A/N: I'm not sure how to spell out a groan but I'm groaning now. I got a PM from someone who told me to stop this story because she doesn't like my characters, nor the original FSoG characters. What a monumental ego. One person doesn't like it; almost 400 do but I should stop it for her. At least she had the gumption to sign her name. Listen, I had to make a decision whether or not to include the BDSM in this story. I also wanted to give y'all a sexy chapter for V-Day. It's not what it seems; there'a a little manipulation here. But, hey, what the hell is wrong with a woman wanting to be dominated sexually? Feminism and sexual kink are not mutually exclusive. I happen to be an alpha female and here's my dirty little secret: I think dominant males in the bedroom are smokin' hot. Don't like it? Well, I guess we won't be friends. Oh, well. Fortunately, I seem to be in good company without you since I have lots of friends here. Leave us to our dirty fun and go read some Naomi Wolf. For God's sake, I don't want to fight; I just want to have some fun to escape the tortures of RL.

Chapter 11

The interview goes beautifully. Roger Cain, the head of the motion graphics department where I'll be working as a junior animator if I get the job, is a young guy, probably about thirty at most, and he's laidback and cool. He looks at my resume, asks me a few questions about school and my interests, and then asks when I could start. I almost expected him to offer me the job on the spot but he doesn't. I suppose he has more applicants scheduled to interview.

Will I take the job if it's offered to me? Probably. It seems like a fun job and though I'd rather do something with writing or editing, I think digital effects is way more lucrative an employment avenue. Plus, the people there all look like fun and I won't have to dress in stuffy suits and other boring conservative clothing. The starting salary is nothing to write home about but I should be able to meet my monthly bills adequately—as long as I stay away from the shops Kate and I visited this past week.

I'm finished filling out the applications and interviewing with the HR person by ten to five. Wishing the receptionist at Digital Canvas good evening, I set out for Grey & Co., Inc. It's a seductive spring evening, the kind when the air is silky and fresh and it strokes over raw nerves like magic fingers. I'm scanning for the address when I see only a huge building up ahead. I check the address again. Weird. It's on this side of the street yet there's only the giant skyscraper up ahead. Surely that can't be Christian's company building?

When I pass the last building on this block, I'm certain that the monstrous building is Christian's. He must lease some floors in the building since he can't possibly own the whole thing. Can he? Just how successful a businessman is he?

When I get to the front, I look up and there's the address number 350. Just above the stenciled number is a stone cornice with the name Grey carved into it. I almost stagger backward.

Mustering my resolve, I shove through the heavy revolving door and am immediately confronted by a low sleek rosewood desk shaped in a semicircle like a letter U. A young blonde woman and a sandy-haired man sit there together, both with headsets on. There are exquisite white and purple orchids on each side of the desk.

"Hello. How may I help you?" The young woman looks at me brightly.

"Oh, hello. I'm here to see Christian Grey?"

She doesn't even try to hide her surprise. "Mr. Grey? Do you have an appointment, Miss?"

"He's expecting me," I answer quickly.

Now the young man jumps in. "Miss, might I have your name, please?"

"Surely. Ana Steele."

He's scanning a screen in front of him. "I'm sorry, Miss Steele, but I do not show an appointment for you. You're going to have to contact Mr. Grey's assistant to set up an appointment to see him."

I roll my eyes and sigh. "As I've mentioned, Mr. Grey is expecting me. Now, if you don't mind, please phone him and inform him that Ana Steele is here. That's Ms. Steele. Thank you." Even though I sound haughty, my whole body is trembling with nerves. These people are treating me like I'm holding a tin cup or something. Imagine if I weren't dressed up as I am, and in my usual outfit of blue jeans, scuffed boots or shoes, and a little t-shirt? They'd probably toss me out the door.

The perfect blonde looks merely annoyed but the young male seems to know enough to do some checking before taking further action. He presses a button. "Yes, Sylvia? There's a Ms. Ana Steele here claiming that Mr. Grey is expecting her? Thank you." He put snotty emphasis on the Ms.

I'm watching his face as he waits for confirmation. Whatever she says to him makes him sit up straighter and he turns to me, all sweetness and light. "Ms. Steele, you may go up. Mr. Grey's office is on the 23rd floor. Please use the elevator bank to your right. Thank you."

Offering them a curt thank-you, I spin on my high heels and click my way to the elevators. I don't like those two because they made me feel bad about myself. No sooner do I press the button than the elevator doors swish open.

I enter the sleek elevator car and just before the doors close, a tall man slips between them.

"Good afternoon," he says, smiling warmly.

I return the sentiment in a soft voice and notice he's going to the same floor as I am. We ride up quietly; I stare straight ahead but I can feel his eyes on me. When we reach our floor, he allows me to step out first. Getting my bearings, I see a low-slung glass reception table with yet another blonde with a headset. I head over in her direction, Mr. Tall and Friendly in pursuit.

"Hello. Ana Steele to see Mr. Grey?"

This time I'm greeted with a degree of courtesy. "Yes, Ms. Steele. Please have a seat. Mr. Grey will be with you shortly. May I offer you anything? We have iced water, coffee, or tea?"

"No, thank you." I sit down as far away from her as possible, which is not far at all. I can hear the man say in a hushed tone, "Who's in with him?"

The woman answers in a similar low voice. "Palmieri and Johnson. He's trying to wind up the meeting but he said you should go right in if you made it in time."

The man doesn't say anything in response but cocks his head and must have somehow gestured or made a face for the blonde replies in a very subdued voice. "I don't know." I can see her arch her brows in a perplexed expression.

I know they're talking about me and I'm feeling massively uncomfortable. How can they be so rude? Finally the guy goes into Christian's office.

Despite the fact that the blonde keeps busy, I feel bristling tension stretching across the room, from her desk to my chair. It what seems an eternity but is probably about seven minutes, the double doors to Christian's office again open and out files the Tall and Friendly, another older man, a short-haired thirtyish woman, and my dark-haired beauty bringing up the rear. He catches my eye and gives me a dazzling smile.

"By Tuesday, Grey. We'll have it ironed out and ready." This, from the older man who looks kind of like George Clooney but not as pretty.

"Good." The three stride past the blonde and nod to her like an assembly line, continuing to the elevator. Before they get there, they all glance at me and smile blandly. I return it perfunctorily. Meantime, Christian walks directly over to where I sit and offers me his hand.

"Hello, Ana. Come into my office for a moment." He glances at his… whatever she is… I suppose his administrative assistant. "Heather, hold all calls, no exceptions. Thank you."

She looks startled and I see her glance toward the elevator. I so desperately want to turn around to enjoy the looks on their faces but I can't do it inconspicuously. The petty part of me wants to stick out my tongue at their smug superiority. That's right, he's mine, asswipes. But I'd never really say that. Never hurts to think it though, while imagining them in their tighty-whities.

As soon as he closes the door, he enfolds me in his arms and kisses me: first soft grazes with his warm lips and then his hot tongue slides into my mouth, making my innards slide lower in my body. Damn. It. He does things to me.

"How are you?" He asks as he finally breaks away, only to bury his nose in my hair. He loves to do that, I think.

"I'm good," I say breathily. Why oh why is he so gut-wrenchingly handsome? He's smiling down at me, his full lips glistening from our kiss, his perfect nose… there… on his face, his mesmerizing sterling eyes… focus, Ana. "Are you almost ready to leave?"

"I am…" he says slowly, his eyes beginning to twinkle with devilry, "but I was thinking how much I'd like to fuck you over my desk. What do you think?"

I peek around him to check it out. "It's made of glass."

"It's very sturdy, I assure you."

"Um. I thought we were going to talk."

"Baby, there's always time to talk but there's not always an office in the sky to fuck in."

"But this is your office, so there is."

"Logic is so overrated at times." He sighs. "Okay, you win for the moment. Let's go get an early dinner and if everything goes my way, we'll go to my place from there." He waggles his eyebrows and rubs his hands together like a cartoon villain. I laugh, really laugh for the first time in I don't know how long and the floodgates crash open. I can't stop and I don't know why. It wasn't that funny. Before long, he joins me. By the time we exit his office, I'm out of breath and my stomach hurts but I feel as light as cotton candy.

Mmm, cotton candy.

Christian takes me to a small café where he proceeds to order us both dinner. Even though we each only want a glass of wine, he orders a bottle since the wine he wants isn't served by the glass. While we eat, we talk.

"So? Questions?"

I look around me at the crowded dining room. "Not much privacy here."

"No, but it was close and quick and I'm anxious to get you home. No one can hear us, Ana. Tell me what's troubling you."

"Punishment."

He sits back as his eyes widen. "Specifically what about it?"

"Pretty much everything. I'm afraid of doing something that requires it and I'm really afraid of how much it will hurt."

"I'll go over all of my rules thoroughly so you know exactly what transgressions will warrant a punishment and you can accordingly avoid them. As for pain, there will be some but not more than you can take. We'll build up to it in intensity, Ana, I promise."

"Is it possible to just take if off the table completely?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I need it."

"You need it… or want it?"

"Both."

"Would you like being punished?"

Both brows arch and his pupils appear to contract, making him look stern. "I have been."

"Interesting yet you didn't answer the question," I comment dryly, echoing his words from earlier in the week.

He scowls and shakes his head but doesn't answer. I prod "And?"

"And," he snarls, "I didn't care for it. Such is life."

I stop talking. He's getting mad at me and I'm starting to feel defensive. This punishment slash discipline thing is scaring me off. The kinky sex is intimidating enough but I'm pretty sure I can do that if he needs it; I know I can. The punishment thing, though, really wigs me out. I've never been hit before, not by my parents or anyone else. What confounds me most is the paradoxical element: if he genuinely likes me, why would he enjoy inflicting pain on me? It seems counterintuitive.

His commanding voice breaks into my reverie. "Finish eating, Ana, and we'll continue our talk at my place."

"I'm finished."

"Eating?"

I nod.

"You've barely eaten anything!"

"I am finished," I say slowly, enunciating every word as if speaking to an imbecile. I feel my anger rising at his imperious attitude and I sense this night is not going to end well.

He rolls his eyes. Last time I did it, he told me that eye-rolling was a punishable transgression but he does it often himself. Mr. Grey seems to maintain a double standard.

The bottle of Pinot Noir is nearly full. Christian glances around and sees an older couple at the table next to us. They each have a wine glass that holds some remnants of red wine. He leans over toward the pair. "Excuse me?"

They both look up with friendly eyes.

"Forgive me for intruding on your dinner. My friend and I ordered a bottle of this fine wine and won't be finishing it. Would you care to have it?"

The woman smiles and the man nods his head. "Thank you. That's very kind and we'll be happy to take if off your hands."

Christian smiles and hands him the bottle. "To your health."

He's already paid the tab so he stands and extends his hand to me. "Come, Ana. It's time to go.

Part of me thinks I should go home, not give in, make some kind of a stand for myself. Imagining how that will play out stays my hand, however. He might just say forget it, that I'm too much trouble. One thing that Christian had written in his rules that made my blood run cold was that, though both parties reserve the right to terminate the arrangement for any reason at any time, if the submissive chooses to do so it is an irrevocable action. Mr. Grey obviously tolerates no fickle women in his life.

I know I haven't known him for very long, but I don't want to lose him. Is it possible that I've fallen in love with him so quickly? Just looking at his darling face makes my heart pound faster. When he smiles, the earth sits properly on its axis. When I'm with him, I feel as if anything is possible.

Yes, I think I do love him. So I place my hand in his warm, comforting one and allow him to take me home.

…..

He holds my head in both of his hands: I can't move an inch. His gaze is like a surgeon's scalpel, slicing into my soul with the utmost precision and finesse. If I didn't think it impossible, I'd say he's looking at me with love or something akin to it.

"Ana," he whispers, "I've wanted you back in my bed since the moment you left it. Did you know that I've never let any woman share my bed before you?"

I clutch his wrists, lost in those eyes—it's akin to being sucked into a powerful vortex. "You told me that. Why me?"

"I simply don't know. You're beautiful, charming, intelligent, and exceedingly entertaining. Yet, I don't think it's any of those things, oddly enough. There's something about you—your soul, spirit, animus, something—that speaks so clearly to me. Oh, and there's another thing, too."

"Oh?" I'm barely breathing.

"Yes, I happen to want to tie you down so tightly you can't possibly escape me or even move an inch, and fuck you raw… and suck you sore, until you scream and beg for mercy… or more. That's the other thing, Ana."

He's managing to keep a straight face despite peering directly into my scarlet one. Just hearing him say those words has made my knees weaken and other things shift form, to put it nicely—dry things get wet, wet things go dry, some things tighten, others shake loose. It's like a carnival happening inside my body, all from hearing dirty words whispered in a husky baritone voice, with molten silver eyes, half-lidded, boring into mine. Damn. It.

"Yes, there's that…" I mutter. "Maybe we should give it another go before we make any life-altering decisions?"

"Oh, no, Ms. Steele. I want you in my special room upstairs, tonight. Now." He brushes his lips against mine and smirks. "Exactly how brave are you?"

"Is brave the appropriate adjective?" I'm hoping that stupid or desperate don't fit better.

"Do you trust me?"

"I think so, yes." As soon as the words leave my lips, I realize that I actually do trust him implicitly even though I barely know him. It seems reckless but there it is. And even if I didn't trust him, Kate knows who I'm with and where I am so he can't murder me or beat me senseless without threat of exposure.

He smiles and kisses my forehead, proceeding to lead me by the hand up the stairs to his dungeon. Dungeon. Oh, God, I'm in for it.

He speaks quietly to me as we walk. "Let's try it this once. I realize you haven't yet given me a definite answer but perhaps a trial would be beneficial. After all, you're so very inexperienced at all of it, even plain old vanilla sex. This way, you'll have a clearer idea of what I'm about and you can make a more informed decision."

Currently incapable of articulation, I bob my head in agreement. When we reach the doors, he punches in a code on the keypad and the door clicks open. "Though we won't do anything too extreme, Ana, I'm going to treat you like I would any submissive so you get a clear picture of my expectations.

He moves to the side and gestures with his arm. "After you."

I step in and hear the door close behind us. HIs hands drop heavily on my shoulders, turning me to face him, and I just now notice he's still in his suit. It looks wrong in here and I wonder if he'll change… or perhaps get naked. That would be nice.

"Ana, pay attention," he says, staring intently into my eyes. Right before me, he begins to undergo a subtle but definite physical change. His stature becomes more erect so he looks bigger, taller, His face appears more angular—it must be the dim lighting in the room but he looks harsher. His chest expands. No trace of good humor can be found on his face.

Holy fuck: this is dominant Christian and he's radioactive hot.

"First off, you must address me as sir or master within these walls. No exceptions. Requiring repeated reminders is a punishable offense."

My breath hitches and I see recognition of my reaction in the flare of his irises. Yet he doesn't back down a micro-inch nor does he seem to expect any protest from me. I bite my lip to keep from blurting out a refusal.

"Second, while we're in here, you should always be on your knees. I will show you the kneeling position once you're appropriately dressed… or undressed as the case may be. Strip now."

I gape at him, waiting for a smile or something to show he's kidding. He's not. He just continues to watch me, waiting for me to obey. I step back and begin to remove my clothes. I still have on the same outfit I wore to my interview. As I pull off each garment, he takes it from me, folding it neatly and placing it on a chair in the corner. When I'm down to undergarments and shoes, he stops me.

"Normally, you'll be naked in here unless otherwise directed. Tonight, however, I'd like you to leave on your stockings and shoes. For now you may also leave on your panties but the bra comes off."

Without taking my eyes off his, I reach around and undo the hooks. The bra drops and as my breasts spill out, his eyes slide down off my face. "Very pretty. I love puffy nipples," he says, reaching out a finger to touch, "they're the softest thing I've ever felt, bar none." I always hated that about my breasts but he seems to really appreciate them.

"Follow me," he says, striding into a dark corner next to the door. He points to the floor. "This is your place to kneel when you are awaiting me. Drop down to your knees now and I will position your body correctly."

I walk over shakily and drop down slowly. When my knees hit the cold hardwood floor, I look up for further direction. As scary as all of this is, I know I'm physically excited, perhaps more than I've ever been in my life with the exception of last weekend when I lost my virginity to the most spectacular man on the planet.

"I realize it's hard to sit on your feet when you're wearing heels, so I'll take off your shoes for a moment so you can learn the position." He proceeds to slip them off, then he gently kicks my knees apart, pushing down on my shoulders until I'm sitting on my feet. "Keep your shoulders erect but bow your head, eyes cast down. Your hands rest on your thighs, palms up. Nearly every part of you is visually accessible in this way. Understand, Ana?"

I nod.

"Always answer verbally so no miscommunication results."

"Yes, I understand."

He says nothing and I wait. And wait. Finally I peek up at him.

"I'm waiting for the proper address, Ana."

Oops. "Yes, sir. I understand," I say quickly.

He pivots on the balls of his feet, walking to the other side of the room. Is he angry that I forgot the address? Or maybe he wants me to call him master. I really don't think I can do that. It's a bit much to ask of me.

I can't see what he's doing since my eyes are on the floor and I suddenly understand why this position is used: by not being able to see what's coming, it increases the anxiety, probably exponentially. Right now my senses are hyper-aware of every tiny thing: the citrus smell of polished wood, the shiny cool hardwood floor under my knees, the air charged with tension or perhaps there's a strong electromagnetic field or something—everything seems magnified no matter how subtle. I hear what sounds like the door closing.

Has he left me alone in here? I wait, forcing myself to stay in place, my ears attuned to any potential sound but I hear nothing. I now understand why absolute silence is often described as loud. My ears do not pick up even the slightest rustle or movement of air. Minutes stretch into what feels like hours but I know it's not and I finally hear the door reopen. He sails past but I can only see the lower half of him. He now wears jeans and his feet are bare. God, his feet are sexy.

I dare to take a lightning-fast peek up and I see him wave his hand past an iPod dock and music comes on. Quickly he finds what he wants and turns toward me. I dart my eyes down just in time to escape notice. The volume of the music recedes as the thunder of blood pounding in my ears increases. Inhaling deep breaths, I begin to calm and hear strains of some operatic music but I can't identify the composition—it might be from Carmen. My mom would know, right off the bat.

It's as if he's forgotten I'm here. He strides over to the other side of the large room and I hear drawers or cabinets open and close, the rustle of plastic wrap, other sounds I can't immediately identify. What the hell is he doing?

Finally, his feet walk into my field of vision.

"Stand, please."

I rise to my feet, somewhat unsteadily.

"I expect you to master kneeling and rising so you can do it with perfect grace. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." I blush at my ineptitude and then wonder why I'm embarrassed that I'm imperfect at subservience. Sheesh.

"Follow me," he says curtly and turns, walking over to the center of the floor. "Your wrists, please?"

I pause for a tiny second before obeying and he snaps at me, "Do not hesitate!"

Quickly I place my hands in his large one and he buckles soft leather cuffs on each wrist, then hooks them together and hoists them over my head where he attaches them to a chain suspended from that ever so odd ceiling. He tightens all the slack out of the chain so my arms are stretched tautly.

"How is that? Feel comfortable enough?"

"It's not comfortable… sir. But it's not uncomfortable either."

"Very good." He takes something out of his back pocket and produces it in front of my nose with a flourish. "This little pretty is called a flogger. It can feel very nice or very naughty. Tonight it will only feel nice, Ana, no pain. Okay?"

"Yes."

Oh, God, I forgot. "Sir! Yes, sir."

"Good girl. Now, we need to decide on a safe word. Red is a standard one, with yellow being an alarm. If you say yellow, I pay closer attention. If you say red, everything stops. However, we can use any word you prefer."

"Red is fine, sir." I lick my lips, wanting to get this over and done with. The man in this room is not the same man I've come to like and possibly love. In this room he's sexier than fuck but also sort of mean and definitely not cuddly and affectionate. I'm having a hard time reconciling this Christian with the one I want to be with.

He takes something out of his other back pocket and I see it's a blindfold. He places it over my eyes and ties it securely in back. "The blindfold will allow you to focus more on the tactile sensations rather than other stimuli. It also helps us shed inhibitions for some reason—if you can't see the bad thing coming at you, you can't worry about it as much, I suppose. Now," his lips move directly to my ear and the heat of his breath flows over my face, "I want you to stay perfectly still and absorb all the different sensations. If you move, you dissipate intensity. Can you remain stock-still for me, Ana? It would please me very much."

"Yes, sir, I will stay still."

"Good." He kisses my temple and I hear nothing but the music. I cannot even orient him in his place so I never know from what direction the flogger is coming. First, it comes at me from the rear, marching all over first my upper thighs, then my rear end, and up my back to my shoulders. It begins whisper soft but as time goes on…and the music grows stronger, the strands hit harder. Without any warning, the suede strands come from a different direction and are flung against my breasts—not savagely but enough to produce a sting. He keeps at it, the rhythm hypnotic, until my breasts feel so swollen they're likely to split open, at which point he moves down to my belly. It's amazing how unerring he is—at the precise moment when I feel I can't take another lick, he moves on. How does he do that?

I hear him throw something on the floor near my feet. The flogger? Suddenly a different flogger is making its way up my inner thighs. I know it's different because it's smaller and there aren't as many strands. This one has something hard on the tips—not metal or anything that hard but perhaps pieces of leather or something. I think I know where this is leading since he begins at the inside of my ankles and going back and forth between both legs, keeps stinging each side, one after the other as he works his way up.

Oh, God, I want him to get there so badly—I need him to get there. I have a suddenly desperate need to come. He's been working his way to this but I was so distracted by the novelty of everything that I didn't realize the state I am in until now when I've reached a crisis point.

He's up to my knees now and I wish I could hurry him.

"Shall I let you come?"

Embarrassed, I squeeze my eyes under the blindfold.

"Answer me, Ana, or I will withhold the orgasm for the rest of the night. Shall I make you come with the flogger?"

"Yes, sir." My voice is a strangled whisper.

"I'm not sure you deserve it."

I feel him moving the chain above my head and then there's slack.

"Kneel," he says and I think I know what's coming next. I wanted to try this but I was afraid he'd think me way too forward. Now he's giving me no choice so I don't have to worry. Sure enough, I feel his finger at my lips, pushing them open. "Keep your hands on your legs. Don't bite," he says playfully and then slowly pushes himself into my mouth.

I'm not sure what to do but he cradles my head in his hand and directs me. I try different things but I don't know what he likes. I hear him crouch in front of me and he takes my hand and inserts my finger into his mouth, sucking on it lightly, then harder, moving it in and out of his mouth once it's nice and wet. He pulls it out.

"Try it that way." His voice is hungry with lust and it spurs me on. I do to him exactly what he did to my finger, and he threads his fingers through my hair and moans. Every deep, sexy moan pushes me further until I get so enthusiastic that I gag. He pulls out to give me a moment and thrusts right back in, even deeper, setting off my gag reflex again. "Control it," he says, expecting me to, obviously, as he plunges in again. This time, I actually manage to control it. After just a few more swings, he pulls out and lifts me to my feet, tightening the chains again.

"I think you do deserve it," he says and begins with the flogger again. This time he doesn't stop. He begins at my ankles on the inside of my legs and steadily works his way up. There's no teasing, just a forward progression. When he reaches my thighs I break out in sweat, feeling as if every part of my body is straining to get that flogger at the right spot. Inches away, I'm waiting and waiting, he's getting closer and closer. When it comes, I'm not expecting the sheer intensity of the hit. It's a hot sharp pain that explodes into a brutal kind of pleasure. There's nothing sweet about it. The orgasm rips through me like a lightning bolt and I can't stop the scream from tearing out of my throat. Before I'm even through coming, he lifts me off my feet, disengages the chains, and pulls me to the high bench, bending me over, and burying himself inside me with one deep thrust of his hips.

God, at first it's so painful but I'm so ready that the pain doesn't detract too much from the lust. In a moment I've acclimated to him. He's holding my hands down on the edge of the bench with his own and using them as leverage to hammer away. I'm kind of new at this for him to be so rough but I like it. I want to hear him come.

He reaches around and cups me between my legs, beginning to play with me again. I'm so sensitive from my climax but he doesn't seem to know or care. He just keeps at it until I'm ready again. I feel my body climbing higher, falling into that feeling again and just as I'm at the lip, the very edge, he painfully pinches me, holds it a moment, and then releases. With the release I slam into my orgasm so hard, falling even further when I hear him say Fuck, Ana, and then jerk violently inside me. We both collapse onto the leather bench and I realize that my whole body is trembling and I'm soaking wet from head to toe.

I think I like this kind of thing. I think Christian knows it, too.