Friday, April 27, 2012




She steps in, and her gaze gives nothing away. She inhales the leather, wood and citrus polish scent as if it’s an intoxicating concoction. She looks around the spacious room with dark deep burgundy color, gazing the old varnished wood floors. She then looks at the wooden cross shaped like an X and the restraint cuffs hanging from it. He eyes capture the ceiling and the suspension grids hanging from it. She walks in further and touches the ropes, chains, and shackles. She walks towards the set of riding crops, paddles, and whips. She checks the drawers where I keep the various toys opening one she looks at the contents and immediately closes it. Her face still gives nothing away. Examining, looking, but not saying anything, and no emotion is crossing her face for me to read.

She walks toward the rococo king poster bed with red leather cover. She eyes the cuffs, and chains hanging from the canopy.  Her gaze travels around and she eyes the long polished wood table with stools underneath it. Still giving nothing away and curiosity of what she’s thinking is driving me insane. She glances at the karabiners at the ceiling.

She locates the feathery suede flogger with bushy end with plastic beads on. Her fingers caress it softly examining. Curiosity lights her eyes for the first time. “It’s called a flogger,” I say softly and quietly.

“Hmmm...” she says glaring at it in shock. Her gaze drifts to me, and then back at my toys around the room. Her face looks passive, but there seems to be an undercurrent of fear, shock, and numbness.

“Say something,”  (Fireworks by Katy Perry) I command softly though pleading for a verbal response from her.

“Does someone do this to you, or you do this to people?” she asks. I feel relief, and smile.

“I do this to women who wish me to do that to them,” I respond hoping she’ll give me something, some response.

“I see. It appears you have willing volunteers. I don’t understand why I’m here, or my purpose in here,” she murmurs.

“Because, I really, really, really want to do this with you,” I say almost pleading.

She gives an audible gasp, “oh!” with a questioning gaze. I expect her to run out of the room, but she walks further in looks at the paddles, and gives me the saddest, depressed look she asks, “Are you a sadist Christian?” her voice cracking at the end.

“I’m a Dominant Ana,” I say with my gaze intense.

“Dominant...” she tries the word out finding foreign to her lips. She shakes her head.

“I’ve no idea what that is Christian, or I don’t even know if it is any different than sadist. It sounds bad,” she whispers visibly depressed and disappointed.

“It just means that you as a submissive willingly surrender yourself to me,” I say softly, almost find myself pleading her to understand, “In all things.”

She frowns, and glares at me firmly saying, “and why the hell would I do that?” taking me aback. I really like her. Sometimes when she looks at me, she looks through me, into me. Into the soul I think I’ve lost a long time ago. This opposition is not something I’ve encountered before, and it feels so refreshing, so admirable, so challenging. I want her more than I wanted anything else. Ever!

“Because you want to please me,” I whisper with a small smile cocking my head to the side.

Her mouth drops open. Flicker of emotions go through her face, but I’m pleased to see that desire is one of them.

“Please you?” she questions with genuine interest.

“How do I do that?” she breathes. I close my eyes to hear an open mind and desire from her beautiful lips. When I open my eyes I gaze at her. She may yet want to join my world, as I’m eager to teach her.

“I have a written set of rules I want you to follow and comply with.”

“Rules? Whatever for?” she asks confused.

“The rules are for your benefit and my pleasure. When you follow my rules to my satisfaction, I will reward you. But when you break them, I will punish you and you will learn,” I whisper in a soft voice.

She’s still here, and has not run away at least. Still listening.

She waves her hand around and asks, “These things? What about them? Where do they fit in your fantasy?” she whispers.

“This is both reward and punishment as a part of the incentive package.”

“Reward and punishment?” she asks skeptical. “You get aroused by controlling me, exerting your will to dominate me?” She’s calm but with an undercurrent of fear.

“Essentially what I do is gaining your trust and respect, you wish me to dominate you. In return through your submission I get a great deal of joy and pleasure. It’s quite simple: The more you submit, the greater my pleasure.”

She’s all business, ready to explore the offer and maybe counteroffer.

“And from all of your pleasure as I see you would be collecting through my ‘submission’” she air quoted, “what’s in it for me? What do I get?” I like her! She’s a tough negotiator.

I know it’s not much, and most the time I see myself as the husk of a man, a soulless man at that, so it’s not much she’ll be getting aside from her own joy. But I am what she would be getting. I look apologetic and say, “You get me,” I say shrugging.

She just gazes at me, appraising. Almost weighing if what she’s giving is worth what she’s getting back but not giving anything away, passive. I get nervous. I don’t want her to slip through my fingers. I desperately want her. Need her. Right now.

“Anastasia please. You’re so hard to read. I don’t know what you’re thinking, you don’t give anything away. It's driving me crazy, (Crazy by Gnarls Barkey) I run my hand through my hair in a nervous gesture and ask her, “perhaps we should go downstairs. You, in here, it’s just so distracting for me. I can’t think straight.”

She looks at me as if I’m dangerous, a hazard to her health. No, no! A flicker of emotion runs behind her eyes, and as if she’d bolt and run. I don’t want her to be afraid of me. I like her too much. Maybe more than what’s good for me. I proffer my hand to her but she’s hesitant to take it, questioning, scared even.

“I won’t hurt you Anastasia, please” I plead with her softly. She receives my hand with that familiar jolt of electricity passing through us again.  I lead her out and want to distract her. I take her down the hall and into a bedroom. The room is all white along with the furniture. I open the door and show her the room, “should you decide to do this, this will be your room. I know it’s plain white right now, but you can decorate it with anything and anyway you so like!” She looks surprised.

“What do you mean ‘my room’? You expect me to move in and live here?” she says horrified. I actually would if she were to accept, but amend my request.

“Perhaps not full time, but at least Friday through Sunday,” I ask in my brokering face.

“You want me to sleep here, in this room?” she questions.

“Of course.” I answer.

“Meaning not with you, together,” she asks realization dawning on her.

“No. Not with me. I’ve already told you; I don’t do sleep with anyone. Except of course that was a onetime deal when you were so out of yourself completely drunk,” I say admonishing.

Her eyes go into slits in repressed anger, you can blindfold her with a dental floss, and her pouty mouth goes into thin line. She moves on with her probing.

“Where would you sleep?”

“I sleep downstairs in my own room. Let’s go down, I’m sure you’re hungry.”

“Not really. I’ve lost my appetite,” she sighs.

I can’t have her not eating. “You have to eat Ana,” I reprove taking her hand leading her downstairs.

When we come down to the great room she turns to me but says nothing. The look she gives me is one of she looks alarmed. I don’t want her to be afraid.

“Look, Anastasia, I know this is different. Maybe even a dark path for you. So please, just think about it. Really, really well. Since you already signed an NDA, ask me anything. I am willing to answer any questions you might have,” I implore her.

I lead her to the breakfast bar, and sit her on a stool. “Sit” I command. She narrows her eyes, giving me her “bossy” look, but sits.

“What other paperwork do you have?” she jumps right in to the meat of the topic.

It’s a contract stating limits Anastasia. I have mine, and I need to know what yours are; after all, this is all consensual.”

She looks lost. “What if...” she starts trying to collect her mind from the overflow of information, “what if I’m not willing to do this?”

“It’s fine,” I say without giving anything away, though what I feel is the complete opposite.

“Would we have any sort of relationship if I wasn’t going to do this?” she asks softly.
"No," I answer.
“How come?”

“I’m not interested in any other kind of relationship.”

“Really? Why?”

“This is what I’m interested in only.”

“I see. How did you choose this path?”

“Is there really a reason why anyone the way they are? Hard to answer for me, because everyone likes different things. Some likes this, some like that. This is what I like, what I desire. Would you like to eat?”

She looks surprised. But determined to remain on her course of action, and not going for diversion.

“What sort of rules do you want me to follow?”

“After dinner, we’ll go over the document,” I say.

“I’ve lost my appetite,” she says softly, lost.

“You have to eat,” I say forcefully.

But amend with a soft question asking her if she’d like a glass of wine. She does. I push the food closer to her and she takes some fruits.

“How long have you been in this..” she says pausing searching an appropriate word for her thoughts, “persuasion of a lifestyle?” she ends her speech. I give a tiny smile.

“A while.”

“Are there a lot of women who wish to participate in this lifestyle?” she probes further.

“Amazingly large numbers of them,” I answer dryly.

She shrugs, and disarms me once again. “If there are so many of them, and seeing as I have never, ever been in this lifestyle, why me Christian? Clearly you can have your pick of willing volunteers.” I give an audible gasp to her to the point question cutting through all the crap.

“There is something about you I can’t escape Anastasia. You are different than anyone I’ve met before. Like a moth to flame, I can’t escape you. I desire you so much, I can’t help it! Especially now when you’re biting that lip of yours,” I say with a shaky breath, swallowing hard.

The first time since my revelation, she’s had light and gleam in her eyes.

“I think, I’m the moth, and you’re the flame Christian,” she whispers. “I will be the one to get burnt,” she says so low I don’t know if I heard her, or imagined.

“Eat!” I command.

She looks up determined, “No Mr. Grey. I haven’t signed anything with you, and I’m hanging onto my free will for the time being.” I really like her. She goes toe to toe with me negotiating.

“As you like Anastasia.” I say. She looks down her fingers, mulling over a question in her head, deciding direct approach would be the best course of action. Looks into my eyes and ask, “How many women?”

“Fifteen,” I blurt out.

“Long term, short term?”

“Some long, some short.”

“Did you end up hurting any of them?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say slowly. Fear creeps back into her eyes.

“How badly?”

“Not badly.”

“Are you intending to hurt me?” she says closing her eyes. I’m surprised by the question. I don’t want to hurt her.

“What do you mean?”

“I want to know if you intend to hurt me physically. Simple question.”

“When you require it, I will physically punish you and it will give you pain.” She swallows hard her eyes going wide. She downs her glass of wine.

She asks me if I was ever beaten, and remembering the time with Mrs. Lincoln, I answer in the affirmative. A lot, but I don’t tell her that. She looks surprised. I tell her that we can discuss this in my study, and take her hand. It’s like brokering a business deal. She’s a hard negotiator.

When we get into my study, I hand her the contract with the rules on it. It is several pages long. Her eyes go wide with the extent of it.

There are rules of obedience where I want her to submit total control over to me her Dominant in a fast and expeditious manner. She will participate any sexual activity I deem fit as her Dom subject to the Hard Limits without hesitation. She is expected to sleep at least seven hours a day. She will maintain her health by eating from a prescribed list of food items without snacking in between. She will need to wear the clothes I see fit for her, and I shall allocate a budget for the Submissive to purchase the types of clothes I find desirable. She must exercise four times a week for one-hour sessions and the personal trainer will report to me with her progress. For the personal hygiene and beauty, the Submissive shall keep herself shaved and waxed at all times at a salon I choose and undergo whatever treatment I deem fit. The submissive shall not drink in excess, or smoke or take drugs or put herself under unnecessary danger. She shall also not enter into any sexual relations with anyone else. She will be respectful and modest at all times. Should she fail to follow the rules, there will be immediate punishment in a nature determined by the Dominant.

She reads the contract intently, my eyes not wavering from her. Finally she raises her gaze at me asking, “What do you mean by hard limits?” she asks. Good, she’s still exploring the possibility.

“Those are the limits in the contract specifying what you won’t do, and what I won’t do.” She nods.

“I don’t think I want to accept money from you for clothes. The word ‘ho’ comes to mind,” she says almost inaudible. I gasp.

“No, you can’t think that Anastasia! I want to lavish you, buy you things. And when you accompany me for certain functions you will need clothes that would cost a lot and when you do get a job, you won’t be able to afford the types of clothes I would like you to wear. Please, let me buy them for you.”

She mulls that over, and responds. “If I don’t have to wear them when I’m not with you, I suppose I can think of them as uniforms. Okay,” she acquiesces.

“I’m not going to exercise four times a week,” she says determined.

“No Anastasia, you need to. You have to be strong for what I have in mind for you. Believe me when I say you need it.”

“Not four times a week. My counter offer is three hours,” she says all businesslike.

“I prefer four,” I say passive and determined.

“I think not. You say this is a negotiation, but you won’t let me negotiate.” She has a point.

“Fair point well made Anastasia. How about a counter offer. Three days for one hour, and one day for half an hour...” I say.

“No deal. Three days, three hours. It appears you will exercise me often enough.” She disarms me again making me full of desire for her instantly. I smile wickedly with relief. “Yes, right. Okay. I agree. I think you really should work for me. You’re a tough negotiator,” I say completely amazed with this young woman who is brokering with me, Christian Grey the tough nail.

“Thanks, but it’s not a good idea,” she moves forward.

“As for the limits,” I say handing my Hard Limits to her, “these are mine.”

My limits include, no fire play, no urination or defecation, no needles, knives, piercing or blood, no instruments, no children or animals, no permanent marks on the skin, no act involving breath control, no electric current, fire or flames.

Then I turn and ask her if she likes to add anything to that list. She looks lost and confused.

“I’ve no idea,” she mutters.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I’ve actually never done anything like that, so I really don’t know.”

“Ok,” I amend, “is there anything you don’t like to do during sex? I’m sure you have your likes and dislikes.” She blushes and squirms in her seat. I need to open her up. She’s too shy.

“Anastasia, you must communicate with me and be open if we have a prayer for this arrangement to work,” I plead with her.

“It’s not that,” she blushes shyly looking down her fingers and wringing them hard.

“Please tell me,” I say suspense killing me. Is there something bad in her past?

“I’ve never had sex, so, I have no idea what I would like and won’t like,” she finally mutters completely and utterly shocking me.

I close my eyes. No, this is not happening. “Never?” I breathe barely controlling my anger. No, she shakes her head.

“Are you a virgin?” I whisper. She nods in the affirmative turning crimson.

One... two... three... four... five... six... seven... eight... nine... ten... Breathe Grey. Deep breath. Shit! I’m still angry!

“Why the fuck haven’t you told me that before?” I yell. She flinches.


Jenfer said...

The Alex Pella story....WOW!! You are amazing! I want more!!

Love & Laters,

Penny Brueggemann said...

Am truly enjoying reading your blog.

Jenfer said...


Ok, finally figured out that I have to go to older chapters to post now. This is so confusing to me. :/
First, I am so sorry to hear about your mother! I will say prayers for her and for you! I hope everything turns out ok.
Sounds like you have been super busy! I have sent chapters to you, but get to them when you have time! (I am loving this!)
Hope to hear from you!