FST01 - Fifty Shades of Grey

by EL James

  He pauses momentarily before continuing his sensual assault.

  “Always so eager for information, Miss Steele. What needs straightening out?” he breathes against my skin at the base of my neck, continuing his soft gentle kisses.

  “Us,” I whisper as I close my eyes.

  “Hmm. What about us?” He pauses his trail of kisses along my shoulder.

  “The contract.”

  He lifts his head to gaze down at me, a hint of amusement in his eyes, and sighs. He strokes his fingertips down my cheek.

  “Well, I think the contract is moot, don’t you?” His voice is low and husky, his eyes soft.“Moot?”

  “Moot.” He smiles. I gape at him quizzically.

  “But you were so keen.”

  “Well, that was before. Anyway, the Rules aren’t moot, they still stand.” His expression hardens slightly.

  “Before? Before what?”

  “Before,”… He pauses, and the wary expression is back, “more.” He shrugs.

  “Oh.”

  “Besides, we’ve been in the playroom twice now, and you haven’t run screaming for the hills.”

  “Do you expect me to?”

  “Nothing you do is expected, Anastasia,” he says dryly.

  “So, let me be clear. You just want me to follow the Rules element of the contract all the time but not the rest of the contract?”

  “Except in the playroom. I want you to follow the spirit of the contract in the playroom, and yes, I want you to follow the rules – all the time. Then I know you’ll be safe, and I’ll be able to have you anytime I wish.”

  “And if I break one of the rules?”

  “Then I’ll punish you.”

  “But won’t you need my permission?”

  “Yes, I will.”

  “And if I say no?”

  He gazes at me for a moment, with a confused expression.

  “If you say no, you’ll say no. I’ll have to find a way to persuade you.” I pull away from him and stand. I need some distance. He frowns as I stare down at him. He looks puzzled and wary again.

  “So the punishment aspect remains.”

  “Yes, but only if you break the rules.”

  “I’ll need to re-read them,” I say, trying to recall the detail.

  “I’ll fetch them for you.” His tone is suddenly businesslike.

  Whoa. This has gotten serious so quickly. He rises from the piano and walks lithely to his study. My scalp prickles. Jeez, I need some tea. The future of our so-called relationship is being discussed at 5:45 in the morning when he’s pre-occupied with something else

  – is this wise? I head into the kitchen which is still shrouded in darkness. Where are the light switches? I find them, flick them on, and pour water into the kettle. My pill! I rum-mage in my purse that I left on the breakfast bar and find them quickly. One swallow, and I’m done. By the time I finish, Christian is back, sitting on one of the bar stools, watching me intently.

  “Here you go.” He pushes a typed piece of paper toward me, and I notice that he’s crossed some things out.

  RULES

  Obedience:

  The Submissive will obey any instructions given by The Dominant immediately without hesitation or reservation and in an expeditious manner. The Submissive will agree to any sexual activity deemed fit and pleasurable by the Dominant excepting those activities which are outlined in hard limits (Appendix A). She will do so eagerly and without hesitation.

  Sleep:

  The Submissive will ensure she achieves a minimum of eight seven hours sleep a night when she is not with The Dominant.

  Food:

  The Submissive will eat regularly to maintain her health and wellbeing from a prescribed list of foods (Appendix 4). The Submissive will not snack between meals, with the exception of fruit.

  Clothes:

  While with The Dominant, The Submissive will wear clothing only approved by The Dominant. The Dominant will provide a clothing budget for The Submissive, which The Submissive shall utilize. The Dominant shall accompany The Submissive to purchase clothing on an ad hoc basis.

  Exercise:

  The Dominant shall provide The Submissive with a personal trainer four three times a week in hour-long sessions at times to be mutually agreed between the personal trainer and The Submissive. The personal trainer will report to The Dominant on The Submissive’s progress.

  Personal Hygiene/Beauty:

  The Submissive will keep herself clean and shaved and/or waxed at all times. The Submissive will visit a beauty salon of The Dominant’s choosing at times to be decided by The Dominant, and undergo whatever treatments The Dominant sees fit.

  Personal Safety:

  The Submissive will not drink to excess, smoke, take recreational drugs or put herself in any unnecessary danger.

  Personal Qualities:

  The Submissive will not enter into any sexual relations with anyone other than The Dominant. The Submissive will conduct herself in a respectful and modest manner at all times. She must recognize that her behavior is a direct reflection on The Dominant. She shall be held accountable for any misdeeds, wrongdoings and misbehavior committed when not in the presence of the Dominant.

  Failure to comply with any of the above will result in immediate punishment, the nature of which shall be determined by The Dominant.

  “So the obedience thing still stands?”

  “Oh, yes.” He grins.

  I shake my head amused, and before I realize it, I roll my eyes at him.

  “Did you just roll your eyes at me, Anastasia?” He breathes.

  Oh fuck.

  “Possibly, depends what your reaction is.”

  “Same as always,” he says, shaking his head slightly, his eyes alight with excitement.

  I swallow instinctively and a frisson of exhilaration runs through me.

  “So... ” Holy shit. What am I going to do?

  “Yes?” He licks his lower lip.

  “You want to spank me now.”

  “Yes. And I will.”

  “Oh, really, Mr. Grey?” I challenge, grinning back at him. Two can play this game.

  “Are you going to stop me?”

  “You’re going to have to catch me first.”

  His eyes widen a fraction, and he grins, slowly getting to his feet.

  “Oh, really, Miss Steele?”

  The breakfast bar is between us. I have never been so grateful for its existence than in this moment.

  “And you’re biting your lip,” he breathes, moving slowly to his left as I move to mine.

  “You wouldn’t,” I tease. “After all, you roll your eyes.” I try reasoning with him. He continues to move toward his left, as do I.

  “Yes, but you’ve just raised the bar on the excitement stakes with this game.” His eyes blaze, and wild anticipation emanates from him.

  “I’m quite fast you know.” I try for nonchalance.

  “So am I.”

  He’s stalking me, in his own kitchen.

  “Are you going to come quietly?” he asks.

  “Do I ever?”

  “Miss Steele, what do you mean?” he smirks. “It’ll be worse for you if I have to come and get you.”

  “That’s only if you catch me, Christian. And right now, I have no intention of letting you catch me.”

  “Anastasia, you may fall and hurt yourself. Which will put you in direct contravention of rule number seven.”

  “I have been in danger since I met you, Mr. Grey, rules or no rules.”

  “Yes you have.” He pauses, and his brow furrows slightly.

  Suddenly, he lunges for me, making me squeal and run for the dining room table. I manage to escape, putting the table between us. My heart is pounding and adrenaline has spiked through my body… boy... this is so thrilling. I’m a child again, though that’s not right. I watch him carefully as he paces deliberately toward me. I inch away.

  “You certainly know how to distract a man, Anastasia.”

&
nbsp; “We aim to please, Mr. Grey. Distract you from what?”

  “Life. The universe.” He waves one of his hands vaguely.

  “You did seem very pre-occupied as you were playing.” He stops and folds his arms, his expression amused.

  “We can do this all day, baby, but I will get you, and it will just be worse for you when I do.”“No, you won’t.” I must not be over-confident. I repeat this as a mantra. My subconscious has found her Nikes, and she’s on the starting blocks.

  “Anyone would think you didn’t want me to catch you.”

  “I don’t. That’s the point. I feel about punishment the way you feel about me touching you.”His entire demeanor changes in a nanosecond. Gone is playful Christian, and he stands staring at me as if I’d slapped him. He’s ashen.

  “That’s how you feel?” he whispers.

  Those four words, and the way he utters them, speaks volumes. Oh no. They tell me so much more about him and how he feels. They tell me about his fear and loathing. I frown.

  No, I don’t feel that bad. No way. Do I?

  “No. It doesn’t affect me quite as much as that, but it gives you an idea,” I murmur, staring anxiously at him.

  “Oh,” he says.

  Crap. He looks completely and utterly lost, like I’ve pulled the rug from under his feet.

  Taking a deep breath, I move round the table until I am standing in front of him, gazing into his apprehensive eyes.

  “You hate it that much?” he breathes, his eyes filled with horror.

  “Well… no,” I reassure him. Jeez – that’s how he feels about people touching him?

  “No. I feel ambivalent about it. I don’t like it, but I don’t hate it.”

  “But last night, in the playroom, you… ” he trails off.

  “I do it for you, Christian, because you need it. I don’t. You didn’t hurt me last night.

  That was in a different context, and I can rationalize that internally, and I trust you. But when you want to punish me, I worry that you’ll hurt me.” His gray eyes blaze like a turbulent storm. Time moves, and expands and slips away before he answers softly.

  “I want to hurt you. But not beyond anything that you couldn’t take.” Fuck!

  “Why?”

  He runs his hand through his hair, and he shrugs.

  “I just need it.” He pauses, gazing at me with anguish, and he closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I can’t tell you,” he whispers.

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Won’t.”

  “So you know why.”

  “Yes.”

  “But you won’t tell me.”

  “If I do, you will run screaming from this room, and you’ll never want to return.” He stares at me warily. “I can’t risk that, Anastasia.”

  “You want me to stay.”

  “More than you know. I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

  Oh my.

  He gazes down at me, and suddenly, he pulls me into his arms and he’s kissing me, kissing me passionately. It takes me completely by surprise, and I sense his panic and desperate need in his kiss.

  “Don’t leave me. You said you wouldn’t leave me, and you begged me not to leave you, in your sleep,” he murmurs against my lips.

  Oh… my nocturnal confessions.

  “I don’t want to go.” And my heart clenches, turning itself inside out.

  This is a man in need. His fear is naked and obvious, but he’s lost… somewhere in his darkness. His eyes wide and bleak and tortured. I can soothe him. Join him briefly in the darkness and bring him into the light.

  “Show me,” I whisper.

  “Show you?”

  “Show me how much it can hurt.”

  “What?”

  “Punish me. I want to know how bad it can get.”

  Christian steps back away from me, completely confused.

  “You would try?”

  “Yes. I said I would.” But I have an ulterior motive. If I do this for him, maybe he will let me touch him.

  He blinks at me.

  “Ana, you’re so confusing.”

  “I’m confused too. I’m trying to work this out. And you and I will know, once and for all, if I can do this. If I can handle this, then maybe you –” My words fail me, and his eyes widen again. He knows I am referring to the touch thing. For a moment, he looks torn, but then a steely resolve settles on his features, and he narrows his eyes, gazing at me speculatively as if weighing up alternatives.

  Abruptly, he clasps my arm in a firm grip and turns, leading me out of the great room, up the stairs, and to the playroom. Pleasure and pain, reward and punishment – his words from so long ago echo through my mind.

  “I’ll show you how bad it can be, and you can make your own mind up.” He pauses by the door. “Are you ready for this?”

  I nod, my mind made up, and I’m vaguely lightheaded, faint as all the blood leaves my face.He opens the door, and still grasping my arm, grabs what looks like a belt from the rack beside the door, then leads me over to the red leather bench in the far corner of the room.

  “Bend over the bench,” he murmurs softly.

  Okay. I can do this. I bend over the smooth soft leather. He’s left my bathrobe on.

  In a quiet part of my brain, I’m vaguely surprised that he hasn’t made me take it off. Holy fuck this is going to hurt… I know. My subconscious has passed out, and my inner goddess is endeavoring to look brave.

  “We’re here because you said yes, Anastasia. And you ran from me. I am going to hit you six times, and you will count with me.”

  Why the hell doesn’t he just get on with it? He always makes such a meal of punishing me. I roll my eyes, knowing full well he can’t see me.

  He lifts the hem of my bathrobe, and for some reason, this feels more intimate than being naked. He gently caresses my behind, running his warm hand all over both cheeks and down to the tops of my thighs.

  “I am doing this so that you remember not to run from me, and as exciting as it is, I never want you to run from me,” he whispers.

  And the irony is not lost on me. I was running to avoid this. If he’d opened his arms, I’d run to him, not away from him.

  “And you rolled your eyes at me. You know how I feel about that.” Suddenly, it’s gone

  – that nervous edgy fear in his voice. He’s back from wherever he’s been. I hear it in his tone, in the way he places his fingers on my back, holding me – and the atmosphere in the room changes.

  I close my eyes, bracing myself for the blow. It comes hard, snapping across my backside, and the bite of the belt is everything I feared. I cry out involuntarily, and take a huge gulp of air.

  “Count, Anastasia!” he commands.

  “One!” I shout at him, and it sounds like an expletive.

  He hits me again, and the pain pulses and echoes along the line of the belt. Holy shit…

  that smarts.

  “Two!” I scream. It feels so good to scream.

  His breathing is ragged and harsh. Whereas mine is almost non-existent as I desperately scrabble around my psyche looking for some internal strength. The belt cuts into my flesh again.

  “Three!” Tears spring unwelcome into my eyes. Jeez – this is harder than I thought –

  so much harder than the spanking. He’s not holding anything back.

  “Four!” I yell as the belt bites me again, and now the tears are streaming down my face.

  I don’t want to cry. It angers me that I am crying. He hits me again.

  “Five.” My voice is more a choked, strangled sob, and in this moment, I think I hate him. One more, I can do one more. My backside feels as if it’s on fire.

  “Six,” I whisper as the blistering pain cuts across me again, and I hear him drop the belt behind me, and he’s pulling me into his arms, all breathless and compassionate… and I want none of him.

  “Let go… no... ” And I find myself struggling out his grasp, pushing him away. Fighting him.

 
“Don’t touch me!” I hiss. I straighten and stare at him, and he’s watching me as if I might bolt, gray eyes wide, bemused. I dash the tears angrily out of my eyes with the backs of my hands, glaring at him.

  “This is what you really like? Me, like this?” I use the sleeve of the bathrobe to wipe my nose.

  He gazes at me warily.

  “Well, you are one fucked-up son of a bitch.”

  “Ana,” he pleads, shocked.

  “Don’t you dare, Ana me! You need to sort your shit out, Grey!” And with that, I turn stiffly, and I walk out of the playroom, closing the door quietly behind me.

  I clasp the door handle behind me and briefly lean back against the door. Where to go?

  Do I run? Do I stay? I am so mad, angry scalding tears spill down my cheeks, and I brush them furiously aside. I just want to curl up. Curl up and recuperate in some way. Heal my shattered faith. How could I have been so stupid? Of course it hurts.

  Tentatively, I rub my backside. Aah! It’s sore. Where to go? Not his room. My room, or the room that will be mine, no, is mine… was mine. This is why he wanted me to keep it. He knew I would need distance from him.

  I launch myself stiffly in that direction, conscious that Christian may follow me. It is still dark in the bedroom, dawn only a whisper in the skyline. I climb awkwardly into bed, careful not to sit on my aching and tender backside. I keep the bathrobe on, wrapping it around me, and curl up and really let go – sobbing hard into my pillow.

  What was I thinking? Why did I let him do that to me? I wanted the dark, to explore how bad it could be – but it’s too dark for me. I cannot do this. Yet, this is what he does, this is how he gets his kicks.

  What a monumental wake-up call. And to be fair to him, he warned me and warned me, time and again. He’s not normal. He has needs that I cannot fulfill. I realize that now.

  I don’t want him to hit me like that again, ever. I think of the couple of times he has hit me, and how easy he was on me by comparison. Is that enough for him? I sob harder into the pillow. I am going to lose him. He won’t want to be with me if I can’t give him this.

  Why, why, why have I fallen in love with Fifty Shades? Why? Why can’t I love José, or Paul Clayton, or someone like me?