Hello all, thanks for reading, and thank you so much, AriadneinNaxos and Wattle. Also, if you are looking for a new fun read, please try Iron and Steele by AgnesDarling :)
Chapter 10
He's looking at me like I'm some sort of bug that he can't decide whether to poke or stomp upon. I didn't realise that I had to have a giant 'V' imprinted onto my head. 'Come one, come all, come see the twenty one year old virgin. Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, say goodbye to the Virgin as she joins the travelling freak show.'
"What do you mean you are a virgin?" He starts to pace the length of his lounge. "But what you had written…fuck Ana, is that what goes on in your HEAD? That's not experience?" He runs his fingers through his thick hair as he spins to face me. "Fuck. I have had you sign an NDA. I thought we had got each other's vibe." He's going to wear a hole in his very expensive hand-tufted Persian rug. I hear him mutter to himself, "Jesus, how did I get it so wrong? Elena will revel in this." He tosses his suit jacket to the floor and I see his tie poking out from his pocket. He must have been out at some business thing before our 'date'. More fool me. I am probably the 'business thing'.
How did he get it wrong. Yeah, you and me both, Grey. I'm too stunned to speak. And who is Elena? Some ex-sub I presume. Either that or she's another identikit Andrea PA.
My stories were always my private fantasies. When I first set eyes on Christian Grey, he was everything my imagination had created. I had never shared my innermost thoughts with anyone before, and to be quite honest I hadn't factored that, one day I might have to share them, into the equation. I had never met a guy I liked, with whom I felt that I made a connection. It was a very different confusing emotion for me, and I had genuinely thought that he had found me attractive too.
It was definitely hot when he found my laptop and read my story aloud, I felt mortified, vulnerable, and curiously sexy and desired. When he asked me, or rather CEO demanded, that I meet him for dinner, I fooled myself into believing he liked me too. Now he's just come out and told me he is a real-life Dominant, I don't know what to do.
He is so matter-of-fact about 'playing', ie, BDSM. I can write about, bondage, spankings, canings and submission and masturbate until my clit can't take any more. That's different. I came here fully expecting to lose my v-card, but I can't just jump into kinky sex with some guy I've barely met, never mind dated. The guy has just announced that he has a playroom and my mind boggles. I have only seen pictures, and I'm curious as to the reality.
He seems to calm down and pulls me down onto the sofa, entwining his fingers with mine. "Anastasia. Stop and think, but don't over think this."
"Mr Grey, I… I am sorry…" Our fingers hold firm, even as I try to pull away.
"No, Anastasia, I am sorry. When I read your most recent, ahem, interpretation of our last meeting, I had believed that it had consolidated my opinion of you, that you were a natural submissive." His eyes give a twinkle, "And for purposes of this conversation, perhaps you should call me Christian."
"I don't know if I am or not … Christian." Am I submissive? Just like in novels, I don't believe for one second that every woman comes the first time she has sex, or that every man has a 10 inch dick, is my imagination just that - a fantasy world that I have created?
Unlocking our fingers, he cups my face in his hands, forcing me to look at him again. "Ana, I believe that you are. It is a complex lifestyle, but very rewarding for consensual participants."
"Why me? How did you see it in me? I thought you… liked me." I jump off the sofa and rub my temples. What a fool I have been.
His voice is firm, cutting through my random thoughts. "Anastasia, sit down, please." It is an order not a request, and I comply. Strangely, I am happy to do so. My mind is running away with me and I need some direction. "Firstly, why you? Why not you? You are a beautiful young woman," he curls a finger under my chin forcing me to raise my face towards him. "Secondly, what I see in you is a naturally submissive woman, who, I will be honest, I believed had been owned by a less-than-adequate Dom." He raised an eyebrow, "Your behaviour with your cell phone and getting drunk was classic behaviour of a young sub testing her Dom. I was so enthralled with you, that I didn't think it was just the careless actions of a technology-dependent college student." He paused, "Which brings me to your last statement. I do like you Anastasia. Since you first fell into my office I have wanted you. I shall skip telling you exactly how I wanted you, in case you run out the door and I never see you again." My stomach does somersaults, my mouth is dry, and my pussy is wet.
"But BDSM relationships are just about sex, aren't they?"
He chuckled, "Some are, yes, but a good Dominant takes his responsibility to his submissive seriously. She might be there to use and abuse, as you have so eloquently written, but she is also there to care for and cherish. Just like in 'vanilla' relationships, some couples make more of a connection than others. I might not have been in love with all my previous submissives, but I was fond of them."
I think I have learned more in the past three minutes than in the past three years.
"Can I ask you something?" I cannot believe I am having this conversation. It seems so, mundane, a dichotomy to how hot my own writings had made me.
"Communication is key. Ask me anything. Within the BDSM community, we might 'play', but it is too trusting and sophisticated a lifestyle to play games, like immature teenagers."
"How many submissives have you had?" There, I said it. The elephant in the room trumpets around my ears. My sexual history has been greeted with a stunned 'fuck', but what about his?
"I have had fifteen submissives, Anastasia."
Holy crap. Fifteen. He has slept with more women than guys I have even hugged. How can I even measure up to that? I know nothing. Nothing.
"Why did you break up with them?" I have to know. I really like this guy, but I can't be number sixteen. I visualise my personnel file, some leather clad Domme dismissively flicking through my records. 'Ah yes, Miss Ana Steele. A dusty 21 year old virgin. Writes smut for her own pleasure, doesn't play well with others.' I absently pick and start to chew on a fingernail.
"Generally we weren't compatible, or we agreed to go our separate ways at the end of the contract." He guides my hand back from my mouth onto my lap. "Don't bite your pretty nails."
"Contracts are real?" I can barely keep the squeak out of my voice. "I'm sorry, Christian, there's just so much I don't know. Fuck. I'm so sorry."
He takes both my hands again, and caresses my wrists. I can't help but wonder what it would really like to be bound and at his mercy.
"Some people use them, Ana. A contract, just like in the business world, details the expectations required of both parties. In addition, a contract signed by consenting adults can give some reassurance, should a sub or a Dom feel embarrassment or remorse for their actions." He continues his gentle circling of my now tingling skin. "For me, personally, a contract is crucial. It is how I operate in my day-to-day life, and I need the security and privacy they can provide." I must have looked horrified, as he seemed to read my mind, "And privacy for my submissive, as well. Her private life should not be public knowledge."
There is, what seems like a long pause as I take in what he has just said.
"You want me to be your submissive, with a contract?"
He sighs heavily. "Originally, I did, but now that I'm aware you know so little about the lifestyle, I have a different suggestion for you." If his suggestion is that I give up my writing and meet some nice guy in the suburbs, I think I will smack him. Dom or no Dom.
"I would like to train you as my submissive, Anastasia. It would give me great pleasure to lead you through this lifestyle. You are a natural but your sensuality and sexuality needs to be harnessed." He splits a grin as wide as Puget Sound. "You and I could be so good together." He presses his forehead to mine, and I inhale the sweet clean scent of his cologne, a contradiction to the dirty thoughts that flood my mind. Was he being figurative, or would he literally harness me, and use my helpless and naked body?
"Yes." I'm barely audible.
"Open your eyes Anastasia." I believe he has just issued the first order, and I obey. My mouth curves up in a gentle smirk. I liked that. "Look at me. We will take this slow, and we will skip the playroom for tonight." He tucks a strand of my crazy hair behind my ear. "I'd like to make your first time special for you. We can make it vanilla, if that's what you would prefer."
Vanilla sex. Standard normal run-of-the-mill sex. Intercourse. Coitus. Perfunctory. Boring. The thought of it leaves me cold, but when I behold the Adonis in front of me again, I soon thaw. "I'd like to try … not-vanilla."
He can barely keep his lips from twitching to a smirk, "You want to be with me, and not-vanilla?"
"Uh huh." I can hardly look at him. "But I don't want to disappoint you."
Linking his hand in mine, "You could never disappoint me, Anastasia."
We stand up, and I follow him towards a door. "Anastasia, before we go in here, I need to know if you have a safe word. You know what that is, don't you?"
"Pemberley." The name of Mr Darcy's estate in Pride and Prejudice.
"That's original, Anastasia, and very, you. I hope that you will not need to use it tonight." His eyes darken, charcoal black. "When we enter here, you will do as I say, you will only speak when you are addressed. You will address me only as 'Sir'. I will not punish you tonight, Anastasia, but you understand that you are agreeing to submit to me, and as such I expect correct behaviour." His other hand is on the door handle. "Do you agree, Anastasia? "
"Yes, Sir, I agree." His overuse of my name is already dominating me, giving me a hyper-awareness of myself, making me really consider who I am.
The door opens into a bedroom. It's as big as my apartment, with amazing floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out over the Seattle skyline. The walls are painted a soft cream, the floors are cherry wood, as is the shaker-style dresser, bedside table and chair. If money was no option for me, this is exactly what I would have in my own place. The huge bed has a four poster frame, which ignites my imagination, and is very simply made up with four pillows and a cream duvet.
"This would be your room." My own room? I give him a quizzical look, and he clarifies "I do not sleep in the same bed as my submissive."
We are standing in the middle of the room, the huge rug below our feet must have cost more than a semester's tuition. "Are you ready Anastasia?"
I swallow nervously. "Yes, I am." He stares at me, and I correct myself. "Yes, Sir, I am." I'm rewarded with a smile.
He instructs me to kneel on the floor, and the wool rug feels deliciously decadent beneath my knees. He plaits my hair into a single braid, and I feel him wrapping it around his hand.
"Tonight Anastasia Steele, I will make you mine. You will give me the gift of your virginity, which I accept with pride." first forcing my head back, looking at him upside down, hereleases my braid, he orders me to stand.
With one fluid motion, he lifts my dress by the hem and effortlessly pulls it over my head. I am standing in my underwear , black bra, panties and garter belt, holding up my nude stockings. It's a personal choice of mine. I'm so pale, the idea of baring my milk-bottle legs to the world would be a crime, and fake tan makes me look like a barbequed Barbie doll, and I cannot see Sir as Ken. Normally it makes me feel more confident and secure in my dress sense but without a, well, dress, I feel naked. I am naked! Unsure what to do with my hands, I cover my stomach in some kind of bizarre belly modesty.
"Oh, no Anastasia, do not spoil my view." He takes my hands and guides them to the back of my head, and I automatically link them. This makes me feel really vulnerable but has the converse effect of making me stand up straight, bum in, breasts out. He isn't satisfied, as he puts a finger under my chin so that I'm not bowing my head.
"Now, Anastasia, lower your eyes. Yes, excellent, good girl. You will hold that position." He didn't ask me a question, so I don't answer. I am conscious of him circling around me, but I don't move from my submissive gaze. "Nice, very nice." I hear his appreciative murmurs. He runs his hand over my bottom and I flinch. His hand is cool, but not cold, and his touch surprised me. He gives a little tut-tut and chides me about learning to keep still.
Now that his hands have made contact with me, I am expecting his touch and my skin tingles in anticipation. He strokes and smooths his hands over my body, caressing my curves. He is teasing me, testing me, evaluating me as a new piece of property. In effect this is what I am hoping for, and I inwardly plead that I am up to his expectations. With that thought I tremble again, and I feel my own arousal soaking my panties. He unhooks my strapless bra, and teases my nipples, circling them with his thumb before casually flicking them, and it doesn't take much for them to become pebble hard. I am so turned on, and, trying to keep my concentration, I end up biting my lip.
"Don't do that." he growls, and slowly traces his finger across my lip, and I release it from the bite. He moves in so tantalisingly close to me, "Mmmmm, so kissable," his breath is warm on my mouth, but he moves away. Easing my panties down, I step out of them. My arms are aching from the unfamiliar position, but not so much that I want to safe word. This is my first time, and I am enjoying the attention. This time, he drags his finger across my pussy lips. "Mmmmm, so wet. So fuckable."
From my lowered gaze I am stunned when I see him pick up my panties, bunch them to his nose and inhale deeply. "These are very wet, Anastasia. Do I make you wet?"
"Yes, Sir, you do." He pushes the balled panties against my own face.
"Breathe in, Anastasia. Savour the scent of your arousal. This will be for me, and only me."
Finally, he gently takes hold of my wrists, and guides my aching arms down to my sides. I tingle when I feel his lips against the shell of my ear "Good girl. You are doing well."
"I am going to lick you now. Have you ever surrendered your pussy to another man Anastasia?" When I answer that I have not, he gives a soft moan. Pulling the silver tie from his pocket he takes my wrists and ties them in front of me. I look down at my bound arms. I have never been tied before, not even as a kid playing 'cops and robbers'. This feels strange. I am sure I could wriggle out of it, but I don't want to. I am enjoying being under his control. He sits me on the edge of the bed and pushes me back so that my legs are dangling off the end, and, pushing my legs apart, my pussy is exposed. He kneels before me and I am awash in a sea of emotions as he nips, sucks and licks the length of my wet folds. I try to lift my head, but all I can see is his copper coloured head, buried between my legs.
He must have sensed my movements because he stops and looks up at me. "What are you doing, Anastasia?"
"Sir, I.. I was trying to watch. It felt so good and… I wanted to come."
He pushes one finger, then two into my warm core. I am so close to orgasm. "It's a pity I have agreed not to punish you tonight Anastasia. However, I can, and will, stop now, and give you something to think about." He unties my hands, and pushing me right back onto the bed, effortlessly reties them together, then knotting the silky length to the bed frame. I am on the verge of begging him to finish me off. Once again, he lightly draws his finger over my now needy pussy. "Remember your safe word, Anastasia." He opens the door, and leaving it open, goes to another room, and I hear him padding about the apartment. When he comes back he is wearing a pair of worn, washed-out jeans, and nothing else.
His body is something to behold. If he looked good in his designer gear during the day, he is smoking hot tonight. Sitting on the edge of the bed he starts to languidly finger-fuck me, as I whimper in protest or want, I'm really not sure. He starts to lick and nip gently on my neck and breasts. "You may come freely tonight Anastasia." Come freely? Seriously, how does he think I'm going to control something like that? Surely statements like 'hold your orgasm' are for books, to arouse and excite readers like myself. When his lips reach my bellybutton and hips, and lowers further to suck my tender nub, I finally explode in a blinding multicolour sensation. I am fucking seeing stars. I am nearly crying from the release. "Good girl, Anastasia, you did well." He strokes my cheek and plants a gentle kiss on my forehead. I am vaguely aware of him pulling a condom from his jeans pocket, before he drops his jeans. All fuzziness leaves my brain as I can only eyefuck his giant cock. That cannot be real. If two fingers left me feeling full, then that monster is going to rip me in two.
He rolls the condom over his dick, and watching him, I break his rule. "Sir, I… it's so big!"
With a chuckle he pulls on his cock. "Why thank you Anastasia, now, you will be quiet. Just relax. I will take it slow." He positions himself over me, bracing his body on his elbows. Finally, he kisses me, and it's like I've never been kissed before. There is the faint scent of myself on his lips as he claims me for his. Just as he pushes his tongue into my mouth I feel him push into me, claiming my pussy and my mouth with the same thrust. I respond eagerly to both, and when I feel him breach my v-gate I can't help but give a small cry. "Anastasia, you are so fucking tight, so fucking beautiful, and . Mine." He starts to thrust deeper and harder, and I feel the urgency of his own orgasm building, along with mine, again. It is a completely different sensation to the build I have with masturbation and with a moan and a yell, we come together. He lays on top of me for a second, holding me before releasing my hands and kissing my wrists, the pattern of the tie left behind on them, a temporary tattoo memory of our evening. I go to hug him but he flinches away, and eases off me.
"Oh, no, Anastasia, the submissive does not get to touch her Dom without permission." He pulls the condom off, and knots it before going to the bathroom to dispose of it. I hear water running and his hand agitating, as if making bubbles in a bath. I can't help but laugh and giggle in my post orgasmic haze. This was nothing like the books I've read. This was way better. He comes back in withna basin of water, and sits on the edge of the bed and undoes my plait, spreading my hair over the pillow, stroking it as he does so. My eyes are heavy, and I feel so tired. I feel him take a washcloth and clean my face, body and pussy … mmm, that feels so good.
Tonight, Master Grey, Sir, has made me his. I regret nothing, and I fall asleep.