This is a work of creativity. As such, you may see words, concepts, scenes, actions, behaviors, pictures, implements, and people that may or may not be socially acceptable and/or offensive. If you are sensitive to adverse and alternative subject matter of any kind, please do not proceed, because I guarantee you’ll find it here. You have been warned. Read at your own risk.
Explicit details of sex and BDSM scenes from here on out. Some may be hot while others may not be to your taste… and not necessary CG with Ana together. Proceed at your own discretion, but don’t say that I didn’t warn you.
This ain’t your everyday Christian and Ana story. Don’t expect anything. Just read it as it goes along or go away. I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy, or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY story in MY interpretation as a fan. If something that I say displeases you, please, just leave. If you don’t like this story or me, please don’t spoil this experience for everyone. Just go away. For the rest of you, the new saga continues…
I felt the sting, but that’s it. I couldn’t feel anything else.
She could have stuck me with a hot poker straight off the fire and I don’t think I would have felt it. I couldn’t get the pure rage out of my eyes. I wanted her to hit me harder, longer. As it stands, she beat the fucking hell out of me; I just couldn’t feel it.
As I’m driving home, I’m pondering my scene with Golden… and my dinner with Ana. They really are two different people, but I could easily see Golden’s appeal in the way that Ana carries herself. Even during our after-meetings in the parlor, she’s still mostly-Golden. I don’t think she ever really lets Ana out—in the boardroom, in the courtroom, in the playroom… ever.
I want to know what the fuck that was that she used on my dick. That thing was fucking incredible! I didn’t stand a chance against it. This pulsing, rubbing, throbbing thing… fuck! It was just too much! That damn thing broke me down in three minutes. Fuck, was it even three? I forgot why I was mad; I couldn’t think; my dick was on fire! I’m getting a little pulse right now just thinking about that thing.
But when that flogger hit my back, I remembered where I was. I remembered that I was another poor subject at Golden’s mercy about to spill my hopes and dreams all over her dungeon floor. At least I was coherent enough to see the floor cover. So, I know where my cum went last time. It didn’t just disappear into FairyLand.
To say that I was fucking useless when she was done is an understatement. Every part of my body was completely inoperable. Even my brain was mush. I only called Blake because I remember her telling me to call him if I needed help. That strange Spanish accent was just what I wanted to hear, even lying there on the floor naked. If he was some kind of perv and wanted to fuck me up the ass at that moment, I would have been powerless to stop him.
As it turns out, he’s really very professional. It was strange having him examine my wounds and massage antiseptic cream into my many, many bruises, particularly the ones on my ass, but it was more like being treated by a doctor. He told me everything that he was going to do; informed me everywhere that he would touch me; applied cool towels to ease the sting for several minutes before he started the massage—which would have been agony had he done it before applying the towels. He even put a massage pillow under my head so I didn’t have to lay on the floor. I’m not sure I’ll partake in the aftercare too many more times after tonight, but at least I know that the guy knows what he’s doing should I need it again.
Dinner was… surprising. I had no idea that she could cook. That chicken tasted like pure southern comfort, and those mashed potatoes melted in your mouth like hot butter. I never considered myself the caretaker for my subs. They get aftercare when I feel like it, but as far as their state of mind is concerned, I was never really taught to care about that. I beat them good; I fuck them well; they’re usually happy; I send them home. If I beat them real good, they’ll get aftercare, but I still send them home.
Then again, look who my BDSM mentor was—my lying, cheating father who fucked submissives in the house when my mother was out. The man who still holds things over his children’s head to protect himself from whatever guillotine is poised at his neck—like I really fucking care what he could have on me, but I’m dying to know what he has on Mia. There’s the utter picture of care and concern for you, there.
I don’t know how a Dom is really supposed to care for a submissive. I’ve never been full-on into the hardcore shit, anyway—just some pain with your pleasure, come real hard, buy ‘em some toys or pay their college tuition for a year or so and move on. The only one who really left displeased was Caramel. That’s an experience I really don’t care to repeat.
I know the rules. I know the do’s and don’ts, but all the little nuances? I’m not a Dom like that. I fuck ‘em and flog ‘em—even more fuck than flog lately—and that’s it.
Golden taught me something tonight, though. She taught me about the full package—about how a submissive is supposed to feel when they leave your presence… no matter how you get them there. Granted, I’m not one for that touchy-feely shit, but she did get to the root of the problem. I had been fucked—so to speak—flogged, and then she talked to me. She fed me, too, which sure as hell didn’t hurt.
I get to the parking garage and punch my key code in. I notice, with little interest, that another car—a brown sedan—says something to the guard and is allowed in right behind me. I’m a little unnerved, because I know that no one was behind me. I always check my mirror before I punch in the code. All of a sudden, there’s a brown sedan behind me. I shrug it off and park my car. I don’t see where the sedan went, but I get out and walk to the elevator anyway, still pondering the events of the night.
“Shit!” A female voice is directly behind me. She literally scares the shit outta me. She’s wearing one of those unflattering suits that women wear when they want to look like a man.
“A bit jumpy, aren’t you, Mr. Grey?” she accuses.
“Well, let’s review,” I say, turning around to face her and folding my arms while staring at her and the guy standing with her. “You follow me into a restricted parking lot when I know there was nobody behind me. Your car disappears like fucking Houdini, and now you’re stalking me in the parking lot, sneaking up on me on cat’s paws and standing all in my personal fucking space! Hell, yeah, I’m jumpy!” She puts her hands on her hips. “What the fuck do you want?”
“You’ve got one hell of a temper there, Grey,” she notes.
“And it’s only going to get worse if you don’t state your business,” I declare, matter-of-factly. Her companion reaches into his coat and pulls out his badge.
“Mr. Grey,” he says calmly. “I’m Detective Nick Hughes. This is my partner Detective Rita Bhingman. We’re investigating an open case and we’d like to ask you some questions, sir.”
“Thank you for stating who you were, sir, without all the unnecessary commentary about attitude adjustments,” I say to him before turning to She-Cop. “The proper greeting would have been, ‘Excuse me, Mr. Grey?’ and upon noticing that you startled me, apologize for the intrusion, identify yourself and they state your purpose, or didn’t they teach you about protocol in the academy?”
“I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job, civilian,” she sneers.
“Well, somebody should because you missed a class, detective,” I sneer right back. She’s reloading to come at me again when Hughes intercepts her.
“Mr. Grey, as I mentioned, we’re investigating an open case and we need to ask you some questions. May I please ask where you were this evening between 8 and 9pm?” Well, that’s easy. Whatever they’re investigating doesn’t involve me.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I was visiting a lady friend.” The She-Cop laughs.
“Is that what they call it now?” she taunts through her laughter. “Visiting a lady friend?” What the fuck does she know?
“What is this all about?” I ask.
“That lady friend that you visited? She’s been beat all to hell! Is that what you do to your lady friends?”
I’m horrified! I just left her—she was fine! Did that asshole sub freak out and put his hands on her?
“Ana?!” I ask incredulously. They both look at me bemused. “What happened to her? I just left her! She was fine!” They look at each other, then back at me.
“Her name is not Ana. Her name is Elena, and she’s definitely not fine!” She-Cop hisses.
“Elena?” I say incredulously. “I haven’t seen that bitch in months.”
“Ah, that bitch,” She-Cop says. “Now, we’re getting somewhere.” I frown.
“Is that the only thing you heard?” I ask. “I said I haven’t seen her!”
“Well, she says differently and you’re going to have to come down to the station.”
What in the blue fuck is this all about?
After about an hour of “I didn’t do it,” they book me based on her accusation and the fact that I definitely wasn’t home during the time that the bitch was attacked. Motherfucking hell! This just destroyed a perfect fucking evening.
I finally get my one phone call before they take me to a holding cell. Do I call Taylor, or do I call Golden? Taylor’s sure to answer, but Golden’s my fucking alibi. Taylor will check all the usual places if I’m not home by morning. I take a chance and call Golden.
“It’s late, Trey,” she answers on the second ring.
“I’m in jail,” I reply. I hear shuffling on the other end.
“Wait, I have to adjust the phone. I thought I heard you say you were in jail…”
“You did,” I say flatly. There’s a pause.
“What?” she says, incredulously. “Why? Did you hit a cop on the way home?!”
“No, they think I attacked Elena Lincoln!” I bark into the line. Another pause.
“Did you?” she asks. What the…?
“Where have I been all night?!” I shout.
“This happened tonight?” she asks incredulously.
“Yes, this happened tonight, a few hours ago or so if I’m understanding correctly.”
“Shit!” she breathes. “Blake!” she yells. “Where are you?” she asks into the phone.
“One of the Kirkland precincts. I don’t know…”
“How do I reach Taylor?” she asks.
“He’s at my penthouse,” I inform her.
“I know where you are. Sit tight,” she says.
“Well, it’s not like I’m fucking going anywhere!” This is your Mistress, asshole. “I mean… okay.”
“Your ire is understandable, but…” and she trails off.
“Yes, yes, I know,” I say through my teeth. God, will this day never end?
“Let me take care of it.”
My phone, my Montblanc, my shoestrings, my money, my tie, my fucking cufflinks, my goddamn belt…
An officer quietly leads me to a holding cell with several other men. I sit in a corner facing the rest of the room with my arms folded and my eyes fixed in front of me. I want to kill somebody! I literally want to kill someone. The someone is Elena Lincoln, but anybody who crosses my path will do tonight. The cell has the strong odor of piss and I can feel it seeping into my clothes.
The longer I sit here, the angrier I get. The many ways that I can make every person responsible for this pay for their actions keep playing over in my head. The bitch broke my arm and when somebody beats her to shit, she points a finger at me. She is going to fry for this shit.
I’m going to offer a five-million-dollar reward for anyone who has any information that leads to the arrest of the person who beat her ass. I have a feeling I know who it was. In fact, I’m sure that I know who it was… and why. Your company is mine, Linc, and everything you hold dear. I promise you.
I’ve got at least two years of legal bullshit ahead of me and I have this piece of shit, pussy-ass lawyer over my legal department who used to be worth his weight in gold. Now, he’s shit. Do I wait for a new department head or pass the job down to one of the subordinates in the department? These balls need to get rolling quickly! I don’t want to wait.
Idea after idea after plot after plan rolls through my brain as my nostrils are permeated with the smell of piss, foul body odor, and cheap liquor seeping through someone’s pores. The aura of stay the fuck out of my personal space that I’m giving off is enough to keep these fuckers away from me, but not their aromas. I’m not acting like I own the place, just this corner that I’m inhabiting until I get the fuck outta here.
Whenever the hell that’s going to happen.
My eyes land on an open cell door and a burly cop standing in front of it.
“You’re free to go.”
Hmm. I guess somebody posted bail. Now, I’ll have to fight this shit. Lincoln, when I’m done with you…
I stand and quietly walk out of the cell. I follow another officer back to Central Processing where I retrieve all my belongings and every cent of my money from a contrite looking officer behind the window. I look at my Montblanc. It’s after 2am. I’ve been here for more than two hours. I couldn’t even tell. Continuously plotting someone’s demise every waking second will do that to you.
I feel like a pissy, dusty piece of shit and I can’t get the smell of urine out of my nose. I’m fighting to get my fucking watch on my arm when I look up and see An… Golden
Shit, she came down here dressed like that? She looks unbelievably fuckable—even more fuckable than she looks in her golden negligees and catsuits. I just stare for a moment, thinking of those muscular thick thighs wrapped around my waist as I slam into that tight, hot pussy…
Dream on, Grey.
“Did you bail me out?” I ask as I’m still trying to fasten this fucking watch. I need to fuck. My back is still stinging from the flogging and beating I got earlier. I just need to fuck. She tells me that she was my alibi as I exit the precinct.
No Taylor. Where the fuck is Taylor? Maybe she didn’t call him. I’m looking for a taxi to get me home, but she scolds me and orders me into her Range Rover. Okay, don’t blame me if your seat smells like piss when I get out.
We talk a little on the ride—all the way the fuck back to Seattle. We speculate that it was probably Linc that beat her, which it most likely was. I’m buying out his businesses; I told him I fucked his wife; and in the end, he couldn’t beat my ass, so he went home and beat hers!
She’s a fucking bitch, and she had that shit coming—an ass-beating, that is. It served her right, but that was still a real pussy-ass thing for him to do. Go home and beat your wife because you couldn’t beat a motherfucker in the street. Real macho, asshole.
Ana says something about a cease-fire or some kind of truce or something like that, and I have to remind her that she has a class-action suit against this woman for an imaginary bedbug infestation. She concurs and adds something about Elena ending up dead.
“I won’t lose any sleep if she does,” I conclude, and I shut the conversation down. Quite frankly, I’m tiring of it. I want to fuck. We can analyze this shit tomorrow.
Golden pulls up to Escala and puts the car in park. I should say something. She is my Mistress after all, and she did get me out of jail.
“Thank you… Mistress,” I mumble, “… for… getting me out of jail and… getting me home…” I can’t even make eye-contact with her. I’m not feeling submissive in any way right now. I’m feeling Dominant—to the point of aggression—and I need to fuck!
“We’ll talk later,” she says after a pause. “Go.”
Thank God! I can’t stand sitting next to her one more second and that big ass isn’t bouncing on my dick. I open the door quickly and scramble out of the truck. It’s all I can do not to run to the door of my apartment building and take every flight of stairs up to the penthouse. I close the door and walk swiftly to the double-doors of Escala without even looking back.
“Sir!” Taylor comes running from his office, no doubt alerted to my presence when the elevator opened. “I was waiting for a call! I would have picked you up…” I didn’t fucking feel like waiting.
“Where in the fuck is Rockford?” I seethe. Taylor frowns.
“He… he wasn’t there?” he asks surprised. “How were you released?”
“Golden got me out,” I growl. “She substantiated my alibi. That pussy attorney of mine never fucking showed up!”
“That’s crazy,” Taylor says, dropping protocol. “I called him hours ago when you were first arrested. I’ve been sitting here waiting to hear something.”
“What was he doing when you called?” I ask.
“I don’t know, he sounded like he was asleep.” I just bet he was. He might have been in bed, but he wasn’t asleep. “Take a screenshot of your call log and send it to my phone. I want transcripts of that call on my desk in the morning. Call security now and tell them to freeze all of his accesses, including passwords and clearances. Get all network access wiped as soon as IT can get it done.”
“Done, sir.” Taylor goes back to his office without another word. I pull out my phone and immediately type an email to the head of HR that my ex-head of legal has been terminated effective immediately due to breach of contract. I send another email to Andrea that I expect a list of new candidates in the morning, so tell Borne and Associates to get off their asses.
I walk immediately to the fuck room. I don’t fuck in my bed; I fuck in this room. Reaching into the nightstand, I pull out the burner phone that’s always charging there and text my BDSM escort service.
**I need two in thirty minutes. Clean. Freaks. Bareback. Penthouse. Ask for Trey. **
I don’t wait for a response. They know if they can’t find someone, I won’t use them again. I pay handsomely to make sure they’re at my beck and call, so they very well better be. I strip out of my clothes with intention to burn them and walk straight into the shower.
**Expect Vida and Blaze. **
This is the message that greets me when I step out of the shower. That was twenty minutes ago. I take a few items from the drawers and place them on the end table near the sofa, in case I decide to use them. I don’t bother getting dressed. This isn’t a seduction session. Hell, I don’t even want to beat them now. I just want to fuck and go to sleep… forget this whole goddamn night.
I text the names to Taylor just in time for my two fuckbuddies to arrive. I instruct him to send them to the fuck room, get comfortable on the sofa, and wait. To my delight, two luscious specimens walk in the open door, both in cliché trench coats and stilettos.
“I’m Vida,” the taller one says. “This is Blaze.”
“What would you like, Sir?” Vida asks.
“I want to be sucked and fucked until I’m comatose and then I want you to leave,” I say frankly. Vida raises an eyebrow, then turns to Blaze. A wordless conversation passes between them before she turns her gaze back to me.
“Yes, Sir,” she says. They simultaneously undo the belts of their trench coats and they’re both naked underneath—and fucking gorgeous!
Yes! Jackpot! Let’s get this shit started.
“Get over here and suck my dick,” I command. They move as one as they approach me. I slide down so that my ass is nestled comfortably on the edge of the sofa, allowing my legs to fall open wide.
Two women on the head of my dick—licking and sucking like a coveted, delicious lollipop. I don’t say a word and I don’t move. I just watch those luscious lips and hot tongues compete to make me come. Shit this is good. Vida’s lips suckle my head while Blaze’s incredibly long tongue wraps around my cock and tickles and licks my frenulum. Fuck, this is hot… and I get to watch.
Licking and sucking and lapping until my cock is hot and hard and pink and wet with their saliva. I grip the edge of the sofa in hot pleasure, and try though I might, I can’t resist their combined talents. I lick my lips, then bite, anticipating the hot, hard orgasm building in my balls. Vida takes the queue and begins to stroke her side of my cock hard and tight with those lips. Not to be outdone, Blaze alternates her stroke so that one of them has their mouth on my head at all times.
They’re both very good at what they do, but with different techniques. Vida’s tongue is small and quick, giving me a torturous flutter when she’s at the head. Blaze’s tongue is long, firm, and thick, covering an amazing amount of sensitive skin when she takes me into her mouth.
Fucking two different mouths at the same damn time, each with masterful techniques to make me blow is enough on its own to send me sailing over the edge, but when one of them ghosts a finger over my asshole, across my anus, and then tickles and caresses the tight skin of my balls, I close my eyes and see my Mistress tormenting my balls and ass with her fingers and pleasuring my sensitive cock with her mouth. It’s more than I can take.
“Fuck!” I bite out, opening my eyes and digging my fingers into the sofa so as not to grab Vida by the hair and ruin her rhythm. She’s the one who ends up on the head when my orgasm starts, and she latches on and sucks hard, drinking nearly every bit of my semen and only allowing a drop or two to escape from the corner of her mouth where I can see them. They slide hot and thick down my pulsing, throbbing, massively ejaculating dick where Blaze’s long thick tongue is waiting to snake around my throbbing cock and lap them up like tasty drops of sweet nectar.
The visual causes me to groan deep in my chest and the pleasure starts a whole new series of tremors. I come and come and come until it nearly feels that my balls are empty… but I know better. I tell them to stop and watch them make out a bit for me while my cock rejuvenates. It doesn’t take long.
“Get over here,” I command them. “On your knees on either side of me.” They both crouch beside me on the sofa and I put a finger into each of them.
“Kiss,” I tell them, and they begin the raunchiest girl-on-girl make-out session I think I’ve ever seen. The first one to start riding my finger wins. Vida beats her counterpart to the punch.
“Stop,” I tell them, and they rip their lips apart, looking lustfully at one another.
Fuck, I love bisexual submissives.
“You,” I command Blaze as I take my fingers from her pussy, “go get those cuffs.” She goes to the end table and gets the leather cuffs while Vida continues riding my hand. That’s right baby, keep it nice and wet for me.
“Cuff her at the elbows,” I tell Blaze. Vida obediently puts her arms behind her back and Blaze cuffs her at the elbows, causing her breasts to protrude nicely. Yes!
“Get up here and ride my cock!” I tell her. With the help of her friend, she straddles me and slides her wet pussy onto my now-eager dick.
“Fuck, yes!” I hiss, grabbing her hips and pushing and pulling that pussy on and off my dick.
“Fuck, that’s good. Gimme those tits.” She juts her chest out to me and I take hungry mouthfuls of those tender tits and taut nipples into my mouth as I drill into her. She moans in pleasure and drops her head back as I drill into her and Blaze fondles her wherever her hands can reach.
When I tire of this position, I make her straddle me in reverse so that I can watch that ass bounce on my cock. She spreads her legs wide and pulls my dick up into that warm, dark orifice. She’s so tight this way that I nearly whimper as her pussy sucks me in balls deep. With her elbows still cuffed together, she puts her hands flat on my abs and rolls mercilessly on my dick.
Oh, God, this is so good I may not get to fuck Blaze.
“Make her feel good,” I tell Blaze. She’s focusing too hard on me and I won’t last long. Blaze starts by kissing her, deep and sensual, while she pinches Vida’s nipples between her fingers. This may not have been the best idea, because not only do I have two sexy and hot girls making out right in front of me, but one of them is riding my dick—well! And getting better the hotter she gets.
At some point, I realize that my dick is nothing more than a warm, hard dildo and that’s fine with me, because once Blaze slides down between our legs and starts licking Vida’s pussy, the ride becomes a sensual fucking rodeo and a race to the finish.
I’m not racing. I still want to fuck Blaze, but I’m going to enjoy Vida working my dick before she comes.
Blaze’s head is bobbing, and Vida throws her head back in ecstasy, her strokes on my dick now becoming long and controlled… and wetter… and tighter…
Shit, I’m not going to make it.
Vida whimpers with every stroke. She’s so hot and ready to come. She spreads her legs wider as Blaze‘s head continues to bob between her thighs. If she’s eating that pussy as well as she sucks dick, I feel sorry for that little cunt getting licked and drilled at the same time.
Vida raises her head so that she can see the action between her legs. She’s sweating all over and now fucking Blaze’s mouth more than my cock. I grab both of her arms and stroke up into that pulsing pussy as Blaze brings her closer and closer to the edge.
That’s it. Suck that clit. Make her come.
Vida trembles and whimpers again and I hold her down by the arms, massaging those trembling walls with my stiff, eager dick and pleasuring my aching cock with that sweet, tightening pussy. It’s making that wonderful, sloppy, wet sound like creamy macaroni and cheese and that shit is so fucking hot that I have to concentrate not to blow inside of her.
Vida trembles violently and finally shrieks out a massive orgasm before falling limp on my dick. That was so fucking hot, but now, I have a limp submissive on my lap. That will never do.
“Switch,” I command them. “Make it fast.”
Blaze undoes the cuffs from Vida’s elbow, giving her a moment to catch her breath. She’s still on my lap and I rock slowly into her as Blaze turns around and allows Vida to cuff her elbows. She rises off my dick, which is now wet, red, and standing at complete attention. Blaze raises her eyebrows but isn’t daunted by the task. She slides down on my stiff cock and I’m immediately relieved that she didn’t ride me first—Vida wouldn’t have gotten up here.
“Damn, baby,” I say almost involuntarily. “What the fuck?”
“Kegels,” she says as she squeezes them around me and begins to ride.
“Fuuuuck,” I groan as an inhumanly tight pussy squeezes my cock. Fuck… Fleshlight. Mistress. This shit is going to be really quick.
Vida doesn’t waste time pleasuring Blaze. She must be grateful for that massive orgasm. Blaze is a little more flexible and has a better ride and a better rhythm, if I’m honest. Fuck, she’s going to drain me fucking dry. I close my eyes and see my Mistress… sucking my cock, squeezing my cock, stroking me with the Fleshlight…
My balls tighten, and I have to shake the thought of Golden using my body like no one else can. I may be just a dildo to these cunts, but they’re nothing more than substitutes for the woman that I really want… and the things that she does to me.
“Fuck!” I hiss as I see her tight body in my mind’s eye, even with my eyes open.
Vida has her hand firmly on Blaze’s nape, holding her head in place as she devours her with lavish and luscious kisses, so deep that their hair hides their faces and I can only see Vida’s head bob as she gobbles hungrily at Blaze. Vida really likes what she’s doing because I hear her moan and her hand wanders down to Blaze’s ass and squeezes while the other hand disappears between her legs, no doubt stroking her clit. I watch Blaze fall into ecstasy as Vida’s mouth moves from Blaze’s mouth to her neck and Vida devours the skin sensually.
“Mmmmm,” I groan at the sexy scene playing out before me—two girls loving each other thoroughly while one of them rides my dick so well that she forgets there’s actually a person attached to it. Other guys would be jealous that they aren’t the center of attention, but the only part of my body that needs to be the center is getting all the fucking attention it needs. Love away, ladies.
Blaze’s Kegels tighten hard around me and I realize that it’s because when I wasn’t paying attention, Vida dropped down to that pussy and now, her head is bobbing away between our legs.
Fuck, this is so hot!
Blaze is fighting to get out of her bounds now, bouncing hard and tight on my dick and truly making me think of my Mistress and her magnificent hand jobs.
I can’t look anymore. I can only see Golden, my Mistress, pulling and massaging, tighter and tighter and tighter. I groan, knowing the release is going to be massive and hoping this sub doesn’t blow before I do when…
Blaze screams loudly and cries a sorrowful ballad as she bursts wildly into orgasm. Her pussy clamps onto my dick in a most ungodly fashion and I cry out, wrapping one arm around her body so that my hand is gasping the opposite tit and the other arm around her waist immobilizing her on her deadly balls-deep downstroke, allowing me to thrust up into her vise pussy so that I can finish the job. While she’s tightening hungrily around my cock, Vida sucks my balls into her mouth and rolls them around.
Two more deep thrusts and I cry out, coming so hard inside that hot little pussy that I think I leave my head in there. Vida keeps licking until my balls are completely empty and Blaze is still twitching on my lap. I sink helplessly into the sofa trying to catch my breath as Vida peppers kisses on Blaze’s face.
A dildo to two hot, bisexual lovers—I highly recommend it.
I awake to my phone buzzing on the nightstand. Shit. I missed the alarm. I guess I won’t be going into the office this morning. I’m so fucking tired and still fucking sore. I painstakingly reach for the irritatingly buzzing phone.
“Hello,” I nearly growl.
“What? Still in bed, brother? You must have had an interesting evening.” Oh, shit. I don’t feel like dealing with this right now.
“Make it fast, Elliot,” I say. He only calls when he wants something from me, and I’m not biting today.
“I hear you spent some time in the hoosegow last night!” Elliot sounds like somebody just personally introduced him to Santa Claus.
“Yes, I did,” I say flatly. “How did you find out?”
“I have my ways,” he replies, his voice full of mirth. “What do you think Mom and Dad are going to say?” he taunts. Don’t have time or strength for this.
“Tell them, Elliot,” I say, unconcerned. “Let me know how it turns out.”
“Oh, no,” he says. “No, I’m going to save this for when I really need it.” I have such a loving family.
“You do that, Elliot. Goodbye.” I end the call and dial my mother.
“Hello, Christian,” my mother says in that voice that makes me know she’s glad to hear from me.
“Hi, Mom. How are you?”
“I’m fine, but you sound tired,” she observes.
“I am, Mom,” I say… for more reasons than one. “I want to tell you something before you hear it anywhere else.” There’s silence for a moment.
“Should I sit?” she asks.
“Yeah, you should.”
“Christian, are you sick?” she asks, her voice shaking.
“No. Mom, no,” I say quickly to calm her nerves. “It’s nothing like that. I’m fine. It’s just—stories get all twisted and things when you hear them second-hand and I’d rather you hear this from me.” Mom takes a deep breath and releases it.
“I’m ready, son,” she says.
“Do you remember Elena Lincoln, the salon owner?” I ask.
“Yes, I vaguely remember hearing something about her salons a while back,” she admits.
“Yeah, well, she and I used to be friends—before her salons failed. We fell out right around that time. She was sure that I had something to do with the fall of her salons and she attacked me at Grey House…”
“What do you mean she attacked you? Attacked you how?” Mom asks. How could she not have seen this?
“You remember my broken arm?” I ask. “I lied. I wasn’t mugged. She broke my arm. She threw a concrete plant at me in my first-floor conference room.”
“What?” Mom shrieks. “Obviously, you’re pressing charges.”
“Obviously. How could you not have seen this, Mom? It was all over the news.”
“Apparently, not the news that counts,” she says. “I don’t pay attention to gossip rags or online blog-type sites or anything like that. I look for the meat and potatoes. The rest—I don’t pay any attention to it.”
I wish everybody could be like that.
“Well, she’s looking for revenge,” I say. “Somebody beat her all to hell last night and she told the police that it was me. I was arrested.”
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” my mother says disgusted. “Well, that’ll be all over the news.”
“It’s possible,” I say. “I’m home today because I’m just too damn tired, but I’ll be putting together a press release with my PR team and I’m filing some lawsuits as well. You know the sensational is going to get out before the truth does, but my name was cleared. I had an alibi.” Mom sighs.
“Well, that’s good to hear. As long as I know the truth, they can say what garbage they want. What can I do, son?”
“You’re already doing it, Mom. Just shut the garbage down whenever it falls on your ears. I don’t care what the rest of the world hears, I can handle that—but I do care what you hear, Mom.”
“Thank you for telling me, Christian. I love you.”
“I love you, too, Mom.” I end the call. Take that, Elliot. I dial Welch.
“Yes, sir?” he answers.
“Elena Lincoln,” I tell him. “I want pictures of her—right now, beat all to hell with her face destroyed. I don’t care who gets them or how.”
“Done, sir,” he replies, and I end the call, then dial my PR guy.
“Brandon Pack here,” he answers.
“I was arrested last night,” I say immediately. “The charges were dropped because my alibi checked out, but Elena Lincoln was assaulted, and she fingered me.”
“Fuck, are you serious?” he asks.
“Dead serious. This is what I want you to do…”
“Christian! What the fuck is this about? By the time I went to the station, they said that you had already been released! I get to Grey House this morning and my shit’s all packed and I can’t get in the building because my clearances have all been disabled. If I’m out of a job, at least I should know the fuck why! You don’t get to just dismiss me, Grey! I know more than you think I know! I won’t go down without a fight! At least answer your goddamn phone!”
Oh, is that so, Mr. Rockford? Are you threatening me? Do you really want to see how dirty I can play? You got it!
As it turns out, Rockford thought I was arrested for the fight that I got into with Linc at Grey House yesterday. During one of his several rants into my voicemail that day, he let that cat out of the bag. That’s why he didn’t rush to get to the precinct. It was, “Oh, now you need me. I’ll let you stew for a bit.” He grew the wrong set of balls with the wrong person at the wrong time.
I call my IT genius and have him save all of the lovely voicemails that are filling up my phone to our networks in case I need them later. Then, I call Welch again.
“Did you get the pictures?” I ask.
“This morning, right after we spoke.”
“Good. Get them to Brandon. And send Rockford the Omega Care Package. I’m on my way.”
“The message on the Omega?” he asks.
“’What do you think you know?’” I reply.
“Done, sir.” I end the call. It’s about 11am and I had planned on staying home and recuperating from last night’s confinement, flogging and fucking—not necessarily in that order—but I really should have known better. Luckily, my stripes and bruises from playtime with Golden are all on my back, shoulders, ass, and thighs, so a black T-shirt and blue jeans will make just the statement I need.
I get to the office and the press is clamoring outside of Grey House. I don’t know if news of the arrest was leaked or if Brandon’s instructions garnered this much attention in such a short amount of time. Either way, it’s exactly what I need.
“The package has been delivered, sir,” Welch notifies me when I get into my office, “and Brandon has what he needs as well.”
The Omega Care Package is something that I have on standby for executives, CEO’s, lawyers, what have you, that find themselves in a position where they think they have me over a barrel. For Rockford, the OCP is pictures of his children leaving school, his wife at one of her social events, and him in several compromising positions in more than one locale with three ladies that are clearly not his wife. The package also includes a partial background check with not-so-secret assets and other juicy little tidbits that could destroy the man in several ways. He won’t have to guess who sent it with the one-line message he received.
Sure enough, his annoying and threatening calls and messages stop.
I’ll still have to punish him somehow for threatening me in the first place, but right now, I have bigger fish to fry.
The interruption to my sleep last night prevented me from falling asleep when I got home, so I slept in and called Chanelle to take the day off. I’m just rolling over and stretching when Blake’s gentle knock reaches my ears.
“Come in,” I invite softly, not wanting to move from my cocoon, but knowing that I can’t lay here all day. Blake comes into the room with a prepared tray.
“May I serve you, Mistress?” he asks as I sit up in bed.
“You may,” I reply. Blake sits on the bed and places the bed tray over my lap. He removes the dome to reveal a beautiful large cheese croissant and a bowl of fresh fruit. A beautiful fruit juice cocktail with a garnish is on the side of the tray.
“I know you don’t like to sleep too late,” he says, unfolding the napkin and placing it over the exposed part of my lap, “so I thought I’d make it a little easier for you to wake.” He hands me the fruit juice cocktail. It’s his specialty—organic pears, fresh ginger, tangerine and lemon. “I would also like to discuss something with you.”
“Why you stayed last night?” I guess. He nods.
“But first…” He leans over to my nightstand and retrieves the remote from inside the top drawer. The television in my room is pretty much for decoration. I very rarely watch it. So, when he turns it on, I gather that there’s something he thinks I need to see. I pick up the fork and dig in to the bowl of tropical fruit salad.
“There was an announcement on the local morning show today that Christian Grey was going to be doing a press release soon. Considering your late-night trip last evening, I thought you might want to see it firsthand.”
“You’re right,” I say after swallowing some kiwi and passionfruit. “Thank you for alerting me.” He nods and leans his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands between them and staring at his clasped hands.
“What’s on your mind?” I say, placing the bowl on the tray. He sighs.
“Please, eat, before the croissant gets cold. I will tell you,” he urges. I tear a piece of the croissant and I swear it’s the most delectable thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.
Well, except… focus, Ana!
“I’ve made a decision.”
Shit. I don’t like the sound of this. I quickly chew and swallow the croissant and refuse to take another bite until I know what’s going on.
“And that is?” I say, wiping my hand on the napkin to show that breakfast is over until I know what’s going on. He watches me, then looks at his hands again.
“I’m leaving my wife,” he says softly. He sounds a bit remorseful about the decision.
“Oh,” I say. That’s not what I expected to hear. “What brought this on?” He sighs.
“I’ve taken responsibility for what I’ve done. I killed my Danielle. I live in purgatory because of it every day of my life. But Canciana…” He trails off. I don’t think he ever told me her name. If he did, I don’t remember.
“Canciana has become more and more selfish, her behavior more erratic than ever. I have been in limbo for years, in a state of penance, and she just gets worse and worse. While I understand her suffering, I punish myself enough every day—the memories, the pain, the guilt… I won’t allow her to punish me, too, not anymore.”
“What made you come to this decision?” I ask, comfortable enough now to eat my breakfast.
“I allowed her to do what she wanted—go where she wanted, be with whom she wanted, spend what she wanted, but it wasn’t enough. She had to hurt me more and more and she continued to become more and more inconsiderate in her actions. Last night, I come home, I put my key in the door and I hear noise upstairs. I go up the stairs thinking that someone is intruding and when I open the door to her room, she’s in bed with another man—in my house.”
I’m confused now. He said she could be with whom she wanted, and now he’s upset that he caught her fucking someone else?
“I knew that she was seeing other men; I don’t care about that, as long as she didn’t—how you say—shit where you sleep?”
Oooohh. She could fuck who she wanted, just not in his house. I continue to eat my delicious breakfast, listening to the soap opera playing out before me.
“When I asked what the hell she was doing, do you know what she said? Close the damn door.”
Ouch, that smarts.
“So, I did, and I went to my room and I packed my things, and I put them in my car, and I drove away. I came back here, and I assumed that you heard me come back last night, which is why you summoned me when Mr. Grey called…”
“No,” I confess, “it was just out of habit.” I finish the rest of my fruit salad. Blake looks at his hands again.
“She’s at the point where she doesn’t care at all about my feelings. I killed our daughter and that’s all she knows. I don’t matter. It’s not fair for me to let her continue to abuse me and she’s just getting worse and worse. I still punish myself, but I’ve healed a bit. I understand and accept what I’ve done wrong, and I’ve found peace in what I do for you and others, even though it’s not perfect peace. She’s not healing at all. She’s becoming more and more bitter. My presence is only making it worse, and even my money isn’t helping the sting.
“I spent the night completing the forms and was the first person in line this morning at the court to file for divorce. I immediately employed a process server with instructions to serve the papers at 11am. That gave me enough time to clean out the bank accounts in both our names and open one in mine only. It doesn’t matter if she contests the divorce. We have a prenuptial agreement. She would do best to take the $4 million I promised her and leave. She could still live very comfortably on four million. She just won’t have unlimited funds like she has right now.”
“But if you had an agreement that she could live how she wanted and see who she wanted, what’s your basis for divorce?” I ask, chomping into what’s left of the croissant.
“Irreconcilable differences,” he replies. I raise a brow at him. “I come to find out that she’s using my money to take care of her worthless men. Then, I walk into our home that I purchased for my family where I was still laying my head, and she’s fucking some hijo de puta in my home! ¡probablemente el mismo bastardo que ella ha estado apoyando todos estos años!”
I don’t even think he realizes that he’s slipped into his native tongue. I swallow the croissant and finish my cocktail as he turns his attention to me.
“My apologies, Mistress,” he says humbly.
“Apologies are not necessary in this situation.” I look at my clock on the nightstand. “So, she’s already gotten the papers.” He nods.
“She’s hell-bent on contesting the divorce because she signed a prenup and she wants to keep spending my money to take care of her man. I will need an attorney to handle the divorce if it goes on too long and I trust no one with my personal information. You know me better than anyone. If this favor is too much to ask…”
“No, no, it’s not, Blake,” I stop him. “I’ll absolutely represent you.” He nods.
“She cannot use my money to take care of her men anymore. She can use her four million, after she signs the papers. She can have the house, because I sure as hell don’t want it, but that’s it.”
“She’ll try to get spousal support,” I warn.
“She didn’t agree to it in the prenup,” he informs me.
“She’ll still try,” I tell him, “to keep living in the manner in which she’s become accustomed.”
“Then we shall fight it nail and tooth, correct? No matter the cost, I can cover it.” He’s kidding right?
“We shall,” I say, laughing inwardly at his attempt at American vernacular. He nods and stands. He takes my tray and leaves without a word. I go to my en suite to relieve myself and once I wash my hands, Blake has returned.
“Mistress, one more thing. May I stay here until I can find a place?” I frown.
“I thought that was understood,” I reply. “And you don’t have to find a place. You have a room here. I have a guest quarters if you need more privacy…” He shakes his head.
“I don’t think I will need the guest quarters. I will think about staying, but…” He trails off.
“But what?” I ask.
“Mr. Grey, he’s becoming fond of you, and you of him…” I know where he’s going with this.
“We’ve had this conversation, Blake,” I say firmly. “Please don’t make me say it again.” He twists his mouth in disbelief and shakes his head.
“Yes, Mistress,” he says. I know him. He’s resolved that I’m going to fall in love with someone—most likely Trey since he’s the only one who comes to the house regularly—and Blake won’t be needed or welcomed anymore. That’s not going to happen, but I guess he’ll need to see that for himself.
“Mr. Grey,” Blake says.
“Blake,” I begin in a warning tone.
“No, Mistress, he’s on,” he says, pointing to the television and turning up the volume.
They’re in a conference room at Grey Enterprises Holding, and some guy is standing at a podium. Trey is standing behind him in that stance that he’s always in—legs parted shoulder length with his hands clasped in front of him—that is, when his hands aren’t in his pockets. I see Taylor standing in the same stance on the other side of the guy who’s about to start talking and several other men whom I assume are security standing around them as they’re all dressed like Taylor.
He looks positively scrumptious. He’s wearing a black T-shirt that’s clinging to his muscular body, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s rubbing against the welts on his back or if someone lovingly put some antiseptic cream on his bruises this morning. He looks quite refreshed and rested—and thoroughly well-fucked. I know that look. He’s been tripping the light fantastic all damn night and he’s as bright and shiny as a new penny this morning.
But why do I care?
Some off-screen reporter introduces the speaker as Brandon Pack, GEH’s head of Public Relations and the guy starts speaking.
“In the very late night and early morning hours last evening and today, Mr. Grey was dragged from his home and arrested after being wrongfully accused of attacking and viciously assaulting Elena Lincoln, socialite and wife of lumber giant, Caldwell Lincoln. Several months ago, after Mrs. Lincoln’s Esclava salon chain fell to ruin, she confronted Mr. Grey at his office, accosting him with a cement vase and breaking his arm. A restraining order is still in effect against Mrs. Lincoln and the assault case is still open. Mr. Grey has not seen or spoken to Elena Lincoln since that date.
“Mr. Grey recently seized the opportunity to capitalize on antiquated open and expired contracts with various lumber yards and suppliers, potentially placing a serious strain on Lincoln Timber and their future business dealings. To that end, Caldwell Lincoln visited Grey Enterprises Holdings yesterday to confront Mr. Grey, hurling curses and harsh words at him before he was escorted from the premises. The police were called upon his arrival and the situation thoroughly explained. A recording of the call to dispatch has been secured by our office.
“Mr. Lincoln left enraged and although he was in downtown Seattle as late as yesterday evening, his whereabouts are currently unknown.”
A picture of that frosted asshole flashes over the screen.
“If anyone has seen or sees Caldwell Lincoln, please inform him that his wife is in the hospital and has been brutally beaten, and he might want to find his way to her side.”
Brandon steps aside and Trey steps to the microphone.
“Let the record show that I was nowhere near that woman and I have no idea why she pointed her finger at me except for the fact that she attacked me several months ago and she has criminal charges pending because of it. This is nothing more than a vengeance campaign aimed at the wrong person. She has been terrorizing me ever since her salons folded, and I’m not going to take this anymore.
“I find it pretty coincidental that I had a heated conversation last evening with Caldwell Lincoln in my office when he came to my business and confronted me about my growing lumber interests. He wasn’t pleased with the outcome. Subsequently, his wife ends up beaten beyond recognition not two hours after our meeting and instead of being the doting husband by her side, he’s nowhere in sight.”
Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.
“A colleague of mine was able to secure these pictures of Elena Lincoln last night and this morning at Seattle General Hospital…”
Pictures of Elena flash across the screen. Her head is wrapped, and part of her face is bandaged. The part that’s not bandaged is a technicolor display of hideous bruising. There are also horrible bruises all over her body. One picture looks to have been taken before the doctors attended to her. Her face is bloody, and you can’t even tell it’s her.
“I would say that I’m looking quite unbruised and unscratched to have done that not 16 hours ago. No doubt, the person who actually attacked her more than likely looks like hell at this moment. This is the same woman who picked up a 50-pound cement pot and hurled it at me. I can guarantee you that she didn’t go down without a fight. Nonetheless, that same woman proclaimed to the police that I was her attacker.
“I can only hope that the fine work of the two detectives who dragged me from my home as well as the impeccable evidence that was undoubtedly collected from Mrs. Lincoln’s person and from under her fingernails all coupled with my airtight alibi will all link to the person who actually committed this crime. In the meantime, I will be pursuing whatever legal recourse is available to me for the false accusations levied against me by Mrs. Lincoln as well as my false arrest and imprisonment last night by two gung-ho detectives who weren’t at all interested in truth and justice and only in the arrest.”
Oh, boy. Good luck getting all that done with that pussy ass lawyer who didn’t even show up at the police station last night.
“In addition, I’m offering a five-million-dollar reward for any information that leads to the arrest and conviction of the actual culprit who attacked Mrs. Lincoln last night. Since Mrs. Lincoln has conveniently mistaken who put their hands on her, she and her husband are excluded from collecting this reward. However, believe me when I tell you that I’m quite anxious to have the person who committed this crime and cost me a night in jail apprehended, convicted, and incarcerated as soon as possible. Thank you.”
The reward probably wasn’t a good idea, because the police are going to be chasing down every nutcase that has a lead they think will lead to that arrest and they’ll never find who really did it.
I look over at Blake who’s watching the closing statements of the interview. He doesn’t appear to be feeling any melancholy or emotional loss about his broken marriage. Then again, you can’t really feel too badly about something that’s been broken for years. He just wants it over. He was okay with her living her life and doing her thing until she fucked someone in their home.
He has told me that Canciana knows that he’s wealthy, but she doesn’t know the full extent of his wealth. As long as they’re married, she has access to that wealth—investments, bank accounts, life insurance, full-survivorship if he dies. Once they’re divorced, all her rights are gone except for whatever she gets in the settlement.
Once the interview is over, Blake turns the television off and stands.
“Would you like a bath, Mistress?” he asks.
“Yes, in fact, I would love a bath,” I reply. He heads towards the en suite. “Blake?” He stops and turns to me.
“If you don’t mind me asking, just how much are you worth?” He smiles that half smile he always does.
“To be honest, Mistress, I’m probably worth about as much as your Christian, if not more. And my numbers are growing because of my offshore interest accounts, rental properties, and investments. This is why my wife doesn’t want the divorce. She still isn’t sure of my actual net worth.” He turns and walks into the en suite.
When I hear the water running, I’m certain that I won’t let that bitch get her hands on Blake’s money. I’m also certain of one other thing. I grab my cell phone and dial.
“Kirkland Police Department.”
“I think I know who assaulted Elena Lincoln and how you can find them.”
A/N: The Pinterest board for this story can be found at https://www.pinterest.com/ladeeceo/fifty-shades-golden/.
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