A/N: If you are not a fan of consensual BDSM, somewhat slow burn romance, a LOT of sexual content, and suspense-y spy types: this story will not be for you! You have been warned!

This story will be quite long, and is currently written in short, blurby chapters; updated fairly often. If you end up taking a liking to the story, and have the time and inclination, please feel free to drop me a private message or a review letting me know if you would prefer shorter, more frequent chapters (its current state); or chunkier more concise chapters. I greatly appreciate your eyes. Thank you!

Update 11/11/20: The story has been more tightly condensed for flow. The first handful of chapters have now been combined into one with back and forth POV. The chapters following are 1 POV from Ana and Christian both.

Christian

Perhaps I was a dancer in my past life.

Probably not, but I can carry on as if that's true.

My feet glide effortlessly, my arms and torso move perfectly in sync with the cleaning instrument as my partner. The Inkspots, "I Don't Want to Set the World On Fire," bathes the house in its soulful croons, making the chore of mopping the floors much less chore-like. As I finish out the chorus, I fling the wooden handle of the mop into the corner of the walls where it leans obediently, and I take up singing the remainder of the song, scrubbing down the countertops, when a sharp knock sounds from the front door. I voice command the stereo, ceasing the music, and allow myself one blissful sigh.

I wash my hands at the tap, dry them into a dishtowel and get a good start before sliding to the living room in my socks, taking a moment to straighten and dust off my shirt before opening the door.

There on my doorstep kneels a shapely, delectable little brunette, shivering and practically naked in not much more than cellophane and curiously thin black material that covers her mouth and more intimate parts.

Her hair, a shiny mahogany shade, is long and falls down her back and chest midway, contrasting beautifully with her pale, rosy skin. Her breasts, pert and ample, heave with her shallow breaths as she stares up at me with startlingly round, cerulean blue eyes. On her neck is a thick black collar with a note draping down to her chest. I take the card between my fingers, read the elegant text written there.

"Hello, Master."

I smile down at the small woman that I will be taking in, that I now own. For a moment, her head tilts, and her wide, almost shocked eyes narrow, and somehow seem to drain of any hint of whatever she'd thought a mere second ago. She very quickly went from shy and shaking to cool and expressionless. My own head tilts as I try to grasp exactly what I've just seen. I've known her all of 15 seconds and already I am helplessly intrigued.

I tip her chin up with a single knuckle.

"Welcome home, little one."

Anastasia

I don't know what I've gotten myself into, but it is far too late to tuck tail now, as if I would dream it.

A shiver runs up my spine, despite my conviction. The beautiful stranger, my master, hooks his long finger around my collar and gives it a firm pull, silently commanding me to stand. His height is only fractionally less intimidating than it had been when I kneeled. Not massive, but he is a large man. There is a barely contained power concealed in his stance. In his striking gray stare.

Standing nearly naked in broad daylight, I almost feel claustrophic with his eyes on me, as if they pierce straight through and I have nothing to hide. He is devilishly attractive. It bolsters his confident demeanor. Simply standing before him feels as if the air has shifted to make way for him. Wordlessly, he steps aside and motions towards the door.

As the door closes behind us I am instantly swaddled in the atmosphere of this man's home. The wide arches leading from room to room leave nothing to the imagination. Everything seen with one look. The walls are a gentle ivory, the floors a black wood glossed with lacquer. Sheer white curtains billow from the enormous windows. The furniture consists of rich creams, lustrous blacks. Everything is so contemporarily decorated. This stranger has fine tastes.

Completely at odds with the dank, squalid underbelly I imagined he inhabited. He is completely at odds with the snake-eyed, greasy monster that was described to me. This man is quite close to immaculate, smooth by appearance alone. The cadence of his voice a deep, rumbling purr that situates in my belly. Hair a mess of brown , yet manicured and healthy.

What a pretty monster. Facades are always convincing until they are torn down. Picked apart. Exposed. How pretty will he be when he no longer has anything to hide behind?

When I turn to reassess the man, I see that he is a step ahead, flagrantly raking me over. His eyes are reminiscent of a pearl being washed with rain. It doesn't seem to make sense but the kaleidoscope of grays, mute greens and silvers seem to churn about each other. There is a change from the neutral expression he'd had just moments ago: the very slight quirk to his brow.

It takes a moment for me to catch myself. I realize my mistake a little too late. My chin lowers to my chest as he releases a rumbly chuckle.

"I can see already that I'll have my hands full with you," he hums. "Good. I was getting bored."

Christian

"What is your name, girl?"

"Anastasia Steele, sir."

"How old are you, Anastasia?"

"22, sir."

Quite young, I note. I had only one other submissive within this one's age range, and she hadn't been here long enough for the sun to set. Wishful thinking, but something tells me this one will be different.

Just beside where her chin is tucked to her chest I grasp her collar with two fingers and tow her to the front room. "What are your hard limits, Anastasia?" I ask, kicking her legs out from beneath her so she falls to the sofa.

When she has recovered her breath she answers in whispery tones, "Fire play, anal and vaginal fisting, clamps, and suffocation, sir." Nothing terribly debilitating.

"You've signed all of your wavers and agreements prior to being sent here?"

"Yes, sir." Of course, I know all of the information that she's told me thus far—the paperwork the submissives go through to even be glanced at is extensive and thorough; but there is no harm in reaffirming the guidelines, giving the encouragement that respect comes over and above all, sub-to-dom and vice-versa.

There's something about this girl that enthuses me in a way I've not experienced in…well, in a long time, in way of recent memory. I want to unwrap her bare, to strip her to the most basic fibers in the next coming weeks that I will be sated for years to come. If she's brave and chooses not to run… Mm. I shouldn't even give myself the hope. It's much too soon to see what Miss Steele is made of.

Maybe a soft approach could win her. Provide an expectation nice and early, but one that results in her offering me her entirely… meaning I have all the time in the world with her. The thought is enough to quell the boorish need within me to toss her over the sofa arm and fuck her raw.

Instead, I'll give her a gentle introduction. I am more than happy just to get to know her. My way. She is safe, if only for now.

So to speak.

"Sit up on your knees in the couch and part your legs, Anastasia. Wide."

She does as I command without a hint of hesitation, her task only slightly hindered by the cellophane that wraps her breasts and lower half. Moreover, she even appears to be a bit stone-faced, her shining blue eyes flickering to mine but a moment before she tucks her chin in subservience, only the red tint of her cheeks indicating her modesty.

I lift her head with my knuckles as I tell her, "Do not look away from me. Unless it absolutely cannot be helped, you are always to look at me. You understand?"

"Yes, sir," she replies, and the vision of her uttering those same words, with her hair thrown about my bed and her face flushed as she bends across my bedframe enters my mind. In due time.

I retrieve the long-handled scissors from its place on the bookshelf, slicing through Miss Steele's remaining concealment, but I leave her wrists bound together. As the plastic and black scraps fall away from her I am riveted to her petite form, her ample curves. I've been at half-mast since the moment I'd laid eyes on her at the front door. My dick strains impatiently against the in-seam of my trousers seeing her now, deliciously and fully exposed, spread for my perusal.

She, Anastasia, is made infinitely more attractive to me in that she isn't a willowed thing; her hips and thighs have a tantalizing thickness to them that suits her almost too well.

I lower to my knees before her, taking in every hill, valley and freckle. Her skin is flawed flawlessly, light enough that it could pass for translucent under sunlight, dark enough that her plump breasts contrast perfectly with their soft pink nipples. Her waist nips in and flares out with a dangerous allure, accentuating the fullness of her thighs. I guide my hand over every line of her, noticing but not bringing attention to the shiver that trembles through her, at the heat and electricity under my palm.

Without any preamble I slide my fingers through the downy curls masking her sex. Over the smooth flesh that covers her opening, and her hitched breath is all the motivation I need to give into her wiles. I don't care to curb my wants now, suddenly. It would only be too satisfying to succumb to the perverse desires coming at me as quickly as they were.

But resist I will.

Patiently teaching myself patience.

I bring myself closer to the creature before me, banding my arm around her little waist as I continue the gentle massage of her pussy, reveling in the noises she purrs. I slip my fingers down her back. Plant open-mouthed kisses across her abdomen, on the curves of her breasts. Hot, thick arousal coats the tips of my fingers, my left hand. I look up into those resplendently blue hooded eyes and slide the fingers behind her into the greedy furnace of her pussy as I rub tight circles into the hard bump of her clit.

Small and shaky breaths morph to wanton, salacious moans as her hips churn down on me. Her unwavering obedience in maintaining her gaze with me grants an unsung satisfaction, but I am further thrilled when she throws her head back, guaranteeing herself an early introduction to a punishment, whenever I would decide to drop the mask.

Credit where it is due, she is trying. Exceedingly determined, her head snaps forward only seconds later, eyes opening and searching wildly for a moment before focusing on me.

A tremor rolls over her dewed skin a half-second after the gluttonous walls of her dripping sex quake around me. She struggles in her wrist restraints. Her shoulders are pitched back sharply, unconsciously offering her lovely tits to me, and I take them, giving hard, hungry sucks to one until I abandon it with a pop to take up the other. She's so close I have to wonder how she hasn't crossed that precipice any earlier. The quivering of her inner muscles, the constant trembles of her skin, it makes no sense that she's still fighting it…

I peer up at her now and truly see the shaking visage that is Anastasia, my fresh submissive. I'd never seen it before, and it was truly the sight: the vehement defiance in a cerulean glaze.

Well, well.

Anastasia

Damn him, I cannot deny what he demands.

My nails claw mulishly into my wrists. Digging and digging, a vain attempt to free myself. My heart thumps loud and angrily in my throat, threatening to burst from my chest, so loud it drowns out my heaving breaths. I am exhausted, and must exhaust myself further as I struggle not to come.

I am determined, but cannot estimate how much longer I can hold out. I've piqued the master's curiosity though. I can see it in the slight narrowing of his eyes, feel it as his tongue laps harder at my breast.

I concede, I am not prepared for this. I did not anticipate being forced to climax only seconds after infiltration. I had taken care of myself prior to shipping from home, in preparation, knowing the luxury would be stripped once I arrived here. I had not accounted for the 3 week journey. I might as well have not masturbated and just tried my luck when I got here.

I hate him at this moment. Even more than I had before I met him. I've not been in his home ten minutes and I'm already bound, naked and being humiliated into an orgasm. He's not even told me his fucking name. Despite that, I knew who he was the moment he opened the door.

But I cannot ignore my body. I cannot disregard the controlled pumps of his long fingers into my sex. The rapid, tight circles he etches into my clitoris. He is irrefutably skilled at this, studying and adapting to my body's response to his ministrations, then torturing me with teases and strokes that cause me to seize up, mists me into a sweat.

I feel his teeth scour the sensitive pad of my nipple before a crude noise rings out in the room as he releases my breast from his mouth, sings my name, "Anastasia." I am trying—failing—to taper my reactions to him, but the escalation of his touch proves the task to be impossible. I crack my eyes to peer down and there is a crooked smile on his face. It catches me off guard. I sigh long and sorrowfully as another shock rolls through me. His expression rarely shifts from dispassionate but there is a hint of elation in him. My ire grows, my resolve bends.

"Stop fighting me, Anastasia," he says, peppering kisses across my navel, the dip of my pubic bone. His tongue flicks leisurely across my clit for but a moment but I clench so tightly around his fingers I almost fail my pursuit. As if he can read my mind he continues with, "You'll run yourself into the ground before I stop, mouse."

I am unsure if I can keep up any longer. The stubborn arch of my back is subsiding, and I cry out impishly as I sink lower unto his driving fingers. He's commanded not to look away from him but I cannot resist—can only refuse to look into his eyes when he brings me over the edge. Turn my head into my shoulder and pierce my teeth through my lip. Stiffen to the point that I don't breathe. My orgasm barrels through me so hard my world explodes, paints a blinding white light behind my eyelids, simultaneously filling and emptying my belly with delicious tension.

My hearing funnels back in trickles. The heavy catching of my breath follows the rushing of my heart, the soft, wet slicking of his fingers as they ride me off of my high. He is staring at me as I turn back to him, continues to stare as my heart rate calms. A blank slate with slightly darkened eyes.

"That was a gift, mouse. Will you not give thanks?" He answers my silence with the crook of his head, contemplative. Never looking away from me. He mutters, "I see," as he stands to his full height, then wraps my hair around his hand. He ignores the gasp that tumbles from me as he pulls me up. The quaking of my legs as cum is forced from my sex and seeps down my inner thighs. I don't think I can convey anything less than unadulterated revulsion.

I wait for him to dole out a punishment. To strike me. To fuck me. Something. Instead he says softly, "You disobeyed me."

When I say nothing in response, his mouth creases with the hint of an unsettling grin. Unsettling in that I do not know what it means, what will follow it. Then suddenly he's moved, disentangling his hand from my hair, and is walking away from me, down the long corridor. I follow him with legs that do not seem to belong to me. He does not look at me as I fall into step behind him, and I wonder how much longer I'll allow this man to live.

Christian

My submissive is ever the intriguing creature.

Quiet, assured, cautious, biddable, challenging.

Intriguing.

I smirk as the muted slaps of her bare feet approach. She is a perplexing mix of insolence and obedience, as if in less than an hour of our time together she would be able to grasp which limits of mine she could push and when. As if knowing this information will bring her some mercy in our coming months. Her confidence is admirable. Foolish.

I lead her into the room I've set up for her, sparse of everything besides a decent bed, an armoire and a lazy boy. I almost don't want to allow the little minx a door anymore. As she steps into the room I take the liberty of undoing the restraints on her wrists, the black collar on her neck. I withhold a smile as her look of gratitude is instantly replaced by displeasure. The soft, foam like material that had bounded her replaced by my soft leather cuffs on either wrist. Loose enough that her movement was in no way hindered, while maintaining a medium for me to slip some chains on her. I return her gaze with a challenge of my own: Don't like it? Say so. I dare you.

I have no actual intention in keeping her in them. Her reaction was all I was looking for, and it was indeed amusing.

That feeling of anticipation in my gut is a yawning, searching presence within me. Patience suppresses the desire to chain her from the ceiling. I am troubled by how charmed I am by this one, how the desire to punish her for potential misdoings outweigh the courtesy of getting to know her. It is a constant presence in my mind though, that I need to show even the smallest bit of restraint until she finds it within herself to want to stay.

But the need will not fade.

It grows, festers as she traipses leisurely about the considerable space, cataloguing everything around her, unabashed in her nudity. How her hips roll with her steps. The way her slender legs contour to her shapely ass.

"Mouse."

Her response is immediate, autonomous. She pauses where she is, turns towards me and presents her breasts as she straightens her back, her bound wrists in front of her, all in seemingly one fluid motion. A basic level of compliance is expected from all submissives that arrive here, but in almost every case, they lack a certain discipline. This one does not. The fact fuels the faceless hunger within me, hardens me to stone.

I palm one full tit in my hand as I step close to her, twisting her hair with the other hand and placing it over her shoulder. I watch her face closely as I play with her, riveted in the subtle droop of her eyelids, the slight pull of her lower lip between her teeth when I brush over the peak of her nipple, the sigh of breath as I give the nub a firm pinch.

I ask, "What is your tolerance to pain, Anastasia?" adding pressure to my fingers on her.

Her mouth betrays her steady answer of, "Very high, sir. "Her teeth sink deeper into that lip, accompanies a lovely flush across her cheeks. I bend to kiss the corner of her mouth as I release her, and the neutral expression she loves to wear is betrayed by the faint widening of her eyes from the action. Did she really think I wouldn't be kissing her while she was here?

I take a half step back to allow myself the view of all of her. So interesting. She wasn't even that shocked when I'd just fingered her. How presumptuous of me.

"These will be your personal quarters for the duration of your stay. If I'm not cooperating your time, come here as often as you wish; your privacy is your own, out of play. The fridge is stocked, there is basic cable, no internet, and hot water at your disposal. For now, you may eat what you wish, simply keep a journal with you so I can get a gist of what you like, what stays and what doesn't. There is a phone; it has a direct connection to the island representatives, should you need to speak with them for whatever reason.

"You will be in and out of bed no later than 2am and 10am at your own discretion, unless instructed otherwise. You are to eat no less than 2 meals a day, at your discretion, until instructed otherwise. You are to remain in this villa, unless I give you the go-ahead. If you find yourself to be unhappy at any point in the period of your stay, you are to voice your concerns with your dominant or directly to the island reps immediately, regardless of instruction. Your health is put above all. Are we clear on these four ground rules, Anastasia?"

"Yes, sir."

I relax once I've parroted the meat of the speech, undoing the top button of my long-sleeve and raking a hand through my hair as I give us a bit more distance. I can almost reclaim my good sense now. It's easier to handle the debased thoughts when actual work is involved. The first day is always the worst.

"You have the remainder of the day to yourself," I continue, more softly spoken than before. The effect on her is good, the tension in her shoulders dissipating. "I want you to remember that you are not my prisoner, mouse. You are free to leave if you so wish; you wouldn't have to breathe a word to me. I will be a…difficult master, but fair to you. Whenever we aren't in play, I want you to be yourself, comfortable. Yes, there will be days that blend casual and play together, but for the most part, you are your own woman until the time says otherwise.

"I will not lie to you—if you've not already, you will feel the urge to leave for home. As I said, I am fair, but I will push against the boundaries. You will be handled with respect and care, all with a heavy hand. You were given to me because of your pain limits. Know that I will test them at every turn. Sometimes you will be punished not because you have done wrong, but because it will please me. I will always reward you when it is deserving, but you will work hard for the favor.

"I will make mistakes. Many of them. I only ask of you tolerance, understanding. And of course, the complete subjugation of your body. If you find me worthy of the task, I promise to make this an experience you take home with you fondly." I place my lips against the reddened strip of pink on her wrists as I lift it to me, holding her gaze as my tongue reaches out to taste the soft skin. Just the small hitching of her breath is beyond arousing. "You may speak freely, Anastasia. Do you understand all of what I've said?"

"Yes, sir."

"Christian," I smile.

She tests the name on her lips, rolls the weight of it in her mouth. Pronounces it slowly. "Christian."

"You understand?"

"Yes, s—Yes. Christian."

My grin is uncontained. Her eyes are so round, almost innocent, and so deeply blue. I kiss her hand once more before releasing her of the cuffs, then releasing her, taking to the doorway, pausing to point to the room across from us. "My office is right there, should you be looking for me at any time. My room is opposite of the house to you, if I am not in the study. The door is always open. You may speak to me about anything. Anything you want to ask?"

She takes a moment to look around her, as if absorbing everything I've told her, the settings around her, and plucking any grey areas for questions. When she looks back to me her head shakes with a, "No, thank you." Very well.

"The remainder of the day is at your disposal," I repeat. "Some clothing will be arriving for you rather soon today; simply leave the front door open for the grunts to come and go with goods as they please. Feel free to draw a bath or whip yourself up something to eat, as well. The fridge is full. Central air is on. Get comfortable."

"Where will you be?" she asks, voice quiet but firm. She's curious, but confident that she will do just fine without me here to hold her hand. The thought tugs at the corner of my mouth.

"I've a few errands to run. I won't be gone for very long but thought you would like some privacy. You don't need me around while you settle in. I'll see you shortly."

"Thank you…Christian."

It's a bit early to be thanking me. I haven't administered her punishment for disobedience yet.

My smile is as wide as it is genuine as I leave her. The silhouette of her every curve burned into my vision as I call out to her.

"Welcome home, little one."