Here’s the finale, people! Stick around for the epilogue and an extra author’s note.
This is a work of creativity. As such, you may see words, concepts, scenes, actions, behaviors, pictures, implements, and people that may or may not be socially acceptable and/or offensive. If you are sensitive to adverse and alternative subject matter of any kind, please do not proceed, because I guarantee you’ll find it here. You have been warned. Read at your own risk.
Explicit details of sex and BDSM scenes from here on out. Some may be hot while others may not be to your taste… and not necessary CG with Ana together. Proceed at your own discretion, but don’t say that I didn’t warn you.
This ain’t your everyday Christian and Ana story. Don’t expect anything. Just read it as it goes along or go away. I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy, or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY story in MY interpretation as a fan. If something that I say displeases you, please, just leave. If you don’t like this story or me, please don’t spoil this experience for everyone. Just go away. For the rest of you, the new saga continues…
I awake in my bed, face down, hugging a pillow. My body aches from the workout, and the biggest thing reminding me that it wasn’t a dream is my stinging back.
I’m alone… again.
Did she pull that shit on me anyway? Is she playing these damn games with me again?
I pull myself up in the bed and rub my eyes. The sun is just going down and the light from my nightstand throws a soft glow over the bedroom. I thrust my hand in my hair to contemplate my situation when the en suite door opens.
Ana emerges in only my shirt with a washcloth and a bottle in her hand. She raises a brow at me then walks over to the bed.
“I don’t see any kind of antibiotic ointment in there, but I found some peroxide. Lie on your stomach. You’re going to have some terrible scars.”
I don’t respond. I just do what I’m told. This is the closest thing to aftercare I’ve ever gotten from her and I’m going to take advantage of it. The peroxide doesn’t hurt, but the washcloth does. I flinch as she dabs the scratches, gritting my teeth through the pain.
“There’s some vitamin A&D ointment under the sink,” I tell her. “It’s in a small tub.”
She goes to the bathroom and returns with the tub. The ointment is soothing the moment it touches my skin. That’s why I keep a tub of it. It’s good for everything.
“We should eat something, don’t you think?” she says, replacing the top on the ointment.
“Avoiding the obvious?” I ask. She crosses her legs lotus style on the bed.
“Yes and no,” she replies. “I don’t know how to do this.”
“Do what?” I say, sitting up to face her.
“This,” she says, pointing back and forth between us. “You and me, this thing. I don’t know how.”
“You’ve never had a boyfriend, Ana?” I ask, bemused. She twists her lips.
“Nothing memorable,” she says. “The day I cashed in my V-card was about as memorable as you would expect it to be. He came and then he went. The sexual encounters after that—again, nothing memorable. In fact, nothing really memorable happened until I became a Domme.”
I instinctively lean back on my headboard and even though it’s padded, it still sets my back on fire. I leap off the bed and Ana leaps with me, startled. Once I get my bearings about me, I go over to the chest of drawers and pull out a clean T-shirt. My back is fucking raw. I hope I don’t wake up with this damn thing sticking to my wounds.
I climb back in the bed and gently lean my back against the headboard. Much better. I pat the bed next to me, and Ana climbs back into bed, taking the seat next to me this time.
“Is that what you’re expecting?” she says as I put one arm around her. “To be my boyfriend?” I shrug.
“I don’t know what the hell I’m expecting,” I say honestly. “I’m hung up on a Domme.” She nods.
“Yeah,” she agrees. “I can’t have a normal relationship, Christian,” she warns. I scoff
“What the fuck is normal?” I ask. “I don’t have a normal relationship anywhere in my life. I don’t think I ever have, not even with my family. I had to give my sister a body part for her to even care that I was alive and that strained the only perfect relationship I had with my mom. My dad and my brother are both snakes in their own special, separate ways. The only semi-normal relationships I have are with my housekeeper, Taylor, and Ronnie…”
“Who’s Ronnie?” she asks.
“Yeah, Ronnie’s like my best friend, but the only reason that we’re friends now is because we realized that we suck at being bed buddies. So, she went out and found somebody normal and I’m here.” I feel her body stiffen.
“What?” I ask.
“It just…” She adjusts herself on my chest. “It has an ominous undertone.” I frown.
“What has an ominous tone?”
“‘I’m here,'” she says, mocking my voice.
“Hey, you’re the one who said you can’t do normal. I’m just agreeing with you, so I guess we’re going to have to find some kind of compromise unless we just want to go back to not seeing each other again.”
“No,” she says. “I don’t want that… I just don’t know how to do girlfriend.”
“If it helps at all, I have no fucking idea how to do boyfriend. Both times I seriously tried; it didn’t go well.”
“Why?” she asks. I twist my lips and decide to tell her the truth.
“Juliet couldn’t keep up with me,” I tell her. “I had a hunger she couldn’t feed. Ronnie’s very sweet,” I continue. “We’re still friends because she’s a really good person, but we just weren’t meant to be lovers… and she knew I was still hung up on you.”
“So, what happens when the splendor wears off?” she asks, “When we’re no longer hung up on each other?”
“I don’t know, Ana, I haven’t gotten that far yet,” I reply matter-of-factly, “and neither have you or you wouldn’t be here.”
“You said you loved me,” she points out. That I did. I’m still asking myself if it’s true.
“I’ll be honest and say that I don’t know if it’s love in the traditional sense,” I tell her. “I love Ronnie as my friend. I love my mom as my mom. I look at what I felt for Juliet—or any girl or woman that I’ve been intimate with, and I’m not really sure that I can identify love as a lover.
“I’m identifying with some feeling,” I clarify, “just as I have before. I know that I care deeply for you, but if I still feel this way after not being with you for nearly a year, having to send you away from me months ago so that the ache that I felt would stop someday but still craving you the moment I see you, then what do you call that?” She looks over at me.
“I don’t know how to love,” she says and my brows furrow. How do you not know how to love?
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“It’s not that I don’t believe in it… of course, I do. My mommy and daddy loved each other very much, and I loved my mommy and daddy, but they died. I came to love my uncle and his family, but they deserted me. I didn’t even get a chance to love Jake, and I don’t even know if I loved the guy who took my virginity. Bearing that in mind, I haven’t been properly introduced to the kind of love that a man has for a woman, so I don’t know how. I’m 34 years old and I don’t. Know how. To love.” She shrugs.
“I was right, then,” I say. She looks at me questioning. “You are messed up.” Her curiosity morphs to anger.
“I’m not damaged, Trey!” she snaps.
“And I see I’m going to be Trey when you’re mad,” I say calmly. I don’t care that she’s mad; I’m not taking it back.
“So, what is it then, Golden?” I say, stressing her name. “Can you see your future? Are you going to be 65 still trying to wield a whip? Or worse yet, are you going to turn into Elena?”
She shivers, I think at the thought of becoming what Elena did, up to and including her demise.
“I used to see my future clearly,” she admits. “Now, I’m not so sure.”
“So, one thing we can say for sure,” I say. “We’re definitely the blind leading the blind, so we’re going to have to set some rules—and they may evolve as we go along—and see what happens. It’s either that, or we walk away now.” I want her, but I will walk away as opposed to go through this cat-and-mouse thing she likes to play.
“So, what are the rules?” she asks.
“First rule,” I begin. “One of us doesn’t get to set all the rules. We both indicate what we want and what we don’t want. If the other can’t deal, then we call it a day.”
“Okay,” she agrees.
“Second rule. None of this disappearing, now-you-see-me-now-you-don’t bullshit. If you want out, be a woman and say so and at least give me a reason why. That I-have-the-power-over-your-soul shit that you were doing before, that’s a definite hard limit.” She nods.
“Okay… I can understand that,” she says.
“I know I’ll have more, but I want to know what you have.”
“My clients,” she says.
“What about ‘em?” I ask.
“I’m a sadist, Christian,” she says. “What do you expect me to do?”
“The same thing you do now,” I reply. “I’m not expecting you to change unless you want that. I find the power that you wield over men extremely sexy, and the fact that they can’t fuck you is even sexier… but the fact that I can is mind-boggling.”
“So, you’re seriously okay with me chaining up and beating other men and masturbating them and jacking them off.” It’s a question in the form of a statement.
“Yes,” I say, matter-of-factly. “In fact, I’m expecting you to lift that ban from me so I can watch.” She shakes her head.
“You’re weird,” she says. I lean over a bit and cock my head at her.
“And you’re not?” I accuse. She twists her lips.
“Touché,” she replies. “So… is there anything that you would prefer I don’t do?”
“Only one thing,” I say. I have her attention now. “I already know that you’re not going to let them fuck you. They can smell you if you want that, but they can’t lick your pussy.” She gazes at me for a moment.
“That’s your only condition for my clients?” she asks.
“Oh, one more… they can’t come to your house. I don’t want the same implements that you use on me being used on them.” Her eyes widen. Okay, this must be a surprise of some kind.
“Okay, well, first, I never use the same implements on any clients, except for impact instruments and binds.” I think she may have been a bit offended by that implication.
“Second, you’re only the second person who has ever come to my home in that capacity, and the first was years ago. And third, you’re still going to be a client?”
Oh, that? Did she expect me to just fuck her and that was it?
“Is that going to be a problem?” I ask. She shrugs.
“No, I just… I didn’t…” Mm-hm.
“Yeah, I know,” I stop her stuttering. “You thought I just wanted the pussy and that was it, right?” She shrugs again. “I can’t blame you. I guess I would have thought the same thing. You’ve got some good pussy, but Ana, if that’s all that I was after, it’s not worth repeatedly getting your ass beat for it.”
There’s a long pause.
“Then why do you do it?” she asks.
“The same reason your other clients do it,” I reply. “We need more. We need to be drawn out and pulled to that edge. We need that endorphin release that we get from the pain mixed with the pleasure. If all I wanted to do was fuck, I could have stayed with Juliet. She couldn’t give me what I needed. She was as vanilla as they came. I knew I needed more; I just didn’t know what I needed…”
“What about all your women?” she asks. “You said that I can keep all my clients. Am I supposed to consent to you fucking and beating anyone you want?”
“First of all, yes, I beat women in the beginning, but I discovered that it wasn’t my thing. Second, since the day that I met you, every woman that I fucked whether I was looking at her face or her ass, I was still seeing you. Balls deep in some cunt, and I’m still feeling your whip on my back. And when we fucked today and you dug your nails into my back, I still felt the pain that you inflict while enduring the massive fucking orgasms that you induce. So, tell me, Goldie—why the fuck would I want Memorex when I can get it live? Who the hell wants to shop when I can get everything I need in one place?” She laughs heartily.
“You really have a way with words,” she says, climbing out of the bed. “So, Christian,” she says, stressing my name, “I really am hungry. Do you have something to eat in this palace, or should we order some food?”
I stand and remember the sting of my back. She walks over to me.
“Let me look at it,” she says. I allow her to lift my shirt and examine my back. “Do you have any bandages here?” she asks.
“Probably nothing besides band-aids,” I reply.
“Well, you better get some,” she says, without saying anything else. She puts more ointment on my wounds. “You probably can’t do much right now but leave the shirt on over the wounds and we should check it every so often. That shirt’s going to be ruined, too.”
“I figured as much,” I say. I put on my pajama pants and put the shirt over my T-shirt, then I go to the en suite and retrieve my robe for Ana.
“Let’s go find sustenance,” I tell her as I hand her my robe. I exit my bedroom and find Mrs. Jones and Taylor in the kitchen… caught in an intimate embrace.
They’ve been working for me for years. How did I not know this?
I clear my throat startling them, then watch them leap ten feet then scramble like roaches to release one another.
“Sir,” Taylor says, stumbling over his words as Mrs. Jones needlessly smooths her clothing and her hair. “I thought you… we were just… um…”
“I’m aware of what you were doing, Taylor,” I say, raising a brow at him.
“I apologize, sir,” he says, pulling at his tie. “I… didn’t know if this… would present a problem.”
“Are you going to quit, run away, and get married?” I ask. Taylor clears his throat and sharpens his glare at me. Uh oh, did I put my foot in it?
“No, Mr. Grey,” Mrs. Jones interjects, noticing some obvious discomfort, “there’s no absconding in our immediate future.”
Taylor has his back to her, but he actually looks a little relieved.
“Then there’s no problem,” I say, nixing the subject. “Mrs. Jones, what’s for dinner? We’re famished…”
“You never told me what ‘Chopper’ meant,” I say as we’re finishing dinner at the breakfast bar. She chuckles.
“It’s something that I came up with the first time I saw you at Crimson. It’s a cross between ‘copper’ and ‘hottie.'” My brow furrows.
“Copper? Why copper?”
“Because of the color of your hair at the time,” she says. “Your hair was a browning copper. It’s a little gray now, but anyway, copper and hottie equals Chopper.” I chuckle.
“You’re one of the reasons it’s turning gray,” I jest, “you and my sister dropping the whole I need a kidney thing in my lap.”
“Yeah,” she says, “I noticed it set in rather quickly.” I raise my brow.
“Is it a problem?” I ask. She scoffs.
“I have clients who are bald, Christian. A little gray is certainly not a problem.” She feathers her hands through my hair. “In fact, it’s kind of hot.” She plays in it a little more then asks, “How is your sister?”
“Did you meet her?” I ask. She shakes her head.
“I only had Taylor call your parents. I didn’t… insert myself in any way.” Okay.
“She’s doing fine,” I tell her. “There’s always a concern for rejection, but so far, she’s doing very well. I had to have a little talk with her about keeping things from the family, not only because this is something very big and it could have killed her, but also because the secrets nearly destroyed my family.”
“Secrets?” she asks. “With an ‘s?’”
“Yes,” I confess. I’ve told Ronnie, I suppose I can tell Ana. “My sister was on dialysis for seven years; no one knew that I practice a BDSM lifestyle; and my brother couldn’t give Mia a kidney because he’s a coke-head.” Her eyes sharpen.
“Jesus, Christian!” she says. “So… all of this came out at once?”
“Pretty much,” I tell her. “Dad knew everybody’s secret and Mom knew nobody’s secret, so she wasn’t speaking to anybody for a while… except Mia. Mia’s staying with my parents now.”
“Wait a minute… your father knew that you were in the community?” she asks, a bit stunned. Hold on to your thong, Golden.
“Oh, the good judge knows all about the lifestyle,” I inform her. “It nearly destroyed his marriage to my mom and he’s the one who introduced me to it.” She shakes her head.
“All those times I’ve argued cases in front of him… I can usually spot a sub a mile away, even in hiding. I never had a clue…”
“Well, he’s not in the lifestyle anymore and he wasn’t a sub,” I clarify. “And since you work with him, I’ve already told you too much.”
“Have we met?” she asks, folding her arms. “If there’s anyone who knows only too well the importance of discretion, I think you already know that you’re looking at her. And I wouldn’t have pegged him for a Dom either—even less than I would have pegged him for a sub. He hides it very well. I had him all mapped out as the guy who smokes a pipe on Sunday while the grandkids play at his feet.”
“Far from it,” I say, but I don’t tell her anything else because I don’t want to taint her view of Judge Grey any further. “My mother loves him very much, so he’s working to get back into her good graces as we speak.”
We’re silent for a moment, then I bring the conversation back over to my nickname.
“I thought you called me Chopper because you knew that I’m a helicopter pilot.” Her eyes widen.
“You’re a helicopter pilot?” she asks, surprised. I nod.
“I don’t get into the air as much as I would like, but yes, I am.” She clears her throat.
“I’ve never even been in a helicopter before… Have you ever taken Blondie for a ride in it?” I frown.
“Who the fuck is Blondie?” As soon as the question is out of my mouth, I remember who Blondie is.
“No! No, Blondie has never been in my copter. It might have fallen out of the air from the sheer evil.” I add the last part as an afterthought.
“Do you ever feel any kind of conviction or… regret that she’s dead?” she asks. “That she died the way that she did?” I shake my head.
“Did I want her to die? Did I wish that on her? No. Do I care that she’s gone? Not in the slightest—one less psycho bitch in the world. To be honest, as conniving as she turned out to be, I’m surprised that she didn’t meet her demise sooner at the hands of someone else. I guess her little games weren’t enough for someone to want to cause her any real damage.” She clears her throat and shrugs.
“It’s late,” She says once we’ve finished our dinner. “I need to call Blake and let him know that I’m okay.” My turn to clear my throat. “What’s the matter?” she asks with a frown.
“He could be a problem for me,” I admit. She raises her brow.
“Why is that?” she asks.
“You don’t know?” I say. “He’s the only submissive you have. I know men. You don’t think he’s waiting for his chance to fuck you?”
“I know he’s not,” she replies. “That’s not the nature of our relationship at all and it never will be. We both made that very clear years ago and it hasn’t changed.”
“Yet,” I point out. “You and I made that clear, too, and look where we are.”
“You and I are quite different, and you know that, Christian,” she says firmly. “Our relationship was suggestive before it ever became physical, and I’ve never even seen Blake naked let alone touched him sexually.”
“Get rid of Taylor,” she says flatly. I can’t get rid of Taylor. It took years for him to be chiseled the way I want, to know my thoughts and habits before I know them. There’s no way in hell… and my face must say it all.
“It’s the same with Blake,” she informs me. “He’s not going anywhere… ever! When I lose my splendor, and you go your way, Blake will still be there. I’ll never let him go.”
“You have to see how inappropriate that is,” I protest.
“Why? Because he’s a man?” she asks. “Do you fuck Taylor?” I grimace.
“Of course not!” I retort.
“I don’t fuck Blake either,” I say. “You have to understand that he’s the most important person in my life second only to my parents. He was there when no one else was there. He’s my family, and if you make me choose between the two of you, there’s no contest. I choose him. And if he tries to do the noble thing and leave because of you, I’ll make you leave, too. I have many clients, but Blake’s much more than that. He’s my submissive, the only one that I have, and I won’t. Give him up. Take it or leave it, Chopper.”
I roll my eyes. I have to deal with Belvedere if I want to have Ana in my life.
But weren’t you dealing with Belvedere anyway?
“I’m confused with your logic,” she adds. You’ll allow me to suck and stroke and beat my clients—while you watch—but you want me to get rid of Blake who, to the outside observer, is nothing more than a butler.”
“But you and I know that your relationship with Blake is much more intimate than any other relationship in your life, including ours,” I point out. I shake my head.
“I can’t deny that,” she says, “but the bottom line is, I don’t fuck Blake. So, this conversation is moot. We’re a package, Chopper. You don’t have to be his best friend. You don’t even have to like him, but he’s not going anywhere.” She folds her arms.
“He wants you,” I confess. “I see it in his eyes.”
“He does not want me,” she nearly hisses. “You think everyone wants me because you want me. You can wrap your hand around your dick and make yourself come so hard that your brains will squirt out of the head and my hand will still make you come harder. Why? Because I know men, Chopper. I know you better than you know yourselves. He wants something from me, yes, but it’s not my ass. You’ll never understand what it is because you don’t know what it is, and you never will. You can’t put a label on his need, so you label it as sexual because that’s the only thing you know!
“He’s supplies something that I need, and I supply something that he needs, and I guarantee that our genitals have absolutely nothing to do with it. Stay in your lane with this one, Chopper, because you have a ‘submissive’ of sorts, too—it’s just that neither of you know it. You think Taylor stays with your insufferable ass because of the money? You think those zeroes are too much to walk away from? I dare you to ask him!”
I nearly gag.
“Are you trying to say that Taylor is my submissive?” I whisper harshly, appalled.
“That man will do anything you tell him to,” she emphasizes. “Offer him a year’s severance pay, or two years, and tell him you don’t need him anymore. Then just watch his face.” She folds her arms confidently and just stares at me.
“Blake could so easily cross that line whereas Taylor definitely will not,” I warn.
“Blake definitely will not,” she says confidently. “Take it or leave it, Christian. This is non-negotiable.” I sigh.
“If I can deal with you jacking off other clients, I guess I can deal with Belvedere,” I cede.
“Belvedere??” she asks, bemused and a bit shocked.
Oh hell, did I say that out loud?
I feel him coming inside me as I edge his dick. He’s pulsing and coming so hard that his cum is slipping out of me and sliding down his throbbing dick to his walnut-tight-skinned balls. He’s lost in such pleasure that he’s frozen underneath me, his mouth open wide just like his legs, gazing at me in amazement. He’s holding his breath, sweat trickling down his brow, and the only part of him that is moving is his throbbing dick. It’s fabulous!
I haven’t come yet, but the Domme in me had to watch him, feel him fall apart inside of me. I pinned his hands down on the bed with all my weight and fucked just the head of his cock with my pussy, tightening the muscles at just the right time of the stroke and every time he tried to thrust up into me, I raised my hips high so that he would only get the edging. When he realized what I was doing, he finally kept his hips still, trembling increasingly as he came closer and closer to orgasm.
Once I knew he was ready to blow, I leaned down and bit the tender meat between his neck and shoulder. He couldn’t even cry out. He just started jerking and blasting inside of me. I slowly rolled my hips to stimulate the head of his dick and just watched as his pupils nearly eclipsed his irises, his throat trying to make a sound but his lungs unable to provide him breath.
He’s coming so hard that his eyes are looking through me and he’s lost on some celestial plane.
When his chest finally gives up a massive puff of air and he’s choking to find his breath, I drop my hips down onto his still throbbing cock, taking it balls deep, and stay there. He’s still trembling and fighting for breath and I’m just watching him and enjoying his helpless state. It takes him a while, but he finally settles and closes his eyes. I release his hands and he uses them to wipe the sweat from his forehead and away from his eyes.
Yes, Christian, I know how to fuck… I just didn’t do it.
“Jesus, you’re going to fucking kill me, aren’t you?” he asks once he catches his breath.
“Well, that’s not my intention,” I clarify. He moves a bit and winces. “What?” I ask.
“My back,” he says, sitting up with me on his lap. Oh, yeah, I forgot about that.
“Let me see it,” I say, crawling off his lap. He hisses hard when his cock slides out of me.
“Let me use the restroom first,” he says. He swings his legs off the bed and heads for the bathroom. I get a look at his ass as he’s leaving—tight and firm—but I also get a look at his back. It looks irritated; the welts are redder and a bit thicker. I reach for the Vitamin A&D ointment on the bedside table and wait for him to return. I hear the toilet flush and the water running in the sink. A few moments later, he immerges from the bathroom. I hold up the tub of ointment.
“It looks bad,” I say, “like it might be irritated.”
“I suspected as much,” he says walking back to the bed. “It stings like hell. I’ll get some antibiotic ointment tomorrow.” He sits on the bed with his back to me and I apply the ointment to the scratches—eight perfect stripes. I could never get this precise with a whip.
I commit my work of art to memory and put the tub back on the nightstand. When I turn back, he’s looking at me.
“You didn’t come, did you?” he ask. I shake my head.
“I was distracted,” I admit. He scoffs a laugh.
“Ever the Domme,” he remarks, and he’s right. I was dominating him when I held him down and edged him with my pussy. “You’ve spent quite some time showing me how good you can make a man feel. Why don’t you allow me to show you how good I can make a woman feel?”
“You have shown me how good you can make a woman feel,” I protest. Why do you think I’m still here?
“No,” he protests, closing the space between us, “I haven’t.” Oh, shit. “I can’t until you give me permission, and then you have to agree to give yourself over to me. If you fight it and you try to remain in control, you’ll never feel it. And you’re a Dominant, so you know what I mean.”
Jesus, give myself over to someone? Lose myself to a man? Does he have any idea what he’s asking me?
“I’m not sure I can do that, Chopper,” I tell him. “I don’t think I’ve ever done that. I can’t lose myself in giving you something that you want.”
“I get it,” he says softly. “Domme and total surrender don’t really work in the same breath, do they?” I shake my head. “Then give me this much… pay attention to your body and not your mind. Just feel, and let’s see how far we can go. You can stop me at any time.”
“Now, you’re sounding like the Dominant,” I warn. He raises his brow.
“There’s a little of it in me, as you already know,” he admits, “but I’m a man, first… one who appreciates a woman’s body and knows how to make it feel good, but you have to let me.”
Good Lord, I won’t let this go to my head.
“Okay,” I say, still not sure that I want to let him do this.
“And you’re still thinking about it,” he says. “I can see it in your eyes. Just lie down, relax, and feel.”
He waits for me to follow his directions. They’re simple, but they’re still directions. I can get out of my head just for a minute. It’s not that hard.
I don’t allow him to see me take a deep breath. I just do what he says, lie down, and concentrate on my body. He pushes my legs up and goes right for the money. His hands and mouth begin to do wonderful things to my body, but my mind can’t relax. I simply can’t give a man control of me that way. I’m not one of those relax into it girls. I’m in control—of both orgasms. If I have to move the right way or lay the right way to get the right stroke, that I can do because I’m still controlling the stroke, thus controlling the orgasm. But just lay here and let you have control, do what you want to do to me… I can’t do that.
“You just can’t do it, can you?” Christian asks. After several minutes of doing things that feel wonderful and send shivers down my spine, I still can’t get to that place of complete and total surrender. I sigh and relax into his bed.
“No, I can’t,” I admit, looking up at the ceiling and feeling somewhat like a failure. I could lie here and beat myself up about not being a regular girl, but the truth is… I’m not a regular girl. I never will be. If that’s what he’s looking for, he’s going to be disappointed. I’m a little too deep in thought, because I don’t even feel him crawl over my body. I just look up and he’s right in my face.
“You don’t know me yet,” he says, “and you don’t trust me…”
“I know you just fine, Chopper,” I reply, rolling my eyes. I’m fucking you, for Christ’s sake.
“No. You don’t,” he says, firmly. “You don’t know me yet, and you don’t trust me, but that’s okay. It’ll take time.”
I twist my lips at him. Chopper, I know you about as intimately as I will ever know any man, but that’s okay. I won’t argue with you. He rises off of me and puts his knees on either side of my body.
“Now, roll over. I’ve denied myself that ass long enough.” My brows furrow.
“Um, Chopper, I decide when I do anal,” I chide.
“Who said anything about anal?” he says cockily, “Although I’ll be very happy when you do decide. Now are you going to roll over so I can make you come, or do we have to debate that, too?” I raise a brow at him, then look down at his flaccid cock.
“You don’t look like you’re really ready for all that,” I say, pointing out the obvious.
“Put that ass in my face and you’ll see just how ready I am,” he retorts. “Again, debating.”
He sits there on his knees waiting for me to make a decision. Fine. Since you’re so high and mighty, let’s see what you can do.
I roll over and push up on my knees, ready for doggie style. I don’t care who you are, no man in the world can get around an ass with a flaccid dick. I suddenly feel a wet finger toying with my clit.
That’s nice and all, but that’s a finger, Chopper, not a cock.
Next, his thumb thrusts into my cunt—hard. He’s doing some movement with both fingers like he’s trying to make them meet even though one is inside me and one is on my clit.
Fuck… that’s nice.
I hear him groan behind me, and his free hand grads my ass firmly and squeezes, then rubs. The next thing I know, that once-flaccid cock is between my ass cheeks, causing a mean friction and getting harder and harder. I’m concentrating on the “meeting fingers” below and wondering what kind of contorting he must be doing to do these both at the same time.
To my dismay, a few moments later, he removes the meeting fingers. However, he positions himself between my legs, pushing them open and pulling my hips closer to him. He doesn’t waste any time. I feel him guide the head of his cock right to the pussy he’d been preparing and thrust in deeply.
“Shit!” I hiss as he enters. I have to adjust myself to get the right angle, because he’s got a lot of dick! I’ve definitely seen that thing up close and personal.
He thrusts again and I adjust again. I think I got it this time. When he thrusts a third time…
“Fuck…” I groan as the breath is nearly snatched out of my body.
“Better?” he asks, his voice husky. I nod.
“Yes… better…” I say breathily, and he begins to move… long, slow, deep strokes in and out. I can tell that he’s admiring my ass because he’s grabbing it and caressing it with each stroke—holding my hips or squeezing and kneading the meat as his cock drives hotly into me from behind. Dear God, it feels so good!
“I dreamed of fucking you like this,” he grunts as he thrust. “I woke up and fucking nutted all over myself!”
He grabs my hips and ass and thrusts into me again and again, hitting perfect spots deep inside me, hard and slow. Shit, this is magnificent!
He abandons my ass and begins to rub my back, moving one hand to my shoulder to push me hard against him as he kisses my spine. I feel a shiver go straight from the kiss to my pussy and I can’t prevent the resulting gasp and slight whimper. I push back into him on every thrust, close my eyes, and prepare for the orgasm…
But Chopper’s not done, yet.
He lays on my back and reaches around my body to my breast. Cupping the mound and tweaking the nipple, he continues his deep thrusts into me. I can barely move and after a few minutes of mind-blowing nipple manipulation and a hard, thick cock driving into me and hitting all the right places, my arms buckle, and I nearly collapse onto the bed.
He catches me quickly and pulls me back, sitting me on his lap and his still-thumping cock. He moves quickly to get me into a comfortable position, but never removes that cock.
Goddamn, this man is talented.
He wraps strong arms around my torso and thrusts slowly up into me. When he pushes up into me balls deep, my body rises with his and we move as one person. I try to guide myself, my body, in the manner it needs to move or the direction I want to go, but he has me plastered against him, thrusting mercilessly into me. The only part of our body that separates between us is our hips when he pulls them back to withdrawal, then pushes forward to thrust into me again.
I feel sweat forming on the skin between us as one arm releases me and moves between my legs to my clit while the other remains firmly wrapped around me, the hand tweaking my nipple again.
Fuck, I’m going to come.
I try to hold out because I know what he’s doing. He’s pushing me. He’s still trying to gain control of my body, but I won’t let him have it… I won’t let…
Just the right amount of pressure on my clit coupled with a perfect pinch of my nipple and an aptly timed thrust of his magnificent cock wrenched an unsolicited cry from me, prompting the beginning of the aforementioned interrupted orgasm.
His moves become more deliberate and I know he’s rising, too. I can tell by the reactions of his body because I know it so well, but then…
His hand moves from my breast to my neck, gripping it firmly but gently. I freeze, but he can’t feel it. His strokes are more intent. His head is pressed against me on my shoulders and he’s lost in what he’s feeling.
And I’m starting to panic.
My eyes are wide open and I’m acutely aware of my surroundings—of the hand on my neck and the fact that I can’t move. I can’t breathe… not because he’s choking me, but because I feel trapped.
Relax… relax, Golden. He’ll let you go once he comes… and he’s trying to make you come. Think about your pussy instead of your power, just this once…
Just this once, I concentrate on my pussy—how he feels thrusting in and out of me, how his fingers feel against my clit, his body pressed against mine… and his hand clasped around my neck.
For a fleeting moment, I think about how hot it would be if it was someone else being choked and fucked, and suddenly, my crotch reminds me that it’s still aching to come, still rising to the occasion when…
A violent and nearly unwilling orgasm rips through me, surprising me since I—for a brief moment—wasn’t anticipating its approach. It’s beyond blinding. It’s dizzying, and only for a second can I feel Christian trembling painfully through his own. My entire body is tight, and I’m sure that I’m going to lose some time when this is all over…
It’s still dark outside when I awake, and all I can think is that I want to be in my own space, in my own bed. I look over at Christian and he’s laid out on his pillow fast asleep. I creep out of bed and gather my clothes, donning only what I need to get to my car. Once I’m done, I pull my hair into a messy bun and secure it with a hairpin. When I turn around, Christian is staring at me.
“Where are you going?” he asks, his voice even. I don’t bother lying.
“Home,” I reply.
“It’s nearly three in the morning,” he protests, awaiting my answer.
“I need my own bed,” I tell him. “I’m not ready for the snuggling part, Christian. You’ve got to give me time.”
“Well, see, there’s a little problem with that,” he says, raising up and leaning on one arm. “When it comes to you, I have tiny little abandonment issues. I’m sure you know why.”
“I’m not abandoning you,” I say, frustrated, while rolling my eyes. “I’m just…”
“Escaping,” he finishes the sentence for me.
“Yes!” I admit. “Escaping. That’s exactly what I’m doing. It’s what I’ve done for years after every scene. I escape to myself and I reflect. It has nothing to do with you, but I’m not ready for the snuggling thing.” He examines me for a long time, then adjusts the covers over him.
“Fine,” he says calmly, “goodnight.” He turns away from me and pulls the covers over his shoulders, settling in for the night. Well, damn, Christian, do you have to act like a toddler about it? I shake my head and turn to the door.
“Ana?” he catches me just as I’m leaving. I look over my shoulder and he hasn’t moved from his position.
“I mean it,” he says. “If this is one of your games…”
“I know,” I say. “Don’t come back.” He pauses.
“As long as you understand.” He says nothing else.
I creep quietly out of his room and his apartment. The ride home is quite introspective. He ripped control from me whether I wanted him to or not, and he knows he did, but it was all in the name of pleasure. So, what am I supposed to do?
Blake awakens when I enter the house. Now, here’s two men I have to justify myself to when I’m not accustomed to justifying myself at all.
“Mistress… are you alright?” he asks, securing the belt from his robe.
“I’m fine,” I say softly. He cocks his head and examines me.
“I didn’t expect you,” he says. “I thought you would… be spending the evening with Mr. Grey.” I know what he’s saying, but like I said, I don’t justify myself to anyone.
“I did,” I say, “and now, I need my own space.” I don’t say anything else. I go into the parlor and open the farthest cabinet—where I’ve kept what was left of his vodka since the last… no, the second to last time he sent me a case. I retrieve a bottle—still unopened—and crack open the seal. I pour an entire drink glass full of it and down half of it immediately. Blake stands silently for a moment.
“Would you like a bath, Mistress?” he says calmly. I ponder for a moment.
“Yes… I would…
I tell Blake everything that happened with me and Chopper while I’m in the bath, including the somewhat limbo status of our relationship, only in limbo because we’ve only laid out a few of the terms and when I left, desperately needing my own space, he thought I was going to disappear again. He’s going to have to understand that I need that time alone after a session—or a scene—because that’s who I am. I never was a cuddler, and I don’t think I ever will be.
Blake spends the entire conversation talking to his reflection in the mirror. Even with the tub filled with bubbles, he refuses to look at me when I’m naked. He asks me if I feel anything for Christian and I honestly answer him with a “yes.” Although I’m not totally sure what it is, I’m completely sure what it’s not.
“The best way that I can explain it to you is that I definitely want him around,” I tell him. “I want what he can give me, and I want what I do to him. I don’t think I need to stress that it’s not about the gifts.”
“It’s never been about the gifts with any of your clients, Mistress,” Blake says to the mirror, “but is he still your client?” I know what he’s asking.
“In the technical sense, yes, he is. In the literal sense, we haven’t put a label on the entire scope of our relationship.” Blake nods and says nothing. “Spit it out, Blake. I know when you’re thinking something and you’re not saying it.”
“I should probably start looking for my own place, Mistress,” he says.
“You should not,” I say firmly. “Nothing has changed…”
“Everything has changed, Mistress,” he says with no malice.
“Whatever your relationship is or is not with Mr. Grey, there’s not going to be room for another man in your life as intimately as I am.”
“What the hell is it with men?” I say, frustrated, and the bathroom is silent for a moment.
“He’s had this conversation with you, too…”
“Yes, he has,” I say, looking at the side of Blake’s face, “and I’ll tell you the same thing that I told him. You are a non-negotiable factor. He wouldn’t tell me to disown a member of my family and he can’t tell me to send you away. If I were forced to choose between the two of you, I would choose you and he understands that. I thought you did, too. I thought you knew how important you are to me.”
“I do, Mistress,” he says, his voice a bit pained, “but…”
“But nothing!” I say firmly, becoming frustrated. “How could you possibly think that any relationship anywhere in any context could replace who you are to me? What you mean to me? How could you think that any body, no matter how tempting, any dick, no matter how beautiful, could possibly fill in the massive chasm that would be left in my life by losing you? I love you, Blake, and not in that ooey-gooey let’s-run-off-into-the-sunset kind of way. Losing you would be an insurmountable loss second only to the loss of my parents. I don’t think I would recover. When you are too old and unable to take care of me, I will take care of you. Do you understand that?”
For the first time, Blake turns to look at me while I’m in the tub. We stare into each other’s eyes for several moments, and then he gives me that half-smile.
“Yes, Mistress,” he says, softly. “What would you like for dinner?”
I think he was shocked to see a text from me telling him to meet me at my place on Friday night. I’m in full Golden glory and he doesn’t dawdle, heading to the dungeon the moment he sees me. I work him over hard… and well. I need to remind him that I’m still in charge of me, and sometimes, of him, too.
I don’t hold back. I rake him over the coals with agony and ecstasy. I pay close attention to him because there are several times when he cries out and I’m sure that he’s going to safeword, but he doesn’t, and I don’t let up. The truth is… I’ve missed this. I’ve missed tormenting his body, watching his reactions, and making him come so hard that his brain damn near separates from his body. Tonight, I’m making up for lost time.
I don’t think I’ve been tormented this much in the entire time that I’ve known her.
I was hesitant to come when she called. I had no idea what was on her agenda. Did she want to fuck? Was she going to dismiss me like she did before? Did she plan to beat and edge me again and leave me pissed with an angrily pounding dick?
When I arrived and she was wearing what I can only describe as a gold, beaded belly-dancing outfit, gold gladiator boots, a gold cape with black accents, and a blonde wig so yellow that it was gold, too, I knew that she meant business. I told her that she would have to learn to trust me, so I decided to trust her too, determined that if she fucked me over this time, she didn’t exist anymore.
I don’t regret the decision.
I know that she’s imposing her power on me, and I let her. After all, over and above everything, she’s still my Mistress.
I have been beaten, flogged, cropped, and caned to my wits end, and throughout the entire ordeal, she’s teasing, taunting, and sucking my cock. The first orgasm was immediate, before any of her implements even touched me. I think she felt like she owed me that one. The three that follow are agony—long, drawn-out processes of extension and denial mingled with the crack of her whip, the strikes of her floggers, crops, and paddles, and the snaps of her canes.
She’s never used canes before. Those, I’m certain, were punishment for that last orgasm I ripped from her earlier in the week.
The final orgasm is particularly torturous. I’m chained to the ceiling and floor, eagle-spread like I’ve been all night. It’s been an exercise in endurance, strength, and stamina that I’ll never forget. By body is on fire, both from pain and from the massive endorphins coursing through me at the moment. My cock and balls are restrained in that torturous cock harness she used on me the last time I was down here, and once she’s sucked, beaten, and tickled me until my body is too weak to resist and my cock and balls are straining in the harness and aching to come, she removes the bottom half of her costume.
My knees nearly buckle as she turns her glorious, bare ass around to my view. She begins to sensually rub her hips and ass while I’m watching, and I discover that her hands are oiled.
Fuck! My cock begins to bob and thump at the site of it, and I nearly want to come just from watching her.
She does this for an eternity, rolling her hips and ass as she oils it thoroughly, around the globes, between the cheeks… I think I’m fucking going to die. But I’m soon rewarded for resisting the urge to depart this earthly plain.
She backs up to me, bends over with her hands on the floor, and begins to rub that ass against my rock-hard dick and painfully constrained balls. Fucking hell, I can’t take this—that beautiful fucking ass that has invaded my fucking dreams is massaging and caressing my angry veiny dick… Sweet Jesus…
Her oiled ass runs over my cock, over and over again. I want that ass so badly that the sight of it squeezing and caressing my cock is just too much for me. I can’t hold it in. I don’t even try. I’m too damn weak and broken to resist anyway.
“Mistress! Aahh!” I say through gritted teeth as I feel my balls tightening even more. Her second favorite implement to use on me is holding my ejaculation back while her big, beautiful ass grabs my entire dick, pumping and massaging it ferociously. I throw caution to the wind and thrust up into those delicious cheeks. She knows I want to fuck her; she knows I want to fuck this ass; and now she’s doing this to me?
“Aah! Aah! Mistress! Aah!” I grunt as I fuck that delicious ass. Those beautiful bubbles are stimulating me from base to tip even though there’s no actual penetration. My dick can’t tell. All it can feel is the fuck… the meat of her ass closing over its hot and sensitive skin and protruding veins. I lick my lips as I continue to fuck those beautiful ass cheeks, and she lets me.
“Mistress…” I groan again as the pleasure is become way too much for me to take without release. How the hell can she work her hips like this bent the fuck in half and touching the floor—so masterfully that I want to fucking cry right now?
It’s the pole. That goddamn pole.
She rolls and rolls and rolls, saying nothing as her round ass juices my angry, pulsing dick—and I fuck her, thrusting my hips as far as my restraints will allow into that welcoming crease until my balls finally tap out in surrender.
“Mistress! Golden! Aaaahh! Golden!” I cry out as my cock comes painfully, ignoring the restraint of the cock harness. It’s fucking painful and paralyzingly Nirvanic, and I need her to stop moving so that the agony in my cock can stop, but she doesn’t. I watch my cum shoot powerfully out of my dick and decorate the top of her asscheeks and back.
It just makes me come harder.
“Aah, Golden! Aah, God!” I wail, fighting to get out of my restraints and away from the blinding pain of this orgasm. My dick is coming and coming and coming and throbbing and bumping like those poor suckers I see at her mercy in the exhibition room. God, this shit hurts! It hurts so good! My dick is burning with a pleasure and a fury that sucks all thought from my head and I can only feel and see my massive orgasm.
My God in heaven, it’s magnificent! I’ll do anything for you, my Mistress! Give you anything! Anything! It’s yours! Your wish is my command…
I’ve lost time again. I open my eyes and I’m sitting in a chair—nearly prostrate—and no longer bound. My painful dick is flaccid, but oh, so satisfied, still aching from its massive release… and I’m alone in the dungeon. I woozily sit up, trying to stand. I don’t even bother getting dressed. I step into my boxer briefs and gather the rest of my clothes. The ass was just too much for me. I’ve fantasized about it and tried to mimic it with others, but once she put it on me… just let me run my dick between her cheeks… I’m as empty as a dry well. I ascend the stairs where I know I’ll find him.
“Do you need anything?” he asks. I don’t make eye-contact with him. I can barely raise my head.
“A bath…” I mumble, “please.”
“Right this way…”
I spent the night at Ana’s that night—in her guest room, of course. The morning after was… interesting. Neither of us knew how to act and just thought normal would be the best option. There have been many more nights and days like that since then
Dinner in the evening followed by a hot fuck…
A scene in the dungeon where I shoot the rockets’ red glare then go home—or spend the night in the guestroom if the scene was too intense…
Watching her work over one of her clients while trying not to nut in the exhibition room…
Things seem to be going well for about three weeks when something unexpected happens at Grey House. When I return from having lunch with Ronnie, there’s a visitor in my lobby—the last damn person I would expect to see. I do a double take.
“Bel… Blake?” He’s already looking at me. He saw me before I saw him. “Is she alright?”
“She’s fine, sir,” he says, and nothing else. I glare at him for a moment, but he’s not going to say anything else, at least not here.
“Come with me,” I say, gesturing for him to follow me.
He stands and I escort him into the first-floor conference room and close the door. Taylor knows who he is, so he just stands outside the door.
“Have a seat,” I gesture to the conference table.
“I’d rather stand, sir,” he says. Okay, well then, I’m standing, too.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“May I speak freely, Sir?” he says. I frown.
“You’re… not my submissive. You don’t need my permission to say what you need to say,” I reply. His expression doesn’t change, but he clasps his hands in front of him and spreads his feet shoulder width. I’ve seen Taylor take this stance many times.
“I’m considering leaving,” he says. Oh, dear Lord, has God heard my prayers?
“May I ask why?” I say, my expression becoming impassive.
“Mistress doesn’t need me anymore,” he says flatly. I pause.
“I’m still not sure what you mean.” Was he fucking her before? It sure felt like she was tight as hell that first time… and that second time… shit, every time… What were we talking about again?
“Mistress was accustomed to me doing all the little things that she may not have paid attention to… unless they weren’t done. Now, she has so many things filling those blanks in her life that she didn’t know she didn’t have, that she didn’t know she needed. The ache of the emptiness left by her parents has been filled by receiving all the memoirs from her childhood once her uncle died. She has reconnected with her family, so that gap of loneliness has been filled. She has made a friend or two from the fundraisers and her yoga instructor…”
Her yoga instructor? Who is her yoga instructor?
“And for those times that she really can’t cope or may be falling apart, she has you. She doesn’t need me anymore.” Oh, shit. I see where this is going.
“Yet, before I was a factor, you weren’t considering leaving,” I point out. He doesn’t respond. “That’s not rhetorical, Blake.”
“Mistress doesn’t need me anymore,” he repeats, “she just doesn’t know it yet.”
He wants me to either say that it’s okay for him to stay or to give him permission to leave. I don’t live with Ana and that’s not something that’s likely to change anytime soon. Nonetheless…
“I’ll tell you what,” I say crossing my arms. “Go to your Mistress and tell her what you just told me. Tell her that you’re considering leaving because she doesn’t need you anymore. Don’t bother explaining anything. Just tell her what you told me and see how that goes over.” He still doesn’t move or respond, so I call him on his shit.
“You’re looking for me to tell you that it’s okay for you to leave. I’m not going to do that, Blake. You decide where your place is with your Mistress and what purpose you fill in her life—and she fills in yours—and you decide if you still want that relationship. That’s not for me to say. I have about as much bearing on your relationship with your Mistress as you have on my relationship with mine, and that’s none. I couldn’t tell her to let go of you any more than I could tell her to release any of her other clients.” His brow rises slightly.
“Your relationship is more intimate than anything that she’s ever had with any of her other… clients,” he says. “The rules have changed, and you and I both know that.”
“Yes, the rules have changed,” I concur, “but they’ve only changed for her and me. Our relationships outside of one another has nothing to do with what we do together.”
He twists his lips in disbelief. I don’t know why he’s coming to me with something that clearly has to do with him and Ana, but he’s not pulling me into it. Even though she has threatened me with sending me away if Blake leaves, that’s not why I’m not giving him permission to leave. I know that Ana would be miserable and unhappy without him, and I really don’t want to see that.
“I don’t know what this is about,” I say. “Maybe you’re not happy with the new status quo, but if you want out, Blake, I’m not giving it to you.”
“I don’t want out,” he says, forcefully, the only emotion he has shown in this entire conversation.
“Then why are we having this conversation?” I ask just as forcefully. “Each piece in Mistress’s life gives her something that she needs. I’m fulfilling a need that she may have never needed before, but she needs it now. I’m not replacing anything… or is there something you’re not telling me?” I put my hands on my hips and wait. Ball’s in your court, Blakey. He pauses for several moments.
“I have never touched Mistress sexually… ever… and she has never touched me that way,” he says calmly.
“Then, where’s the problem?” I ask. “Do you have a problem with me?”
“No, sir, I do not,” he replies. I straighten.
“If you’re calling me ‘sir’ because you’re being polite, I get it. If you’re calling me ‘Sir’ in that way, don’t,” I clarify. He raises a brow and says nothing. Then, out of nowhere I get it.
He doesn’t have a problem with me. He simply wants to be here for her like he always has been, which is the same thing that she wants, but if he feels like his being here is going to be a conflict, he’ll leave to keep her happy. He’s not a threat to me, but she’ll be miserable if he leaves and she’ll definitely resent me for it. I’m about to put this all back on him.
“Do you have a reason for leaving and you’re trying to use me?” I ask. He twists his lips.
“If I had a reason for leaving, sir, I wouldn’t need your permission…”
“Exactly!” I point out. “So, why are you asking for it now?”
“I’m not asking for it,” he says, somewhat defiantly.
“So, what is this conversation?” I cross my arms again. “Are you trying to get me to leave?” He scoffs.
“As if you would,” he says, mostly under his breath.
“Again, the reason for this conversation?” I restate. He doesn’t respond. “Talk. To your Mistress, not to me.”
“I already have,” he says confidently. I raise a brow expecting. Tell me or don’t tell me but make your point and get the fuck out of my face. “She doesn’t want me to leave.”
“And once again, the purpose for this conversation?” I ask, extending one hand in that “I don’t know” fashion.
“I really wanted your thoughts on the situation,” he says finally.
“And you got ‘em. You can’t affect my relationship with my Mistress any more than I can affect yours. Are we going to have a problem?” He twists his lips.
“No, sir, we’re not.” I raise a brow at him, and he knows why. “No, sir, we’re not,” he repeats.
“Well, then, good talk,” I say, proffering my hand to him. He looks at it and takes it in a professional, firm shake. “Will you be preparing dinner tonight or should I bring something?”
“I’ll… ask Mistress what she would like prepared,” he says.
“Good, then, I’ll see you later.”
A/N: Epilogue and Author’s Note posted separately.