A/N: Christian, putting away childish things. Or trying to.

Inspiration Song(s): 38 Special - Second Chance

CPoV

"When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things." — Cor 13:11

Red. Color of passion and blood. Evidence of possession and control. But it was all a lie. I could imagine Anastasia looking over her shoulder at me, rolling her eyes. "What kind of control could you possibly exert over the willing?"

Welcome to my playroom. Fifteen women had graced this room. I only counted the Fifteen, as Ana coined them, because Anastasia had surpassed them all. No, she didn't possess their skills and experience, but my desire for her had more than surpassed my satisfaction with all my previous submissives combined.

It wasn't just her innocence, her virginity, because I felt an irrepressible feeling of possession where she was concerned. I had never experienced jealousy over a woman before. Why be jealous if they were all replaceable? But there was only one Ana, and I wanted all of her.

I laughed mockingly at myself as I remembered Ana's question regarding what was in this agreement for her. She possessed a laser-like ability to cut through my bullshit, her clear, blue eyes pinning me down, demanding honesty.

And what did I tell her? She'd get me. And she would. She'd have me in a manner that none of her predecessors never had. The others had the attention and care of a Dominant, but I was never as open with any of them as I was with Ms Steele from the moment she fell into my office.

Why did I ever bring her in here? I believed at the time that I wanted her to know me, the real me, but we'd spent far more time in my bedroom than this room.

Cataloging the playroom through Anastasia's eyes was a revelation. I shuddered in horror at the thought that, if Ana hadn't spoken up, I may have brutally ripped away her virginity in this very room. While even contemplating this filled me with revulsion, I was still forced to accept the burning lashes of contempt at my presumption that any woman I wanted would be mine for the taking. I'd been brought low by an innocent young woman, whose innocence revealed just how easy my other subs were.

For the past six years, I hadn't been practicing BDSM; I'd been having sex by rote, by script and basically painting by numbers with my dick. It had been a colossal waste of time. I'd invested so much of myself into the trappings and process of BDSM, but I realized that it was just means to an end for a release. I rarely thought of my subs when they weren't present. Ana, I thought about all the time. And the idea of her walking away from me, while loving me, and thinking badly of me scored my psyche.

As the elevator doors closed, I'd wanted to run after her, do anything, say anything to make her stay. Beg. Grab hold of her and drag her back, kicking and screaming if need be. But that would have been wrong and the greatest sin I'd ever committed, to drag her into my dark world against her will. I had nothing else to offer. Or did I?

Though I'd already given her what I'd never offered any other woman, including Elena, it was obvious that I could do more. I just hadn't wanted to before and none of the other women had ever made me work for it. But Anastasia had proved to be a woman worth pleasing. The idea of myself as lazy repulsed me, but there was no point ignoring the harsh truth. My subs were just takeout or microwave meals rather than the suspect hole-in-the-wall greasy spoon fare escorts provided. Ana was filling. And she had begun to uncover parts of me that I never believed existed or had buried so deep I'd long forgotten them. She was changing me and, while I hadn't decided yet if I liked it, I needed her.

So something was going to have to be done about this room. I didn't want her to be haunted by our final scene or ghosts of submissives past. While I changed out most of the materials that touched other subs bodies, I'd never really altered the aesthetic. The other subs never seemed to mind, but they were flexible and fungible, so it really didn't matter what they thought. But Ana's opinion counted. I wanted her to like the room and want to spend time in here, but this was all that I knew. I would depend on her to teach me how to please her because it was clear I didn't have a clue.

Perhaps some new paint? Or furniture? I could start by removing the harshest shit. Anastasia had no interest in those, I was sure, and fairly repulsed by most of the things in here, though she masked it well. Her beautiful eyes, though, could never lie. This was not a good setting for her, and I was ashamed for even attempting to treat her like the rest. She never deserved that. And if she cared anything about herself, she wouldn't have tolerated it for long.

If I'd slept with her in a bed where she'd fucked numerous other men, I'd have had a fucking stroke. I wouldn't have given a shit that she'd changed the bedding and the mattress between men. Yet, this was what I'd exposed her to. I hadn't replaced the cross, or the benches, or even the bed itself. I'd enjoyed the bed very much, with many women and that was the problem.

If I was a normal man with an average income, it wouldn't be realistic to replace those things, but since I could afford to remodel my entire apartment hundredfold, refusing to throw out what amounted to a used tampon seemed rather selfish. And I knew it would have made a difference to Anastasia who didn't deserve to be treated like one of many. Later, I thought. I would call in the contractor who designed the room and see what could be done.

Leaving the playroom, the scene of the crime, I returned to my bedroom, staring at my pillow.

"This reminded me of a happy time."

I sat behind my desk examining the pieces of the solar-powered model glider. Ana was very thoughtful and she got me in a way that no other woman had, not even Elena. Time to get to work.

Working with the intricate pieces, I forgot where I was for a time. Absorbed in the task, I'd ignored that light had turned to dark, and I still had much to finish. I was going to need some craft glue.

In my home office, the next day, I was going over some reports. Anastasia hadn't yet responded to any of my overtures. I thought women loved these types of grand gestures. If I could only get her to talk to me. I had half a mind to just show up like I did once before. Ah, good times.

"Sir, there's been a situation," Taylor reported in a serious tone, causing me to still in my seat. Had something happened to Grace, or Mia? Elliot?

"What's happened?" I asked with trepidation. I couldn't put my finger on it, but the expression on his face began to fill me with dread. I didn't want him to say it. It was Anastasia, wasn't it? Something told me to have a CPO assigned to her anyway. We weren't over. Had something happened to her?

"There's been an incident. One of my contacts just informed me that Ms Steele has been admitted to the hospital in critical condition. There are cops everywhere. It looks like she was attacked in her apartment this evening."

Did I faint? For a moment everything stopped. This couldn't be happening! I had a plan! Had that Jose photographer fucker attacked her? I knew I should've handled him after I caught him attempting to shove his tongue down Ana's throat that night at the bar!

"I need to get down there!" I shouted.

"Sir, you don't understand. It's a fucking madhouse both there and outside Ms Steele's apartment. Police are everywhere, canvassing the area! The paps have practically surrounded the building. There was a news chopper. That photo in the paper has turned Ms. Steele into some sort of local celebrity and I believe one of the nurses figured out who she was and it's pandemonium. There are a few black and whites posted outside her apartment and crime scene investigators."

"I don't care. I need to see her."

It took two days for Taylor to hustle me incognito under the cover of darkness. By this time, paps had begun to swarm Escala and GEH, too. The first night I visited her, she was still unconscious. The doctor had attached her to a feeding tube. She was so quiet and still. A living bruise. There were bruises all over her body. Even as I lifted the coverlet. She looked like she'd been mugged by a gang of thugs instead of the one person found dead at the scene.

When she had finally regained consciousness, she cooperated with police, but even I could tell she had left something out. While rumors swirled around about her attacker, the police hadn't even given a description and Taylor and Welch hadn't been able to find out anything else about the attack except the fact that the perpetrator had caught her by surprise in her apartment and had unleashed hell on her before attempting to shoot her.

So when Anastasia had informed me that her attacker was Leila, I was stunned. Then she'd proceeded to knock me on my ass again when she explained that she wasn't going to tell the police who she was and what she was to me, not because of the NDA which didn't matter in this instance, but that she would be damned if she would identify the crazy bitch that tried to kill her so she could be buried in hallowed ground. She also strongly hinted that if I interfered with that in any way, all bets were off.

I had never expected Anastasia to be so vindictive, but I guess after being targeted, stalked, attacked, and ultimately blinded by one of my former subs, especially of whom I'd failed to notify her had gone rogue, would be enough to make anyone bitter. So, I had agreed to let sleeping dogs, or in this case crazy bitches, lie. While I felt guilty that I couldn't help Leila, it was obvious that she was beyond help. But as Ana recounted the events that took place, it became clear that Leila had apparently entered Anastasia's apartment with the sole intent to murder her, completely erasing whatever mixed feelings I'd harbored on her behalf.

Returning to Escala, I strode determinedly to my playroom which I planned to tear out, destroying everything within. This room represented all that was wrong in my life. It had allowed me to play pretend while ignoring my sub's feelings. Were any of the others nursing homicidal thoughts?

That Sub Club shit was going to have to be thoroughly investigated and nipped in the fucking bud! Why had I ever believed that shit was acceptable? They weren't hurting anyone, my ass! They were only hosting regular hen parties to discuss me, invading and undermining my hard-won privacy with their endless speculations and interference.

It would've been one thing if their gatherings simply consisted of subs, but these women were basically a stable of my former subs, disgruntled and scorned, who'd decided to form a support group where they obsessed over every aspect of my life instead of getting on with their own. I sure as fuck wasn't looking back, why should they? Either way, if they didn't put an end to this ridiculous shit, I'd have it done for them with extreme prejudice.

I grabbed all the whips, belts, paddles, floggers and crops and threw them into a large heap in the middle of the playroom floor. I stalked the borders of the room, shoving apparatus, upturning them in my wake. I went to the cabinets containing all of my 'toys' pulling out each drawer in turn, emptying them out and discarding the pieces on top of the pile of spanking implements. Then I threw open the door, planning to get some heavy tools to beat the hell out of all that remained, instead running directly into Taylor.