BOOK III - Chapter IX - Christian and Anastasia FanFiction

LONDON

Above, the fair hall-ceiling stately set

Many an arch high up did lift,

And angels rising and descending met

With interchange of gift.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson, “The Palace of Art”

CHAPTER IX

“Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Grey,” Geoffrey, our personal butler greets us after I walk into our penthouse with Anastasia in my arms crossing through another threshold, Taylor following me with our luggage.

“Welcome to the Sheraton Park Tower Hotel. I hope you have a pleasant stay. How may I be of service this evening?” he asks with bright eyes, expectant. I didn't want the butler tonight, but he’s here already.

Anastasia looks up at me after I let her stand up on her feet, amused. She already knows that I wanted us to be alone as soon as possible.

“Geoffrey, we won’t be needing your services tonight,” I say, and his face falls; he was expecting to do something for us.

“But, you can look after Taylor’s needs tonight,” I say pointing at Taylor whose eyes go wide. He’s not sure if he heard me correctly.

“Sir?” Taylor manages to utter.

“Geoffrey, will tend your needs this evening, and I think we’ll turn in since we've had a very long day,” I respond with an impassive face. He flushes crimson. Taylor never had anyone serve him aside from Mrs. Jones, and I don’t want to know the extent of the service. That’s between the two of them.

“Yes, sir. Come on Geoffrey,” he says acquiescing, and ushers the butler out of the penthouse.

“Well, Mrs. Grey,” I say looking at my wife with dark eyes. “We’re alone at last.”

“That we are Mr. Grey. Now that we are alone, what do you intend to do with me?” she asks coyly.

“Are you flirting with me, Mrs. Grey?”

“I sure am, Mr. Grey,” she says looking up at me from her long eyelashes.

“Come,” I hold her hand, “let’s find the bedroom, and the bathroom. I think we need a bath.” Her breath hitches and she looks at me desirous; her response turns me on big time. We walk into a large bedroom with wall to wall windows overlooking the London Eye and Hyde Park.

Anastasia takes one look at the sparkling view and she’s mesmerized. “Wow! It’s completely amazing!” she utters, her eyes transfixed at the view before her. I leave her gazing out the window as I find the large marble bathroom; pour some bath oil into the water and start running the bath water. Once the water slowly starts filling the tub, it starts foaming and a very sweet scent of jasmine fills the bathroom as the suds grow, I scatter red rose petals from the basket by the bath into the bathwater. I light the fresh scented candles creating an ambient mood. I finally go back to my wife who is standing and staring the London skyline before her, completely mesmerized with its beauty. I come behind her and wrap my arms around her waist and nuzzle her neck, pulling her body to mine. This is heaven!

“You look like you’re enjoying the view, Mrs. Grey,” I say nibbling her earlobe. She tilts her head to the side to give me easy access.

“Yes. I’m loving it! What am I looking at Christian? I recognize the London Eye and Hyde Park from the pictures I’ve seen. But what are the other buildings?” she asks.

Without letting go of her, I point with my right hand though my left arm still wrapped around her, and my front flush with her back, I point to the left side of the panorama: “See that skyscraper on the left, way over there?” I ask, and she nods.

“That’s Gherkin. It’s London’s main financial district. Their Wall Street,” I say, and she point to the London Eye.

“That giant Ferris wheel is the London Eye. What’s that behind it?”

“Well, that giant Ferris wheel is situated on the banks of the famous river Thames.”

“Oh yes, I would like to see Thames. I always loved the poem by Kipling describing the river.

Twenty bridges from Tower to Kew,

Wanted to know what the River knew,

Twenty Bridges or twenty-two,

For they were young, and the Thames was old

And this is the tale that River told...*”

“Mrs. Grey, you never cease to surprise me. I’m so glad you like London. I would be delighted to show you everything you ever wanted to see,” I say excited with the prospect of putting the city of London before my wife.

“The building behind the London Eye is the very famous St. Paul’s Cathedral.”

“Is it an Anglican cathedral?” she asks making me smile.

“Well, yes, I would assume most churches are in England. It’s on Ludgate Hill which is the highest point in London, and I believe it’s the seat of the Bishop of London,” I explain.

“I think the Royal Family holds most of their important events, like marriages, funerals, and christenings at the Westminster Abbey. Can we please, please, please visit it? I want to see the Poet’s Corner there!” she begs.

“Anastasia, you surprise me at every turn. Yes, I don’t see why we can’t do that tomorrow, but first, I want to take you into that marble bath over there, and lose myself in you! Come!” and I swooping her into my arms, I walk her into the pale marble bathroom.

The bathroom is filled with the scents of freesia and rose. When Anastasia walks in with me, her mouth is agape with the view before her. I stand before her and gaze at her with dark eyes. And in goes her lip into the captivity of her teeth. I lean down and pull that lip out with mine and suck it, making her moan. I tilt her chin up and hold it in place and I start kissing her. Desire unfurls in her and she reciprocates fully, thrusting her tongue into my mouth rather forcefully, and her hands start unbuttoning my white linen shirt. Unable to unbutton the last two, she pulls it apart frustrated, scattering the buttons around the bathroom floor, rolling and finally coming to a stop. Her passion makes me smile as I continue to devour her lips.

“Husband, I want you!” she breathes into my mouth.

I break our connection, and take the hem of her dress and pull it off her. She stands before me in her lacy bra and her lacy panties. Tops of her breast are showing and pushed up with her bra, making them the perfect size to fit into my palms. I pull the bra cup down and capture her nipple between my teeth making her gasp. As I hold it between my teeth gently, my tongue teases it, rolling around. It extends and elongates under my assault. My left hand pulls the other bra cup and I need her other nipple and breast under my fingers. She tilts her head back and moans, I smile and suck harder.

“Agh!” she groans, and her hands both dip into my hair, pushing me into her breast. My mouth travels down, between her breast, to her naval, to the belly, and above her pubic bone. She gasps and moans.

“Hush now baby,” I say, and I dip one finger into her sex and then two. She’s completely wet, and thrusting her pelvic into my hand. “How ready you are for me, baby!” I say, my voice reverential.

I stand up immediately, and slide her panties off her, and they pool at her feet; I walk her out of them. I pull her into me, my hands snake around her to find her bra’s clips, as my arousal digs into her through the thick fabric of my jeans. She grinds her pelvis into me in order to get a feel of my erection greedily.

“You have too many clothes...” she complaints.

“I’m not stopping you, baby. You can take them off,” I say with my gaze full of desire for her. Her hands reach down, and deftly unbuckle the top button of my jeans, and I hear the telltale of the zipper without breaking my gaze from her. Without taking my pants and the boxers off, she dips her hand into my pants in a bold gesture, grasping my erection and my balls stroking, up and down, up and down in a rhythmic motion. My lips make an ‘o’ shape with her sudden assault. Although it is unexpected, it’s hot as hell. Her other hand dips in and travels to my behind, first caresses and then squeezes my ass. Finally she moves both hands skating around my waist, and let my jeans and the boxers fall off to the fall at the same time.

My gaze is locked on her, and I know what she wants to do next. She looks up at me from her long eyelashes. Will I ever get enough of this sight, as Anastasia on the floor before me like a goddess, and her lips are around my manhood. Her lips sheaths my cock slowly, her tongue swirling around the tip, slightly sucking, focusing on the tip, then she dips her head, and takes me all in as her tongue travels on my length, giving me the most delicious tingling sensation I have ever experienced. As she pulls her mouth back, she slightly grazes my cock with her teeth while her tongue provides the pleasure sensation. She’s learning to give pain and pleasure both at the same time.

I don’t want to come like this, and make this a short experience. I slowly, but reluctantly pull Anastasia up, and merge her lips with mine. First slowly, molding into each other, then desire taking over me, and I kiss her fervently, sucking, and dipping my tongue into her mouth, thrashing with hers, leaving both of us breathless, and wanting more.

“Baby, wrap your legs around me,” I say as I lift her off the ground. She does as she’s told. Guiding my erection into her, I slowly lower her, and we are merged hilt deep and start to move. She wraps her arms around my neck, and her lips finding mine, she lifts and lowers herself in time with my thrusts, making sure she gets the maximum friction. My hands are holding her below her ass, and just as she descends on my cock, I slap her butt cheek close to her sex hard, and she groans with pleasure. I switch hands, and slap her with my right hand on her left buttock still close to her sex during her descent. She bites my lower lip slightly.

“I’m going to move us to the bathtub,” I murmur into her mouth, and as she slows her up and down movements, I walk the few steps to the marble bathtub, and put one foot in and then the other and finally slowly sink into the sudsy hot water with my wife still riding my cock. When in water, my hands move to her breasts, cupping them and my lips descend on one of them capturing in my mouth, sucking and twirling my tongue on it. She tilts her head back; and the motion thrusts her breast further into my mouth, and her ponytail reaches into the suds, getting wet. She continues to ride up and down, and gyrate her hips to rub on a particularly special location, making me grin.

My hands travel to her buttocks guiding her in her movements, and I start thrusting into her forcefully when she comes down on me. Our lips meet again, and this time tongues trashing, and we’re both groaning we reach our peak together. As she collapses onto my chest, I thrust into her three more time, finding my own release, lost to the moment, and lost in my wife.

“Oh, Anastasia! I love you so much!” I say fervently as I hold her closer to me.

“I love you too, Christian!” she replies, and snuggles into my chest, sloshing water without breaking our connection. I grin at her.

“Let me wash you baby,” I say, and wash my wife, dry her and carry her to our bed where we soon fall asleep.

*****

I wake up before Anastasia does as usual. I don’t need as much sleep. I look at her sleeping figure propped up on my elbow, her hair spread over the pillow. While she's still asleep, I reach for my Blackberry and text Taylor, then put the it back on the side-table  and turn and gaze at my sleeping girl. She looks so young, so innocent. As I try to move, her hand searches for me in her sleep. She wants me in her close proximity. I take the hand looking for me and kiss it and hold it to my heart. Her eyes flutter open to small slits and a small, lazy smile creeps over her lips.

“Good morning Mrs. Grey,” I whisper.

“Good morning Mr. Grey. How long have you been up?” she asks.

“Not very long, just a few minutes. Are you hungry?” I ask.

“Actually, famished after last night’s exertions, Mr. Grey” she says still groggy.

“Mrs. Grey, if you so desire, we can relive those again this morning. So, breakfast or sex?”

“Sex,” she replies in a breathy voice, and a wicked smile brings her lips up to meet mine.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” I say and pushing her down into the mattress, I cover Anastasia’ body with mine.

I decide to have breakfast served in our suite because I want to give my gift to Anastasia in the privacy. We shower and dress, and come back to the living room, and Geoffrey is standing in full suit with a white towel hanging from his arm. He also is wearing white gloves.

“Your breakfast is served Mr. and Mrs. Grey,” he says in a cultured voice. He directs us to the dining chair pulling Anastasia’s chair first, and seating and pushing her chair in, then pulls my chair and pushes in. Anastasia is having pancakes, bacon and omelet, Twinings English breakfast tea, black and bag out, and I’m having egg whites, toast, fruits and coffee. I thank Geoffrey and dismiss him.

“This is like having a British and male Mrs. Jones!” gushes Anastasia making me laugh.

“What are we doing today Christian?” she asks excitedly. “There are soooo many things I want to see in London! I don’t even know where to begin!”

“How about we finish our breakfast first,” I say. The gift I want to give to Anastasia is burning a hole in my pocket. After she finishes eating her pancakes cleaning off her plate, I’m totally pleased.

“Mrs. Grey! I should work you out more rigorously in the morning to ensure that you will eat,” I say lasciviously. She gives me her thousand megawatts smile in response and takes a sip of her tea.

“I have something for you,” I say my voice husky, my face impassive.

“Oh?” she asks. I take out the small gift wrapped package out of my pocket, and give it to her without breaking my gaze. Her eyes shine.

She rips the wrapping of the package, and finds the Omega box inside. Opening it up, she finds the platinum Omega watch housed inside the box. She looks up at me blinking.

“This is absolutely beautiful!” she whispers.

“Turn it over and look inside of it,” I murmur, and she does. Her eyes widen, and she blinks several times to push back her tears.

Anastasia

You are my More

My Love, My Life

Christian

She reads in a soft tone. “Oh Christian!” she says unable to hold her tears back, and pushing her chair away speedily she rushes to my side and I barely have time to stand up and catch her as she hurls herself at me. 

“You, husband, say and write the most romantic things any girl could ever wish for! You are my More, you are my Love, and you are my Life! I love you so much!” she sobs onto my white linen shirt and sniffles.

“Hey! I didn't want to make you cry! Hush now...” I soothe her, and holding her chin up with my index finger, I kiss her lips as my hand softly runs over her hair.

“Your lips are always softer after you cry, baby,” I say, and tears continue to stream down.  “I love you! Don’t cry...”

“I’m crying because I’m so happy,” she says whimpering.

“Yes, I’m getting used to the idea that happiness sometimes triggers tears in women,” I say smiling. “But, come, no more tears today. I have so much planned for us,” I say smiling and trying to distract her. She wipes her eyes with my shirt.

“Where are we going?” she asks.

“Oh, but a good guide would never disclose his trade secrets baby,” I say. “Let me show you London.”

The first place I instructed Taylor to take us is the Westminster Abbey. I know she would love it there!

Our personal guide Fredrick meets us outside of the Abbey. He’s a young man, probably around my age with dark hair and bright blue eyes. He’s tall, and he appears to work out regularly and has a friendly demeanor. He’s dressed in a white shirt and tie, and wearing dress slacks with loafers on his feet for probably walking all day.

“I am positively delighted to meet you Mr. and Mrs. Grey. My name is Fredrick Lovelace,” he greets us with a genuine smile extending his hand.

Anastasia’s eyes glint with a surprised look, and she tries to suppress her smile after hearing his last name. She clears her throat while I shake the guide’s hand.

“Mr. Lovelace, how very nice to meet you,” she says, and shakes his hand.

“The pleasure is all mine, ma’am. Please, call me Fredrick,” he says already taken with my wife holding her hand a little longer than necessary. Alright, break it up! She’s mine! I wrap my arm around her shoulder territorially and pull her closer to me, staring at him pointedly.

He then turns to Taylor says, “Mr. Taylor,” in greeting. I lean into Anastasia’s ear and whisper, “Keep calling him Mr. Lovelace.”  No need to be friendly with him. She looks up at me narrowing her eyes. I smile at her innocently.

“ You've come to London at a very pleasant time of the year,” he says in his very British accent in a charming tone. I hold Anastasia’s hand, and squeeze it tightly making her smile. Standing at a reasonable distance from the entrance, he gestures grandly with his hands towards the Abbey. “Please notice the great edifice that is rising before you. Westminster Abbey, with her great Gothic spires rising magnificently and nearly touching the sky. The masonry arch you’re seeing extending off the outside of the building along the length of the nave of the cathedral is Flying buttresses of Westminster Abbey,” he explains and Anastasia giggles.

I look down at her quizzically. She whispers in a low voice, “I just thought of the odious Mr. Collins.”

“Who?” I ask. Who is Mr. Collins, how does she know him, and why is she thinking about him right now - on our honeymoon?

“Elizabeth Bennett’s cousin who was so enamored with the Rosings Estate owned by Lady Catherine de Bourgh so much so that he said, ‘one chimney-piece alone had cost eight hundred pounds’“ she says in a thick fake British accent. “I just thought it was funny that he’s talking about the hard core buttresses of the Westminster Abbey,” she whispers with a wicked gleam as Lovelace is still going on about grandeur of the buttresses. Leave it to Anastasia to make everything exciting. 

Lovelace talks about the history of the Abbey, and to my surprise, Anastasia devours all the information he’s giving with greed. When we finally enter into the building, we find the abbey bathed in the sunlight. The Abbey is open to the tourists and several groups are swarming in and out of the giant doors with their guidebooks, and tour guides are uttering their memorized lines. Anastasia turns 360 degrees around her taking everything in, and the enormity of the Abbey awes her. She inhales deep.

“It smells like metal and cold stone for some reason,” she says.

“I didn't know cold stone had a scent,” I reply teasing.

“Sure it does. I think it smells like congestion and also like an old, unused masonry, tastes like needles, feels like rigidity, and looks like a regal, ancient, ageless building,” she summarizes her feelings.

“Mrs. Grey, you never cease to amaze me,” I say pulling her hand. “Come, I want to show you something special, after Lovelace finishes his speech,” I whisper.

“Westminster Abbey belongs to the Queen and is independent from the rest of the Church of England. Kings and Queens have been crowned and buried here since 1066. Aside from the royalty, many of England’s national heroes and events are celebrated and remembered here. In fact because it has the most Kings and Queens buried here, I shall show you the poem by Francis Beaumont on the Tombs in Westminster Abbey,” he says and starts reciting in a very poetic tone, sounding like a troubadour.

“MORTALITY, behold and fear
What a change of flesh is here!
Think how many royal bones
Sleep within these heaps of stones;
Here they lie, had realms and lands,
Who now want strength to stir their hands,
Where from their pulpits seal'd with dust
They preach, "In greatness is no trust."
Here's an acre sown indeed
With the richest royallest seed
That the earth did e'er suck in
Since the first man died for sin:
Here the bones of birth have cried,
"Though gods they were, as men they died!"
Here are sands, ignoble things,
Dropt from the ruin'd sides of kings:
Here's a world of pomp and state
Buried in dust, once dead by fate.”

Anastasia claps her hands in excitement. “I always wanted to see that poem here!”

“It’s in the Poets’ Corner ma’am. I shall take your group there right now,” says Lovelace. He walks us slowly pointing at various artifacts and architectural marvels in the church and we finally make our way to the southeastern corner of the church. Sunlight pours through the rose window overhead.

“Mr. Grey thought that this would be a favorite spot of yours ma’am. Poets’ Corner is a national shrine for Britain’s most celebrated writers. It actually came to be by chance,” he says pausing, “through the presence of Chaucer’s grave who is of course...” he says and Anastasia interrupts him.

“...the father of English Literature!” she gushes making us all look at her admiringly.

“Yes ma’am! Precisely! You’re quite smart! Indeed. The grave is in the south transept of the Abbey, this way, Miss Grey,” he says.

“Missus Grey!” I correct him.

“My apologies. Mrs. Grey,” he corrects himself. Shut up and stop flirting with my wife! Anastasia narrows her eyes on me.

“Chaucer was buried in 1400 here. Then the burial of Edmund Spenser followed and thus began the tradition of burying or commemorating poets, writers, or dramatists began in this corner of Westminster Abbey.”

 “You are actually walking on the graves,” he points to the floor.

“I thought Shakespeare wasn’t buried here...” Anastasia comments after seeing his name on a plaque.

“He isn't ma’am. He’s buried at Stratford-upon-Avon in 1616. What you are seeing here is just a commemoration," he says, then changing the topic he adds, "The only American writer honored in the Poets’ Corner is Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. This beautiful bust,” he says pointing to a marble bust, “was installed in 1884.”

“Coleridge, Samuel Johnson, Chaucer, Edmund Spenser, Robert Burns... Oh God! Christian, can you imagine what these literary geniuses would talk about if they were to hang out daily with each other! Simply amazing! Thank you for making my dream come true, Christian!” she gushes, and kisses me chastely on the lips in the company of the two British security detail I’ve hired, Taylor, and Lovelace. I return my wife’s kiss with a slight fervor.

“You somehow know exactly what I want!” she whispers, blushing.

“How could I not? It’s my life’s purpose to understand my wife to the best of my ability, and make her dreams come true,” I reply in a voice only she can hear.

When the Westminster tour is over, Lovelace shakes my hand, and when Anastasia extends her hand to him, he takes it, and kisses it on top slightly. Smooth, fucker!

I take Anastasia to One Twenty One Two Restaurant for lunch. The restaurant is gracing the banks of the Thames, One Twenty One Two is named after the universally famous telephone number, Whitehall 1212, in commemoration of the hotel’s former neighbor, Scotland Yard. It’s also only minutes away from theatreland, Charing Cross and Trafalgar Square. The menu is exquisite, and Ana wants to sit on the terrace. We order Gressingham duck breast, poached halibut with a saffron shellfish broth. The wine list is impeccable. For desert we order caramelized banana tarte tartin and autumn apple compote with calvados custard.

After lunch I take Anastasia to the Kew Gardens which is the Royal Botanic Gardens. It’s such a big place; I only take her to parts where I know she would be interested in. The next stop is the British Museum. When we enter it, we realize that it’s enormous and there’s a lot Anastasia wants to see. We couldn't possibly cover it in one day. There’s Africa, Americas, Asia, Britain, Egypt, Europe, Greece, Japan, Middle East, Pacific, Rome as well as Museum and exhibition. Anastasia claps her hands like a small child who is just taken to her favorite candy store. She squeals in delight!

“Oh my gosh, Christian! I could spend days in here!”

“Well, we can come back tomorrow. We can only spend a couple of hours today, baby. I have dinner plans, and we are going to the opera tonight.” She pouts, and then grins.

“Okay, let’s not waste the daylight hours, then!” she says pulling me in the direction of the mummies.

“No, baby,” I smile at her again. “We have a guided tour, here. I didn't want you to miss anything.”

“Lovelace is here?” she asks curious.

“Noo! Someone else,” I say angrily.

“Taylor, wait for us here for the guide. I need to have a word Mrs. Grey,” I say and hold her hand firmly and take her.

“Christian, where are we going?” she asks, but I don’t answer. She doubles her steps to catch up after me from being dragged behind me. 

I finally slow down and spot a man who is part of the cleaning crew in the museum, and discreetly follow him to find a utility closet. He unlocks a door and takes out a mop and cleaning supplies, and walks away as the door starts slowly shutting down. I put my foot in the doorjamb it before it locks. I look around and pull Anastasia in.

“Why are we in here?” asks Anastasia whispering.

“You know why!” I say. And my hands are on her, all over her body, and my mouth covering hers. “You drive me crazy, you make me jealous!” I say fervently through teeth and mouth and demanding kisses.

“I didn't mean to,” she whispers in my mouth.

“Too late for that. I’m going to fuck you here and now, and we don’t have much time. I have to show you who you belong to, Mrs. Grey!” I say enunciating.

“Oh,” she whispers.

“This is going to be quick, baby. Turn around,” I say and make sure the door remains locked. I lift her skirt up, and ease my finger into her sex from the side of her panties. Finding her wet already arouses me. My finger dips into her sex and my thumb rubs over her clitoris, and she moans, and I slap her ass.

“Hush now! We’re in a public place,” I murmur.  “Bend down baby, and hold onto that shelf. She obeys readily, already panting.

I pull my zipper down, and ease myself into her making her gasp. I slowly pull back, and slam back into her, ease out and slam back three times, and holding her butt cheeks I start thrusting forward and pull her ass to meet my cock at the same time. Locating her sweet spot, I rub it with the tip of my cock, and pull back and slam into it again. She pushes her hip back to me to meet me thrust for thrust stifling her moans. When I feel the usual tightening of her sex, I increase my speed and give her all I’ve got pushing both of us over the top and our orgasms roll through each other, hers in waves, and mine in spurts, mixing and getting us lost. When the last waves of our ecstasy rolls through us, I pull out of her, and locating a roll of paper towel, I clean us both, pull my zipper up, and put Anastasia to her rights.

Still sated with her orgasms, Anastasia holds onto me as I fix her underwear, and put her skirt in place. I push her back to the wall, and kiss her possessively. My tongue darting into her mouth, sucking and nipping.

“You are mine! Don’t you forget it!”

“Yes, yours,” she says in a breathy voice. “I should get you jealous more often. I loved the closet fuck. It’s hot and raw and passionate,” she murmurs.

“Careful! You don’t want to push me over my limits baby. I might lose it,” I say my eyes darkening. I hear someone placing a key into the keyhole trying to open the utility closet door. I open the door, and pulling Anastasia by the hand, I walk away. A middle aged lady in her staff uniform, with her key midair stares behind us speechless as we walk away to find Taylor and the guide.

A smartly dressed young woman with her dark hair in ponytail comes to greet us. She’s a brunette, and my wife’s face changes with a hint of jealousy. The young lady’s eyes widen when she sees me, and nervously she tucks her hair behind her ears, and blinks about a hundred times, before she can open her mouth and utter a greeting to us. Anastasia rolls her eyes, although I’m not seeing what she’s doing, I always know when she rolls her eyes. That makes me very pleased. I want my wife’s world to start and end with me, and her possessiveness makes me feel...elated. I want her to declare her territory. I suppose I want to know that she’d shown her feline side to others ogling me. I know it’s just a pretty face, but I want her to want me as much as I desire her. Is it too much to ask of one’s wife?

Anastasia wraps her arm around my waist and sticks her hand into my back pocket squeezing my butt possessively. Her reaction is a welcome one, and makes me grin. I look at her darkly.

“Welcome to the British Museum Mr. Grey,” she says, and shakes my hand and holds onto it a little longer.

“I’m Mrs. Grey!” says Anastasia and cocks her eyebrows at her, extending her hand. The guide whose name we still don’t know reluctantly lets go of my hand and turns to Anastasia.

“Welcome Mrs. Grey. I’m Martha Davis. I’ll be your guide today,” she says. “British Museum boasts over 13 million artifacts and it has quite a few sections to see which you can spend many days to view. What would you desire,” she says looking at me, “to see?”

“My husband and I desire to see the Egyptian section, Miss Davis!” Anastasia says sharply, and a ghost of a smile creeps over my lips.

“Yes, of course, ma’am,” she replies. She walks us to the Ancient Egypt section or as she calls it, Egyptology Section.

She shows us various statues from different dynasties and different artifacts, occasionally glancing at me. We finally make it to the section where they house the mummies, and look at mummies from different dynasties and periods in Egypt. The rooms seem to be well organized. I came here with my parents in 1998 and back then the rooms were jam packed and worn and full of Egyptian funerary displays. Explanatory labels were meager, lighting was poor and the crowds were overwhelming. But now, they’re redone, organized, explanations in place, displays are well lit, related artifacts and mummies are exhibited together. It is now worth seeing.

“The earliest ancient Egyptian buried their dead in small pits in the desert. Of course, the desert heat and dry air of the sand dehydrated the bodies quickly, and the bodies were naturally mummified,” she says pointing to a displayed mummy in infant position.

“Every one of our British Museum’s mummies was once a living, breathing Egyptian going about their everyday life. Meet Nesperennub...” she says pointing a mummy case which hasn't been opened for over 100 years. “He lived nearly three thousand years ago in Thebes...” she starts explaining.

When she’s nearly done with the Egyptian section, Anastasia remembers something and gushes.

 “Can we please see the Rosetta Stone before we leave?” she asks.

“Yes, ma’am,” Miss Davis replies. “It too is in the Egyptian section. This way please,” she leads us in her professional demeanor.

“The Rosetta Stone is one of the most famous objects in the British Museum. The Stone itself is a broken part of a bigger stone slab. There is a message carved into it written in three types of scripts. What is very important about that is that it helped Egyptologists to read the hieroglyphs. The Stone is an official decree about King Ptolemy V. He was only 13 years of age. The message simply said that the priests of a temple in Memphis supported the king. That simple message inscribed in Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs, Demotic script and the Ancient Greek gave a key in understanding the hieroglyphs.”

At the end of the Egyptian tour, I remind Anastasia that we need to get back to the hotel since I have plans for the night. Taylor and the added security detail drive us back to the hotel. Geoffrey greets us at the door.

“Your orders have arrived sir. I had the tuxedo, and the dress hanging in your closet. Is there anything you wish sir?” he asks politely.

“No Geoffrey. Thank you,” I respond, and Anastasia looks at me quizzically.

“Dress and tux?”

“For the dinner and the opera,” I say.

“When did you order them?”

“Earlier from Harrods,” I reply.

“Come, a quick shower, and we must get going.”

Once we are showered, Anastasia dries her hair and rolls it into a well-made bun. She puts on her panties and bustier on. She looks breathtaking. I can’t take my gaze away from her.

“Are you ogling me, Mr. Grey?” she asks.

“Yes, Mrs. Grey. I need you to wear something for me,” I say my eyes darkening.

“What?” she asks.

“This,” I say holding her favorite toy. She grins.

“To the Royal Opera House? Mr. Grey, you are so kinky!” she looks shocked.

“Mrs. Grey, you don’t know the half of it.”

Once our favorite toy safely inserted into my wife, she puts her silver dress on I specifically picked for the occasion. It’s a strapless hand-sewn dress with a slit on her right side all the way up to her thigh with a £14,000 price tag and she's worth every pence of it! I have two teardrop earrings emphasizing her kissable to her long neck. She puts light, natural make up on, and wears long gloves. She looks stunning!

I’m in my black tux, bow-tie, and white shirt.

Taylor and the added British security drive us.

“Where are we going to dine?” asks Anastasia curiously.

“At the Opera.”

“The Opera?”

“Yes,” I say my thumb grazing her knuckles, giving her shivers. “I was going to reserve a private dining room Paul Hamlyn Hall but they weren't cozy enough for us,” I say darkly.

"Not cozy enough?" she asks her breath catching.

"So, Taylor reserved us a private dining room at the Covent Gardens."

“Oh," she says in a breathy voice. "Then?” she probes after a breath.

 “Then we go to our private box in the Opera, Mrs. Grey,” I say grinning.

“What are we going to see tonight?” Anastasia ask curiously.

“Le Nozze di Figaro,” I reply.

“The marriage of Figaro?” she asks.

“The same,” I reply with dark eyes.

All through the dinner I make sure I don’t touch Anastasia, and she’s aching for connection. Once the food is delivered to our private room, I say, “I don’t want you to touch your food.”

“What?” she asks curiously.

“I am going to feed you Mrs. Grey,” I murmur without breaking my gaze. She shifts in her seat, aroused, and expectant she moves to find a comfortable position to sit making the balls shift inside her as well. She stifles a gasp, looking at the backs of the security heads.

Tonight will be a night she’ll never forget.

*The River's Tale

TWENTY bridges from Tower to Kew - Wanted to know what the River knew, Twenty Bridges or twenty-two, For they were young, and the Thames was old And this is the tale that River told:- "I walk my beat before London Town, Five hours up and seven down. Up I go till I end my run At Tide-end-town, which is Teddington. Down I come with the mud in my hands And plaster it over the Maplin Sands. But I'd have you know that these waters of mine Were once a branch of the River Rhine, When hundreds of miles to the East I went And England was joined to the Continent. "I remember the bat-winged lizard-birds, The Age of Ice and the mammoth herds, And the giant tigers that stalked them down Through Regent's Park into Camden Town. And I remember like yesterday The earliest Cockney who came my way, When he pushed through the forest that lined the Strand, With paint on his face and a club in his hand. He was death to feather and fin and fur. He trapped my beavers at Westminster. He netted my salmon, he hunted my deer, He killed my heron off Lambeth Pier. He fought his neighbour with axes and swords, Flint or bronze, at my upper fords, While down at Greenwich, for slaves and tin, The tall Phoenician ships stole in, And North Sea war-boats, painted and gay, Flashed like dragon-flies, Erith way; And Norseman and Negro and Gaul and Greek Drank with the Britons in Barking Creek, And life was gay, and the world was new, And I was a mile across at Kew! But the Roman came with a heavy hand, And bridged and roaded and ruled the land, And the Roman left and the Danes blew in - And that's where your history-books begin!"