Hello all, thanks everyone, especially AriadneinNaxos, sillie J and Wattle.
Chapter 11
I wake up to the sound of the rain beating on the glass. With a sharp gust of wind, the drops splatter violently on the pane, before returning again to the rhythmic dull smack. I pull the pillow over my head trying to drown out the noisy weather with a groan and a loud 'fuck'. Summertime in Seattle. Idly I wonder what it would be like to relocate to Texas. The big blue skies and burned brown soil of the Lone Star State are starting to sound appealing. Coming around from my sleep, I recall that I have a job in Seattle, where the sun rarely shines and the clouds are fifty shades of grey. Grey. Christian Grey. This pristine creamy coloured pillow isn't mine, and I peek out from under it to see the silver silk tie coiled neatly on the bedside table. Raising up onto my elbows, my sleepy eyes finally focus on the god in the corner.
There he is, in the armchair. His right leg is bent at an angle, ankle resting on his left knee, providing a makeshift workstation for his laptop. The light tapping of the keyboard provides relief to the slapping of the rain. He pauses and looks over. "Good morning, Anastasia." He's dressed in a white t-shirt, indigo jeans and looking at those bare feet with toes casually wiggling, I think I might be adding foot worship to my list of kinks.
I wriggle up in to a sitting position, pulling the comforter up to give me some modesty. Any semblance of modesty I felt flies out the rainy window and does a belly flop in the puddle-filled street below, when I see the small red-brown spots on the bed. O-kay, so I didn't bleed like a virgin from a Regency novel, but there it is anyway, in all its glory.
"Hi." Well, I don't have any frame of reference here. What do you say to the man who took your virginity the night before, during a light BDSM session involving domination and bondage? Last night was amazing for me. Given how content I feel this morning, I am so glad that I didn't casually fuck some guy in college to rid myself of my v-status. Yes, he seemed angry at first, but we communicated. He accepted the gift I offered. We did something I can never do again. I felt nervous but safe, comfortable but on edge, used but cherished. Even without the domination, we shared something that was beautiful and tender. Kate has spoken often of the disappointment of her first time, the drunken fingering and fuck of her prom night. After one too many mojitos in our junior year, Jose also finally confessed his embarrassment at his first time, although he said that ten seconds from penetration to orgasm barely counts as an event.
When he doesn't respond to my 'Hi' I wonder if he is disappointed in me. My heart sinks at the thought that he might not want to see me now again, that I was not a good submissive. I know I have signed an NDA about life in GEH, which naturally extends to our activities last night. I wouldn't be sharing the details with the world, NDA or not. It flies through my head for a second that he could tell everyone about me. But why would he? I trusted him to dominate me in a scene (was it a scene? Can I ask him that?). I trusted him to lead and guide me, and give me two amazing orgasms that were not courtesy of my own nimble fingers. He trusted me not to freak out and cry abuse. I finally hear his voice, clearing the fog of my anxious thoughts.
"Anastasia, I said, it's 'Hi Mr Grey'." There is the trace of amusement.
I can't help but grin. There he is again, Mr Dom. "Hi, Mr Grey."
My stomach rumbles loudly and I hope that he didn't hear that. He closes the laptop over and sits on the bed beside me. He smirks at my answer. "Good girl." and he pats my head. Giggling, I catch his eye. I should feel annoyed by him patting my head, but rather I enjoy the enjoy the small gesture.
"Am I?"
"Oh, yes, a very good girl."
He circles the dried marks on the very expensive linen, and rather than being repulsed, looks like the cat that got the cream. "I shall take that to the washer so that Mrs Jones doesn't have to take care of it." At my confusion he continues, "Remember, my housekeeper who made a lovely dinner that we didn't get to enjoy." I'd bet money that he has no idea what a washer looks like, but I don't really want to start a discussion on blood stains.
He takes my hand and kisses the back of it. "Thank you Anastasia. You gave me an truly unique not-quite-vanilla experience last night."
Well what can I say? "Um, I really enjoyed it too, and I'm sorry I fell asleep…" I felt so special last night, as he washed me, lulling me into a relaxed, blissful sleep.
He places a finger on my lip. "No, you will not apologise." He stands up, and goes into the bathroom, returning with a fluffy white robe. He holds the open dressing gown. "Stand up." As I slip my arms into the luxurious pile, I can't help but sigh when the soft fabric skims over my skin. This is a million miles away from my now-threadbare one at home, more pulls, snags and bald patches than robe.
I go to tie the sash, but I hear a soft tut-tut from behind me, before he turns me around by my shoulders. He takes the tie, and with a smirk, knots it firmly. "There. Mine."
I go to walk to the shower, but he is still holding the towelling belt, stopping me from taking more than one step. "Um, Christi…, I mean, Mr Grey. I need a shower."
"You MAY have a shower, after breakfast." Leading me from the bedroom by my dressing gown tether, "I like the idea of you being naked and me fully dressed. Unfortunately, in the meantime, until the contract is signed, nearly naked will have to do."
A contract! Well, okay, there was the GEH employment contract and the NDA contract. " Is that what were you working on, Mr Grey?" His lips twitch in acknowledgement. "Can I see it?"
"No, Anastasia, you MAY not, yet." I roll my eyes as his correction of my English.
"Why not?" I'm curious.
"Anastasia, we might not have signed a contract yet, but I still expect you to be respectful." I feel suitably chastised by the change in tone. I want him to be happy with me.
"Sorry, Mr Grey." He gives me a light swat on my behind; I barely feel it through the thick robe but I understand the sentiment behind it.
Out in the kitchen, there is a blonde-haired woman lifting some bread rolls from the oven. The smell is heavenly. Christian directs me to a stool and I hop up. Breakfast. This must be Mrs Jones, and she has laid out some cold meats and cheese, yoghurt and fruit, followed now by the cinnamon rolls and warm croissants from the oven. The table is laid out perfectly, a reflection of the pride in her own appearance; blonde hair in a chignon, modestly dressed in a knee length skirt and blouse, although at the minute it's covered by a plain chef's apron. She must be six inches taller than me, but carries her height with grace. I am in awe, and wonder what Christian Grey sees in a homunculus like me.
"I didn't know what you wanted, but I am sure you will find something here." Christian pours some tea from the Denby pot in the centre of the table. The liquid is a pale amber; he remembered I like my tea weak, bag out.
"Oh yes, Mr Grey, this looks amazing." My mouth is watering, and I think I want a bit of everything.
"Thank you Mrs Jones." Christian addresses the blonde woman who beams at him with a motherly smile, but she can't be more than five years older than he is. He makes the introductions between us, and we shake hands. I can't help but wonder if she has laid out breakfast like this for many women, especially given how discreetly she left.
My stomach grumbles and I realise how hungry I am. He cuts a croissant open and I fill it with cheese and ham. It tastes heavenly. "Good. I like to see people eat." I want to answer him, but my mouth is full of warm buttery croissant, salted ham and melty cheese. I could eat this every day.
"Anastasia, you asked earlier about the contract. As I have already explained, not everyone uses a contract, but I prefer them. When I have finished drafting it, I shall give you a copy. I advise you to go through it thoroughly in your own time. And then we can negotiate the finer points."
"So I get to negotiate?" I smirk, but it is soon wiped off my face with a steely glare.
"I am a Dominant, Anastasia. Not an abusive asshole. Of course it has to be negotiated. These relationships, may not always have the traits of a traditional one, but nonetheless, they are consensual."
The mantra - Safe, Sane and Consensual. I chose to submit to him last night, and I enjoyed it. He chose to dominate me and, well, judging by the size of that erection of his, he enjoyed it too.
"When we are finished eating, we shall visit my playroom. There are items in there that will be listed on the contract. From your reading and previous research, you may be familiar with them." He bounced his eyebrows. "Feel free to ask any questions, as consent and safety is paramount." His tone is clipped and business like, but it softens as he brushes a crumb from my lip, and offers it to me on his finger. I lick up the delicious flake of pastry. "Relax, Anastasia. This will be good. I am honoured to be your guide."
We go up a flight of stairs to a small landing and a single door. He turns the key in the lock and, his hand to the small of my back, I enter just ahead of him. As I try to adjust my eyes to the light, he says, "Anastasia, this is my playroom, and I hope it will be our playroom. For today I would like you to touch anything you please and I encourage you to ask questions. As I have said, you may have seen or read about some of these items, but reading, and feeling are two very different things."
Honestly, I am overwhelmed. Yes, I'd read about playrooms, but I didn't think anyone really had them, except maybe the super rich. D'oh. He is super rich. It is painted in a deep red colour, with dark brown flooring. There is a dark-wood four poster bed, but this one has the traditional heavy brocade curtains, currently held back with matching red swags. The other few items of furniture also seem to be in mahogany, and I am a bit disapproving of this. There's being super rich, and there's being respectful of the environment.
"Is this South American hardwood, Christi… I mean Mr Grey?"
"Indonesian actually. The bed is made from timbers reclaimed from a country church in France." Looking at it closer, I see the joins between the wood grain. I know nothing about carpentry, but these pieces look amazing. "Would you rather that the wood was just thrown out to rot, or that it was re-used? I'm sure the latter meets with any green credentials that you may have.
Over at the chest of drawers, I open up the first and a pick up a crop. It's made of black plaited leather, with a wrist loop at one end and a sort-of triangular flap at the other. It gives a satisfying whoosh when I cut through the air, although I jump when it smacks off the open drawer.
The next thing I pick up is a thing that looks like a very short fat belt. "That's a tawse." I hear Christian behind me. It looks a little bit intimidating, as I visualise the supple leather landing down on my ass.
In the second drawer there are a variety of whips and flogs, some of them look almost like they would tickle, others would not.
"Do you use all these?" I'm trying to be serious and mature, but instead I'm a bizarre mix of terrified and horny. The idea of all these implements is erotic, the actual use of these may not be.
"Yes, Anastasia, I have used them all in the past." He picks up the flogger and runs his fingers through the strands. "Sometimes it is for pleasure and pain, sometimes for punishment and pain." He holds out my hand and drags the fronds lightly across it and I shiver.
"Are you going to punish me?"
"Yes, when you deserve it." When I deserve it. I better make sure I research this contract well.
"And pleasure?" I can't imagine pain being pleasure. I know in my stories I have written of spankings and punishments but in my stories, there is no real pain. Just like no toilet breaks or cramps or tangled hair.
"Yes, for pleasure too, but as I have said, it will be part of your training."
In the third drawer there are a variety of leather and metal cuffs. Some are joined by a small chain, others are individual, with an embedded loop, presumably for attaching to another object. I pick up a slightly bigger leather cuff, but it's not a cuff, it's a collar. I hold it to my neck, and inhale the deep leather scent.
"Do you like that piece, Anastasia?"
"Yes, very much." I blush when he chuckles.
"Well, that collar is for play, so perhaps if you are a good girl, you will be rewarded." And with that I feel my own juices saturating the tops of my thighs. I can barely concentrate on the rest of the tour.
The shower was heaven, the water pressure set to rainfall, quite ironic really when I despaired at the weather that woke me up earlier. I start humming to myself. I have absolutely no voice for singing, but it never annoyed Kate and Jose, and we'd often play our own twisted version of American Idol, with marks for flat notes, clichéd songs and back stories, complete with sniffles, tears and snot. 'This one is dedicated to my grandma's little dog - he missed breakfast on Monday and, and, I don't think he's gonna make it'. I recall one weekend where we had to issue a ban on 'Jesus take the wheel', so that's what I go for today. My minor country rebellion.
I wipe the soap out of my eyes and through the veiny glass see Christian sitting on the toilet seat, curling an index finger around his chin.
"Sploooorrry!" I splutter, turning the shower off. "I didn't realise I had an audience." It's one thing giving your virginity to a sex god Dominant, but tone-deaf shower singing is altogether more personal. He opens the door of the cubicle and swathes me in a giant bath sheet.
"It's quite all right, Anastasia." He starts to pat me dry, caressing me with the soft towel. I stand obediently still, enjoying his care. If this is part of life as a sub, I could get used to this. I feel like a doll, a prized possession. "Your singing is truly - unique, but exuberant." He pauses for a beat. "I'm glad that you have not run out the door." I shake my head. I'm intrigued and excited as to where this is going to lead me.
When I'm dressed and it's time to go home, we descend into the garage via the private elevator. It seems faintly ridiculous, but then I'm not in his position, and I'm not a public person who needs privacy. Taylor is already behind the wheel, engine idling. I go to put on my seatbelt, but Christian pulls it across my lap instead, grinning with the 'click'. I'm wondering if he is thinking the same thing as I am - the 'click' of a lock?
The roads are fairly quiet on the short journey back to my apartment. I never minded Sundays. I wasn't part of the church-going crowd, and as Claytons was closed on that day, Kate and I used the time to catch up on housework, study and WSU gossip. That was when we were students. Things are changing now. She is loved-up with Elliot Grey, Christian's older brother, and I am… I'm not sure what I am. I decide that I am finding myself, and what better way than with a gorgeous Dom like Christian Grey.
When we pull up outside the condo, Christian glares out the window. I follow his gaze to my beloved beetle, Wanda. "Anastasia, why are you still driving that death-trap? You were given a car with your new contract at GEH" Was I? A car? What kind of contract supplies cars for interns? He flicks out his blackberry and starts stabbing the keypad with the stylus. "Anastasia, I believed that we have already discussed the importance of reading contracts." Oh, yes, I remember that lecture. If I recall correctly it involved me having to read out one of my sexual fantasises to him, and being presented with a further NDA. He continues in his CEO clipped tone, the timbre brooking no insolence, "Why did you not open the email from Ros?" I glance toward Taylor in the front, hoping to catch a sympathetic eye in the rear-view mirror, but he is staring straight out the window. Of course. He has probably heard all this before, and I do my best not to feel like I am just another number.
"Um..I'm sorry Mr Grey." I want to smack myself on the forehead. Of course this control-freak CEO can see my emails. "I didn't know I had to open it within a time frame. With the excitement of the new job, I kind of got distracted."
"You got distracted?" He sighs theatrically and starts tapping again. "Well, Anastasia, it looks like our contract is going to require some additional items. Your inability to keep a reasonable level concentration will have to be revisited."
"Are you going to punish me for that?" Now that I've seen the array of spanking implements at his disposal, I'm not sure I could handle the pain.
He drops the blackberry into his lap, cupping my face in his hands. "Not until we have a signed agreement Anastasia, but I do have expectations from you, and yes, you will be punished when you make an infraction." Our eyes meet and I'm lost again. "I want to train you to be the best that you can be, but the punishment will fit the crime."
When we get into the apartment there is a note from Kate on the fridge, held in place by a hideous Kate'n'El magnet. Their faces are enshrined in a sparkly pink heart. I don't even want to think where she went to find such a, - quirky - piece. Christian reads out the message.
'Gone to Bellevue, BanAna!
Sunday lunch with the parents *squeeeeall*
Hope you had a great night with CG
Laters'
He rubs the point between his eyebrows. "*squeeeall*? I think that woman might give me a tension headache."
"Yeah, well that woman would give me a headache too." I point to the gaudy fridge magnet. "What has your brother done to my best friend?" Kate doesn't do lunch with a boyfriend's parents. Actually, Kate doesn't do boyfriends. Mr and Mrs Grey can expect a grilling from Kate Kavanagh, and in some ways that would actually be funny to see.
"Believe me Anastasia, whilst Elliot is a nosey bastard about my private life, I want to know nothing about his."
He looks around our small but airy Pike District apartment. "Anastasia, I would like to see your room." It's asked as a question, but there is nothing about it that will permit a refusal without good reason.
My living space is so different to his, but I'm not ashamed of it. He steps into my small room, with its voile curtains, iron-framed bed and traditional school desk. He doesn't know how these everyday items have featured in my fantasies. The bright space is a million miles from the playroom. He runs his fingers along the white painted bars of my bedstead, and gives me a knowing grin. I give him a quick smile back. If only he knew what stories I have written, perched there atop my favourite blue patchwork quilt.
Speaking of stories, he picks up my laptop from the bedside table. "Have you taken my instruction about the safe stick, Anastasia?" Oh yes, the safe stick, the memory storage that ensures encryption of my work. I learned my lesson that day, on the importance of security. I confirm that I have.
"Good, girl, Anastasia. Perhaps some time I will have you read some more."
Fuck, I'm wet again. That silky voice makes me want to rip my clothes off and kneel at his feet. "Is that an order, Mr Grey?"
"It will be, Anastasia."
He turns to head out the door. "Well, now that I have got you safely home, I will be on my way." Rat fart. He's leaving.
"Don't I get a good bye kiss, Mr Grey?" I bite down on my lip, and look up from beneath my eyelashes. I'm not sure if I look deranged. I'm aiming for cute.
"Fuck the paperwork." He prowls over to me, and I take a step backward, and fall onto the bed. In one move he takes both my wrists above my head with one hand, and drags his thumb across my lip with the other.
"Do not bite that lip, Anastasia." he pauses for a moment before giving me a long owning, penetrating, possessive kiss. He nips my lip with his own teeth. "Mine." he growls.
"Yes, yours."