Elena Lincoln was all that he could think of during the excruciating, shit-filled weekend his adoptive parents called a "family getaway" visiting his adoptive grandparents. He hated the entire ordeal. Perhaps no one took the news that Grace couldn't have any biological children any harder than Grandfather Grey, devastated that the family firm of lawyers could end with Carrick. Perhaps when Elliot first came along that their hearts softened, but then the four-year-old demon child had to ruin it when he entered the pictured. Christian always suspected Grandfather never liked him - trust him, it was mutual in all respects. He pretended to ignore the silly banter Grandfather would have with Elliot or Grandmother Grey's doting on Mia. Grandmother would carefully ask measured questions to Christian, afraid his temper would go off at an innocent comment. Grandfather would try to pretend Elliot and Mia were the only grandchildren that were adopted.
So in his usual fashion, Christian would spend family time without the family - trying to hide in the darkest and more obscure of places, distracting himself with a stolen bottle from the liquor cabinet and not savoring Carrick's enraged tirade to come with appearances by Grace's disappointed face. Look, it's not like he willingly signed up to get adopted by an attentive couple and play happy family. Elliot was annoying as it was - probably the only one who tolerated him because he did the same shit only discreetly, and Christian wasn't a snitch. Mia, his dear sweet sister - honestly besides Grace she might be the only light in his life, and it was best for everyone he not extinguish her fire with his presence alone. He made sure never to act too out of line when she was around, but unfortunately he knew Mia had seen his hidden bottles or heard the tirades with their parents, which made him feel more shitty than he usually felt.
Truthfully, the last thing he wanted was to disappoint them further - at this point he wanted them to get the fucking hint he wanted to be alone and actually act not surprised when he scampered off somewhere. They didn't have to stay up late for Christian to come back home or arrange for more therapy sessions. Not everyone could just forget the shit they had to go through - his soul was a shattered mirror with the shards coming undone. He was tired of warning them to not come close and get cut.
So in those plentiful of times where he was his own company, he'd usually attempt to drink the thoughts of that crack whore and her pimp away and mentally curse both to the damnest pits of hell, or bitch about whatever he was mad about in that moment, or solicit drugs and violence from whoever looked at him, or watch porn. But no, nothing of the sort crossed his mind much during those three days. All he could think about was Elena Lincoln's preposition.
She said she could help him, more so than what his current therapist, Dr. Fields-Fletcher could do. Honestly Christian believed her straight away - he got sick of watching that crusty ass old man look at him like a science experiment and that fucking irritating, absolutely incessant tapping of that cursed pen hitting the clipboard constantly. There was no comparison needed which face was best to look at. But still, he was confused about the thing - he didn't need to be a freaking rocket scientist to figure out sex was going to be involved.
Mrs. Lincoln hadn't been subtle about the sexual stuff. The make-out sessions, him feeling her up and her doing the same. Was she looking to have an affair? Mr. Lincoln was an old ass dude so he guessed his sex life died before he met her. Sure, a small part of him felt weird knowing this was his adoptive mother's best friend. And not just that - she was a family friend. Mrs. Lincoln, now that he recalled, was always kind of nice to him. And yeah, Christian would admit that whenever he looked at her, he would mentally undress her to figure out if how massive those jugs were or if he could peek a bit of her ass with those short pencil skirts. She may not be his type - a brunette with hair darker than lighter, and her blue eyes may not be as vivid and bright as he'd like, but Mrs. Lincoln was still one of the sexiest women he's seen out there. Never would he have imagine someone like her - who could easily have any man out there would have came to him. And if she wanted him, then he'd be a complete fucktard with shit for brains not to lay with her if she asked.
But why make a whole business meeting about it, and be so vague about the whole thing? She'd get some dick, he'd get some pussy. Yeah he may be a virgin, but Christian's seen a lot of porn and knows what to do. He'll make her feel great, and she can definitely offer some good release with an open mouth and open legs. Her sharp, chiseled face, those fucking huge boobs, legs that go on for eons. Late last night when he had trouble sleeping, her face appeared before him, mouth open and eyes wide as he fucked into that sexy body with all those curves, holding onto her little waist, her big tits bouncing up and down and begging to be fucked themselves as Christian pounded into her. The little yelp he let out when he accidentally cummed into his fist was masked by Elliot's loud ass snoring.
But, what else did she truly mean? Assuming whatever she had in mind would replace what the therapy was supposed to do, Christian doubted pillow talk could make him open up the emotional walls, started the waterworks and everyone could go all kumbaya and shit. And what was her role? Hear him out, give him advice, or confide in him - like what the fuck did a woman like her have to confide to a teenage boy like him?
Sex was sex, not exactly a medically proven form of psychology last time he heard. And isn't sex therapy an entirely different type of shit, like for couples who can't get each other off or for the weirdos who have 'issues' with intercourse. That's the part that frustrated him the entire time he was with his family - like for real what the fuck was she planning?
Christian couldn't bear to wait another moment more in agony when the SUV finally arrived at the Grey Manor. Normally in any other trip, Carrick and Grace would ask Elliot and Mia to go to the house while Christian remained to be 'lectured' - which he would either sulk in place or snap back in attitude to his adoptive father's scorning and his adoptive mother's more gentle "what you did was wrong" speech. But the entire family arrived tired and busy that stormy Sunday morning - Carrick had an entire defense strategy to work out for a particularly difficult case at the firm for tomorrow, Grace had to go to the hospital on her day off for a fundraiser, Elliot had to go to a friend's house to study for a midterm (which he won't do) and Mia had to plan a sleepover for later in the week. Nobody paid attention - or even raised any objections - when Christian was nowhere to be found in the house.
He couldn't explain why, having ran off to the Lincoln's during a heavy rainstorm, but he refused to be kept in the dark any further.
Perhaps he had been a little too rushed - he arrived wet to the bone and, with his wet wild hair and the scruff on his face, homeless-level type of disheveled. Hopefully he didn't smell. And if anything, Christian might appear to look a bit older than he was.
He nervously paced back and forth after he pressed the doorbell next to the front door, hoping she was home. He pressed it again after some time, anxious at the thought of having to wait til tomorrow, and was about to turn back home when the door opened, revealing the object of his thoughts these past few days.
Elena Lincoln swerved the door all the way in, as if she had been expecting him all along and knew he was going to be here at this very time. She whipped her hair back so the ends of her bobs framed her face again - her hair was straightened meticulously, eyes smokey and lips perfectly paved with red. What caught Christian's eye was her outfit - a shiny, leather trench coat with a belt that accentuated her waist, zipped-up not all the way to show off cleavage. It look a bit like spandex honestly, and her legs were surprisingly bare - not covered with black stockings or having those pointy high heels on. Point in all, she looked like sex on black.
His eyes snapped back at her, hoping she didn't notice his quick glance but Mrs. Lincoln already waited for his eyes to meets hers - her mysterious light blue eyes seemed almost ... inquisitive. Her hand was stretched out at her side, beckoning at him to come inside.
He stepped inside the main foyer, hearing the sound of Mrs. Lincoln's feet slapping against the marble floor behind him. He stopped near the two arch doorways beside him to wait for her to take lead. He turned to see her take an immediate right to the main dining room. He started to jog up to her, but she said, "take a seat at the front," and pointed at the armrest chair closest to him without turning back as she headed towards the other armrest chair of the end of the dining table.
Christian took notice of the papers placed in front of the seat before he sat, and had to lean forward and squint to read the tiny title of the first page.
DOMINANT/SUBMISSIVE CONTRACT
"What the hell's this?" he asked, opening up the stack of papers while looking up in confusion. Mrs. Lincoln stared passively back, a perfectly blank look imposed.
"Christian," she began. "When I first approached you, I promised you of a way where I could be of help - specifically, to help curve your worst urges. I know from your parents about the partying, the drinking, all the self-destructive behavior. We don't need therapy to address the roots of all your anger, your despair. It all comes from what happened with your mother."
Christian began to see red, his hands gripping the paper with a forceful first. "You don't know anything about that," he snapped.
Mrs. Lincoln raised her hands up gently, in a show of peace. "I'm not here to pry or to upset - I'm here to relieve," she said softly, her tone pregnant with more warmth and kindness than perhaps he has ever heard coming from her. His hand began to slack, the paper crinkling from being released.
"Christian, I think I know what you need, whether you realize it or not, and what you haven't received yet. Everyone thinks a happy family, siblings and parents can cure any unhappy child with enough love, stifle him with it for good measure. But that's the thing, Christian, is that love isn't the answer when wanting to care for someone. Don't misunderstand me - I don't want to infer your parents haven't tried their best and aren't the best caretakers. You need someone to take care of you, dear, in a way that the Grey haven't tried." The look of confusion on his face made her elaborate more. "Christian, you need a special type of care. Grace, she believes that love, enough of it and the most of extreme of patience can persevere in the end. But unfortunately, that is a fool's way of thinking. Carrick, I'm sure he is quite firm with you, and you might describe him to be strict at times when you are in need of discipline, but I'm afraid he hasn't got the guts to truly meet the standards of reform you desperately need." Her voice ended with a breathy sigh. "That's what I am for. I know deep down, you know you have difficulty and issues of self-control, of not being able to suppress the ... demons about you. But here's the thing, Christian - you don't need to suppress anything - you need to express yourself, and find the man in control that is lying in wait underneath. But first, you need to give control to take control." She gestured at the paper in his hands.
Christian sat in silence, eyes glued to the paper as he analyzed her words and broke down their meaning. She didn't mean to insult his adoptive parents, only that she was right in that their smothering made him want to get away from them more. And what about giving control to have it? The only conclusion he could draw that that she was circling around the true meaning of what meant. "What do you mean by that last thing - giving control?"
In a passive tone, she answered, "Control - truly something that didn't need to evolve into a concept. Do you give yourself control, Christian? When you steal a bottle of alcohol, knowing that it is wrong, do you stop yourself? When your parents make you angry about something, do you resist saying something back? It's self-restraint in its most basic definition, darling. But the true question is - should you let someone else... hold you in resistance. Restrain you if you can't do it yourself, if you don't have it? Why should you give something you don't have is the ultimate issue."
"Ok, so in your words I don't have control of anything. Well guess what, I have had - not since day one. I never had since the day I popped out of the crack wh-," he suddenly stopped, realizing he almost gave her confirmation about his deepest secret in his unconscious ramble.
He looked up immediately to see her reaction - her manicured eyebrows raised slightly, head nodding in understanding.
"That is what a submissive does - they give control to the Dominant," she replied in a low voice.
"Those words - a submissive, a dominant," he repeated slowly, the gears in his brains running rampant. A moment of silence later, he said it. "Does it, is it - is out that ... kinky sexy type shit? Like that Rihanna song? Called S&M, the whole chains and whips thing?"
Mrs. Lincoln uttered a single dry, empty chuckle before she stood up and began to pace. Christian noticed how her coat looked shinier under the chandelier above them, and put two-and-two together.
"You're a whole ass sex freak," he uttered. His bewildered grey eyes snapped back at the contract, and then back at her. "Oh hell no, I'm not into some barbaric Kama-Sutra type of-" He stood up, but one cold look of disapproval from her stopped him outright.
"It's not just chains and whips, my darling. It can be anything but that, or everything plus that. S&M isn't even the whole term - it's actually BDSM. And it isn't just, quote, kinky sex shit." She drew nearer to him. "Or just sex - it's about trust, and control, and pleasure," she emphasized the last word. "Christian, that contract underneath your fingers is an agreement of the relationship of a dominant and submissive to be agreed upon. Think of it like a non-breakable terms and conditions. The purpose is to help the submissive learn control and restraint within themselves. The Dominant ... me ... is simply the guiding hand. I am not hear to torture or inflict your harm - I am here to take care of you, where no one has been able to."
She had been slowly approaching him during the little speech, speaking in a slow, soothing way to focus his ears on her. He sat down again, watching while swaying her hips to keep the attention on her. Upon the last word, while he was still in his little trance, she placed her hand on top of still-fisted one, giving him an assuring, gentle squeeze.
"Christian, I understand this is completely unorthodox in every way... but truthfully speaking, I was like you once. Lost, wayward, with no control in myself. Until someone came along, promising he'd help me when so many have lied to me the same phrase. But he did, and opened up a world where I was always in charge even when I felt I wasn't, in a safe, healthy way. I am everything I am because of him, what you see and what you don't see," she paced around to the other side of the chair. "He took care of me, the way I want to take care of you." She smiled, looking at him with such a fondness he's never seen before.
Christian held her gaze with her. With his head tilted forward, his stare was that of puppy-dog eyes, innocent and vulnerable.
She broke eye contact once more to take out a fancy black pen out of her coat pocket. "Let me first show you what I mean, and what I intend," she said, setting the pen down on the table beside the contract.
Her eyes looked back down on him, taking into account how wet he actually was - the rain had seeped through his thin white tee-shirt and jeans. Without thinking, she stretched out her hand and caressed the side of his face - from ear to chin, following the line of his cheekbone. Christian closed his eyes, and savored the feather-light stroke of her nails on his skin. His eyes popped open to her empty palm in front of him - a gesture, for him to take her hand.
Christian took it without a second thought, and Mrs. Lincoln began to pull him out of the seat. Hand-in-hand, she lead him back into the large foyer, and they began to march up the red-carpet covered stairs further into the second story of the house. Reaching the start of the second hallway, they walked down the dark red velvet walls until reaching a large door that lead to the master bedroom as he would realize.
He got excited as she initially stepped in the direction of the large bed that dominated the room, but she made a sharp right towards a side door - the master bathroom.
The bathroom itself was enormous and as grand as the woman's preferences. The glass shower cubicle was itself quite big, with its own fluffy red bench to compliment to the marble black walls. The sink counter itself covered the length of one of the walls as did the vanity mirror, as well as the rectangular, intricately carved bathtub on the adjacent side. There was even a fireplace inside the bathroom, designed with red granite and black marble and giving a heavily romantic feel inside the dark bathroom.
"Let's warm you now, shall we?" she said, fiddling with some buttons on the wall above the bathtub, and in a minute's time the tub was halfway fill with water and soapy bath minerals that caused bubbles to form and blanket the surface. She turned back at him, eyes squinted in concentration at his face.
"I'll give you some privacy," she whispered, and walked briskly out the bathroom.
With Mrs. Lincoln out, Christian looked back at the bathtub, her unsaid message clear. He was unsure of what she was planning, but one thing was clear - she was the one calling the shots. Uncertain of what to think of that, he shrugged and took off his shoes and socks, and zipped down his hoodie and wrestled out of the little wet shit, throwing it in the corner of the room. He stripped of his shirt and struggled all the same as it clung to him, then unbuckled his jeans and slid them down his legs, where they joined the hoodie.
He stretched back up as he looked around the bathroom, finding the massive vanity mirror, his naked self staring back at him. He looked a little ... something. Not scared, or curious, but some emotion he didn't recognize was on his face. He shook his head as he stepped inside the tub.
The water was a sedating warm, the little salt particles tickling his skin. He squatted a bit to figure out the best position until he sat down, moving up to the end of the tub to stretch his legs. He leaned back, looking around the room in small curiosity. After several dull moments, he was about to close his eyes in relaxation when a black shape appeared in the corner of his blurred vision. His head snapped back as Mrs. Lincoln came back, her legs and low neckline looking pale and bright when caught in the light of the stained window above the tub. She seemed to be gripping rather than grabbing the front belt of her coat as well, with the other hand holding an aerosol spray can and some TV remote thing on her hand.
Christian further sunk inside the tub, hands covering his dick as a sign of modesty despite the thick cover of the bubbles. Mrs. Lincoln bent forward to place the items in her hand on the edge of the middle of the bathtub, and beckoned the boy to move further up to her. Blushing in spite of himself, he leaned forward and scooted up to her. She stretched back up as he looked down and examined what she placed on the small sliver of surface beside him. He recognized it as a bottle of shaving cream and what appeared to be a small electric razor, and looked up at her with a quizzical look on his face as she undid the front belt of her coat, and the long cloth slid down to the floor.
She was all curves and pale skin - bare, pale skin. Christian's eyes immediately locked at the large size of her breasts that jiggled when the coat was removed, her pink nipples hardening as the cold of the room stimulated the rosy buds to inflate. As she raised her arms to rake her hair back, the action emphasized the size of her breasts. His eyes raced down her body and took in her hourglass figure - her flat stomach hugged by her small waistline that led to her wide hips and beautiful thick thighs. Before he could properly focus on her crotch area, she leaned down and sat on the edge of the bathtub, crossing her legs before brushing a side of her bangs away. His blood began to race to his dick, and he was stopped from beginning to drool when she suddenly gripped his jaw.
Forcing him to pull his head up and to the side felt like she was examining an artwork, and from the corner of his eye he saw her grab the shaving cream with her other hand. He closed his eyes, feeling the cold whip of the cream being spread to the side of his face and underneath. He opened his eyes and met her half-lidded gaze. With a look of artistic attentiveness, she clicked a button on the razor and it buzzed to life. Holding his face in place, she applied a soft, ticklish stroke down the length of his face, the strength of her fingers fading as she held his titled faced. Another soft stroke of the buzzing razor brought another euphoric feel of tranquility to Christian, and as she shaved him, his eyes began to droop, and he tried to look from the corner of his eye the deep line that formed when her boobs met, and tried to make sight of her hard nipples where her arm was in the way.
In addition to the razor, she also caressed the side of the face she held in little soothing circles, and sometimes held the the razor with just her thumb to message his face with both sets of fingers. He had accepted the state of semi-conscious tranquility before he no longer felt the razor or her fingers. He blinked a couple times before realizing she had set the razor down, and marveled at the sight of her body when she stood up and stretched. She raised her knee and put one foot in the area between his legs and right in front of his dick would be if he wasn't holding it. The other foot joined its twin as Mrs. Lincoln stepped inside the tub, and crotched to the end of the bathtub before leaning down and settling there. She leaned her head back, taking a deep breath that expanded her breasts, and for a second her nipples peeped out of the bubbles. He felt her legs on either side of him. Her eyes looked at him, and she raised on eyebrow in expectation. His eyes looked at either side in response, confused on what she wanted him to do.
Sighing again, she stretched out one wet and bubbly arm, and when he grabbed it, he was suddenly pulled towards her, the front of his body falling down on hers. Fires raced throughout his body as his skin burned with the sensation of her body against his. Feeling a soft mound on his cheek, he realized the side of his head laid on top of her right breast. He held his breath in shock, basking in how he welcomed and wanted the warmth of the touch of her body. Only did he begin to breath measured, deep breaths when she raised a wet hand and began to stroke the side of his face.
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