Fifty Shades of Bondage

Ask any woman what she wants in a partner and she will say “Trust.  Caring. Communication.”  But the success of Fifty Shades of Grey has shown otherwise.  What we all want is to be ravished from behind, while wearing a blindfold and doggy collar.

In Part One, I introduced the book, Fifty Shades of Grey.  In Part Two, I take this a step further, into the dark recesses of erotica. I start with an actual, not made up, real and true passage from the book.  I then continue with whatever the hell I want to write.

“Does this mean you’re going to make love to me tonight, Christian?” Holy shit. Did I just say that? His mouth drops open slightly, but he recovers quickly.  “No, Anastasia it doesn’t. Firstly, I don’t make love. I fuck… hard. Secondly, there’s a lot more paperwork to do, and thirdly, you don’t yet know what you’re in for. You could still run for the hills. Come, I want to show you my playroom.”  My mouth drops open. Fuck hard! Holy shit, that sounds so… hot. But why are we looking at a playroom? I am mystified.  “You want to play on your Xbox?” I ask. He laughs, loudly. “No, Anastasia, no Xbox, no Playstation. Come.”… Producing a key from his pocket, he unlocks yet another door and takes a deep breath.  “You can leave anytime. The helicopter is on stand-by to take you whenever you want to go, you can stay the night and go home in the morning. It’s fine whatever you decide.”  “Just open the damn door, Christian.” He opens the door and stands back to let me in. I gaze at him once more. I so want to know what’s in here. Taking a deep breath I walk in.  And it feels like I’ve time-traveled back to the sixteenth century and the Spanish Inquisition.  Holy fuck.”

*****

The walls are blood-red.  There are things all over. Shackles. Ropes. Chains. Whips. Masks. Leather. Chain saws. Stacks of X-rated videos. Egg crates. Plastic peanuts.  A VCR. Christmas decorations. A Chanukah menorah. A baby high chair. Boxes of coupons. I don’t know where to look first.  I can barely get into the room, there’s so much stuff. It’s like a goddamn yard sale.  Now I’m doubly hot. Sex at a yard sale.  I can feel a pulsing between my legs.  Take me now, Christian Grey, make me your sex slave.

It’s as though he can hear my every thought.  He is my master.  I belong to him. I will do whatever he wishes. “Take your clothes off,” he says, his steel-gray eyes boring holes in my retina. I comply. I stand in front of him. Naked. Vulnerable. Panting. Holding my clothes.

“Where can I hang them?” I ask, pointing to the pile in my arms. I am sweating like those people on The Biggest Loser. “I don’t want to just dump them on the floor. The shoes are Louboutin.  Even on sale they cost a lot of m–.”

He cuts me off, as he whips a blindfold out of his pocket.  He turns me around, violently.  My head is spinning. Sweat is pouring off me. I have never felt so frightened, yet so alive. I feel the coolness of metal against my ear. He growls, “Put your hands behind your back. Now.”

“My clothes.”

“Oh right.  Give them to me.” He takes them from me and turns around slowly.  I see him considering the options.  There aren’t any.

“Here, I’ll hold them.  Put the cuffs on your hands.”  I do as instructed.  “Now lie down.”

“I can’t.  There’s no room.”

“Uh, OK, just stand there.” He gives me my clothes back. “Hold on a second.” He rummages through some boxes and then tries to move things around.  I see a lot of hand puppets, a box of Matzoh, and an old Electrolux.

“Have you considered getting rid of some of this?”

“Uh, no.” His back is turned to me.  He is trying to stuff the hand puppets into a carton filled with Tupperware.

“But wouldn’t it be easier to do all this bondage and discipline stuff  if there were more room?”

He is silent.  A large box of Legos falls open.  They scatter across a pile of baking tins. He turns.  Tears are running down his cheeks.

“You have found me out,” he sobs.  “I have never let anyone into the deep recesses of my soul.  Until you.  Beneath my wealth, my power, my charisma, my shockingly good looks, my great hair, and my permanent erection, I am a hoarder.”

I am stunned.  This man who rules the financial world.  This man who tells heads of countries what to do.  This man who doesn’t even have to use antiperspirant.  This man, this god among men, has shown me his vulnerability.  I can feel my climax starting.

I drop my clothing, the Louboutins be damned.  “Take me Christian Grey!” I shout.  “Take me now!  Take me long and hard!  Make me howl like a stuck pig!”

He advances, bits of pillow stuffing hanging from his hair.

I am ready.