Stayed home to regroup today, so here’s a bonus chapter because I love you guys!
So, I know there will be a lot of people who will read this and say, “Damn, she’s either been through or had a friend whose been through every damn thing…”
Um… yeah. Damn near fifty years old and if I wrote a true exposé memoir of my life, it would be several volumes long and it would curl your hair, make your head spin, and have you running away screaming. But yes, the Sophie portion of the story is based on real life events.
REEEEEEEEEEEEEALLY long author’s note at the end, if you care to read it, about a few things in this chapter.
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 64—Take Deep Breaths…
It took a while for Jason and Christian to return, so I had time to feed the Minnie before they returned as Mikey hadn’t stirred yet… but when they returned…
“Six days! Six days, Shalane! Do you know what the fuck can happen in six days? Process servers, certified letters, Child Services, the police… we had to damn near send out the national guard to find you to tell you that her daughter is safe with her father. She could have run away or been kidnapped, being held hostage somewhere and you wouldn’t have even known! You would have been knocking on my door just like you are right now asking me where’s my child?” He mocks her voice on the last words.
Jason is livid as he confronts his ex-wife about her whereabouts for the last week. She and Christian had a bit of a showdown just before he arrived and Al had to direct the boys in blue to check their paperwork and they would see that we had already reported this issue to the police three days ago. The trip went from a matter of investigating possible kidnapping allegations to retrieving a child and returning her to the custodial parent.
Jason is trying to get answers while impressing upon the officers what a mistake it would be to return Sophie to Shalane without said answers, but Shalane knows her rights. She won’t engage Jason in any kind of confrontation and won’t give him the satisfaction of an explanation of her whereabouts or absence for the last several days. Just like the case worker said, she could walk right in here and take Sophie back if she corroborated Sophie’s story which, obviously, she did, to someone.
“Give me my child, Jason,” is all she says to him in front of the police.
“And then what?” he barks. “Where have you been for the last six days? She doesn’t even have a working telephone to call someone in case of emergency! Do you know that some sleaze kept coming to the house looking for you and he scared her and that’s why she left? She’s twelve years old! She’s not even old enough to babysit and you leave her alone for six days? What the hell is wrong with you?”
Shalane’s glare is steely. She’s not giving him any answers. She only has one thing to say.
“Give. Me. My. Child.”
Jason looks from her to the police and back to her.
“You’re honestly going to allow her to take this child after she didn’t know where Sophie was for six days?” he says to the officers. One of them swallows and the other sighs
“We’ve contacted Child Services, Mr. Taylor, and according to them, she has every right to take Sophia home. I’m sorry,” one of the officers tells him. He’s breathing fire.
“This is not over,” he says to Shalane between his teeth.
“Did you hear that, officers?” she says in a soft voice without moving her glare from Jason. “If my daughter comes up missing, you know where to look.”
“Oh, don’t you worry,” he says coolly. “You should be getting served any day now, so make sure all your little duckies are all in a roll.” Shalane folds her arms.
“Give it your best shot, big boy,” she says with a knowing smirk. Jason narrows his eyes and turns on his heels.
“Mr. Taylor?” one of the officers calls to him.
“I’m going to get her child,” he says without turning around or stopping. Shalane falls in step behind him and I step in front of her.
“Uh-uh,” I say, squaring off against her. “He can go. If one of the officers need to go, they can go. You stay here.” Cross me if you want to; I’ll drop you in front of these blues.
“That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Grey,” the officer says. “We’ll all wait.” I glare at Shalane through narrowed eyes before I go to the apartment behind Jason, leaving Christian with our company.
“Don’t let her know that you have this,” Jason tells Sophie as he puts a new iPhone in her backpack. “Don’t give anybody this number; this is just for me and you. I’ll get you another phone for show in case she wants to see that one, but this one is just for emergencies. This is for emergencies, too.” He puts a credit card in her backpack, too. “The pin is our secret place.” She nods.
“I’m not moving away, Daddy,” she says softly. “I’ll be in the same place.” He sighs.
“Sophie, after this, I’ll be lucky if your mom lets me see you before you’re fifteen,” he says. Sophie looks at him with apologetic eyes and he reads them immediately. “This isn’t your fault, Baby Boo,” he says. “We’ll work it out somehow.” She nods again.
“Wait a minute.” She pulls the phone and the credit card out of her backpack. She removes her coat and unzips a secret pocket sewn into the back of it. After stuffing the phone and card into the pocket, she zips it and puts her coat back on.
“Mom checks my bags and backpack every time I leave here, to see if you’ve given me something new or some money, so you might want to give me something that she can see. She hasn’t found my secret pocket yet.” Jason is seething as he pulls out a few twenties and hands them to her, which she sticks in her backpack. “Thanks, Dad. If she doesn’t confiscate it for back child support, I’ll put it in my bank.”
“Back chi…?” Jason stops himself mid-sentence and breathes in deeply.
“I know, Dad,” Sophie says, and Jason calms immediately.
“I’m fighting her, Sophie,” he tells her. “I’m fighting for custody.” She shrugs.
“I appreciate it, but I’ll probably be an adult by the time it gets out of court and I can leave on my own,” she says with no mirth. He closes his eyes again; a pained expression comes over his face before he brings his gaze back to his daughter.
“I need you to call me… at least once a day. I need to know you’re okay. No more not being in touch, okay?”
“Okay, Dad,” she says, smiling at her father. She turns to me. “Thank you, Ms. Ana,” she says hugging me warmly.
“Anytime, Sophie… and I mean it. Anytime.” I tell her. She nods and turns to Gail.
“Momma Gail,” she says sweetly. Gail’s blue eyes suddenly become very glassy. She hugs Sophie like a mother sending her child on a long trip and kisses her on the hair.
“Pumpkin,” she whispers, unsuccessfully fighting her tears. Sophie turns to her father. He stoops down and she bolts to his arms. He hugs her very tight.
“It’s not over, Baby Boo,” he says, his voice cracking. “I love you, Sophia.”
“I love you, too, Daddy,” she says, her own tears flowing freely now. I rub my arms for the sudden chill that I feel. This is not going to go well; I just know it. As Jason leads Sophie out of the apartment, I catch a collapsing Gail and we sink to the sofa as she succumbs to her sobs.
“Jason, how far as you from the Crossing?” I’m in the car with Williams having run out of the office and given Ros instructions on what needs to be done for the rest of the projects on my desk. The one day I decide to come to work… the one day!
“About twenty or twenty-five minutes out, what’s wrong?”
“Your ex-wife is at my house,” I tell him. “She has pissed Butterfly off and I don’t know what condition we’re going to find that place in when we get there.”
“Shit!” he hisses loudly. “Sorry, Baby Boo,” he says to his daughter. “I’ll get there as soon as I can.” I end the call and try to relax for the ride home that will take almost as long as Jason’s. I can just imagine Butterfly sitting in the living room in handcuffs—or worse yet, the back of a police car—after lunging at this sorry excuse of a woman for saying the wrong thing. With any luck, or lack thereof, she’ll end up in front of Judge Hammer-Ass.
“Hurry up,” I tell Williams. Fuck the speed limit; I need to get home.
There’s only one police car and a late model red Dodge Charger in front of the house. Funny, I somewhat expected there to be more than that.
I walk into the front door and my eyes fall immediately on Sophie’s mother. I don’t know the woman, but I don’t need to know her to tell that she looks worn—old and emaciated. What the hell happened to her since Thanksgiving? She’s wearing make-up but it’s doing more harm than good, I think. If what’s under the make-up looks worse than what I’m seeing now, she looks like she’s aged ten years in three months! She’s simpering the moment she sees me and it’s making me physically ill. I roll my eyes and walk past her and the police.
“Where’s my wife?” I say to Windsor, who stands in quiet attendance of the two cops and this… woman.
“She went to tend to the children, sir,” he says.
“Children?” Ms. Deleroy says snidely in a low voice. “Did she kidnap somebody else’s baby, too?”
I snap a glare over to this shrew standing in my house insulting my wife and then to the cops standing there next to her. One of them turns his gaze to the ground while the other does a somewhat helpless shrugging gesture with his hands. Yeah, I know. You can only enforce the law and keep the peace. You can’t arrest someone for being a crass and classless bitch. Without removing my coat, I go in search of the landline in the vestibule near the back stairs and dial the code to activate the intercom.
“Nursery,” I say into the phone. A few moments later, my wife’s voice softly answers.
“Ana.” I can tell by her tone that she’s still perturbed, but that at least one of the babies is asleep.
“I’m here, Butterfly.”
“Is Jason with you?” she asks.
“Not yet, but he’ll be here any minute. Al is here, though.” I hear a sigh.
“Minnie’s just about settled. I’ll be right down.”
“Okay.” I hang up the phone and take a deep breath. When I join the party in the grand entrance, Al has come in and is giving Windsor his coat. That’s when I realize that I’m still wearing mine.
“Officers,” I greet them finally after I’ve spoken to my wife. “I’m Christian Grey.” I proffer my hand to the first officer and he accepts the shake.
“Mr. Grey,” he nods. “I’m Officer Lamar and this is my partner, Officer Odell.” I extend my hand to Officer Odell and he accepts the shake.
“This is our attorney, Allen Forsythe.”
Allen starts talking to the officers while I hand my coat to Windsor. I catch a glimpse of this unpleasant female in my peripheral and she’s melting over my suited form.
Oh, good God, I’m going to hurl.
I raise my eyes to the second-floor landing and see my wife emerge. Thank God! She descends the stairs like the angel that she is, wearing a pair of brightly colored satin or silk genie pants with a white wrap-around top and all-white belly bind covering her midsection and hips. A pair of white ballet shoes allow her to gracefully float towards me, rescuing me from the possible clutches of this witch standing behind me. For a moment, I forget where I am and focus only on her. She’s so beautiful. I greet her with a chase kiss when she gets to the bottom of the stairs.
“Hey,” I say softly in her ear.
“Hey,” she responds. “I’m glad you’re here.” We quickly break our gaze from one another and turn our attention to Al, who is talking to the police.
“Mr. Taylor is on his way,” I tell the officers. “He should be here any minute.”
“Mr. Grey, would you mind telling us exactly how Sophia Taylor came to be here at your home? Because it is your home, we would like to have a statement on file.” I look from them to Butterfly. She just gestures to them.
“Didn’t my wife tell you?” I ask.
“We started,” he says, “but the conversation was somewhat interrupted by… a difference of opinion.”
“You mean, by her saying I kidnapped her daughter and by my subsequent crying babies,” Butterfly hisses, more to Deleroy than to the officers. I put my arm around her waist and kiss her temple gently to calm her. Why does holding her around this belly wrap turn me on?
“So she knows that we have crying babies upstairs,” I say.
“Yes,” Butterfly confirms.
“So that statement she made when I came in about you kidnapping someone else’s baby was just her being a bitch, right?” I turn back to the bitch and glare at her. She has the decency—or the fear—to shrink a bit.
“I guess so,” Butterfly confirms. “Wouldn’t be too much of a stretch.”
I look at Al for guidance and he gives me a nod. I know he’ll stop me if I need to shut up.
“Members of my security team and I were having a debriefing after a very trying day on Monday evening. We were nearly done when Mr. Taylor basically leapt out of his seat and attempted to leave the meeting. I asked what the problem was and he just said that he would be right back and left.”
“So Mr. Taylor was still at Grey House with you?” Lamar asks.
“No, we were all here,” I tell him. “My wife and I have been working from home since the twins were born…”
“Twins!” I hear Deleroy say under her breath. Yes, twins! Where the hell have you been, on a desert island somewhere? Has whatever you’re using fried the best of your brain cells? Butterfly looks at her in horror.
“I told her that not half an hour ago,” she says, horrified. “Did she forget that fast?” I shake my head and turn back to the officers and continue.
“Mr. Taylor and I were debriefing my wife’s security team at the end of the day,” I say continuing the story. “I was still meeting with the team when I received a text from Mr. Taylor asking me to meet him downstairs in his and Mrs. Taylor’s quarters.”
“So your head of security and his wife have quarters in your home?” Odell asks.
“Yes,” I reply. “They met and married while in my employ. My security is 24/7 and Mrs. Taylor is our house manager and part-time nanny.” Odell nods and scribbles in his notebook.
“When my wife and I get to their quarters, Sophia is there.”
“You see?” Deleroy says. “It was Monday that he kidnapped my Sophie.”
“I beg your pardon, Madam, but first it was my wife that kidnapped your child and now it’s Jason?” I say folding my arms, and she falls silent. “No one kidnapped Sophia Taylor; she got here on her own.” She scoffs.
“Sophie’s only twelve years old. She can’t make that trip all by herself!” Deleroy accuses. What the hell?
“Oh, are you saying that she’s too young to catch a bus on her own but it’s perfectly okay for you to leave her in the house for three days unsupervised?” I retort. That’s when she decides to make an enemy of me.
“Of course, he’s going to say whatever Jason wants him to say! They’re friends!” I’m immediately angered.
“Madam,” I begin, “I don’t know how things work where you come from, but I have too much money to lie. I can pay people to do that for me!”
The words are so blatantly and brutally honest that the cop next to her just scoffs a laugh while Ms. Deleroy glares at me, and I glare right back.
“You were saying, Mr. Grey?” The other cop says.
“I was saying,” I bite out, never breaking my glare with the bitch who wants to play stare with me, “that my head of security was in a debriefing with me and three other people when he received a text that pulled him out of our meeting. I later discovered that text was from our security station at the front gate indicating that your daughter…” I startle the shit out of her and ultimately “win” the stare game by emphasizing the last two words and leaning in her face at the same time. She gasps and squeals a bit, jumping back into the hands of one of the officers, breathing heavily. I pause for a moment, still glaring at her while the officer holds her like the scared rabbit that she now truly is.
“… Was at the security station after catching two buses and a taxi across town by herself because she had been left home for three days alone with no contact from you and no idea where you were. According to her, a man came looking for you twice and she no longer wanted to be there by herself.” I narrow my eyes at her, waiting for her to respond and daring her to give me that insolent fucking glare that she was giving me before.
“I’m sure that if you check the taxi companies from the day in question, you’ll most likely be able to find the fare,” I say to the officers. “I highly doubt that a well-paid security officer with covert abilities who lives in a veritable fortress and has an airtight alibi, a fleet of automobiles and other covert operatives at his disposal would employ public transportation and a taxi to kidnap his daughter! But then again, that’s just my opinion. Like I said, too much money to lie.” I throw that last statement at the shivering Ms. Deleroy.
“Didn’t anybody ever tell you not to glare at a bear? They tend to attack,” I say through my teeth, using my Dom voice. She visibly shivers. I feel Butterfly’s hands on my arm and gently stroking my back and the effect is immediate. A warming, then cooling sensation shoots through my body like a shocking drug and I actually flinch at how quickly it calms me before taking a deep breath and settling into the calm. I raise my eye in time to see the officers share a knowing look before one of them mumbles, “bear elixir.”
I throw a glance over my shoulder at my wife and even though it’s not appropriate, I so want to fuck her right now.
Luckily, only a few more minutes pass and Jason comes storming in through the back way, still in his coat as well. He has come through the garage and the mudroom and has, no doubt, dropped Sophie off to go and get her things from the downstairs apartment. He and Deleroy have a nasty war of words which was pretty much him chewing her a new one for leaving Sophie and her demanding the return of her child. Defeated and with no ground to stand on, he goes down to the apartment to fetch Sophia. Deleroy tries to follow him, but Butterfly squares off with her and I’m only too certain that if these officers can’t put this dog on a leash very soon, we’re going to have a repeat of the cat fight between Butterfly and the Pedophile that I caught on video in my penthouse apartment two years ago. Butterfly gives Deleroy a hateful glare and causes her to freeze right where she stands before Butterfly walks off behind Jason.
They’ve been gone for about five minutes before I turn to Al and conspicuously ask, “Mr. Forsythe, have you filed those documents with the family court yet?”
“Yes,” he says, “they were filed the very next day. There should be documents served very soon.” I nod.
“This is good news,” I say. “The sooner we can put this thing to bed, the better.”
All parties in the room know to what I’m referring, and Deleroy decides to poke the bear again.
“You’re probably pretty accustomed to putting things to bed, aren’t you, Mr. Grey?” she says in a seductive voice that makes my skin crawl.
“What gave it away?” I ask, turning to face her. “My hot, sexy wife or our newborn twins?” She’s taken aback and silent for a moment. “Nothing in the world like a woman that makes you come so hard that you blow two kids at once.” Lamar coughs audibly and either he’s stifling a laugh or empathizing with the feeling.
“If you have any other questions or comments, madam, you can direct them to my attorney.” I turn my back on her.
“Okay, attorney,” she says indignantly. “What was that comment about family court referring to, because I know that was for me?”
“Oh, don’t worry. You’ll find out,” he says.
“Another smart ass,” she says.
“You’re damn right, and apparently a hell of a lot smarter than you,” Al retorts. “You don’t want to get into a war of words with me, ‘Little Debbie.’ I will suck out your cream filling and leave your carcass on the floor for dead.”
And with those words coupled with a few well-placed hand gestures, a little of the gay Al comes out. Deleroy doesn’t know how to take this, but readies herself anyway for a retort. What do you say to something like that?
“Ms. Deleroy,” Odell interrupts her. “Mr. Taylor has gone to get your daughter as requested. Maybe you should just let us handle this from here on out.” You can tell that she wants to say something else, but she’s interrupted by Jason and Sophie coming into the grand entry.
“Sophia, baby!” she coos as if she’s been without her daughter for a long time—which she has—and has come to rescue her. “Are you alright?”
Sophia looks at her mother for several moments then turns around and hugs Jason tight.
“I love you, Daddy,” she says, clearly, holding him for long moments. Jason is taken aback for a moment, but closes his arms around his daughter. I immediately pick up that they were most likely not allowed to show affection around Shalane.
“I love you, too, Baby Boo,” he says, closing his eyes and holding her close. When they finally break, Sophie turns and walks to her mother.
“Mom,” she says, her voice questioning, “have you lost more weight?”
Al and I look at each other, because that question speaks volumes.
“Come on, Sophia, let’s go.” Deleroy says nervously, holding her hand out to Sophie and expecting her to fall in line. Sophie chooses this moment to make an announcement.
“You’re not going to keep me from my dad anymore, Mom,” she says clearly in front of all the parties in the room.
“Come on, Sophia, we’ll talk about this later.” Deleroy latches on to Sophie’s arm. Sophie snatches her arm from her mother’s grasp.
“You’re not going to keep me from my dad anymore!” Sophie repeats and waits for her mother’s response. A knowing look passes between them and I’m certain that we haven’t seen the last of this… or Sophie.
“Fine,” she says, finally, taking Sophie’s hand and dragging her from the house. The officers excuse themselves and follow Sophie and Ms. Deleroy out the front door. Jason wordlessly turns around and walks back towards his apartment.
“Al,” I get his attention as I walk towards the back of the house. He falls in step behind me, as I ask, “Sophia saw a change in her mother in a week. Even I can tell that she’s emaciated and I’ve never committed her form to memory. What could make her deteriorate that quickly?”
“Unless she’s on chemo for cancer, that’s crystal meth,” he says. I shake my head.
“Another drugged-out mother,” I think to myself. “I’m going to order surveillance… immediately. I don’t trust her and I don’t know what’s going on with Sophie. Another child will not fall to this stigma, not under my watch.
I need relief in the worst way. The night was tension-filled and even after talking to Jason this morning and informing him that I’ve arranged for 24-hour surveillance for Sophie as well as Shalane since we’re going to need ammunition to take to family court, he’s still tense as a rubber band and angry as a bear. Butterfly and I spend the rest of the week trying to keep Gail and Jason from committing Hara-kiri, but in the meantime, we’re neglecting each other. Saturday morning, I’m happy to see a familiar face show up at the front door.
“Artemis, it’s good to see you.” I shake hands with him as Windsor takes his coat.
“It is good to see you, too, Christian,” he says with a heavy Greek accent. “It has been a long time.”
“Yes, it has. Of course, you know why I’ve called you. I’m in need of your special skills.” Artemis smiles.
“Indeed. I thought I may never see you again after that unfortunate business with…” He trails off.
“Yes, well, life goes on. Let me show you the space and what I have in mind…”
“Blue!” Artemis says once I’ve led him through the secret passages through my dressing room. “A regal color, yes, but… hardly the color for a dungeon.”
“I don’t do dungeons, Artemis. I thought we established that,” I say. He raises his hands in surrender.
“Apologies,” he says. “Old habits die hard. But even a playroom…”
“This room will be different,” I tell him. “There will be instances of punishment and pain, but this room will mostly be about passion and pleasure; exploring limits and very, very intense orgasms. So a lot of the items I have in my playroom at the penthouse will not be needed, but I will need quite a few custom pieces in here. I expect that my wife will have some requests as well, but for right now, I need to get the audio and visual operational.”
“Of course. There will be many deliveries today… and my staff…”
“Coordinate with my butler, Windsor. Whatever you need. I’m going to prepare my wife for the onslaught and… possibly get some ideas from her. She wants an electric fireplace in the room—only the light source as the ventilation, we’ve discovered, will have to provide the heat and cooling that we need.” He raises an eyebrow at me.
“You do not want a playroom; you want a playpen,” he says. I frown. I don’t think I like his implication. He raises his hand. “Do not be offended, my friend. It is only what I call the room for couples who refrain from the sadomasochism portion of the BDSM lifestyle. I understand that many couples still want the adventure—the passion, the control and submission, the dominance—without the humiliation and intense pain. Only enough to titillate or to punish if necessary. It is just a trend that I notice—more of the power exchange and less of the degradation. That is all.”
I can’t argue with the man. All of the pain and the pleasure in my and Butterfly’s playtime has to do with power exchange. Even the chastity cage was an exercise in domination and punishment when before, it was simply humiliation and pain.
“I think you understand,” I tell him. He nods.
“Now, tell me Christian. Where will the bed be?”
“Where are you, love?” I say into the two-way system.
“Can I see you in my den when you’re finished?” There’s a pause.
“Is everything alright?”
“Yes, love. Everything’s fine.”
“But something’s up,” she deduces.
“What makes you think something’s up?” I ask, trying not to give anything away.
“Because you’re calling me ‘love.’” She’s got me.
“Yes, something’s up, but nothing bad. Just come and see me in my den when you’re done.”
“I’m on my way. End-two way communications.” I shake my head and chuckle to myself.
“If you don’t mind me asking, most women would adore a pet name. Do you only use it when you are in trouble or you want something?” Artemis asks.
“No, I use one every day, just not that one.” He frowns.
“What do you normally use, if you don’t mind?”
“Butterfly.” Artemis laughs deep in his chest.
“Playpen,” he reinforces. I resist the urge to roll my eyes at him. We have samples, pictures, my laptop and Artemis’ tablets and laptop strewn all over the tables, floor, and my piano. Today, we assemble our playroom—or as Artemis refers to it—our playpen. It most likely won’t be ready by the time Butterfly is cleared by Dr. Culley, but that’s not what I want our first after-delivery experience to be, anyway. Nonetheless, looking at the equipment and planning the room has me amorous in the worst way, a situation that I plan to rectify with my Butterfly later. In the meantime, we need to make some of these decisions together.
Artemis and I are going over the specifications of a custom attachment that I want added to what would normally be a padded spanking bench when Butterfly finally comes into the den. She’s clutching both ends of a work-out towel that she has draped around her neck. She’s wearing some sexy ass yoga pants showcasing her fabulous new curves. Her running jacket is open in the front, teasing you with a peek at a sports bra barely holding in her size D tits and an exercise belt that allows you to see a bit of sweaty skin on her torso between the bra and the belt. The sweat is that fine midst that coats her body right before she comes… well, maybe it’s not, but that’s what I see.
“Christian… why didn’t you tell me that we have company.” she scolds slightly, zipping her jacket and subconsciously checking the spot on her head where her hair is shorter.
“You look beautiful. Don’t worry,” I tell her, meeting her at the door and kissing her temple while guiding her into the room. My observation is further confirmed by Artemis’ expression and his inability to control his ogling eyes at my wife’s approaching form. I think he’s forgotten where he is because he actually parts his lips conspicuously and his tongue is running along the inside of his bottom lip, like he can actually taste what he’s looking at—only he happens to be looking at my wife! I feel dirty just looking at him!
“Artemis!” I say, drawing his attention back to me. He stops licking his lips, but he doesn’t even flinch.
“Forgive me,” he says, his voice low, “It is rare that I see such true natural beauty.”
Knock it off, Artie! You better be glad you’re good at what you do!
“Put a leash on it,” I say, my voice lower than his. “This is my wife, not some random submissive.” Butterfly’s eyes shoot to my face and she gasps.
“Christian!” she breathes horrified.
“Artemis is the contractor and designer of the Escala Playroom,” I tell her, and she relaxes immediately. “He’s going to help us build ours here.” She looks at me again.
“Here? Now?” she says, somewhat surprised.
“Yes, now,” I say, giving her a gaze that relays that I would fuck her right now if I could. Her reaction is immediate. I need some way to channel this sexual energy or I’m going to explode on the spot and if I get a hold of her now, I’m going to fuck her even though we’re not supposed to. So I need to let the Dom loose, even if I can only vicariously imagine what will happen when the room is finished, then we satisfy each other later.
Her lips part just like Artemis’ did a moment ago and she makes the same movements with her tongue. Watching her and trying with all my might to talk my dick down, I almost feel sorry for poor Artie. That reaction is knee-jerk, subconscious—she doesn’t know she’s doing it. Most likely, neither did he.
“Tristan and Isolde,” Artemis says, so low that you can barely hear it, but I did.
“No,” I say, never taking my eyes off my enchanting wife. “Helen of Troy. There is no King Mark in our story. Yet, I don’t know if I’m Paris or Menelaus. However, she has already launched a thousand ships; there’s already been an epic battle for her heart; and empires can, do, and will fall at her whim.” My voice is steady as I relay an accurate historical account of the power that my love and Butterfly wields over men, but graces upon only me.
“A tragic ending, Helen,” Artemis adds. I reach down and take her left hand, stretching her arm in front of both our bodies and curling it into my left hand.
“Not my Helen,” I say, trailing three kisses from her wedding and engagement rings down her finger and ending at the back of her hand. “My Helen will ascend to Mount Olympus as Euripides recounted, but I would be most blessed and satisfied to die at her feet.” I turn her palm to my lips and kiss it softly. She shivers at my words.
“Don’t say that!” she whispers, anxiously, almost helpless, her eyes beseeching. Her free hand extends to my face and caresses my cheek and I’m lost in her gaze.
“She loves you, Christian,” Artemis says, “very much.”
“And I her,” I confirm, turning my lips to her hand that caresses my cheek.
“The blue!” he says as a revelation. “Her eyes…”
“Yes,” I confirm, taking both of my wife’s dainty hands in mine.
“It is too dark,” he says. I shake my head.
“No, it’s not,” and that’s the only explanation I offer. I lead her to one of the sofas and begin to show her some of my ideas.
“The audio/visual equipment has already been installed, and we’ve discovered that one of the walls has the plumbing behind it to add a small en suite—for clean-up purposes, only.” She raises her eyes to me.
“Who’s going to build it?” she asks.
“Elliot, who else?” she frowns.
“Do we really want him having that much information?”
“Did you forget that disastrous meeting at my parents’ house where it was already announced?” Realization dawns and she nods.
“For a moment, I did. Duly noted.” She looks back down at the displays on the tablet and laptop. “What’s that?” she points to a pentagon-shaped apparatus that sits on the floor.
“This is a base-plate. It’s extremely versatile and there are several different accessories that can be added to it. For example,” I point out each of the accessories, “the spanking horse, the V-seat slave chair, the bench set, the bondage frame, the crossbars, the steel winch, the parrot sticks, the chains, pulleys, straps, and recessed bondage rings… and, of course, the ankle and wrist restraints. The spanking horse can even be used separately, like this.” I show her a picture of the spanking horse on the floor with a model bound to it with leather cuffs.
“Dungeon-in-a-box,” she says, raising her eyebrows. “That’s very nice in terms of versatility. However, during playtime, one would not want to be assembling and disassembling the furniture they choose to use.”
“If I may,” Artemis interjects. I nod to him. “Mrs. Grey…”
“Ana,” she says. I prefer Mrs. Grey, but okay. Artemis nods.
“Ana, in such a situation, you would have more than one base. I suggest three. Normally, during your playtime, you may move from apparatus to apparatus, no?”
“Yes,” she says softly.
“Well, this piece eliminates some of the movement. If you are transitioning between two drastically different positions, then you will undoubtedly need more than one base set up for those positions. However, say that the Dominant is transferring the submissive from a paddle-spanking position to a flogging or caning position. In such a case, it is as simple as releasing the restraints from the spanking horse here…” He points out where the model is cuffed to the head of the spanking horse. “… And attaching them to the frame here.” He points to the chains and D-hooks in the top of the frame attachment. “The submissive could either stay on the horse, or the horse could be collapsed and the submissive bound to the base via the recessed bondage rings and ankle restraints. Imagine how much subspace time you can utilize by not having to disturb your submissive to move them to another apparatus.” Butterfly raises an eyebrow.
“He really knows his stuff,” she says, quietly.
“Why do you think he’s here?” I reply. She raises her eyes to me, then turns back to Artemis.
“I want a St. Andrews,” she says, her voice sultry. “Big enough for him.” I raise an eyebrow at her and Artemis is intrigued. “And a crop… like the Chanel crop, only I want a ‘B.’” I take in a quick gasp of air, lick my lips, and let it out. She’s driving me crazy and I think she’s doing it on purpose.
“Careful, Mrs. Grey,” I say in a controlled Dom voice. She looks over at me and her pupils dilate slightly.
“Why?” she says, employing her own delicate Domme voice and it shoots straight to my dick. “Careful yourself.” I run my tongue over my teeth.
“A St. Andrews is visibly pleasing, but tends to lack complete functionality,” Artemis says. “May I suggest instead the SM Wallsystem Base.” He picks up a nearby tablet, swipes a few times, then hands Butterfly the tablet. “This one is fully adjustable… wrist and ankle restraints, two spreader bars, vertical pole for torso bondage. While it does mount to the wall, you will see that the mounting equipment allows 360-degree access to the submissive.”
“Much more suitable to our… tastes,” I say in a low voice. “Imagine the possibilities.” She cocks her head at the picture and the various ways the models display its usefulness.
“Yes,” she says, “not as pretty as the St. Andrews, but much more functional.” Her voice betrays her arousal and she’s in the room with two seasoned Doms. Artemis has to control his breathing every time she says something. “Since space is a premium, I can definitely understand why these pieces will be ideal. What else do you have in mind?” She gives me the “come hither” look and I know that discussing these items is making her as hot as it is making me hard.
“The multi-bondage bank.” It looks a bit like a workout bench, but it’s pretty much an all-in-one bondage bench for quick sessions.
“The bed,” I tell her, my voice deep with promise. “The baroque four-poster won’t really fit ideally in that room, so I had this in mind as a substitute.” I show her a wrought-iron bed that—once fully assembled—becomes a bondage and suspension frame with a swing.
“Remember the corset?” I breathe in her ear. “We were trying to find a better way to use it. Here’s the better way.” I touch her skin and actually feel her pulse quicken. This is torment for both of us, because we can’t have sex for another week.
“The bed also has built-in stocks in the footboard and a queening seat in the headboard,” I add. Her hand caresses the skin on her chest just below her neck.
“A queening seat,” she says wistfully. “Is that what it sounds like?”
“If it sounds like I get to bind your hands and feet to four corners and sit you in an open seat, leaving your pussy fully exposed so that I can lick you and eat you until you scream, then yes—it is what it sounds like.” She takes a deep breath.
“Ho-kay!” she breathes out, so aroused that she can’t hide it anymore.
“I’m particularly interested in testing these lower stocks,” I tell her, showing her the lower openings in the headboard. “It not only leaves you completely helpless while I fuck you from behind, but it also puts your head at the perfect height for me to fuck your mouth.”
Her pupils dilate as I describe the different ways that I plan to use this bed. I show her how the stocks can be used to restrain me in a face-up position so that she can sit on my face; how the leather sling can be used with chains and restraints to bind either of us for oral or sexual torment; and how footboard can even be collapsed to lie on the bed and create another whipping bench.”
“Good grief, all this multifunctional furniture,” she breathes. “How will we use it all?”
“Oh, we’ll use it, but that ain’t all, Baby.”
“Wha…?” She seems a bit intimidated.
“The bed has a swing, but it’s not the swing… this is.” The large framed sex swing that I show her actually has a video demonstration. It comes with a fucking stool and even though the models are clothed—as much as a BDSM model can be—she gets the full idea of the things that can be done with this magnificent piece of machinery. She’s completely hot now and I hear poor Artemis breathing very deeply to control his Dominant nature. Poor sucker, I forgot he was in the room. It doesn’t help much that the female model has beautiful long hair just like my wife—though he ass ain’t nothing like Butterfly’s.
“Is there… any more?” she says, obviously trying to prepare herself for whatever may come next.
“Artemis, do we have those items on order from Czech and Korea?”
“We do,” he says, the picture of professionalism.
“Okay, what exactly do we need from Czech and Korea?” she asks.
“It’s going to be a surprise… one I’m sure that you’ll love.”
“And you’re not going to tell me?” she says coquettishly while drawing circles on my chest with her fingertips. Shit! Fire! “Not even a little hint?”
“You’ll have to wait, Mrs. Grey,” I reply, unable to hide my arousal. She smiles coyly.
“Keep your secrets, then, Mr. Grey,” she says, her voice sultry. “But I have ways of making you talk.”
“Do your worst,” I nearly growl and she bites her lip. Oh, fuck, my dick is going to explode from these goddamn jeans. Artemis clears his throat from across the room. I think our play is getting to be too much for him.
“Besides my surprises,” I begin, composing myself and reigning in my thumping libido, “I’ve order another chesterfield sofa and chair for our playroom.”
“Blue?” she asks, raising her eyebrow. I shake my head.
“Black,” I clarify.
“Better,” she confirms.
“All that remains now is to order our toys and accessories,” I say, so ready to wrap this up that I can barely see straight. “You mentioned a designer crop? ‘B’ for Butterfly?”
Once we have gone through the crops, whips, canes, paddles, cuffs, blindfolds, and numerous other items that we want for our playroom, I’m reminded to order two tall boys for the playroom or our toys will have no home. Artemis offers to place the order for me as well as procure the electric fireplace that I requested.
“Artemis, do you have a card?” Butterfly asks. He looks to me. I frown, but nod that he can give her his card.
“Why do you need his card?” I ask as he gathers his samples, tablet, and laptop.
“You never know, Mr. Grey. I just might have a surprise in store for you,” she replies. Oh shit. Artemis, it’s time for you to leave!
“I will call you when the deliveries begin and let you know when I and my staff will need access to the room.” I nod and he extends a hand to me. I shake it and he turns and extends a hand to my wife.
“Mrs. Grey, Ana, it has been a pleasure,” he says with a polite partial bow.
“Thank you, Artemis, the pleasure was mine. I’ll be in touch.” She slides the card in her pocket. Artemis smiles at me and leaves. I inconspicuously lock the door once he leaves and turn to my wife.
“What made you decide to work on the playroom today?” she asks.
“Playpen,” I say, stalking her. She frowns.
“Artemis calls it a playpen. It’s a room that strays from the extreme pain and wanders closer to the extreme pleasure.” I’m closing in on her and she’s backing away from me.
“I like that,” she breathes.
“I thought you would,” I say as her back meets the only wall with bookshelves in my den. I lean down and take her lips and tongue hungrily with mine. When she moans into my mouth, I’m undone. I need to be inside of her now! But I know that I can’t. I hoist her up onto the ledge that runs through the middle of the room. The books behind her protest as I push her hard against them. I steady myself with one hand on one of the walls of the bookshelf, the other stretches her arm up to hold the other wall. One of her legs is wrapped around my hip, the other around my thigh, her free hand clasping the nape of my neck.
I release her other arm and she obediently holds on to the bookshelf wall. I open her running jacket and kiss and bite the skin of her neck, shoulders, and breasts. She moans in my ear and I can feel the heat of her core through her pants… even through my jeans. I release my dick from my jeans but leave it sheathed in my boxer briefs. I nestle myself between her legs, pushing and grinding, gyrating my hips until I feel her lips part beneath her clothes. She gasps when I meet my mark.
I grind into her, feeling her as close to my dick as I can without being tempted to slip inside of her and fuck her. Oh, but this is fucking… the hungry kisses, the animalistic sounds, the grinding of our sex chasing our orgasms. We may not be penetrating, but we are certainly fucking!
I grab her hips and push her into me, the warmth of her core burning against my dick. I keep the pressure, the rhythm going, digging into her and between her lips. She feels so good… so fucking good… Just before I come, I stop myself, wanting to wait until tonight for what I have planned for her.
“No!” I groan, hearing the torment in my own voice, my pelvis actually cramping from aching to come.
“Christian…” she breathes between pants, desperate, grabbing my hair, “Please!”
I realize I’m not the only one on the edge and I never leave her this way. I groan deeply and start the gyrations again and almost immediately, she shamelessly moans her release. Her tortured sex cries set me off and I rub it out between her legs, my orgasm burning through my penis and emptying into my boxer briefs.
We stay there for a moment, trying to catch our breath. Once we do, I kiss her fiercely then pull away from her.
“Tonight,” I threaten, zipping my pants. “We won’t fuck, but I have plans for you. Be ready.” I release her and set her back onto the floor before going to clean the mess that I’ve made in my underwear.
A cold shower doesn’t help much. That orgasm was magnificent, but I’m still hot for my wife. I clean myself up and change into fresh clothes before I go in search of my phone. When I get down to my den, I find that I’ve left it on the piano. I swipe the screen and call Elliot.
“Hey Bro,” he says. “What’s up?”
“Hey. Do you remember that room off of my dressing room?” He’s silent for a moment.
“There are two rooms back there. Which one?”
“The one further back, the bigger room.”
“Yeah, what about it?” he asks.
“Didn’t you tell me that there was plumbing behind one of those walls that would allow for installation of a bathroom?”
“It… depends on how big you want it,” he says.
“A water closet is fine,” I tell him. “Just a working toilet and sink and a medicine cabinet.”
“Dude, you’ve got like seven or eight bedrooms in that house. Why are you building a bathroom in a room behind a wall?”
“You already know why,” I say with no further explanation. He chuckles into the phone.
“Dude, you and my sister-in-law are freaks,” Elliot says. “You workin’ on that next kid already?” I shake my head.
“No,” I say with mirth. “We haven’t even reached six weeks yet.”
“Not yet?” he questions. “I thought it was six weeks by now.”
“January 23rd, this is the last week.”
“Well, don’t kill her, Bro, but it’s going to take at least that long to get that bathroom installed. It won’t be ready by the time you are.”
“That’s fine,” I concede. “As long as it’s ready within two weeks. The furniture will be coming then.”
“Okay. I’ll get my NDA crew working on it on Monday.” I frown.
“You’re not doing it?” He sighs.
“Not if you want it done in two weeks. I’ve got something I need to do.” I pause.
“Why does that sound so ominous?” I ask him.
“Because… me and Val might be breaking up.” I can’t say that I didn’t see this coming. She’s unbearable just during the time I’m in her presence. I can’t imagine being around her 24/7.
“What, in particular, brought this on?” I ask.
“She’s unbearable, man,” he confesses, repeating my sentiment. “These crazy ass mood swings; she’s pissing everybody off. I’m isolated because nobody wants to be bothered with her! Not my friends, not her friends, not my family, nobody. She’s on a leave of absence from her job right now because they told her to get her shit together or get the fuck out. Nobody hates Ana, man. How the hell do you hate Ana? Nobody hates Ana but that Creep of the Week pedophile and her crazy ass ex-boyfriend. She’s becoming a pestilence and she’s eating away at me.”
“Okay, I can’t argue with you there, but at the risk of sounding insensitive, what does that have to do with building my bathroom.”
“She’s going to the doctor on Monday, and I’m going with her,” he says. “I think she’s pregnant or something. She swears that she’s not, but something is wrong and I need to know what it is. If it turns out that she’s pregnant, we’ll deal with it, but I have to know what the hell is going on. Living with her is a goddamn nightmare and I can’t take it anymore! She’ll pop off at me at any given moment, and sex… oh my God, sex! We’ll be hot and heavy, deep into it and the next thing you know, she’s crying! Or worse yet, she’s angry. All it takes is a weepy, sopping woman to make your Buffalo soldier lose all his valor at that crucial moment!”
Did he say Buffalo soldier?
“I haven’t had a decent nut in months! Either she flips on me and the party is over or I’m fucking rushing to come before Dr. Jekyll becomes Ms. Fucking Hyde! I gave her a goddamn ultimatum. I’ve never given a woman an ultimatum, not even Kate, but Val is going to drive me to an early fucking grave. I told her to go find out what the fuck is wrong with her or I am done!”
“Well, why won’t you just let her go to the doctor and tell you what’s up? Don’t get me wrong—I accept that you won’t be doing the bathroom, but why do you have to go with her? If she’s pissing you off that much, why don’t you let her go by herself?”
“Because I don’t fucking trust her!” He says. “I fully expect her to go to the doctor on Monday and the shrink on Tuesday and say that there’s nothing wrong and try to act normal. She hasn’t been doing well, mentally or physically, that’s why I think she’s pregnant. She’s got an appointment on Monday to see medical doctor and an appointment on Tuesday to see the shrink. If they tell me that nothing is wrong with her and I just have to deal with this, on Wednesday, I’m moving out and I’m letting her have the house!”
“Why would you do that?” I ask, appalled.
“Because it’s easier than trying to get her to move out,” he says. “I’m done with this. I’ve been abused and mistreated long enough. I can’t take this shit no more.” Well, I guess that’s that.
“You’ll tell me how it turns out?” I say.
“Oh, trust me. You’ll know, but I mean it. If she just turns out to be a raving lunatic like Kate, I’m swearing off women.” I roll my eyes.
“No, you’re not.”
“Watch me.” I think he’s serious. He’ll swear them off for a while, but he’ll be back. Pussy is too damn good to just abandon ship… although he did swear off alcohol, but alcohol ain’t pussy.
“Well, keep me posted. I’m here for you, Bro.” He sighs.
“Yeah, I know…” We say our goodbyes and end the call.
I pull up a page on my laptop and look at the “surprises” that I have in store for the playroom and for Butterfly. A sex sofa will be delivered from Czech. It has very special features for my lady’s pleasure and I can see it driving her wild in the playroom while I choose to watch or participate. It will come with a very special custom attachment that is sure to blow her mind and I will have such amazing and unbelievable fun re-introducing it to her.
The second item is a luxury sex chair, also with some custom attachments. This chair is exclusive and already comes equipped with most of the attachments, but I’ve added just a couple more—drawers in the bottom pedestal of the chair and vertical hand grips at the end of the arm rests. There are so many things that can be done with those handgrips. One of the best things about the sex chair is that it’s unisex. It can be for her pleasure as well as for mine.
I tighten up a few loose ends with items that I want to order without Butterfly’s advance knowledge—more surprises, you could say. She took Artemis’ business card. I wonder what that little vixen has up her sleeve? The sun has long since gone down, and it’s time for dinner. Once we’ve fed ourselves and fed our children, I have some serious plans for Mrs. Grey’s body.
A/N: Some of you are going to have a huge problem with how the Sophie section is going. All I can say is if you’ve never experienced this personally, don’t go there. And even if you have experienced this, still don’t go there, because every situation is not the same.
Unfortunately, I’ve had more experience with this particular topic than I care to elaborate on—up to and including the death of children. No, I’m not going to kill Sophie off, but that’s all I’m revealing right now.
I had an entire diatribe ready for people who would disparage the direction of this storyline, but I’ve changed my mind. The storyline is painful enough without me having to defend it. Moving on…
Christian (and Brian) constantly makes reference to Ana being “Helen of Troy”—the face that launched a thousand ships,” “the Trojan Horse,” “the most beautiful woman in the world,” you know the deal.
Depending on which version of the story you follow, Helen was either stolen from King Menelaus by Paris or she ran away with Paris because she fell in love. Either way, the Trojan war was launched to get her back. Here are Christian’s references:
“The face that launched a thousand ships…”—Of course, this refers to the Trojan War, where Menelaus and his army sailed to Troy to retrieve Helen. Maybe not “a thousand ships” in Ana’s case, but police cars and helicopters were “launched” to Vashon Island to get her back from David and Harris. People were shot and one was killed in the process.
“There’s already been an epic battle for her heart.”—Once again, referencing the Trojan War. In Ana’s case, the battle was epic enough for three people to end up in the hospital because of it…” Christian, Brian, AND Ana—five, if you include the in vitro twins. A years-long, lasting friendship may have fallen as a result of the battle as well (Ray and Brian).
“Empires can, do, and will fall at her whim.” —The Trojan War went on for ten years while the Greeks tried to get Helen back. In the end, the Trojan Horse sealed the final battle, and Troy and Paris fell to the Greeks. In our story, Fairlane LTD had a small hope of remaining intact until Christian discovered how the women treated his wife. Now Fairlane has no legacy whatsoever, not even his name (Finish him!), and his son has been reduced to less than nothing (Flawless execution!). Forgive the Mortal Combat references.
Artemis comments how Helen met a tragic end. He’s Greek, and in many Greek recounts, she did meet a tragic end. One account had her hanged by handmaidens in Rhodes. Another had her returned to Greece, where a death sentence awaited her. Christian refers to Euripides recount where, just after Menelaus’ return, Helen ascends back to Mount Olympus with her father Zeus and no mortal harm comes to her.
Of course, Paris dies in the battle. Hence, Christian’s declaration that he “would be most blessed and satisfied to die at her feet.”
Artemis also makes a reference to Tristan and Isolde, a 12th Century couple who ingested a love potion that made them fall hopelessly and madly in love with each other. Whether the ingestion was a setup or accidental, or whether the effects lasted for three years or a lifetime, depends on which version of the story you’re reading. Isolde is intended for Tristan’s uncle, King Mark. She marries Mark, but the relationship between the three become like that of Lancelot, Guinevere, and Arthur, where Mark loves them both and is kind to Isolde, but Tristan and Isolde can’t deny their affection for one another.
Of course, Mark finds out and sentences them both to death, but they escape to the woods. Mark finds them and makes peace with them, and Isolde is returned back to him. Tristan leaves and marries another Isolde in another land (yes, same name—Isolde/Iseult of the White Hands). Tristan is later wounded in battle and sends for the original Isolde to heal him because his current wife cannot (or will not). The ship is instructed to return with white sails if they were able to get Isolde to return and black sails if they were not. Tristan is too weak to sit up and see the sails, so he asks his current wife to tell him what color the sails are and the jealous bitch tells him that the sails are black.
Tristan falls into grief, thinking that Isolde has denied him, and dies. When Isolde gets there and finds Tristan already gone, she falls over in grief and dies, too. They are buried together in Cornwall. A rose tree grew from Isolde’s grave and a thick bramble briar (those crisscross vines with the thorns that you can never seem to get rid of) grew from Tristan’s grave, wrapped itself around the rose tree, formed a bower around the base, and took root in Isolde’s grave. King Mark had the vine cut down several times. Yet, every time the vine was cut, it just grew back again. This became a sign that no matter what happened, the two lovers couldn’t even be parted in death.
Again, it depends on what version you read. Another version has King Mark killing Tristan while he sings a love song to Isolde and the romantic “tree and vine” story never occurs.
There are several references to Helen of Troy online (and several different interpretations) as well as Tristan and Isolde (Iseult), but here’s one of each if you would like the basics:
Pictures of places, cars, fashion, etc., can be found at https://www.pinterest.com/ladeeceo/becoming-dr-grey/
The Playpen toys can be found at https://www.pinterest.com/ladeeceo/the-playroomplaypen/
You can join my mailing list on the “Contact Me” page. Just click the link and it will lead you to a form to join the list.
Love and handcuffs