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.
“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?”
“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.
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.
I 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.”
“I will see you now.”
“End two-way communications.” In moments, there is a knock at the door. It’s strange having him knock on our bedroom door.
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.
“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.
“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.
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.
The 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.
More 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?
“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.
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.
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?”
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Love and handcuffs 🙂