Becoming Dr. Grey: Chapter 66—Still Releasing Steam

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 saga continues…

Chapter 66—Still Releasing Steam


I ache in all the right places. There’s the most delicious aching throbbing in my lady parts the reminds me that my husband filled me to capacity last night for what seemed like hours. Several explosive orgasms that started with him slapping my asshole while his tongue mercilessly lapped at my clit. That was new, and I get shivers just thinking about it. I’d never felt anything like it!

He moans next to me, his hand wandering up to my full breasts. It’s like he can smell or feel my thoughts in his sleep. I stretch languidly, unintentionally pushing my swollen breasts into his hands and I actually purr.

“That kind of thing can get you in trouble, Mrs. Grey,” he says, sleepily.

“I don’t consider it trouble,” I coo, relishing the feel of his hand massaging my breast. His touch is firm and erotic, and although it shouldn’t have this effect… “You’re going to make my milk flow.” He raises sleepy, sexy eyes to me.

“Well, we can’t have that,” he says. He rises from the bed and walks over to my side. Effortlessly, he lifts me from the bed and carries me to the bathroom… and the shower.


An orgasm would have tired us both and we expressed a desire to go to the gym this morning. So, after relieving my heavy, swollen breasts with gentle strokes under flowing warm water, he pays delicious attention to cleaning and caressing my body. We’re both very tingly from last night’s escapes, having cum and sweat so hard that we stripped the bedding off the bed to leave for room service. I love my man’s body. He’s so chiseled and cut and beautiful. I take my time cleaning every muscle and sinew of his sculpted form, thinking to myself that now that the children are born, I’ll get my body fit again so that I can look good for him. Yes, it will of course be for me, but when I admire this body—this work of art straight from the hands of God—I take pride in knowing that it will be for him, too.

There’s a full-service gym within walking distance of the resort called the Sisters Athletic Club where guests can work out for free. I decide that it’s probably not a good idea to wear one of my flimsy workout short suits, so I didn’t even pack them. Instead, I wear some yoga pants and a cropped athletic top.

When we get to the gym, it’s filled with women. Although I’m not a paranoid wife, I’m certain that a hush falls over that goddamn place when my husband walks in. There’s a man here and there, but mostly, it’s women. I sigh and shake my head. Time to get this body sculpted.

“I’m going to go claim a locker and then I’ll be in the weight room,” I tell him. He nods.

“I’ll do the same and I’ll be at the stair climber.” I nod and we split up. I go to the locker room and put my outside clothes and duffel bag away. As I’m changing from boots to sneakers, three or four women enter cooing about the “hot piece of sex” on the stair climber. I pause for a moment, irritated at their mindless ogling and insensitive overt sexual comments about my husband.

“I bet he’s a real wildcat.”
“He’s fucking gorgeous.”
“You can tell his dick is big by the way it hangs in his shorts.”

I’m getting angrier and angrier at these women. Didn’t they see him walk in with someone? Instead of engaging these bitches in a conversation about how classless it is to talk about a man with his wife standing nearby—which I would normally do—I stand to my feet and slam my locker hard enough to shake the entire bank of lockers that it’s attached to. The locker room falls silent and can feel eyes boring holes into my back. Without making eye contact with these women, I conspicuously twist the wedding and engagement rings on my left hand. I want to tear into them. Instead, I pick up my towel and walk out of the now utterly silent locker room.

The weight room is fairly empty, maybe two or three guys in there, spread out on different machines. I begin with stretches in the mirror in the open floor part of the room. I’m beginning to wish that we hadn’t come to the gym after all. I just want to get back to the room and enjoy time with my husband. Everywhere we go, I have to deal with bitches in heat or some coven of fangirls vying for his attention. It’s getting to be exhausting. I’m going to have to develop a thicker skin because I can’t keep reacting this way.

It’s not his fault. Well, maybe to some degree, it is. He did focus his attention on becoming “walking sex,” and good God, did he succeed. Women lose their minds over him. Both of us nearly lost our lives because of it. I remember that submissive hopeful… what was her name? Greta, I think. She was ready to fuck him right there with the fresh fruit in the Marketplace if he let her. She didn’t even care about me—didn’t give me a second thought. None of them ever do. If they can attract his attention, what does a girlfriend mean to them?

Or a fiancée?

Or a wife?

I finish my warm-up exercises and just as I stand upright and look out to the area of the exercise machines, I see the hated trio—now dressed in street clothes—standing a few feet from the stair climbers gawking at my man. One of them is licking her lips hungrily, while another bites her finger. The third is clearly undressing him with her eyes. He’s plugged into his earbuds with his back to them, completely oblivious to their tactless gawking. Rage boils up in me and I close my eyes and turn away from them. Trying to control the fury rising in me, I see my saving grace hanging in the corner.

A heavy bag.

My mouth actually waters when I see the damn thing. It’s hanging there all alone, emitting an ethereal glow… okay, that part could just be me.

Hello, old friend…

It’s a 100-pound bag, attached to the floor and the ceiling. That means that I can wail on it like hell and it won’t come back and knock me down. I put in my earbuds and put my iPod on my favorite independent-woman-mad-girl mix, quickly procure a pair of sparring gloves, and commence to go to town on this thing.

The first song the kicks in is “Sisters Are Doin’ It for Themselves,” a great beat to match and the perfect words. As soon as I match my flow to the rhythm of the music, it’s like riding a bike. My muscles and movements flow into place like I’ve been doing this every day and I’m able to zone out everything and everybody and focus on the bag and my punches.

Oh, this feels great! I haven’t been able to just let loose in months! On anything! Yeah, my arms are a little flabby, but a few weeks of training will get those back in shape. My strikes are still fairly hard as I hear each punch reverberate off the walls of the fairly empty room. The sound is empowering! Take that! And that! And that and that! Oh, this is fantastic! I raise my foot to the heavy bag and give it a kick.

Off center and not hard enough.
I try again.
Still not right. Goddammit! Remember your training!

I step back and focus. Stepping forward, I extend my leg high and connect my calf with the heavy bag and snatch back quickly, executing a near-perfect front round kick.

Better. Again.

I focus and step into the kick again, a near flawless execution. Extending the other leg, I perform the full round kick where I complete the circle, step back from the opponent, and end up in the facing position again.

It’s all coming back to me.

By now, Destiny’s Child has pumped me through “Independent Woman” and is encouraging me with “Survivor” as I transition into back kicks and side kicks, my legs extending to the heavy bag and snapping back like a rubber bands. This song makes me think about Edward and the Green Valley gang… my mother and Stephen Morton… Elena Lincoln and every other person who has ever thought they would hold me back or bring me down—wished for my failure, but are now gagging at my success.

Whitney Houston hails me for being “Every Woman” and “Queen of the Night” while Katy Perry tells me to “Roar” and before I know it, I’ve thrown in slapping kicks, pushing front kicks, and alternating jabs and hooks until my workout becomes a seemingly choreographed series of blows intent on the annihilation of my opponent. My muscles begin that familiar breakdown and burn and my breathing regulates as I punish the heavy bag without mercy. Yes, in my mind’s eye, I visualize various people who have pissed me off, including the sisters Grimm out there gawking at my husband’s buns of steel. By the time, Janet Jacket declares my “Control,” the sweat of released tension gathers on and rolls off my back while breaths of frustration puff out of my chest with every blow, every kick…

My brutal ballet and workout are distracted by my sweaty husband leaning into view in front of the heavy bag. He’s clearly a safe distance in front of the bag even though it’s bolted to the floor and can’t attack him like the heavy bag at my apartment complex a couple of years ago. I dance around on my feet crossing my hands over my head several times as if I was doing jumping jacks. He’s got this questioning look on his face as if to say, “What in the world?” I pause my workout and remove my earbuds.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice a mix of caution and confusion.

“Yeah,” I answer breathlessly, still bouncing about so as not to crash from stopping too quickly. “That was great!” I pant. “I haven’t… done that in… a long time.”

“I see,” he replies. “You got a bit carried away.”

“Maybe just a bit,” I confess.

“You’ve got an audience,” he says. I don’t turn to see who’s watching. I’m sure his fan club is close by.

“I want to do a few reps of floor exercises and then I’ll be ready to go,” I tell him. He examines me.

“You’ve seen them, haven’t you?” he asks.

“Seen who?” I say, impassively. I might have gotten away with it if I had only coupled that Oscar winning question with a curious glance around the room. He twists his lips and raises his eyebrows at me.

“Don’t overdo it, okay?” he warns. “I’ll be over here with the weight machines.”

“Okay. I’ll be over there near the free weights,” I say, turning my back once again no doubt to his fan club. I have a purpose for being here and when my purpose is concluded, I’ll be going. I love Christian dearly and I know he loves this ass, but I’m the one that has to live with it. If I don’t shave at least an inch off of it, I’ll have to walk around disproportionately shaped for the rest of my life and have my clothes tailor-made… or risk every goddamn thing I wear looking like the Kardashian girl and that’s not something I want. That look has its place, but not every day.

Unfortunately for me, the free weights are surrounded by mirrors and I get a glimpse of Christian’s fan club behind me. Incredibly, they’re all standing there waiting to see what I’m going to do next—and they have company. At least four to five guys have joined them, all apparently captivated by my workout. I plug myself back into my earbuds and for the next several minutes, Queen Latifah, Mary J. Blige, Salt-n-Pepa and a few other old school hip-hop favorites lay soundtrack to my task. I laser focus my sights onto my own reflection and begin a grueling series of glut and ass exercises that I discovered before I left home.

I had never had cause to focus on my ass before now, so I had to do a little research on the best exercises to yield maximum results. Some of them I had never seen before, but I quickly learn that they will certainly cause a burn, like the single leg squat where I put one foot on a towel and push it straight out to the side of me while squatting on the other leg. I only did a few reps of 30 seconds per leg of that and my quads and glutes were killing me.

I ignore the pain and continue with toe taps, single-leg front raises, hip-lift progressions, squats with kick-backs, and for some reason at this particular moment, I start thinking about Christian’s prior subs. Why the fuck did that come to mind? The only logical reason I can come up with is that I’m watching my muscles flex in the mirror and thinking of the strenuous activities of the playroom—not the sex, just the strenuous activities—coupled with the fact that we hadn’t been here 30 seconds and he already acquired a fan club. The thought only makes me want to burn more calories.

My husband is an exceptional lover and a magnificent Dom. I haven’t even seen the extent of his abilities in the playroom—I know he’s been easy on me because of my inexperience as a submissive. So, I can’t even imagine the intensity of the connection his submissives had with him when he went full throttle with them. He’s never made me feel like I had to compete with them, but I’ve always wondered if he missed that life… the no-holds-barred aspect of it, that is.

I carefully observed the items that he chose for the playroom as he chose them. Three of those all-purpose platforms for easy transition when one holds every piece of equipment the damn thing has—and there are rings on the floor to bolt you down. A bed with stocks in it… and a queening seat! A massive frame with an intricate swinging apparatus. To call it a sex swing doesn’t quite cut it; there was way more than that going on with that thing! The 360-degree adjustable bondage apparatus. Oh! And items that I’m not allowed to see until they arrive!

Fucking hell!

“That’s enough.”

His soft, deep voice breaks my train of thought and pierces through the women singing in my ear when he pulls one of the earbuds out. I don’t know how I don’t see him come up behind me in the mirror. He dwarfs me by at least a foot! I’m shocked and panting as his hands gently clasp my sweating waist, making eye-contact with me in the mirror. He looks delicious in a gray sweat-drenched tank top and gym shorts, his hair curly and spiky, his muscles defined and shiny from his own workout.

He knows that something’s not quite right, but he does call me on it. He just extends his hands to mine and holds them there with the weights. Bending, he brings them slowly to my sides and lifts them again in a straight “T,” like I had them before. He repeats the process again… and again… seven more times. He’s helping me cool down. On the last lift, he takes the weights from my hands and puts them back on the rack. Returning to my outstretched arms, he gently pushes them up above my head by my biceps. Holding my hands there, he counts softly to ten and brings them back down.

He continues with a series of cool down exercises and stretches, bending his body to accommodate mine. When I’ve finally caught my breath and calmed a bit, he brings my arms around my body and wraps them around me in his arms, cradling his chin in my neck and examining my face in the mirror.

“Okay?” he says, softly. I nod.

“Okay,” I breathe. He kisses my bare shoulder.

“Let’s shower and go back.” I nod again.

“Okay.” He takes my hand and leads me from the weight room. It’s only now that I see that the Sisters Grimm have been joined by a couple of other women… and several men! Not everyone in the club, but quite a few people. I don’t afford any of them more than a fleeting glance before following Christian back towards the locker rooms.

cat2007_05_16After my shower, I slip into some jeans that I bought on my shopping trip last week, a T-shirt, a large pullover sweater and some Timberland boots. I use one of the blow dryers attached to the wall in the bathroom and dry my hair so that I don’t catch a death of cold. Then I tie my hair in a knot, no longer concerned about my “bald spot” as it is now covered with a full, thick coating of soft, brown hair—somewhat like cat’s fur.
I toss my wet gym clothes in a plastic bag and load everything into my duffel before going out to meet Christian.

He’s standing against the wall across from the ladies’ locker room door with his arms folded and his legs crossed at the ankles, gazing adoringly at me when I exit. He’s almost my twin in jeans and a cable-knit sweater the same color as mine. His hiking boots are brown while my Timberlands are black. His hair is blow-dried and neat, not like I’m accustomed to seeing it and I don’t particularly care for it, but he still looks like six feet two inches of sex on a goddamn stick. I can’t really be mad at the poor women who nearly swoon at his feet and forget themselves in his presence, even this scantily clad gym bunny who strolls in front of him, smiling, and saying something so low that only he can hear it.

“Excuse me, miss,” he says, his voice low and soft, never taking his eyes off mine, “but could you please step aside? You’re blocking my view of my wife.”

Well done, Mr. Grey!

She casts a glance over her shoulder and I’m positive she didn’t even know I was standing at the locker room door. She looks back at Christian, but still doesn’t step aside, so he sidesteps her and stalks over to me instead.

“Hello, Beautiful,” he says, softly.

“Hello, yourself,” I reply with a sweet smile, gazing into his gorgeous gray eyes. I resist the urge to climb him like a tree right now and feast on his lips, but gently put both of my hands in his hair and muss it—thoroughly, but seductively. He closes his eyes while I do it, and when he opens them, they are slate fire.

“There,” I breathe, satisfied with the outcome, “that’s much better.” He takes a deep breath through his nose and breathes out through his mouth.

“Mrs. Grey, that is so dangerous right now after watching you sweat in that room that way,” he warns. I lean into him.

“You can make me sweat even more,” I say before standing on my toes and closing my lips over his. The kiss is slow, but short, ending with a short tug of his bottom lip through my teeth. He moans quietly and puts one hand on my hip.

“Excuse me!”

Christian and I are both drawn to the irritated voice of the gym bunny that was previously unsuccessful in garnering his attention. Apparently, now she’s anxious to get into the locker room and wants us to move. I look up at my husband.

“Do you mind terribly if we just find something to eat and forego snowmobiling? Something quiet, intimate… I just want to be with you.” My voice is a bit pleading and people are starting to irritate me.

“Of course, Butterfly. Let’s see if we can scare up some brunch.” We turn around to the gym bunny. I glare at her and she glares right back.

“Well, I can’t get by you,” I point out as politely as I can, “and you can’t by get me. So, one of us is going to have to back up, and I have no intention of going back into the locker room.” There’s no malice in my voice, it’s just a statement of fact. She stares at me for a few seconds longer as neither of us moves.

“I’ve got a better idea,” Christian says, rudely stepping in front of her and scoping me up into his arms. I burst into a fit of giggles as I am literally swept off my feet and my boots accidentally hit her in her bunny boobs. She gasps, grasping the two mounds of silicon dramatically.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Christian says, feigning sincerity, and drawing attention to us. “My wife couldn’t get by, so I had to assist her. Are you okay? You weren’t hurt, were you?” By now, her hated glare is turned to Christian. I think she’s quite displeased that he came to my rescue. She brushes past us with a huff and charges angrily into the locker room.

“I think she’s angry,” I say with a shrug.

“I think she is,” Christian says, heading towards the door with me still in his arms.

“You can put me down, now, Christian. I can walk,” I say, my voice full of mirth.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he asks. He turns his back to the door to push it open and we realize that just about every eye in the gym is on us. Christian just stands there for a moment, then says, “You folks have a good day, now,” before backing out of the building with me in his arms.


“Are you going to carry me all the way back to the cabin?” she asks, once we clear the main lodge.

“That’s the plan,” I reply.

“That’s a long way, baby. Put me down. I’ll walk.”

“Sssshh!” I scold. “It’s a couple hundred feet and you’re light as a feather.”

“And you’re a liar,” she laughs. I raise an eyebrow at her.

“Did you forget that I used to carry you when you were carrying two other people?”

“No, I didn’t forget, but that was like out the door and to the car, not across the parking lot, around the building, and down a country road.”

“Be quiet and enjoy the fresh air.”

She behaves and silences, lying genteelly on my shoulder. She’s changed a bit. I know she saw those women well before I did. I hadn’t even paid attention to them until my round on the stair climber was complete. I had zoned out everything and everybody trying to get in a good workout since I had neglected the task for the last few days. When I turned around and saw the Terrible Three staring at me—one of them obviously gawking at my ass—I knew I had to find Butterfly.

I found her alright, unleashing hell on that poor heavy bag! All I could think at the time was, “Damn! What the fuck did that bag do to her?” Since her back was to the room with the machines, I thought she may not have seen the spectacle. Then that very weak denial of hers let me know that she had in fact seen it or had some sort of run in with these ladies, and that poor heavy bag was paying the price. Normally, she’s more aggressive towards women who show a blatant disrespect for her position as my wife. Today, she just chose to annihilate the heavy bag.

When I decided to stay in the weight room with her so that I could keep an eye on her, I couldn’t even finish my workout. I started with my reps of bench presses, then moved on to chest strengthening. When I was about to go to dead lifts, I turned around to see her doing some of the most grueling fucking as exercises I’ve ever seen in my life! She was doing some type of hip lifts and thrusts that had her legs extended and pelvis suspended for long periods of time. Then she was doing some move where her foot slid out on the floor on a towel and she had to control the squat with her other leg. I can’t even imagine the quad strength it takes to do some shit like that!

A small, yet quiet crowd gathered, including the three women who appeared to have nothing better to do with their time. Don’t women understand how uncomfortable it makes you feel for them to just stand there endlessly gawking at you that way? Seriously, if I haven’t shown any interest in you, why would you continue to do that? Even in my dominance, I’ve never objectified a woman that way… unless she belonged to me; then she expected it.

Hello? Mr. Mogul? Have you forgotten the very unsuccessful stare campaign that almost landed you in jail at the community center when you first met this tender little morsel?

That was different. I was doing that deliberately to make her uncomfortable, not because she was attractive and I just wanted to gawk at her. Although she was attractive and I did want to gawk at her, that wasn’t why I was doing it. Maybe I’m paying for past sins… and whose fucking voice was that??

My inner musings were interrupted when a masculine voice cursed behind me, commenting on the “Coca Cola bottle” doing the workout in the mirror. Without turning around, I examined the crowd in the reflection in front of Butterfly and noticed that several men had abandoned their workouts to watch my wife. That shit didn’t make me happy at all. She’s in those hot ass yoga pants and a cropped athletic shirt that crisscrosses over her back and she’s dominating these floor exercises that look like they would have the average person crying.

Sweat was gleaming off her body as she executed flawless explosive lunges where she started in a standard lunge position with her arms bent and fist clenched in front of her. Then she leapt gracefully off the floor switching legs in midair at the same time before landing with the alternate leg in a deep lunge position. As she repeated this exercise several times, all I could think to myself is “There goes my ass.”

I, along with several other admirers and Nosey Nancies watched as she shifted to yet another exercise—dumbbell squats. She did about 10 reps of the dumbbell squats, then proceeded into straight arm lifts with her arms straight out like a “T.” That form was flawless and beautiful, but she was unnecessarily pushing herself with the promise of pain later if she didn’t stop. She was totally in the zone as there was no other reason why she wouldn’t have seen the reflection of a group of people gathered behind her in the mirror in front of her. The mere fact that I was in that group would have caused her to stop. I don’t know why she was pushing herself that way, but she had done enough for the day.

I stood behind her and halted her reps, telling her just that.

She was surprised to see me, but melted into my hands as I led her through cool-down exercises and sent her to the locker room before going to shower and change myself. I never got the chance to finish my own workout, so carrying her now poses no hardship. Plus, I needed to let the gawking fuckers in there know that the “Coca Cola bottle” was taken… and the bitches in heat know that I was.

“I asked you not to overdo it,” I scold as we approach the cabin.

“I didn’t,” she says. “I’m fine.” I twist my lips.

“Yeah, until your muscles start locking up,” I chide as I place her on the small porch of our cabin so that I can unlock the door. “What was that all about, baby?” She shrugs as she walks to the bedroom and tosses her duffel bag on the floor.

“I don’t know. I guess I was just anxious to get back into the swing of things.” I examine her as she drops onto the bed.

“That’s bullshit,” I tell her softly and her eyes pierce at me. “It is, and you know it. You’ve been doing your yoga, wearing you belly binding, and eating right. I understand that you want to tone other parts of your body, but that shape defies nature. You have the waistline of a teenager, six weeks after the natural delivery of twins. One of the reasons I went all Umgawa when we left the gym is because of some asshole’s comment about the insane workout that the ‘Coca Cola bottle’ was doing. Now tell me what’s going on.” She tries and fails to hold back a snicker.

Umgawa?” she repeats through her laughter.

“Yes, Umgawa!” I repeat shamelessly. “Me Tarzan, you incredibly hot wife. Now don’t change the subject. What’s going on?” She sighs and falls back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

“I really don’t know, Christian,” she says. “Everybody keeps telling me that my body looks great for me to have just had twins, but look at my butt and hips. My boobs are huge. All I keep seeing when I look in the mirror is Kim Kardashian and I hate the way she looks! Then we go to the gym and I have to keep from going nuclear in the locker room because these women come in and all they keep talking about is you being sex on a stick and the size of your dick and I’m standing right there! I wanted to take a bite out of them so badly…”

“Then, why didn’t you?” I ask.

“Because I can’t keep doing that!” she replies, frustrated. “I can’t keep popping off on every woman who shows you attention. Pretty soon, I’ll be popping off on every woman in America. You’re a beautiful man. You’re attractive, strong, rich, and you exude power. Women are going to be falling at your feet all the time, some more aggressively than others. Nobody can fight that all the time. You just have to let it be.”

“Okay, I can see your frustration, but the same thing was going on with you at the gym. Men were physically and verbally ogling you, and I had no problem marking my territory,” I say proudly.

“They just see a big ass they want to fuck,” she says dismissively. I frown.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I ask. “And I thought we established that you don’t look like Kim Kardashian. Her body doesn’t fit her body, and we’ve come to expect her to look that way. To me, she looks freakish and unattractive, and that is definitely not you.” She sighs.

“If you say so,” she says without lifting her head. I crawl on the bed, hovering over her and look into her eyes.

“I want you to talk to Ace about this,” I tell her. “I think you have a distorted negative body image.” Her mouth falls open.

“I do not!” she snaps.

“Yes, doctor, you do,” I retort. “No matter how many people confirm that you have a beautiful body, you still see yourself as grossly misshapen and I just don’t get it.” Her hands are already conveniently lying on the bed on either side of her head, so I take one in each of mine, planting soft, yearning, promising kisses on her lips. “No matter how many times I tell you that you’re beautiful, you don’t believe me,” I say against her mouth. “Why don’t you believe me?” I close my eyes and kiss the corner of her mouth, down her cheek to the soft spot behind her ear.

“Ha!” she gasps, when I lick that sweet spot. “Because… you’re biased…” she pants. “You thought I was… beautiful when… I weighed 500 pounds!”

“That was a different kind of beautiful,” I say, bringing my eyes back to hers. “That was the Mother-Earth-pregnancy-glow-swollen-with-my-babies-I-can’t-believe-I’m-so-goddamn-lucky beautiful.” I cross her lips with my tongue and kiss them gently, but hungrily again. “This is the fucking-hell-this-body-is-insanely-gorgeous-and-she’s-driving-me-out-of-my-fucking-mind beautiful.” I breathe into her neck and she shivers.

“Do you mean it, Christian?” she breathes. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better? Please don’t lie to me…” I straighten my legs so that my body lies flat on her and push my growing, stiffening erection into her core. “Aah!” she gasps.

“You tell me,” I breathe into her ear, softly sucking her earlobe before gently sinking my teeth into the skin of her neck. “But baby, you have to know you’re beautiful for yourself, not just because other people tell you so, and not just because I can’t keep my hands off of you.” Sad blue eyes look up at mine before she sighs heavily.

“Okay,” she concedes. “I’ll talk to Ace.” I smile encouragingly at her.

“That’s my girl,” I say sweetly. “Now, about not being able to keep my hands off you…” I shift and push one of my legs between both of hers and push her sweater and tank top up over her stomach. Her waist and abdomen are a true act of God. I’ve never seen a woman shrink this quickly after having a baby. However, I have to admit that I don’t have much experience with women and babies. I place open-mouthed kisses on her stomach, dipping my tongue into her navel.

“Christian,” she moans, gently thrusting her hands into my hair. “We have to eat.”

“Okay,” I tell her, traveling across her stomach to her side and back to the other with my mouth, “but we’re not leaving this cabin. I want you to myself for the rest of our time here, which isn’t much.” I push her shirts further up her body and start to rain kisses and licks all over her torso. “I don’t want to share you with anyone else and I would venture to say that you feel the same way about me.” She pushes her body up into mine as I travel up her torso. “Last night was good—extremely good—but I plan to sex you senseless for the rest of the day.”

Pushing my hands further under her shirt, I get to her breasts and squeeze gently. She moans, a soft, sensual, quiet purr as I tease her nipples through the material of her bra. I feel wetness start to seep through the cloth and for some reason, it turns me on. My incredible, beautiful wife… literally the fountain of life for my two children, bursting with a spring of sweet nectar that keeps them alive. I push the sweater and T-shirt above her breasts and marvel at the plump mounds, moist and soft and full of “life.”

“Your breasts are leaking,” I say before placing open-mouthed licks and kisses on the tender flesh. She stiffens a bit.

“They… they are?” she says, somewhat alarmed, but completely aroused.

“Ssshh,” I soothe, still molding the meat with both hands while gently licking her skin, taking mouthfuls of tender tit into my mouth as I work my way to the covered, leaking nipple. Her bra is getting wetter and wetter and her nipple is straining against the fabric. I know it’ll be sensitive behind the constriction of the bra. I sink my teeth into the protrusion through the soft cotton, teasing it briefly with my tongue before drawing on it firmly. I feel the warmth of the milk releasing into her bra with the suction and I lick the protrusion again.

“Oh God, Christian,” she moans, pushing her breasts into my hands—and mouth—and tightening her fingers in my hair. Oh, yes, for the rest of the fucking day…

Just as I’m planning my next “attack,” her phone buzzes from the place where we left it charging this morning. We both freeze and look at it, no doubt both immediately thinking of the babies. I look up at her and she nods silently, confirming my thoughts, so I reach for her phone and hand it to her. Still lying on her back, she swipes the screen and touches it a few times… then grimaces.

“Oh, what the fuck?” she says in a low, frustrated voice. She makes to sit up, so I rise off her and pull her shirts down. The bra and T-shirt will hold the leaking milk for now.

“What is it?” I ask as she sits up and taps her screen a few times.

“I just got a text from Maxie. All it says is ‘No shit, you really need to see this,’ and there’s a link.” Oh, fuck. What fresh new hell has followed us to our cozy, cabin weekend getaway? A few seconds later, my wife gasps loudly and her hand flies to her gaping mouth. Still glaring at her phone, her eyes have easily expanded to the size of silver dollars, bigger than I’ve ever seen them before, and she twitches a bit.

“Butterfly, what’s wrong?” I ask, my voice panicked. She raises incredulous eyes to me as my phone starts to buzz in my pocket. Not now! “Baby, please, tell me what’s wrong!” I want to snatch the phone from her hand, but at this moment, I get the feeling that’s not the right thing to do. My phone buzzes again with a reminder of the text. I’m at first annoyed, then I think that maybe whatever is on Butterfly’s phone is on mine, too. I fish it out of my pocket and find and text from Al. No prelim, just a link. Butterfly just got a link from Maxie. That’s when it dawns on me…


I quickly click the link and almost imitate Butterfly’s expression when I see the headline of the article that flashes across the screen. I immediately search for the remote to the plasma television mounted above the fireplace. Relieved to see the smart TV controls on the remote, I turn it on and activate the “send to TV” function. On my phone, I activate the same function and beam the article to the television through Bluetooth.

“This?” I say to her. She turns to the television, drops her phone, and nods. I move back to the bed, not knowing how to take her reaction, but just wanting to be there for her right now. I put my arms around her and pull her into my embrace, her back to my front, as we both read the headline of the article on the screen in silence:

 Seattle Man Serving 28-Year Sentence on Kidnapping and Assault Charges Found Hanging in His Cell

293-franco-mugshot-lr-120409A mugshot of a familiar face appears next on the screen. I give the remote to Butterfly so that she can scroll through the article at her pace. We both continue to read in silence: 

At 2 a.m. Friday morning, prison officials in Walla Walla, WA, airlifted a long-term inmate to a trauma center after finding him hanging in his cell.

Officials identified the man as 29-year-old Edward David, a Seattle resident at the beginning of a 28-year sentence.

According to Ronald Holstein, superintendent of the Washington State Penitentiary, prison staff found David hanging in his cell from torn sheets at 1:46 a.m. during regular rounds on the cellblock. The staff cut the torn sheets and immediately began to administer CPR, said Holstein. Walla Walla Fire and Rescue took David to Walla Walla General Hospital. From there, Life Flight transported him to Sacred Heart in Spokane, per Holstein.

David’s condition deteriorated quickly after being admitted to Sacred Heart. While attempting to contact his family, hospital officials determined late Friday night that David’s brain activity was continuing to decrease and just past midnight on Saturday morning, he was declared brain dead. While attempts continued to get responses from his family, David defied life support efforts in an unprecedented event. Though he remained on life support, a few hours after there was no brain activity, David somehow passed away even while on life support. An investigation will ensue, though several staff members—both doctors and nurses—attest to having been present when David flatlined, though there is no explanation for the occurrence as the machines were all still operational.

At 8:19 a.m. Saturday morning, Edward David was pronounced dead, seemingly from lack of oxygen due to hanging. An autopsy will follow to corroborate cause of death.

After a very public trial, David was convicted of kidnapping and assaulting Anastasia Grey—Anastasia Steele at that time—wife of Seattle businessman and entrepreneur Christian Grey. She and Grey were dating at the time.

On July 23, 2012, in a joint operation by King County Sheriffs, the Seattle Police Department, and Grey’s security team, David was apprehended on Vashon Island where he and an accomplice, Robert Harris, had held Ms. Steele hostage for four days. Harris was a disgruntled ex-employee of Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc., of which Christian Grey is the owner and Chief Operating Officer. Ms. Steele was found handcuffed to a bed, badly beaten, undernourished, and dehydrated. She was airlifted to Seattle General Hospital to be treated for her injuries while David was taken into custody and booked into the King County Jail. Harris was killed in a shootout with police.

David was charged with and later convicted of several counts, including unlawful imprisonment, robbery, and first degree assault with a weapon. Once the consecutive sentences were tallied, he stood to serve time until 2040, with a possible hope of parole in 2029.

In a related civil trial against David, Mrs. Grey was awarded nearly $5 million, requiring the turnover of David’s remaining assets to cover the settlement. However, sources have indicated that although Mrs. Grey was briefly the owner of Edwise Hardware and Software, she has since turned the business over to federal authorities for investigation of possible criminal activity from prior to her obtaining the company.

The family has still not responded for comments.

We sit in silence for several minutes after I know we’ve both finished the article.

“Talk to me, Butterfly,” I say softly, looking for some hint as to what she’s feeling right now. She says nothing. Her arms still over mine around her waist, she squeezes them tighter around her, burrowing backwards into my torso, seemingly seeking much needed warmth. I gladly oblige, pulling her as close to me as two bodies can get and holding her safely against my chest. She sighs deeply, still looking at the screen displaying David’s mugshot and the article describing his death. My emotions are conflicted right now, but I just hold her and kiss her hair.

Almost an eternity later, she speaks.

“Do you think he killed himself?” she asks softly. Do I fucking care?

“It… looks that way,” I reply, trying to be comforting. She sighs again.

“My prediction came true,” she said. I frown, a bit horrified.

“You predicted that he was going to kill himself?” I ask. She shakes her head.

“No, I quoted Danielle D’Barbarac, a character from the movie Ever After…” She recites the quote to me and I nod.

“Well, you were right. He did think of you every day for the rest of his life,” I say, gently stroking her cheek. “Are you okay?” I ask. She did love him once, and now he’s dead. I’m not one to be so cold as to think that she may feel nothing at all about this. That’s probably the reason for her current introspection. She surprises me when she pulls away and sits up, turning around to face me.

“You’re going to think I’m horrible,” she begins, “but want champagne.”

I try not to react. Champagne?! How macabre!

“I’m not toasting his death,” she says. “Well, in a way, I am… but honestly, I want to celebrate. One of the worst chapters in my life is finally closed! For good! I’ll never have to look back on this again unless I choose to. He left this world with me having no unfinished business—not one unsaid word! This is the most closure that I’ve ever felt in my life so far. I didn’t feel this much closure when I came to grips with the virtual loss of my mother. And you can best believe that if Cody Whitmore dies, I’ll be throwing a goddamn party. So, yes, I want champagne.” Without pausing, I pick up my cell and dial a number.

“Yes, sir?” Chuck answers.

“I need two bottles of Bollinger, right now. Whatever you can find on short notice,” I reply.

“Yes, sir.” I end the call. She frowns.

“He even died on life support… that’s the strangest thing I’ve ever heard,” she says. “How does that happen? Physically, that should be impossible. If every bodily function breaks down and stops completely—like when you’re brain dead—the machines should still keep you alive. It’s not a theory; it’s a fact.” I shrug.

“I have no explanation, Butterfly,” I tell her,

“Somebody had to turn those machines off… although that doesn’t make sense either. By law, brain dead is legally and clinically dead. The hospital is not required to keep him alive. All that was needed was the declaration of brain death and the order to turn off the machines. But no one will admit to turning off the machines.”

“Maybe they don’t want any backlash from his family,” I say. She shakes her head.

“That article mentioned contacting his family three times—the first one indicated they were trying to contact them. The second and third said they were waiting for responses. They’re not going to respond. They didn’t help him when he got arrested; they didn’t come to his trial. The only person that responded was Camilla Johannson. She was still in Cedar Rapids and she heard about it, so they knew. Cedar Rapids knew and they didn’t come. He’s either going to be buried in a pauper’s grave or donated to science.” She shakes her head again. “I guess Beelzebub wanted his soul back and wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

I almost laugh at her analogy, but realize that it’s not really meant to be a joke. She gets on her knees and crawls over to me. She moves quickly straddling my lap and taking my face in her hands. She places a deep, heartfelt kiss on my lips and I sink into it immediately. All the fire that I was feeling before she got that text was reignited. I squeeze her hips as she deepens the kiss. Fuck, she turns me on so much!

“You’re good for me,” she says, when she breaks the kiss. “You’re so good for me.”

“You’re good for me, too,” I breathe, my lips begging for hers again, and she grants my request. I squeeze that voluptuous ass through those painted-on jeans and she grinds against me, keening as she kisses me and pulls my hair. Shit, her slightest touch makes me hard! But I must stop her, because there are things that we must do. I reluctantly pull my mouth back from hers and eye her swollen lips. It makes me growl audibly in my chest.

“It’s well into the afternoon, Mrs. Grey, and we haven’t eaten. We need sustenance for our prior exercise and for future… exertions,” I say suggestively. She nuzzles my nose.

“Yes, you’re right,” she says. “There’s a sunken Jacuzzi tub over there that’s begging to be put to use and I guess I don’t want to be all worn out when we do.”

“Indeed,” I say, giving her ass another squeeze. She smiles and looks down at her sweater.

“I may have to get used to showering three times a day when the soccer players aren’t around,” she says. “I’m starting to soak through my clothes.”

“I can always help relieve you,” I say, taking a bite of her breast through her sweater, eliciting a playful giggle from her.

“I sure you can… and will,” she says. “In the meantime, I’ll go clean up then… I think I just want to do nothing for a little while.”

“Except eat,” I remind her. She nods.

“Except eat,” she says. She kisses me on the lips, then crawls off my lap, grabs the duffel with the breast pump in it and goes into the restroom. The first thing I need to do is secure the food. I had planned for us to go to brunch and then snowmobiling for the afternoon, then spend a quiet evening in the cabin. Dinner will be elaborate, with more champagne and truffles and that lovely sunken hot tub, and so, so much more. But now, with the afternoon half gone, I have a quick change of plans. I know I sent Chuck on a search for Bollinger a few minutes ago, but now I have to impress upon him for lunch. I call him again.

“Yes, sir,” he answers on the first ring.

“I hate to make you run around like this…”

“No problem. The hotel caterer had Bollinger in the wine cellar, so I didn’t have to go far. Chance is on call at the cabin if you have emergencies. Did you need something else?”

“Yeah. We were going to go snowmobiling, but Butterfly decided against it. We’ve had an… interesting day, to say the least, and she really doesn’t want to be around people now. So, I’m going to need you to get us some lunch—something kind of light. You know what dinner’s going to look like.” He’s silent for a moment.

“Hmmm…” I can see the wheels turning. “Mexican maybe? There’s a Mexican joint right on site. The parking lot was full both days. Good smells coming from the place…” I nod.

“One second…” I pull the phone from my ear. “Butterfly, how do you feel about Mexican?”

“Ooo, yummy! Sounds good!” she calls back. “See if they have ceviche… and I’d love some nachos!” I smile to myself and get back on the phone.

“I think we have a winner,” I tell him. “Get a variety. Make sure you get some ceviche and nachos.”

“Sure thing… um, Christian, have you heard the news?” I frown.

“What news are you referring to?”

“About Edward David.” I purse my lips.

“How did you find out?”

“Jason has security on alert,” he says. “The way he died in the hospital is suspicious, to say the least.”

“Yeah, my next call is to Al. He sent me the link. I’ll probably be calling Alex next.”

“I’ll be at Rio. I’ll get some ice and flutes and bring the champagne after I get the food.”

“Okay.” I end the call and dial Al.

“Hey,” he answers.

“Give it to me straight. Do we think this was an accident? I’m not putting my wife on any kind of alert if this fucker just kicked the bucket.”

“How is she taking it?” I sigh.

“She was introspective for a moment. Then she asked for champagne.” Al scoffed a laugh.

“That’s Jewel,” he said.

“And you haven’t answered my question.”

“I don’t know, Chris,” he says. “It could be just that this fucker didn’t want to face the music. He was already facing damn near a lifetime in jail—no release until he’s 58; a possible hope at 47, and then this. You ever see that movie Shawshank Redemption?”

“Yeah,” I say.

“Ending up like Brooks was his only hope… hang in the cell or hang in a halfway house thirty years later if he ever had a possibility of parole. Then here comes this little ball of light to tell him that any little bit of hope that he had left was now about to be snatched out from under him because of his countless violations of the RICO act. He was never going to see the outside of a prison again and he knew it. So, he could have just given up.”

I know Al. I’ve worked closely with him for almost as long as I’ve known my wife. I know a pregnant pause when I hear one. He taught me how to spot it.

“There’s a ‘but,’” I say. He sighs.

“To find him hanging in a cell isn’t too questionable, especially after that visit and the fact that he didn’t have a cellmate. But the way he finally kicked it? That shit doesn’t happen, man. Granted, he was already dead for all intent and purposes, and had he just stayed on life support until somebody unplugged him—on the record—then there wouldn’t have been any more question about it. But Chris, I personally know people who have been on life support for years because the family refuses to pull the plug. You just die? While the machines are still operational? I’m telling you that shit doesn’t happen a few hours after your brain activity stops. Somebody wanted to make sure that motherfucker didn’t wake up. He was already dead. Legally and physically, he was gone—he wasn’t coming back. That was it. The phantom flatline was overkill.”

“Should I tell Butterfly that? She’s having some questions, too, and I do not want to ruin our weekend.”

“I don’t see what good it would do,” Al says. “It won’t bring him back—not like any of us wants that. Far as I can tell, if somebody did him in, whoever it was did the world and the taxpayers of the great state of Washington a favor.”

“Yeah, but what if it was one of his dirty business associates? And what if they come looking for Butterfly?” He’s silent again.

“That’s a waiting game, Chris,” he says. “If that’s the case, the double-dicker was an easy target. Jewel, not so much, and they know that. They’re going to want to know what she knows before they target her. Focus on that, but don’t alarm her for no reason. Like I said, the fucker could have just done himself in and we’re all jumping the gun for no reason. I honestly think that’s the way to go, especially since the hospital is saying that they have witnesses that he just slipped away.” I nod.

“I’ll see what Alex thinks. Thanks for letting me know.”

“Kiss Jewel for me,” he says.

“Oh, I’ll be kissing her alright, but not for you.” He laughs.

“Yeah, scratch that,” he adds before we end the call.

“Will you be much longer?” I call into the bathroom.

“Just a few more minutes,” she calls back. Perfect.

“Okay.” I call Alex. “What’s your take on the David situation?” I ask when he answers the phone.

“Inside job,” he says immediately. “The hanging is clean. It doesn’t arouse suspicion, but the guards found him too soon. He was able to be physically resuscitated, but his brain was already corked. A professional would know that the job was over, but somebody panicked and sent in a cleanup to finish what was started. I don’t know how the dude ended up flatlining in front of a room full of people, but that shit had nothing to do with life support. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

“What should we do in the meantime?” I ask.

“Same thing we’ve been doing,” he says. “Let me assure you that it’s easy as hell to get to somebody in the Pen. You don’t even need special privileges for that. All you need is a little cash and an inside line. Hospitals are even easier. He had a guard at the door, but all you need there is a room number and a lab coat. These fuckers are sloppy. Whoever they are, we’ll spot ‘em a mile away if they try to come near you and they know it. They will try to find out if she knows something, though.”

“So, don’t panic,” I confirm.

“Don’t panic unless you see or hear something suspicious, then let me know, but just to be safe, we’re ramping up covert surveillance.”

“Good man. Thanks.” I end the call. Butterfly still hasn’t come out of the bathroom, so I strip out of my clothes and put on some sweatpants. I figure she’ll just want to veg out in front of the television when she gets out of the bathroom, so I disable the connection from my phone and scroll through the channels in an attempt to find something to watch. While I’m waiting for Butterfly to immerge, there’s a knock at the door. I don my robe and open the door for Chuck.

“You can just put it over there,” I tell him, gesturing to the desk against the wall. I take the ice bucket and with the two bottles of champagne and the flutes and put them on the nightstand while he empties the bags of food.

“The dining room sent real dishes,” he said. “I told them you were celebrating the birth of your twins and they were happy to oblige.”

“Thanks. I think Butterfly will appreciate not having to use plastic forks and eat from carryout containers.”

“Hi, Chuck.” Butterfly finally emerges from the bathroom in a terrycloth robe, her hair still wet. She jumps on the bed and picks up her phone.

“Hey, Ana,” he replies. “Well, I’ll leave you guys to your meal. Call me if you need me.” They share a wave and we nod at each other before he leaves and I lock the door behind him. When I turn back to Butterfly, she’s tapping on her phone, then places it on the bed while she begins to brush the tangles from her incredibly long hair. A phone is ringing and I realize that she’s on the speaker phone. I kneel behind her and take the brush from her hand just as her party answers.

“So, you’ve come up for air, have you?” Gail’s voice springs through the phone.

“That we have… and food!” Butterfly confirms. “How are my babies?”

“Being little angels as usual,” Gail confirms. “Minnie had a bit of trouble settling last night, but she did fine after a while.”

“And Luma? Are she and the girls okay?”

“Oh, they’re just fine. It’s something about little girls and babies. They just turn into balls of mush…”

She and Gail continue to talk about the twins while I gently comb the tangles out of her long, mahogany hair. Once I’m done, I braid it in one long braid down her back and fasten it with the ponytail holder that she conveniently had wrapped around the end of the brush. She mouths “thank you” to me as she continues her conversation with Gail. I pop the cork on one of the bottles of Bollinger while she finishes her call. I hand her a glass.

“Would you like to eat in bed or in the chairs with the ottomans in front of the television?” I ask. She ponders the idea.

“I think I’d like to eat in the chairs,” she says, taking a sip of the Bollinger. “That’s delicious.” I smile.

“Bollinger always is.” I gesture to the desk and the spread of food there—ceviche and loaded nachos, just as she requested; chicken and steak fajitas, pork enchiladas, carne asada tacos and fresh guacamole. We load our plates and take them over to the seats in front of the television. I start the fireplace and we begin to enjoy our meal and champagne. The room is now quite cozy and we watch as the snow starts to fall just outside the French doors. We sit in contented silence and watch the snow as we enjoy our lunch and champagne. When we’ve finished, I take our dishes back to the desk and refill our glasses, bringing the unopened bottle to sit on the table between our chairs. I take my wife’s hand a pull her from her seat. After sitting in my seat, I situate her comfortably on my lap.

“There, that’s much better,” I say, taking her lips with mine. “Any idea what you would like to watch?”

“A love story,” she says sweetly. I raise my eyebrows.

“That sounds promising,” I smile. “Any suggestions?”

Ever After,” she says. I gaze at her.

“I thought you said that was the movie you quoted to David,” I say.

“It was, but it’s still a love story.”

“Not from the sound of that quote,” I protest.

“Trust me, it is,” she says. “It’s the story of Cinderella.” I raise my eyebrows.

“Aaah,” I say in realization, “the girl gets her prince, the prince gets his love, and they live happily ever after… but who gets the quote?” She smiles.

“The stepmother.” I return her smile.

“Yes, let’s watch that.” I search the different on-demand options and finally find Ever After. Settling in with my girl on my lap, we watch as two storytellers sit a captive audience while the real Cinderella tells her tale…

A/N: “Umgawa” came from the old Tarzan movies, and besides that shrilling yell that he did, it was just a general call to action. Christian was using it to talk about his caveman/Neanderthal behavior when he carried her out of the gym.

The laws vary from state to state as to whether health care officials are required to maintain a brain-dead person on life support or not. The consensus is that it is not necessary for the reason that Ana stated. However, I couldn’t locate specific laws or guidelines for the State of Washington. If you know the answer, don’t shoot me. I took creative license here.

Pictures of places, cars, fashion, etc., can be found at

You can join my mailing list on the “Contact Me” page. Just click the link and it will lead you to a form to join the list.

Love and handcuffs  
Lynn X

Becoming Dr. Grey: Chapter 65—Letting Off Some Steam

My gosh, it’s a bunch of horny women in here! I’ve already told y’all that there was a baby born from my story some years ago… Ya better watch ya’selves!

And please allow me to welcome all of my newest followers and subscribers. Thank you for joining me!

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 saga continues…

Chapter 65—Letting Off Some Steam


I’m in the shower, washing off the grime of the day. The children have been fed and all I can think about is the promise that Christian made to have me tonight. I don’t know what he has planned, but my clit has been pulsing in anticipation for hours.

Once I’ve finished my shower, I dry my skin and put on my half robe before going back out to our room. I find him sitting on the edge of our bed.

“There you are,” he says, rising like a panther and stalking over to me. He grabs me and kisses me deeply. “I need to taste you.”

Shit! He’s grinding against me hard as a rock! I’m in fucking agony here.

“Mmmmm!” he groans again in my ear, grasping my breast and thrusting his rigid erection against me. Fuck!

“Christian… you’re so hard. You know we can’t…”

“I know… I know… we won’t… just let me taste you, baby. I’ve got the rest. I’m going to try something new.” God, Christian, if you bring that thing anywhere near me, I won’t be responsible for my actions.

“Okay,” I breathe before his mouth closes over mine.

I’m lying on our bed, naked, waiting for Christian. He’s in his bathroom and has told me that he’ll be right back. Now, I’m anticipating what’s about to happen. When he comes out, he’s wrapped in a bath blanket. It’s not doing much to hide his erection as I can see it clearly from behind the terrycloth.

“Christian…” I warn.

“I know,” he whispers. “You don’t want to see it or you’ll want it. I can’t do much about it yet, but I want you too much. So close your eyes.” I do as I’m told and he lays something over my eyes. It’s only temporary—not meant to stay. I feel him on the bed between my legs, moving something, situating something… pillows I think? After a few minutes, I ask, “What are you doing?”


“When I bought the Tenga eggs, I also bought a Tenga Flip. Yes, it’s a masturbator, but I’ve looked up a way to use it hands-free so that I can feast on this delicious pussy and relieve myself at the same time.”


Now, why does that sound so fucking hot?

“I don’t get to watch?” I say, my throat dry.

“We’ll see,” he says, his voice heavy with arousal. The next thing I know, he’s over me, kissing me deeply and making me hot. I moan into his mouth. Shit! His tongue moves to my cheek, my ear, my neck and then he’s straddling me… naked.

“No fair,” I breathe.

“You can’t see me,” he says, his voice thick with sex. “Hands above your head, just for now…” I obey, and I feel his hand on me, hot and oily, right at my breasts. He massages them thoroughly, coating the mound up to the nipples, then pinching them repeatedly between his finger and thumb until they pebble, sending fiery shocks straight to my core.

“Christian,” I whine almost incoherently.

“Mm, you like that, baby? I like it, too.” I feel him move up my body and moments later, his rock hard penis is between my breasts. I can feel every single vein and see him in my mind’s eye—red and oily from my breasts, sliding between the copious mounds of meat.

“Christian!” I cry out, tortured that he’s not inside me.

“I know!” he pants. “I’m sorry. I had to feel your skin just once.” He immediately moves his penis, but continues the torturous massage of my breast. God, I’m mindless in needing him, in needing to feel some part of him. Maxie’s warning comes to mind about babies born ten months apart. I’d bear a set of triplets if he would just fuck me right now!

I feel his oily dick slide down my body and he gently takes one pebbled nipple in his mouth.

“Ah!” I cry out as the feeling once again shoots right to my core. He continues the manipulation, sucking and pinching, and as the twins have already emptied me, I’m nothing but nerves and sensation.

“Christian… please…” I squeak as the pressure builds in my pelvis.

“Sshh,” he says, now pressing his pelvis hard against mine, but not moving—no friction, it’s just… there, and I’m immobilized, while he sucks and pinches my tender nipples.

“Christian!” I plead. He doesn’t stop. The heat is unbearable, He presses harder against me, nothing moving, just pressure—building on the inside and pushing from the outside. I’m going to explode.

“Chri… stain…” I whimper as the unbelievable pressure finally reaches its mark and causes me to tremble.

“Um-hmm,” Christian says, his mouth full. He gives my nipple one final hard pinch and sucks the other one with massive pressure. I explode into volcanic eruptions and he grinds hard into my pelvis, no friction—just repeated pressure to push my orgasm deep, deep into me… fucking me without fucking me. Holy Christ. My legs open, unable to move, my hands above my head, my husband riding me and pressing me hard into the bed, my breath is snatched from my body with the one feral cry I can release as my orgasm rips my pussy and my breasts to shreds and I try to do the same thing to the sheets over my head. My makeshift blindfold has long since slid off my face.

“That’s right,” he groans. “Give me those juices, baby.” He finally releases my pelvis from its prison and it’s pulsing violently like we just fucked. How the hell did he do that? He slides from my body and after I catch my breath, I can see that he’s on his knees between my legs, his hands are both oily and he’s looking… where?

I have to focus for a moment. He’s on his knees and there are two pillows propped between my legs. He has his rock-hard, unforgiving erection in his oily hand and he’s pumping it feverishly, looking at… my pussy!

Shit, that’s hot!

“Christian,” I whine. He had to give me an orgasm first… a huge one, so that he could look at me and get himself ready.

“I know, baby,” he says, his voice tortured and aroused. “I won’t bring it near you… I don’t… want… to hurt you.” He’s so hungry, so needy… and he looks so good. He strokes himself a few more times. God, I don’t know how it turns me on so much watching him stroke himself. It’s only now that I realize that the Tenga Flip must be situated between the pillows, because that’s where he inserts his dick stroking two or three times and moaning. I’m almost jealous, until he lies flat on the pillows grabs my hips, bringing my pussy to him and eying it like a feast. He licks his lips deliciously before he licks mine.

“Ah!” I cry out at the initial contact. It feels like it’s been forever! He licks it again, and I cry out again. Fuck! I just came a minute ago! What the fuck! He moans deep and licks deeper and I think I’m going to pass out. Fucking hell! I grind into his face as much as I can, whimper and crying. He’s pushing me hard and fast, moaning into my pussy and it’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen… felt… heard. Hell, I don’t know. He moves his head from side to side to get deeper in my lips and…

“Oh God!” I can’t stand it. He’s got hold of that bundle of nerves that controls my every thought in moments like this. His tongue rims the opening of my vagina and just breaches it slightly—not too far—to collect the juices from my prior orgasm.

“Christian,” I squeak, so much pleasure lancing through me that I can hardly get the word out of my mouth.

“You can move your hands,” he speaks into my pussy and I can’t hear the words, but I know what he said. I reach down and grab his hair so that I can more easily grind into his mouth. He groans loudly and I feel the bed moving rhythmically. I look down at his body and his finely sculpted hips are grinding deliciously into those pillows.

Lucky Tenga.

I imagine that it’s me down there, being relentlessly drilled by his hard, throbbing cock. Another moan and a thrust tells me that my pussy feels… er, tastes good to him and I lift my knees and legs in the air, still gripping his hair. He groans loudly, sucking my clit and one of my lips into his mouth, his tongue lapping at my opening, and I have another screaming orgasm in his mouth. He holds my hips down, pumping violently into his Tenga Flip until he groans loudly again and stills, his hip muscles pushed firmly into the pillows. I remain still as I catch my breath, my fingers still in his hair, waiting. He’s panting into my pussy, but his tongue starts to move again, gently, slowly.

“Christian,” I protest softly. “I’m tender…”

“Um-hmm,” he says, without raising his head, but continuing the slow, gentle tasting of my genitals, careful to steer clear of my clit. I let my legs rest back on his shoulders, and he tastes my arousal from my opening again. It sends chills through me. My God, what this man does to me. His hands move from my hips to my pelvis and my stomach… and the pressure is hot.

“Oooooo,” I say involuntarily, as he continues to explore my lips, my opening, my hood. His hips begin to move again, and I realize that he’s not finished. Between the pressure on my pelvis, the not-quite stimulation of my core, and the sexy movement of his hips, I’m getting hot again.

“Christian,” I keen. He raises his eyes to me, his tongue still tasting my vagina. The way that he has me angled with my butt just at the top of the pillow, I can see his tongue liking the hood of my clit. What I see is even hotter than what I feel.

“Hold it open,” he says, his voice powerful and thick with lust. I do what he says and use my hands to separate my lips. He allows his tongue to explore the full area of my lips, clit and core while I watch. Seeing his tongue glide hard over my exposed clitoris sends delicious chills through me.

“Don’t let go,” he says, “even if you come… especially if you come.”

His tongue continues its rhythmic journey around my lips and over my clit and I watch, helplessly trembling in his mouth as his tongue runs torture over my tender clit—over and over and over again. He moans as he continues to lick, continues to thrust, his hips moving deliciously around those pillows in the same motion that his tongue moves deliciously over my clit. I’m trying to hold on, trying to hold it open, but my hands start to tremble.

His hips and tongue move slightly faster and I groan in my throat. I can’t take it. I can’t hold it open. I throw my head back, absorbing the pleasure just a bit as I try to keep my hips still and feel his mouth on me. When I raise my head, I can see my clit. It’s gotten slightly bigger, slightly redder, and it looks like the hood pulled back and right at that moment, he closes his mouth and suckles.

“Fuck!” I can’t help it. I grab his hair, close my eyes, thrust my hips forward and ride out this orgasm. It’s so intense, watching myself come in his mouth, looking in his eyes while he sucks me off. His hands clamp hard on my breasts and he’s thrusting feverishly—hard and violent, chasing his orgasm. He’s fucking that thing so hard that I don’t know how the hell it’s staying in place. He pulls me harder into his mouth, suckling deeply from the last orgasm, not letting me escape.

“Christian!” I breathe. It’s tender—still swollen and engorged. It hurts, but he’s primal, and he can’t stop. I close my eyes to bear it… try to find my subspace, but soon, the pain fades and is replaced again with pleasure. He’s still holding me down by my breasts, his fingers digging painfully into the tender meat. He’s still suckling my clit, searching for that last orgasm hiding in my loins, and pumping like a madman into those pillows and that Tenga, searching for his.

I don’t call his name anymore. He’s lost in his primal passion, sucking the juice out of me while the Tenga sucks the juice out of him. He pulls those breasts with each stroke, like he’s pulling me into him instead of this inanimate object milking his dick. His suckle is rhythm with each stroke—suck, release, suck, release, suck, release. Our primal grunts, whines, whimpers, and cries now mimic other as my fingers tangle tight in his hair and my legs clamp around his back and neck. It’s coming and it’s huge. He’s going to suck it right out of me and I can’t stop it and when it hits, I’m going to float the fuck right out of here if I don’t hold on.

His is coming, too, and he clamps down, suckles hard with maximum pressure and pinches those nipples mercilessly. No more rhythm, just constant pressure and I’m a fucking goner.

My body is shredded and thrashed in every possible direction as my pussy, breasts, and brain are mangled by an orgasm that truly rocks the foundations of the universe. I can’t see, hear, or speak and I think I interpret screaming somewhere, animal grunting, growling, howling, I don’t know. I feel bolts of electricity flowing through me, shocking me, jerking me uncontrollably. I feel high, like I have no control over time or space, and I have no idea how much time has passed when I float back down to myself and I’m crying, lying flat on the bed unable to move. My tormentor is lying beside me, holding me close and kissing my face over and over again, using words like, “amazing,” “beautiful,” and “unbelievable,” and all I can say is “please… please, no more… no more, please…”


“You are deliciously radiant, Mrs. Grey.”

We’re snuggled on the chaise in my sitting room looking out over the lake. It’s overcast and rainy, but I can’t feel it while basking in the warmth of my husband and our microfiber robes. I’m wrapped in his arms and legs on a lazy Sunday morning and he kisses my neck and shoulder after pulling my robe back to expose it a bit.

“Last night was incredible,” he says, “but I want us to wait now.’ I look over my shoulder at him

“Wait for what?” I ask.

“No more playing… no more orgasms until we have sex,” he says. “It’s only a week, but I don’t want to feel anything else until I feel you again. I want you tight, sensitive, and ready when I enter you. I want you aching for me to be inside you as much as I ache to be inside you.” I sigh heavily.

“It’s going to be hard, Mr. Grey,” I say, turning slightly in his arms and between his legs. “You turn me on so much. You just walk into a room and I want you.” I gently caress his sideburns while planting a quick, but deep kiss on his mouth, pulling his bottom lip gently between my teeth when our mouths part. “But the idea seems so titillating, I’m all for it. I think it’ll make our experience that much more explosive and exciting.” He rubs my hips and ass through the robe.

“You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?” he says, licking my lips with the tips of his tongue and I groan lightly.

“I’m not going to make it deliberately harder,” I vow, “but I don’t promise to avoid you or keep my hands off of you.” I suck his tongue into my mouth and caress it with my own before closing my lips over his in a wet kiss, eliciting a soft moan from him. “… Or my mouth.” The hand on my ass squeezes deliberately.

“Yeah, you’re going to make this hard for me,” he whispers against my lips.

“Not any wetter than you’re going to make it for me,” I reply, absorbing his kisses as he cups my face to claim my lips.

After spending a somewhat lazy Sunday making out with my husband—nothing past second base—and taking care of our beautiful growing twins, we plot out the course of our week. Monday, we’ll be meeting with Broadmoor and the couple that hopes to sponsor us. I haven’t informed Christian, but Tuesday, I’ll be having my six-week check-up—two days early, yes, but I need to get the IUD inserted so that it will be in place when we finally consummate the birth of our children.

We’ve decided to wait until this weekend—Friday, to be exact—for that particular consummation. We’re taking a weekend away to reconnect and refresh, but we haven’t decided where we’re going yet. We know that there will be lots of wild sex and no matter how I try to ignore it, if that two-way goes off with my cooing children, all bets are off. So Luma has agreed to bring the girls over on Friday and spend the weekend helping Gail with the twins. Grace will be on call to assist if there are any problems and wherever Christian and I are, we’ll only be a phone call away. I couldn’t thank Luma enough for being willing to give up her weekend to help with the twins. She assures me that being able to spend the weekend at the Crossing with all of its amenities is more than payment enough for being able to take care of “those beautiful babies.”

I have to admit that motherhood has, so far, not been the trial that I thought it would. Granted, I really have a lot of help and I’m just getting started, but I truly prepared myself for the very worst right out of the gate and it just hasn’t happened yet, knock on wood. The babies’ one-month check-up went without a hitch a couple of weeks ago. Their feeding schedules are fairly normal as are their weight, height and head circumference, although Mikey is still a little smaller than his sister. Dr. Nahabedian tells us not to be concerned about that since his birth weight was small to begin with. He’s not unhealthy and that’s what we’re concerned about. Heart, lungs, reflexes, joints, ears, eyes, mouth, and genitals all look normal, and the umbilical stump fell off for Mikey by the time of the appointment. Minnie’s fell off a few days later.

Their fontanels are developing just fine, although Minnie’s head is still shaped a little weirdly. Once again, Dr. Nahabedian says that it will come into its own normal shape soon enough. After careful research and talking to Grace and De. Nahabedian, we’re sticking with our decision not to have Michael circumcised. We feel like there are far more health concerns involved with having it done than there are with not having it done. As long as we teach him proper hygiene practices, we’re assured that the extra foreskin shouldn’t cause him problems. Yes, my Christian upbringing is a bit at odds with this decision, but in this day and age, I think I’ve made the best decision for my son.

We’ve decided to take a trip to a small cabin resort in Oregon called Five Pine Lodge. We’ll take Charlie Tango out on Friday evening to avoid the long drive. Chance and Chuck will come with us to be on call since Jason was on call for the last trip. We won’t be doing much mingling anyway—we’ll probably only have one activity involving other people for the entire weekend, maybe one other dinner and a spa visit or something. Other than that, this time will be all about us and it’s only a couple of days to decompress as we have to come back and face the Pedophile in court that following Monday. I’m not looking forward to her trial, to dredging up all the shit that she put us through. My memories may be a little cloudy on some things, but when it comes down to her and the hell she caused, it’s as clear as a fucking bell!

I still recall the first day I met that monstrous woman. She had the nerve to show up at Christian’s apartment in that ridiculous outfit on a fucking Sunday morning! He was a full-on Dom at the time with no submissive qualities at the time. What the hell was she trying to prove? But when she later found out that he allowed me to dominate him and not her anymore, oh, she could have shit bricks. I thought she was going to give birth to a real live baby elephant right there on Grace’s lawn!

She’s been nothing but horror and pain since the day I learned of her existence. Her malfeasances are too many to list and she has the nerve to be using some sort of diminished capacity as a defense for having someone break into my apartment, steal my gun, and then try to kill the love of my life with it right before my very eyes.

And I have to go to court and recount this shit… as if living through David’s trial wasn’t enough.

It’ll be different this time, though. Whatever her attorney throws at me, I’m going to throw right back at his ass. I’ll make no apologies and I won’t censor what I say about that horrible, wretched woman. I don’t care how many times they object! I will only stop with the threat of being held in contempt of court, but everything I know about her will be put out on display. I know they’re going to try to suppress any discussion about her “other crimes,” but they’re not going to be able to, because they directly relate to this case.

I wonder how far Christian is going to go to make sure she gets a conviction?

“Elliot is sending his crew over today to start the en suite for the playroom… playpen, whatever we choose to call it,” Christian says as we’re on our way to Broadmoor. He’s driving the one of the Audi SUV’s and Ben and Chuck are following behind in one of the others. “Jason will supervise since—let’s face it, he knows everything that’s gone on in my life for nearly a decade.” I shrug.

“I never thought in a million years that I would be involved in an alternative sexual lifestyle, much less have a third party know about it and be comfortable with it,” I comment.

“We’re as discreet as we can be under the circumstances,” he says. He pauses for a minute. “Elliot said that he couldn’t oversee the renovations himself because he’s taking Valerie to the doctor today.” I turn to face him.

“What’s wrong with her?” I ask.

“He doesn’t know,” Christian says. “He wants to rule out pregnancy.” I look at him incredulously and count on my fingers.

“Since before my birthday?” I say in disbelief. “She’d know by now.” He shrugs.

“Hey, I don’t know. I just know that my brother is at the end of his rope. I’m certain that Valerie’s not seeing anybody else, but something’s wrong. Her social life is nil; he says her health is questionable; and now her job is in jeopardy. He had to give her an ultimatum to get her to go to the doctor, and he wouldn’t let her go alone because he doesn’t trust her to do it. If the general practitioner or the shrink can’t figure out what’s wrong with her, this relationship is over. I just thought you should know.”

And then she’ll have nobody. I don’t want that for her, but she won’t let me in. So I don’t know that there’s much that I can do about it.

“He’ll keep you posted?” I ask.

“So he says.” I sigh. I guess I’ll just wait.

“So about the bathroom—any idea how long it’ll take?” I change the subject.

“I told him it needs to be ready in two weeks before the furniture arrives. I figure it’ll be done while we’re away. That’s one of the reasons I decided to take Chuck and Williams with us this time, not to mention that Jason was pulling his hair out on the last trip. I had to give him a task with that asshole to keep him from losing his mind.”

“I hope the fellas have something to do this weekend because I plan to keep you to myself as much as possible,” I say.

“I like the sound of that, Mrs. Grey,” he says.

Ilene Claiborne is a bit friendlier with my husband than I like when we get to Broadmoor. She’s not overbearing or inappropriate. She just a little giddier than she should be. I have to remember that my husband’s presence is more commanding when you meet him in person—he’s a beautiful man with a beautiful body and a beautiful voice and he reeks of power and charm. Not a lot of women can withstand that even if they try. I feel a little sorry for her because his behavior of me is extremely possessive from the moment we walk into the club. He leads me around my cupping my elbow or the small of my back or by holding my hand. He sits very close to me, often with his arm on the back of my chair. His eyes are usually on documents, some focal point in the club, or me—very rarely on Ilene, and only when she’s speaking directly to him alone to not appear rude.

It’s no use; she still a puddle of goo, but she tries to camouflage it as much as possible. I have to give her credit for that and I dare not call her on it. It’s obvious that she’s doing the best that she can.

Her relief is palpable when we are joined by the couple that will be sponsoring us. Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy. We sit down to lunch to discuss the intricacies of country club membership and exactly what sponsorship means. Our standing as members won’t be diminished in any way; we just couldn’t join without sponsors since we weren’t residents of the community. Eugene and Josephine Kennedy will be our mentors, so to speak, which I plan to utilize, but if I know Christian, he’ll take those reins on for himself once we’re members.

Overall, the lunch goes very well and my initial impression of our sponsors is positive. Like us, they are a fairly young couple, with three children instead of two. Josephine and I have a brief discussion of the possible woes of a newborn as her youngest is eight months old. She sympathizes with me that I have two at once, but sings the praises of having a good nanny and staff. She admits to being more of a stay-at-home mom with a few other projects as well, but admits that she wouldn’t be able to juggle all of the tasks of being a wife and a mother to three small children without help.

I like her; she seems very genuine. It’s obvious from her conversation that she loves her husband and children very much and takes her role as wife and mother very seriously. She will not be besmirched for not working outside of the home or for needing help even though she stays at home. I don’t blame her. I don’t think stay-at-home mothers get enough credit for the work that they do to raise healthy, happy children and keep a stable home.

Eugene is a bank executive and mentioned knowing Ethan, and not liking his father very much. That immediately fared well with Christian as he doesn’t like Ethan’s father very much either. Eugene has good things to say about Ethan and his presence in the financial community, things that Christian apparently already knew, but he admits that it’s good to hear since Ethan will be marrying his little sister pretty soon. The gentlemen comment about it being a small world and make other small talk over lunch. Their connection was not as solid as mine and Josephine’s, but knowing my husband, I didn’t think it would be. In fact, it was about as good as can be expected.

We left the country club with our application intact, having paid our dues with Christian’s Amex Black. We are now the newest members of the Broadmoor Country Club. Although we have immediate access to the facilities, we’ll be notified of the next new member Meet-and-Greet.

Meet-and-Greet… ugh!

Tuesday, I don’t want to wave the flag that I’m going to see Dr. Culley for my check-up and to get my IUD inserted, so I quietly sneak out of the house with just Chuck and leave a message with Gail that if His Highness asks where I am, tell him that I went shopping. It’s not a lie—I am going to get new lingerie for our trip and poor Chuck is going to have to stand by while I shop at Agent Provocateur. But first, the six-week check-up.

“Have you only been doing yoga?” Dr. Culley says when she sees me. I nod.

“Basic and some intermediate,” I tell her. “Nothing too strenuous. I was afraid.” She frowns.

“I don’t doubt you, it’s just…” She looks at my chart, flipping through the pages. “Ana, you’ve lost all but seven pounds of your baby weight, which is probably all milk. I think your stomach is smaller than it was before you got pregnant, unless it’s just disproportionate to your breasts and your hips.”

“That’s a definite possibility,” I tell her.

“Have you been dieting?” she asks. I shake my head.

“I’ve never been a huge eater, Dr. Culley, and you know throughout the pregnancy, I couldn’t eat beef. So it’s always been basically chicken and vegetables. I did as much as I could throughout my pregnancy to try to keep my body in shape and after the babies were born, I went straight to the belly belt and then to the essential oils and the belly binding. Not only that, I’ve got two breastfeeding babies, but let’s face it.” I point conspicuously at my stomach. “There were two people in there and they’re gone now!” Dr. Culley laughs.

“This is true. It’s just that it’s just extremely rare that I see women shrink as quickly as this without doing something unhealthy. I have to ask.”

“Well, run whatever tests you need, because the real exercising is going start as soon as you clear me. Christian likes my ass, but I feel a bit like a Kardashian.” She shakes her head.

“Trust me, you don’t look like that. Because of your small frame, I will concede that you need to tone a bit, but you look nothing like that.” She looks at my chart. “IUD?”


“No penetrative sex for the last six weeks?”

“No, and I’m losing my mind!” I admit. “It’s been more like two months. Remember, I couldn’t have sex after the babies dropped.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right,” she says, looking through my chart further. “The urine test was negative. Have you had a period?”

“No,” I reply. She nods.

“That’s to be expected with breastfeeding.” She checks some things off my chart.

“I have a question about that. Is it true that breastfeeding can be used as a form of birth control?” I ask.

“Continuous breastfeeding, yes. In laymen’s terms. The hormones being used to produce the egg are being used to produce milk, so you don’t ovulate. However, if for some reason, you don’t keep a steady regimen of breastfeeding and your body does ovulate…” She snaps her fingers to indicate that boom—you’re possibly pregnant.

“But why wouldn’t someone keep a steady regimen of breastfeeding?” I ask. “I mean, the baby has to be fed every day.”

“If the baby is being weaned or if the baby is drinking from breast and bottle; if the baby is moving to solid foods or her eating habits change for any other reason—she sleeps more as she gets older, so she’s not feeding as regularly; or if Mom goes on a trip or plans to ingest alcohol or medication, so she stops breastfeeding for a day or so.”

“That’s too many variables,” I say. “Do you know of any women who have ever used breastfeeding as a sole form of birth control?” She ponders the question.

“I’ve heard of women doing it and again, it you stay on top of it, it works. I wouldn’t trust it though.” I nod once.

“IUD for me, doc!” I say, lying down on the table. She laughs.

“Good. Let’s get started.”


“I’ve talked to Sophie every day,” Jason tells me. “She says that Shalane has been around, but still pretty much ignores her. I know she’s been served with the papers that I’m suing her for custody, so I don’t know if that has to do with her hanging around or what. I don’t know what the hell druggies do between binges.”

It’s been so long since I was with my crack-whore mother and I was so young, I couldn’t even shed any light on this subject for him.

“Well, as you know, surveillance reports say that Shalane has been primarily at the house. Either she’s detoxing, or unfortunately, she using there. Sophie’s had to see her—do they just not speak?” Jason shrugs.

“I’ll see if I can get any other information out of her. I think she doesn’t really want to talk about it.”

“It can’t be avoided,” I tell him. “There’s a custody battle ensuing.”

“I know,” he says, scratching his head. “I really don’t want to put her in the middle of it—you know, pit her against her mother, but right now she’s the only one who can tell me what Shalane is doing and she’s pretty mum.” I nod. “And the way she spoke to Shalane before she left… she’s never spoken to her that way. It was like Sophie was the adult and Shalane was the child.”

“I noticed that, too,” I say. “Shalane looked at her for a moment like they were standing off or something. Sophie hasn’t indicated anything is wrong when you speak to her?” He shakes his head.

“She sounds fine. Except for the fact that she and Shalane don’t really speak, which is nothing different, she’s the same old Sophie. She hasn’t missed any school and she calls me every day.” We’ve both confirmed through the security reports that over the course of the last week, Sophie has, in fact, attended school every day.

“Al says that you can request that she takes a drug test based on the suspicion.”

“Not if she detoxes before we get to court!” Jason says. “I should tell you that I’m doing a little experiment.”

“And that is?” I ask.

“I stopped paying child support.” I frown deeply.

“Jason, you can’t do that. That’ll fuck up your case, not to mention you can get arrested!” I warn.

“Keep your shirt on!” he says. “I can catch up in a day, you know that. Here’s the thing. We think Shalane is using. I don’t know that she has any other source of income, but even with that small fortune that I’m paying her, her cell phones are disconnected. If I’m not paying her, she’s got to be getting that money from somewhere. If she doesn’t, she’ll be knocking on this door again. If she’s using, she’ll be jonesing for a fix and I’m not beyond blackmail to get my daughter out of that situation.” I shake my head.

“I don’t know, Jason, that’s risky.”

“Yes, it is, but if I’m wrong, I’ll pay the money to the court and call it a day. If I’m not, at least I have a bargaining chip.” I shrug.

“If you think it’ll work…”

“I don’t know if it will or not, but at this point, I’m willing to try anything. The only thing keeping me from going over there and taking Sophie from that house is the fact that I talk to her every day. I’m scared to death that something’s going to happen to her, but I don’t have any proof that Shalane is using and without a court order, I can’t make her piss in a cup. So I’ll just have to play it by ear and see where it goes.”

“Well, you know you’ve got my support.” He nods.

“Thanks, Boss, I really need it right now.” There’s silence.

“How’s the en suite coming?” I ask. He nods.

“Like you said, it’ll probably be finished when you guys get back. Have you heard from your brother?”

“No,” I say. “So that means that either he’s somewhere moping or that he and Valerie have made up and he hasn’t come up for air.”

“Maybe you should call him,” Jason says. I shrug. After a beat, I pull out my phone and dial his number. He said he would call and keep me up to speed. That was Monday. It’s Friday now and I’m about to board Charlie Tango in an hour to take my wife out of town. I’ve heard nothing. As far as I’m concerned, no news is good news. His phone goes to voice mail.

“You’ve reached Elliot Grey of Grey Construction. Please leave me a message and I’ll get back to you as quickly as possible. Thanks.”

“Elliot, it’s Christian. Just calling to see if everything’s okay. Call me.” I end the call.

“No answer?” Jason asks. I shake my head.

“Nope. Maybe she is pregnant.” Jason rolls his eyes.

“I feel sorry for the kid if she is. She’s a real goddamn harpy.”

“Tell me about it,” I respond. Jason shakes his head, then says, “I never thought I’d see the day you became a father.”

“Me, either,” I tell him. “I never even imagined. Now those two little lives and… my wife…” I sigh and drop my head. “I can’t remember my life before them… before her. I can’t see what it was.” I look up at him. “Does that make any sense?” He shrugs.

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” he says. “I’m here to tell you that your life was pretty goddamn shitty before her… and you were a real fucking asshole. You’re an asshole now, but you were a real fucking asshole then.”

“And you never spoke to me that way before her,” I point out. He twists his lips.

“No, I didn’t,” he said, “but I never took a bullet for you before her either.” We’re silent for a moment again.

“Would you have taken a bullet for me before her?” I ask.

“No,” he says without pausing. A sharp pain goes through my chest and I have to push down immediate anger as I frown at him.

“What?” I ask incredulously.

“Before you met her, I was just your bodyguard. It was my job to protect you. I could have done that without taking that bullet, but you still might have gotten hit—maybe not fatally, but you would have gotten hit. I might’ve have taken a bullet for you as my employer, the guy who pays my paychecks, but last March, that’s not the guy I took the bullet for.”

I’m confused.

“When I knew that gun was going to go off, I knew you were going to get hit. There was no doubt. You would not have been able to time the dodge fast enough—you were standing still. A moving target is harder to hit, so whichever one of us she hit, she most likely wasn’t going to get a kill shot… but I couldn’t stand there and let her shoot my friend. So although I may or may not have taken a shot for my employer, the answer is no, I wouldn’t have taken a shot for my friend before Ana, because before Ana, you weren’t my friend. But if it happened again, I’d do it again.”

I twist my lips, then bite my bottom lip to rein in my emotions a bit.

“Pussy,” I hiss, and Jason bursts out into laughter.


I have been waiting for this day all fucking week. The last time I’ve had any release was the Tenga Flip a week ago, but it’s still not the inside of my wife. Shit, if I’m honest, I’ve been waiting for this day for months! She put my mind at ease by telling me that she had her IUD inserted when she went in for her six-week check-up. That had to be Tuesday as I don’t remember her leaving the house any other time. However, I have to do my best to concentrate on everything that needs to be done—like flying Charlie Tango to Sisters, Oregon to our resort cabin—and on not fucking my wife like a goddamn rubber doll once I’m finally inside her.

She’s not making it easy for me, either. She loves these goddamn wraparound shirts and the one that she’s wearing today is a full wine shirt with slit sleeves and the damn thing plunges so deep that her tits are on full display. Luckily, she closes a leather jacket and scarf over it, but fuck—I know what’s under that thing. And what does she wear as bottoms? A pair of spandex and leather pants that grab her ass and wobble with every move. Did I mention the stilettos with heels so narrow I don’t know how she’s walking on them? Fuck a compass to get us to Oregon; my dick will point us in the right direction!

God help me.

We leave from the roof of Escala to avoid any unwanted publicity. The word is going to be out soon that the Pedophile’s trial is Monday, so I don’t doubt we’ll have to deal with that stigma soon. We’ve gone unscathed for the entire week, so we count it a true blessing that we were able to get out of Seattle without incident.

An hour later, we land at Roberts Airport in Redmond and house Charlie Tango in a rented bay there for the next two days. After retrieving a Suburban SUV from Enterprise, we’re on our way down the 126 to Sisters, Oregon and Five Pine Lodge. I can’t keep my hands off of her for the thirty minutes it takes for us to get to the resort. I have no idea how I’m going to be able to contain myself through the evening.

Once we check in, we are given the keys to the Romance Cabin which is all the way in the back of the resort, purposely placed for privacy. Butterfly walks around the cozy space while I pull Chuck aside in the cabin’s entry area.

“Just giving you fair warning,” I tell him. “You or Williams may be on food duty once we’re locked down, but for now, we have reservations at Latigo in an hour. We won’t be late because the sooner we leave, the sooner we get back.” Chuck smiles knowingly and shakes his head.

“Duly noted,” he says, leaving the cabin and closing the door behind him. I walk over to my wife and put my arms around her waist from behind.

“How do you like it?” I ask.

“It’s very nice,” she says. There’s a king sized bed to the right of us and a sitting area with two chairs facing a fireplace to the left of us. Next to the fireplace is a sunken tub for two with jets surrounded by rustic rocks, one of which shoots water into the tub like a fountain. Yeah, we’ll sure as hell be using that. The full bathroom is off the bedroom with a full wall vanity and shower. I move my hands from my wife’s tiny waist up to her ample breasts.

“No kids for two days,” I say, placing open-mouthed kisses on her neck. “Will you be okay?”

“I’ll be anxious every now and again,” she admits, “but I’m looking forward to this time alone with my husband.”

“These will be very full,” I warn.

“I know,” she says.

“We’ll manage,” I whisper. She turns her face to me over her shoulder and I kiss her solidly. She puts her hands over mine and squeezes her own breasts with my hands. I groan in her mouth.

“God, you are so hot,” I say against her lips.

“You make me that way,” she breathes. I move my hand down to her spandex clad ass and squeeze before grinding into her, kissing her deeply once more.

“We have dinner reservations,” I tell her. “We need to go so that we can get back.” She sighs deeply.

“Okay,” she breathes, cupping my face and kissing me again before she breaks away from me. She grabs a duffle bag, her overnight case, and a garment bag and goes to the en suite. I fall backwards on the bed and commence to talking down this painful boner. Just as I do, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out to find a text from Elliot.

**I’m alive, Bro. We’ll talk later. Enjoy your vacay. **

That’ll do.

Forty minutes later, I’m comfortable in a pair of black wool slacks and a charcoal gray cashmere sweater and just as I’m about to check my wife’s progress, she emerges in a simple black turtleneck sweater dress with a thin belt double-looped at the hip and a pair of platform black stiletto boots garnished with gold buckles across the foot, the back of the leg and the heel. The ensemble is so simple, yet her curves make her look so hot. Her hair is in that swooping, messy bun and she’s wearing soft make-up and nude lip-gloss.

“I’m sorry I took so long,” she says. “I needed to pump.” I take her hand.

“Don’t apologize. You look beautiful.”

“You’re biased,” she says. I take her in my arms.

“I am,” I say, brushing my lips against her cheek, “and you’re still beautiful.” I plant a soft kiss on her cheek and there’s a knock at the door, no doubt Chuck signaling us that it’s time for dinner. “Shall we?” She smiles.

“We shall.” I hold her coat open and help her into it before slipping into mine and we leave for the restaurant.

This little area of the world prides itself on the “quaint,” and Latigo is no exception. Most likely considered one of the high end restaurants of the area, but quaint nonetheless with a cozy and inviting atmosphere. We’re seated immediately as the establishment is less than a mile away from the lodge and we are right on time for our reservation. We’re seated across from each other. However, we forgo decorum and I move my seat so that I can sit directly to her left, allowing me to hold her hand, gaze into her eyes, and whisper sweetly in her ear. Her soft giggle is my reward and we have captured the attention of more than one patron in the restaurant.

“People are staring,” she says softly.

“Let them stare,” I say, kissing her hand gently. “We’re doing nothing inappropriate. I’m simply admiring my beautiful wife.” Our server comes over to the table and kindly asks what we would like to start.

“Well,” I say, “my beautiful wife recently gave birth to twins and this is our first night out in over a month. So, she can have whatever she wants.” The petite blonde raises her eyes to Butterfly.

“Congratulations,” she says. “Can I interest you in some champagne?”

“I would really love a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon if you have it,” Butterfly says, wistfully.

“We do,” the server says with a smile.

“What vintage?” I ask.

“2012 Hogue Reserve,” she says and I frown. Toilet water. Catching my expression, Butterfly says,

“It’s fine… it’s Cabernet.” She desperately wants a glass. I’m certain we can do better than that. They have to have something from the Valley.

“What other vintages do you have?” I probe. “Anything from Brandlin? Cade? Stag’s?”

“We do have Stag’s,” she stops me. “Also 2012, I think.”

“If you have the Stag’s, we’ll take the bottle.” She smiles.

“I’ll check,” she says and moves off from the table.

“I won’t be able to drink an entire bottle of Cabernet, Christian,” Butterfly says with a coy smile.

“I’ll help, but you can only buy Stag’s by the bottle.” Her mouth forms an “O” and she nods.

“Is this another $1500 bottle of wine?” she giggles. I smile.

“You remember,” I say kissing her hand.

“It’s kind of hard to forget.”

“No, it’s not, but it is about $200. The stuff she wanted to give you before was about $6 a bottle.” She makes a face.

“Thank you for rescuing me,” she says.


Moments later, our server returns with another woman and a 2012 bottle of Stag’s Leap District Napa Valley Cask 23 Cabernet Sauvignon.w677daq4b9snyldrwkfhzi4btmll-5wcgbh4zl3is7q-0

“Hello,” the woman says. “I’m Sucy, one of the owners here and I wanted to personally welcome you to Latigo. Sharon tells me that this is your first night out since the birth of your twins.”

“Yes,” Butterfly says sweetly. “We’ve been looking forward to it for weeks.”

“I certainly understand,” she says. “I have two sets of twins.” Butterfly’s eyes grow large.

“You’re kidding!” she whispers. Sucy gestures demurely to Sharon to show me the bottle of wine while she engages Butterfly in conversation. I examine the vintage and nod, gesturing for her to serve my wife. Sucy continues that her twins are 12 and 4, causing Butterfly to gasp.

“Two sets… yikes.”

“If I may say, you look fantastic. How old are your twins?”

“Six weeks.” Sucy’s eyes grow large.

“Really?” she says. Butterfly nods. “Well, whatever you’re doing, keep it up. You look great.” Butterfly smiles and takes the glass with the small amount of wine in it. After swirling it around the glass a bit, she takes a sip. Closing her eyes, she sighs appreciatively.

“That’s divine,” she breathes. Sucy smiles.

“I’m so glad you’re pleased. Sharon will get you anything you need and be sure to let me know if I can be of any further assistance to you. Again, my congratulations to you both.”

“Thank you,” I say sincerely. She nods once and leaves the table. No doubt, it’s customary to greet the patrons personally who order a $200 bottle of wine… and it’s good business.

“Sir?” Sharon gestures to me with the bottle after she has poured Butterfly’s glass.

“Please, thank you.” She pours the adequate amount and sets the bottle on the table.

“What can I get for you to eat?” she says with a warm smile.

Butterfly and I feast on Dungeness crab cakes with lemon saffron aioli; soup du jour—which happened to be salmon chowder that day; salads with chopped artisan lettuces, shallots, feta, roasted macadamia nuts, apples, radish, and a creamy pinot noir vinaigrette; filet mignon with wild mushroom and port butter sauce, gratin dauphinoise, green beans and heirloom tomatoes; banana fritters with gelato; white chocolate & cherry terrine; and salted caramel. Although we are anxious to taste of each other, we savor our meal, feeding each other off of our plates and enjoying the wine and the attention given to us by the staff. The experience was well worth the visit and the money and once we have had our fill, I’m sure to thank the chef—who happens to be Sucy’s husband—and to leave a generous tip.

Thank God the resort is less than a mile away, because I can barely wait to get my hands on this woman. I tell Chuck to be prepared to get breakfast for us in the morning, but that I may want to go to the gym in the afternoon before I dismiss him and Williams for the evening. When I turn around, Butterfly has already disappeared into the en suite again.

“Butterfly, are you okay?” I call through the door.

“I’m fine, Baby. I’ll be out in just a minute,” she says sweetly. She sounds okay, so I proceed to get undressed. I take off my sweater and T-shirt and sit down to remove my shoes and socks. Just as I get my socks off, I hear the bathroom door open. When she said she would only be a minute, she meant that she would only be a minute… but I have no idea how she did this in a minute…

“Oh. My. God.”

Agent Provocateur has never looked so good. She’s wearing this beautiful black kimono with lace trim, falling demurely over her curves like you wouldn’t believe. No Butterfly ensemble would be complete without the Louboutin platform stilettos—black patent leather with red bottoms, of course. She’s wearing red thigh high stockings that tie the red bottoms of the shoes to the robe. Thank God I’m sitting down. My knees might buckle beneath me if I weren’t.

“Come here,” I breathe. She walks shyly over to me. She’s so beautiful, I don’t know where to start. Maybe I should start by unwrapping my gift. I pull the sash on the robe only to discover that there’s another prize underneath.

“Fuck…” I breathe. She’s trying to kill me.

The red stockings were not to compliment the red bottoms. Underneath the black kimono is a short, red slip of a nighty that fits her like a second skin. God, she is so sexy. Standing there in front of me, her eyes locked with mine, she pushes the kimono off her shoulders and lets it fall to the floor.

“You are exquisite.” I whisper. Starting from her calves, I rub both hands up the back of her legs—slowly, savoring the feeling of her skin clad in fine silk stockings with back seams against the palm of my hands. My breath catches and she shivers. As I get to the top of the stockings and the bare skin of her thigh, I stand so that my journey doesn’t end. I cup her ass, caressing it softly under the short slip, thrilled to discover that she’s not wearing any underwear… not even a thong. I linger there for a moment before moving my hands over the silk of the nighty to caress her body—her hips, her back, her stomach, and her breasts. Her breathing quickens and I have to fight every urge inside of me to just take her now. I want to… I know she’ll be tight, but if I don’t prepare her, she’ll be too tight, and I might hurt her. It’s been too long.

“Undress me,” I say. There’s nothing left but my pants and boxer briefs, but I want her to remove them. Dexterously, she undoes my belt and the button of my pants. She unzips them, but doesn’t allow them to just fall to the floor. She pushes her hands into my pants, cupping my ass and very slowly, pushes them down my legs, just as slowly as I traveled up hers a moment ago. I almost can’t breathe as she squats at the same speed that she removes my slacks until she’s nearly on the floor in front of me. Looking salaciously at my crotch, she grasps my boxer briefs at the waistband and just as slowly—if not slower—drags them down and off my legs. I swallow hard as my erection springs free. She kisses up my legs, alternating from one to the other—open-mouthed… three kisses on this one, then three on that one, then one on this one, two on that one… Fuck, she’s driving me mad! When she gets to my dick, she continues the kisses… all the way up to the head until I groan in agony.

Her trail continues up my stomach, my torso, my chest, until she’s standing before me again—big, sexy, fuck-me blue orbs staring at me while I’m trying to catch my breath and rein in my libido.

“We’ll leave these on!” I say of her lingerie and shoes, my voice raspy, my soul starving for her. I grab her by the ass and press her hard against me, bruising her lips with hungry kisses. She moans into my mouth and thrusts her hands into my hair, so ready for me to take her—but not yet. I’ll hurt you; I know I will. My dick is pulsing so hard in anticipation that I know I’ll rip that poor little pussy to shreds! I lift her by her ass and lay her down, her head near the foot of the bed, and I start to travel down her body with my lips and tongue. She squirms impatiently, moaning in protest that I won’t just take her. I suck her already taut nipple into my mouth and she cries out.

“Christian, please!” she begs. Not yet, love. Patience.

I suck and bite her other nipple and her tortured sounds imitate sobs. Her body starts to tremble almost immediately and I’m nearly set off by her responsiveness.

“Oh, God, Christian!” she cries as I move down her torso, pushing her slip up her body so that I can taste the rest of her skin. She’s too impatient. She can’t wait. Her first one will be quick. I bring my mouth down to her pelvic line and kiss and lick the tender skin there. The smell of her arousal assaults my senses and ignites that uncontrollable blazing fire inside me.

“Baby, I’m trying to take my time, but I want to devour you!” I roll her over on top of me so that I’m on my back and her pussy falls in my face. I slowly and gently begin to tantalize that clit. Once she gets over the surprise, she starts to grind my face. I’m rubbing her back and her ass, lapping her juices as they slide into my mouth and suddenly, she realizes where she is and clamps hungrily down on my aching dick.

“Aw, fuck!” I groan into her pussy. She’s on a goddamn mission. She either wants to make me want her or make me come before she does. I wrap my arms around her body and hug her close to me. Opening my legs, I fuck her mouth deeply—her hot, insatiable mouth. She wraps her arms around my thighs, grasping one thigh firmly with one hand and caressing my balls with the other. I groan again, deep and hard into her pussy and she meets me with an answering moan, grinding her hips and riding my tongue. She tastes fucking divine. I watch her luscious ass roll as her vaginal lips swell against my mouth and her clit pulses against my tongue.

Fuck, this feels so good. This looks so good and tastes so good. We’re primal—fucking and making love to each other’s mouths at the same time. I lose myself in her for a moment… in how fucking fabulous this feels and my wife’s incomparable oral skills. I hold her hard against my body and tongue that pussy like I’m probing my wife’s hungry mouth, pressing her shoulders against my hips to get deeper penetration into her mouth. She meets my challenge, fucking me with deep, hard sucks and strokes of her jaws and tongue until I groan into her pussy once more. I reach up and squeeze her ass firmly with both hands, pressing her deep against my mouth and lapping her with my tongue until she moans hard against my dick causing a violent vibration to reverberate through my legs and tingle in my toes. I’m lost in the immeasurable pleasure before I come back to myself and realize that I don’t intend to come this way. It’s agonizing and heartbreaking to have to halt her infallible effort to tantalize me to a magnificent and impeccable orgasm, but I have to concentrate—hard! Really hard!

With my arms wrapped around her luscious hips and her juicy ass, I use my fingers to part her lips from behind and open her pussy to lavish concentrated flicks on that delicate clit. Her core gets wetter right before my eyes as I hold her hostage against my mouth, concentrating my efforts on massaging her clit around and around and around. She tries to move away from me, to give the sensitive bundle of nerves a slight bit of respite, but I have her locked in place. She can only rock her hips forward against my unforgiving tongue. She groans against my dick again, but I’m transfixed on her clit now and able to refocus some of the attention away from my throbbing, burning rod and the pleasure she’s bringing me. She tries to keep her rhythm, tries to maintain control, but I can feel her falter as her clit begins to throb harder in my mouth.

That’s it, baby. You know you want to give it to me.

Since my mouth has her fully exposed and open to me, I move my hand to her ass and open those cheeks, allowing me to play with that lovely little rosette. She withstands the pleasure as long as she can before she starts to tremble and moan, then clamps harder down on my dick.


Oh, God, this is a motherfucking battle! She’s groans on my erection again and this time, the vibration sends shivers through my whole goddamn body. Fucking hell, I’m not going to make it! Time to bring out the heavy artillery.

I move my left arm around her waist, clamping her to my body and keeping her immobilized. While still relentlessly licking that clit, I bring my right arm up between her legs so that her left leg is now bent and pinned under my arm. Now, not only is her pussy wide open, but so is her ass and her rosette is fully exposed to me, I suckle that tender clit masterfully, tickling the rosette and occasionally sticking just the tip of my finger inside to make it sensitive and heighten her pleasure. Once she starts to pant and her breathing becomes erratic, I know that she’s rising. I know that I can stick my finger in her ass and have her exploding madly, but I decide to do something to blow her mind instead.

With the pads of all four fingers on my right hand, I pop that rosette directly, hard and fast.

She gasps and freezes her assault, trembling wildly. Although she’s still clamped down on my dick, she can’t move. Her body is dead weight on mine and she’s trying to process what she just felt. Before she has the chance, I pop her again. She wails hard in her throat on my dick, her clit throbbing madly in my mouth and her thighs trembling ferociously.

Victory is mine!

I pop her again… and again… and again… and again.

She yelps with every smack, involuntarily jumping at the sensation before she abandons her prior task completely, pushing her body up and away from mine and crying out in unfettered passion.

Yes, baby! I’ve got you now! Resistance is futile!

I pop her again… and again… and again… and again…

She arches her back forward and cranes her neck like a wolf howling to the moon, screeching a soul-felt painful cry from her stomach. Her whole body stiffens for several moments at first and then she’s writhing, crying out and trying to get away from the torment of my mouth. I clamp my arms down onto her body and suck deep, pulling that orgasm out of her and allowing her juices to saturate and coat her inner walls so that she’s ready for me when I slide into her, because I’m sure as fuck ready for her…


Dammit! I thought sure I would make him erupt before he made me come, especially when he started pumping in my mouth and getting so hard. It was so erotic that I couldn’t stand it anymore. I would have been panting and coming even if he weren’t licking my clit so exquisitely.

But that shit he did with my asshole… fuck! Fucking hell! Never in my life! Goddammit! I can’t see! I can’t think! Motherfuckinghell!

I’m still gasping for air and my pussy is still pulsing in pain and pleasure as he moves with speed and agility, situating me face down on the bed and shoving a pillow under my pelvis so my ass is up in the air. Seconds later, he has pushed my legs apart and has thrust himself inside of me. I cry out at the glorious intrusion, breaching my aching but hungry walls, so long left unoccupied.

“Fffffffffffuck!” he hisses deeply as he buries himself in me, swaying from side to side so that his dick hits every wall of my core. He’s hard as a rock and big as a goddamn watermelon! “You’re so fucking wet!” Well, yeah, I just came! Using my hips for leverage, he begins a grind—not too fast and not too slow, but I can feel his hips roll. I imagine him watching his swollen veiny dick sliding around my ass and in and out of my core, pink and purple with his barely contained arousal, wet and shiny—coated with the evidence of mine.

“Oh, fuck, baby!” he groans animalistically, his hips rolling more sensually, his dick hitting all the right places and causing me to rise again.

“Ah… Christian!” I cry when his grind starts to burn—so quickly after my first orgasm! I don’t stand a fucking chance! He feels so good! It’s been so goddamn long…

“Yes, baby!” he growls, his weight holding me down so that I can’t move, and he pushes me with purpose. “Oh, fuck, yes, baby!” The restraint and the probing, both are pushing me quickly to a second release. I grab the sheets with both hands and try to resist, but my body is screaming and won’t be denied.

“Aw, shit!” he hisses, and I hear the wetness from my juices as he slides in and out of me. Combined with the friction, his masterful stroke, and him holding me down so that I can’t move, I detonate in a hot, fiery, pulsing, wet orgasm around him, clinging to the sheets and crying out like a wounded animal.

“Oh, fuck! Fuck! Fucking hell!” he growls through gritted teeth, then stills, pulsing hard against my inner walls. He holds the position for several moments, emptying hard inside of me. When he’s done, he collapses on my back and we both lay there, trying to catch our breath, but his erection doesn’t wane. I’m sweating and my body is on fire! The explosions he made me feel were astronomical and my brain is having a hard time focusing. Once he has caught his breath, he drapes my hair over the bed and away from my neck, then covers my back with sweet, sensual kisses. We’ve been affectionate during our wait, but we’ve both been anticipating this coupling for far too long.

Fuck, his dick! His dick feels so good. I’ve missed it inside of me so much. I can still feel my muscles clenching and my walls tightening around him. My body shivers involuntarily and my breath comes in short as I try to control the contractions. His lips move to my neck and then my earlobe and I whimper with sensual longing. The sound shoots straight to his shaft and I feel him rising and thumping again inside of me. Oh, God, can I take this again? He tangles his fingers in mine and pushes my legs further open with his knees. He’s going to test that theory.

“Christian… no…” I whimper, no fight left in me. Part of me wants his dick in me so badly. The other part isn’t sure that I can take anymore right now.

“Yes, baby,” he whispers as he slowly begins to move, gently thrusting into me again and again. “Can’t you feel that?” he breathes directly in my ear. “Your body is still restless. You’re still clamping around me, making me hard. You did this to me. You still want me… still need me as much as I need you. You’ve got another one, baby. You’ve got to give it to me.”

Oh, God, he’s going to kill me. He’s so goddamn hot. I just want him to fuck me and hold me and talk to me and love me. I close my eyes and raise up, leaning back into his body. He turns his face into my neck and thrusts deeper. At first, I’m a little tender. Two massive orgasms will do that to you. After just a little while, a few minutes maybe, the slow burn starts again. I start to sweat immediately.

“My God, you are so sexy,” he groans, clasping my hands tighter and using them for leverage to grind deeper into me. “This red… this red is driving me fucking crazy!” I raise my head in hopes to get some more air.

“So good,” I pant, “so good…”

“Sssssssssssss, fuck!” he hisses. He moves like lightening and scoops me up in his arms, never releasing my hands and his dick never leaving my body. Somehow, we end up on our knees, him sitting on his feet and me sitting on his lap. Both our arms are wrapped around my body and his fingers are still entwined with mine. He’s holding me powerfully and possessively against him, drilling up and into me and claiming what belongs to him. I moan and keen shamelessly with each stroke, my hair falling over my face like a mask. Again, I am unable to move and must absorb every thrust, every kiss, every bite, and every tortured moan from my husband.

I swear I’m levitating… floating in a state of carnal bliss where my husband and lover has me protectively cocooned in a sphere of never-ending pleasure and bliss. His arms around me, his sensual moans in my ear, his passionate kisses and bites on my neck and shoulders, his helpless declarations of love and ecstasy—I’m helpless, totally at his mercy and completely at risk of being shattered into a million pieces when this extraterrestrial ride ends.

I have spent quite some time in immeasurable pleasure, rising so wildly and so intensely that my body breaks into the most unladylike, uncontrollable sweat. My throat hurts from several minutes of involuntary moaning and I’m exhausted from the unrestrained ecstasy that my husband has inflicted upon me. My hair is drenched and sticking to my face and body as is Christian’s and I am reduced to quiet panting and keening. The nightie that I was wearing has somehow been removed and tossed to the four winds somewhere and I’m still on his lap in my thigh-highs and stilettos. I don’t know how this has happened as I don’t remember him releasing me from his possessive embrace, and he continues to drive into me—deeply, steadily, deliciously. After an eternity of nearly unbearable pleasure and passion, the fire, friction, and stimulation begin to culminate into that familiar pull in my thighs and stomach that signal the beginning of a massive orgasm.

“Christian,” I whine, almost afraid of what this one will do to me. He doesn’t stop. His stroke becomes more earnest and he begins to grunt and groan primally in my ear in response to my tightening core, rising a little higher with each thrust to ensure maximum penetration on his upstroke as he holds my body tighter against his.

“Oh, God!” I lament as the sensation rises through my thighs and travels simultaneously from my stomach down to my pelvis. My body knows him, responds to his movements and his earnest. He rises even higher up on his knees, taking me with him and thrusting harder and deeper into me, pulling the two sensations together at my core until…

“Aaaaaaaaaaahaaaaaaahaaaaaaaahhaaaaaaaaa!” I’m trembling and crying, unable to hold anything together anymore as I cry out through the orgasm of the century. Christian’s hips don’t stop as I pant, wheeze, and suffer through an eternity of torture, pleasure, pain, passion, and tears. After what feels like forever, he groans loudly, holding me hard against him, stilling at first as he empties into me, then pumping deeply twice to complete his climax. He lays his head forward on my shoulder, never releasing me from his captive grasp, breathing heavily as he comes down from his climax. I lay my head back on his shoulder, weeping and panting helplessly in the aftermath of mine.

He’s shivering violently, holding me so tight in his arms that my body shakes with his shivers. I’m still weeping, wrung from my orgasms as he coughs air into his lungs. I don’t get it. We’ve gone without sex before and it was good when we came back together, but not like this. Never like this! Our bodies completely shattered, we fall over onto the bed as one. Christian’s arms are still clenched around me and he’s still inside of me. He’s still trembling and I’m still crying. Our bodies are fit together like a puzzle and as I continue to weep, his trembling begins to subside and he’s kissing me on my neck, shoulders, ears and back. That’s what I remember as I drift off to sleep.

I awake sometime during the night, still wrapped in Christian Grey—his legs now wrapped around mine. I’m a bit disoriented because we’re not in our own bed. However, an involuntary shuddering breath brings recognition back to me while simultaneously causing Christian to stir. He pulls me closer to him and tightens his grip on me, clasping tighter to my hands and kissing my back in his sleep. It’s like an instant tranquilizer dart and I’m gone again.

A/N: Useless information—their pediatrician’s name is pronounced Nah-hah-BEE-dee-an. That was my son’s pediatrician 28 years ago; I just felt the need for honorable mention.

Creative license used in this chapter as Latigo wasn’t open yet at the time that Christian and Ana visited Sisters, OR.

FYI, this may be TMI, but I’m sharing anyway. That last move with 69 that had Anastasia screaming, my husband did that to me! Y’all should really try that shit!

This is only part one of the hot sex, by the way. Remember, there’s a whole weekend going on, here.  

Pictures of places, cars, fashion, etc., can be found at

You can join my mailing list on the “Contact Me” page. Just click the link and it will lead you to a form to join the list.

Love and handcuffs  
Lynn X