Fifty Shades of Flannel
Chapter 4
My eyes took a moment to adjust to the low lighting in Christian's "playroom."
Any surface that wasn't a glossy wood was covered in rich Corinthian leather. As you know, Corinth is the birthplace of leather. And Ricardo Montleban.
I'm no interior decorator, but rarely have I seen a private home adorned with more whips, chains, hula-hoops, feathers on sticks, and an alarming assortment of small objects.
Butter churns? Yes, I've seen my fair share of those. Spindles? We all have relatives with bad taste, so of course. But this was something different. And not good different like the time you had bacon ice cream with basil sauce.
Christian was shutting the two ornately carved doors behind us.
I'm a wee bit claustrophobic, I stammered.
Christian walked purposefully toward me.
Do you believe that pleasure and pain dwell side by side? He asked, advancing towards me.
You mean like when I wax my moustache but then I reward myself with a Twix and Star Magazine? Like that? I mused aloud trying to unravel this Rubik Cube in human form.
He kept walking. He placed his hands on my shoulders and gripped tightly.
This seemed like it was getting a little dark. And by dark I mean scary, and by scary I mean that rubber square on the bench in my lady business and that rubber suit on me.
Look! It's Ryan Seacrest wearing nautical boxer briefs!" I tried to buy time.
It must have done the trick, because Christian threw open the doors and scurried down the hall.
I needed to stall. Remain unattainable. Bewitch him with my womanly ways.
Whipping off my Lanz headdress and sarong, I grabbed a few feathers and within minutes, I was sporting a flannel tankini with feathered shoulder straps.
For modesty's sake (and who isn't modest in the sex chamber of a billionaire?) I had tucked much of the bottom fabric into my frog pattern briefs. So the look was just slightly "baby in diaper," but I had a feeling anything diapery would be appreciated by Christian.
Just then, Christian came back sweating and dejected.
Why would you say you saw Ryan Seacrest if you didn't. That's just mean."
I was back in control.
If you want to play games Mr. Grey, I can too. I regarded him steadily rocking only slightly in my Crocs.
Oh we're going to be playing games, Mrs. Steele. You signed away your free will. To me. Bow before your master. He stood Lord-fully before me.
Jude Law AND John Travolta in thongs having a dance off right behind you! I hopped and pointed. To no avail.
He had become smarter in the last three minutes.
He calmly walked over to a large whip, picked it up and cracked it.
It's easier if you just give in to me. It's less painful that way," he said coldly.
Having ill advisedly watched Deliverance only weeks ago on Netflix. I did the only thing a woman in my situation could do: I fainted.