The Submissive will make herself available to the Dominant from Friday evenings through to Sunday afternoons each week during the Term at times to be specified by the Dominant (“the Allotted Times”).
Well, there goes your weekends, Ana!
The Submissive shall serve the Dominant in any way the Dominant sees fit and shall endeavor to please the Dominant at all times to the best of her ability.
She shall also learn how to make a mean Dirty Martini.
The Submissive shall always conduct herself in a respectful manner to the Dominant and shall address him only as Sir, Mr. Grey, or such other title as the Dominant may direct.
Yes, Sir, Mr. Rochester, Sir. Just what is that noise in the attic again?
I need some sleep. I’m shattered. All the physical shenanigans I’ve been engaged in over the last twenty-four hours have been, frankly, exhausting. And mentally… oh man, this is so much to take on board. As José would say, a real mind-fuck. Perhaps in the morning this might not read like a bad joke.
Is it just me, or is the writer trying really hard to make the narrator sound like an American?
You can’t seriously be considering this… My subconscious sounds sane and rational, not her usual snarky self. My inner goddess is jumping up and down, clapping her hands like a five-year-old. Please, let’s do this… otherwise we’ll end up alone with lots of cats and your classic novels to keep you company.
Well, option two is looking better than any arrangement she may have with Christian. And cats just seem to be much lower maintenance than he does.
The only man I’ve ever been attracted to, and he comes with a bloody contract, a flogger, and a whole world of issues. Well, at least I got my way this weekend. My inner goddess stops jumping and smiles serenely. Oh yes… she mouths, nodding at me smugly. I flush at the memory of his hands and his mouth on me, his body inside mine. Closing my eyes, I feel the familiar delicious pull of my muscles from deep, deep down. I want to do that again and again. Maybe if I just sign up for the sex… would he go with that?
Well, this deserves the facepalm to beat all facepalms, featured here:
But seriously, her inner goddess needs to shut the fuck up. And notice how she just says “down there?” It’s vagina — say it. VA-GI-NA. And did anyone else get a really creepy visual of Christian’s whole body inside hers? Or do they need to call an exorcist?
I clamber out of bed and grab my dressing gown hanging on the back of my door.
She grabs her dressing gown. I repeat: her dressing gown.
‘Well, this has full wireless N, and I’ve set it up with your Me account details. This baby is all ready to go, practically anywhere on the planet.’ He looks longingly at it.
‘Your new e-mail address.’
I have an e-mail address?
Someone please explain to me how Ana got through college without an actual email address. What did she use to communicate with her professors and fellow students — a tin can telephone?
José is punctual. He comes bounding into the shop like a gamboling dark-eyed puppy.
‘Ana,’ he smiles his dazzling toothy all-Hispanic-American smile, and I can’t be angry with him anymore.
‘Hi, José.’ I hug him. ‘I’m starving. I’ll just let Mrs. Clayton know I’m going for lunch.’
As we stroll to the local coffee shop, I slip my arm through José’s. I’m so grateful for his – normality. Someone I know and understand.
‘Hey, Ana,’ he murmurs. ‘You’ve really forgiven me?’
‘José, you know I can never stay mad at you for long.’
Yeah, because hey, it’s perfectly normal and OK that your guy friend sexually assaulted you and most likely had date rape on his mind.
I feel slight queasy and frankly shocked to my core. Do I really want this stuff in my head?… I sit staring at the screen, and part of me, a very moist and integral part of me – that I’ve only become acquainted with very recently, is seriously turned on.
“Slight queasy?” Editor needed…
But she has yet to become acquainted with it on a first-name basis as she is with Christian’s buddy Rumplestiltskin.
And that’s a wrap, all! Stay tuned for Chapter Twelve!