His body is never in repose longer than five hours in one span. His mind always too hungry for more information, craving any sort of intense physical stimuli to go with it so he can finally beat himself into a comatose-like sleep every night. This time the purposefully chosen stimuli is too overwhelming, overcoming his seemingly indestructible 15-year-old body. After ten hours of sleep he awakes, but it's unmoving and silent, listening to his mother fret unceasingly over him, loading everything on her friend Elena.
"I can't take this anymore, Elena. This is the second time he's tried to kill himself. The two months of treatment in California did nothing for him. And now I'm out another brand new mercedes."
"I can only imagine how hard this is for you. I wish I could give you some wise options, but I know nothing about teenagers. I was hardly a teenager myself," says Elena.
"You did have to grow up fast. Maybe that's what Christian needs. To grow up."
"What are you saying?"
"That it's time for him to leave home. Become independent. This suicide stuff is pure self-indulgent...crap that's breaking my heart in two. And you know I love him to death, but he won't talk to us. He has everything handed to him and he throws it away." Grace rubs her temples then checks the time. Elena is taken aback by Grace's unusual slip of a curse word.
"I won't argue with that. You've spoiled him, but he had such a rough start to his life. I know he was only four, but you still don't know everything that happened. It's had to effect him deeper than we can imagine. He can't suddenly be on his own without someone to be there for him. It's too much like my story." She eyes grace tenderly. "I wouldn't have survived if it weren't for you." Grace hugs Elena from the side, sweeping Elena's long blonde hair from her shoulder in a sisterly way.
"Where do I send him, then? Christian has my marriage upside down and the other two kids are scared he's going to die any minute."
"I can't believe I'm saying this, but..." Elena bit her own finger and thought it through again before she said anything more. "I'm about as motherly as Nurse Ratchet, but he can stay in one of my guest rooms. Lewis is never home and I'm wrapped up in the launch of my new product line I'll be selling in my salons, but I do most all my work from home. You both need a break and I can't help but think of how you looked after me when I wasn't much older than Christian."
"Would you really take him? Even for just a couple of weeks?"
"Look at him lying here." Elena walks to the foot of the hospital bed. "He needs a safe place to recover, but he also needs a kick in the ass." She swivels her head to watch Grace grow a slow smile. "You know me. I can provide both without blinking and still keep my Prada shoes scratch free."
Grace laughs through her tears and hugs Elena, stabbing her with the name tag that's pinned to her white doctors coat. No one initiated a hug with Elena, not even her husband, only her surrogate big sister that saved her from ruin when she was a pregnant and lost teenager.
Christian couldn't play fly-on-the-wall anymore, stirring audibly so they would notice. Grace ran to his side, her straight brown hair whisping as she moved. "Oh, sweetheart, you're awake!" She kissed him gently on the cheek, knowing he didn't like to be touched, but she couldn't resist.
"Quit fussing over him." Elena scooted in beside her and spoke firmly to the groggy teenager waking to life instead of the death he was searching for. "Hey, Christian. You're coming home with me. What do you say to that?"
"I don't know. You going to hurt me, Ms. Elena?"
"Yes."
"Alright then. I'm coming."
Elena's house wasn't much different than what Christian was used to. Just another 10,000 square foot box of wood sitting luxuriantly along Seattle's Puget Sound and keeping window washers busy. Christian was filled with and unusual amount of ambivilence and teenage angst today, but what motivated him to finally take the first step to Elena's spectacularly kept house was the innate trust he always had of Elena, even though he was scared of her at times. He wasn't scared of his idiot classmates who called him names like: "know-it-all bastard", "Pompous ass", and "Rich dick". Christian considered them hollow compliments. So did the hormone struck girls that said these things it to him.
"Christian, you're early. Good, boy. Step inside out of the rain, you'll catch cold then spread it to me. And I certainly won't have you dying on my watch."
"Yes, Ms. Elena," he says snidely.
Christian remembers the first time he met Elena. It was absolutely the most unforgettable moment of pure hell for her, but his most favorite. It was when he was still young and stupid enough to challenge her.
"Mom said your baby died. Why?" Elena tried to smack Christian's eight year-old face with her eyes. He didn't react.
She glared more intently at the the carefully dressed boy with overly jelled auburn hair and hissed, "Because I killed it."
"Why?" he asked, not shocked at all by her answer, nor the horrifying look blazing in her brown eyes.
"Why do you think?" she asked nastily.
"Because you're sad and lonely."
"Fuck off, kid."
Christian remembers her long flowing blonde hair, the embedded pink and dark purple around her eyes, and her tan skin wrapped tight around her small, but very tall frame. She was a pretty woman, and most beautifully fierce.
"Master Grey, you may choose your room." She guided him through the large foyer like a real estate agent, and less like a mannerly hostess. "There's one here on the main floor that's quite large, but the bathroom is small and the staff can be loud in the morning. The other is in the East wing, second door on the right. It has a balcony that merges with mine, but the bathroom is large. Which one?"
"Balcony, Ms. Elena." He works to supress an expression of any kind. Elena doesn't like emotions and he knows everything she likes, and especially the things she dislikes, teasing her with them when he dares. But that's been several years since he's tried.
"Still decisive as ever, Master Grey. Good." She turns and calls out, "Mr. Scott!" A square-shouldered man in his 40s appears suddenly. "Take Mr. Grey's bags to the balcony room in the East Wing," she commands, and he swiftly leaves.
Elena scans Christian's clothes and gives him a disapproving look that Christian raises his eyebrows to. He spent eight years watching Elena's body language, learning to read her instead of talking incessantly like his brother and sister always did.
"I don't wear your type of clothes. I'd just end up throwing them away." Elena flips her aromatic hair and walks past him and down the hall.
"We'll see if you dare to. Follow me, Christian," her voice sings, but it's filled with stern expectation. "We have business to conduct, you and me."
The entire main floor is composed of dark Mahogany furniture and matching wainscoting. The floors are endless slabs of creamy marble; slippery and cold, making her heels clip sharply and his treadless Van's stick. Elena's always taken the priviledge of walking ahead of Christian, never treating him any differently than when he was young and began calling him Master Grey, even though Elliot was the eldest Grey child.
"Sit there," she points to a swiveling brown leather stool pushed up to the island in the kitchen. She walks around into the kitchen and pulls out a blue folder, opening it to a document several pages in length. "This situation we have here is business. I'm not old enough to be your mother, and not young enough to be your friend. It's a working relationship, and that means there are clearly defined expectations for both of us. I'll negotiate on two items. You choose what they are and what you want. Everything else stays and is followed, or you're out of here and back living with your mother."
Christian fidgets uncomfortably in his seat.
"That's exactly what I thought." She eyes him tightly. "I love your mom like a sister, but the threat of death wouldn't get me to live with her again. She decorates with too many overseas knick-knacks and she's overly emotional about her patients. Let alone the fact that Mia is a spaz and Elliot an attention junkie."
"Agreed," says Christian, looking bored.
"Good. Read the contract. Tonight we'll sit and discuss your items of possible negotiation."
"Fine," he mumbles, using that bored, almost annoyed voice he uses at school.
"Christian! You're forgetting yourself."
"Sorry...Ms. Elena. I mean...I apologize, Ms. Elena."
"Good, boy, Master Grey." Elena breathes out annoyance, leaning forward and resting her forearms on the counter and facing Christian. She eyes him softly for a moment, admiring his long copper hair that waves down past the tips of his ears and into his eyes.
"Do you have to refer to me as 'boy'? I'm fifteen and a junior in high school, for God's sake..." Elena rolls her eys and Christian's blood heats. I hate when she does that—such a condescending bitch of an expression.
When Elena looks away Christian glances between her arms, her bosom squeezed together and pressing out of her silk v-necked dress. Christian bites his finger. His first hard-on was because of her breasts; one of her nipples pressing bare against her shirt on a rare, humid summer day laying out on the lawn with his mother.
"Do I have to lock up my girls along with my vehicles while you're here, Christian?"
His grey eyes flip up to catch hers, reprimanding and sultry enough to cause Christian to discretely shift his jeans to make more space for himself. How does she fucking do that to me every time? How embarrassing. Shit.
"Read. Do what you will with the contents of the fridge while you're perusing. Two hours. And two allowable changes, Christian."
Exactly two hours later Elena walks into the room barefoot, but still in her low-cut silk dress that clings to her curves, then drapes easily away at her knees. She opens the refridgerator and stares, massaging her temples like his mother does.
"Why are you in such a shitty mood? Are you menstrating?" he asks boldly.
"Don't pull the push-all-the-boundaries, teenage crap on me. Of course I'm on my monthly. I'll be nicer in two days."
"Where's Mr. Lincoln...Mrs. Lincoln?"
"Dubai. He's not due back for two weeks," she sighs.
"You miss him," he observes, trying to get her to look at him, but she can't bring herself to. Christian is unnerving her and she's refusing to admit why consciously. If she took the moment to search her mind she'd realize that Christian's presence caused her to miss her husband and played on her cravings. A male filled with testosterone in the home was annoying when nothing could be done with it. She flips her hand and shuts the fridge door.
"I do miss him. But I'm the one who signed-up for this ride, knowing full well he'd be gone a lot. I'll live. I have a lot of work to distract me."
"You're the toughest woman I know."
"Yes, I am. Enough. Tell me your two negotiation tokens before my head explodes and I ruin the contract."
"I don't want to change anything. It's perfect." He slides the folder across the black and white marble counter and she opens it to see his signature on the last page. Elena peers at him through half-open eyes that are dramatically lines with varying shades of glittering eyeshadow.
"Are you sure? I don't want you fighting me on this later."
"I won't fight with you on it...unless you want me to." Christian shoots a coy smile at her and she winces like she received a paper cut from the contract. He shoots out of his chair and appears in the kitchen beside her suddenly. She's weakened, tired, and hurting. He knows the signs well, having watched his sister and mother go through the same patterns. He reaches up and gently rubs her temples. She's too exhausted from working all day to fight him and what he brings out in her.
Not letting his fingers leave her skin, he trails them down to her shoulders and she groans.
"I didn't mean to be so hard on you earlier, but you need it. You're not going to walk all over me, Christian. I know you're capable of charming just about anyone into doing anything, but not me. No matter how good you can massage my neck. Now go away. I'll see you tomorrow. It's Saturday, thank god."
Saturday was no better. It's Monday before Elena was normal, which was still a little on the bitchy side, but Christian had school.
Two weeks pass with little communication and no wrong behavior on Christian's part, and Elena is beginning to get suspicious, checking in more often. On a whim she calls his phone in his room even when they are at home together, but some 2,000 feet apart.
"How are you doing, Master Grey?" Elena asks, stretching her legs out to reach the top of her desk.
"Fine, Ms. Elena. You?"
"Well, Master Grey. Well."
"Okay. How well are you?" Christian lays back in his bad, propping his head up with pillows.
"Mr. Lincoln will be home tomorrow night."
"Fine."
"Goodnight, then, Master Grey."
"Goodnight, Madam Lincoln."
"Whatever. Thirteen years your senior does not make me a Madam."
"Only Thirteen years?"
"Shocked? Did you think I was older?"
"No. You only act older."
"I have half a mind to come spank you, child!"
"Doors open."
"If only you knew. Goodnight means, goodnight." She hangs up, smirking to herself.
Section One, article 8 states: Christian must practice piano five days a week for one hour, and lessons are to be held every Tuesday at 3 PM for the same.
It was unnecessary to demand it of him. This was his place of comfort and somber joy. It was Thursday afternoon and Elena was busy ordering the maid, Ms. Green, around everywhere. Finally breaking a champagne flute under the stressful demands.
"Never mind, Ms. Green. If you hadn't done it, I would have. Let's have a glass of wine while you clean it up."
"Apologies, Mrs. Lincoln. Thank you."
Ms. Green was still youthful and energetic, but already in her mid-30s and several years older than Elena, but you couldn't tell by looking at them side-by-side. Elena didn't have a wrinkle on her plush, heart-shaped face, but her hardened eyes and stern demeanor made her ten years older than she was, which was only twenty-eight. She married Mr. Lincoln when she was eighteen and he was thirty-five, but age differences like this doesn't matter as much when money is supporting both sides of the marital union that was saving Elena from disgrace.
Christian saunters easily into the kitchen, digs in the freezer, then plops several frozen grapes into the white wine Elena is pouring for her and Ms. Green. "Thank you. Why are you done early?"
"I began early. And I'm changing into the clothes you bought me so I don't scare Mr. Lincoln, though he might not recognize me and mistake me to be the lover you keep trapped in that room upstairs that's always locked."
Ms. Green glances up then hurries to finish dumping the broken glass into the trash can. She leaves the room with her wine with brisk efficiency.
"You're lucky I'm in a good mood, Master Grey. Mind that mouth of yours." She slaps his butt and Christian backs away from her. She meant to do it harder. Christian didn't know whether it was playful or weirdly serious, maybe both.
Elena is most severely in control of herself, but it was taking everything she had not to let her full lips curve up at the thought of the room upstairs, waiting for Mr. Lincoln to come home to her. And soon enough Mr. Lincoln danced through the front door and Elena gracefully ran to him, practically pinning him to the wall with her hips and breasts, lips locked onto his.
"Darling, let me breath. Aren't you a wonderful sight. Let me see you."
Mr. Lincoln is a gregarious, loud man that loves having Christian staying on at the house, wishing his wife would stop working on her new line of make-up products so she could become pregnant and fill it with more activity and noise. But Christian thought the lively married couple made enough noise, and late into the night. Undone by it continuing for so long, Christian slips into the hallway and heads to the West wing where he can hear the strange sounds of their lovemaking.
Of course, they're in the locked room. It's a friggin' sex room, I bet. He leans up against the wall just outside the door and tries to determine what position Mr. Lincoln had Elena in. He wants to imagine it for himself.
There's a loud slap. Maybe wood against skin, if that's possible. Mr. Lincoln groans loudly, but the groan ends in a higher-pitched yell as another slap is heard through the door. The faint sound of metal clinking, chains rustling...four to be exact...and light moans, anxious moans that tells Christian they are about to fuck.
Damn, I wish that were me. Just one time penetrating her, that's all I need.
Christian closes his eyes in the completely dark hallway and focuses on every sound that Elena makes. She is so wanting, her panting low. Several seconds pass between each breath, but he notes her breathing is picking up pace. Christian's adept fingers dip below the waistband of his cotton pajama bottoms and begin to pull upward in a long stroke, then downward stronger. He can imagine himself inside her, in and out over and over again as he watches her hips arch forward and her breasts tremble and harden. He'd never felt anything besides his own hand, but he could visualize her doing it for him. He'd done it before when he was younger.
Christian suppresses a growling moan as he feels himself filling up inside, the pressure mounting, listening to Elena's breathing increase, and her intermittent sighs of pleasure. "Oh fuck, Lewis. You've got to do it harder than that," she demands. "Reach around and touch my clitoris. Now!" Her voice pushes Christian over and he was coming silently, feeling victorious, but naughty for taking a sexual hit off her private love-making.
Lucky, fucking bastard, having her.
He walks silently back to his room and takes a shower, able to sleep now that he's spent, but only for five hours. He wakes up hard all over again, Elena undressed and showering for him in his waking dream, but it's never satisfying enough. The urge to have her is becoming too much and he wonders if he will have to move out soon. He's seen Elena fly off the handle before. It's not pretty. She'll hack his balls off and won't even apologize later for it. He never wanted to hurt her, just please her by doing everything she asked. At this point Christian needed this goal in his life, otherwise he would crawl back into his little black hole where death seemed better than anything life here could give him. A life that treated him as useless, unlovable and damaged beyond repair.
Grace told Christian bits and pieces of Elena's story before he left to stay with her—as a warning to be nice to her. Grace told him she was raped repeatedly by someone, finally empregnating her. It was easy for Christian to absorb all of Elena's roughness, empathizing with her abuse because of his own. He just kept following her continual orders having no other guide nor hope in life, feeling some sense of control under her tightly ruled home. Christian knew Elena couldn't control Mr. Lincoln's constant travel, so she exercised her control over Christian instead. And he welcomed this restraint on his life.
Mr. Lincoln left again, but this time he was to be gone for over a month and Elena didn't do well the first day the house was empty, but soon she and Christian fell into a daily routine that changed one Saturday morning when Elena drifted down the stairs and into the kitchen. Christian watching quietly.
"Morning, Master Grey. I don't know what your plans are today, but I'm going to be resting for most of it, so keep it down. I broke my own rules and drank too much wine while reading in bed. A stupid thing to do. I can hardly see."
"I can tell."
Elena turns on him and scowls.
"I mean, I can tell you can't see because your...well, you're not dressed."
With one hand holding the pitcher of orange juice and the other with an empty glass, Elena looks down to see she is only wearing a light pink push-up bra and panties.
"Oh...Well get used to it. I'm not exactly used to you walking around shirtless and in briefs. We're human beings, Christian." She pours juice into her glass and sets the pitcher back into the fridge.
"What kind of human beings?"
"Sexual ones." She turns around, and winks at Christian, then sips her juice. She pads out of the kitchen in a sexy sway that she doesn't regret.
Christian doesn't get why she's being so brazen, but understands the clear presence of another hard-on that's almost pressing up past the waistband of his cotton pajama pants. He adjusts himself, the touch of his hand and the memory of her ass, tight and bouncing a little as she walked out makes him moan. Dammit. I can't live like this. Fucking myself with fantasies.
He gets up and walks to his room and takes a shower. Trying to conjure up a picture of this girl at school with long brown hair that sits quietly in the back of his English Lit class. He just wishes Amber from class would come over and walk around in her bra and panties instead. That was touchable.
Christian finds himself puking in the trash can of the men's restroom at school and not feeling better for it, but worse. Elena picks him up from school in her red Porsche Cayenne without hesitation. When Christian shuts the door of the car Elena looks at him with worry.
"Are you going to throw up again?" She brushes her fingers along his forehead then holds his cheek.
"Probably." He glances at her wondering why she dresses up in such nice clothes, curls her hair and puts makeup on to work from home all day. It annoys him. His face crunches together a little.
"Well, Christ. I'll drive fast."
Back in his bed, Ms. Green checks on Christian until she leaves for the day and Grace stops by, walking into his room so quietly he wakes up slowly, seeing her dressed in slacks and a dress shirt, just dropping by after work at the hospital.
"Christian, what other symptoms do you have? Anything in the chest?"
"No, mom. I'm fine. Just the flu. I'd rather just sleep."
"Okay, sweetheart. I'm glad you're doing so well here with Elena. You two do a lot of good for one another. You're doing better, your grades are up and you're not driving cars without a license. And Elena seems happier. She needs someone in the house when Lewis is gone so much. She'll never admit it, but she's been lonely all her life."
"Yeah."
Grace kisses Christian on the cheek and leaves. After sleeping for a couple hours Elena knocks on the door, coming in even though Christian doesn't say anything.
"How is Master Gray now? You're mom says you were fine, but to let you stay home from school tomorrow, if you like."
"I would like," he mumbles, then shifts the bed sheets off of him to sit up. Christians bare chest is filled out with muscle and his ab muscles line up in perfect rows, causing her eyes to drift. It's the body of a man, not a teenager.
"I would like that, too. I miss you when you go to school. The house is too quiet. I always look forward to you coming home and playing some ridiculously morose tune on the grand piano," she says lightly with a smile.
"I feel better. I'll go play something for you now." He rises up to his feet and begins to walk past Elena when her hand reactively reaches out and touches his chest. Christian is startled, looking at her face for direction.
"You need a shirt." She moves past him and picks up a white t-shirt hanging on a chair. Coming up from behind him she purposefully gets close enough to feel the heat from his body, sliding the shirt slowly over his head. Elena wants to feel his skin on hers, across her half-bare breasts that are up, and tucked inside a half-cupped demi-bra that's showing between her open shirt. She moves in and quietly presses her breasts against his back while he pushed his arms through the arm holes. Her nipples turn hard at the touch. Backing up from him she unrolls the shirt, letting her hand trace his back one last time.
"Sorry."
"No."
Normally aloof and acting like nothing bothers him, Christian becomes confused and unable to believe Elena is touching him so sensually. It's wrong. He knows it, but the energy building between them is hard to resist. He can't do anything without her though, so he just stands there waiting.
"Play me something, Christian. Go." Elena gives him a little push and he tromps downstairs to play alone, wondering where she is in the house, what she is doing, but knowing she's listening to him.
Elena feels the insanity in her building exponentially. She paces the halls a lot, talking on the phone to clients, lawyers, sales people, everyone but her husband that hasn't called over the several weeks since he left. Christian watches her, knowing she's at her most vulnerable after being without sex for four weeks and her period having just ended. She's so in need of dominating her husband, which takes her back to her teenage years and reverses what happened to her, excusing her guilty need for intense, painful sex. Even Elena notices her sex is constantly flexed, holding back and hurting almost because of it. It doesn't help that the nights are dark and long, rain falling constantly, and nothing but work to distract her. She's left to touch herself to relieve the harsh pain/pleasure that engulfs her, especially in the early evening, but it's never satiates her need. Her muscles coil back up and begin the entire process of begging her for a real orgasm all over again.
Elena slams the phone down on the desk and screams, "Damn this!"
It's after six and the house is empty except for Elena at her office desk and Christian at the piano. He stops playing after hearing her yell and goes to her. Slumped in her chair, she's staring listlessly out the window at the pouring rain and the flicker of lights across the water.
"How may I help you, Elena."
"I can't look at you, let alone hold a conversation with you right now. Go away, Christian."
Christian can't help this urge in him to please Elena and he senses her need. He leaves her dark, overly ornate office then promptly returns with a glass filled with her favorite red wine, setting it almost silently on her desk.
She fingers the base of the glass, but does nothing else but consider it. Her shoulders slacken finally under Christian's firm pressure into the muscles that are waiting for this. Standing over her and behind the chair, he glances down past her shoulders and into her blouse, open enough to see her breasts swaying slowly to her breathing and the movement of his hands on her body.
His eyes close as do hers, then his hands begin slipping down just a little bit after rolling her muscles, nervously skimming his thumbs down the slopes of her breasts as he caresses her arms. There's no protest. Christian can't believe his own boldness, but she's made so many passes at him lately, he knows she's open to him even though he's only fifteen and she's thirteen years older and legally not suppose to be seducing him.
He blindly finds her nipples through her laced black bra and glances down again, watching her legs spread a little. Neither one of them cares of how wrong it is, they're alone in a house with nothing stopping them. He remembers her yelling, "Reach around and touch my clitoris. Now!" Leaning down, his face presses into her hair, and he breathes her in fully. Her scent is deep and velvety, and he wonders if she smells the same way between her legs.
His fingers trickle lightly down her belly then quickly past her skirt to touch the warm skin of her exposed thighs. I want to touch her clitoris. See what sweet sound she makes. Her breath catches in her throat and he responds by breathing heavily into her ear. There's nothing to his sexual history and he is in a nervous place where he doesn't know what's going to please her, or piss her off. Her legs spread even farther apart, her hips tilting forward, wanting him.
Running the tips of his fingers up her black skirt he finds her matching lace panties, so taut to her skin he doesn't know how to breach the barrier, hesitating, just smoothing his fingers over the material that's covering her most preciously sensitive spot. Elena slaps her hand on top of his, keeping his hand between her legs, and throwing her head back against her brown leather chair. "Christian, I can't do this. It's so wrong. It's so fucking wrong. Please. You're killing me." Her hand is pushing the heel of his hand wickedly hard against her pubic bone and she roles herself against him. His erection is hard against the chair. He wants to throw her on the hard wooden floor and fuck her, but he only sort of knows the mechanics of it.
Christian feels the moisture pooling in her panties with the tips of his fingers. He can't take anymore of this teasing than she can. "Show me. Show me your room." He finds his way through and slides two fingers into her panties and she moans. Her need for him makes him feel as if he owns the world he's revolting silently against every day. Christians hand caressing her wet lips makes him feel powerful enough to overcome everything he hates about his inconsequential life.
"I want to hear you come, Elena." She shoves his hand away and spins her chair around, standing up to meet him in one swift motion. "It's not like that! It's not 'show me'. It's about what I can do to you in that room. Damn you and you're gorgeous body you flaunt in front of me every day. And you purposefully tease me, knowing my predicament. This is your fault!" she points a finger at him.
She pulls open a desk drawer and snags a key, grabbing his hand, then rushing him upstairs and into the sex room Christian has been trying to imagine for two months.
He takes one look, confused and shocked for two seconds by the huge bed, strange wooden scaffolding and torture devices with restraints, then looks at Elena. Nothing can distract him from what he wants; her in that bed over there...sprawled out...naked and wet for him. He reaches for her and she slaps his hand. She's done that before, it's nothing new.
"Lie down on the bed, Mr. Grey." She's never said that before, so he walks over, his tight, round behind thoroughly inspected by her. She tightens inside and hides a moan.
The four sets of leather and metal handcuffs are chained to the bedposts and are laid out. She speaks low, but very seriously as she preps him. "I'm restraining you, Mr. Grey. All four appendages. You'll enjoy this. I'll go light on you. Are there any limits you have Mr. Grey?"
"None with you, Ms. Elena." He felt triumphant and bold, finally about to live out the fantasies in his head, but none had him pinned down to a bed.
"You have limits with other women?" She pulls his pajama pants down and off his ankles, gasping at his length; greater than any she's seen before. Does he have to be so deliciously large?
"I've never had any other women, Ms. Elena. Only you."
"You haven't had me. You'll never have me. I'm going to have you all the way to next fucking week, Mr. Grey. Prepare to lose your useless male virginity. You'll never get it back again. Do you hear me?" she growled.
"Yes, Ms. Elena." She yanks on his right leg and shackles it, then the left, so that he's spread out in the shape of an x.
Christian watches as she unloosens a stick with a piece of folded leather on the tip from where it hangs on the wall, feeling truly nervous for the first time.
"You don't follow my rules...you get nipped with this riding crop. Do you understand?"
"Yes," he said, distracted by the sex tool that was totally new to him, wondering how it was going to feel against his skin. A crisp smack comes across the fleshy backside of his hip and he flinches.
"Don't touch my chest." His voice is tight and scared. "Never. That's my limit. Don't. Touch. My. Chest," he warns clearly, fright in his eyes.
"So, you do have limits. Fine and well, Mr. Grey. It's been noted and will be adhered to. Anything else? Or does the riding crop help your recollection?" Another hard hit to his other hip. Another flinch.
"No!"
"No, what?"
"No, Ms. Elena." His mind clicks, wondering just how long she's been training him for this.
Elena gets on the bed barefoot, but still in her clothes, standing over him so he can watch. Pulling a hair tie from her wrist she gathers her long golden hair behind her, securing every piece. Christian squirms, knowing instinctively that he wants to pull on her ponytail...hard...while he penetrates her from behind, but he's restrained and can't move, just his head as he lifts to watch. She taps her cool foot on his long, lean inner thigh.
"Settle down." Her eyes are on him and they stay. She likes this. Wanting him to know at all times she's in charge and will dictate everything that takes place in the playroom with Christian. With orderliness in mind she unbuttons her blouse and lays it on the bench at the end of the bed. He's watching, waiting to see her nude for the first time. Her skirt falls and she bends down at the waist. Putting a quick arc in her lower back she slowly lifts herself up, folding her skirt as she does. After laying the skirt down she swishes her long ponytail back and forth, her back arched still so her bum is out, the strands of her hair touching her panties. She lowers her panties and lets them pool around her ankles, standing upright like a beautiful nude model, allowing her hair to brush against her newly tanned behind. She's too fucking skinny, but I want her tits in my mouth.
"Would you like to touch me, Mr. Grey?" She reaches behind her and unsnaps her braw, tossing it to the bench. Fully nude, nipples erect and hard, Christian can't stop staring, taking in every inch of her body. She kneels between his legs and kisses him on the side of his knee and all the way up his leg, stopping just before it ends, doing the same on the other side. Her tongue flat, wet and warm, presses down against his length and glides upward, flicking the tip several times then sucking it quickly. She releases when he flexes his hips ever so slightly.
"Oh, damn," he mumbles.
"Keep your body flush to the bed, Mr. Grey. Makes it easier on everyone. If you can't, I tighten the restraints."
Straddling him, she respectfully remembers his off-limit chest, and places her hand on the bed to help lift herself. She places his tip directly on her sex and breathes through her clenched teeth. It feels so soft, so pistol hard against her.
"I'm going to fuck you now, Mr. Grey," she warns. Her anticipation. His anticipation. It's painful, luscious and...enough to make him come before he even loses his virginity. She slides down over him and she becomes audibly pleased, but his pleasure is deep within...quiet.
"You're being fucked, Mr. Grey. Do you want more of this fucking?" She's moving up and down on him so slowly it hurts.
"Fuck, yes," he strains through his teeth.
A snap against his side is felt and he flexes inside her. He's flexing, just as she likes. That's what the crop makes him do.
"Yes, Ms. Elena," he corrects his mistake. Oh, that feels good. She snaps the crop against him again, then again, and she's moving him into her, pushing him up inside her and back out slowly while he flexes firm inside her with each lick of the biting crop. His restraints are keeping him from moving his hips, but maybe an inch. In...and...out he goes. Up high to the tip then down. She whips him again, harder this time. As she rises above him she pulls him out of her even slower than before, the rounding tip barely inside her. There's a straining moment of anxiousness while there's no movement.
She lets him go completely and he yells. "No, please. Jesus!"
Elena takes the riding crop and cocks it behind her back and begins to gently tap the leather tip against his tender area beneath him, rhythmic and tormenting.
"Better?" He doesn't answer. "Open your eyes and look at me Mr. Grey. Watch me."
Christians hard grey eyes open and he takes Elena in. She's riding him like a jockey on a racehorse, sliding herself back and forth on his erection, torturing him with the licks of the riding crop.
"Please, Ms. Elena."
"Please, what?"
"Please, fuck me."
"Why."
"Because I want you. Fuck!"
Elena lifts up on her knees above him, holds him up, and slips herself over his erection, sliding him in all the way, starting a new dance that has him feeling sensations rising up everywhere in his body. Her hips flex down and hard against him, then back up. She throws the riding crop down and focuses entirely on pulling him in and out of her, increasing the timing. She groans. Her hand almost lands on his chest, but she finds the bed, pounding on top of him harder, their connection sweet.
Her muscles pull around him and swirl up, deep inside, then swirl back down, clenching him. The rhythm is set and it works. In...and...out, over and over again, until the pressure is too great. She can feel him beginning to growl, now pulse without control.
"Go ahead, Christian. Come inside me. Now!" At the same time, they unravel their muscles together, and the release is pounding, hurling her in and out of him, then finally they both fall. She almost lands into his chest, but remembers, laying halfway across him, the rest of her on the bed. Eventually he slips out without wanting to, and she reaches around to release his hands, crawling down to undo the leather bands around his ankles, kissing them after each release. Those metal clicking sounds, the chains clinking.
Christian frowns. I'm sharing her.