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.
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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.
“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.
“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.
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.
“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.
“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.
Her 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.
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.
“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.
“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.
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.
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…
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…
This is nothing like before.
This appendage is nothing… means nothing… without her.
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…
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 🙂