This is a work of creativity. As such, you may see words, concepts, scenes, actions, behaviors, pictures, implements, and people that may or may not be socially acceptable and/or offensive. If you are sensitive to adverse and alternative subject matter of any kind, please do not proceed, because I guarantee you’ll find it here. You have been warned. Read at your own risk.
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…
I’m still panting against the wall long after he closed the door behind him. My chest is heavy and I can barely get any air into my lungs. My clit is tingling, burning from a rough dry fuck that I haven’t felt in… have I ever? A soft wet tongue, a vibrator, a dildo, my own fingers and long ago—it seems like forever—a wet dick inside my walls… but a hard cock restrained in clothes and masturbating me painfully to a dizzying orgasm? No, I don’t think I’ve ever done that before. I’ve made men come in their underwear, but they haven’t made me come in mine.
It seems like eons have passed when I hear the throaty grumble of a sports car and tires screeching away into the night. Good! Good riddance! I can’t let this happen! I can’t allow him or any man to have control over me. I’m the one in control. I choose!
“I choose,” I breathe, as I nearly stumble to the bar and pour myself a double-shot of that blasted gold-infused vodka. I down it in nearly one gulp and pour myself another without measuring, drinking half the glass’s contents before taking a break.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath before focusing on Blake’s voice.
“Yes, Blake,” I say, my voice still breathy.
“Are you okay?” he asks cautiously.
“Yes, Blake,” I respond.
“Mistress… did he…?” he trails off, careful not to ask the entire question.
“No, Blake.” It’s a partial truth. He didn’t penetrate me. He pauses for a long moment.
“Do you need anything?” he asks, his voice concerned.
“A bath, please,” I reply, the breath finally flowing into my lungs.
“Yes, Mistress,” he says, and he’s gone from the parlor doors. I can never be alone with that man again. I can never let him have to opportunity to do that to me again. Elena can have Crimson. It’s only one club, but I can’t risk it. What, does he think I’m going to come looking for him now? Not in a million years.
I take a few deep breaths to compose myself and leave the parlor to go to my bedroom.
“Ana, you can’t avoid me forever.”
My uncle’s voice plays through the voicemail in my office. Chanelle had to take her son to the doctor this morning and I gave her the day off. Now, I wish I hadn’t. She would head off these messages for me, giving me just the little pink slip transcribed with the words…
Richard Steele called.
I don’t hide from anybody and I’m not really hiding from Uncle Richard. I just don’t have anything to say to him. I haven’t opened the office today and now, I don’t think I will. I don’t know why he’s trying so hard to speak to me. He wasn’t there when I needed him; why is he trying to track me down now?
I remember leaving the courthouse that day all those years ago with no direction as to where I should be headed. I told the attorney that I knew my way home, but home wasn’t there anymore. Home was nowhere now. I made my way back to the house where I had lived with Mommy and Daddy. Of course, another family lived there by then, but it still looked basically the same. I never got the chance to go back to that house after Mommy and Daddy died. Everything was “collected” for me and I really didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to my childhood home.
That day, I trespassed into the backyard, looking around and remembering playing with dolls and laughing and running with Daddy. I cried at my predicament, knowing from the look in his eye that I couldn’t go back to Uncle Richard and Aunt Sheila. I didn’t even do anything horribly wrong, but what I did was enough for my uncle to abandon me. After a final look at my childhood home, I left and spent the night in a vacant house.
The next day, I got up and went to school in the only thing that I had to wear—Jake’s yellow jumpsuit. I didn’t see Jake though, thank God for small favors. I just kept coming to school in that same yellow jumpsuit for a few days, being ridiculed by some of the other kids. After about two weeks, I lied about my age and got a job in a restaurant working nights, after school, and weekends as a laundress. I wasn’t making enough to live on, so I stayed in that vacant house and focused on school during the day, saving every penny that I could.
I was able to get a few things from the second-hand store and from “Five-and-Dimes,” as my mom used to call them—discount stores that sold things cheap. I washed my clothes at work and got dinner at the restaurant, too. I even saw my cousins at school, but I get the feeling that they had strict instructions not to engage, because they never approached me… never asked where I was living or how I was doing. It was like I never existed in their lives before—was never part of their family. They just kind of looked at me funny, a mixture of sympathy and curiosity. I shrugged it off. My heart was getting harder and harder because of the things that had happened to me.
All I had every known was Mommy and Daddy. When Mommy and Daddy were gone, all I knew was school, Uncle Richard, Aunt Sheila, and my cousins. Then, in the blink of an eye, all I had left was school. I learned at a very early age that everything in life is fleeting. Nothing—absolutely nothing—is permanent. You can lose everything you have, everything you love, everything you treasure before you can release a sigh, and you don’t have to do a damn thing to cause it. Just life and circumstance can pop up and say, “Ha ha, jokes on you!” and everything you ever knew can be gone—your life snuffed out of you before your body even hits the floor.
I had no home, no family, no one who cared for me—and I had done nothing to deserve any of it. I wasn’t a bad kid. I didn’t lie. I didn’t cheat. I didn’t steal… except for a candy bar. My biggest crime was liking this boy who happened to have a whole lot of girls who liked him, too—spiteful ass bitches who were mad because the cute black guy fell for the only white girl in the neighborhood. I never even saw any of those girls again. I don’t know if they went to juvie or what, but they sure as hell disappeared.
I did see Jake again, and he acted like he didn’t know me. I couldn’t really blame him, now could I?
Nonetheless, I stayed true to my mission. I had to finish school, but my senior year was that worst year ever. Eventually, I had to leave the job because I couldn’t do both and maintain my grade point average. I was able to survive off my savings since I was living in a vacant house with no expenses. I entered creative writing contests, essay contests, anything that had a cash prize, no matter how small. Surprisingly, it helped to support me—except for the prizes that paid me in savings bonds. I held on to those for later, of course.
It was fucking grueling, but eventually, my hard work paid off and I got my scholarships and was able to go to University. Although scholarships were paying for my room and board, I still had to work to make ends meet. I got sidetracked in my sophomore year by the cute white boy who paid attention to me and became my boyfriend. He was considerate and sweet, right up until I gave him my virginity.
Then he dumped me.
I was downtrodden for a while, but instead of falling into depression, I channeled that frustration into my studies, just like I did when my parents died and when my uncle deserted me. After all, I was accustomed to disappointment and betrayal. Kindness was an anomaly to me; that’s why I fell for him in the first place. Unfortunately, the fact that I was always being let down made it impossible for me to forge any real relationships, because I didn’t trust anybody.
Shortly after that break-up, I met Paxton Olivet and surprisingly, we very quickly became good friends. Paxton was an English student in the United States on a student visa who didn’t want to go back to England once his studies were over. His family was broke and lived in the slums of England and he didn’t want to return to that.
Our stories were similar only to the degree that he, too, understood what it was like to live with constant disappointment and expected the worse before he expected the best. We connected through our cynicism and our mutual understanding not to expect too much from each other. Like me, he was in college on scholarships, and would have to return to his country in two years unless he found a way to stay.
So, I suggested that we get married, move in together and pool our resources. We could split the living expenses and both be able to save some money. I would change my name, we would be seen on campus canoodling and kissing like a real couple and stay married as long as was needed for him to secure citizenship. We would live our own lives and no one would be the wiser. It was a means to an end that worked out for both of us.
I didn’t really want any emotional attachment to anyone. I certainly wasn’t looking for love, but I wasn’t a recluse, either. I think my interest in relationships—if you could call it that—could best be described as “detached indifference.” I could do with or without a relationship, but I definitely wanted erotic companionship and physical satisfaction. I began seeking alternative methods of entertainment besides frat parties and dating sites, which were totally not my thing. To this day, I have no idea what led me to that BDSM website, but I was fascinated with the first “click.”
It was a Femdom site, and these women had total control over these men. They made these poor suckers come in some of the strangest ways… and they loved it. I don’t know why it capture me so—captivated me, you could say. I wasn’t a woman scorned. I wasn’t in love with the guy that broke up with me. It was sad, but not tragic. The only person that really upset me was Uncle Richard, and for the most part, he just disappointed and deserted me. Fucking bastard. So, why did the concept of completely dominating the male form consume my thoughts?
I took the opportunity to delve into the topic a bit more, into alternative lifestyles and the reasons people may engage in such activities; into what makes people tick and the physical and psychological effects of lifestyle decisions and sexual preferences.
It was a fucking lot! It was so much, in fact, that by the time I graduated with my four-year degree in pre-law, I had also minored in human sexuality.
I went to my first BDSM club at 22 in Seattle. I mostly watched, played a little, but very little… but trust me, there was a lot to do and see on the Seattle scene. That’s when I met Elena. She was big shit, then—mysterious and beautiful. She was famous, one of the most popular Dommes in the Seattle area. I wanted to be like her to some degree, but for some reason, she struck me as “just like everybody else,” even though she was on the top of the hill.
Her technique didn’t relay sadomasochism to me. It was more like a cat tormenting a mouse before she ate it. I didn’t see any pleasure in it. Domination, I feel, should be more mental than physical. Anybody can inflict pain, but what does it do beside hurt? That’s what I wanted to know—how did the women in the Femdom videos that I had seen bring these men to their knees and keep them coming back for more?
Elena didn’t show me that. What I saw observing Elena was a lot of discipline and control. I felt like there was no give-and-take, just a big performance… and I felt that it should have been the other way around. I felt like the scene should be about the experience, about discovering what each person needs from the interaction, and that the fascination of watching—the performance, if you will—arises from observing the act of each person’s needs actually being fulfilled. Elena’s subs seemed like they tolerated what she was dishing out until the show was over. Not the Femdoms—the subjects or submissives craved what they received, and the Dommes relished and savored their total domination.
That’s what I wanted. From day one of seeing that first Femdom video, that’s what I wanted… but I wasn’t willing to pay for it. I was never going to pay for it.
So, for the most part, I watched. But I watched carefully, and I learned a thing or three. For one thing, I learned from Elena what I didn’t want to be. There had to be more than what she presented… I’d seen it for myself, but which was the performance, Elena or the Femdoms?
My sexual encounters began to exhibit the need to be dominant. I slept with the occasional guy here and there, and turned some of them off. Others, I turned out. As I observed those guys who were enthralled by my alpha-female aggression, I came to understand their need for a dominant woman in an erotic setting. It had a strange effect on me. For the first time, I felt like my life and my destiny were really in my own hands—not boys who wanted to fuck me and leave me and not judgmental uncles who just wanted to leave me.
And what’s more, I found out where their power resides—that little joystick between their legs. Control that and you control the world.
I could totally understand why that little joystick held so much power. It’s a fearsome creation—beautiful and mesmerizing. Nothing in the world smells like it, feels like it, or tastes like it… that’s why it’s so strong.
I wanted to find a way to harness that power without falling for anyone. It was akin to submission and I couldn’t afford that in my life; I never really wanted it anyway. It was too messy, too distracting. My focus was to continue working—and writing, and studying, saving the money for my bigger plan…
After graduation, I enrolled at U-Dub’s law school. It was year four of my marriage to Paxton, and he had blossomed socially, allowing a beautiful young coed into his inner circle. They had been dating for two years and he had fallen in love with her after laboriously convincing her that ours was a marriage of convenience. During his plight, they had broken up for a while and Paxton had returned to the apartment literally in tears over the split. When he explained to me what was going on, I immediately visited the object of his affection—Amelia Holbrook—and explained our arrangement to her. She didn’t want to believe me at first, but then I told her that soon, I would be leaving the state to attend law school and that Paxton would be all alone. He really was a dear friend to me and I could tell that she loved him very much. She just couldn’t deal with him having a wife.
“I’ll give him a divorce,” I told her. “We’ve been married and living together for four years now. He’s already gained his citizenship. He loves you; he wants to be with you. He’s broken without you, and I adore him—but only as a friend. I can’t see him like this. Please… we’ll file for divorce tomorrow, just don’t leave him. I only ask that you allow me to still be his friend.”
That night, I drove Amelia back to our apartment where she reconciled with Paxton. The next day, we filed for divorce and he and Amelia went shopping for an engagement ring. Six months later, our divorce was final and a week after that, he married his love. We’re still friends to this day, and he and Amelia have a beautiful family.
I kept my married name because I like the sound of it… Anastasia Olivet. I hoped that Daddy wasn’t too disappointed in me, but hell—he had to know that I’d get married one day anyway, even though the marriage was solely for convenience on both parts.
Throughout that very eventful year in law school at U-Dub, I was able to find additional funding in small scholarships, grants, student loans and work study. So, the next year, I transferred to Emory in Georgia. I needed a change of scenery and I really wanted to get away from Seattle.
That’s where I met Lanette… in my second year of law school.
Lanette was an advisor to one of my law professors. She never went by anything else but Lanette… no last name. If I had to describe Lanette, I could only say beautiful, blonde, pin-up girl from the forties, only with red hair. Lanette waited for me at the end of class one day and simply asked, “How long have you been in the lifestyle?”
I thought it was very intrusive, but also very intuitive, and my curiosity was killing me.
“About a year or so,” I answered honestly, “but not actively. I’m not willing to pay for it.” She laughed at my answer.
“Sweetie, if you’re paying for it, you’re in the wrong arena,” she revealed. “You have something special, I can see it,” she said to me. “You’re all tangled inside… there’s something there that you just can’t figure out—not tortured, just… you need to release differently… and you have a special taste. Let me teach you.”
And teach me she did. I felt the power of Dickens’ Estella, taught to wring the hearts and souls from men by her delusional and heartbroken adopted mother, only I didn’t want their hearts… just their souls… and their dicks.
My teaching also came with a detailed lesson in male anatomy, which I loved! It was during this time that I discovered my fetish for penises—not just their power, for the organ itself. The diagram of how the male genitalia works and the 3D instructional videos that show what actually causes the penis to become erect made my mouth water. I watched the cutaway of a penis stroking inside of a vagina in fascination, enthralled as the sperm proceeded from the epididymis in the testicles through the vas deferens with muscle contractions to the ampulla right above the prostate gland. It picks up secretions from the prostate and the seminal gland next to the ampulla to create semen and is ejaculated from the penis through the urethra.
It was better than any porno flick I had ever seen in my life… and I was hooked. All I wanted was to make that dick get hard and watch it come and pulse wildly through orgasm. Learning to do it through pain was even better—my two biggest taboos satisfied at the same time through the same act.
I learned the finesse, the delicacy, the joy of being a Femdom while at the same time, learning to be a shark. I discovered how the techniques and mental conditioning from one could easily transfer to the other. I learned to be particular about my clients. Yes, I called them submissives… I still do, but they were and are clients. People don’t like that term because it makes me sound like a prostitute and it makes them sound like Johns…
But Dominants shower their subs with gifts and money all the time, so what does that make them?
I had a good gig in Georgia. Once I graduated from law school and passed the bar on my first try, I became part of a very successful practice in Savannah. Oh, the secrets to be kept in Savannah! I had more clients than I knew what to do with, and I was already special because I had the best teacher, I had a dick fetish, and I didn’t like that black shit. I played with different concepts, but nothing seemed to stick out to me. When I considered gold, at first, I didn’t want to do it because of the connotation of Jake’s yellow jumpsuit. The similarity was too close and I wasn’t some damaged person running away from my past. Even though knowing him changed the course of my life, he was still just some kid that I used to like. Then, I thought of the other connotations of gold.
A precious metal often associated with prosperity and wealth.
A color that designates glitter and beauty, extravagance and value.
It’s use in terminology adds value to the mundane—or reduces value of something seemingly priceless… as in “fool’s gold” meaning something that appear to be valuable but is actually worthless.
A “gold star” is used for praise or accomplishment.
“Solid gold” referring to the best of the best or something of superior quality.
“Gold standard” being a measure excellence.
“Good as gold” meaning that something is true, positive, or priceless.
“Golden child” referring to the favored son or person.
And of course, there’s an entire economy built on what? The value of gold.
So, gold became my signature… and it caught on quickly. In a prudish society where everything was hush-hush, Golden’s popularity spread like wildfire, like golden lava flowing through the forest and coating the ground with unmistakable power. The problem for me was this.
The lifestyle is heavy in Savannah, but it’s all underground. No one will admit to it and no one will introduce you. You just should know. These same women who frequented the same clubs that I did, but didn’t know who I was, talked shit about them all day long. I couldn’t take the hypocrisy and quite frankly, I missed being able to visit Mommy and Daddy’s graves. Had I had my way, they would have been cremated so that I could take them with me wherever I went, but it was too late for that now. So, even though Savannah was basically a money pot for me, I took all my money and moved back to Seattle.
Little did I know that the same opportunities—and more—would be waiting for me once I arrived.
I contacted Elena to introduce me back into the scene, only to find that she had aged poorly and sincerely lost popularity in a very short period of time. Her beauty—or what was left of it—and her notoriety, if you could call it that, stemmed only from her wallet, but it still gained her access to the places that I needed to be. I attended one club with her, however, then realized that I would do better on my own than to be associated with her.
Which turned out to be true. I’m even more successful in Seattle as an attorney and a Domme than I ever was in Savannah, and I was there for several years.
I’m glad I kept the name Olivet. It allowed me some small amount of anonymity.
“You’ll have to talk to me at some point, Anastasia,” the voice on the voicemail says. “I’m not going to just go away.”
“Why not? You did before,” I say, erasing the voice message.
“Are you ready?” I ask Wilma as we ascend the elevator into Grey’s lair once more. After last night’s altercation—if you can call it that—I’m not sure that I’m ready.
“Let’s do this,” she says, standing straight and preparing herself to go into the lion’s den. Game face on… let’s go.
The same flawless blonde greets us when we exit the elevator, but she leads us instead to two very imposing wooden double doors. Wilma and I both look at each other as she opens one of the doors and gestures us inside. There, we find Christian Grey sitting behind a large wooden desk on the phone.
“I have to go. My eleven o’clock is here,” he says curtly and ends the call with no pleasantries. “My apologies,” he says rising from the chair. “That call went longer than I expected.” I look around and no one else is in the office.
“Mr. Rockford won’t be joining us?” I ask.
And that’s all he says about the matter before gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk.
“Please, have a seat,” he says. No conference table, no cocky legal counsel, what’s his game. “Andrea, can you come in and take minutes, please?” he says into the intercom of the phone at his desk.
“Yes, sir,” the disembodied voice says and moments later, the flawless blonde joins us in the office with an iPad on her lap.
“You’ve had an opportunity to consider the proposition, Mrs. Cross. I’d like to know what you’ve decided.” He opens the floor to Wilma as he crosses his hands over the same portfolio we examined yesterday.
“I think that depends on you, Mr. Grey,” Wilma says. “I’m definitely concerned about the longevity of my company, but I also realize after thorough discussion with my counsel that it won’t be my company anymore. So, I must stand on one shore or the other. I can’t stand in the middle of the river. My question is this—has my need to consider my options resulted in your deciding that my company is suddenly not worth the original price you were offering?” Nice move, Wilma. Grey speaks without hesitation.
“I’m willing to stick to the original terms of the contract if you’re willing to proceed, Mrs. Cross,” he says in a firm, even tone. Wilma looks at me. I don’t think either of us expected for things to move this smoothly, or this quickly.
“Ana?” she says questioning.
“As long as you understand and accept that this will be his company and he can do what he wants with it, I say take the deal.” It’s the same point that I was trying to make the day before. She returns her gaze to Grey.
“It looks like we have a deal, Mr. Grey…”
Wilma and Grey discuss particulars once more over the next half hour and sign the contracts sealing the acquisition of Cross Sells to Grey Enterprises Holding, Inc. The entire time, he never speaks to me, never looks at me, never even acknowledges my presence. Anything he says that could have included me is said to no one is particular, save his monosyllabic answer to my question about Rockford.
He wants me to feel alienated, like I’m not good enough even to be spoken to. And it worked. It fucking worked. My skin is crawling to get out of that office once the contracts are signed. I don’t even pretend. I excuse myself from the office once the deal is sealed and allowed her to bask in Grey’s pleasantries. When I see the door open to the office, I turn around and call the elevator to avoid contact with him, only to discover that he never leaves his office. He only opens the door to let her out. There’s really no need for him to come out, now is there?
I fight to hide my ire, which I’m very good at. Wilma is smiling and very pleased with the outcome of the meeting. I, on the other hand, am fuming.
“Well, Ana, we did it! Here comes another huge signing bonus for you,” she says gleefully.
“You did it, Wilma. You played your final cards perfectly. Well done,” I say with a plastered-on smile. I told him that I choose. I played his game until I didn’t like the rules and when I tried to back out and show him who’s boss, he changed the game on me. I choose, I keep repeating in my head, but the truth is… he chose. He made me come, then he shut me down. He chose.
Once I drop Wilma off and arrange for the wire transfer of my bonus, I drive to the yoga studio for my workout with Kevin.
“You’re quiet today,” he says as he bends me into impossible positions. I don’t respond. I’m quiet every day. I’m just brooding today. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say, as I twist myself into yet another impossible position with his help. When we’re done with the session, we’re both sweating and a little spent, but that doesn’t stop him from doing his same finale after he stretches my back. I’m again in one of those impossible positions where I have to negotiate with him to release me… which he does… and I fall flat on his body again… and his hard dick.
This time when he cups my breasts, I don’t move. I lie there on his chest, his hands cupping my tits. When I don’t move or protest, he begins to massage them gently. His strong hands are somewhat comforting. I can’t remember the last time a man actually held me. I don’t allow myself to miss it.
Noting no resistance from me, he moves one of his hands down to my yoga pants. He pushes his hand inside my pants and underwear and quickly find my clit. I close my eyes and gasp as he immediately and masterfully begins to manipulate my pleasure center. It feels good… him holding me… caressing my breast… caressing my clit…
I sink back into him and enjoy the feeling, absorb the pleasure… it feels so good… then I see his face.
I leap from Kevin’s body and scramble to my feet. He doesn’t stop me from rising, but he protests as I start to move away from him.
“Ana! Wait… please!”
I stop in my tracks and turn around to face him. He’s on his feet now, observing me, question in his eyes and confusing marring his face. I walk quickly back to him and push him hard against the wall behind him. Without a word, I pull his shorts and boxers down quickly and his dick springs forth. It’s big and black… and beautiful. I knew it would be from every time the head peaked out of his shorts after he dropped me down onto him. I take the head into my mouth, tasting the skin on my tongue and he moans deeply. When I do it again, he touches my head. I take both of his hands and slam them back on the wall, giving him a warning look. He gazes down at me, hungry and horny, and doesn’t move his hands.
I take him in my hand and guide his dick to my mouth—his beautiful, black dick. I taste his skin and savor the texture against my tongue. He groans deep in his chest as he fights to keep his hands against the wall.
“Grab your shirt,” I command as I give him a momentary reprieve from the blowjob. “Hold it up.” He grabs his tank top with both hands and holds it against his chest. His dick is so hard that it’s jutting out in my face. I use the opportunity to apply pressure to his pelvis, freeing my mouth to feast on my favorite part of the human anatomy.
I start with short sucks, savoring the flavor of his head once more. Then, I push him further into my mouth, his dick jerking and pulsing as I pull him in and increase the intensity of the suction. Various profanities escape his lips as he grips his shirt in his fists and fights to keep from thrusting into my mouth. It wouldn’t help, though. I’m holding him firmly against the wall and even though he’s stronger than me, his pelvis will be weak from the pressure and the pleasure of this blowjob.
I sink further and further down on his dick, taking more and more of him into my mouth and eliciting more tormented pleasure sounds from his throat. I deepthroat him as far as I can and even though I can’t take all of him, it’s enough of him to get the job done.
“Ana! Ana!” His breathy voice is a warning, but I don’t need one. I know how to read a man’s body. The steeling and thickening of his dick, the pulsing of the meat in my mouth and the hardening of that vein underneath lets me know that I have seconds to act. I grab his balls and roll them in my hands as his dick rises hard in my mouth.
“Gaaaah! Aaaahhh!” he groans loudly, and I move my mouth in the nick of time. One hand cupping and massaging his balls and the other squeezing tightly on his dick, I watch as the helpless, magnificent thing pulses hard in my hand, throbbing madly with each wild spurt of come shooting from the head. It’s a masterpiece that I love to watch over and over, and the contrast of the thick creamy liquid shooting from his chocolate head shiny and slick with my saliva is one of my best works of art yet.
His body is stiff, motionless as he squeezes his eyes shut and suffers through his orgasm, his fists actually tearing his tank top as the cum shoots wildly from his shaft. He’s weak and breathless when the fireworks have finally subsided.
“Fuck… fuck… fuck…” he pants as he tries to catch his breath. The floor and my shirt is covered with his cum and his head is laid back on the wall while he fights for equilibrium. He winces as I tuck his shaft and balls back into his boxers and gym shorts. I rise to my feet and grab the back of my shirt, pulling it over my head. I’m wearing nothing but my bra and yoga pants as I turn to walk out of the room.
“Ana!” his breathy voice stops me. I turn to look at him.
“Why… why did you do that?” he asks. I have no answer for him. The truth is that I have no idea. I didn’t let him finish the job, but I made him come. I’m a hardnose about making sure I have medical clearance on someone before I even touch them, yet I just had his sweaty dick in my mouth… and I have no fucking idea why. I turn around and walk wordlessly out of the room.
I still want her. I fucking hate to admit it, but I still want her. I can’t have her. I won’t pursue her, but I still want her. She’s worse than the worst kind of drug and tasting her only makes me want her more. She’s poison and I know it. She holds more power than any woman, any opponent I’ve ever faced. I couldn’t even look at her during negotiations. I was rude when she asked questions and I never addressed her directly. I needed to get her out of my space as quickly as possible because my actual skin was craving her. All I did was jack off against her body while I tasted her hot mouth, and it still makes me want more… makes me want to bury myself inside of her until we’re both mindless with pleasure, until she craves me like I crave her, until she can’t get me out of her mind…
… Like I fucking can’t get her out of mine.
I was relieved when she left my office today. It was utter torment being in the same room with her. My body reached for her on a cellular level every moment that she was in this office. Whatever it takes, I have to distance myself from her—physically and mentally.
So, ask me why I take my ass back to Crimson on Friday night.
Part of me wants to see her again. Another part of me is praying for the contrary. I get one of my wishes.
She doesn’t show up.
I’m not so lucky with Elena.
“Trey…” she says, approaching me almost cautiously. “How are you?”
They’ve talked. I don’t know when, but I can tell from her demeanor that they’ve talked about me. Now, she’s justifiably trepidatious in my presence. You should be. I want to fucking wring your lifted neck!
“Why do you care?” I say, coldly. You basically threw me at that woman and you know it, taunted me with something you knew I couldn’t have even though I didn’t know yet. It’s not her who tried to destroy me… it’s you.
“I just…” she pauses, searching for her words. “I was concerned,” she says finally. I twist my lips and take a swallow of my Scotch. I just bet you were.
“Whatever for?” I ask, injecting as much sarcasm into the question as possible without attempting to mask my ire.
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” she continues, and her presence is irritating me more and more.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I deliver the words with growling fire and her response is immediate. Her skin pales and there’s a bit of fear in her eyes. Spit it out, bitch. I don’t have all day.
“Golden told me what happened,” she responds quickly, as if she heard my thoughts.
“Which part?” I ask. Her eyes widen as if to say, “Shit, there’s more?” She swallows hard.
“The unfortunate incident with the gun?” she confesses. I twist my lips.
“Mm,” I grunt, disinterested, taking another drink of my Scotch.
“I was worried about you, Chri— Trey,” she says, sincerely, at it doesn’t move me one bit.
“Why?” I ask. “I’m sure she told you that she didn’t shoot me,” I add sardonically. She looks down and toys with her bracelet.
“There was this guy,” she says, not making eye-contact with me. “His name is Lester. Last year, when she first got back to Seattle, he—contracted her services, for lack of a better word. They engaged for a while, but after a few sessions, he didn’t appreciate her methods. He felt like he should get more than the Golden treatment, as we see it. At that time, she was sexually active, but not immediately. And Lester wasn’t looking for what she was offering… he just wanted her. So, after a few sessions of not getting fucked, he… took what he wanted. She maintains that he didn’t rape her, so to speak. He just… forced himself on her…”
Like I did.
“And?” I nearly growl.
“And… just as he was ejaculating, she… shot him in the side.”
I try not to react. Inside, I’m staring gape-mouthed at this woman as she tells me that the last person who fucked Golden—pushed himself on her—got shot for it. Outside, my face is impassive as I sip my Scotch.
“He’s fine… well, he’s alive,” she says, “but he’s paralyzed from the waist down. I never got the details of how things played out in the legal system, but…” she shrugs, “she’s… well, she knows people.” Yeah… and she’s a lawyer. While there’s no law against being an incessant tease, there is a law against rape. I shake my head infinitesimally.
“You knew this, and yet, you pushed me at her anyway.” It’s a statement, not a question. Her eyes widen.
“You’re handsome and rich and powerful and irresistible,” she defends. “I just thought the right man would be able to…”
“Get her out of your way… right?” I’m nearly growling in my confrontation. She’s panting now, but not in arousal. She knows that she’s looking into the eyes of fury. I didn’t know that I was stepping into the path of danger for a piece of ass, but she did. She knew what I was going up against, but she thrust me into this woman’s path anyway. She dangled a Golden carrot in front of my face and I wanted a bite so badly that I could already taste it. But she knew… this bitch knew that if I came off all Dominant—like I am—that I could end up dead. No matter, as long as her nemesis went down, what’s a little collateral damage, right?
Bitch, I will fucking destroy you.
I bottom out the last of my Scotch and leave her standing at the bar with her mouth hanging open. I don’t look back at her as I don’t want to see again. As a matter of fact, I don’t want to see either of them ever again. This will be my last time in this club, so I might as well make the most of this trip. I work the room very quickly, finding a submissive willing to go to the private rooms, where I gag her, hogtie her, and fuck her from behind until my dick hurts.
“You must have gotten your shit together,” Bastille says after one of our workouts. He’s still salty about that ass beating he got a while back. It’s been weeks since I’d seen Elena or Golden and I must admit, I’m feeling more like myself again.
“You just stay on your toes and let me worry about my shit,” I warn, drying the sweat from my face.
“Your shit is my shit when you come to my gym intent on beating my ass for something someone else did to you,” he retorts. “Know that I’m a professional, but I can defend myself. The next time you pull that shit on me, I won’t go easy on you.” I raise an eyebrow at him.
“You’re trying to say that you went easy on me?” I say in a disbelieving tone.
“You walked out of here,” he says flatly. “If I had given you what you deserved that day, you would have been carried… probably to an ambulance.” I narrow my eyes at him, then realize that I’m talking to my trainer whom I did really beat the hell out of that day.
“Is that a challenge, Claude?” I counter.
“A warning,” he replies, without fear. “Pull that shit on me again and find out.” He stares at me for a few moments to drive his point home, then walks past me headed to the locker room. He’s right. As pissed as I am that anyone would take that tone with me, I was out of line that day. I won’t let it happen again.
I drive home pondering which submissive will get fucked tonight. A strange dynamic has played out in my “private” life, so to speak. I now have Joyce and Caramel as my submissives. One simply wouldn’t fit the bill. I need them both for different reasons. Joyce fits the bill for my regular kink—fuck and play, and she has the most magnificent mouth my dick has ever felt. Caramel is a different story.
Caramel is the closest thing to a girlfriend that I’ve had in years, only because she’s steady and because I mostly just fuck her. I don’t take her out anywhere. I don’t spend special moments with her. I just call her when I want to see her and we fuck like rabbits. I figured that since I paid for her, I might as well use her.
I haven’t seen Golden in nearly two months, but that hasn’t lessened my craving for her. I think about her constantly and in a strange way, Caramel is my connection to her. It was Golden who brought Caramel to my attention. I fucked her senseless the day I wanted Golden so badly that I was nearly mindless. Her hips and ass round out shapely almost just like Golden’s. Most of all, she lets me fuck her any which way I want for as long as I want. She’ll take it in any orifice in any position for hours at a time. And though I’ll never speak her name aloud, I think it every time my dick is blasting hard in Caramel’s ass, pussy, mouth, or between her tits…
It’s the only way I can satisfy my need to have her and resist the urge to go back to that damn club… and it’s working. I’ve been able to quench my thirst for a woman who means nothing but disaster for me—vicariously feeding my addiction without actually partaking of the harmful, brain-eating, body-devouring drug. It’s the best of both worlds and as I pull into the parking garage at Escala, I dial her number.
“Hello?” she answers.
“Be ready in twenty minutes. I’m sending Taylor for you…”
She had tried reaching me a few times in the first weeks after I left her standing gape-mouthed in Crimson, but that soon fell to nothing when she figured out that I was most likely the one at the base of her most recent calamity. Elena Lincoln is probably… no, not probably… definitely in the worst condition that she’s ever been in since I’ve ever met her. I hadn’t heard from her for months, but I had put my plan in motion mere weeks after I discovered that she set me up as bait for her competition.
She should know that she’s no competition for Golden. Even though I loathe the woman for the way things turned out between us, she’s still hot, delicious, and irresistible. Elena’s just old, washed-up, and delusional.
And she most likely regrets ever meeting me… or at least ever crossing me.
Propaganda can often do more damage than any financial harm you could inflict upon anyone. Little whisperings of unclean, unsafe practices at her salons grew into a huge wildfire of mishaps and bad experiences. People imagine that see or experienced something they never experienced if it’s suggested to them convincingly enough. Since bad news travels quickly, Elena saw her clientele dwindle significantly in a matter of just a few weeks.
Sending the health department to investigate her very shortly after the rumors took on a life of their own was the poison pill. They didn’t find anything… at least, as far as I know, they didn’t… but the rumors were enough to nearly destroy her before I really put the guns to her financial backers and reputation. She finally mustered up the nerve to see me after a few months of trying to put out impossible fires.
“I have no idea why you’re here,” I say to her once security escorts her into the first-floor conference room at Grey House. “I thought my last conversation with you made it clear that our friendship—such as it was—is now over.”
“Christian, please,” she says, looking older than I’ve ever seen. The stress is really taking its toll on her. “Horrible things have been happening to me!”
“And I should care because?” I ask stoically. The only reason I even agreed to see her is because I wanted to see for myself just how far the mighty have fallen.
“Oh, God,” she says, weeping bitterly into her hands. “Christian, it’s terrible. I don’t know what the hell is going on. Someone started some horrible rumors that were completely untrue and I haven’t been able to recover from them. I don’t even know where they’re coming from, and at this point, it doesn’t matter because they’re everywhere!”
“What is this, some ploy of yours for attention?” I say, feigning ignorance.
“Of course, not!” she nearly shrieks. “I’m going to lose everything! I’m fucking going to lose everything! Linc doesn’t even know and he’s going to fucking cut me off when he finds out!”
Linc—Elena’s virtually absentee husband. I forgot about him. There’s a deathblow I hadn’t considered. I wonder if Linc knows what she does with her evenings while he’s globe-trotting? Does he even care? The rules of the lifestyle dictate that I can’t blatantly tell him what she gets up to when he’s not looking, but surely some insinuation of extracurricular activities from an unrelated source wouldn’t be a violation of any rules, would it?
Nah, even I can’t stoop that low.
“What the hell are you going on about?” I say, disinterested.
“Oh, of course you wouldn’t know!” she weeps. “What would you know about salons anyway?”
“Nothing, except that one woman walks in and a completely different woman walks out and right now, you’re wasting my time.” I move to stand.
“You can at least listen,” she says, still sobbing.
“You’re not saying anything that I want to hear, nor are you making any sense.” I could tell her that the demise of her business and reputation were both at my hands, but it’s so much more fun watching her squirm.
“Someone started a rumor that one of my salons had bedbugs and scabies!” she shrieks. “It was a total fabrication—the health department even cleared me, but people started thinking they saw them and scratching and itching when they came to the salons. The next thing I knew, clientele started thinning and many of them stopped coming altogether. I even got bills sent to me for the costly extermination of client homes! People would get mosquito bites and bee stings and send me a bill for bed bugs!”
She’s damn near hysterical now and I’m fighting not to laugh sinisterly at her misfortune. My plan went better than I could have even hoped and I didn’t have to spend a nickel. Then, I discover that not only do I have yet another avenue to cause her distress in Linc if I so desired, but that her troubles are still not over.
“I’ve lost all of my clients and one by one, my staff deserted me. They’ve all gone to Alfonso’s or Gary Manuel or Allure. I gave those ungrateful cunts and flamers a job and they all left me at the first sign of trouble!”
“Well, what did you expect?” I ask flatly. “People have bills to pay, responsibilities. By your own admissions you lost all your clientele because you had a pest problem. What, did you think your staff would just stick around and go broke with you out of loyalty?”
“I didn’t have a pest problem!” She’s coming completely unglued.
“Apparently, you had some kind of problem. You lost all of your clientele,” I say matter-of-factly. She’s sobbing almost uncontrollably now.
“As if I wasn’t having enough trouble, someone set fire to my Medina location!” she cries. “All I have at this point is my locations and my equipment, and someone set fire to my goddamn salon! What’s worse is that the insurance company won’t pay because they think I did it!” She’s a total mess. Can she still be a Domme at night like this? If they hate each other as much as it appears, Golden must be loving this current development.
My blood immediately and simultaneously burns hot and runs cold at the thought of her.
“What makes you think I would give a fuck about what’s going on with you?” I say, my voice dropping several octaves to relay my disgust. Her eyes rise to mine—bloodshot and drenched with tears. “Did you forget that you nearly sent me to my death over a golden-clad piece of ass? That psychotic sadist almost killed me because you convinced me that she was just another conquest without warning me just how insane she really was. I. Could’ve. Died. Or at the very least, ended up like that guy Lester, and you didn’t think to warn me. You just threw me into the ring like some expendable toy, and you think I really care that you’ve lost everything? You haven’t lost everything, yet, Elena. You still have your husband and your life. Come back and see me when a bullet goes flying past your head. In the meantime, stay the fuck away from me, because I think you deserve every fucking thing you get!”
“I see you never sealed the deal,” she hisses through her teeth. “I thought you could do anything. I thought you were the all-powerful, all-seductive Christian Grey, shaper of destinies and able to make panties drop with a single word! I had no idea how wrong I was. That’s what I get for sending a boy to do a man’s job!”
Wow. She quickly forgets her place, doesn’t she?
“At least I still have my business,” I taunt. “What do you have? Bed bugs took your day job and Golden took your night job and you’re standing here trying to be superior over me? You better call Linc and tell him what’s going on before he kicks you out on your ass, Blondie.”
The rage that rises in that woman, I don’t think I’ve ever seen before—not even when Golden was aiming that gun at my head. She finds the strength of Hercules, picks up a nearby potted plant and lunges it at me. The vase is some kind of pottery and I don’t have enough time to react as I’m in utter disbelief that she was even able to lift the damn thing! I can only put my arm up in front of my face to protect my eyes and head. It did very little good. The damn thing shatters on my arm, sending moist soil into my hair, face and all over my clothes.
That. Shit. Hurt!
“You’re fucking crazy!” I roar, shaking dirt out of my hair and nursing my throbbing arm. “Have you lost your goddamn mind?”
“You!” she cries. “You had something to do with this! I know you did!”
Several members of my security come rushing into the conference room just as she grabs the largest chair at the table and hurls it through a nearby plate-glass window.
This woman is certifiable. She has gone completely over the edge.
“Goddammit, Christian! How could you?” she shrieks. “How? God, how?”
These fucking idiots are still standing around watching!
“I realize that it’s probably pretty incredulous to watch a little blonde woman throw a 30-pound chair out of a window, but what am I paying you fuckers for? Get. That. Bitch!”
They suddenly spring into action, but Elena is faster and dashes out of the broken window—in stilettos!
Yeah, she’s crazy.
Some of my security staff follow her out the window while others scramble out the door they just came into, most likely to try to head her off. I stand there shaking my head and holding my arm, covered in dirt and whatever fucking plant was in that vase. A few moments later, Taylor and two other members of the security staff come through the door. Taylor is momentarily stunned, but quickly regains his professionalism.
“What do you need, sir?” he asks.
“Get me a change of clothes and call the police,” I say stiffly. He nods and gestures to the two men standing next to him, who both leave the room as I turn to face him.
“And Taylor?” He turns his gaze back to me.
“Call an ambulance. I can’t move my fucking arm.”
A/N: So… the plot thickens! Trey and Golden have now vowed to stay away from each other, but in the process, are taking their sexual frustrations out on other people. And what do you think will happen to poor Elena next? What about Christian’s arm? Stay tuned!
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