by E. L. James
“Yes. I had a three-course meal with Ray.” I roll my eyes at him. The champagne is making me bold.
He leans forward and holds my chin, staring intently into my eyes.
“Next time you roll your eyes at me, I will take you across my knee.”
What?
“Oh,” I breathe, and I can see the excitement in his eyes.
“Oh,” he responds, mirroring my tone. “So it begins, Anastasia.”
My heart slams against my chest, and the butterflies escape from my stomach into my constricting throat. Why is that hot?
He fills my cup, and I drink practically all of it. Chastened, I stare up at him.
“Got your attention now, haven’t I?”
I nod.
“Answer me.”
“Yes … you’ve got my attention.”
“Good,” he smiles a knowing smile. “So sexual acts. We’ve done most of this.”
I move closer to him on the couch and glance down at the list.
* * *
APPENDIX 3
Soft Limits
To be discussed and agreed between both parties:
Does the Submissive consent to:
• Masturbation
• Cunnilingus
• Fellatio
• Swallowing Semen
• Vaginal intercourse
• Vaginal fisting
• Anal intercourse
• Anal fisting
“No fisting, you say. Anything else you object to?” he asks softly. I swallow.
“Anal intercourse doesn’t exactly float my boat.”
“I’ll agree to the fisting, but I’d really like to claim your ass, Anastasia. But we’ll wait for that. Besides, it’s not something we can dive into.” He smirks at me. “Your ass will need training.”
“Training?” I whisper.
“Oh yes. It’ll need careful preparation. Anal intercourse can be very pleasurable, trust me. But if we try it and you don’t like it, we don’t have to do it again.” He grins down at me.
I blink up at him. He thinks I’ll enjoy it? How does he know it’s pleasurable?
“Have you done that?” I whisper.
“Yes.”
Holy crap. I gasp.
“With a man?”
“No. I’ve never had sex with a man. Not my scene.”
“Mrs. Robinson?”
“Yes.”
Holy shit … how? I frown. He moves on down the list.
“And … swallowing semen. Well, you get an A in that.”
I flush, and my inner goddess smacks her lips together, glowing with pride.
“So.” He looks down at me grinning. “Swallowing semen okay?”
I nod, not able to look him in the eye, and drain my cup again.
“More?” he asks.
“More.” And I’m suddenly reminded of our conversation earlier today as he refills my cup. Is he referring to that or just the champagne? Is this whole champagne thing more?
“Sex toys?” he asks.
I shrug, glancing down the list.
Does the Submissive consent to the use of:
• Vibrators
• Butt plugs
• Dildos
• Other vaginal/anal toys
“Butt plug? Does it do what it says on the box?” I scrunch my nose up in distaste.
“Yes,” he smiles. “And I refer to anal intercourse above. Training.”
“Oh … what’s in other?”
“Beads, eggs … that sort of stuff.”
“Eggs?” I’m alarmed.
“Not real eggs.” He laughs loudly, shaking his head.
I purse my lips at him.
“I’m glad you find me funny.” I can’t keep my injured feelings out of my voice.
He stops laughing.
“I apologize. Miss Steele, I’m sorry,” he says, trying to look contrite, but his eyes are still dancing with humor. “Any problem with toys?”
“No,” I snap.
“Anastasia,” he cajoles. “I am sorry. Believe me. I don’t mean to laugh. I’ve never had this conversation in so much detail. You’re just so inexperienced. I’m sorry.” His eyes are big and gray and sincere.
I thaw a little and take another sip of champagne.
“Right—bondage,” he says, returning to the list. I examine the list, and my inner goddess bounces up and down like a small child waiting for ice cream.
Does the Submissive consent to:
• Bondage with rope
• Bondage with leather cuffs
• Bondage with handcuffs/shackles/manacles
• Bondage with tape
• Bondage with other
Christian raises his eyebrow. “Well?”
“Fine,” I whisper and quickly look back at the list.
Does the Submissive consent to be restrained with:
• Hands bound in front
• Ankles bound
• Elbows bound
• Hands bound behind back
• Knees bound
• Wrists bound to ankles
• Binding with spreadbar
• Binding to fixed items, furniture, etc.
• Suspension
Does the Submissive consent to be blindfolded?
Does the Submissive consent to be gagged?
“We’ve talked about suspension. And it’s fine if you want to set that up as a hard limit. It takes a great deal of time, and I only have you for short periods of time anyway. Anything else?”
“Don’t laugh at me, but what’s a spreader bar?”
“I promise not to laugh. I’ve apologized twice.” He glares at me. “Don’t make me do it again,” he warns. And I think I visibly shrink … oh, he’s so bossy. “A spreader is a bar with cuffs for ankles and/or wrists. They’re fun.”
“Okay … Well, gagging me. I’d be worried I wouldn’t be able to breathe.”
“I’d be worried if you couldn’t breathe. I don’t want to suffocate you.”
“And how will I use safewords if I’m gagged?”
He pauses.
“First of all, I hope you never have to use them. But if you’re gagged, we’ll use hand signals,” he says simply.
I blink up at him. But if I’m trussed up, how’s that going to work? My brain is beginning to fog … hmm, alcohol.
“I’m nervous about the gagging.”
“Okay. I’ll take note.”
I stare up at him, realization dawning.
“Do you like tying your submissives up so they can’t touch you?”
He gazes at me, his eyes widening.
“That’s one of the reasons,” he says quietly.
“Is that why you’ve tied my hands?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t like talking about that,” I murmur.
“No, I don’t. Would you like another drink? It’s making you brave, and I need to know how you feel about pain.”
Holy crap … this is the tricky part. He refills my teacup, and I sip.
“So, what’s your general attitude to receiving pain?” Christian looks expectantly at me. “You’re biting your lip,” he says darkly.
I stop immediately, but I don’t know what to say. I flush and stare down at my hands.
“Were you physically punished as a child?”
“No.”
“So you have no sphere of reference at all?”
“No.”
“It’s not as bad as you think. Your imagination is your worst enemy in this,” he whispers.
“Do you have to do it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Goes with the territory, Anastasia. It’s what I do. I can see you’re nervous. Let’s go through methods.”
He shows me the list. My subconscious runs, screaming, and hides behind the couch.
• Spanking
• Whipping
• Biting
• Genital clamps
• Hot wax
/> • Paddling
• Caning
• Nipple clamps
• Ice
• Other types/methods of pain
“Well, you said no to genital clamps. That’s fine. It’s caning that hurts the most.”
I blanch.
“We can work up to that.”
“Or not do it at all,” I whisper.
“This is part of the deal, baby, but we’ll work up to all of this. Anastasia, I won’t push you too far.”
“This punishment thing, it worries me the most.” My voice is very small.
“Well, I’m glad you’ve told me. We’ll keep caning off the list for now. And as you get more comfortable with everything else, we’ll increase intensity. We’ll take it slow.”
I swallow, and he leans forward and kisses me on my lips.
“There, that wasn’t so bad was it?”
I shrug, my heart in mouth again.
“Look, I want to talk about one more thing, then I’m taking you to bed.”
“Bed?” I blink rapidly, and my blood pounds through my body, warming places I didn’t know existed until very recently.
“Come on, Anastasia, talking through all this, I want to fuck you into next week, right now. It must be having some effect on you, too.”
I squirm. My inner goddess is panting.
“See? Besides, there’s something I want to try.”
“Something painful?”
“No—stop seeing pain everywhere. It’s mainly pleasure. Have I hurt you yet?”
I flush. “No.”
“Well, then. Look, earlier today you were talking about wanting more,” he halts, uncertain all of a sudden.
Oh my … where’s this going?
He clasps my hand.
“Outside of the time you’re my sub, perhaps we could try. I don’t know if it will work. I don’t know about separating everything. It may not work. But I’m willing to try. Maybe one night a week. I don’t know.”
Holy cow … my mouth drops open, my subconscious is in shock. Christian Grey is up for more! He’s willing to try! My subconscious peeks out from behind the couch, still registering shock on her harpy face.
“I have one condition.” He looks warily at my stunned expression.
“What?” I breathe. Anything. I’ll give you anything.
“You graciously accept my graduation present to you.”
“Oh.” And deep down I know what it is. Dread spawns in my gut.
He’s staring down at me, gauging my reaction.
“Come,” he murmurs and rises, dragging me up. Taking his jacket off, he drapes it over my shoulders and heads for the door.
Parked outside is a red hatchback car, a two-door compact Audi.
“It’s for you. Happy graduation,” he murmurs, pulling me into his arms and kissing my hair.
He’s bought me a damned car, brand-new by the looks of it. Jeez … I’ve had enough trouble with the books. I stare at it blankly, trying desperately to determine how I feel about this. I am appalled on one level, grateful on another, shocked that he’s actually done it, but the overriding emotion is anger. Yes, I’m angry, especially after everything I told him about the books … but then he’d already bought this. Taking my hand, he leads me down the path toward this new acquisition.
“Anastasia, that Beetle of yours is old and frankly dangerous. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you when it’s so easy for me to make it right …”
His eyes are on me, but at the moment I cannot bring myself to look at him. I stand silently staring at its awesome bright red newness.
“I mentioned it to your stepfather. He was all for it,” he murmurs.
Turning, I glare at him, my mouth open in horror.
“You mentioned this to Ray? How could you?” I can barely spit the words out. How dare he? Poor Ray. I feel sick, mortified for my dad.
“It’s a gift, Anastasia. Can’t you just say thank you?”
“But you know it’s too much.”
“Not to me it isn’t, not for my peace of mind.”
I frown at him, at a loss what to say. He just doesn’t get it! He’s had money all his life. Okay, not all his life—not as a small child—and my worldview shifts. The thought is very sobering, and I soften toward the car, feeling guilty about my fit of pique. His intentions are good, misguided, but not from a bad place.
“I’m happy for you to loan this to me, like the laptop.”
He sighs heavily. “Okay. On loan. Indefinitely.” He looks warily at me.
“No, not indefinitely, but for now. Thank you.”
He frowns. I reach up and kiss him on his cheek.
“Thank you for the car, sir,” I say as sweetly as I can manage.
He grabs me suddenly and yanks me up against him, one hand at my back holding me to him and the other fisting in my hair.
“You are one challenging woman, Ana Steele.” He kisses me passionately, forcing my lips apart with his tongue, taking no prisoners.
My blood heats immediately, and I’m returning his kiss with my own passion. I want him badly—in spite of the car, the books, the soft limits … the caning … I want him.
“It’s taking all my self-control not to fuck you on the hood of this car right now, just to show you that you are mine, and if I want to buy you a fucking car, I’ll buy you a fucking car,” he growls. “Now let’s get you inside and naked.” He plants a swift rough kiss on me.
Boy, he’s angry. He grabs my hand and leads me back into the apartment and straight into my bedroom … no passing go. My subconscious is behind the sofa again, head hidden under her hands. He switches on the sidelight and halts, staring at me.
“Please don’t be angry with me,” I whisper.
His gaze is impassive; his eyes cold shards of smoky glass.
“I’m sorry about the car and the books …” I trail off. He remains silent and brooding. “You scare me when you’re angry,” I breathe, staring at him.
He closes his eyes and shakes his head. When he opens them, his expression has softened. He takes a deep breath and swallows.
“Turn around,” he whispers. “I want to get you out of that dress.”
Another mercurial mood swing; it’s so hard to keep up. Obediently, I turn, and my heart is thumping, desire instantly replacing unease, coursing through my blood and settling dark and yearning, low, low in my belly. He scoops my hair off my back so it hangs down my right side, curling at my breast. He places his index finger at the nape of my neck and achingly slowly drags it down my spine, his fingernail grazing my skin.
“I like this dress,” he murmurs. “I like to see your flawless skin.”
His finger reaches the back of my halter dress midway down my spine, and hooking his finger beneath the top, he pulls me closer so that I step back against him so that he’s flush against my body. Leaning down, he inhales my hair.
“You smell so good, Anastasia. So sweet.” His nose skims past my ear down my neck, and he trails soft, featherlight kisses along my shoulder.
My breathing changes, becoming shallow, rushed, full of expectation. His fingers are at my zipper. Achingly slow, once more he eases it down while his lips move, licking and kissing and sucking their way across to my other shoulder. He is so tantalizingly good at this. My body resonates, and I start to squirm languidly beneath his touch.
“You. Are. Going. To. Have. To. Learn. To. Keep. Still,” he whispers, kissing me around my nape between each word.
He tugs at the fastening at the halter neck, and the dress drops and pools at my feet.
“No bra, Miss Steele. I like that.”
His hands reach around and cup my breasts, and my nipples pucker at his touch.
“Lift your arms and put them around my head,” he murmurs against my neck.
I obey immediately, and my breasts rise and push into his hands, my nipples hardening further. My fingers weave into his hair, and very gently I tug his soft, sexy hair. I roll my head to one s
ide to give him easier access to my neck.
“Mmm …” he murmurs into that space behind my ear as he starts to extend my nipples with his long fingers, mirroring my hands in his hair.
I groan as the sensation registers sharp and clear in my groin.
“Shall I make you come this way?” he whispers.
I arch my back to force my breasts into his expert hands.
“You like this, don’t you, Miss Steele?”
“Mmm …”
“Tell me.” He continues the slow, sensuous torture, pulling gently.
“Yes.”
“Yes, what.”
“Yes … Sir.”
“Good girl.” He pinches me hard, and my body writhes convulsively against his front.
I gasp at the exquisite, acute pleasure/pain. I feel him against me. I moan and my hands clench in his hair pulling harder.
“I don’t think you’re ready to come yet,” he whispers, stilling his hands, and he gently bites my earlobe and tugs at it. “Besides, you have displeased me.”
Oh … no, what will this mean? My brain registers through the fog of needy desire as I groan.
“So perhaps I won’t let you come after all.” He returns the attention of his fingers to my nipples, pulling, twisting, kneading. I grind my behind against him … moving side to side.
I feel his grin against my neck as his hands move down to my hips. His fingers hook into my panties at the back, stretching them, and he pushes his thumbs through the material, shredding them and tossing them in front of me so I can see … holy shit. His hands move down to my sex, and from behind, he slowly inserts his finger.
“Oh yes. My sweet girl is ready,” he breathes as he whirls me around so I’m facing him. His breathing has quickened. He puts his finger in his mouth. “You taste so fine, Miss Steele.” He sighs.
Holy shit. His finger tastes salty … from me.
“Undress me,” he commands quietly, staring down at me, eyes hooded.
All I’m wearing are my shoes—well, Kate’s high-heeled pumps. I’m taken aback. I’ve never undressed a man.
“You can do it,” he cajoles softly.
I blink rapidly. Where to start? I reach for his T-shirt, and he grabs my hands, smiling slyly at me.
“Oh no.” He shakes his head, grinning. “Not the T-shirt. You may need to touch me for what I have planned.” His eyes are alive with excitement.
