Note from Riottori: Apologies to those who like happy endings. I do to but I also like controversy. Again, thanks to those peeps who have messaged and for the plot ideas. They are always eagerly received. You should know that I am being very submissive, typing in a dark room while a sunshine day passes me by, for your pleasure! I hope you enjoy the next segment...

I head downstairs in the elevator, unsure of where I'm going to go, what my next move should be. The image of my frustrated Fifty floats in front of my face. My excitement at the power I still wield over him is bitter-sweet. Like the power he still has over me. A memory takes me over, escorts me deep into the past, a place I don't really want to revisit.

I had laid our favourite grey tie on the bed in the shape of a question mark. Teddy must have been around four and Phoebe about two. Carrick and Grace had taken them out for the day and then they were having a sleep-over. I needed this, we needed this, to re-group. No more Mommy, no more Daddy. Just Ana and Christian.

He entered the living room picking his way across the plush carpet which was strewn with toys and other signs of domestic life, to stand in front of me. His inquiring expression alerted me to the fact he had found the tie. I feigned mock-surprise, my mouth forming a delicate little 'o'.

"Do you want to?" he asked, as he trailed the tie between his long fingers. I longed to feel the familiar tug on my wrists, the giving in to the power, the complete submission. At first I had acquiesced to get at his love, to tap into it and achieve my 'more' but now I realised that it showed his love and I needed it again. This was ours, something we shared. Our dirty little secret.

"Yes," I breathed, not able to elaborate, not wanting to break our intense eye contact or dampen the mood with unnecessary language. It had taken me time to locate the tie, a sign of how long it had been since we had had any flavour other than vanilla.

"Go to The Room," he ordered.

I sat in the corner as he had showed me, palms face up, hair in pigtails, completely naked bar a pair of white cotton panties. I looked as virginal as I could. He entered with a gust of wind that I could feel on my skin, that played over my body like hands on a harp.

He walked towards me, then around me, assessing my posture, the level of my submission. I stared down at the floor not making a move, playing my role as he wanted. I almost felt my legs buckle beneath me, felt the throb of hot blood circulating through my veins, the tingle of the exertion in my thighs from my position. I was a little out of practice. I breathed in through my nose, steadying my growing anticipation.

"Stand," he barked, looming over me.

I bobbed up in one fluid movement, my eyes still focused on the floor. He fingered my pigtail, running it through his fingers as he had done with the tie just moments before.

"Ana, Ana," he sighed, hot breath against my neck. I resisted the urge to shiver. I could feel my skin prickle and pucker. "What am I going to do with you?"

I didn't reply. He tilted my head up, encircled my exposed throat with his long fingers. His other hand slowly trailed along my breasts, a small quick flick over the taut nipple and then down over my belly.

I felt him touch the scar from the C-section and hesitate. My heart skipped a beat.

No, Christian, I willed him. I'm Ana, your Ana.

I moved forward a little into his hand, showing my desire and willingness.

He worried the scar some more but I could feel him slipping from me. I looked up, daringly into his eyes, trying to get him back, to incite a reaction. I'm disobeying you, my eyes said. Make me stop.

He took a step back.

"I can't, baby," he whispered, turning his slate eyes from mine. "I'm sorry. I can't do this with you anymore." And he had walked away from me and The Room. It was the 'with you' in his words which had alarmed me the most.

I shake my head as I walk to my car, as if trying to dislodge the memory. I feel the surge of another bubbling up, battering against my brain, trying to get in. I give in and let it take over.

I was sitting in Flynn's waiting room, idly flicking through the pages of a magazine, not really seeing as supermodel after supermodel flitted in front of my face. My foot tapped on the floor, anxiety coursed through me. I felt like I was made of electricity.

The door flew open and Flynn greeted me, a reassuring hand on my arm. He herded me into his office and led me to the familiar black chair.

"Ana, how are you?" he asked. Is this a formality? I wondered. The fore-play to our session proper?

"Not well," I began, as a wave of emotion crashed over me, threatened to drown me. "It's Christian. And me. It's...us."

I looked up and felt myself shrink back from his inquisitive gaze. Maybe this was a mistake, maybe I should have found my own therapist. But he knows Christian so well.

"I'm listening, Ana. Please..." I watched his face soften and he settled back as I told him of The Disaster in The Room.