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.
I’m as loose as a fucking noodle these days. Changing my taste was the best decision I’ve ever made. I never paid attention to just how many juicy fucking asses there are in the lifestyle and believe me, they come in all shapes, sizes, and colors! I’ve been having the time of my life and truly making up for lost time over the last two weeks, and this neglected dick has come hot and hard with the aid of two—or four—juicy bubbles many times.
Thoughts of Golden still occasionally creep in, especially if I see someone that looks like her or an ass that reminds me of her… or if I’m coming really hard and some sub is doing something really kinky to me. Yeah… I still think of her sometimes, but with all this ass around, it ain’t so torturous!
Who the fuck am I kidding? Tonight, it’s torturous as hell, which is why I’ve arranged for Sparkle to meet me at Club Syndrome for a scene. Sparkle… yeah, right. I wonder where she saw Golden? Her gimmick is sparkles. Sequins, mostly, and she doesn’t even come close. She’s going to get the Caramel treatment tonight. I’ve instructed her to dress in gold lingerie, then I’m going to bind her, beat the hell out of her, then fuck her senseless.
I arrive at the club dressed in my usual gear—black jeans and T-shirt with my Italian leather jacket and hiking boots. I make my way to the bar and order a shot of Jack, neat. I take a moment to focus on the music and the still of the crowd and hear a familiar song… too familiar. Shit, I’m hearing that shit everywhere now. While I impatiently await my drink, I scan the room curiously and who the fuck do I see curled masterfully around the pole, blonde tresses splayed out in the air like a magic fan.
It couldn’t be. It fucking couldn’t be!
I watch with narrowed eyes as she finishes her routine, too fucking angry to be aroused. I try to get away from this bitch and now… she’s here?
The same silence falls over this room when she coils down the pole as it did at Crimson, and I’m livid that she controls the fucking crowd everywhere she goes. She exits the stage as usual and I push through the crowd until I reach her, snatching her arms back in both hands.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I demand through clenched teeth. “Are you stalking me?”
She’s alarmed at first, but then her face turns to stone.
I’m snapped out of my anger immediately by her cold and meticulous tone and placement of her words. I drop my hands from her arms and she glares at me for a moment with captivating golden, cat-eye contacts. Without a word, she saunters past me like we were just talking about the weather and walks over to a table. Just like at the Crimson, she throws back a double-shot of vodka, unwraps a golden lollipop and sucks it into her mouth. Then she sits at her table and watches the crowd. I don’t know if she’s watching the dancers or watching me.
I’m frozen in place for several minutes, eyes narrowed, just watching her work that damn lollipop. After a while, one of the dungeon monitors comes over and whispers something in her ear. She effortlessly slides out of the booth and begins to walk towards the back of the club. I watch her disappear into a door behind a very large dungeon monitor and I quickly rush to an unoccupied observation room, locking the door behind me.
I’m just in time for the show to begin.
When the lights come up, she’s facing… me!
She’s in the two-way mirror and I swear she’s looking dead at me. It’s a chilling feeling. She has a whip in each hand—a brown and gold leather dog whip with a two-tongued quirt in her right and a brown leather one-tail with a five-tailed stinger in her left. She’s staring me down—I know she is—with those fucking golden cat-eyes. I’m paying more attention to her attire now, and she’s wearing another embellished golden corset that makes her tits sit up and burst out so much that she’s risking a nip slip if she sneezes. A gold latex mini-skirt is wrapped around her beautiful hips, and her legs and thighs are confined in a pair of stiletto peep-toe boots that look like a tower of golden bracelets spanning up her thighs. Her ass is even bigger than I remember—bigger than any of the bubble butts I’ve gripped in the last two weeks.
Fuck! How can that be?
She just stands that gazing at me, challenging me, with her legs parted like she’s ready to fire—like the old time western gunfighters… only much fucking sexier. Each of her whips hang ready in her hands, the tips lying deceivingly useless on the floor. I know she can’t see me through the two-way mirror, but I swear she’s glaring right at me. She faces off with me for an eternity before she slowly turns to face her unfortunate—or fortunate—victim.
He’s bound the same way that I had Joyce strapped up the night Golden watched me… the only night Golden watched me, as far as I know—but his thighs are in large leather swings holding his legs open and supporting most of his weight. His wrists are in leather cuffs and all four extremities are held up by chains encased in leather attached to the ceiling. He has some golden metal apparatus hanging out of his mouth, but I can’t make out what it is.
She stands about three to four feet behind him and strikes him with one of her whips, and then the other—softly, like in a brushing motion. She continues to do this and it seems a little boring… for about thirty seconds. Then, her slow, soft, brushing motions become harder and faster—masterful, alternating, unrelenting circular blows on this poor guy’s back that are meant to bring the blood and color to the surface, inflicting enough pain to induce subspace if necessary without breaking the skin.
Her sub is grunting and jerking in his binds, struggling in his swing as a sheen of sweat appears on his skin. When she’s satisfied that he’s had enough, she leisurely casts her whips to the side and admires his bruises, nearly purring at her handy work as he gasps for air around this metal… thing in his mouth. Even from here, with his thigh blocking his cock, I can see that he’s semi-erect.
She strolls around his body, her hand dragging slowly down his bound leg and her hips grinding from side to side in an exaggerated walk. I swear to God, I’m not imagining it… her ass is bigger than I remember! And my dick is rock fucking hard!
Her hand drags slowly down the inside of the lucky submissive’s leg and thigh until she reaches his crotch.
“Mmmm… Almost there, Sampson,” she purrs. Sampson. That explains the long hair and ripped bod… and reinforced bounds. At her command, he releases the metal object from his mouth into her hand. I still can’t make out what the hell it is except that whatever was in his mouth was cone-shaped and it looked to be attached to a claw or something. Golden goes to the wall and cranks the handle of a winch, causing her submissive’s legs to widen even further, giving full view of his stiffening cock and causing him to grunt in discomfort. She ignores his guttural protests and strides over to a table beside him. I can see her attaching something to the golden apparatus in her hand, but I still can’t see what it is.
She walks back around to the front of her subject and runs her hand from the top of his chest all the way down to his groin where she takes his cock in her hand and begins to stroke it. His breath is heavy as he begins to harden even more in her hand.
“Are you ready for me, Sampson?” she croons in a voice that shoots straight to my dick, and she might as well have been talking to me.
“Yes, Mistress,” he chokes, so aroused that he can barely breathe, his impressive muscle tone displaying in every sinew of his body. She takes the apparatus and slides it down over his semi-erect dick. It’s only now that I can see that the top portion of the apparatus is a cock ring and the claw is a testicle restraint. As he grunts, squirms, wiggles and groans while her hand disappears, I discover that the “cone” is some kind of butt plug.
The thrill and satisfaction on her face and she positions this thing on her subject and watches the reaction of his dick is a thing of beauty and a wonder to behold. I sometimes watch her body language, her technique when she’s with her submissives. I always watch their reactions, sometimes living vicariously through what they may be feeling. I rarely watch her expressions—rarely try to gauge what she’s really feeling, besides satisfaction when she’s sitting on some poor guy’s face… or lucky guy, I should say. Watching her fondle this guy’s shaft as she positions this obvious pain/torture device and the look on her face tells me more than any words possibly could.
She has a thing for dicks. Not men, dicks… so why no fucking? How can you have a thing for dicks and not want to fuck them?
She’s a goddamn master with her hands, stroking his dick and cupping his balls through this cage, pushing that fucking butt plug into his ass, fucking every part of his groin and pelvis the entire time while he hangs helpless in these fucking restraints. He’s so fucking ripped that he looks as if he could tear himself out of them at any time, but I know that he can’t. I know that no matter how he writhes and flexes and jerks, he can’t escape those bounds… or her hands…
And she’s loving every minute of it.
She’s studying his face and his reactions as she fondles his genitalia, strokes his dick with just the right pressure, runs her fingertips over his frenulum, pushes the butt plug into his ass or torments the skin on his testicles. He groans that familiar sound that we make when we’re aroused, when we’re rising to the point of ejaculation—our breathing changes and our hips thrust faster, only he can’t thrust. His thigh muscles can only flex and contract, shine with the sweat of imitating a good fuck in a tight pussy as her hand caresses his dick and that butt plug rubs against the pleasure muscle in his ass that will make him shoot his load. He groans in his chest, signaling that it won’t be long now… and she stops and steps away from him.
As if he expects the gesture, he breathes deeply to control his frustration and impending ejaculation. His hips appear to be thrusting, but they’re not. He’s bound too securely. It’s the flexing of his incredibly toned thighs and the throbbing of his intensely erect dick. This fucker is hot even by my standards, and I’m not attracted to men in the slightest. I can imagine the women on the main floor are salivating and the men are glued to the window—some of them shamelessly stroking their dicks through their pants.
I won’t even fucking touch mine.
I have a clear view of his erect member now, even from behind his thigh. It’s seeping with precum and begging for release and he’s breathing hard like a caged animal, the ends of his long, dark hair now curled with moisture. She returns to him with what appears to be a miniature flogging crop or paddle of some kind, which she holds in one hand, smacking the other with it.
“I have your favorite toy here, Sampson,” she says, softly. “Do you want it?”
Her submissive opens his eyes and looks at her.
“Yes… Mistress,” he breathes.
“How badly do you want it, Sampson?” she teases.
“So much… please, Mistress… so badly…” he beseeches.
“Will you give me five?” she says softly. I see him swallow hard.
“Yes, Mistress,” he whispers. “I’ll give you five.” Five what? Five orgasms? He got it like that? She smiles fiendishly and we’re about to find out. She moves over to the small table next to him and makes an adjustment or two, then flips a switch and his thighs tighten again. He groans and his breath skips, then quickens.
“Relax, Sampson, or it will be over way too soon,” she coaches as she caresses his chest. He breathes deeply as she rubs her hand up and down his chest and then to his dick. He groans as she strokes his cock and I realize that he’s hooked to an e-stim machine. Each stroke is sending jolts through his dick that can be quite painful, unless you like that sort of thing. He squeezes his eyes shut and his entire body tenses as she plays with his stiffening member. In a matter of moments, his body begins to tremble and the veins pop out in his thighs. She steps back from him and watch his member throb madly and a very small amount of semen squirts from the slit of his head. He’s panting frantically and trembling almost uncontrollably in his restraints, his chains rattling and screaming his torment.
“That was a fast one, Sampson,” she chides. “Are you sure you can do this?”
Ruined orgasms?? She’s giving him five ruined orgasms?? Like that?? I’m not sure I can watch this!
“Yes!” Sampson pants. “Yes, Mistress… I… I can do it!”
“You’re so brave,” she praises. “That pleases me… but you have to maintain longer. That one was very fast.”
“Y…” He swallows. “Ye… yes, Mistress!” This. Shit. Is torture. And she’s a fucking master at it! She adjusts the machine again, and this time, she walks behind him. He tries once more to control his breathing, and I realize that this is a technique of his. This is how he likes to play. He likes his limits tested. The farther he can go, the more he enjoys it. Mirrored nails scrape from his shoulders down his back and he shivers at the surprise. She repeats the gesture and he relaxes a bit. She reaches over to the table again and now she retrieves what looks like a probe. I’m almost afraid that she’s going to put it in his ass, but I know the butt plug is already there, so that’s out. Instead, she begins to run the probe and up and down his back.
And he’s trembling again.
His breathing is erratic, but he’s trying to control it nonetheless. His fists clench and his eyes squeeze shut once more. He groans as she continues to stroke his back with probe and they fight for control of his body, her pushing his limits and him hanging on by a delicate thread.
After several tense moments, she stops her torturous massage and he has a moment to catch his breath. He takes in several gasps of precious air as she reaches around his body and caresses his thighs. Apparently satisfied with what she feels, she steps back once more and begins her massage, and he’s thrown immediately back onto the cliff from which he came. With no time to prepare for the assault, his dick immediately thickens and pinkens, his thighs tense and he cries out in agony. She releases him immediately from his stimulation, just in time to get a reward of a small squirt of interrupted semen from the head of his penis.
He groans in frustration this time, a mournful sound, his head down and his chin in his chest. The chains are too laden with his anguished body to protest as he pants like his has run as marathon… but he hasn’t tapped out yet, and she won’t relent. She’s behind him again, caressing his body with her hands and saying something in his ear that only he can hear. He nods as she speaks to him and her hands rub his thighs, then his hips, then the meat of his buttocks, the entire time he’s breathing, trying to maintain his control—until she gets to his butt. Then his breathing is erratic again.
I don’t know what she’s doing, but he’s trembling again, holding his breath. Then, again after several moments, one hand appears around his stomach and the other disappears and he’s trembling again. His body stiffens, his thighs tense, and his head falls back on her shoulder, his eyes squeezed shut. That’s when I realize…
She’s fucking him with that e-stim butt plug.
He’s groaning now. He’s going to come. His dick is pink and angry and she’s not going to stop. It would be cruel if she stops. I can see the skin of his balls straining against the teeth of that cage. I fully expect to see fairytale creatures to run out of his dick when he finally blasts. That mournful groan begins in his throat again, and Golden does the unthinkable.
Both her hands appear around Sampson’s body and land on his chiseled stomach, his pulsing dick bobbing madly between his legs—glistening with promise and precum and grimacing with angry veins, but no fairytale creatures, not even a hint of ruin semen this time.
“Very good, Sampson!” she praises. Very good? You damn demon! How dare you put this man through this kind of fucking torment! This is insane! His dick is now some kind of crimson-colored-barbequed-smoked-sausage hue and if I’m counting correctly, he must endure two more of these things before you allow him to come! How long has he been in there? I’m afraid to look at my fucking watch—but I can’t turn away!
“I’m so proud of you, Sampson,” she purrs, as she circles his body. “What shall I subject you to next?”
God, she such a fucking sadist.
She’s behind him again with her whips, doing the same pattern that she did in the beginning, only this time, she occasionally brings the whip across his ass and the sensation causes a reaction in his dick. Once again, the blood has been brought to the surface of his skin and she concentrates her strikes on his ass.
His dick jerks with each strike.
Thwap! Thwap! Thwap!
He grunts on the third strike and once again, his thighs clench, and I resent the fact that I can tell when this poor sucker is about to come.
There’s the struggle and then the groan. Next, is the precum offering glistening at the tip of his head… and there it is.
But, she doesn’t stop.
Thwap! Thwap! Thwap!
And of course, there’s the inevitable squirt of please-Mistress-let-me cum that makes her stop whatever activity is bringing him torturous pleasure. I can only imagine that his entire body is one big pleasure/pain nerve begging to explode, and this is how she keeps them coming back. She takes them to the very edge of anything they’ve ever known and then she keeps pulling them back… but it’s not like she didn’t ask him before she started.
I’ve never seen anything so fucking cruel in my life… or so fucking hot.
“That was a pretty big squirt, Sampson,” she scolds.
“I… I tried, Mistress… I didn’t…give all…” he grovels.
“We’ll see,” she says, as she walks around to the front of him and grabs his swollen dick. “We’ll see.”
He exhales sharply as she strokes him slowly from base to tip, allowing her hand to course off the skin of the head in a torturous caress. I squirm myself when she does it and she’s not even touching me. She hasn’t given him a chance to calm from his near miss. He’s still highly aroused, and she’s giving him the equivalent of the finishing hand job… and she repeats the motion… slowly… torturously. He tenses and groans, and I squirm in my seat, mentally begging her to stop. She strokes again, her fingertips tormenting that swollen vein on the underside of the penis, all the way up to the nerves of frenulum, and over the sensitive rim and skin of the head. He shivers and gasps again, and I nearly crawl up in my fucking seat, my dick straining so hard against my fucking zipper that it hurts.
His dick extends to her, begging her to grab it again, squeeze it, stroke it, make it come. It’s jutting out, unforgiving and red—hot, imperfect, and wrinkled… and she just stares at it, before she caresses it again, tracing its imperfect veins as if following the trails of a roadmap. She’s momentarily fascinated with the object before she remembers her purpose and once again, strokes the member and elicits a mournful groan from its owner. Again, he takes the I’m-gonna-come position and squeezes his eyes shut, this time, a small whimpering coming from his chest. The last stimulation must have been too much for him, and Golden knows it. She tilts her head and examines him. She knows her subject. One more stroke, and he’s going to give her the offering he’s been working towards all night. She looks down at her masterpiece, and small amounts of semen is seeping from the head. Another ruined orgasm.
“Well, Sampson, I say you’ve done very well,” she says as she walks over to the table and adjusts the controls. Sampson’s body relaxes and I can only assume that she has deactivated the e-stim machine. “Are you ready for your favorite toy?”
His favorite toy? I would say he’s had enough. His head lulls back. He’s panting and out of breath, exhausted and sweating. His hair is drenched, curled from root to tip and he surprises the fuck out of me when he says,
I lean my elbows on my knees. I can’t believe what the fuck I just heard.
She picks up that mini-crop, pulls her arm back and smacks it hard across his thigh. He leaps and his chains protest the contact. She repeats the gesture on his calf, and he leaps again, his chains rattling once more. She smacks him again on the inside of the opposite calf, the inside of the opposite thigh, then whack right on his dick.
“Fuck!” I yelp, covering my mouth at the same time to muffle the sound. Sampson wasn’t quite so successful. His exclamation of pain could probably be heard over Puget Sound. That erection he had a moment ago has shriveled down to nothing and I am now questioning how the fuck this is his favorite toy.
That question answered in a matter of moments.
This sadistic golden goddess takes hold of that golden cage and butt plug and starts manipulating it once more. At the same time, she takes the mini-crop and starts doing that super-fast spanking fluttering mockingbird wing thing on his dick.
Of course. Who the fuck can withstand that shit? You’ve got a butt plug masterfully working the gland that makes you bust a nut; you got a cage and a hand massaging your fucking balls; you got a cock-ring at the base of your dick intensifying a fucking forced blast that been ruined five goddamn times; you got a mini-crop fluttering on your dick and that bundle of nerves right underneath the tip of your head that only needs the rhythm of a good wind to make you come; and all this shit is being imposed upon you by a hot-ass bitch with great tits on display and a big ass draped in gold and a skirt short enough that you can smell her pussy.
Yeah, any man can resist that shit, right?
I sit back and wait for the explosion as poor Sampson croons and squirms and rocks and his dick swells at Golden’s mercy. She’s not even paying attention to him. She’s paying total attention to his dick. I have no doubt that the entire club is watching Sampson, listening to his amorous song as he leans back in his restraints and gives his body over to Golden and this massive orgasm that’s about to overtake him. I, however, am watching Golden.
I finally see what makes her tick. She doesn’t need to fuck. She likes the control. She likes to have them in her hand. She likes knowing that she can have you in her hand. She wants to know that she can captivate and hold you, but she doesn’t want anyone to captivate and hold her.
Sampson’s sounds are no longer mournful. Passionate groans escape his throat followed by soulful cries as his orgasm bursts from his dick, causing Golden to gasp in amazement for a moment before she catches herself and milks his penis while he moans out his satisfaction. There’s an eerie silence for a moment once the scene is over as Sampson catches his breath and Golden admires her handiwork. Then, Golden stands and I realize…
The scene’s not over.
Golden goes back to the table and starts the e-stim machine again before going back to Sampson.
“How are we doing?” she asks.
“Fine… Mistress,” he pants. Good God, this man is a machine. I don’t think I can watch much more of this. She takes a small controller in her hand and pushes a button on the handle. Sampson’s entire body jerks, causing Golden to smile as she walks around to the front of him again and examines him.
“Ooo, those balls are so swollen, Sampson,” she coos. “I thought you just came. Do you want to come again?” She gives him another jolt with the controller in her hand and his body jerks again as he grunts in agony.
“Yes,” he chokes, “yes… please… Mistress…”
“Mmm, yes, I think you do,” she purrs.
The next several minutes is a combination of e-stim wands on his dick and torso with the butt plug still on his prostate, but surprisingly, the thing that got him hard again was the gold five-tail on his chest. I don’t know if the sensation of being whipped did it for him, watching her whip him did it, or both, but I know what happened next did it for all of us.
Golden got a good old-fashioned wand and put a masturbator on it, then slid that masturbator on his dick and left it there. She then sat in the observation chair across from her subject and made herself comfortable. He frowns at first.
“Sampson,” she says, softly. “Watch me.” His body jerks as she pushes the buttons on her remotes and his e-stim devices come to life as well as the wand attached to the masturbator on his erect dick. He gasps as he adjusts to the stimulation, but he’s not ready for her next move.
And neither am I.
She throws her legs over the arm of the chair and reveals a naked and shaved pussy. I. Am fucking. Drooling. And so is poor Sampson.
“Mistress…” he breathes.
“Watch me,” she whispers as she puts her finger in her mouth and wets it, then sticks it into that sweet and, no doubt, tight little pussy.
“Fuck me,” I whisper to myself and poor Sampson gasps as he licks his lips, his breath getting totally away from him and his dick springing to life harder and faster than it was before, so much so that I can hear the masturbator buzzing around him now.
“Do you like it?” she asks softly.
“Yes,” I reply, without thinking, then I realize… she ain’t talking to me.
“Yes, Mistress,” Sampson breaths, squirming against the masturbator, his dick jutting erect inside of it.
“I like it, too,” she says, eyeing his hard dick and finger herself harder, occasionally bringing her fingertip out to fondle her clit.
I will not grab my dick… but I get off to this sight many times after this!
I can’t even see Sampson anymore. I just see Golden—leaning back in that chair, her eyes transfixed on the sight in front of her, fucking herself with her hand. Her leg is thrown over the arm of the chair and her pussy is wet. She occasionally licks her lips and she’s breathing hard, her chest rising and falling barely contained in her bustier. Her hand moves wild and fast over her clit and in and out of her core and her breathing quickens.
“Come for me,” she breathes. “Come for me, Sampson.”
From across the room, a deep, tortured groan reminds me that I was watching a scene, and Sampson comes hard for a second time with the aid of the e-stim prostate massage and a buzzing masturbator attached to his dick. His head falls back, his eyes squeeze shut, and he tenses and cries out in agony as his body jerks wildly. Golden’s cry of passion draws my attention immediately to her and I watch as she arches in her own orgasm while watching Sampson burst into his.
She looks fucking exquisite… and I am entranced. My gaze stays on her until she rides out her orgasm and falls spent and content into the seat, panting and pushing her hair from her face.
And the lights go down.
I have to regroup from that shit. That was one of the most intense things I’ve ever experienced in my life. I felt like I was in the damn room, like I was in there with Golden… feeling her body and having those orgasms and making her come… And now I’m spent. Hell, I didn’t even come.
And didn’t I come here to meet a fucking sub? Goddammit!
I stand and straighten my clothes to leave the observation room, but when I open the door, I see her. Fuck, she’s standing right down the hall looking fresh as a bunny—with him! With Sampson! He’s standing there in a robe talking to her like he didn’t just come six or seven times! How the fuck long was I sitting here?
I push the door closed, but leave it cracked just enough to see them. She says something to him, but I can’t hear her.
“You were magnificent, as always… my Mistress,” he says with a heavy accent that I can’t place and kisses her gently behind the ear, a gesture of clear and pure admiration. “Until next time… Inamorata.” He stretches the last word and rolls the “r.” I roll my eyes. She gives him a sweet smile and a soft caress on his cheek before proceeding toward the front of the club and he toward the back. As she sashays past the door of the observation room I’m occupying, she pushes the door hard so that it smacks me in the face. My first instinct is to call her a bitch, but I can’t be angry that she had me pegged. I just rub my nose and wait until she passes before I exit the room. I don’t bother going to her table when I leave the room. Instead, I just leave the club.
I find myself parked on her block, just down the street from her house. She hasn’t arrived from the club yet and I’m not sure why the fuck I’m even here. She won’t let me near her and I’m not so sure that I even want to be near her. But watching her at the club tonight was… different. She was challenging me, but what the fuck it so different about that?
She challenged me in the Cross negotiations six months ago. I got exactly what I wanted for exactly the price I wanted to pay, and for some reason, I still feel like I capitulated somehow.
She challenged me every time I stuck my dick in Caramel… every time I rammed that pussy or that ass from behind, sinking my fingers into the meat of her thigh and thinking about the time I gripped Golden’s thigh against her wall and came in my pants like a fucking teenager who couldn’t hold his load.
She challenged me every time I thought about going to Crimson just to get a glimpse of her, but didn’t, because I wanted to avoid her… needed to avoid her… only to find out that she was avoiding Crimson, too. Why was she avoiding Crimson? Did I affect her the same way that she affected me? She wanted to avoid me…
But she challenged me tonight. She knew that I was in that observation room. She faced off with me the moment the lights rose. She looked me dead in the eye as if that mirror wasn’t even there and she didn’t even blink. She’s fearless, but she’s obviously not impenetrable. So, what’s her deal… and why am I here?
The Town Car passes me and pulls up in front of Golden’s house. The driver exits and walks around to the rear passenger door. Golden pours out of the vehicle in a shimmering, shoulder-to-toe, soft gold faux fur coat to protect her from the elements. Where someone else would look garish and brassy in the seemingly gaudy creation, Golden looks elegant and classy, emitting an effortless grace as she stands on the sidewalk looking at… me…
Again… she’s looking directly at me.
It really irritates me the way that she can read me that way. I know the Town Car drove right by me, but it’s not like I’m sitting right in front of her house. I’m down the block, for God’s sake—not far down the block, but down the block. My car doesn’t have Christian Grey flashing in big yellow letters on it or that damn red arrow pointing over me that says, “He is here,” and yet there she is, staring right at me like I’m under a fucking spotlight with a goddamn beacon around my neck! My hands grip the steering wheel in frustration as I glare right back at her ass, pissed as fuck that she just turned right around and nonchalantly stared right in my face with those insufferable golden contacts. I fucking hate for people to be able to figure me out so easily. What the hell is it about…
Tap tap tap tap tap!
I nearly jump the fuck out of my skin at the close tapping on the window right next to my head. I turn to see a well-dressed man in black with a white shirt and black tie leaning down to my window. It’s her driver. I was so focused on her that I didn’t even see him approach the car. I lower the window and say nothing.
“Good evening, sir,” he says in a professional tone. “The lady would like to know if you intend to allow her to stand there until her toes are frostbitten.”
His words bite, delivered with the perfect amount of professionalism to make me grit my teeth, raise the window, and open my door. He takes two steps back, then proceeds to walk back towards the Town Car. I close the door to my car and fall in step a few feet behind him as he proceeds to Golden and helps her navigate the sidewalk in her stilettos until she reaches the light of her entry. They exchange words and he tips his head before turning to leave, taking a few steps in my direction.
“Good evening, sir,” he says again as he passes me, but doesn’t wait for a response. Golden is standing just inside her doorway now, her man… slave… sub… whatever he is, standing just off to the side. I sigh infinitesimally and follow her to the door.
“Why are you here, Trey?” she asks. There’s no confrontation in her voice.
“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. I’m sitting on the same sofa where I gave her that damn necklace… where I nearly lost control—and my life—the day that bullet came whizzing past my head. I eyeball the wall across the room between the bar and the bookshelf where I pinned her soft body and came hard inside my pants against her hot pussy. I can still smell the arousal in her skin from that night. It was months ago and I can still smell it. That’s how I know she can destroy me. That’s why I know I should stay the fuck away from her. For my own self-preservation, I need to avoid this woman like the plague.
So, why the fuck can’t I just do that?
A fire crackles in the fireplace across from where we’re sitting, setting the atmosphere for a perfectly romantic night, yet I’ve put as much space between us on this sofa as possible. When she offered me a drink, I opted for soda so that I could keep a level head, but there’s nothing level-headed about being in this woman’s house at this time of night… hot and bothered and frustrated and I left my sub at the club. Bad form, Grey, very bad form.
“You have a real parlor,” I observe, even though this is my third time in this room. “Nobody younger than my mother has a parlor, and you have a real fucking parlor.” She raises her eyebrow. This statement has caught her off guard. It’s certainly not what she expected. She rises and goes back to the bar to refresh her drink. She changed from her Golden gear when she got home—making me wait again, of course—and now she’s wearing a soft azure chiffon floor length halter dress with a mini-length lining, nude stiletto sandal, and gold bracelets pushed halfway up her forearms. Her hair is in a sexy-as-hell messy ponytail and her makeup is dark and dramatic.
“It serves the purpose,” she says, as she walks back to the sofa and sits at the end with a fresh drink. And what purpose is that—tormenting the fuck out of men until you have them wound so goddamn tight that they don’t know whether they’re coming or going? I scoff tragically at my unasked question and turn my attention back to the fire. Why the fuck am I here?
“You want to figure me out,” she taunts. I don’t look at her.
“I don’t know that I do,” I reply. “I don’t know that I’ll like what I find.”
And I feel a disturbance in the force.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she says. Her voice is deceiving. It’s supposed to be controlled. At least that’s what she wants you to believe, but she’s perturbed. It’s even, no fluctuation or emotion—nothing to give her away… that’s what she wants you to think. What she doesn’t know is that I’m at my most vulnerable right now. Well, maybe she does know, but it wouldn’t matter. Nonetheless, when I’m here, I’m my most observant. I’m that trapped rat looking for every advantage, every weakness, trying to find a way out even when I know there is none; even when the cat has me by the tail, fangs open and I’m staring at her tonsils about to take that final trip down her throat to my doom, I can still see every molecule of every situation as clear as a bell… like at the moment of your death.
She’s a man-eater and she loves it. She knows where our power lies and she knows how to harness it. If she doesn’t know exactly how to harness it, she spends every moment trying to figure it out. That’s why she doesn’t fuck, because she can’t hide the dick. She has to see it. It’s her gauge. If it doesn’t respond the way that she wants, then she has to change her tactic. If she can make it throb, make it ache, make it hurt, make it cum without hiding it in that dark hole like every other average little pussy… well, that’s her power. That’s her mystery.
That’s what makes her Golden.
And she’s fucking good at it.
She has so many ways to make you suffer and make you squirm. I’m trying not to squirm just thinking about some of the things she does to those poor souls in the exhibition rooms. I sip my drink, suddenly wishing I had asked for something stronger.
Any tight, dark hole or right amount of friction anywhere can make you come, but it takes some real Jedi, psyche-yo-mind, transcendental, subspace, get-into-your-head other level shit for somebody to make you come like Niagara fucking Falls without even touching your dick, or by beating you, or by sending electric shock through your ass. Who the fuck would know that?
Why yes, Mistress, high voltage in my asshole is very stimulating. Thank you very much! How the fuck does that conversation come about?
“Mr. Grey, have I lost you?” she says, her voice firm. I don’t react outwardly, but I flinch a bit inside. I know her keen senses probably picked up on the reaction, but it doesn’t matter. Like I said, mouse by the tail, staring at the tonsils, final trip down her throat…
“Far from lost me, Golden,” I reply. I know full well where I am and where I stand, or where I sit. I’ve been pulled into your web—I’ve tasted, smelled, and touched you and after months of not seeing your face, hearing your voice, tasting your lips, smelling your skin, or coming against your body, I get one glimpse of you… one glimpse, and it’s like no time has passed… no fucking time at all.
I need a goddamn cigarette and I don’t even fucking smoke.
She’ll fucking destroy me.
She stands slowly, a predator stalking her prey. I should have looked at her. I should have faced-off with her to let her know that I wasn’t afraid. I’m not afraid… but I don’t look at her. I don’t turn my gaze to her, because I know she’s a man-eater. I fucking want her in a way that I can’t explain. I did everything I could to get her the fuck out of my mind, out of my system and nothing fucking worked!
I tried to buy her and that didn’t work.
I tried to charm her and that didn’t work.
I tried to seduce her and that didn’t work.
I tried to strongarm her and that didn’t work.
When all else failed, I fucking tried to forget her and even that didn’t work.
And now, here I am in her goddamn house… again. The last time I was here, I came in my fucking pants like a fucking pervert. What’s the best that can come from this trip… I get arrested?
“Follow me,” she says, and breezes past me. I raise my head as she throws the parlor doors open and walks out of them without even waiting for me. I stand from the sofa and nearly have to run to catch up with her. I follow her through the house to a door that she unlocks and proceeds through it. When I fall in behind her, I see a staircase. I follow her down into a dark space and stop before I get to the bottom of the stairs… it’s pitch black…
And then there was light.
A gentle golden hue is cast on a black and gold dungeon, masterfully equipped even better than my playroom, and I thought I fucking had everything! There are sex chairs and bondage toys in here the likes of which I’ve never even seen. I’m stunned by the intricate detail of the masterful toys and equipment in this room. This stuff cost a fortune and a lot of it is custom-made.
“My minor was human sexuality, Mr. Grey,” she says as she stalks around her dungeon. “I know ways to make men come that most people have never even heard of. What you see in that club is only a fraction of what I can do.” I frown.
“You studied to do this?” I ask. She chuckles.
“No,” she says, her voice deep as she eyes me through a modified St. Andrews Cross. “Curiosity made me study. I just wanted to learn more. I had a… hunger, you could say… a yearning that just needed to be fed.” She walks around the cross and fondles a flogger hanging from a bar of impact devices. “It’s a long story, but let’s just say… I know that I’m fun to watch. I make it so on purpose, but I’m quite the professional at what I do.”
I’m a fly caught in a spiderweb. There’s no use in me trying to play the suave, debonair Christian Grey in this setting. I am definitely the prey right now…
“So, what does this mean to me?” I say as firmly as I can. “I’m a Dominant… and so are you.”
“And yet, you’re here,” she says, her arms folded and her legs spread, “in my dungeon.” I finally do something to assert a standoff and turn my back on her, observing the various apparatuses in the dungeon.
“I know you can’t say much,” I say with my back to her, trying to figure out the modifications on the extra-large spanking bench she has in the corner, “but your submissive tonight, he seemed to take certain liberties…” like when he kissed you after the scene.
“He’s not a submissive,” she corrects me. “He’s a masochist. He gets off on bondage and pain. There’s a difference.” I raise my eyebrows.
“So… you don’t get off on the Dominance?” I ask.
“Of course, I do,” she says, matter-of-factly, “but Dominance just needs a subject. You’re a Dom, you know how this works,” she says, her voice scolding. She’s right. I do, which is why you and I are like oil and water, Golden. We’ll never mix, except…
“This is all very interesting, and I’m sure we could swap some very detailed stories and techniques, but neither of us is interested in that, I think,” I say, which is a lie. I could honestly sit in her presence and listen to her talk about anything… any goddamn thing at all. She could talk to me about the stock market, star constellations, the fucking origin of lint and I would sit and listen—captivated—just to watch her mouth move. But the longer I stay in her fucking presence, the further I fall down the rabbit hole and I want to devour this woman. My only hope is escape, right the fuck now.
“You once asked me how you could enjoy the pleasure of my time,” she begins. Yeah… I did. Where’s this going?
“You have my attention,” I say.
“You want the pleasure of my time?” she says, gesturing around her dungeon. “This is how you get it.”
My head snaps back in horror. She can’t be serious. Is she expecting me to be her submissive?
“I don’t gaze longingly into anyone’s eyes and have long conversations about the future or swap stories about what we have in common and I sure as hell don’t let somebody drill into me until their winky is good and wet and leave their little droppings all inside me! Fucking is elementary and it’s messy. It’s for hormonal teenagers, lovers, making babies, and prostitutes and none of those are on my agenda. Men turn their bodies over to me and I make them come so hard that they think they see God. Anybody can jack you off. Your own fist can make you nut. Not many people in the world can do what I do, can make you feel what I can make you feel. So, Mr. Grey, would you like a taste of what you’ve been gagging for?” I glare at her.
“I’m not a submissive,” I nearly growl.
“I didn’t say that you were!” she retorts sharply. “Do you think any of those fucks that I torture and make them come until they’re mindless do so because they think they’re submissives? They want to transcend—they want more, they need more than a mindless fuck and a ten-second squirt into a black hole. That’s why they come to me. That’s why no one else will do.”
“You’re some fucking piece of work!” I declare. “You drive men out of their goddamn minds and you do that shit on purpose! You’re the worst kind of tease. You’re the kind of woman who would turn a man into a fucking serial killer out of pure frustration!”
That calm exterior cracks and those brown eyes widen to the size of saucers. You could catch flies—no, scratch that—rabbits in her mouth right now. There’s only one word to describe this expression on her face right now. She is appalled!
“How dare you!” she retorts. “You know who am I and you know exactly what I do! I didn’t pursue you! I never pursued you! You pursued me! I never presented myself to be anything that I wasn’t! I never came looking for you and I never sent for you! You followed me! You summoned me! And now here you are in my dungeon! My playroom! I’m not in yours, Mr. Grey, you’re in mine and you have the audacity to cast judgment on me?”
Um… okay. I was not prepared for that. Everything that she just said is the God’s honest truth. She didn’t pursue me, I pursued her—even in other women, I pursued her. I pursued her body in other forms; I pursued her face in my dreams; I pursued her any way that I could have her because I’m fucking obsessed with her, and when I can’t have her the way that I want her, then I’m pissed at her and start blaming her for being hot and inaccessible.
“Fuck!” I hiss under my breath and turn away from her again. Now is the time to leave, Grey. There’s another dry fuck in your future—this time, against that St. Andrew’s Cross, if you don’t start making your way up those goddamn steps right now…
“I should leave,” I say, heading for the stairs.
“Maybe that’s best,” she concurs, her voice irritated. I turn my gaze to her.
“Why did you bring me down here?” I snap.
“Why did you come to my home?” she retorts.
“I asked you first!” I counter.
“I don’t play fair,” she exclaims, putting her hands on her hips. I glare at her.
“You won’t leave me alone,” I admit. “For six months, I did everything I could not to think about you. I went to the club looking for you. When it obvious that you weren’t there, I stopped looking. I tried to forget you, but it was no use. You don’t even belong to me. I’ve never even had you—not really, yet I still can’t get you out of my fucking mind. You tried to kill me, though you swear you didn’t. Forgive me if being on the receiving end of a near-miss deadly projectile object somewhat clouds my judgment, but I still. Couldn’t. Fucking. Forget you. I broke up with the closest thing I had to a girlfriend because of you. Six months,” I hiss at the floor, frustrated, thrusting my hand in my hair. “Six months, I fucked that girl thinking of you. That’s why the fuck I’m in your home.” When I look up at her, her gaze is impassive. I might as well have been talking to the guy upstairs. “Now, why am I down here?”
“I’ve answered that question already,” she says coolly.
“You have not!” I challenge.
“Oh, I have,” she counters, “I just answered it with a question. You’re down here because you came to my home.” She walks to the far end of the wall and turns around to face me.
“I brought you down here because you want to be here, you just don’t want to admit it. You’ve seen me in the clubs, several times. You’ve seen what I do. Yes, you’ve rubbed your dick against me and you’ve come against my body, but you’re a Dominant, just like I am, and never once have you seen me submit. Yet, you’re here—in my house. You were here waiting for me when I arrived. Why are you in my dungeon, Mr. Grey? Because you want to be. For whatever reason you want to be here, you’re here. You’re under no misconception that I’m going to submit to you. You don’t even know me that well, but you know me better than that, yet here you are. So, you tell me, Chopper, why are you down here?”
Chopper. There’s that name again. I still don’t know what the hell it means. It couldn’t be Charlie Tango—hardly anybody knows I fly that thing and she didn’t know that the first time she called me that name.
“I don’t appreciate coy nicknames, Goldie,” I hiss.
“You’ve been going by one since I’ve known you, Trey!” she hisses back.
“’Trey’ is part of my name,” I state.
“Which part?” she scoffs.
“Surname,” I nearly growl. “Trevelyan-Grey. I’m sure you checked me out after you nearly separated my soul from its mortal coil. Did that part get past you, counselor?” The corner of her mouth rises in a half-smirk.
“I never even looked at the background check,” she says smugly, crossing her arms. “Blake told me who you were, and I knew I’d be seeing you at negotiations the next day with Wilma. I didn’t expect the outcome of the following evening, but I had no intention of ever seeing you again. So, I guess the answer to your question is yes, that part did get past me.”
She stands there staring at me, that smug smirk still plastered on her face. I’m a rat in a cage and she knows it. The cage is open, and I can leave at any time, but she knows that I don’t want to go. She crosses her feet at the ankles and folds her arms. Her smirk is gone, and her gaze is fixed.
“Your move, Chopper,” she says, firmly. “I don’t have all night. The stairs are right there in front of you. Nobody’s keeping you here. Now I ask again, would you like a taste of what you’ve been gagging for all this time?”
I examine her carefully and everything in me is telling me to run… run as far away from this woman as I can get and don’t look back. But I tried that already. I stayed away from her for months, away from the club for months and she still permeated my thoughts and dreams. I tried to turn another woman into her and still walked right into her web again trying to run away to a different fetish club.
This is fucking suicide.
If I stay, if I let her dominate me, I get a glimpse into her world. If I’m successful, I might be able to get close to her—to break her down and eventually get what I want from her. If I fail, I’ll at least get a taste of what those poor suckers get in the clubs, the elixir that keeps them coming back for more. That alone is worth the experience, but…
“I’m not a submissive.”
“We’ve had this conversation,” she chastises. “Are you like Elena? Do you think the only enjoyment a submissive garners from your presence is the pain you inflict upon them? Is that why you do this? I’m a sadist; I admit that. I get a certain amount of pleasure out of the pain that I inflict, but that’s not the whole purpose. If it were, I wouldn’t be Golden. Is that your purpose, Grey?”
Shit. What is my purpose? I just don’t like being bored. I don’t like the messiness of relationships. I like control. I like dominance. And I like sex.
“You’re an Alpha Male,” she states. “I can see right through you. You’ve never even experienced the pleasure of pain because you’ve always been top dog. You’re not even afraid of it, you just… haven’t.” She waves her hand dismissively on the last word. “You probably had that minimum sub training in the beginning that we all had, but you don’t even remember it, do you?”
I examine her like an extra-terrestrial being. How could she possibly know me so well without knowing me? Did Elena talk to her? No… no, Elena didn’t have this kind of insight. I turn to face her and narrow my eyes.
“You’ve missed the best part,” she says, pushing off the wall without coming any closer to me. “You’ve missed the part where you transcend, where you leave yourself, where you don’t know where the orgasm starts because every sense in your body is heightened. You’ve missed the part that makes the submissive return without being paid to do it.”
She turns her back to me and begins to fondle a whip. It’s handmade, braided leather—golden, of course—one-tailed with a stinger. She truly loves what she does, and she loves the male body. I’ve seen it—she knows it like a musician knows his instrument; like an author knows his story; like an artist knows his painting.
Can I trust her?
“Hard limits…” I begin.
“There are no hard limits, Grey,” she interrupts me. “You don’t like something I’m doing, you safeword, I stop. That’s it. I push you. I test you. I learn you. You feel, and you enjoy.”
“How do I know…” What am I asking?
“Have you seen anyone leave my presence dissatisfied?” she asks, her voice certain. I almost detest her cockiness, but she’s right. I don’t have a choice but to trust her, or leave.
I don’t dare let on how nervous I am.
“How do we do this?” I ask.
“You get undressed,” she says, “everything except pants and underwear. You can put your things over there on the valet.”
I look to where she’s pointing and there’s a valet in the corner. I walk over to it like I’m headed for execution and begin to undress—jacket, t-shirt, boots, socks…
“The belt, too,” I hear her say, and I realize that she’s been watching me disrobe. I should feel some sort of pride. Instead, I feel objectified. Is this how my submissives feel?
I remove the belt and place it on the valet with my other items of clothing before I turn around to face her. My jeans slide down on my hips as I walk toward her without the assistance of my belt to hold them up. She examines me like an exotic animal as I approach.
“Come closer,” she commands when I stop walking just beyond the stairs. I follow her instructions feeling more and more like a submissive every second.
“Stop. Right there.” She seems to have backed into the shadows, but she emerges when I’m standing near the middle of her dungeon. Her heels click on the hard floor and she moves in extremely close to me, only breaths away from my face.
“Are you ready?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say, my voice portraying a confidence I’m not feeling at the moment. She reaches over my head and I hear the rattle of chains as she produces a pair of leather cuffs.
“Your wrists,” she says. I present my hands to her and she fastens a leather cuff to each wrist. She goes over to the wall and pushes a button, and both my arms slowly rise over my head. When they’re extended almost as far as they can go, she releases the button. She turns around to face me and releases the ponytail from her hair. That one gesture almost has me salivating. She moves directly to the front of me again and reaches behind her neck, undoing the only button holding the azure blue creation to her body. When she drops her arms, it falls to the floor.
My eyes immediately fall on the most perfect natural round breasts I think I’ve ever seen. No wonder she bound my wrists first. I wouldn’t have been able to resist grabbing those beautiful mounds once they were revealed. She steps out of the dress, turns around and bends over to pick it up and good God almighty! There’s that ass I’ve fantasized about. It’s teasing me in these tiny, black, lace barely-there, fuck-my-ass panties and my dick is immediately hard.
Still in her high heels, she sashays her ass over to a small armoire across the room and hangs her dress inside, removing this tiny gold chemise negligee. She slides it over her body, her cheeks still poking out of the bottom. I can barely stand watching this, chained to the fucking ceiling and I can’t touch her. This is torture already. She turns around and glides back over to me.
“Choose a safeword,” she says.
“I’m not a sub,” I hiss.
“Choose a goddamn safeword!” she snaps back. I glare at her and choose my word.
“Golden.” Her eyes sharpen.
“Choose a different one,” she orders.
“You want a fucking safeword, that’s my fucking safeword!” I counter. She glares back at me.
“Fine,” she says through her teeth. She raises her hand from her side and presents a golden blindfold.
“Light’s out, Chopper,” she says, before I’m cast into darkness.
A/N: Aint I a stinker?
Golden and Trey’s first scene will be in the next chapter. It’s to detailed to begin at that end of a chapter, so it has to be a chapter of its own. Sorry for the cliffie…
“a disturbance in the force”—that’s a little reference for you Star Wars fans, if there are any.
The Pinterest board for this story can be found at https://www.pinterest.com/ladeeceo/fifty-shades-golden/.
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