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 it find 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 necessarilyy CG with Ana together. Proceed at your own discretion, but don’t say that I didn’t warn you.
I tried to forget him.
I tried to walk away and leave him behind and now, he’s here.
I’m hearing the voice of my teacher in my head… the same voice I hear every time I’m about to initiate a new prospect.
Make. Him. Want. You.
He already wants me. He wants me so badly, he can’t fucking see straight. He a Dominant—a full-on Dominant—shackled to a winch in my goddamn ceiling because he wants me that badly. He’s hoping I’ll give in one of these days and let him fuck me. Dream on, Grey. This pussy is off limits, but that dick… oh, I’m gonna make that dick mine.
I’ve felt it through his pants, and I know it’s large. I’ve felt the way he grinds and the way he moves his hips, and I know he knows what to do with it… but I know what to do with it, too. He has no idea what he’s done.
The fact that he’s a Dominant means that he’s never really given his body over to anyone before. I know that most good Doms have done a small stint as a submissive before, but I can tell that Mr. Trevelyan-Grey—Trey—didn’t really get into it. He’s still curious what Chopper means. I think that’s what I’ll call him from now on, especially in here. Right now, I have a package to unwrap.
His chest is beautiful and impressive. He’s gorgeous, and if I were to let him in, he would destroy everything I’ve built, everything I’ve become. Elena knew exactly what she was doing when she turned him loose on me. Had he succeeded in his task, he would have destroyed me for life.
He’s in my net, now, and it’s time to play.
I uncover the mirror on the wall directly in front of him. This is so that I can see his reactions when I’m behind him.
I gently touch his chest and he jumps. That’s right, Chopper. Be afraid. You should be. I caress the sinews of his muscles, then each of his nipples. He tries not to react, but I hear the infinitesimal catch of his breath in his throat. It’s okay, Chopper, they all resist at first. That’s what makes it more fun…
But you’re going to wish you chose a different safeword.
I walk around him, examining his back, running my fingers over his muscles and his spine, then around the waistband of his boxer briefs. The first time I do a scene with anyone, I remove their pants and underwear. I want to see that dick pop out in all its glory. That’s why I get undressed in front of them. I’ve had no children, so my breasts are still perfectly perky. I work the hell out of my ass, so I know I’ve got a dancer’s butt. I wear a silk, satin, or chemise nightie that’s deliberately too small, so that my nipples can protrude, and my ass can stick out. Then, I blindfold them while the image is still fresh in their minds so that it’s what they’re still thinking about while I touch and undress them.
My hands only ghost over their bodies, adding to the suspense of what will happen next, and when I get to the disrobing…
I slowly undo the button of his jeans and unzip the zipper. I don’t touch any part of his body yet. I pull the denim from the loosest part of the leg and let it fall down to his ankles. His boxer briefs bulge with his arousal and his abs flex with anticipation. He works out… a lot. He’s fucking beautiful. I lick my lips at the sight of him and now, it’s time to touch him.
I slide my hands over his ass and the boxer briefs and his glutes tighten in surprise. He’s not accustomed to anybody touching him, I see. This is going to be so much fun.
I slip my fingers into the waistband of his boxer briefs and pull them down over his ass so that the elastic band deliberately pulls his dick down and it pops back up when it’s released.
Mary Sweet Mother of Jesus.
How the hell did he get all that in those jeans?
I can tell he’s not even in his full glory yet and this thing looks like it can give a girl a forensic gynecological inspection! This piece of meat is goddamn glorious, and I may not fuck it tonight, but I bet you I’m going to kiss it!
I can tell by his breathing that the anticipation is killing him and I’m getting off on his desperation so much that I can’t help but prolong the agony just a little longer. I push his boxer briefs down to meet his jeans and admire the muscles in his finely-toned legs. His orgasms are going to be violent things of beauty. As if there were any doubt, I’m going to have to chain him down. I push his clothes down to his right ankle.
“Step,” I instruct him. When he lifts his foot, I remove his pants and boxers. The moment he puts the foot down, I restrain his ankle in a leather cuff attached to the floor near his foot. I hear him gasp. He wasn’t expecting it.
“There’s one for the left foot, too, Chopper,” I warn, “and it’s a little further out.”
He pops his neck like he’s preparing for a prize fight, which he really is. This is a battle of wills, and we both know it. We’re both Dominants, and we’re trying to see which of us is going to give in first. I know I can make him heel, because he already wants me. He’s a man; he has that magic stick; he’s seen me nearly naked; he’s at my mercy; and I know what to do with his body.
I’m going to win this one, Grey.
I push his clothes down to his left ankle and instruct him to step out of them again. This time, I have to tell him to spread his legs wider so that I can attach the other ankle cuff.
And now I have him eagle-spread in my dungeon.
I walk over to the wall and retrieve the whip I was fondling earlier. I also retrieve a condom and a open a new, remote-controlled bullet-type vibrator from my armoire.
“This is going to be new to you,” I warn. “I won’t expect you to be silent.” He takes a deep breath.
“What should I call you?” he says, his voice still controlled.
“I prefer ‘Mistress,’” I say. “I don’t know how you feel about that, so you can call me whatever you like, as long as you’re not disrespectful.” Don’t call me “Bitch” or I will hurt you.
“I’ll call you ‘Mistress,’” he concedes, “out of respect.”
“Very well,” I say. I lick my palm and grab his dick, caressing it firmly. He gasps, surprised once more as he licks his lips at the sensation. I feel him slightly stiffen in my hand and I watch his body respond as I stroke him—the change in his breathing, the tightening of his ab and thigh muscles, the subtle bite of his bottom lip. I quickly tear the condom open with my teeth and place the pack in my mouth, removing the rubber with my free hand. I dexterously roll the condom on while I’m stroking him so that he doesn’t know until I’m inserting the vibrator that he’s even wearing a condom. I situate the condom right at his frenulum before I move to the side of him.
I pause for a moment to give him a second to wonder what’s going on. Then, I start the vibrator at its lowest setting. His dick juts forward and he grunts, the chains above him rattling as his body jerks. His head falls back, but he quickly recovers, his thigh muscles tightening again.
Good. He’s resisting. That’s barely a hummer, Chopper.
I move behind him and uncoil my whip. I can’t go full Domme with him or he’ll safeword on the first strike. I whirl the whip in the air to take some of the pressure out of the blow and bring it down on his shoulder.
And he leaps.
“Fuck!” he exclaims. I expected that. I whirl my whip again and repeat the gesture on the other shoulder.
“Fuck! Fuck!” he grunts. Can’t let it rest. It’s worse if I do.
I whack him again on his right shoulder and two quick whacks on his left. He grunts and the veins in his arms begin to protrude. I repeat the double-strike on his right shoulder and his hands start reaching. Finding the chains attached to his wrist restraints, he grips them tightly and holds on. I step back so that my next blows land on his back instead of his shoulders. He cries out this time, and his breathing quickens. I raise my eyes to the mirror.
His erection is slipping. I adjust the remote to the next setting and his body jerks again. He groans, and his glutes tighten once more as I watch his dick begin to stiffen. Just as he’s getting into the pleasure of the vibration, I strike his back again.
“Fuuuck!” he cries out, gripping the chains once more. His breathing sounds like growling now and I know that he can’t decipher the pleasure from the pain. That’s what I’m going for. I strike his back again, and again, and he jerks with each blow, unable to cry out this time because his dick is so damn hard. I have to watch him. If I’m not careful, he’ll come in seconds, and we’re just getting started.
I bring the vibrator down to a pulse, still at its second setting, and continue to work his back. He’s squirming and cursing, and now sweating, his dick jutting forward in aroused confusion as I whip him and stimulate him at the same time. When I’ve striped his back and shoulders to a nice shade of pink and peach for a beginner, I place my braided whip back on the rack and retrieve my leather paddle. Your ass can take more, Chopper. This is going to hurt.
I stand in front of him for a moment and watch his dick pulsing in the condom. He’s so ready. He’s feeling nothing right now save the occasional pulse of the vibrator, but in a moment, I’m going to set his ass on fire while simultaneously setting his dick aflame. Again, I have to temper the right amount of pleasure with the right amount of pain. Too much of either and this show will be over quite quickly.
I usually like the element of surprise, but he’s not seasoned enough to get a paddle on the ass out of nowhere. So, instead, I begin to pat him on his cheeks with the leather softly and his dick actually gets harder. I think his mind is beginning to blur the line between the pleasure and the pain, kind of like a woman being spanked while she’s coming or getting a nice nipple tweak while being fucked from behind.
I intensify the strikes, side to side at first instead of right on the meat of his ass. The sides are more receptive to gentler strikes so that when I really wallop the ass cheek, it’s not quite so painful… painful, but not quite so painful. He hisses as I slap the sides of his cheeks and hisses louder as I change the pulsing sensation of the vibrator back to a continuous hum. Once I’ve evened out the pain with the pleasure of the vibration of the bullet, I increase the setting on the vibrator and let loose on the ass.
“Shiiiiiitt!” he cries at the first wallop. I ignore his protest and let him have it again. He clenches his cheeks, causing his dick to jut forward in the air. I smack him again, hard and flat on his buns of steel. He can take it and I know he can. The muscles in his back hulk up and he growls out his pain. I lick the small of his back a few times and watch him squirm from that sensation before I whack him several more times, setting that ass on fire as promised and watching that dick respond in kind.
“Fuck! It burns! Golden!”
I drop the paddle and stop immediately. He’s growling, squirming against the vibrator and I have to bring the setting down.
“Talk to me,” I say.
“I’m fine… I’m fine…” he pants.
“You safeworded,” I protest.
“No! I didn’t… I wasn’t…” I shake my head and twist my lips.
“I told you to choose another safeword,” I chastise.
“I’m fine… Keep going… Red… use ‘red…’” he pants. They all use red at first.
“Good choice,” I say, resetting the vibrator and picking up my paddle. “And next time, it’s Mistress!”
Well, I have to give Chopper credit. He’s been hanging from those chains for a good 30 minutes. He’s been whipped, paddled, and flogged. That vibrator’s been on his frenulum at every setting except maximum pulse, maximum throb, and maximum vibration, and he hasn’t tapped out. He’s taken a solid beginner session from beginning to end and part of an intermediate without coming and I’m impressed. I think I may have underestimated him. What’s more, I think I may have gone too easy on him.
He’s very verbal, so if I ever get him in this situation again, I’m going to make him shut the hell up and punish him if he doesn’t. He obviously loves the intensity, but I had to find that out, first, since he’s a Dominant and most Doms are not pain whores. I’m not saying that he’s necessarily a pain whore, but he seems to be fonder of the agony/ecstasy aspect of BDSM than I’ve seen most Doms.
I’ve kept myself from that dick long enough.
He’s holding on to those chains for dear life now—sweating, swearing and panting like he’s chasing a thief who just stole money from him. I stop the vibrator and remove the condom, vibrator and all. He gasps when I free his cock from the rubber and quite frankly, so do I. It’s all pink and pretty and fat and the head is all smooth and shiny and soft…
I fall to my knees in front of him. God, it’s so beautiful. He’s still blindfolded, but when I look up at him, chained to my ceiling with his hair all wet and spiky and gorgeous, he looks like a fucking working of art bent over me with his dick at full attention and screaming for release. His body expands with each breath he takes and the feeling of awe that comes over me is indescribable. I wish he could see me kneeling in front of him about to take his power stick in my mouth and for a brief moment, I lose myself in wanting to please him… wanting to see him come so hard that his body shakes and the light shining above his head right now actually bursts through his chest and makes him translucent with pleasure.
I imagine him grabbing my head and thrusting into my mouth as his gray eyes pierce into mine. He pulls my hair and groans deeply as his abs roll and his thighs tremble. His dick throbs violently as his semen spills onto my lips and runs down my face, my mouth too full retain his massive ejaculation…
“Golden… my God… Golden…”
Snap the fuck out of it.
Yes, he’s fucking beautiful. Yes, his dick is big and it’s beautiful, too. Yes, you’re about to suck the fuck out of it, but snap the fuck out of that fantasy shit and get busy.
Mama’s got a brand-new toy.
As much as I want to latch onto that dick and suck for dear life, right now, the only thing I can think of is tasting it… just for the sake of tasting it… so I do.
I wrap both hands around the base of it to keep it jutting out in my face, and I take my tongue and run it around and over the soft head… and the rim… and the cap… and I take it gently in my mouth and clean it… then repeat… over… and over again.
That soft, wet, hot mouth on the head of my dick after that damn vibrator has driven me to the end of my fucking wits… I can’t take much more of this shit. This is inhumane!
I thought Joyce could give head! Joyce who??
I withstood as much as I could for what felt like forever as she whipped me and spanked me and beat me and tortured me, all while my dick was trapped in that goddamn prophylactic next to what I know was a bullet! A goddamn bullet! The thing I use on fucking clits! She drove me up the fucking wall with a goddamn bullet! This woman is a fucking genius!
The entire time, I’m seeing this juicy fucking ass in my head wrapped in black lace and those fucking melons poking out in my face… I don’t know how the fuck I kept from blowing my goddamn load at least a dozen times.
Now, she’s got her mouth on my shit. I want this woman so bad that I can smell her. I can feel her, see her, and taste her when she’s not around. I’ve turned other women into her for months and now, she’s got her lips on my dick. I ain’t gonna make it. I fucking ain’t gonna make it.
I can’t even move. She’s not stimulating me enough to come. It’s the visual I’m building in my head and the fact that my senses and nerve endings are all on 100 right now…
She’s on her knees looking up at me. Her tits are bulging out of that gold negligee that she’s wearing that’s not covering her round, bubble ass at all. I thrust my hands into her hair as I’m looking down at her and she’s licking my head over and over again. She sucks it into her mouth and I groan at the sensation, because it’s enough to fire my balls up again, just not enough to make them blow.
Come on, baby, I need to come. I’ve been holding out. I can’t hold out no more…
She smiles up at me and starts to lick my balls. Fuck, it feels so good, I can’t fucking breath. She laughs and takes my balls into her mouth again. Fuck! Fuck! That’s intense! Damn, baby, whatchu doin’? Fuck!
“Son of a…!”
I’m in darkness now with visions of Golden still in my head. Yes, there’s some intense shit going on with my balls right now, but I was jolted from that wonderful daydream by a piercing fucking pain on my goddamn chest.
And there is goes again! What kind of fucking, sadistic, shit is this?
Process, Grey! Fuck. You’re in a goddamn dungeon. What the fuck is going on?
Well, hell, it’s hard to fucking process! There’s some crazy… wild… fucking awesome shit going on with my balls…
“Grrrrrrr!” I growl. Think! What the fuck is that? Hard… small and hard… concentrated…
And now it hit my nipple.
Crop! It’s a fucking crop.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck… she’s fucking going to kill me. I’m going to die like this. That talented ass tongue has moved to my balls and she’s licking those things like she’s hoping to get vanilla icing off of them.
“Fucking hell…” I breathe, and when she whacks me with the crop this time, the sensation goes straight to the ball she’s rolling around in her mouth. She stimulates those damn things so much that I want to cry, and every time she hits me with that damn crop, I think I’m going to come. I’ve slipped officially over into Crazy Ville, until…
She grants me reprieve from that fabulous fucking mouth and plops my balls into her hand from her hot lips. At least, I thought she was granting me a reprieve. She sets that damn vibrator on “earthquake,” plops it up between my balls and holds them together on top of that thing. I feel like I’m in the goddamn spin cycle of a fucking washing machine.
But that’s not all.
She’s back to tasting my dick, like she was before—licking and sucking the head and the ball of nerves that I edge with… the frenulum… only, she’s not licking and sucking all softly and gently like she was before. Oh, no, no, no, she’s pulling this head in with more purpose, and that tongue is flicking that bundle of nerves so fervorously that if there was a wall behind me, I’d be crawling up it… restraints and all.
But that’s not all.
Every few seconds…
Thwap! Thwap! Thwap! Thwap!
Right the fuck on the skin of my chest.
She. Is. Cruel.
Insanely. Divinely. Hellishly. Exquisitely. Magnificently. Cruel.
This cold-blooded vixen has my balls cupped in one hand holding a vibrator between them, alternating between sucking my head and wildly licking my frenulum while whacking my chest over and over with the tip of a riding crop—hard. Every blow is making my dick pulse to the degree that I anticipate the hit of the crop even while she’s sucking my dick! Who does that? She’s sucking my dick! Fuck the crop—suck my dick! But right now, my brain can’t separate the two. She could do anything she wanted to me right now, and I’d let her… just to see how it feels.
And now I understand—in the haze of erotic delirium, I understand it all.
I understand why there are no hard limits.
I understand why these suckers pay and gift her insanely in the hope of being able to have a scene with her.
I understand why they’re not subs.
And even though I already knew, I totally understand why Elena could never be her.
I’m suffering now. The bullet between my balls provides massive stimulation, but somehow, it’s halting my orgasm. The denial is agonizing. My balls and dick are aching to come. I groan… I can’t take much more of the stimulation without release. It’s pure fucking agony. I’m completely at her mercy and I can’t take it anymore. I’ll do anything… anything…
It’s out of my mouth before I even know what I’ve said.
She drops the crop and grabs my dick, stroking it hard and slow, and her tongue goes wild. It’s more than I can stand.
My back starts to ache, and I feel the vibrator dislodge from between my testicles—thank God! Something else is going on, though, because I can still feel the “earthquake” against my balls. Almost immediately, I feel them begin to swell, tighten, and pebble, and I know that explosion is imminent.
“Ah… Ga… oh, fuck…”
I feel her tongue lapping madly at the skin of my tightening nuts and since I still feel the earthquake down there, I can only assume that the vibrator must be in her mouth—fucking genius!
Both hands work masterfully on my shaft and head while her earthquake driven mouth and tongue deliciously licks and devours my aching, eager balls.
“Aaaaahhhh! Aahh! Ahhh! Aaaaaahhhhh!”
It’s painful. It’s fucking painful. As my nuts begin to explode, she spits the earthquake generator into her hand and rubs it continuously against my poor, unloading balls while her hot mouth moves up and down that wildly pulsing vein, her tongue licking madly at the frenulum each time her mouth reaches the top of my dick. I’m certain that I’m shooting brain matter out of my cock right now.
The way that she’s licking and caressing the frenulum with her lips and tongue, I know that my cum is all over her mouth and cheeks even though I can’t see it. The thought makes me come harder, my body jerking madly at her slightest command and I can no longer be civilized. I hear animal grunts escaping from my chest as my dick throbs and bursts in pain and pleasure. The orgasm lasts for so long and is so intense that I collapse in my bonds, helpless and spent.
I don’t know how much time passes, but I know my weak arm—the one that was in a cast a few weeks ago—hurts like hell! I’m not breathing as heavily as I was when I came, and I don’t know if I wish she had called that fucker to help get me down from here or if I’m glad he didn’t see me this way, because I’m probably a goddamn mess.
Well… maybe not… maybe Golden is.
“You’ll need to sit. There’s a chair behind you.”
I hear a winch and my body begins to lower. I straighten my legs as much as I can to get some balance. As the winch lowers my arms, I feel her release one of the cuffs from my ankles. With enough slack on the chains on my wrists, I grab the chain attached to my strongest arm and use it as leverage to straighten my body. The arm with the bone that just healed aches like fuck, but only because I haven’t strengthened it enough to do anything even slightly related to endurance…
And that’s exactly what the fuck this was, an exercise in endurance.
I release a sigh of sweet relief—somewhat—when my butt hits the leather chair. My ass is sore from the paddling, but I swear if I hadn’t already come so hard, my dick would be throbbing with arousal from the sensation of the pain. She releases my other foot from the restraint on the floor, but I still feel the cuff on my ankle. She does the same with the cuffs and the chains from the ceiling, and my hands lay helpless on my thighs. Fuck, I could sleep like a goddamn baby now.
“That’s it, Mr. Grey,” she says, and I feel her remove the blindfold from behind me. My chin is still in my chest and I can’t raise my head just yet. I hear her stiletto heels click across the floor and then ascend the stairs. I hear the door open, but I don’t hear it close.
That’s it? She’s going to leave me here like this? I can barely fucking move!
I’ll just sit here for a moment, with my thumping dick and my thumping ass… Fuck, my ass is thumping like crazy! Even more than my dick! She beat the hell outta me. How did I not feel this burn while she was beating me?
Oh, yeah, I did feel it. I safeworded… kind of…
After a few minutes, I raise my head and it feels like lead. I slowly stretch my legs and my arms, then take in a deep, cleansing breath. I pop my spine one vertebrae at a time and turn my attention to my sore arm. It hurts like hell. I’m going to need a painkiller for this. I hate taking those damn things.
I undo the cuffs on my wrists and ankles and drop them to the floor before locating my briefs and jeans. She’s placed them with the rest of my clothes on the valet, so I get dressed as quickly as my aching arm, butt, and back will allow then proceed to ascend the stairs.
Mr. Belvedere is standing at the top of the stairs when I get there, his hands clasped in front of him. Fuck! How long has he been here? Was he standing there the entire time? I glare at him, but he returns an impassive gaze.
“Is there anything you need?” he asks, his voice even. “Are you hungry? Do you need medical attention? A drink? Would you like to bathe or rest?”
Yeah, I need a Jack IV right now! This is fucking surreal. This is what happens when the dungeon monitors carry those poor souls from the exhibition rooms. They’re not submissives, so she doesn’t see to their aftercare, I guess.
“I’d like to see her. Where is she?” He gestures to the doorway.
“In the parlor,” he says, and nothing else. What’s his story? What has he seen? Fucking Navy Seal that’s now a glorified butler. What’s the deal? I nod once. I know the way.
I follow the sound of a deep baseline to the open door of her parlor where she sits on the sofa with her legs crossed at the knees, a golden martini in her hand. Her head bobs to the music, a slow, melodic, beat, but morose words—a rapper talking about death, crying, mistrust, and losing friends. I observe her for a while from the open door, her eyes fixed in front of her like she’s absorbing the music for the first time.
When the song ends, she takes a sip of her drink and another one begins. Her eyes are fixed ahead of her again. It’s the same rapper, another melancholy song talking about life going on. It’s sounds like he’s predicting his own death, and she looks like she’s in a bubble—in another place altogether. Is this how she feels when she completes a scene?
She’s truly beautiful. I could just stand here and watch her for hours, but the songs… they say more about her than anything I’ve seen or heard to this point. Another one plays—same rapper—and his words still sound hopeless to me, yet hopeful at the same time. The chorus is another young man singing the refrain from “Broken Wings.” It hardly seems like the two songs fit together…
And it hardly seems like Golden should be listening to this kind of music… for lots of reasons.
“I didn’t take you for a hip hop fan,” I admit as I enter the room. I almost feel like an interloper on her private time. She turns her gaze to me.
“Not hip-hop,” she says. “Just Tupac.” She sips her drink and places it on the table in front of her. “Sit,” she says, gesturing to a nearby chair. I swallow.
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d… rather stand.” I’m more comfortable on my feet… and my ass hurts. She raises an eyebrow, then shrugs.
“Very well,” she says. I move further into the room.
“Tupac?” I ask.
“Tupac Shakur,” she says. “He was a rapper, an artist, and a revolutionary. He was very misunderstood. I can empathize.”
“Was?” I ask. “What happened to him?”
“He was murdered at the age of 25,” she informs me. “It was highly publicized, but if you weren’t into the hip-hop scene or rap music, you probably wouldn’t know. I was very young when he died. I really didn’t get into his music until after his death, but a lot of it speaks to me.”
“It’s very morose,” I say. “Does he always talk about dying?” She scoffs softly.
“He did a lot around the time of his death,” she replies. “He saw it coming. He was just preparing himself… and the rest of us. But no, not all of his music is about death. Most of it is about life—about things that happen and about struggle, fun, sex, dancing, thug life… you should listen to it sometimes. Do some research on who he is. You might be surprised.”
“Was,” I correct her. She raises her brow at me. “Who he was. He’s dead, now.” The edge of her mouth rises in a knowing smirk.
“Is,” she reconfirms, retrieving her drink. “An hour ago, you didn’t know who he was. Sometime, at some point in your life, you’re going to mention him to someone, too—even if only in passing and because of that, he’ll never die.” She sips her drink and places it back on the table. “Now, you didn’t stick around to discuss my taste in music.”
No, I didn’t. So, how do we broach this very awkward topic?
“Your thoughts, Mr. Grey?” she proposes. Okay, that’s one way.
“It was…” I trail off. The truth is that it was fucking magnificent, but do I want to admit that? Do I want to say that out loud? To her? Do I really want to give her that kind of power over me? “How many of them fall for that?” I say, trying to maintain a modicum of control. She smiles a devious, knowing smile.
“They all do… Mr. Grey,” she taunts. “That’s what I offer and that’s what they want. That’s what they love, and if doesn’t interest you, feel free to leave. It wouldn’t be the first time in life that reality didn’t live up to the fantasy.” Oh, how wrong you are.
“Shouldn’t I pay you for the scene?” I comment, still attempting to control the situation. She chuckles softly.
“I’m not a prostitute, Grey,” she says, her voice controlled. “Now that you’ve tasted what I do, I can tell you how this goes. People don’t pay me, they gift me. I get whatever they feel I deserve to allow them the opportunity to experience what I have to offer again. If you feel like this was a simple nut, then take it… my gift to you. Like I said, it won’t be the first time it’s happened. But those people that you see in the exhibition rooms, or standing and sitting at my tables, even that beautiful flaxen-haired pussy you fucked the first night you saw me—those people don’t fawn all over me because they just want a good nut. The blonde didn’t even want to come, remember?”
She’s right. I remember that. The blonde just wanted to play.
“At the risk of being sacrilegious, I’m like an entity that they want to keep around and they hope to stay in my favor. So, they bring me tribute, and it comes in different forms. Even the clubs do it—they have a table ready even on nights that I don’t show up. I don’t know if anybody else uses those poles, but they’re never occupied when I walk in the club. No club that I frequent is lacking clientele, and yet there’s always an exhibition room available when I want one. I don’t pay anybody anything. I don’t even pay for my memberships or drinks, but I’ve yet to be turned away from any club in town.”
“And is that what you expect me to do?” I say distastefully. “Offer you tribute?” She shakes her head and chuckles again.
“I don’t expect you to do anything,” she says softly, sitting back on the sofa, stretching her arms out. “I’m surprised you even came here tonight. You knew I wouldn’t let you fuck me or touch me, and I think this is the most talking we’ve ever done. You know the rules, Grey. You knew them before you got here, but I never expect anything. I know better than that.”
What is this fucking power that she wields? I don’t even know how to explain it. I’m trying to hold on to any bit of control that I have left in this situation and she’s ticking it away bit by bit with her tiny little fingernail.
Who the fuck am I kidding? I’m certainly not kidding her. I never had control—from the moment I saw her, I never had control… and she knows it. She may not know just how much control she actually had over me all that time, but she knew I didn’t have control. Even when I thought I had control, I didn’t have it. I was sending her gifts—tribute, as she calls it—before she even serviced me. I turned other women into her when I couldn’t have her and I never stopped thinking about her for months!
“Have you… followed the news?” I ask cautiously.
“What news in particular?” she asks.
“About Elena,” I respond. “Her salons… they’re going out of business. And she attacked me.” She raises an eyebrow.
“I thought that was just gossip rag fodder,” she says. I shake my head.
“No, it’s true,” I say, rubbing my aching arm.
“So… you two were lovers,” she says, her brow furrowing.
“No,” I correct her. “No, that part wasn’t true.” Should I tell her that we used to fuck a very long time ago? No, too much information. “No, she came unglued because I wouldn’t help her dispel the rumors being circulated about the unsanitary condition of her salons and she threw a potted plant at me. The pot shattered and broke my arm, so I’m pressing charges.”
“She broke your arm.” It’s a statement, not a question. “Wow, that’s drastic.”
“It’s no more drastic than shooting at someone, Golden,” I say, firmly. Her brown eyes pierce at me, but I don’t break my gaze. “She… told me what happened,” I add. “Elena—she told me what happened with that other guy. I apologize. I’d had too much to drink that night and I wasn’t myself.” I turn my gaze away from her before she has time to answer. “She was at the club one night and she was gloating. You know how she loves to gloat,” I scoff. “Anyway, I think you had told her about what happened, and she was concerned, so she came clean with what she knew.”
“Was this before or after you dry-humped me?”
I turn around to her stoic expression. She wasn’t pleased with that outcome, I can tell. She came, but she wasn’t pleased.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “After, I think… I don’t remember. It’s been a long time.” I pause and wait for her to respond. When there is none, I continue.
“She had been taunting me, dangling the challenge in my face every chance she got. It was all a game for her. There was no risk involved. She just manipulates the pieces and sits back to watch the show, but for me…” Do I tell her how involved I became? Do I tell her that winning her, that claiming that prize became a damn near obsession for a moment? That just about every damn thing I did for months was all about her? About somehow being near her or getting close to her and as soon as I took steps to completely forget about her, I see her in the club tonight?
Who am I fooling… again? I was chasing big asses because of her!
“What about you?” she says, interrupting my thoughts. “Wasn’t it a game for you, too? What was at stake for you?”
You could destroy me. I know that. Don’t you?
“My life, for one thing,” I retort. “You pulled a gun on me, Golden. You shot at me. Anything could have happened to that night. She knew that. Even you knew that. I didn’t.”
An unknown emotion flashes across her face and she takes her drink from the table again.
“You should know that money, power, and good looks do not make you immune, Mr. Grey,” she says. Her voice is a little shaken, but only a fraction. “When a woman says ‘no,’ she means ‘no,’ and anything you do after that makes you fair game. I grew up in a rough neighborhood with a black cop as a father. The last part of my teenage years and all my college years, I spent taking care of myself. Contrary to the appearance, I am nobody’s delicate flower, by any means. But no matter what the circumstance, you don’t push yourself on a woman when she tells you not to. You didn’t need Elena to tell you about my past for you to know that you were crossing a line!” She finishes her drink and places the empty glass a little too firmly back on the end table.
“Well, let’s see what I know about you so far,” I say, leaning on the back of a lounge chair. “You kick ass in the board room, you kick ass in the playroom, you’re in possession of a firearm that you’re apparently not afraid to use, and you’re highly influenced by rap music by an immortal revolutionary who predicted his own death. There are many words I would use to describe you, Ms. Olivet, but ‘delicate flower’ doesn’t come to mind.”
I think my speech threw her off a bit, which is what I was hoping for.
“It’s not my practice to push myself on a woman, especially when they say ‘no,’” I continue, my voice softening. “I was clearly out of line, and I’ve apologized. I’m lucky that night didn’t turn out worse for me and if it had, I would have no one to blame but myself.”
Her glare softens a bit at my confession.
“However, the fact remains that Blondie knew this was a part of your history, and she didn’t forewarn me. Had she done so, I would have exercised a bit more… wisdom in every decision I made that night. Hell, probably in every decision that I made with you from the very beginning. Nonetheless, she pushed you at me like an unattainable prized trophy and I foolishly pursued you like a predeveloped Cro-Magnon man and the result… Well, let’s just say that she and I are no longer friends and I haven’t seen her in any of the clubs, including Crimson.” She raises her head.
“Including Crimson?” she asks. I shrug.
“I stopped frequenting Crimson very shortly after I noticed that you did. My understanding is that she stopped frequenting Crimson very shortly after I did.” She raises her brow again and stands. She takes her martini glass from the end table and places it back on the bar.
“Hm,” she says, and nothing else. There’s a long silence between us for several moments, and it appears that we have run out of things to talk about. I sigh heavily and stand up straight.
“I guess I’ll be going then,” I say, straightening my jacket and heading towards the open door. She says nothing as I proceed to leave, and I have every intention of exiting that doorway and not looking back, but my mouth opens before I get to the door and my feet won’t listen to my brain when it tells them to cross the threshold.
“I’d… like to see you again,” my treacherous mouth says. I hear nothing behind me for several moments and settle in myself that I must have blown it.
“In that case…”
Her soft voice is so close to my back that it startles me, and I jump when I look over my shoulder to find her standing there holding a business card. I take it and examine it. It’s gold with a golden apple off to the right and only two pieces of information on it…
A name and a number.
“I guess I’ll see you ‘round, Chopper.” She raises brown eyes to me and awaits my response. Chopper.
“See you ‘round,” I say, my feet suddenly able to move forward and proceed through the doorway.
“Make. Him. Want. You.
“Be inaccessible. Be everything he wants and nothing he can have.
“Make him dream about you when you’re not there; crave you when you’re not around.
“Do things to him that no other woman alive would ever do.
“Dare to cross boundaries that others fear; use your knowledge to your advantage.
“He doesn’t know what he wants; he doesn’t know what he likes, and you can’t ask him. You must show him.
“He wants pleasure, yet he fears pain. One cannot exist without the other.
“Bruise him. Scar him. Leave your mark on him. Leave him panting, worthless, and weak.
“He’ll be more faithful than any husband; more loyal than any friend or family; more generous than any benefactor.
“And he’ll dote on you forever.”
That was her mantra. She taught it to me. She repeated it every day, several times a day until it was branded into my memory. Lanette never let me forget that no matter how much you may want, admire, or even love one of them, you must maintain power and distance. For me, that means keeping a part of myself to myself—physically, mentally, and emotionally. Will I ever give that part of myself away? Maybe… I don’t know, but for right now, it’s mine. It’s what makes me Golden, and I’m keeping it to myself.
When I hear the throaty roar of Trey’s sportscar grumble down the street, I go over my vintage princess phone. So, Elena hasn’t been at Crimson, huh? I smile openly and dial the number.
“Hello?” Her voice sounds almost haggardly.
“Hello, Elena, and how have you been?” I ask in my usual stoic voice.
“Just fine, Ana, and you?” she lies.
“Busy. I haven’t been at Crimson in quite some time and I was just wondering how things were going down there. I was thinking about stopping by.” Bait the hook.
“Oh, the scene’s been quite dead. I haven’t been there myself much lately,” she says, clearing her throat.
“Oh, really?” I continue. “That doesn’t sound like you at all. I would have thought you would have been basking in the attention with me gone.” Can’t be too sweet. She’s sure to smell a rat.
“A dead scene is a dead scene, dear,” she hisses. “I guess anyone can live out glory days in a ‘has-been’ venue.” Was that a shot?
“You would know,” I retort, welcoming the sparing from the dying spirit. “Strange, I haven’t seen you at any of the other clubs either.”
“Like I said, a dead scene is a dead scene,” she repeats.
“Oh, yeah, good one, Blondie. Insinuate that anywhere you’re not is dead… when you’re not anywhere right now. By the way, how’s business?” She falls silent for a moment. Gotcha, bitch.
“I was like you once,” she says. “I was sitting on top of the mountain thinking the world was mine. I had that same cocky attitude that you do. You look at me now and you laugh. You see what I once was, and you see what I am now, and you think it won’t happen to you, but it will. It will happen to you, Ana. You’ll lose your splendor just like I did. You’ll lose your beauty, your youth, your mystery. You’ll fall from grace—some new kid with some new gimmick is going to come and steal your thunder and you’ll be left with nothing, and when you do, you’ll remember this conversation. You’ll remember the day you scoffed at me!” I shake my head.
“Oh, Elena,” I sigh, “I’m not scoffing at you, but I do feel sorry for you. I don’t expect to do this when I’m 90. I don’t even expect to do this when I’m 50. I expect to do this until I don’t want to do it anymore. And then, maybe I’ll keep practicing law or maybe I’ll write books. Maybe I’ll teach other Dommes. Maybe I’ll open a club. Maybe I’ll move to the country or maybe I’ll travel. Maybe I’ll start a charity. The possibilities are endless, but I’ll tell you what I won’t do. I won’t follow some young upstart around discouraging her about her techniques. Whatever her fetish, her gimmick, her methods, whatever floats her boat, whatever works for her, congratulations. There are plenty of clients, submissives, prospects out there for all of us, but you couldn’t stand the fact that one too many was looking at me instead of you and that’s what destroyed you.
“You crossed one of the richest, most powerful men in town in an attempt to dethrone me from a seat that you never even had. I’m not the next big gimmick, Elena! I’m a brutal, sexy sadist who doesn’t fuck, with a particular clientele. I didn’t come to the clubs looking for clients, Blondie. My clients came to the club looking for me! You were so blinded by the glamour and the sparkle that you didn’t even notice that I wasn’t taking anything away from you.
“You were always looking for a new toy, the next beauty while I was content in satisfying the same anonymous prospects. Yes, I stole a spotlight and grabbed attention every now and again, but never once did I steal a sub or a client. You stole one of mine, but did I ever steal one of yours?”
I allow the truth to hang in the air for a moment as the line falls silent. The truth of the matter is that all her conniving comes down to this moment. Had she not constructed this non-existent rivalry between us in her head, she never would have thrust Trey at me in the first place and she never would have destroyed whatever friendship she and Trey had. Their trust wouldn’t have been destroyed and she never would have had reason to attack him in his office. Hence, her problems all stemmed from her delusion that I was her competition in the first place. We never had the same playing field or the same pieces. We weren’t even playing the same game. We were just operating in the same place—like office space.
“I will tell you this, though,” I add, once I feel the truth has marinated long enough. “You were successful in one thing.”
“And what’s that?” she hisses.
“Trey just left here. You should probably know that we’re going to try things out… on our terms.” She gasps loudly.
“You’re fucking kidding me!” she roars.
“No, I’m not,” I say, matter-of-factly. “I’m a sadist, Elena, and I don’t fuck, and nothing’s changed. So, not only did I get your little toy that you dangled in front of my face, but I’m still Golden—still on that scene that you say is dead. I don’t mind telling you that because I know that after that incident in Trey’s office with the potted plant and the pending charges against you now, that if you breathe a word of this to him or anybody else, he will fucking annihilate you and I’ll be there to decimate the remains when he’s done!”
“You goddamn bitch!” she screams. “You were in on this with him, weren’t you? The whole time? Fuck, how could I be so stupid?” What the hell?
“In on… what the fuck are you talking about?” I demand.
“Don’t you play dumb with me, you cunt!” she yells. “I’ve lost everything! And now, Linc is threatening to leave me, too. Are you fucking happy now, you treacherous little whore?”
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, you crazy bitch, but you better stop calling me these goddamn names!” I bark. She laughs loudly.
“I don’t know why I didn’t see it before!” she cackles. “It’s perfect! Get me out the way. You’ve got the scene. You two have each other. It’s perfect. Fucking perfect!” She’s laughing maniacally now. She’s gone. She’s totally fucking gone.
“Okay, I don’t know what the hell is going on, but you have totally lost your mind,” I say.
“Oh, you know exactly what’s going on,” she accuses sinisterly, “and one day, you’re going to fucking get yours. You just wait and see. It may not be today and it may not be tomorrow, but one day—one day—you’re fucking going to get yours, Golden!” Oh, I don’t like the sound of that. I don’t like the sound of that at all.
“Well, you know exactly where to find me, bitch,” I growl. “And I’m not gone fuckin’ hide. But let me make one thing perfectly clear. I have no idea what’s going on in that bleach-damaged brain of yours or what the fuck you’re going on about, but I consider you a mortal fucking enemy from this point on and if I see you coming, I’m making it known to you and anybody listening that I will take every possible precaution to protect myself and that includes shooting first and asking questions later. Is any of this getting through to those peroxide-poached brain-cells of yours, Blondie?”
There’s another moment of silence, and I know that my declaration has broken through whatever nonsense has been bombarding her brain throughout this conversation.
“Oh, don’t you fucking worry! If I never see your gilded ass again as long as I live, it’ll be too soon for me!” she spits.
“Good. We understand each other. And know this, Blondie. I’m not avoiding any of my stomping grounds for you. So, when you see me coming, I suggest you go the other direction.”
“Don’t you fucking threaten me, you little twerp!” she shoots.
“That’s not a fucking threat, you old bat! That’s a goddamn promise!” I warn. I slam the receiver down and press the call button for Blake. I know he’s probably cleaning the dungeon. What the hell is Elena talking about? In on what? What did Trey do to her? Exactly why did she throw that potted plant at him? Do I have a right to ask for the details? I don’t think I have a choice, because whatever it is, she thinks I’m in on it and I need to be prepared.
“Yes, Mistress?” Blake says. I sigh heavily and turn to face him.
“I need Beckwick’s services starting tomorrow.” He frowns.
“Grey?” he asks. “I can…”
“No,” I interrupt him. “Elena Lincoln.” His shock is tangible.
“Lincoln?” his voice rises. I nod.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” I say, gesturing him into the parlor. He walks over to the bar where I’m standing about to pour another drink. “She’s gotten into some kind of altercation with Trey… Grey—she threw a potted plant at him and broke his arm.” Blake grimaces.
“Ooo!” he groans, making a face. I take a drink of my vodka.
“Yeah—now, whatever’s going on with them, she thinks I have something to do with it.”
“How do you know?” he asks.
“I just got off the phone with her,” I say. “She had been pushing Trey—Grey at me ever since I met him. It got so bad that I stopped frequenting one of the clubs—after the gun incident?” Blake nods. “Apparently, he stopped frequently the club, too. During that time, something happened and Elena stopped, too. Something happened with her businesses and… I don’t know, I think she asked him for help and he turned her down.”
“What happened to her businesses?” Blake asks.
“Grey said rumors of unsanitary conditions. I’m not sure how you can help someone with something like that.” Blake shrugs.
“Neither am I, except find the source maybe,” he says.
“That won’t help much either,” I say. “I mean, if you investigate and they find that the rumors aren’t true, that should be enough, so the rumors must have been true…”
“Not necessarily, Mistress,” he corrects me. “Depending on the situation, unclean conditions are enough to make someone not want to come to your establishment. Think about it—dirty tools, unclean towels, rodents and pests, reused chemicals…” I immediately get the heebie-jeebies. He gestures at me. “See? A rumor can be devastating, even if it’s proven to be untrue.”
“Maybe that’s what she was talking about,” I observe. “I saw the gossip rags and it mentioned their disagreement. It was painted to be a lover’s quarrel and I just glossed over it since I wasn’t speaking to either of them, but now… whatever’s going on, she thinks I’m part of it. She went fucking ballistic when she found out that Trey and I are going to see each other again.” He raises his brow.
“You are?” he says. I sigh.
“You need to care for me, Blake, and I need you to care for me. Other men need something else.”
“I get the feeling that he wants more than he’s letting on,” Blake warns.
“You may be right, my friend, but he’ll only get what I give him.” I turn back to my drink. “Beckwick. Starting tomorrow.”
“Yes, Mistress,” he says and heads for the door. “Mistress?” I turn to face him.
“Please, be careful. I can’t lose you, too.” I sigh and nod. Without another word, he leaves the parlor.
I pick up the remote to my sound system and press play, allowing a more upbeat Tupac song to remind me that I’ve secured another prospect in Trey. He’s a beautiful specimen, but he doesn’t come without his problems. He already brings secrets and baggage with him, although Elena was my baggage before he even got there. He only complicated the matter. The truth is that if she’s delusional enough to think that I was in on whatever’s happening to her right now, it would have manifested itself later anyway.
Did Trey really do something to her, though? How do I go about asking him?
I can’t focus on that right now. Right now, I want to focus on breaking that beautiful body down, on taming that Dominant spirit and making him heel. It won’t be difficult—I just need to find his sweet spot. That’s going to be so much fun…
So much fun…
I roll my hips and pop my ass to one of my favorite songs, remembering the feel of Trey’s favorite body part in my mouth and the sound of his voice, calling me Mistress and begging me to let him come…
How do you want it?
How do you feel?
Comin’ up as a nigga in the cash game
I’m livin’ in the fast lane, I’m for real…
A/N: With all due respect, I have to give credit where credit is due. When Ana says, “Mary Sweet Mother of Jesus, how did he get all that in those jeans?” that’s a variation of a line from a song called, “Walk” by Morris Day.
So Many Tears
Life Goes On
Until The End Of Time
How Do You Want It
“Mr. Belvedere” was the butler from a sitcom in the late ’80 with the same name.
The Pinterest board for this story can be found at https://www.pinterest.com/ladeeceo/fifty-shades-golden/.
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