Greetings readers!
It's been an incredible while since I last wrote a story. When I first read the book series, I understood why Christian's early days with Elena were never explored because of, well, it's illegal and taboo. However, I couldn't help but wonder about the psychology of the relationship and the characters, hence why I decided to explore it. Again, this is the early days of Christian and Elena, and his sexual awakening.
My biggest nightmare as a child was the devil herself, and I called her Mother. I promised I would be nothing like her when I became of age, but I read somewhere that to overcome your nightmare, you have to become it.
And may the person who wrote that burn in hell forevermore.
When I was younger, so naive of the world around me, I told myself not only would be better, but actually make something out of myself. If Mother were still here today, she wouldn't just scorn and yell at the sight of me - she'd just laugh. "Like mother, like daughter," she once said, in her thick European accent.
Mother was a strong woman, undoubtably so. Even after my father died and she remarried the first time, she ordered my stepfather around like the docile puppy he was while she spent all his money with eyes unabated. in the rare moments she gave me any sign of affection, I remember most vividly that she made me promise to never bow down to a man. "You have a soul of steel, my darling. Never let a man suppress the power you can wield, unlike so many women in our family who've been chained to the kitchen and the bed."
It took me decades to realize that I finally understood her. Not what she said, but for what she stood for.
Growing up, I was confused on why she kept changing. Sometimes, she acted so sweetly and kind to some of my many stepfathers. To other stepfathers, she was the greatest bitch imaginable, even towards me. But it wasn't just her personality, but her appearance. Other mothers would begin to develop white hairs from the stressful lifestyle of a dotting parent, or wrinkle lines from too many smiles and laughs. My mother did no such thing - her eyebrows became more sharper and arced, stomach became flatter, breasts becoming more bigger, hair more blonder. I once asked her why she kept changing herself. "It's beauty, my little one. Don't you think Mama's beautiful?" And I answered her yes. Two minutes later, after I accidentally knocked her makeup kit on the floor, she called me the ugliest brat she's even seen and ordered me to clean up like the girl I was meant to be.
My mother may have been a stone-cold bitch, but she wasn't stupid in the slightest. She knew the secrets to survive as a woman in this reality.
Now here I am, her standing legacy, the mistress of my self-made universe. Sure, I may have took a leaf out of my mother's book to capture and ensnare a fool of a man of my own into marriage. Maybe I was once grateful to him, but never did I dare to love him even if I could - for Mother always knew best. With the money and the status to secure my place into a world of clay to build to my liking, the path to pleasure untamed and live a life as bad as I want to could have not been any clearer.
Until the day the boy tore into my life, enticing me to follow into a scandal of a journey.
The face that looked back in the mirror showed a perfect display of controlled serenity.
Elena Lincoln picked up the final brush of her immaculately kept cosmetics kit. A dash of pale foundation to compliment her flawless porcelain skin, one last stroke of pure-red lipstick, a quick caress of her platinum-blonde hair cut in a stylish bob. Truthfully, no one would have guessed a woman who looked young and timeless would actually be in her thirties.
She put away her beauty kits back neatly to the sides of her vanity, standing up to take a glance at the organization and sleek no woman's bathroom countertops possessed. She looked up at the woman in the mirror, mimicking her movements as she adjusted her diamond necklace. She slid her hands down her sides to adjust the black, body-hugging Chanel dress that accentuated her hourglass shape and her incredible figure. Her black stockings and the shiny black red-bottom heels gave miles to her shapely legs.
The posture of the woman in the mirror was that of confidence and authority, an aura of dominance. The stature of a woman in charge of her universe.
The makeup did an incredible job of hiding the small forehead creases of worry that retained from the restless night of sleep she had, from the incident yesterday.
Elena prided herself at always keeping control at all times, until a dangerous mixture of anger and lust drove her to possibly making a mistake that could prove fatal. She had just meant to reward the boy with a glass of lemonade after a hard day of labor, but that quickly switched to a scolding - primarily for almost ruining her favorite hyacinth bed in the backyard, and for two, out of the pity she felt for her friend Grace. Their weekly gals' day over at their favorite tea shop had soured to weekly therapy sessions where Grace would wallow in the delinquency her second-oldest teenage son was committing, with Elena begrudgingly having to console her while thinking of excuses to cut their time together short.
Personally, Elena thought Grace and Carrick needed to toughen up. Their other son Elliot was a wild card as well, but not as concerning as Christian's. Those boys needed discipline, firmness, direction. If Grace couldn't step up to the plate, Elena would be happy to pitch.
That was the fleeting thought she had when her hand struck his cheek. Unfortunately, she had thought too much of the recklessness and the irresponsibility the boy possessed - he couldn't mow her damn lawn in a straight line and all the hard work she did in paying for the gardeners for a beautiful garden had gone to waste. He desperately needed more than a little slap or spank. Hell, if he was hers, he'd spent a night strapped in the postings of the bed of her secret playroom crying from the pain of the lashings and spanks she'd deliver, the beautiful red marks adorning his muscular physique-
She stopped the fantasy in her tracks, reminding herself this boy was off-limits for a number of reasons. But still her mind unwittingly flashed with the images of when he labored outside. The sweatiness of his body under the summer heat, the brooding looks he'd give, the accentuation of his sharp face when he gritted his jaw. Or when he eventually took off his shirt - the flexing of his back muscles, the tightening of his arms, biceps, and shoulders, the stretching of his abs when he breathed. To tell the truth, she had no idea Christian was that well-built and well-toned for a boy of fifteen - his pale skin reminded him of the unmarked backs of her submissives before she broke them in for the first time. The cherry on top of the whipped cream was the look he had after she had slapped him - when the attitude and cockiness that held his face broke part, and when his eyes flashed to her in a moment of raw shock. She hadn't looked, but did she daresay saw for a fleeting microsecond the tent-like shape of being aroused in his pants? What she wouldn't do to have the boy quiver under her-
She shook her head, silently cursing at herself for foolishly thinking like a horny schoolgirl. It had been too long since she last had a submissive, or had a session over at the club - with the stress she has been under lately, she needed a release. She had slapped and kissed the son of her closest friends - younger than the college-age submissives she'd usually go for - and here she was planning all the things she would do to him as if there wasn't a way vise-verse where he could ruin her. The boy presumably had many secrets he held from his parents, so perhaps he wouldn't tell Grace or Carrick about Elena's strike? And if so, what are the chances they'd believe him? He had the proof on his face, but yet held no credibility to her favor.
The doorbell ringed at that point, that annoying chime causing her train of thoughts to crash. Although there was a small, practically nonexistent sense of gratitude to be distracted, she was still nonetheless annoyed.
She walked briskly into the front door, making out a human shape also in black through the elaborate stained-glass window in the front door. She remembered she usually looked through the peephole when answering, but that notion died when she opened the door.
Grey eyes popped up to meet her pale blue ones.
Christian Grey stood in front of hers, hands digging in the pockets of his ripped jeans with uncertainty, t-shirt clinging to his chest. He looked flush, a delicious blush to his cheeks and nose not unlike the red that blossomed when she hit him. He breathed quickly - a pant almost, as if he had run to her. In fact, this was perhaps the first time in years she had seen him without his signature scowl. In its place was a lost, doe-eyed look that screamed an exquisite vulnerability, until his eyes went south to the cleavage she ported in her little number.
He looked as if he had meant to say something first, but when he stayed silent Elena spoke, knowing her next actions were critical to containing this unfortunate mess and reclaiming control.
"Come in," Elena said, gesturing for the boy to come inside.
Christian blinked and looked at her outstretched hand and walked inside. She closed the door behind him, and breathed to remind herself to take back the power.
She followed him to the grand foyer, where he stood, unsure of which direction to take. He looked back at her, where Mrs. Lincoln walked past him without a sideways glance and pressed on to the white couches of the living room. Christian walked faster to keep up the pace, eventually ending up almost behind her until she sat down to drape herself across the end of the loveseat. Having walked past the sole chairs a distance away, he had to sit in the other end.
The two regarded one another for a moment or two, before Elena spoke.
"I suppose you're owed a thorough explanation of my behavior yesterday," she began, but still maintained the strength to look at him in the eyes. Elena Lincoln will not be caught dead feeling ashamed of herself, ever.
The bastard nodded slightly, even though she forcibly knew she was in the wrong. The blank look on his face made her want to slap him again.
"I should have never laid a single touch on you, Christian. I am deeply sorry. It's been a tiring few months for me," which was true - she needed to schedule a session after the conclusion of this - "and I took out my ... frustration on you in a way that was completely acceptable. I am not sure if your told your parents-"
"I haven't," he interjected, which struck a nerve with her. How dare this insolent boy interrupt an already humiliating display?
"Look, I know when to punch a wall when I need to. I've hit my share of fuckers-"
"Language," she ordered. Elena liked how this discussion began to take a turn, especially where she could command. Either how, it was her house and she will have respect.
"Sorry, Mrs. Lincoln- uh, ma'am," he begrudgingly relented. Perhaps Grace and Carrick's to teach this boy mannerisms did create a foundation. "But I don't come here for the sorry. Um," he cursed under his breath, "honestly I don't even know why I came."
She was no damn psychologist, but knew Christian was mentally retreating. He wouldn't run cross-country to her house to simply stutter and awkwardly act. He came for something, and it was no damn sorries. Elena refused to jump to conclusions given the delicacy of the matter, but she had learned long ago her instinct never lies. But to confirm her suspicions, she needed to probe, then press with the most extreme of gentleness.
"You came for something, Christian," she began, her words chosen carefully. "I have expressed my pardon, but it seems you didn't come here for apologies, but answers. You aren't heavily upset or angry, which I appreciate, but you seem a bit twitchy, darling. The real reason you are here is because you have something to say to me, not the other way around. I am all ears, Christian." If he truly thought out what he wanted, all Christian needed was to use his words.
The thumping noise his shoe made with the rug was more audible. She didn't need her gut to know any reasonable person would need an incredible strength of inhuman proportions to admit something they didn't want to hear with their own ears, but he knew what he wanted to say, and she had a feeling she knew as well. But it'll take more pressing to get it out of him before the matter can be closed.
"Christian, sweetie, my gut is telling me you want to say something about why I hit you, kissed you," his eyes, which for the most part stared ahead, jumped to her direction, "did you came here to tell me what I did was wrong, that you didn't like it?"
He stayed silent, which further corroborated her suspicions. The reasonable, logical part of her mind warned her she was crossing into dangerous waters, but it was also assembling the pieces of the puzzle. She knew she couldn't take her next words back, but way before this point she hit two and two together. The boy was unable to say it for fear of what a reasonable, normal woman would react. But Elena was far from a woeful elementary example of a normal woman - if he couldn't bring himself to voice his thoughts, she'll do it for him.
"Christian," Elena said carefully, "did you ... did you like when I kissed you?" She made sure her face was a perfect poker expression. Christian turned to look at her, eyes surprised by the question. "You can answer the question, dear."
Christian looked nervous to respond, eye the shape of a dear caught close to roadkill. His lips twitched, trying to contain the hard, ruthless truth of what he wanted. He just needed a final push - one of validation. And so, with the confidence only no other woman like her could have, she walked off the plank.
"Christian, it's alright to say yes." His eyebrows clenched in confusion, eyes analyzing for a trap. Elena knew this boy was impulsive, but he was also guarded. "I liked it too."
He stared at her for a pregnant pause, until his lips shaped the veracity of his soul in the moment.
"I did - I liked it a lot."
And with that answer, the answer to this whole predicament, her pent-up frustrations and yearning, and his rash and miscreant ways lay dead ahead. They both needed a release, her for control, him for discipline. He needed to be taught true control and true reform desperately, which her lifestyle perfectly provided. It was mutually beneficial - not just for both of them. Hell, Elena would be doing Grace and Carrick, the entire world a favor in reforming a would-be hooligan and molding an ideal boy, a true man. She'd be his mentor, and he'll be her perfect pet. New, pure, naïve, ripe to mold to her exact needs.
But realistically, she must introduce him to the life slowly to avoid scaring him, and the difficulty is he'll have to consent at every step as the immersion proceeds deeper and she exposes him to her preferred methods and preferences. The journey will be tedious, but the rewards in between would be profitable and the endgame, too good to savor.
"Christian," she said slowly, but with a seductive tone, "there is no shame in liking it. You are a growing boy, I know you must feel... confused, curious, perhaps a little ... misguided?" She scooted closer to him, while forming a straighter stature now, emphasizing her bosom as she arched her back. An easy, understanding smile formed. She saw his Adam's apple bop when he gulped. "So many people have tried to help you, but they didn't know the good way to."
Christian breathed deeply before he spoke. "And how can you help me?"
In a bold act, Elena placed her hand on tops on his on his lap, giving him an assuring squeeze. Then, she guided his hand slowly, until he rested on top of her upper thigh. She felt his resist a bit, but once he felt the warmth of her lap, he accidentally clutched it a bit.
"It's okay, Christian," she said soothingly, placing her hand on his own thigh. She forced his darkening eyes to look straight to her, and went in for the kill as her lips pressed his.
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