… to fight… anymore…” she pants, her core tightening again… how? So soon?

“Ana… God… please…” I feel the breath being sucked out of me. I’m light-headed… like I felt… in Anguilla… She said she wanted to recreate it… she did.

“I’m yours… I belong to you… only you… say it!”

“You belong… to me…”

“I belong… to Christian Grey… Say it!”

“You belong to Christian Grey,” I breathe.

“Yours,” she says, over and over again, kissing my face as I erupt into her. Dom Dick surrenders and is gladly tapping out.

“Mine,” I choke, when I’m finally able to find my voice, my seed spilling endlessly inside of her, my sex throbbing against her inner walls, her core embracing me, welcoming me as she kisses my forehead, my eyelids, my temples…

She is my home… I am home…


A/N: Longest chapter ever, huh?

Okay, so people tell me that they have a hard time understanding Keri, so this is one that I had to translate. I already know that I don’t have it exactly right, but I came as close as I could, which is why I called it an American/Anguillan/Patois tangent:

“It nawt funny! Meh pum pum gwine fahl off! Him duggu-duggu lon time an di bruk did ah cum, I seh ‘Oh! I get rest!’ But noh! Him go eat unda sheet until hood go boink boink agin, den him rooks wi me some moh! Him even cock it up in mi punaani—hah you cock it up wit de broken lehg?”

“It’s not funny! My coochie is going to fall off! He has sex for a long time and the semen did come, I say, “Oh, I get to rest!” But, no! He eats me out until his dick gets hard again, then he has sex with me some more! He even did doggy-style in my pussy—how do you do doggy-style with a broken leg?”

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

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Love and handcuffs 🙂 
Lynn X

Becoming Dr. Grey: Chapter 38—Yes, Mistress

So… I haven’t done this since Paging Dr. Steele, but this is a longer chapter… and it’s all Christian. Sit back and relax, lassies and lads, and enjoy a Grey tale.

If you didn’t get this week’s email, check your junk mailbox for an email from My mass mailer is restricting emails coming from my GMAIL account. GMAIL is still the best way to reach me, but please add my Cox account to your email address book as well so that the emails don’t get routed to spam. 

 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 38—Yes, Mistress


I can’t relax. Butterfly… Ana… My Mistress was pissed when she left this morning and now here I sit wondering what fate awaits me when she returns.

I’ll deal with you later.

That was her only warning, her only promise when she left the house hours ago, and I haven’t been able to do anything since. I’ve tried to work, I’ve tried to read, I’ve tried to exercise, I’ve tried everything, but my mind keeps wandering back to her tone and her form…

I’ll deal with you later.

Shit, I can’t function. I feel like a kid when his mom utters those fateful words, “Wait ‘til your father gets home.” So you sit in the corner and you wait for this big Paul Bunyan lumber jack Behemoth man to come home a reap some kind of inhumane punish on you that far outweighs whatever crime you committed.

My Mistress isn’t like that, though. The punishment—if that’s what’s coming—will certainly fit the crime. The problem is that although my Mistress is not Behemoth, the crime certainly was.

I allowed the enemy in the camp. On top of everything that’s already happened, I let the monster in the sanctum. There’s no excuse for that. No matter what else I’ve done, there’s no excuse for that.

“You’re worrying me, Boss,” Jason says, breaking my concentration. I frown.

“What do you mean,” I ask.

“Well, besides the fact that you’ve been running from whatever’s eating you all afternoon, you’re reading those spreadsheets upside down.” I take a closer look at the spreadsheets and he’s right. I am holding them upside down. Shit, why am I so rattled? I just… I’ve never seen her like I saw her today. It was erotic and scary at the same times. That’s why Brian had to get out of here as quickly as he could. I don’t think he could wrap his mind around the concept of Ana being a Domme—my Domme, but there she was, standing before him. My Mistress.

What is she going to do? I know from experience that you don’t drop a threat—a promise—and just leave it. Then again, she’s not as experienced as I am, so…

“I kind of need you, Boss,” Jason says. I put the spreadsheets down.

“What is it?”

“Chuck’s parents… they returned my call today.” Oh no. I sigh heavily.

“Okay, let’s have it,” I say steadying myself.

“It’s not what we thought, Christian. It’s worse. They thought he was dead,” he says solemnly. I frown deeply.

“You’re kidding,” I say dismayed. “How could they think he was dead?”

“Near as I can tell, Joseph intercepted Chuck’s every attempt to get in touch with them,” he says. “When they couldn’t reach him and they had no idea where he was, they assumed the worst.”

“Oh, God, no way!” I exclaim, disgusted. That man can’t possibly be that rotten. “You mean to tell me that man allowed two people believe that his brother—their child—was dead all this time?” His response to when Chuck said that he was dead to him rings in my head:

“No skin off my back.”

Of course it’s not! You’ve been pretending he was dead for years!

“Well, I don’t know for sure, but this is what I have. When Chuck went into rehab, they were all in the Midwest. When he goes to the military, Mom and Dad move to South Dakota; Joseph is still in the Midwest. Where is Chuck sending his letters?”

“To Joseph in the Midwest,” I conclude.

“I would have thought that by moving out of state, they would have completed a change of address with the post office. I can only assume that Joseph convinced them not to, because there’s no other way that he could head off Chuck’s letters. How they thought he was dead, I have no idea. They’ll have to tell us that.”

“What is it—twelve, fifteen years? They’ve had this son out here and they didn’t even know he was alive?” Jason nods. “Why didn’t they contact the Red Cross or something? The man was military?”

“They never knew that he was military until I told them. I only gave them a very brief synopsis of what is going on in his life. They had no clue.” I run my hand through my hair. He’s right, this is much worse than we thought. Having someone knowingly turn their back on you is tolerable because it’s a conscious decision. Finding out they didn’t know that you were alive for twelve years and that the entire thing may have been orchestrated by someone else that was supposed to love you? That’s an emotional brutality that’s cruel and unusual.

“So now what?” I ask.

“They told me to give Chuck their number and ask him to call when he’s ready.” Huh?

“So now they won’t even reach out to him?” I say disgusted.

“And say what? ‘Hey, son, sorry we didn’t speak to you for half your lifetime. We thought you were dead. So, how’s tricks?'”

“That’s a start!” I hiss, under my breath.

“Christian, I think they’re ashamed,” Jason says.

“Well, they just ought to be!” I say haughtily.

“Not if they were misled,” he defends. “We’ve all seen just how much of a piece of work Joseph really is.” I shake my head.

“I don’t know. I just think if someone tells me that my son is dead, I’m going to go on a full-on fact finding mission to make sure that it’s true,” I say indignantly.

“Well, luckily for you, you’re not the parent of an alcoholic,” he says flatly, a bit perturbed and dare I say, offended. “Are you going to help me or not?” he adds, tersely. I cross my arms and glare at him.

“So what did I do to you to deserve that tone?” I ask. “I meant what I said—if someone told me that my son was dead, I would do everything in my power to confirm it, even if that someone was also my own son.” Jason turns to me with the same firmness that I’m giving him.

“This is not about me, Christian,” he says impassively, “and it’s not about you. It’s about Chuck. This is about a man who has been fighting an unbelievable demon for the past 23 years and was just decimated by the brother he hoped to reconnect with after twelve years of estrangement now about to find out that his parents thought he was dead possibly because of that same brother. I don’t have time to explain to you the emotional agony of having a child with an addiction—of sitting and waiting and wondering if this will be the day that you get that call, that dreaded call to identify someone that you don’t even recognize anymore until one day, you just stop waiting for that call.” I glare at him in disbelief. Son of a crack whore, you insensitive fucker!

“Have you forgotten who you’re talking to?” I ask incredulously. “Have you completely forgotten who I am? What I’ve been through?”

“No, I haven’t,” he says through clenched teeth, “and that makes it worse.” What the fuck? “You, of all people, should understand how it feels to have absolutely no control over a situation.” He stands for only a moment to allow those words to marinate before he continues.

“I don’t welcome this task, but it needs to be done. I would like your support with this and I’m sure Chuck would appreciate it, too, but if you would rather debate the worthiness of his parents on this issue, I’ll do this on my own. Had they been heartless fuckers that told him to ‘eat shit and die,’ I still would have had to deliver the message. Are you coming?”

He doesn’t wait for my response. He turns and walks out of my office, no doubt headed towards the guest suites. Good fuck, I just had my ass served to me by my head of security and best friend! I have to admit, after hearing what Kevin said about my gesture being what really kept Chuck from taking a drink, I feel responsible for him to a certain degree in this matter and I do want to be on hand when there is delicate news to be given such as this. I stand from my desk and literally have to scurry to catch up with Jason while I wonder if this is “Take a Bite Out of Christian’s Ass” Day!

“How could that be?” Chuck is stunned when we deliver the news to him. “I wrote them every week for years. Years! Not all of my letters came back. Some of them had to get through.”

“None of them, Chuck,” Jason replies. “They didn’t know anything about you when I talked to them. I’m not certain they knew about rehab.” He’s sitting in his wheelchair grasping his crutches. Keri was helping him with his exercises when we interrupted. His eyes are full of questions, disbelief. His uncertainty is quickly replaced by fury and he flings the crutches across the room.

“Son of a biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitch!” he roars, his rage untamed. Keri leaps back and plants herself against the far wall. She is utterly terrified. I raise my eyes to her, trying to convey that she’s safe and everything will be okay, but her gaze is planted firmly on Chuck. “How could one person be so goddamn rotten? How?” he rages on. “How can you be that fucking rotten and still breathe??” He’s shaking his fists, veins popping in his arms and head. He’s breathing like a bull and trembling with pure, unadulterated anger.

“Chuck,” Jason says, his voice firm, “I need you to stand down, man.” It seems like Chuck can’t hear him. Jason moves directly in front of him and plants his feet. I move off to the side, inching my way toward a terrified Keri. Jason waits until I get to her. I gently put my arms around her and she jumps at the contact. It’s like she didn’t know anyone else was in the room but her and Chuck. She turns large, frightened brown eyes to me and I nod assuringly to her. She takes a silent breath, lets it out, then nods back, clinging to my arms like she might fall if she doesn’t. Jason looks at me, then turns his attention back to Chuck.

“Chuck!” he says, louder and more firmly. Chuck’s angry eyes shoot up to Jason. “I need you. To stand down. I know this is fucked up, but I need you to be cool.”

Chuck grits his teeth, the muscles in his neck tightening. He looks like he’s just going to explode any second. He unclenches his fist and grips the arms of the wheelchair, attempting to tame his rage.

“Come on back, man. Come on,” Jason tries to coach. It seems to be working, but not fast enough for me. I turn my attention to a trembling Keri.

“Say something to him,” I whisper to her. She turns to me, questioning, terrified. “Say something. Anything. He needs to hear your voice.” She turns her attention back to Chuck and Jason.

“Ch-Ch-Chatles?” she says, timidly, nearly inaudibly. “Ea-e-eas… easy nuh.”

You can barely hear her, but it’s enough to do the trick.

He turns his attention to his girlfriend trembling in my arms. The veiny, sweaty, red, shaking, raging monster that was facing off with Jason seconds ago has completely disappeared. Piercing, caring blue eyes gaze on his girlfriend and she immediately stops trembling.

“Keri?” his voice is longing, yearning, and concerned.


“Baby, I’m sorry,” he says, holding his arms out to her. She breaks away from my grasp and goes to him without hesitation. “You know I would never hurt you, right?” he beseeches as she kneels down to his chair.

“Yes, Choonks, I noh, but I don noh if I can stop you ftom huttin’ yuhself,” she says, cupping his cheek with one hand and stroking his hair with the other. “You sttong, Choonks, vety sttong.”

“I know, Baby,” he says softly, leaning into her hand. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” He closes his eyes for a moment then turns to Jason. “Leave me the number, J. I need to think about some things… decide when I’m going to call them.” Jason pauses for a moment, then reaches into his pocket and hands Chuck an index card. Chuck examines the card for a moment, then nods.

“Thanks, man,” he says, never raising his head.

“No problem,” Jason replies.

“If you need me, just call me. Okay?” I add. Chuck only nods. I leave the guest suite and wait outside for Jason. Crossing one arm across my chest, I tap my lips with my free hand, contemplating the severity of the current situation. This is bad. This is really bad. I’ve known that it could be touch and go before, but it’s only just now that I realize that it could be quite catastrophic. As I raise my gaze to Jason when he exits the suite, he knows that I’m pondering something very serious. His brow furrows deeply, his eyes questioning. I finally speak what neither of us really wants to hear.

“We’re going to have a problem when she leaves.” His shoulders fall and Jason sighs heavily.

“I know, man,” he replies, remorseful, “I know.” He’s going through some major changes in his life and even if he manages to heal physically before she boards the plane back to Anguilla, his emotional journey is going to be a son of a bitch without her. As it stands, she seems to be the only thing that really grounds him. When she’s gone, we’re in for a bumpy fucking ride.


I sit at my piano in my den, once again pondering my current circumstances. I had it delivered here this afternoon and there was really no better place to put it. I had the desk moved out of here. I really didn’t need a second desk anyway. Gail needed a desk for her office. With the curved edges and the toffee color, it was actually perfect for the space. I’m comfortable at my piano. I’ve missed sitting here, but I’m by no means at ease.

I’m under no misconception with whom I will be dealing when she gets back to the Crossing… whenever she gets back to the Crossing. My Mistress has been MIA for the rest of the morning and the whole of the afternoon. It’s well into the evening now.  I have no idea where she’s been all day; she didn’t say anything to me when she left and she’s been radio silent all day. She was livid when we last spoke. I know that she had to go to Helping Hands to babysit that cunt Courtney and I almost feel sorry for the little twat if she had to deal with my Mistress in the state that she was in when she left. She’s clearly very angry, but angry at Cholometes? Angry at me?

Of course, she’s angry with me. I need to pinpoint all of the reasons why before she gets back.

I know she’s upset about the fight. We never talked about it. I was in really bad shape and she probably didn’t want to batter me anymore than I already was.

Offering to buy Cholometes a house… Oy! How dumb could I be? I heard her cutting him off the night of the fight and I still made that bonehead move. I was so caught up in the symbolism of it all—yes, enjoy your house in the south of France, while it represents everything that you could never have! What’s worse is that I didn’t even tell her about it.

Speaking of not telling her about it… Naomi. Fucking hell, Naomi was pregnant. It’s only just now sinking in that Naomi was most likely carrying my son or daughter… and she lost the baby. That’s heavy. I knew about it for a week and I didn’t mention it, but I’ve been a little distracted—going to the hospital, Chuck’s family crises, getting my teeth wired together, the country club revelations… Who am I fooling, I should have told her.

And let’s not forget the biggest malfeasance of all. I allowed that maggot into our home. She’s going to fucking murder me.

“Some day, huh?” I nearly jump out of my fucking skin when I hear Jason’s voice.

“Shit, Jason!” I say, sighing heavily.

“Damn! At ease, soldier,” Jason says, “though I shouldn’t really use that term.” He waves it off. “Why so serious?”

“Butterfly’s mad at me,” I say, running my hands through my hair. Jason sits down in one of the chairs.

“We shouldn’t have egged you on, man,” Jason says, apologetically. I shake my head.

“You didn’t say anything that wasn’t true,” I tell him. “You didn’t really egg me on. This was something that was just waiting to happen. If he had left, this wouldn’t have happened at all. That’s who’s to blame here, but he wanted this to happen, so it did. It’s that simple. He wanted to get his hands on me as much as I wanted to get my hands on him. There was no avoiding it. We did it the safest way possible and still almost killed each other. He’s acting like he didn’t take a beating, but he did. I know he did. He’s got some doctor’s orders and some meds, too. His just weren’t cosmetic, but he couldn’t stand up straight, he had trouble walking, and that labored cough he did when he was leaving—yeah, he might have been a bit choked up, but believe me, he was hurting. That’s what Ray was trying to tell Ana on the phone and when he came over here that day and she didn’t want to hear it. I just look worse. Yeah, I lost sight for a minute, my teeth are wired together and it hurt like hell for a little while; I suffered some very minor brain trauma; and I ain’t as pretty as I used to be for a spell. That man suffered some severe inner trauma—some bleeding and some bruising to some major inner organs. I know because like him, I did it on purpose. We could have killed each other.”

“That wasn’t really smart with what he knows about Dodd and the hackers,” Jason warns.

“He’s just as deep in that shit as I am,” I tell him, “deeper even, because he knows Dodd’s fate, I don’t.” Jason nods.

“Yeah, there is that.” I sigh heavily.

“We shouldn’t be talking about this,” I warn.

“Yeah,” he concurs, “I know.” He walks over to the aquarium. “What are you going to do about Her Highness?”

“Wait,” I say honestly. I can’t do anything but wait for instruction from my Mistress who has promised to “deal with me later.”

“What? The great Christian Grey doesn’t have a plan to smooth this over with his wife?” I sigh again.

“I imagine there’s going to be some explaining and some groveling involved,” I tell him, “but I don’t have a leg to stand on, Jason. I’m pretty much at her mercy.”

“Well, she knows that you were fighting for her,” he begins, “that has to…” The beeping of the two-way communication interrupts his statement.

“Yes?” I answer.

“Mr. Grey, I need to see you in the bedroom.” It’s her… but not. Her voice… and Mr. Grey. Shit! My breath catches in my throat.

Mr. Grey?” Her menacing voice echoes through the room. Fuck. Mistress had to repeat herself.

“On my way,” I say quickly, standing and nearly running out of the room.

“Christian!” Jason calls behind me. I forgot he was even there. I stop short.


“What’s going on?” Two-way communications are still active. Be careful, Grey. Think, think, think…

“Cholometes, man. We were just talking about this—she’s not happy,” I say, hoping that’s enough to appease him. I try to escape again.

“So what are you going to do?” he asks. Goddammit, Jason!

“I don’t know, but the longer I keep her waiting…” I trail off and gesture to the door. He chuckles.

“Go, man, go,” he says, shooing me away with his hands. You’re laughing, but try keeping your angry Mistress waiting and see how long your laughter lasts, Buddy!

Fuck the elevator! I take the stairs two at a time and dash across the landing, bursting into our bedroom doors.

Where is she? Is she going to make me search for her? I enter the sitting room and I see her silhouette. Her back is to me and her body is framed by the windows of the balcony. I can see that her hair is still in that vamp style as it was earlier, but she’s wearing some sort of sheer nightie—something that’s flowing from head to toe.

“It took you long enough,” she says, and her voice sends a slight chill through me, but like I said… there’s no mistake who I’m dealing with.

“I’m sorry, Mistress,” I say just above a whisper. She steps into the light where I can see her. I gasp at her appearance and drop my head immediately. I’ve seen enough for the breathtaking picture to be forever stamped in my memory…

Floor-length, black, transparent lingerie cinched at the neck like a halter and draping delicately over her baby bump.

The top of the negligee almost looks like a collar with a long-sleeved half-jacket attached—well, not even a half-jacket—made of black lace and single-loops around her ring fingers like wedding gloves.

Her breasts are exposed under the negligee, but she’s wearing a pair of black lace boy-shorts with garter suspenders attached, jet back thigh-high stockings, and black stilettos. I’m able to see her legs parted and her feet in a “T” formation.

“Take off your clothes,” she commands me. I get undressed double-time. My T-shirt is flying in one direction and my bottoms in another. I don’t think it took a full sixty seconds for me to be standing before her in the nude.

“Eager, Mr. Grey?” she asks, displeasure lacing her voice.

“I didn’t want to displease my Mistress by keeping her waiting any longer,” I say, contrite.

“Good decision,” she replies. “Position two.” I kneel before her and await instruction.

“I am very. VERY. Displeased with you, Mr. Grey,” she says, her voice low and controlled. “Do you know why?”

Where do I start?

“Because I offered to buy Cholometes a house,” I say, never raising my head. She doesn’t say anything. There’s more.

“Because I should have said something sooner about the baby…” Still nothing.

“Because I allowed him into our home…” I feel like I’m digging a ditch here and she’s giving me no clue that I’m even close.

“Because I got into a fight with him in the first place,” I continue. She still doesn’t respond. I want to raise my eyes to her, to see if I’m at least on the right track, but I dare not. I take a deep breath. For the first time, I’m feeling true dominance and power from my Mistress… this Mistress. I want to please her because I misstepped… badly… but right now, I don’t know the extent of my malfeasance.

Give me a clue. Please, Mistress… give me the chance to make it right.

Black stilettos attached to sheer jet-black stockinged legs that never end approach me and stop at my knees. I can barely breathe. A delicate hand clad in a silk voile fingerless glove lifts my chin so that my eyes meet her glass blue orbs. I’m mesmerized… completely frozen and captivated. I part my lips to attempt to breathe, but my Mistress is unaffected.

“You are forgetting one extremely crucial element, Mr. Grey, something that I must say that I’m shocked and appalled could have possibly slipped your mind.” She glares at me, speaking to me in that way that we speak with no words, and my malfeasance becomes crystal clear.

“‘I belong to Anastasia Grey,” I begin, my voice leaving and my throat feeling like it’s closing. “I am not allowed to take chances. This is your body… this body belongs to you. I must follow instructions and stay safe. I am not allowed to take chances and…” I’m almost choking on the last part. “… I am not allowed to get hurt,” I say just above a whisper.

“Even after the accident, I didn’t forget that. How could you?” It’s a question, not accusatory, but serious. How could you forget?

“May I speak, Mistress?” I ask, cautiously.

“You may.”

“I wasn’t thinking clearly,” I tell her honestly, “I was so weary of his constant attacks—steady threats to ruin me and my marriage… I saw the opportunity to rid us of this… vermin, and I could think of little else. I beg you to forgive me for my thoughtlessness, Mistress.” She gazes at me for a moment, then shakes her head.

“Unacceptable,” she declares with a soft, but clear voice. “While I can fully appreciate the appeal of ridding our lives of the horrid human being that is Brian Cholometes, what this boils down to is a wager… a bet! While I can appreciate why you wanted so badly for that rodent to go away and never return, you still put your entire family at considerable risk.”

How? How did I do that? I never would have allowed him to hurt her or the children! Never!

But you did.

My own words come rushing back to me, those words I said to Cholometes earlier today, right before I agreed to the terms of our wager:

“You’re absolutely correct, I lost—but I didn’t lose the fight. When evenly matched, you’re not a better fighter and you didn’t beat me up, because I beat your ass and that can’t be disputed. I lost because my beautiful wife stayed up all night and didn’t get any sleep because she was so worried about me; because the only way that I could sleep was nestled between her bosom and her baby bump while she partially sat up in bed. I lost because my beautiful wife’s blood pressure skyrocketed the next day because I collapsed at her feet. I lost because my beautiful wife spent the night in the hospital at risk of losing our children and is still on permanent watch until the babies are born. In short, I didn’t lose because of what you did to me, Brian. I lost because of what you did to Ana.”

I close my eyes as guilt and shame lance through my body. Good Lord! Not only was I severely hurt and needed to be hospitalized, but my actions brought harm to my family, too. I attempt to drop my head, but she won’t allow me. Her hand tightens slightly on my chin and I know that I must open my eyes.

“Bad behavior, Mr. Grey,” she says. My throat dries and I swallow to try to soothe it.

“Yes, Mistress,” I say, forcing the words out of my mouth.

“You cannot forget that you live not only for yourself anymore, but you live for others as well. There are many who love you, but most of all, you have a wife and children! Your thoughtlessness could have caused irreparable damage. You could have lost your sight, your teeth. That fight was so brutal, you could have suffered brain damage. Boxers have been killed in the ring, Mr. Grey, and they have the proper gear—or do I need to remind you like I reminded that monster that I’m a fighter, too?”

“No, Mistress,” I say, looking into her piercing eyes and preparing myself for whatever punishment she has for me. She’s right. I punished her because she put herself and the babies at risk while helping someone else. I deliberately jumped into a bare-knuckled street-fight with a military specialist just so that I could get him out of my life. There’s no telling what he could have done to me. His intentions were sinister to begin with and I walked right into the lion’s den with him. I can’t believe I was so stupid. I can’t believe I put myself and my wife through this. I could have even lost my children. This is one of those moments where a very smart man feels very ignorant.

“You allowed that abomination into our home, our sanctum. Why?” she demands.

“To rub salt in his wounds, Mistress,” I answer honestly. Her eyes narrow.

“An understandable cause, but yet, an unacceptable action. Would you have bought him the house?” No use in lying now.

“Yes, Mistress.”


“For the same reason, Mistress, to remind him of what he will never have.”

“He would have had an expensive house anywhere in the world purchased with your money!” She’s becoming angry.

Our money…

I want to speak, but she hasn’t given me permission. Yes, he would have a fabulous house—bought and paid for with Grey money… Grey money… and he would never forget it because one particular Grey would not be there with him.

I remain resolute. Silent. Mistress is angry, quite displeased and has not given me permission to speak, or breathe, or move…

“He would have a constant reminder that he maimed you in your own building, sent you to the hospital, and walked away with a fabulous prize that he could brag about to all of his friends! How could you possibly equate that to rubbing salt in his wounds?”

I swallow hard. I recall Cholometes’ face when he left the den this evening. He was stunned, defeated, and crushed. I didn’t throw the death blow, though. It was her. She drew the final drop of blood that brought the death of the enemy. She was the one that rid our lives of Cholometes. Nothing I could have done would have done that. So I know I speak the truth when I say just above a whisper,

“A house is not a home, Mistress. This was all about you. This was all for you. He doesn’t have you… a fabulous house anywhere in the world, and no Mistress.”

I hear her breath catch for a moment. Oh, shit. I’m going to get it now. I know it.

“Stand up.” I rise from my knees quickly. She goes to the mantle and retrieves some silver metal object. As she comes closer, I see what it is. I know what it is. I fucking hate those things! I take a deep breath and release because I know I deserve this. I know why she’s doing this and I have to accept it.

“You know what this is,” she says, her voice controlled.

“Yes, Mistress.”

“You’ll wear it because I say so,” she commands. “You’ll wear it until I remove it. What does it mean, Mr. Grey?”

“I belong to Anastasia Grey,” I say clearly. No regrets about that part, just the contraption.

best-chastity-steel-bird-cage-male-chastity“Good. See that you don’t forget it again!” She walks over to me and applies the device—correctly, which is a surprise to me, but I don’t react and I dare not comment. Once it’s secure, she applies the lock and shows me that the key is around her neck. I can urinate, but not much else.

“It goes without saying, Mr. Grey, that you will not come tonight, and not at all without my permission. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Mistress,” I reply. She grabs my balls and fondles them gently. I gasp in my chest and grit my teeth.

“I won’t make it easy for you,” she swears. “This is my body and I will do with it what I please.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I say through gritted teeth. Oh, shit, this is going to be torture. Remember your training, Grey. You’re fucking going to need it.

“On your knees,” she says. I move more gingerly back to my knees. It’s not as easy to move with your dick in a cage. I have no problem spreading my thighs, though. This thing is uncomfortable and I’m not even hard yet. I say “yet” because I know that I’m going to be throbbing before this experience is over. Mistress isn’t a sadist, because if she were, I’d be in this thing for a week. Based on her announcement that I won’t be coming, I’ll be in this thing at least overnight. If the psychological punishment fits the crime, I’ll probably be in it for a few days. We’ll just have to see how long this lasts.

“Your hands, Mr. Grey,” she commands. I hold my hands out in front of her and she applies a leather cuff to each wrist before locking them to each other. “You can put them down now.” I put my restrained hands in my lap while she walks to the mantle and back again. I can see her fiddling with something before I get a chance to see what it is.

“Do you see this?” she asks, holding my woven metal and leather locking collar in front of me.

“Yes, Mistress,” I say, trying to hide my excitement. I always get a bit of a thrill when she collars me. I love the feeling of being possessed by her—of belonging to her, even though sometimes I get a little headstrong. I can’t let her know this. This is her ownership of me and this is for her pleasure, not mine.

I must focus. I must focus.

“Just like the penis cage, you won’t take this off until I say so.” I swallow hard.

“Yes, Mistress,” I say, contrite. She wraps the collar around my neck and as she leans in close to me to fasten it in the back, I inhale deeply and catch the most delicious fragrance of vanilla and cinnamon and my Mistress…

And the throbbing begins.

It’s too soon, Grey. Down. Control.

I try to relax, to breathe deeply and regulate the oxygen to my brain and my blood flow, but I can’t because each time I inhale, I catch her sweet, inviting scent. I want to caress her so badly. My primal instincts are battling with the submissive and I have to glue my hands to my thighs to get from touching her.

Steady, Grey. Steady, Boy.

5b204aa55b1c0b931895410116f31c12Her fingertips brush my neck as she fastens the collar. I keep my eyes down as her full breasts are inches away from face. Her beautiful swollen body, however, is right in my line of sight. I close my eyes to minimize the torment. There’ll be plenty of that in the hours to come—no use in getting a jump start.

Breathe, Grey… on second thought, don’t.

I exhale slowly, emptying my lungs as I feel the small lock land on my neck. I am intent on waiting to inhale until she has stepped away from me, so that my nostrils are not assaulted with the sweet, enticing scent of vanilla mixed with the spicy scent of cinnamon and the irresistibly arousing scent of my Mistress… but she knows me well. Somehow, she knows this mixture would drive me crazy even though we’ve never tried this combination before, and she’s intent on making me pay attention.

What’s more, she’s primal and sensual tonight. I would have loved to have gotten her in this state when I was about to make love to her and not when I was about to be dominated… but I’ll take it any way I can get it.

I sit quietly, my eyes closed, waiting for instruction or for my Mistress to step away so that I can take a breath and attempt to compose myself. Her fingers trace the top ridge of the collar, slowing, teasing me, all the way around to my Adam’s Apple. I swallow hard, inadvertently taking in another breath, another noseful of this torment. Oh, God, this torment. A shiver goes through me and I think it gets past my Mistress.

I think wrong.

Her hand moves quickly to the back of my head where she snatches a handful of hair and pulls—hard! I gasp loudly from the surprise and the pain as she pulls my head back and to the right so that I can look up at her. Fuck! How long has it been? How long has it really been?

“Are you cold?” she asks, her voice soft and completely contrary to her actions. Shit! I’m not cold. If anything, I’m hot as fuck!

“No… Mistress…” I pant. “I’m not cold.”

“Good!” she purrs fiendishly as she drops luscious, burgundy lips hungrily on mine.

Oh dear God in heaven.

I try not to groan in her mouth as her lips and tongue draw primal kisses from my willing orifice. My head bobs totally under her control as she feasts on my lips, satiating her need to consume me. My insides growl almost audibly when her free hand grabs my neck and collar and she squeezes, reminding me that her small hand holds more strength than it appears. I’m trembling with the need to touch her, my primal instincts fighting inside of me like a vicious caged animal—much like my now painfully throbbing caged penis. She squeezes harder, making eye contact with me at that crucial moment where her hand slightly restricts my air flow, but increases the blood flow to my dick. She’s right.

She’s not going to make this easy on me.

“My breasts, Mr. Grey,” she says in a husky voice, without breaking eye-contact. I raise my cuffed hands to her breasts and gently cup the soft mounds. I thought I would find relief in being able to touch her, but it only fuels my arousal. Her swollen lips part when my hands contact her breasts and her eyes demand more. My fingers gently knead the swollen flesh before I take her nipples between my fingers and thumbs, pinching and teasing them while they harden. Her breath catches and she releases a sensual gasp.

Though she ferociously devoured my lips moments prior, her crimson lip stain has not budged. What the hell is that stuff? When I pinch again and run my thumbs across the tips of her nipples, her pupils dilate and her tongue darts out of her mouth, tracing those same stained lips as her eyes remain locked on mine. Her grip tightens in my hair and raging animal inside is now viciously tearing at the bars of his cage. My dick is pulsing, thumping madly in its prison, and I can only gaze at her as she pants with desire, sinking her teeth into her pouty, swollen lip while I tease her nipples through the sheer fabric of her negligee.

She brings her mouth to mine again and she’s kissing me savagely. I match her hunger as it’s the only passion that I can exhibit besides the continual tweaking of her hardening nipples. They feel so good in my hand—my palms over her mounds and my hands spread across her skin while my finger and thumb pinch her to…

“Stop!” she pants, wildly. I drop my hands immediately. My Mistress was about to come and she didn’t want to come this way. Her fist is still wrapped in my hair, her hand still firmly clenched around my neck. I’m still on my knees and she’s slightly bent over me, but her head is back and she’s trying to catch her breath. She. Looks. Glorious! With my hands planted firmly on my thighs and my head pulled back so that I’m forced to look up at her, I couldn’t be closer to worshipping her if I tried.

She takes a few more deep breaths to compose herself. Then she drops her head to look into my eyes. My Domme has returned.

“Do you like what you see?” she asks, expecting as her hand releases my neck, but not my hair. Her fingers trace my collar again, her fingertips tickling my skin. Her nipples are sticking out of that material like small fingers now. Jesus!

“Yes, Mistress, very much,” I say, after a hard swallow.

“Good,” she says. “That pleases me, but I haven’t forgotten your bad behavior, Mr. Grey.” She releases my hair and takes a step back. “You may stand.”

I rise to my feet. Oh, fuck. I have definitely gotten larger since the last time I’ve worn one of these things, and now I’m all aroused and aching. Shit, this is going to be a nightmare.

“Go over to the fireplace and put your hands on the mantle.”

I do as I’m told and wait there while my Mistress retrieves something from the ottoman to the left.

“Take two steps back and spread your legs.” Now I’m bent over a bit, my legs spread. That gives a little relief to my aching dick.

It’s short-lived.

She reaches between my legs from behind and cradles my balls. I drop my head between my arms. Fuck, her hands feel so good. Now, I can concentrate on regulating my breathing since she’s not standing in front of me. It’s still hard, though, because the memory of vanilla and cinnamon still assaults my senses when I inhale. It’s only partially effective and I feel myself starting to sweat.

She releases my balls and moves over to the side of me when I can see her legs and feet. Her delicate hand reaches over and one finger strokes the angry red meat protruding from the bars of the cage on my sex, then two fingers. It’s so restrained that it doesn’t move, but I feel it and it’s like fire—my erection crammed painfully in this device unable to extend. My memories go back to when I was forced to wear this contraption before. The Pedophile made me wear it for a week once—the ultimate lesson in endurance. When she released me, she left me aching, unable to relieve myself and unsatisfied by her. It wasn’t the worst thing that ever happened, but it wasn’t pleasant.

Now my Mistress has me in this contraption again… but already, it’s different. Although I know that punishment is eminent, the Pedophile never fondled me. I never got to touch her. Oh, she worked me into a frenzy, then left me hanging several times a day for seven days. It was seven days of straight torment and punishment.

My Mistress strokes me gently with her fingertips through the cage. Although it hurts that my erection cannot extend, the feeling is exquisite. One of her legs in inside both of mine and she continues to fondle me, making me rise. It looks fantastic and feels fantastic…

“Do you like that?”

“Yes, Mistress,” I breathe. I can’t lie.

“Are you going to come?” she says, a slight warning in her voice. I close my eyes and shake my head.

“No, Mistress,” I pant.

“Good.” She stops stroking me and begins to caress me. One hand travels from my constrained dick through my pubic hair, up my chest…

“You have a beautiful body, Mr. Grey,” she says as her nail scratches gently over my nipple, causing me to shiver and bite my lip. Fuck! “I rarely get an opportunity to just… examine you. You are a true masterpiece.” That hand drags across my side and around to my back. I have to steady myself because her touch ignites crazy passion inside of me and I can’t control it. Her finger trails down my spine to the top of my ass and I am fighting to maintain control, that savage beast inside tearing at his cage once more.

“You’re sweating,” she observes. “You rarely ever sweat.” That’s because I’m hot and more than a little anxious. With you, this is a new experience for me.

“I’m going to punish you, Mr. Grey…” she says, cupping my ass gently. I knew this was coming, so I can’t be surprised. “… So that you don’t forget that first and foremost, you belong to me! I didn’t come up with that mantra because I thought it was cute or catchy. I made you repeat it because it’s the truth! You are not allowed to take chances! You are not allowed to put yourself at risk! You are not allowed to put yourself in unnecessary harm! You are not allowed to make dangerous, mindless, or flippant decisions. Any. More. Do you understand, Mr. Grey?”

“Yes, Mistress, I understand,” I reply.

“What are your safewords, Mr. Grey?”

“Sails and knots, Mistress.”

“Sails and knots. Very well.” I ready myself for my punishment as her hand moves from my ass.


Goddammit! It’s that fucking paddle!

“Count, Mr. Grey,” she says, firmly.

“One!” I groan.


Son of a bitch!




She’s kind with her punishment. She’s alternating cheeks and hitting the meatiest part of my ass. She massages the skin after that last one, but this shit still hurts. I take the next strikes with no problem, but the burn gets to me after a while.


“Ugh!” I cry out. “Nine!” I gasp, my nails digging into the wood of the mantle. I try to channel the pain like I did last time, but I find that it’s different when you’re lying down.


“Ah! Ten!” Shit, this hurts. She pauses and rubs my ass, the same as she has between every other blow and then,


I grit my teeth. No crying out this time.

“Eleven!” I breathe through the clenched teeth.


Oh, hell…

“Twelve…” I choke, trying to prepare myself for the next blow. She rubs my ass again, longer this time. I hold my breath in my throat. Nothing happens. She’s moved from her position. Is it over? I still feel her examining my butt.

“You’re very pink, Mr. Grey,” she says, from behind me. “You may bruise a small bit, but you’ll be fine. I think that’ll do.” Thank God! I release my breath and my shoulders fall. She was purposeful in this punishment. I really pissed her off! Cholometes who?? If I ever see that asshole again, I’m running in the other goddamn direction!

“Take a moment to compose yourself and when you’re ready, I’ll see you at the big chair.” Without a word, she walks over to the chair in the sitting room and takes a seat with her back to me. I hold my head down and take several deep breaths, processing the pain in my butt and the incessant throbbing of my dick. Sick fuck that I am, the pain still turns me on—not all pain, but this pain—pain in play. I can never separate the pain from the erotic and it makes me hard as a rock. My dick is thrumming so badly right now that it’s almost numb to the discomfort of the restraints… almost.

I quickly wrangle my thoughts and meet my Mistress at the big chair. I’m greeted with a sight that makes me hornier than an ex-con in a room full of young, ripe virgins…

One leg is bent with her foot propped up on the ottoman. Her hand is in her panties and the other hand tweaks her nipple. My cuffed hands are cupped right at the top of my pubic hairline and I fist them together to resist the urge to touch myself. I can’t speak because I don’t have permission, but she doesn’t know that I’m standing here because her eyes are closed and she’s lost in her own state of erotic Nirvana. She moans in ecstasy and I drop my head like the obedient submissive while she satiates herself, envious of that finger gently caressing her clitoris. A few moments later, she calls out to me, her voice thick with need.

“Mr. Grey.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I answer without raising my head. I hear her gasp. I think she wasn’t prepared for my proximity.

“Come here.” I walk over to her and she reaches for my hands. She releases the clip that connects the cuffs to each other so that my hands are free.

“Make me come, Mr. Grey,” she breathes, “hard and fast.” Oh, shit, really? Your wish is my command!

I don’t hesitate. I fall to my knees and grasp her panties at the waist.

Don’t rip them, Grey. She’ll be pissed.

She raises her hips and I pull them down as quickly and carefully as I can. She is hot and wet and she smells heavenly! Fast and hard… okay. I put two fingers in my mouth to wet them and sink them deep into her. She gasps as I circle them inside of her a few times before curving them forward to stroke the front wall of her vagina, right behind her clitoris. When I find that spongy mass of flesh…

“Ah!” she cries, grabbing the cushion of the chair. Yes! That’s it. That’s what I was looking for. I dive in, bringing my lips to her pulsing clit and sucking gently.

“God, yes!” she cries, her hands gripping my hair feverishly. I press my tongue hard against her clit so that she can feel the rub each time I suckle it, deep and hard, relentlessly, while my fingers stroke that magic spot behind her clit that causes spontaneous combustion.

“Oh, God! Oh, God!” she sounds like a wounded animal. My Mistress wants hard and fast, this is going to be hard and fast… and big. I wrap my free arm around her hip and place my hand flat on her pelvis, right at the top of her pussy. She throws her legs over my shoulders and releases a primal cry that almost sounds painful, the sound of her voice and smell of her cum shooting straight to my dick. I continue to suckle her clit, now rock hard in my mouth, and I’m certain the cage on my penis jumped from the force of my erection. Greystone wants to come… desperately! But it’s not going to happen. Not tonight, my friend.

My exquisite Mistress writhes in my arms and my mouth, beautiful—riding and jerking out her orgasm. She finally stills, panting, exhausted on the chair.

“Yes…” she pants, “you know… what I… need… now…”

Oh, boy, do I know what you need! I move up her body and take her in my arms, kissing her on her cheeks, her temple, her neck, her chin, her chest… anywhere she will allow me to kiss her except her mouth as she has not given me permission. I rub her back while she’s in my arms and take her taut nipples in my mouth through the lingerie. She gasps and throws her head back, thrusting her fingers into my hair. I kiss her gently between her breasts and her breathing starts to regulate. My Mistress likes afterplay, but it will be over soon.

Her negligee is still pushed up to her hips, so I take the opportunity to kiss her down and around her baby bump, across the line of her pubic bone and down the tender meat of her thighs.

“Well done, Mr. Grey,” she breathes. “You can stop now.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Already in the kneeling position, I return her panties to her hips and make sure her stockings are straight before I return to position two with my hands planted firmly on my thighs and my erection thrumming hot and hard inside its cage. She is delicious and beautiful and I was afforded the luxury of afterplay once I satisfied her, but it has left me yearning and wanting, and after my punishment, I am thoroughly subdued recalling once again what it’s like being a submissive.

“Have you had dinner, Mr. Grey?”

“I have, Mistress.”

“I have not.” My initial reaction would be displeasure that she hasn’t eaten. Instead, I feel the need to feed my Mistress and our children. “I want you to feed me and put me to bed. You are my submissive tonight, so you will sleep in one of the guest rooms when you’re done.”

Strangely, this seems appropriate.

“Yes, Mistress.”

After dinner, I am allowed to pleasure my Mistress again, this time with a dildo and a butt plug while massaging her beautiful clitoris with my oily thumb until she has two more screaming orgasms. She rubs my tender butt generously with Arnica cream to assist with the bruising and the ache, but I am to remain in the chastity cage and collar tonight, as I suspected. After I tuck her comfortably into bed, I don my bathrobe and go to the guest room.

I don’t know how long I lay awake looking at the ceiling. I could never sleep properly without her once she walked into my life. It doesn’t help that I’m extremely uncomfortable…

This is not my bed.
My butt still hurts.
My dick won’t go down, so it’s screaming.
My Mistress isn’t here.
To top it all off, my gums are sore and my meds are in our bedroom.

This is just going to be a grand old night. I put Gail’s teabag over my eye. At least I remembered that at dinner. Sometime in the middle of the night, I manage to fall asleep.


Two-hundred seventy-five…
Two-hundred seventy-six…
Two-hundred seventy-seven…

I watch the numbers rise on the elevator with a promise of relief at one of those floors, but nothing happens. Each floor, the ache continues…

Two-hundred eighty-nine…
Two-hundred ninety…
Two-hundred ninety-one…

I started counting at one, and I’m still watching, waiting, hoping…

Finally, there’s a beep…

And I open my eyes… with the worst feeling of heaviness and strain in my groin I could possibly have.

The ache in my dream—a full bladder and morning wood trapped in a steel chastity cage.

The elevator floors—my counting coping technique manifesting itself in my dream.

The beep—two-way communications. The sun is up. My Mistress is calling.

“Yes, Mistress,” I say, my voice strained. There is a pause.

“How did you know?” she questions. I didn’t. I woke from my dream and I could think of little else. Nothing else really matters right now.

“I just knew, Mistress,” I respond, unassuming. There’s silence again.

“I have an early day today—a breakfast meeting at one of the country clubs before I go into the Center. Come and make sure that I’m ready.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I say. I sit up from the bed and throw my legs over the edge, the ache in my groin reaching up in my pelvis like a hand and squeezing, cramping. I groan loudly at the pain. I won’t be able to do this when I am with Mistress. I hobble to the bathroom to relieve myself.

Relieve is the word… sweet relief. The hand that was squeezing my pelvis has released its grip as my bladder empties and the pull on my penis is not as bad. I remember now just how much I hate this contraption. It’s terror in the morning. Unless you squeeze your legs together or something happens where you are eternally horny, you can function in it throughout the day because a man is not in a perpetual state of erection. You feel it and you know that it’s there, so you have to adjust yourself so that it doesn’t stick out of your pants, but for the most part, it’s bearable.

Morning wood, on the other hand, is a nightmare. Combine that with the fact that my gums are now throbbing because I didn’t take anything for them last night. I can normally tame morning wood, but in this contraption and at the command of my Mistress, I can’t touch myself. I flush the toilet and grunt with each step back to the bed where my robe lies at the bottom.

“Go down, please,” I say aloud to my involuntary erection as I don my robe once again and exit to the guest room headed toward the owner’s suite. It was a miserable night’s sleep and I’m hoping to try to get a nap in sometime during the course of the day.

I knock on our bedroom door—a strange feeling.

“Come in.” I enter the room and find my Mistress still in bed. “Well, you look a fright, Mr. Grey. How did you sleep?”

“Fitfully, Mistress,” I reply honestly attempting to straighten up. “Would Mistress like a bath or a shower?”

“Mistress would like a nice, hot bath, but in my current state, unfortunately, it will have to be a just-above-room-temperature shower. Remove your robe and see to it.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I nod once, remove my robe, and go to her bathroom to start the shower. I gather a bath towel and bath sheet for her and place it at the outside of the shower. Her natural sponges and bath gels are all inside, including that delicious vanilla/cinnamon concoction that she was wearing last night. I hope to God that she doesn’t want to shower in that this morning. Not only will I not be able to take it, but I just might expire knowing that she’s walking around smelling like that all day.

When I come back to our bedroom, she’s sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for me.

“The shower is ready, Mistress,” I inform her. She extends her hand to me and I take it, helping her from the bed and into her en suite. Now dedicated to my task, the morning wood has subsided a bit and I can walk without discomfort.

“Will Mistress be needing her hair washed?” I ask.

“Not today, no,” she replies. I dutifully twist her incredibly long hair into a messy bun and pin it so that it won’t get wet.

“Very good, Mr. Grey. Come back when I’m done.” She steps into the shower. I nod and leave the bathroom. I go to her dressing room select two bra and panty sets with stockings and lay them on the bed. For clothing options, I choose a red wraparound tea-length dress with three-quarter sleeves and a pair of black, strappy sandals; a hot pink long-sleeved business mini-dress coupled with peep-toe black Louboutins; and a short-sleeved purple jersey dress with a high waist and crisscrossed neckline paired with Louboutins that we found that were a replica of her favorite purple and black shoes that she ruined on her last date with David. Her back-up flats and boots remain in the car in case she needs them.

I retrieve my pain killers from the nightstand and put them in the pocket of my robe before I go down to the kitchen. It’s still early and I don’t expect anyone to be awake, but of course, Gail is always efficient and on her job before anyone else gets started. Gail turns to greet me, but stops short and examines me like an alien invader.

“Mis… ses Grey has a breakfast meeting, so she won’t be eating at home today. Can I get a glass of orange juice and a fresh croissant on a tray for her, please?”

Her eyes widen and I’m not sure why. She stands there stunned for a moment. Move, woman! She’ll be out of the shower soon.

“Mrs. Taylor?” I say, a bit sharply to bring her back to the here and now from wherever she has drifted.

“Oh! I’m sorry,” she says, going to the refrigerator for the orange juice. “Are you okay?”

No, I’m not okay. I spent the night in a chastity cage and woke up with burning dick and throbbing gums. I’m tired and my head hurts.

“I’m fine. I didn’t sleep well. My gums hurt. May I have a glass, too, please?”

“Coffee?” she asks, and she plates a fresh croissant.

“Not right now.” She places a glass of orange juice in front of me. “Do you have a plate cover handy?”

I pop one of my painkillers in my mouth and quickly swallow the orange juice while she places a silver domed plate cover over the croissant.

“Thank you,” I nod to her before going back to our bedroom.

The shower is still going, thank God. I place the tray carrying the orange juice and the croissant on the table near the window. When I attempt to pop my neck, I remember the collar there. I bring my hand to my neck and close my eyes, caressing it fondly. The cage is there to remind me who my body belongs to, but the collar is there to remind me who I belong to…

I belong to Anastasia Grey.

The words bring warmth and comfort to me and revitalize me just a bit. I take a deep breath and release it before I remove my robe and go into the restroom to my Mistress. I step into the bathroom and stand just to the right of the shower in position one and await instructions.

A few minutes after I come back to the bathroom, the shower goes off. I quickly grab the bath blanket and present it—open—to my Mistress. She walks into the blanket with her arms up and I wrap it snugly around her body. With the second bath towel, I begin to dry her neck, shoulders, and arms. When Mistress is dry, I am instructed to apply her Victoria’s Secret Rapture Lotion which she will layer with the perfume and mist of the same fragrance. Thank God, it wasn’t the vanilla/cinnamon!

Mistress is pleased with my choices for her wardrobe. She chooses the hot pink business mini which hugs her very demurely and stops just below mid-thigh. She wears her beautiful mahogany hair straight and cascading down her back with just the top pulled back in a dainty flat gold hair clip that matches the large, flat gold necklace lying on her chest. Mistress looks divine as always.

As I’m putting the dresses away that she didn’t choose, she summons me back into the bedroom.

“What’s this?” she asks, gesturing to the domed tray.

“A croissant and orange juice, Mistress.” She seems a bit perturbed.

“I told you that I had a breakfast meeting,” she says firmly. I drop my gaze and fold my hands, contrite.

“Forgive me, Mistress,” I begin. “It’s been my experience that it’s unwise to arrive at a breakfast meeting on a completely empty stomach. You avoid the embarrassing biological hunger sounds and the urge to overeat.” I stand silent and await reprimand.

“Good thinking, Mr. Grey,” she says as she reaches for my cheek, no doubt to reward me with a gentle stroke. However, the pressure sends a jolt of pain through my gums and I’m unable to hide the resulting flinch. Her reaction is immediate.

“You do realize that I would never hit you in your face, right? Especially considering what just happened last week, I don’t understand that reaction at all!” Oh, boy, that nap is looking better and better.

“Forgive me, Mistress,” I say for what feels like the 100th time in the last twenty-four hours. She completely misinterpreted the situation, but she had no way of knowing. “May I please speak freely?”

“No, you may not!” she snaps, offended.

“Please, Mistress!” I insist, risking insolence, but imparting the importance of the explanation on her. She pauses.

“Look at me.” I raise my eyes to hers. I don’t know what she sees, but her demeanor changes immediately and her shoulders drop. “Speak,” she says softly.

“I didn’t sleep well,” I tell her, never moving my eyes since she hasn’t told me that I can. “My head hurts and my gums hurt. I left my painkillers on the nightstand in here last night and didn’t realize it until I awoke in pain. I just took one a little while ago and it hasn’t kicked in yet. I never thought you would hit me in my face. It’s just the pain in my gums.”

Her expression doesn’t change. She has perfected my impassive glare, but I know my Mistress. She was moved.

“I apologize for my misinterpretation,” she says softly. “Make sure that you eat something. You don’t want to have an upset stomach.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I agree.

“I’ll be leaving soon, so go on and get in the shower and get on with your day and I’ll see you later this afternoon.” She reaches for my hands and removes the cuffs that I had completely forgotten were there. Maybe that’s why Gail was looking at me like she had seen a ghost. Thank God for NDA’s… and the fact that we’re friends now. She places a very gentle kiss on my cheek and dismisses me.

“Thank you, Mistress,” I say, before going to my shower.

Half an hour earlier, I would have needed the coldest water this shower could produce. Now, I stand with my hands against the glass as hot water rains gently down on my scalp, washing away many of the thoughts from the last two days.

I compared both of the women who have dominated me, but they are so different. Elena’s domination was a matter of control. Yes, there were lessons to be learned, but ultimately, the lessons were only so that I could be a better pet for her. It was I who turned those lessons around for my benefit. I used those dominations and TPE exercises and control techniques to become the man, the billionaire, the sex god that I am—not because of her, but in spite of her.

When Mistress presented that chastity cage, I immediately thought of the Pedophile. I hated when she used it. With Mistress, the chastity cage is a symbol that my physical person belongs to her; that when and if I do something that requires this type of punishment, the device is there to remind me that this is her body and I’m not allowed to mistreat it. Not so with Pedophile. For her, it was all about total control. There was no caring possession in her intention or technique—it was all about ownership. It wasn’t so much that my body belonged to her, but more so that my body didn’t belong to me… at all! I didn’t even have to do anything wrong to warrant the cage. If she wanted to constrain me, she just did.

She left me in the damn thing for a week once. It chafed so badly that I had to see my doctor for ointment to heal the skin. My secret was almost revealed until I told him that it came from an athletic cup. To this day, I can’t believe he bought it.

I have no idea how long Mistress plans to leave me in this thing. I can tolerate it to the degree that it’s used for a punishment for bad behavior—which I deserve—and its use is not abused. Depending on her decision, there may be some safewording and discussions about soft limits.

The hot water has grown a bit warm now and the throbbing in my head has subsided due to the gentle massage of the flow. I wash myself thoroughly except for my dick which only gets a thorough rinsing as any contact will aggravate the fuck out of this thing. Once I’m clean and dried and brushed and flossed, I put on a T-shirt and sweats and go straight to my den and my piano. I call over the two-way and ask Gail to bring me breakfast and coffee to the den along with a pillow and a comforter. She grants my strange request, but not before sending Jason in to see exactly what’s wrong with me.

I’m just ending a call with Andrea, telling her that I’m not well and don’t want to be disturbed today when Jason comes in looking at me with that same alien look that Gail gave me. For God’s sake, what the fuck is it? I glare at him, waiting for him to tell me what the hell he’s gawking at.

“You’re not dressed, sir,” he says. He cocks his head to the side and I know he’s examining the collar. I didn’t bother trying to hide it. I’m in my home and these are my fucking employees. My expression remains impassive.

“I am dressed,” I reply, flatly.

“I mean… you’re not dressed in your usual attire,” he clarifies.

“That’s because I am not leaving this house today unless this house is on fire,” I say calmly, while caressing the keys on my piano.

“Um, okay, but I should probably tell you that we’re going to have a fire this afternoon.” I look up at him and frown. What the hell is he talking about? Then it dawns on me. Oh, fuck! We’ve got the appointment with Dr. Culley this afternoon. Shit. I’ve never worn a collar in public. The only time I’ve done it was under my clothing and it was much smaller than this. Nothing I own will cover this thing.

A scarf. A scarf will cover it.

I’ll just have to keep my coat on the entire time.

“Yeah, I forgot about that. Very well. Any other fires I’ve forgotten?”

“No, I think that’s the only one, sir,” he says. I nod. His wife comes in with my breakfast and sets it on the coffee table. Ms. Solomon is behind her with the linens I requested.

“Thank you both,” I say, effectively dismissing them. They all leave without a word and I sit on the sofa and tuck into my food—eggs and bacon, pancakes, orange juice and coffee. I’m starving. I make quick work of the food and almost ask for seconds before I remember that I plan to go back to sleep.

I walk back over to my piano and close my eyes allowing my fingers to drift across the keys and play the music I’m feeling inside. The words dance in my head while the music flows from my fingers. I don’t know why I’m feeling this particular song…

Feel her breath on my face
Her body close to me
Can’t look in her eyes
She’s out of my league…

I pick a second song, one that I just heard this year—in some random place, I don’t remember, but I downloaded it to my iPod. It was one of the songs I listened to while she was sleeping… for 12 days… God Gave Me You and this one. The first song that I played left me feeling melancholy, but this one leaves me feeling the warmth I need to rest…

She says I smell like safety and home
I named both of her eyes “Forever” and “Please don’t go”
I could be a morning sunrise all the time, all the time, yeah
This could be good… 

I play it twice and a calm settles over me, leaving me content. I touch my collar, caress it, close my eyes and see my Mistress.

I breathe her in…
Absorb her in every cell…
She comforts me…

When I stand, I feel the chastity cage. Nothing like the Pedophile, the cruelty she inflicted upon me to ingrain in me that I had no control over myself—that she was always and forever would be my puppet-master. She was right—for years and years until last June when I broke free of her, she was my puppeteer.

… But not my Mistress.

She cares for me. She’s concerned about me. She loves me… really loves me. She is a part of me and I am a part of her. She is my strength and my weakness—my lifeline and my demise.

She is my soul…
My heart…
My love…
My everything…

This is nothing like before.
This appendage is nothing… means nothing… without her.
My Mistress.
My Butterfly.

I fluff the pillow and lay on the sofa, covering myself with the comforter, lulling myself into a contented sleep with those words cycling through my subconscious that this exercise is meant to make me remember:

I belong to Anastasia Grey.
I am not allowed to take chances.
This is your body…
This body belongs to you.
I must follow instructions and stay safe.
I am not allowed to take chances…
And I am not allowed to get hurt.
I belong to Anastasia Grey…
I belong to Anastasia Grey…
My Mistress….
My Butterfly…


A/N: The two songs Christian is playing on the piano are She’s Like The Wind by Patrick Swayze and She Keeps Me Warm by Mary Lambert

Part II coming right up… on to chapter 39!

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Love and handcuffs 🙂 
Lynn X