“Mrs. Taylor makes an excellent veal piccata, wouldn’t you say?”
Christian is being superfluously coy through this entire meal. Making everyday conversation while grinning at me like the cat that ate the canary.
“Yes,” I agree, “just the right balance of lemon in the sauce.” Two can play at this. “If I may add, the veal is quite tender. A distinguished effort,” I take another bite of my dinner.
“We should remember to compliment her,” he adds before sliding another bite into his mouth, extricating the fork slowly without letting his eyes leave mine.
Oh fifty, this game is so on. With my fork I stab one long green bean at the end, slide it into my mouth closing my lips around it, then retract it almost all the way out before taking a bite. “The haricot verts are perfectly cooked and crisp. I can be so disappointed when they aren’t firm.”
Christian’s grin couldn’t possibly get any wider, “Mrs. Grey, I don’t think even a legume would dare not be firm around you.”
“If you weren’t holding our son right now, I would be tempted to verify that assumption.”
His eyes widen a bit and he leans over to me and whispers, “Later.”
“Is that a promise Mr. Grey?”
Somehow we make it through dinner without bursting into flames, though my cheeks are in a continuously flushed state. Seated together with Christian at the head of the dining room table and me at his right, the remaining twelve seats vacant, we are like two guppies in a hundred gallon tank. Two very horny guppies. One of which is looking more and more like a shark with each passing minute. Exacerbating the issue is, well, our issue. More specifically the swaddled cherub nestled in Christian’s left arm, who is intermittently on the receiving end of Eskimo kisses courtesy of one overprotective father. As Christian once again peeks down at his charge and nuzzles noses with Teddy I take a mental picture of a perfect moment and close my eyes to imprint it in my memory. My heart, and other parts of my anatomy, tingle. The aforementioned other parts have been tingling all night.
The tension has been building since Christian set foot in the door. If I’m honest, even before that. I awoke from my nap and was feeding Teddy in the family room as Gail brought me the mandated glass of water.
“Mrs. Grey, Mr. Grey requested we hold dinner for him as he should arrive home by seven.”
My inner goddess jumped up and did a cartwheel on the spot, recalling the wagging tongues missive from earlier. I wonder what ‘other things’ he’ll pull from his repertoire tonight. “Thank you, Mrs. Taylor.”
Gail has cleared the dinner plates and set dessert before us. But rather than two desserts, she places a single plate in front of us and announces, “Molten chocolate cake. Enjoy.”
I glanced down at the warm gooey chocolate treat in front of us. Reverting my gaze up, I lock eyes with my husband. “Allow me, Mrs. Grey.”
Allow you to what? Ravage me? Tease me? Tempt me? Sometimes I need to stuff a ball gag in my inner goddess’s mouth. Christian picks up the single spoon Mrs. Taylor left with dessert. My brain is already succumbing to hormone induced stupor, but I have just enough clarity to realize Christian must have instructed her to server a solitary dessert with a solo spoon.
Christian takes a scoop of chocolate cake from the side and immediately the hot center oozes out onto the plate. He guides the spoon to my mouth giving me a delicious chocolate delight. He repeats the process, guiding the spoon into his own delectable mouth this time. Closing his eyes to appreciate the flavor, he moans. I don’t know if it is wishful thinking or not, but I swear I feel the vibration from his moan everywhere. And by everywhere, I mean THERE.
“Would you like more, Mrs. Grey?”
My brain screams. Yes. Please. More. More everything. But no words come out. I lick my lips and nod.
“Well then. Let’s see how well you follow instructions. If you perform well under my tutelage, I shall be happy to reward you.” He scoops up more of the decadent dessert and holds the spoon at eye level. “Remove your panties.”
Shit. I still have the tennis skirt on.
“I’m waiting, Anastasia.”
I nervously giggle. “Um, Christian, it’s a skort.” I hope this doesn’t ruin our fun.
Christian scowls and looks down. “Well, that is an encumbrance. We shall have to adapt and overcome.” He looks at the spoonful of chocolate. “I guess this one is for me,” and he devours the morsel, leaving me to pout. Taking yet another spoonful of dessert his now burning gaze turns back to me. “Push your chair back from the table.” I do as commanded. “Good. Sit forward on the edge of your seat.” I slide forward as Christian’s observes with scrutiny, then nods approval. “Spread your legs.” My mouth is hanging open, nevertheless I open my knees.
He smirks at me, puts the spoon down and places his hand on his knee. Then he licks his lips, though whether he is capturing residual chocolate or anticipating something more I can’t say. “Now Anastasia, I want you to slide your right hand under your waistband, into your skirt, and I want you to touch yourself.”
My blush accelerates. Where I had been a flush pink before, I am now beet red. I take a deep breath, lift my hand from where it had been resting on the table, and slide it into my skirt and panties.
“Good girl. Run your fingers back and forth.” Keeping my eyes fixed on his, I do as he asks. “Are you wet for me, Anastasia?” God, yes. I don’t seem to be able to make my voice work, so I just nod. “Glad to know it. But I want to hear it. So I’ll ask again. Are you wet for me, Anastasia?”
I inhale deeply and croak out, “Yes.”
Christian smirks again, “I thought so. But I don’t think hearing it is enough. I think I need proof.” Proof? How? “Take your left hand and hold out the waistband of your skirt and panties. Carefully withdraw your right hand without brushing against your skin or clothes.
Okay. I pull my skirt and panties away from my body and withdraw my hand slowly, mindful of the fabric. Once my hand is free, I release the waistband of my skirt and sit there holding my hand out. Without warning, Christian grabs my wrist, pulls my hand to him, and takes my middle finger in his mouth. I feel his tongue circle my digit as he sucks it clean. I even feel him lick under the nail, getting every last drop of my arousal.
When he’s finished, he languidly withdraws my finger from his mouth and releases my hand. “I would say that is sufficient evidence. A treat for a treat?” Christian retrieves the spoon full of chocolate and feeds it to me. “Taste good?” I nod. “Mine, too,” he whispers. “And I want more. Slide your hand back into your skirt.” I obey. “Run your finger back and forth.” I do as I’m told. “Now circle your clitoris until I tell you to stop.”
Using my middle finger, I slowly rub my clitoris. I alternate between small circles and larger circles that include crossing the folds of my labia. I keep going, thinking Christian will stop me any minute. But he doesn’t. He’s alternating between watching my face and where you can see my hand moving under my skirt. My breath hitches as I feel the beginnings of an orgasm.
“Stop.” I freeze. “Again, remove your hand without touching your body or clothes.” I do. And again he seizes my hand and licks my finger clean. Releasing my hand, he offers me another spoonful of molten chocolate.
“Again, Anastasia.” This time he doesn’t need to spell it out. I dip my hand back into my skirt. I’m feeling a little bolder, maybe because my hand is hidden, maybe because I’m getting comfortable with it. But this time I really move around, experimenting with what feels good. Using two fingers now, I gather moisture from within my folds then use it as lubricant as I massage myself.
With a minimum of trial and error, I find an angle that is particularly pleasing. My subconscious pops up to remind me we are not alone, but in a very open space in the dining room with staff lurking nearby. Mrs. Taylor could be back any minute to clear the dessert plate.
“Mrs. Taylor has retired for the evening, Anastasia. Please continue.” I hadn’t realized I had hesitated. Though I should have known Christian would think ahead. I resume caressing my private parts, running my index and middle finger through the wetness threatening to soak through my panties and stroking my clit. Getting lost in the sensations, I close my eyes and just feel. I begin to move my hips slightly, clenching and unclenching inside.
“Stop.” My eyes fly open and I cease moving. Just as I was truly letting go. “Hand, Anastasia.”
Carefully withdrawing my hand without wiping anything off, I offer it to him. Taking first my middle finger, then both my middle and index finger in his mouth he cleanses them of my fluids, then offers me my reward. Though the chocolate is sinfully good, I have different sins on my mind that chocolate just cannot satisfy.
When I’ve swallowed the spoonful of dessert, Christian glances down, then up and nods. Comprehending the directive to continue, I once again slide my hand back to my sex. Feeling brave, I recline and rest my head against the chair back and close my eyes. Once again finding the pleasing vantage point, I set to my task blocking all other thoughts out of my mind. For the first time I am able to understand why people do this on their own, though before Christian I never felt such compulsion. It feels good. And naughty. And I’m in control.
“Stop.” My inner goddess screams ‘Nooooo!” After audaciously circling my clit one more time, I withdraw my hand. I should not have doubted Christian would notice. He shakes his head at me, tsk-tsking. “Anastasia, were my instructions vague?”
I shake my head.
“Well, then, this reward is mine,” he scoops up a spoonful of chocolate and delivers it to his own mouth. “Continue.”
Carefully holding my skirt open, I slide my still slick fingers back into place and resume my avocation. Eyes closed, head back, I’m more cautious this time. Listening for the cease order. When it doesn’t come after minute or two, my focus wanders back to the sensations of my body. Savoring the stimulation, my breath quickens.
“Stop.” I halt immediately and am surprised myself with the level of disappointment I feel. Withdrawing my hand, I offer it to Christian. He takes my wrist, but instead of pulling my hand to him, he leads it to my own mouth. Understanding his meaning, I let him guide my fingers into my mouth. Mirroring his prior actions, I lick each finger clean by taking them in, wrapping my lips tightly around them, and withdrawing. Satisfied with my effort, Christian pulls my hand from my mouth and releases it. He takes the last spoonful of dessert, guides it to my mouth, then quickly turns an puts it in his own.
“Hey!” Before I can show my displeasure fully, he drops the spoon, grabs the back of my head, and pulls my mouth to his. His tongue invades me, spreading chocolate on my tastebuds.
Ending the kiss, I savor the last of the dessert left in my mouth. “Mmm, Mrs. Grey. The taste of you and chocolate combined is mouth wateringly good. I shall make note for another day.”
Teddy has begun to squirm. Christian looks down at him, “Well, you have been a patient boy, haven’t you. Okay then, you may have your turn with mommy.” His tone and attitude have completely flipped, just like that. While I am still flush, flustered, and frustrated. “Ana, I’ll clear up here while you take care of Teddy.”
I smile, nod, and gather my son in my arms. I whisper loudly to Teddy, “Sweetie, I think you should know that your father can be an aggravating pain in the you-know-what sometimes.”
Christian chuckles at me, “Careful, there is still a lot of evening ahead of us. You don’t want to give me any ideas.” Actually, I do want to give you ideas. Many, many ideas.
Forty-five minutes later, I lay a sleeping child in the crib. The endorphins from nursing have relaxed my libido enough that I’m no longer about to jump out of my skin seeking release.
Exiting the nursery with careful, quiet steps, I stifle a scream when I get to the hallway to find Christian standing against the wall by the door waiting for me. I’m startled as I expected to meet him in our bedroom.
“Mrs. Grey, apologies for frightening you. Though I believe you are prone to waiting in this particular spot.” He’s referring to my eavesdropping spell a few days back. I wonder if he knows how much I heard, though I can hardly dwell on that right now.
“Perhaps I have stood there, Mr. Grey. But I do not think I had the same malicious intent apparent in you.”
Raising an eyebrow at my insinuation, Christian leans back against the wall with one leg bent and his bare foot pressed flat on the wall. He’s wearing my favorite jeans. The faded ones that fit perfectly. The ones he wears when he wants to play. His chest is bare and the top jean button undone. My libido is back in a flash.
“Malicious? I believe my intents are all benevolent. At least where you are concerned. Care to join me?” He reaches his hand out and I readily place mine in it. Both smiling, we walk down the hall hand in hand. I surreptitiously glance at him as we pass the Madonna painting. I catch him doing the same by the Madeira picture, though he quickly diverts his eyes to the artwork. The low voltage lights serve to enhance the ambience as we reach the closed master suite door.
Pausing at the threshold, Christian pulls me around to face him. “I need to know who is entering with me, my wife or my submissive?”
Casting my eyes to the floor I immediately answer, “Whichever pleases sir.” Without raising my eyes, I’m fully confident Christian is quite pleased with my response. As am I.
“Very well. I want you to enter the room, strip, and kneel facing the wall on the pillow I have left out for you.”
Christian turns the knob and opens the door for me. Once I step inside, he closes the door behind me, leaving me alone to prepare.
He’s placed lit candles along the dressers and on the photo table, and placed a pillow on the floor by the wall between my closet and the bathroom. Going to my closet, I quickly shed my clothes into the laundry hamper. I use the bathroom, wash my face and brush my teeth. As usual, my mane is somewhat untamed, I take a brush to it but quickly realize the futility.
I take one last glance around the bedroom. Other than the candles and pillow, he didn’t prepare anything else. As much as he teased me all evening, getting me ready and eager to play, he made no assumptions about my answer. I smile, fully understanding what I didn’t a year ago. The power is mine.
Not wasting another moment, I kneel on the pillow, facing the wall as directed. I check the distance between my knees, measuring to be sure. Four fists apart. A little trick I figured out after being frustratingly corrected more times than I can count. Christian has never asked how I get it right every time now, and I’ve never shared. It’s silly, but I am proud of my technique and gratified at Christian’s response. I place my hands on my thighs.
Now comes the waiting. I recognize the anticipation build is part of the game. Sometimes it’s five minutes. Others ten. Once Christian had me wait for nearly twenty-five minutes and I was on the verge of jumping out of my skin when he finally entered the room. Later he confided his error in answering the phone and his inability to get Mia to hang up. I sneak a glance over my shoulder at the nightstand and note the clock has been turned around. I don’t think he’ll ever answer the phone again while I am waiting, and he certainly never leaves the clock in view. An adjustment required when the playroom merged into the master suite.
Closing my eyes, I work on steadying my breathing while getting myself into the play mindset. Letting go of my inhibitions. Trusting in Christian. Wondering what is in store. Deep breaths in and out. Suppress the subconscious, the questioning. Let my inner goddess free.
I hear the door click open and shut. Most of the wood floor is covered by the oriental rug, so it takes great effort to ascertain his whereabouts with no footsteps to hear. Keys rattle, and I know he is unlocking the drawers under the bed. I hear items sliding against the wood drawers as he pulls them out, then he shuts one drawer and opens another. After finding what he wants, the second drawer closes.
I see movement out of the corner of my left eye. Straining to see without moving my head I note Christian is taking down the plant off the ceiling hook. Hearing his feet on tile tells me the plant is now in the bathroom. Again there is motion in the corner and a jangling of chains.
Christian moves out of my periphery. I surmise he is retrieving the items he left out. Then he’s back, but with his back to me so I cannot see what he is doing. Once again he vanishes from my view. I close my eyes to focus my energy on anything audible, but there is nothing. No footsteps or drawers or motion at all. The waiting begins anew.
The only sound is my own breathing and the beat of my heart. I both love and hate this part. Wondering where he is and what he’ll do to me. Guessing what toys, implements and equipment will be used. Will he tie me up? Standing or lying? Will he blindfold me?
As the questions roll through my mind, my breathing quickens. My imagination runs away with the possibilities ahead and the memories of past interludes. My whole body is alive and tingling. I struggle to stay still and not shift my neck or stretch my fingers. Lost in my thoughts, I breathe rapidly with excitement.
Without warning, Christian runs his finger up my spine, jolting me out of my reverie.
“Jittery this evening, Anastasia?” Yes. Though I don’t answer aloud. It was a rhetorical question, a response would be unwarranted and unwanted.
“Stand up.” I rise to my feet, but resist the urge to turn and face him. He didn’t say turn. Fortunately he can’t see my face as I always grin a bit at the similarity between dom/sub behavior and a game of Simon says.
Christian tugs on my hair, then proceeds to braid it and bind it with a hair tie. “Turn around.” I pivot on the balls of my feet, keeping my eyes downcast. “Hold your arms out.” I lift my arms in front of me and Christian retrieves a pair of padded leather cuffs with attached D-rings from his back pocket. He buckles each wrist securely and runs his pinky around each wrist under the cuff to ensure it isn’t too tight.
“Hands down by your sides.” I drop my arms. Starting at my chin, Christian runs his index finger down my neck slowly, then down my chest between my breasts, over my stomach, and to my left hip. He proceeds down my thigh and shin, stopping at my left ankle, and retrieves a second set of cuffs from behind his back. Christian straps the padded leather around each ankle, checks the fit, rises and steps back.
“Step over here,” he gestures towards where the plant had hung. There is now a thick chain dangling about two feet down from the ceiling in its place. I walk over and stand under the chain. “Spread your legs.” I slide my feet apart. “Farther.” Sliding even further, I’m slightly concerned about my balance if he binds my hands above me. “That’s good.”
He walks over to the bed and returns with a spreader bar. A quick glance at the bed shows nothing else left there, though I had thought I heard several items retrieved. Maybe he was just moving things around to throw me off?
Christian clicks the clasps on each end of the spreader bar to the D-rings on the ankle cuffs. My ankles are about two and a half feet apart. While I’m contemplating the stability, Christian grabs both my arms and fastens them together with a carabiner. Pulling my arms over my head, he hooks the carabiner into the chain, steps back, then adjusts the carabiner one link higher. I am on flat feet, but stretching my arms significantly.
Stepping back, Christian lets his eyes roam up and down my body. “Now this is a fine sight.” He walks around me until he’s behind me and out of view. “A fine sight indeed.” He steps towards my dresser and my eyes involuntarily follow. There is a hand towel laid out, presumably to conceal some toys or implements beneath it. And two floggers. The first is one of Christian’s original floggers. The one we kept. It’s deerskin, and though the fronds feel soft to the touch, if wielded aggressively it stings quite a bit. In moderation the bite is minor and the pull of blood to the surface very warming. The second flogger is newer, a rabbit fur flogger. The rabbit fur is gentle and forgiving with wider impact points. The bearer can get out a lot of aggression without causing discomfort. It actually resembles a massage of sorts.
Christian stands in front of the two floggers, appearing like he is deciding something. “You put me through a lot of grief, Anastasia. Always insisting on taking risks. Doing things your way.” Christian is running his hand over each flogger in turn, back and forth. “I wonder if some remediation is in order.”
Christian reaches into his pocket, pulls out the IPod remote, and music fills the room via the concealed speakers. It’s a classical piece I’m not familiar with – somewhat dark and brooding.
Christian is suddenly nose to nose with me. Evidently I was distracted enough by the music that I missed Christian’s choice. He softly kisses the corner of my mouth, then brushes his lips over mine. “Are you ready, Anastasia,” he whispers. I nod. “I want to hear you.”
“Yes, sir.” My pulse quickens as I see the deerskin flogger in his hand.
“Very well.” Christian walks behind me, out of my line of vision. Thirty seconds or a minute passes as the music builds and tempo increases. I tense seconds before the flogger hits across my thigh as I feel air move from Christian’s swing. Christian rapidly follows this first impact with a dozen more, across my buttocks, up and down my back, and to my other thigh. I feel the strikes prick for a second, and then the rush of heat. Still behind me, Christian lands three successive hits to my sex, on the third the flogger makes a direct impact to my clitoris and I gasp.
“Do you like that, Anastasia? You may answer.”
“Yes, sir. Very much.”
Circling to my front, Christian pauses and stares into my eyes. Then he raises the flogger and repeats the pattern from one thigh, across my stomach and chest, though he is careful to avoid any direct contact with my nipples, and back down the other thigh. Ending again with three quick hits to my sex, all three making contact with my clitoris, causing me to twitch. Glancing down, I can see pink lines surfacing across my skin.
“Do you like what you see, Anastasia? I do. But take a last look. As much as I love seeing your blue eyes heat up, I love watching you respond to surprises more.” Christian slips the blindfold over my eyes and I’m in darkness.
I feel him step away from me. I hear him at the dresser preparing what had been shrouded under the towel. I concentrate on calming my breathing, but it’s an unattainable objective.
I sense Christian is standing in front of me. He hasn’t touched me or spoken, but I hear his breathing and feel the heat radiating off his body. I want to lean forward and make contact, feel his skin on my skin. I still have enough of my wits about me to resist the urge. My forbearance is rewarded when Christian’s lips caress my breast. He places slow, gentle kisses around the globe, then closes his lips over my nipple. I sigh with pleasure, and instinctively and futilely attempt to bring my legs together to get some contact or friction on my sex.
Sensing my discomfort only makes Christian slow the pace of his merciless assault. His lips circle, then suck, then circle, then suck. He moves to the other breast and my composure is slipping. Unable to stay still, I tilt my pelvis trying to find contact with some part of him.
“Be still.” Crap. I take a deep breath and lock my knees in place. My arms are straining against the cuffs as his mouth resumes on my breast. His mouth is the only part of him touching me. I want his hands. I need his hands. This is torture. The orchestra has begun to build to what I pray is a climax to the piece.
Leaving my breast, Christian’s lips travel downwards across my belly at a deliberate pace. I want to scream for him to touch me. Anywhere. A groan escapes me and I try to mentally will him lower. At last he does. I sigh loudly when his tongue slides along my sex.
“I think you like that, Anastasia.” He does it again. “I think you like that very much.” Oh, I do. He flattens his tongue against my clitoris, my legs twitch.
But then his tongue is gone. He is viciously teasing me, kissing my inner thighs so gently, and so close. Every fiber of my being is focused at the apex of my thighs. “Please,” I whimper and try to move my hips to align his trajectory.
“No, no, Anastasia. Patience will be rewarded. Pursual will not.” Gah! I try to center myself and steady my breathing. When I do Christian resumes taunting me with his lips, so close and yet so far. With my attention intensely focused on my core, Christian slides a lubricated finger in my bottom. My jumbled brain clears enough to realize that’s why he hadn’t touched me. I try to relax and focus on the feelings, but I every muscle is tensed with need.
His tongue returns to my sweet spot as he circles his finger, stretching me out. He flicks my clitoris with his tongue and I cry out. He returns to the gentle teasing kisses. I realize he now has two well lubricated fingers in my rear, sliding in an out. My legs begin to twitch as I approach the edge, but then his mouth leaves me. No! I can’t form the word, but I’m whimpering aloud.
“All in due time, Anastasia.” Argh!
Christian’s fingers slip out of me and for a moment I am bereft of all contact. Then something cool slips into my bottom. He pulls it out again, then slides it back in. It is fractionally larger than the butt plugs he’s used before, and I feel it, but not in bad way. Christian plays with the plug, pulling it partway out, twisting it, pushing it in. I’m panting now, absorbing the sensations.
Christian pushes the plug all the way in, and trails his hand around my hips as he moves in front of me. Then his mouth is back on me. After a few tender licks, his hand is twisting the plug while his lips and tongue tease my labia. There’s a rhythm to it, pacing along with the music. Lick, kiss, twist, repeat. I’m lost in the feelings, I don’t notice his mouth move away.
Suddenly something is pinching. Tight. I gasp and suck in air as I try to figure out what just happened. Christian has stood and moved behind me with his arms circling me. The pinch is still there, but either dulling slightly or I am adjusting. I’m panting rapidly and in fear of hyperventilation.
“Shhhhh,” he whispers in my ear. “Just breathe. In and out.” Putting all my focus on his voice, I inhale and exhale as slowly as I can. He has one hand on my chest and the other on my stomach, and his body is pressed against mine, his front to my back. “Shhhh. Be patient and you’ll get used to it.”
He keeps soothing me for a minute as I adjust whatever he put on me. Somehow he has timed this to a calm, almost sedate, section of the music. I regain enough of my faculties to realize Christian has shed his jeans at some point and is naked against me. The idea both calms me and excites me.
“Do you want to know what you are feeling, Anastasia?” All I can do is nod. “Well, back here,” he slides his hand from my stomach to my bottom and gives the butt plug a twist, “we have a special plug. I wish you could see it. It has a bright blue jewel on it that looks so lovely against your perfect skin. It is the same color as your beautiful eyes.” A blue jewel? A sapphire? “It’s a shame it isn’t a real sapphire, though I suppose I could have one custom made.” His hand glides around my hip and rolls across whatever is biting me down there. “And here we have a clit clip with a matching blue jewel dangling down. I don’t even need to touch you, I can just tap the jewel and it does the work for me,” he touches the thing between my legs again. My breath hitches with the motion and the pull against my most sensitive area. “I know this is new to you, so promise me you’ll yellow if it gets too much. Do you promise?” I nod. “Anastasia, I need to hear you.”
“I promise.” Christian smacks my behind firmly. “I promise, sir.”
He moves away from me, I immediately miss the warmth against my back. The music starts a new movement, with a heavy rhythmic pulse. Then something soft is trailing up my leg to my side. The rabbit fur flogger! He runs it across my back, around my hip to my stomach, and around my other hip to complete the circle. I feel it leave my body, followed by the first blows to my upper back. My skin is still sensitized from the deerskin flogger and I’m craving the contact. Though my arms and feet are immobile, I curve my back to meet each blow. My need for contact is primal and I moan with desire and aggravation. Christian works his way down my back. I can’t even classify the noises I start making when the flogger makes contact with the butt plug, pushing it in with each impact. My inner goddess is screaming ‘Yes’! I realize I’ve arched my back as much as I can to force my bottom out, practically begging for more right there. And Christian aims to please, literally.
My legs are starting to shake and I feel a quiver begin. Then Christian stops. I involuntarily mewl in protest and continue to push my rear out soliciting more. Then lips are on my lips, crushing, demanding. Then they are gone. My mewl has turned into an all out wail. “Please,” escapes me.
“Please what, Anastasia,” he flicks the jewel hanging from my sex as he says this.
Please what? My mind can’t think, only one word comes to mind, “Please,” it is a whine, a plea. I could swear I hear a chuckle, but I don’t care. Just. Please.
The flogger strikes across my stomach. Once. Twice. Three times. Then down my side to my thigh, and back up the other thigh. He repeats this circuit again, but on the second pass a flogger frond brushes the dangling jewel. “Yes,” I hiss. Christian obliges me with a direct hit the next time. “Oh, God!”
Christian works into a pattern; stomach, thighs, then right there twice. I tilt my pelvis forward to catch each strike. My belly is tight and I don’t know if my legs will hold out much longer. Each time I think one more strike will push me over, the flogger moves frustratingly away from my sex.
Christian stops. “Are you ready, Anastasia?” I nod. “Anastasia,” he warns.
“Yes. Please , sir.”
“With pleasure.” He resumes the pattern up my thigh, across my stomach, down the other thigh, then landing on my sex. Only this time he stays there landing four strikes in a row and sending me over the edge.
“Oh, God!” I yell and I’m over the edge to oblivion. Just as my legs give way, Christian is behind me holding me up by my waist with one arm while he unlatches my arms from the chain with his other. When the fog lifts, my eyes are free of the blindfold, I’m lying on my back on the bed and Christian is taking the cuffs from my wrists and massaging my arms and shoulders. He bends my knees and rubs my legs. I realize he hasn’t removed the ankle cuffs or spreader bar.
I close my eyes as I come down from my orgasmic high. I feel warm oil poured on my chest, then Christian’s hands are rubbing it across my shoulders, arms, chest and breasts. The vanilla scent tickles my nostrils as I relax into my rub down.
I’m taken by surprise when I feel Christian’s weight across my ribs. Opening my eyes, Christian is straddling me. I am face to face with a most cherished part of Christian’s anatomy. Most cherished by both of us.
He leans forward, brushing his lips against mine. “Did you think I was done with you, Anastasia?” he whispers into my mouth. To be frank, I hadn’t yet had a coherent thought. “I always want more of you. Always more.” God, this is so hot.
With most of his weight on his knees. Christian starts to move his hips, sliding himself in the channel between my breasts. He glides easily along my oiled skin. Taking my hands in his, he caresses my breasts with my own fingers, then places my hands on the sides of my breasts, pushing them in to encase him.
“Oh,” he moans. “You are so soft.” Christian is moving very slowly, deliberately. “And though you are always the perfect size for me, I have to say this is one advantage of our current situation.” He sits up and releases my hands. “Keep your hands there, Anastasia. And open your mouth.” As soon as I do, he lengthens his strokes and with each one I briefly encircle him.
I’m focused on his pleasure, and my treasure as he give me little tastes of him with each pass. His hand reaches around to my sex, I gasp when he runs his finger across the clip and jewel. My immediate reaction is to close my legs, but I end up just tugging against the spreader bar. Christian chuckles at my quandary.
“Did you forget about the spreader bar, Anastasia? Or was it the clip you forgot about? Or both?” Actually, all three. How did I not realize that clip was still there? I clench my buttocks to confirm the plug is still in place. Christian’s is toying with the jewel, making the clip tug on me. Between the contact of his skin, the taste of him, and his fingers near my overstimulated nub, I feel the build renew. Clenching my insides, wanting so badly to feel something there, I curse Dr. Green. This is one way to make sure you do your kegels.
“I have a secret for you, Anastasia. The plug and clip are just two parts of a trio.” His voice is husky. “There are nipple clamps, too. I can’t wait until I can have you al l three. Would you like that? I think you would, Anastasia.” Yes, I would!
I’m frustratingly close, but can’t get there. I’m twisting my hips as much as I can, taking as much of him in my mouth as he’ll allow.
“Are you ready baby?” Yes, though my mouth is too occupied to answer aloud. He pulls his hips back, away from my mouth and suddenly I feel a rush to my sex. It hurts and is amazing at the same time. I explode and I think I yelled Christian’s name or something like it. “My turn baby,” and he’s sliding between my breasts rapidly while I’m still riding aftershocks. A moment later he climaxes, I catch most of it, though some trickles down my chin and some has dribbled on my chest.
Christian collapses next to me with an arm strewn over my breasts, a leg across my torso, and his nose nuzzling my ear. “You are mine. My love, my life, my wife,” he whispers. Planting a trail of kisses from my ear, across my jaw to my mouth, I feel his smile against me with each one. Sitting up, he uncuffs my ankles and rubs my legs. “Relax for a second.” As I do, I feel him remove the plug. I deduce the rush I felt earlier was from the clip removal. I guess it works there the same as with nipple clamps. I make a mental note.
“Mrs. Grey, I think we both need a bath.” In my head, I agree. But my body isn’t quite ready to obey me yet. Christian observes my lack of motion and takes matters into hand, scooping me up and taking me to the bathroom. He throws a towel over my vanity chair and sits me down on it while he runs the bath. He moves around, adding scented bath oil, and I watch him. He’s so relaxed now, and so beautifully naked. I’m watching his legs, the muscles in his thighs and calves moving with each step. He is so fit. I don’t dare look down at myself.
Once the tub fills, Christian takes me by the hand and leads me in. We lay down together, my back to his front. But I want to curl up with him, so I shift to my side.
“Christian, what was that music?”
“Stravinsky. The Firebird. Did you like it?”
“Yes. The tempo changed a few times.”
“It’s a ballet, so the music follows the story. I think you’d like it. If I can find a performance, I’ll take you.”
“I’d like that.” I pause for a second trying to decide how to venture into sensitive territory. “Did my social activities really stress you out that much today?”
“Why would you ask that?”
“Sometimes when you are stressed or uneasy you, well,” how to say this without it being accusatory? “You feel the need to exercise some control. Not that I mind,” I hope my smile shows him just how much I don’t mind. “I just worry about you.”
Christian contemplates my suggestions for a moment. After mulling it over, he shrugs his shoulders, “I never made the connection. Though it seems obvious. Lack of control makes one crave control. Hmmm.”
I let him sit with that thought for a minute. Then I break the silence, “You didn’t answer my original question.”
“Did your social activities stress me out?” I nod. “Yes.” Oh. “I hated not assessing the risk for myself. I hated being in the dark.” He pauses for a moment. “I tried to get Taylor to give me the background check. After you had already left.” I’m not surprised. “He wouldn’t budge. He said, and I quote, ‘Have Mrs. Grey call with her authorization.” Christian is shaking his head. “You may think the security team works for me, but Taylor evidently works for you, now.”
I laugh because it is the furthest thing from the truth. Taylor was just protecting Christian from himself. His loyalty is beyond reproach.
“Will you tell me about your friend?” He asked so sweetly. And I tell him the whole thing. In the end he is laughing at me, and Sawyer, and the picture I’ve painted of the showdown at the park.
“What’s so funny?”
“Here we are thinking this woman could be anyone, and it turns out she’s from a very prominent Seattle family. Or at least her husband is. And she has her own security.”
“You know, it’s a funny thing. She didn’t say the security was for her. She said it was for her son.” I don’t tell Christian, but I think there’s a story there.
“Maybe they fear kidnappings. Who knows?” He’s still shaking his head. “I really should have taken to account that you met the woman at Neiman’s, not the Gap. My imagination just got the best of me.”
“Do you feel better now?”
He hugs me tight, “Most definitely. You?” I nod.
We’re silent for a few minutes, then Christian shifts me so I’m looking him in the eyes. “Do you know what you do when you are stressed?” I shake my head. Do I do something? “Nothing.” I’m confused, unsure if this is a joke. “You don’t lose your temper, you don’t talk about it. You keep it inside.” My subconscious is trying to weasel her way out. See, you have issues, too. “That is what causes me the most worry.”
I try to say something, but Christian covers my mouth with his in a sweet, gentle kiss. But is message is received. There is no security check that can tell him what is in my head. I need to let him in more.
After our bath, Christian towels me off with a fluffy white towel and leads me back into the bedroom. He takes a pair of panties from my dresser and kneels in front of my while I step in and he slides them on. I expect him to grab one of his t-shirts next, but instead he heads to his closet returning with a shopping bag. He pulls a light blue cotton pajama tank out of the bag, rips the tags off and pulls the tank over my head. He then extracts a pair of coordinating pajama pants with blue and green stripes, rips the tags off, and bends down to let me step into them. They are very soft against my legs.
“That’s better, Ana. I like you in silk,” his lips kiss mine. “Unfortunately, with nursing a cotton top is more prudent, but the bottoms will feel divine against me.” Is there nothing he doesn’t think of? “There are two more pair in the bag.”
Christian deposits the shopping bag on my dresser and leads me to bed, tucking me in. When he slips in beside me, I roll over and leave my head on his chest and close my eyes.
“Did you play tennis today?” I chuckle and shake my head, but save the explanation of wearing athletic clothes for fashion and not sport for another time.