Explicit details of sex and BDSM scenes from here on out. Some may be hot while others may not be to your taste… and not necessary CG with Ana together. Proceed at your own discretion, but don’t say that I didn’t warn you.
This ain’t your everyday Christian and Ana story. Don’t expect anything. Just read it as it goes along or go away. 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 new saga continues…
**There’s another package for you. Let me know when you’ll be in to pick it up. **
Cirruc’s text comes right after I’m leaving court one day—another package at Crimson. This guy doesn’t give up. He’s been sending gifts to the club every day for two weeks since he observed my last session, and Cirruc says that he hasn’t even been back. I send a text back to him.
**How does he even know I’ll get these packages? **
My phone chimes with a response as I get to my car.
**He has some kind of agreement with Max. **
Well, of course he does. I wasn’t born yesterday. I know he and Blondie are up to something. He hasn’t been back to Crimson since I turned him down and she’s been a bit incommunicado since that night, too… not that you can really consider daily gifts from a rich stranger “incommunicado.”
**I’ll be there in a bit. **
My hair is pulled back into the tightest bun I can muster. Plain blue knee-length skirt suit, glasses, and neutral makeup. When I step into the club during daylight hours, you would think I was their accountant. You don’t know which look is the disguise—this one or Golden.
“Ms. Olivet, your package.”
Cirruc’s daytime look is nothing like his after-dark persona either. While I may look like a schoolmarm, he looks like a college professor in a white shirt, tweed suit, and bow tie.
“He’s really hoping to be chosen, isn’t he?” Cirruc asks. I shrug.
“It’s not likely to happen,” I respond. “He seems… desperate.” Cirruc chuckles.
“That’s never a word I’ve heard used to describe him,” he says. I raise my brow at him.
“What can you tell me that won’t violate confidentiality?” I ask. He rubs his chin.
“Been a part of the scene for a while. He’s a regular—never caused any problems. He and Max go way back, but I don’t know how far back. He doesn’t break any of the rules, but he gets just about everything he wants.”
“That would explain why Stone didn’t stop him from approaching me.” Cirruc shrugs.
“You know the rules,” he says. “We’ll make sure nothing happens to you on the premises, but we can’t stop anybody from approaching.”
“He’s done it before,” I point out.
“Probably because he knew that you wanted him to,” Cirruc says, “or he sensed a threat.”
“So, if I tell him to keep Rich Boy from approaching me, he will?” Cirruc shrugs.
“He might,” he says. “It would really depend on the circumstances.” I nod and hold up the box he’s given me.
“Thanks,” I say before I exit the club.
Chopper’s first gift came the day after I saw him at the club. It was a six-liter bottle of Armand de Brignac Brut Gold Champagne, complete in a gold bottle. The price… just under seven grand. I guess because I eat champagne lollipops, he assumes that means that I’m a champagne drinker.
The next day, Lussory’s 24-Karat-Gold, alcohol-free wine. He sent twelve bottles, made in Spain with the alcohol content removed and infused with lots of 24K gold specks. It runs $100 – $200 per bottle… and no alcohol. At least he’s keeping with the concept.
The gifts from the following two weeks also include two gold floggers—one made of gold chains and one of gold leather with a solid gold handle—an exquisite gold chainmail Roman cuff, and another pair of gold mirrored sunglasses from a company called “Luxuriator…” 14k gold and diamonds. I couldn’t even find a price for them.
Somewhere during the beginning of the second week he found gold-laced vodka; that’s when he got my attention.
I didn’t open the box I received today until I got home. Inside, gold-laced truffles that melt in your mouth. You can’t blame the guy. He’s putting forth every possible effort to get my attention.
“More gifts?” Blake asks when he sees me eating the truffles.
“Yes, more gifts,” I say, swallowing the decadent creation.
“You know you’ll soon have no need for me,” he says, his voice a bit melancholy. I raise my eyes to him. Nothing lasts forever, I know, so I won’t lie to him.
“But that day hasn’t arrived, so let’s not fret about what has not yet occurred… okay?” I reply softly. He smiles at me and retrieves my shoes and briefcase, taking them from the parlor. Yes, Blake is a submissive. He’s a slave and he pays me to allow him to take care of me. I almost turned him down, because his story is very sad, but he’s harmless for the most part and in desperate need of someone to care for. Well, maybe I shouldn’t say harmless—excellent martial artist and kickboxer, Desert Storm veteran, and more fit and able than most men half his age… and he takes good care of me.
He’s paying penance according to him. He committed an act for which he can never forgive himself. He has more money than he knows what to do with and so, he gives. He gives of himself; he gives of his money; he gives and gives and gives and gives, much to his wife’s dismay. Yes, Blake is married—twenty-two years with no intention of getting a divorce. His wife lives her own life and he lives his own life—in the same house. She can’t forgive him either.
He killed their daughter.
She died in a car accident involving a drunk driver. He was the drunk driver and he walked away without a scratch while he watched her scream and burn to her death while helplessly trapped inside the car.
She was 14 years old.
He says that he sees her tormented face every night when he closes his eyes and it’s been that way since the day she died. His wife’s love immediately turned to bitter hatred and because she signed a prenuptial agreement, she won’t divorce.
He doesn’t care.
He lets her live and he comes to take care of me. He gives me money. He buys my groceries. He keeps my house. He does everything so that I don’t have to. I keep all the money that he gives me in a separate account. I don’t know what I’ll do with it yet. I really don’t need it and it seems criminal to spend it. We’ll just have to see.
Tending to me gives him a small bit of comfort. I don’t know why as he says that I don’t remind him of his daughter in the slightest… I look nothing like her. He doesn’t take advantage of any of my services. He’s very kind and even a little sexy in his own way—and he’s seen me in action, so there sure as hell isn’t any parental transference going on there.
I can’t figure out the dynamic of our relationship. I can only say that it works for him and it certainly works for me, and if he left me anytime soon, I would be worthless. So, while he sees a potential end to our relationship, my intention is to keep him around for as long as possible…
… And to one day make him stop paying me.
“Someone is here to see you,” Chanelle says as she pokes her head into my office door.
“Who?” I ask. “Do they have an appointment?”
“No,” she says. “He says he’s from the district attorney’s office.” My brow furrows. I don’t have any pending cases in criminal or juvenile court. Why would the D.A. be…
“Bald black man?” I ask. She nods. “Tell him to make an appointment.” Chanelle nods and leaves the room. How dare he come here! He must have tracked me down after that day in juvenile court. Looking for Anastasia Steele would have gotten him nowhere since I’m going by my married name and I was married and divorced out of state. I sure there’s a record of it in Georgia, but he would have a hell of a time finding it unless he knew where to look. Chanelle sticks her head back into the door.
“He made an appointment for three this afternoon,” she says. I nod.
“Good. Wait until after I’m gone and then call him and cancel it,” I tell her. She nods again and leaves the room. Chanelle never questions my instructions. She just does what she’s told. She’s from my old neighborhood and when I came back to Seattle and advertised for a receptionist, she was one of the first people to respond. When I saw where she was from, I quickly called her in for an interview. She caught me up on what was going on in the neighborhood, which is pretty much the same shit as before, and then told me her story.
Baby daddy knocked her up, left her with the kid, and disappeared. Yes, it’s stereotypical for young black women, but unfortunately, it’s Chanelle’s story. Even though I was a white girl in a black neighborhood, I’m sure it would have happened to me, too… had my path been different.
My story is only tragic in the fact that I lost my parents. The rest of it is just one big disappointment.
I loved my Mommy and Daddy, and they loved me… and each other. Even at an early age, I’d often wondered how one would survive if the other died first. They never had to find out.
My mom had me very young and I was one of the stereotype baby-daddy stories, too. We never knew if the guy skipped town or died, but Mom met Ray when I was about two. Mom was having a really bad time of it and Ray liked her a lot. He tried to help her as much as he could, but there just some things they couldn’t accomplish since Ray wasn’t family. Not to mention that a black man bringing a little white girl to the doctor’s office for a check-up raised many eyebrows at that time, and it didn’t matter that Ray was an active duty cop. They were already turning heads as an interracial couple before anyone knew our circumstances. So, they just decided to get married so that Mom and I could live with Ray without all the fuss—well, most of the fuss—and get the benefits of being his family. Ray immediately filed to adopt me, and the request was granted a year later. Ray became Daddy, and I don’t even know what my name was before I was Anastasia Steele, because it was changed on my birth certificate.
By my fourth birthday, our little family wasn’t so much of an anomaly. True, there were still people who looked at us funny. There always would be, but we were fine. My parents were in love and planning to have another baby. The fates, however, would not be so kind… or so cruel, depending on how you look at it.
After several years of trying, doctors informed my mom that she couldn’t have any more children. She was heartbroken. With Daddy’s caramel skin and chiseled good looks and her natural beauty and curves, she knew that they would produce beautiful mixed-race children. She was broken to discover that it wouldn’t happen, and I was disappointed that I wouldn’t have a little brother or sister.
Nonetheless, we moved past the disappointment and lived our lives happily as a small family of three. I knew the risks of having a cop for a father, that one day, I and my mother may get a call or a visit from some of Daddy’s cop friends that he was never coming home again. So, every day, when he left, I would hug him tight around the neck and say, “I love you, bunches and bunches, from this life to the next.” He would smile an accommodating smile at me and reply, “And the next… and the next… and the next.”
I never knew the day would come where I would lose them both.
I’ll never forget the night that my life changed forever. I was at a sleepover with my friend Sam when her mother woke me to tell me that my uncle had come to take my home. I already knew that something was wrong. Uncle Richard was coming to get me and not Mommy or Daddy. I prepared myself to go to the car and hug my mother and hear the news that my father was gone, but when I packed my duffel and sleeping bag and went to the car, it was aunt Sheila in the passenger’s seat waiting for me, not Mommy.
“Aunt Sheila,” I said. “Where’s Mommy?” My aunt’s eyes filled with so much sympathy and she tried to give me a comforting smile.
“Ana, baby,” she said sweetly, “there was an accident, sweetheart. Carla and Ray…”
I was only ten.
I went to live with Aunt Sheila and Uncle Richard that night. They were nice to me. They treated me like one of their own children. Their children were as nice as you can expect them to be to the arrival of a white cousin coming to live with a black family. No one was unkind to me and their son, Ricky, was a year older than me and very protective of the girls in his family. Nonetheless, I mainly kept to myself, studying hard and focusing on my schoolwork. I was brokenhearted and I missed my parents terribly, crying myself to sleep many nights. The crying began to disturb my cousin, who shared a room with me, so I would weep silently until Tracy fell asleep, then sneak out of the room and down to the laundry room, where I would weep openly while looking at pictures of my parents.
Time healed the wounds a little, at least to the point of being bearable but I still think of them often and sometimes wonder what they would think of my lifestyle. I don’t dwell on it, though.
I encountered my first love when I was 15. We were just kids and it was nothing serious, but I liked him a lot. His name was Jake. He was black and, as it turns out, a little more popular around the neighborhood than I knew. He often wore a yellow jumpsuit and rode around on a yellow dirt-bike, like he was part of a bike club or something, but he wasn’t. That was just his thing. I was smart and doing very well in school, so I had skipped a grade. I was set to graduate the next year and had scholarship hopes so that Uncle Richard wouldn’t have to pay for my college even though he was a successful attorney and was making plenty of money. I knew that he would do it if it came to that, but he had four children of his own that he needed to be concerned about and the last thing I wanted was to be was a burden.
Jake liked me, too, and he was very sweet. He even let me wear one of his jumpsuits. I snuck out of the house early one Sunday morning and went to Jake’s family’s party store where he kept his bike. I went inside, got the bike, and took it for a spin. I knew Jake wouldn’t mind—he told me I could ride it anytime I wanted. I was having a great time, popping willies and everything!
Apparently, he—or I—should have cleared it with some of the neighborhood hoodlumettes…
“Does Jake know you ridin’ his bike?”
“Little white girl trying to be a’ inside-out Oreo—ain’t she cute?”
“Who the hell she think she is, ridin’ his bike and shit?”
Apparently, these were ex-girlfriends, admirers, wannabes, and various other members of the “Jake Harem and Fan Club” that weren’t too happy to see me wearing Jake’s jumpsuit and popping willies on his dirt bike. My first inclination was to get the damn bike back to the party store and ask Jake what the fuck was going on the moment I saw him.
Ask me how the hell did these bitches on foot got to the party store before I did!
By the time I got there, they were vandalizing the place. I put Jake’s bike back in the storage room where I got it from, and they went back there and vandalized his bike, too. I didn’t know what to do. Not only did I not know who these girls were in the first place, but I also had no idea why they were doing what they were doing… and I didn’t want them to beat me up.
When they’ve finished the deed, they started taking stuff from the store. They were all looking at me and, yes, by then I was fearing for my life—I’m stuck in this store with a gang of mad black girls cursing and destroying property, angry because I was riding Jake’s bike. Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place. So, in my brilliance, what did I do?
I stole a candy bar.
As we were making our getaway, somebody saw us and asked what we were doing in the party story. The girls just kept walking so I did, too. Then, there was this lovely thing in the party store called surveillance… The only white girl in a bright ass yellow jumpsuit—who do you think got arrested first?
The police picked me up before I even got to where I was going. Of course, I called for help.
Enter my adoring uncle—attorney and blood brother of my beloved, deceased father. He had the guns loaded, ready to defend me. After all, I was a good kid, a stellar student, I had a clean record and never got into any trouble. Uncle Richard was all set to rescue me.
“There has to be some mistake,” he argued. “Check your records; check with the school. Ana doesn’t do things like this!”
The clerk was giving him just a part of what happened; not even a full blast of all the damage that was done. Somehow, he was under the assumption that the incident had happened during one of my lunch breaks at school and they just picked me up.
“This was early Sunday morning,” the clerk and I said at the same time, neither of us paying attention to the fact that it was still Sunday.
My uncle’s face changed. His expression instantly morphed into total disgust. He looked at me like I was a complete stranger, and I didn’t even get a chance to explain my side of the story. He shook his head and started walking towards the door. I was horrified. I remember asking, “You’re just going to leave me here?” He just turned that disgusted gaze back to me and walked out.
I was taken to this holding area with some other kids and I saw Jake there. I don’t know why he was there and I couldn’t even pay attention to him. My heart was pounding so hard and I was fighting tears, trying to figure out what had just happened with my uncle… and my attorney. I was stunned and shocked and horrified all at once and I didn’t know what to think. I had opened the top part of Jake’s jumpsuit and was wearing it as pants with my T-shirt; so, the sleeves were dragging the ground. When he saw me, he asked, “You just gone let my jumpsuit drag like that?”
I didn’t register what he said at first because all I could think was, “Who the fuck cares about your jumpsuit?” I just started screaming. I couldn’t control anything that was happening at the time. Everybody around me thought I was crazy—the other kids, the staff, everybody. And I was. I really was. I was destroyed… wailing and crying because after all that had already happened to me, the moment my uncle heard that I had snuck out on Sunday morning and this whole thing didn’t happen during a school lunch break like he thought, he wrote me off and didn’t even give me a chance to explain. My biggest real crime—my actual crime—stealing a candy bar. To this day, I don’t even know if I ate the damn thing.
I spent the night in Juvie since Uncle Richard left me there. I stayed awake all night, hoping that he was coming to get me. I thought he was trying to teach me a lesson. I soon learned that he had washed his hands of me.
Since I had no priors, they brought me before the judge the next day. I was about to plead guilty to anything they charged me with until the public defender came running in and told me to keep quiet. I did. I kept my head down and didn’t say a word. I had cried all night and I was exhausted and broken. The public defender got me released, citing that there’s no evidence that I had anything to do with the vandalism. I confessed to stealing the candy bar and the store owner knew who I was and didn’t want to press charges for that. They ended up letting me go. Nobody showed up to court—not Uncle Richard, not Aunt Sheila, nobody.
The public defender asked if I needed a ride home. I don’t even remember her name. I don’t even remember everything that happened in court that day. All I remember is that they walked me outside. I thanked her, but turned her down.
“I know my way home,” I said, but I knew home wasn’t Uncle Richard’s house and never would be again.
Now, here comes Uncle Dearest, showing up at my office unannounced after I mopped the floor with is ass in court a few weeks ago. It couldn’t have taken him that long to find me. Maybe it took him that long to get up the nerve to contact me. Either way, I don’t fucking care.
I discover that I had strolled down Memory Lane longer than I wanted when my phone buzzes with a text message. I see the alias of a very high-profile individual.
**Mistress, can you meet me at my mansion this afternoon? **
I sure the fuck can. I put the files away that I was previously examining—a corporate case for an old friend of my mother’s, a divorce for a woman with a bullying husband who thinks he’s going to take all the money from the marriage and run off with his hot, younger girlfriend, and some evidence I need to turn over to the FBI for an identity theft case. I retrieve my purse and leave the office, reminding Chanelle to call dear old Uncle Richard and cancel our appointment. On my way down to my Range Rover, I text my client back.
**One hour. **
This afternoon’s session only fueled my desire for Domination. So, imagine my elation when I get to the club and yet another of my willing victims is eagerly awaiting my arrival. He can take a lot. He’s into complete degradation and he likes his punishments hard, just like his orgasms. It’ll be the cage for him tonight. I’m dressed in a tiny strapless gold lamé micro-mini dress and high-heeled boots that look almost like my PVC jumpsuit. “Stephan” doesn’t do safewords, but we’ve been at this long enough that I know if he’s reaching his limit. He can’t even fake it… and that’s when I make him come.
Clothed from head to toe in a black nylon gimp suit, Stephan is bound face-first and upright by his wrists, ankles, and waist with gold rope to a BDSM cage. The rope is only for effect and to give Stephan the sensation of total immobilization, because although he can stand upright in the cage, it’s narrow and allows no purchase for movement. His dick is the only exposed part of his body and is hanging lifelessly through the bars of the cage…
But not for long.
The wand, the penile masturbating adjustment, oily hands, latex hands, bare hands, the bullet on the frenulum, ball-beating, dick-slapping—continuous torment and ruined orgasms, and this man is nearly crying. I don’t time his torment, I just play until I’m tired… or until he’s screaming.
Sure enough, I don’t know how much longer after I’ve started, his hard, pink, beautiful dick has taken all the torment it can take. His balls are shiny and hard and he’s breathing rapidly, whimpering, nearly crying, and I know he’s at his limit.
I open his favorite toy—the Tenga egg—and lube it up really nice. I love this part of the game, because I get to stroke him and stroke him and watch him squirm, listen to him squeal, and torture that dick until he’s completely mindless and on the verge of passing out.
The last bit of torment is all Stephan. I’ll wrap that Tenga egg around that dick and give him my best handjob… and he’ll deny himself, and resist, and hold out… longer and longer and longer. He’ll let the orgasm build and build no matter what I do to make him come, and I love it. I love it because I’m obsessed with dicks.
Not sex, dicks.
Beautiful dicks of all shapes and colors.
Even small dicks that disappear in my hand and reappear in my fist, making me crazy, making me salivate over their smoothness…
Veiny dicks are the best… pink and angry, hard and chocolate, or totally white… those veins popping out all over that dick right before it blows its load is the second-most beautiful thing in the world to me.
The first—throbbing, helpless dicks jerking madly and shooting long streams of cum into the air, on the bed, on their chest, in my hand, wherever it may land.
A whimper or a tortured moan adds to the excitement, but all I need is the dick…
The throbbing, jerking, vibrating, ejaculating dick.
That’s my vice… my addiction…
I have a dick fetish.
And Stephan is about to give me what I want.
The cage is shaking and if it wasn’t attached to the wall, it would be on the ground right now. I can tell by the shininess of his tightened testicles and the uncontrolled pulsing of his rod in my hand that he’s about to blow in 3, 2…
“Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm! Mmmm! Mmm! Mmmmmmmmmmm! Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!”
The noises are shrill screams from his throat and I quickly remove the egg on the upstroke so as not to miss the show. I replace the egg with my hand and stroke vigorously while cum shoots repeatedly out of the head of his cock. I slap his aching balls over and over, each blow presenting another squirt of cum from his jerking dick. Long after the ejaculation is finished, he continues to scream, and I know from experience that the orgasm isn’t over. I continue to jack him off, squeezing his balls hard until the screaming finally stops and his body falls limp in the cage. The lights go down and rise again, signaling me that the two-way observation mirrors have been deactivated.
I undo the ropes on Stephan’s wrists and ankles while two large male slaves enter the room. When I see that they have arrived, I undo the ropes on Stephan’s waist and open the cage. He pours out into one of the slave’s arms, unable to stand on his own two feet—a combination of standing too long and energy drain from a life-zapping orgasm. The slaves flank him on either side, putting one of his arms around each of them while they hold him up. I pull the nylon hood up to expose his mouth and nose.
“Good?” I ask, softly. He tries to nod, but can’t lift his head.
“Very good,” he breathes. “Phenomenal… Thank you, Mistress…”
“You’re welcome,” I say, giving him a small peck on the cheek and signaling to the slaves to take him somewhere to rest.
I feel like myself again and go out to my table, take my shot, and enjoy my lollipop… only…
He’s not here.
I don’t think he’s here.
I was sure that he would be here.
I wait for several minutes to see who may still be in the private rooms. I scan the club for his copper highlights. I suck that lollipop until my tongue is covered in gold specks and it’s certain.
He’s. Not. Here.
“Looking for someone?”
I don’t even noticed that Elena had slithered up to my table until I hear her irritating voice.
“I’ve had what I was looking for,” I reply coolly, “or did you miss the show?” She smiles a knowing smile.
“I just thought with you sitting here like a golden statue chewing on that stick like you’re trying to shred the paper that you might have been waiting for someone.”
“I wait for no one; they wait for me. And I see that you’re still sniffing up my ass as usual. How does it smell?”
The visual makes her grimace and she quickly decide to change tactic.
“Well, I don’t think I would have noticed too much tonight anyway,” she croons. “I know a few of the regulars might have passed through tonight looking for something interesting, but I was… preoccupied with other things, so I might have missed them.” She smiles again and I want to scratch her fucking eyes out. She and I both know that when I’m in the exhibition room, everything in this place stops—music, fucking, scenes, everything.
You wanna play, bitch? Let’s play.
“Then go back and preoccupy yourself, Blondie,” I say, my voice even. She sneers at me and squares her shoulder.
“You need to watch out because you’re getting too big for yourself,” she hisses confidently. I try not to scoff at her.
“Don’t mistake me for you,” I retort sharply. “You got too big for yourself. You put yourself on a pedestal that nobody else put you on and you found out that when you fell, it was a long fucking way down. Now, you’re trying to live vicariously through me or dethrone me because you think we’re the same. We’re nothing alike and it’s not because I wear flashy gold colors and rainbow wigs. It’s because I offer something you don’t and I’ll never tell you what it is. You keep watching me until you figure it out and by then, you might just be right. The thrill may very well be gone and when they don’t want what I’m offering anymore, then I’ll stop doing it and find another way to tickle my fancy. Until that time, I’m going to keep doing what I’m doing and I’m going to keep loving it
“In club after club, my theme song is queued up just in case I walk through the door and the poles clear just in case I want to swing. A room is always available and waiting, and if I want to play, there’s always someone ready. I don’t give a fuck about you, who you are, or what you’re doing, but you’re watching me so closely that you can smell my pussy before I enter the building. You’re sniffin’ up my ass so hard that if I suck a dick, you can taste the cum. You drop little innuendo about who you think I am and what you think is going to happen to me based on your fall from grace, but I’m only going to say it one more time—I. Am not. You.
“You can talk whatever pathetic little shit is going to make you feel better about a trinket stealing your spotlight, but be forewarned, Elena…” I damn-near growl her real name to her horror and surprise. “I’m sick of this shit and I’m sick of your games. I. Am a sadist. I take pleasure in inflicting pain. I love to watch their dicks get hard when they don’t know whether to come or cry. It gets me off. Now, keep fucking with me, Lincoln, and I’m coming for you next and when I do, I’m going for tears.”
Keep it up, Blondie. I’ll rip your black heart right out of your chest and hold it in front of your face while it’s still beating. I glare at her to make sure that she knows that in the time that she’s known me—before I left Seattle and after I returned—if she never thought I meant business before, she had better believe it now.
She sits there gazing at me—ponder her options? Planning her attack? Her escape? I don’t know, but after a moment, she wordlessly slides her ass out of my booth and goes to play with her little friends. This shit is irritating me, and I don’t want to engage anymore.
Trey sends these gifts day after day in succession, but won’t make himself seen. I told him that I choose, and the asshole doesn’t even have the courtesy to be around to be chosen… or rejected. I slide out of my booth and head for the door.
“Golden,” Cirruc stops me before I leave as I’m fastening my cloak around my neck. “Another package for you.”
He hands me a beautiful velvet box—large. It’s heavy, too. The package wasn’t here when I arrived or he would have given it to me then. This means that Trey had it delivered so that it would be here when I left.
He’s playing games, and I don’t have time for fucking games. It’s probably some cat-and-mouse thing he and Elena have going on, or some Cruel Intentions bullshit bet. I won’t be fuel for their folly.
“Send it back,” I say to Cirruc, handing him the box without opening it. He frowns as he takes it from my hands.
“You didn’t even open it,” he wonders. “You’re not even curious?”
“I don’t care—send it back, and anything else he sends me. I don’t want them, and I won’t come and pick them up.” Cirruc examines me.
“Did you two have a fight?” he asks.
“We don’t even talk, Cirruc. That’s why he’s sending gifts here.”
“You don’t even talk when he’s here?” he asks confused.
“When is he ever here?” I retort.
“He was here tonight,” he counters. Tonight? He couldn’t have been here tonight. I didn’t even see him.
“When tonight?” I ask. Cirruc thinks for a moment, then that classic I’ve-said-too-much expression comes over his face.
“I thought you were here at the same time—that’s why I thought you might have quarreled… but I could be mistaken.”
No, you weren’t. This fucker is playing games, just like I thought.
“Send it back,” I say, before walking out of the club.
I’ve got her attention now.
She’s pissed and she sent my gift back. She didn’t say fuck it and leave it at the desk. She sent it back. She wants me to know that she doesn’t want it. She’s sending me a message that she’s not pleased. I’ve finally broken through that impenetrable shell.
Last night when I watched her torture that fucker in the cage, I almost nut myself. That was intense play and not many people can withstand it, let alone withstand it repeatedly. I wasn’t surprised when his dick fired like Old Faithful after she masturbated him with whatever silicon creation she was using. I’m going to have to do some research and find out what the fuck that was that she was using. That shit drove that poor bastard crazy and it was driving me crazy, too. In fact, it drove him to girly, cheerleader screams.
I made sure that I made a hasty getaway the moment the lights went down. It was hard not to jack off to the show, but I want to save my testosterone for tonight. I’ve got plans of my own.
“Make sure she gets this before she leaves,” I instructed Roc before I left the club. He looked at me with the same questions I know Golden had when she got the gift.
“Why didn’t he wait?”
I’m going to make you want me as much as I want you, you golden tease.
So, I’m not surprised when Roc calls me and informs me that Golden “wishes to return my gift.” When I get to the club, I tell him to hold it until I leave. I lead Joyce to one of the exhibition rooms. It’s my turn for a fucking show.
I chain Joyce to the ceiling and give her one of the most tormenting and sensual floggings of her life. Using all my skill, I strike with the flogger, allowing the tails to wrap around her tiny body before I pull them away, leaving the most delicious pink stripes all over her torso.
Next, I cuff her thighs and hoist her legs open, her thighs now hanging from the ceiling. I bring her to three forced orgasms—one with my fingers, one with a dildo, and one with a wand. Watching her squirm from the intensity and hearing the chains rattle with her movements give me a perverse thrill that I’ve missed over the past few weeks.
While she’s still trembling and panting from her last orgasm, I drop my pants and boxer briefs and thrust into her, groaning as her pulsing pussy tightens and squeezes my cock. Fuck, I nearly forgot how good the inside of an orgasming submissive feels.
“Squeeze it,” I growl in her ear. “Squeeze that cunt on my dick.”
I don’t even know if she tries, since she’s still vibrating in the chains, but I hammer up into her with thrust after punishing thrust and right when I’m about to blow, I stop.
A simple fuck is not the show for tonight.
I pull out of her, my ample rod hard and glistening with her juices and jutting out impressively for all onlookers to admire.
I remove my pants and boxers then open my shirt. I release Joyce from her hanging prison and attach a leash to her collar. Leading her to the large chair in the room, I attach her wrist cuffs together behind her back before I take a seat in the chair and command her to get on her knees beside me.
“Make it come,” I command in my Dom voice, and she obediently bends over and wraps her lips around my waiting cock.
Fuck, her mouth his hot! Literally hot!
I hiss when she sucks me in, and that’s the last sound I’ll make.
She sucks my dick masterfully, taking it deep from base to tip and I watch her mouth closely, sliding up and down then teasing and sucking the head just like she knows I like it. I feel my orgasm tightening my balls and I pull her leash hard so that her lips press hard against my pelvis, her mouth full of my shaft. I grab her hair and hold her in place, never putting slack on that leash, and I fuck her mouth. I fuck that mouth so hard and deep that my dick barely comes out before I’m thrusting it back in—maybe an inch or two and that’s it. Only my hips move as I plunder her mouth with my cock, over and over again. I can’t take my eyes off her lips as my dick goes in and out, in and out, in and out. Joyce is always magnificent at head and tonight is no different.
I grit my teeth as my tightening balls explode through my dick and into her mouth. I torment myself and draw out the agonizing orgasm by slowing my stroke significantly and allowing her lips to torture my pulsing shaft from base to tip while I empty into her mouth. I fight not to groan through this fucking hot orgasm, and the cum slipping out the corners of her mouth and streaming down my dick isn’t making it any easier to keep quiet. I’m trying not to tremble, but my dick jerks violently in her mouth as the lights go down.
“Don’t move,” I say to her in the dark, and eek out the rest of this fabulous climax.
Shortly thereafter, I get dressed and allow her to don the flimsy dress that she wore tonight before I lead her out of the exhibition room.
I don’t even look over at her table. I go to the bar instead.
“Gin and tonic and make it fast.” I look over Joyce.
“Shot o’ Jack,” she says, her voice a little breathy. The bartender quickly serves our drinks and I toss him a c-note. Joyce throws hers back immediately and I finish mine in three swallows before we head to the door.
“Is she here?” I ask Roc when I get to the foyer. He nods.
“She came in about forty-five minutes after you,” he replies. I look at Joyce.
“Go get in the car,” I tell her. She nods obediently and walks out of the club. Once she leaves, I look back into the club and watch the private rooms from the shadows of the door. About five minutes later, I see the magnificent flash of gold exit the area of the private rooms.
Yeah, Golden. I knew you were watching me. That’s why I could fuck her mouth so good. And it was good.
I slip out the club and out the front door before she can see me, only stopping at the foyer to retrieve my spurned gift.
I let a few days pass before I return to Crimson. I’ve sent no more gifts and made my presence scarce. Now it’s time to see what the yellow kitten is up to. I call Roc to see if I should even make the trip.
“Yeah, she’s here. She just got here about ten minutes ago. She’s still on the pole.”
I get to the club and enter the private observation room just in time to see her whipping a guy bound to a spreader spanking bench, his genitals exposed. She’s wearing something I bought her… a structured, gold, royal bustier with attached collar—silk, ribbing, sequins, and lots of gold chains. She’s coupled it with a pair of gold lamé short shorts so short that they look like panties, especially when she puts a little bend in her back to administer the lash to her subject’s back. Her boots are really insane stilettos with shimmering gold material that nearly comes up to her ass. Her stance is deliberate—one foot in front of the other so that when she slightly shifts her weight to deliver the blow, the hip of the non-dominant foot shift allowing the beautiful globe of that ass cheek to rise for display.
And my jeans are tight again.
I’ve been fucking for a long time, and I’ve fucked a lot of women. I can’t remember ever wanting someone as much I want this golden morsel of white chocolate.
I lean over with my elbows on my knees as I watch her stripe her submissive’s back with a carriage lunge whip—gold handle and short tail for easy handling. I imagine that thing stings like a motherfucker. He jerks each time she strikes, pausing between hits to let the agony sink in before she strikes again. He groans or maybe squeals, but you can’t tell because he has a wooden horse bit in his mouth, held in place with golden leather straps.
Her technique is flawless… her wrist snaps so that the full blow of the whip is felt quickly on the subject’s back only after the whip has hit and been removed. No lingering like with the flogger. You feel like something bit you… and something has, only more intense.
His back is striped in even patterns when she’s done with the whip and she moves on to a paddle—leather and small. It’s perfect for her hands but big enough to do the job. She’s different with a paddle, like any good Domme would be. She lands the paddle across his ass and it sits there, allowing the sting sink in before she pulls back and delivers another blow. He groans and I’m only just now seeing the golden ball in his hand. I know that it serves two purposes.
Grip to help bear the pain… and safeword.
Right now, he’s gripping it like there’s no tomorrow as Golden delivers blow after painstakingly slow, torturous, meticulous blow. Once his ass is glowing red, even redder than the dark pink stripes on his back, she stops and reaches between his legs, fondling his genitals. He groans loudly.
“Mmm, nice and tight,” she purrs. “I think you like that very much. Well, you’re going to love what’s next.”
God, her voice. How does she do that? It’s like hot caramel and it makes you just want to slide all your clothes off and stand before her. She’s fucking magnificent. No wonder she wields so much damn power over these poor souls. They don’t stand a chance.
Finally, she produces a riding crop. She walks around his body, dragging the crop across his skin in various places. Sweat begins to bead on his body. His breath is coming in short pants.
And his dick is as hard as a fucking tree truck.
Once she makes her round of his body, she stops behind him and strikes his outer thigh hard with the crop. He jerks at the sensation and his panting becomes harder. She snaps the crop on his other thigh and he jerks and groans this time. Once more again on either side before she moves to the inner thighs. She teases the sensitive skin there by rubbing the braided rod against his thigh. Then, a quick strike.
He jumps and pants, the sweat on his back and forehead more prominent now. She quickly moves to the other inner thigh.
He jumps again. She moves quickly back.
He moans loudly as she moves back again.
Thwap! Thwap! Thwap! Thwap!
Back and forth between his thighs and he can’t close his legs. From where I’m sitting, I can see his dick bobbing up and down and his entire body flushes the red of his ass and back. She skillfully, meticulously moves that fanning crop tip up his inner thighs, smacking back and forth at a practiced speed—almost like hummingbird wings—and I can tell the moment that the tip brushes his balls.
If he could stand up from that bench right now, he would.
He cries out in his throat, but squeezes that golden ball like he’s hoping to get juice from it. She doesn’t stop with the ball flutter and soon, the flutter becomes full-on strikes of his balls—still fast like hummingbird wings, still only the tip of the crop, but the agony is written all over his face and the muscles tensing all over his body…
… And the angriest, veiniest dick I think I ever seen in my life—in real life or in porno.
He’s fighting to get out of his binds and he struggles for an endless three or four or twenty or ninety minutes—I don’t even fucking know—until…
He drops the ball.
Golden stops the moment the ball falls from his hands and he simultaneously cries out from behind the gag like a dying man refusing to let go of his last breath…
… Or in this case, his last nut.
This man is coming harder than I ever want to see any man ever come in my life. I swear on everything I love that I never want to see that much cum from a cock that’s not attached to me ever again… ever again!
This poor sucker is coming and squirting and throbbing and bobbing and bouncing so hard, I didn’t know the human body even held that much semen. She stands there watching him, watching his dick bounce and throb in probably the most painful orgasm I’ve ever seen in my life. I can’t feel this one, but goddammit, I know it hurts.
He’s still throbbing like a beating heart when she walks with purpose around to his head. He’s lying on the bench now, saliva dribbling from his mouth, in no control of his body yet.
She kneels down in his face and tries to remove the gag, but his teeth are clenching too tightly to it. She waits for a moment before she gently says,
He slowly opens his mouth as much as he can to allow her to take the bit and let it hang on the spanking bench. I could swear there are teeth marks in that thing, but I can’t really tell from here. He’s still panting and out of breath.
“Are you alright?” she says firmly, but softly. He’s still trying to catch his breath when he says…
“Yes… Mistress… It was… magnificent… Mistress… thank you… thank you…”
He’s sweating like a pig and panting like a marathon runner. She allows him to lay his head down on the leather of the bench as she gently strokes his hair from his forehead while he catches his breath.
And the room goes black.
Fuck… she never even jacked him off. He came from the beatings. Fuck.
I need a fucking drink.
I’m out of that room and at the bar in record time. I’ve never seen anything like that before in my life. I’ve heard of it, but I haven’t seen it. The amount of cum that man produced from her whipping his ass defies logic and nature!
“Double-shot of Martell,” I tell the bartender. He looks at me with wide eyes and I put a c-note on the bar.
“Make it two,” I hiss. “Fast!” He takes the hundred-dollar bill and returns in less than a minute with two double-shots of cognac. I throw one back quickly, feeling the burn of the liquid slide down my chest.
She made him come from nothing but a goddamn beating.
I throw back the other drink and move to the doors leading from the exhibition room. It takes fifteen minutes, but the golden temptress finally emerges from the room.
“Another captivating performance,” I say as she moves past me once she exits the doors. She turns around quickly, obviously not expecting to see me there, then her cool demeanor settles in.
“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” she says, turning away from me and going to her table. She knows that I’m going to follow her. Who wouldn’t follow that gold-clad ass in those tiny ass shorts?
“You returned my gift,” I say once we get to her table and she downs her vodka. She places the empty glass on the table and turns to face me.
“I have plenty of jewelry,” she says matter-of-factly.
“But you don’t have this,” I say, pulling the box from its hiding place under my arm and inside my jacket.
“Not here,” she says quickly and slowly begins to walk towards the door. I fall in line behind her as she enters the foyer. Roc retrieves a gold velvet cloak when he sees her enter and hands it to her. She looks up at him and nods before exiting the club. I follow her outside and a Lincoln Town Car drives up to the curb just as I exit. The driver comes around to the passenger side and opens the back door. Golden gets in and disappears inside. The driver turns to me expecting.
“Sir,” he says. Oh, I’m holding up progress. I get inside and quickly text Taylor to track my phone and meet me at the destination for transportation and security.
We ride in total silence for nearly half an hour as the Town Car takes us to a spacious home in Sammamish. When we arrive, the driver now opens the driver side door and helps Golden out of the car. I get out on the passenger side instead of waiting. I look around and see Taylor pulling up behind the Town Car.
“Thank you, Waldorf,” she says. “Until next time.”
“Ma’am,” he says, tipping his hat and getting back into the driver’s seat. We walk up the walkway, up the stairs and to a set of double doors that open before we actually get there. Another man—very well-dressed—is on the other side of the door.
“Mistress,” the imposing looking man says as he takes her cloak. Mistress? He’s dressed like a damn GQ model and he’s calling her Mistress? What is she paying this guy? That tailored suit could rival one of mine! And what is he… like 50?
“Show Trey to the parlor,” she says. His eyebrow rises slightly, but then he nods once as she disappears up the stairs.
“Right this way, sir,” he says and begins walking in front of me. He opens a set of double-doors and I discover that she has a real damn parlor. Who has a real damn parlor nowadays?
“May I offer you a drink, sir?” he says.
“Jack and Coke, if you have it.” He nods and wordlessly goes over to the bar. I take a seat on the sofa and he brings my Jack and Coke over to me. I plan on nursing the drink or just letting it sit there… I had two double-shots of Martell before I left the bar. I’m still a little buzzed. He turns and walks out the parlor without another word and closes the doors behind him.
I must have waited for twenty more minutes for this woman to come into the room. I don’t like to be kept waiting and I’m sure that she’s doing it on purpose. When she comes into the parlor, she’s wearing another short dress—a combination of white and gold embroidered panels trimmed in gold leather laced together to create a sleeveless dress. The boots have been replaced with matching gold stiletto sandals embellished with leaves across the top of her foot. I assume that this would be considered “something more comfortable” than what she was wearing before, but she still looks sexy as hell.
And I’m in her house.
She walks over to the bar and pours herself a shot of vodka neat… my vodka. She takes a sip of it instead of drinking it down and turns around to face me.
“What is it that you want exactly, Chopper?” she asks expecting. I raise a brow at her. I had forgotten about that name.
“It’s like I said before,” I say, “I’d like to know what to do to have the pleasure of your company.”
“You have been afforded the pleasure of my company… right now. Now, what is it that you want?”
“Have I been chosen?” I ask.
“Did I say that?” she retorts. I chuckle, still feeling a bit warm from the Martell.
“Well, first,” I say, rising from the sofa, “I’d like for you to accept my gift.”
“I’ve accepted many of your gifts,” she points out. I walk over to the bar and pull the box out of my jacket.
“But not this one,” I say, standing so close to her that I can smell her perfume, even if I can’t place it. She raises golden eyes to me, then takes the box from my hand. She walks around me and strolls over to the sofa to take a seat.
I turn towards her while she opens the box to reveal a Giuseppe Zanotti gold back hinge, curved cuff choker snake necklace that drops open in the front, the two ends curving downward.
“It’s… very beautiful,” she says, looking at the necklace. Her voice is even and stoic, but I can tell that she’s a bit affected.
“You like it?” I say, walking back over to the sofa. She raises her eyes to me and closes the box, placing it on the coffee table in front of her.
“It’s an exquisite piece of jewelry, Trey, but like I said, I have a lot of jewelry.”
And now, I’m Trey. I don’t know if that’s good or bad. I sit next to her on the sofa.
“And now, you have this one,” I say, opening the box and removing the necklace. “May I?”
She stares at me for long moments, then lifts her hair to allow me to put the necklace on her. Her tresses are silver today, and with these many lengths and color changes, I know that she must employee the best wigmaker in the country. I open the back hinge and wrap it around her neck, inhaling deeply as I prolong laying the tails on her breast. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or Golden, but I’m so turned on right now that I can barely stand it.
“It’s beautiful on you,” I say in a low voice.
“Thank you,” she says matter-of-factly, but softly. “So now, you’re in the presence of my company and I’ve accepted your gift. Exactly what is it that you want from me? You’re a Dominant and you clearly know that I’m a Dominant. So, what can I possibly do for you?”
“You made that guy come without really sexually touching him,” I point out.
“It’s what I do,” she says.
“How?” I ask her. “How did you make him come that hard by beating him?” She raises her eyebrow at me.
“Do you plan to make a man come by beating him?” she inquires. I almost want to laugh, but I’m a bit insulted.
“I just don’t see how a man can come from just an ass beating,” I retort.
“Different people have different kinks, Trey, you know that,” she says. “I pay attention. I find out what they are and I exploit them.”
“What if their kink is sex?” I ask.
“Sex is not a kink,” she replies. “You may like sex. You may want a lot of it, with a lot of women, but it’s not a kink. People like to come; it feels good, but if you like it too much, you may want to see a shrink.”
“I don’t see anything wrong with liking sex,” I say.
“Is it all you think about?” she asks. “Can you go a day without it?” My brow furrows.
“Of course, I can,” I retort, “and I have. You can’t function in life if all you think about is sex.” She nods.
“Well, congratulations, you don’t need a doctor, but sex is not a kink.”
“You’re a tough nut to crack, Golden,” I say softly.
“I can’t be cracked, Trey,” she says confidently. “My appeal lies in my mystery—when the mystery is gone, so am I.” She examines me momentarily. “I know you’re accustomed to women falling at your feet, but it’s not going to happen with me.”
“Then why am I here?” I say, seductively. “You brought me here; I didn’t ask to come.”
“You wanted me to accept your gift. I don’t accept personally presented gifts in public. That’s why you’re here.”
“Women don’t just fall at my feet,” I correct her. “It takes work… finesse…”
“You have plenty of company when you come to the club,” I say. “The moment I suggested the beautiful black woman on Elena’s chain and the golden-hair goody who propositioned me, you had them both before the night was over, and it didn’t take a lot of finesse!”
What’s this? She sounds a bit irritated.
“I won’t lie and tell you that I’m monogamous, but I will tell you that I insist on my women being clean and I know that anyone in the club is clean. That’s why I don’t fuck outside of the lifestyle. One bad experience and you’re banned in the circle for life. I would say that a sexually transmitted disease would be a very bad experience.”
“Well, that’s one problem that you won’t have with me, because I’m sure that your little blonde friend has told you, I don’t fuck.”
“She told me,” I say flippantly, “but the sexuality that you ooze, I thought she may have been mistaken.” I lean closer to her.
“She wasn’t,” she says flatly.
“Do you have any idea how much I want to fuck you right now?” I say, unable to bear her closeness and her aroma much longer without touching her.
“Well, then, I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place, Trey,” she replies.
“You’re not even curious?” I say, closing the space between us.
“Not even slightly,” she confirms as I take a long sniff of her, committing her smell to memory. My control slips and I touch her thigh. She jerks away from me.
“I didn’t give you permission to touch me!” she says firmly. Her fire makes her so hot and I know that if I just kiss her once, she’ll be mine.
I lean in for the attack, but she’s fast and leans back before our lips meet. It fuels me to snag her, to taste her and kiss her lips just once… just once…
“No!” she protests, slapping me and squirming from my grasp. It’s only then that I even realize that I had pinned her beneath me. She wiggles away from me and flees to the area behind me near the bar. I recover quickly, but not quickly enough, because just as I turn around to pursue her again, my Martell buzz and Golden-desire-driven haze is completely washed away by a loud crack and a bullet flying right past my head.
Okay. Stop. Stunned.
“I. Said. NO!” she hisses loudly, aiming the gun right between my eyes.
A/N: Cruel Intentions was a 1999 movie where a rich, heartless, and bratty stepbrother and stepsister make a bet about the new headmaster’s virgin daughter. It’s an adaptation of a French novel that translates into Dangerous Liaisons.
The Pinterest board for this story can be found at https://www.pinterest.com/ladeeceo/fifty-shades-golden/.
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