Warning: Just so readers wouldn't mistake the concept of this story I thought it better to bring everything out in the open so no one would feel misled. This is a darker interpretation of the characters of Fifty shades of Grey. It'll be hinting at a lot of taboo subjects. I'm not going to change the course of this story. There will be no hearts and flowers for a considerable amount of time though rest assured, love will step in. This story will deal with the psyche of Christian Grey and his morbid fascination and unhealthy obsession (I'm referring to the Christian in this story) with Anastasia Steele. If certain subjects unsettle you, you have been warned. I will not be sugar coating anything. There will be dark sex and a dysfunctional relationship until Christian acknowledges he needs to sort his issues out. Keep in mind that (in this story) Christian is a sadist (read the summary). There are a lot of variations of fifty shades fanfictions, though I believe I might be one of the few who had decided to go down that dark road so I'm a little nervous about receiving flames.
This is neither a Canon story nor a continuation. They're both out of character and off the track from the original trilogy.
Continue if you are a fan of dark stories.
Thanks Lala Loopsie 11 and BannerAndMash.
Reviews are like sustenance for an author, so they're always appreciated! *hint* *hint*
My eyes frantically darted about the lavish waiting room as I anxiously turned my head in an imperceptible manner, sneaking covert glances at the employees of Grey Enterprises Holdings gliding around me with proficient ease. I repeatedly wiped my sweaty palms down the sides of my pants and then unconsciously flattened the creases gathered around my knees. Although Kate, whilst wearing her sickness jammies, suggested I borrow her Ralph Lauren cream coloured business suit to appear more human in GEH, my stubborn-as-a-mule self hadn't paid attention. I was adamant that I could look much better in my own version of a professional attire. I lightly snorted and then felt embarrassed, hastily wandering my eyes around to ensure that no one had caught me doing it.
My first time wearing a business suit and first time interviewing a business mogul, all of that coupled with my usual ineptitude was a recipe for disaster. But of course I was proven wrong, once again. I should have acquired all the help Kate was willing to provide especially if that meant looking more... human... in this overly competent environment.
The more employees I saw, the more discordant I felt. I thought I was wearing something adequate when I departed our apartment—Kate's apartment—in the morning, but everyone in this place, down to the secretaries, assistants and even security guards—who looked less like guards and more like they had stepped straight out of Men in Black—wore outfits that I was sure cost more than I made in a month at Claytons. The building seemed befitted to belong on the cover of an architecture journal with the header of who wants to throw millions, and the furnishings and decorations were just... awe-inspiring.
It was all just very well appointed and certainly exceeded my expectations.
Although what really got me was that I showed up to a professional company to interview a successful business mogul, and every female employee I encountered here turned out to be a blonde. Wasn't prejudice supposed to be illegal? This display of discrimination was above my understandings. I just hoped this wasn't an undercover barbie factory. The thought made me chuckle. I ended up coughing to cover it. Kate—who nowadays seemed obsessed with this Christian Grey and the idea of interviewing him—would love to know about his unhealthy fixation with blondes.
Then I mentally admonished myself at my harsh judgement of the guy, I needed to stop being flat out conclusive all the time. Perhaps he found blondes more intelligent? Every thing wasn't black and white. Right? Right?
My head turned towards the clatter of heels, I observed with eyes full of wonder, a blonde with a beautiful golden tan as she trotted past me, striding in her business suit like an exquisitely bred Palomino. I regarded my alabaster skin with an ungrateful frown. How was one supposed to get a tan in Seattle anyway? Knowing my luck, instead of tanning, I'd end up with a bad case of skin burn and floundering in the ER at the end of the day.
As the clock ticked by, I slowly felt more at ease. My subconscious became acquainted with the artfully yet tastefully decorated extravagance. I resisted the urge to change my position many a times, patting my numb limbs every once in a while, trying to assuage the fact that I'd been sitting like a mother hen on eggs in this waiting room for what had felt like hours, expecting to be summoned by his Lordship. If only it'd not attract attention, I would love to recline back and stretch my legs.
Since I couldn't do that, I flickered a quick glance around to ascertain that no one was looking, and raising my chin, coolly peeked inside my black velvet hobo bag that I'd purchased from bargain and took out my smart-phone whilst keeping an ear open for my long awaited call. I clicked on the home screen pattern to enter the code, my fingers moved deftly as the phone screen popped open, my eyes immediately attached itself to the shameless indulgence.
Time to indulge myself in my guilty pleasure, I thought giddily.
My eyes again did a quick sweep of the surroundings trying to give off a self-assured countenance all the while hoping no one had the time to peer over my shoulders and then have a good laugh at my expense. Though I doubt anyone would be interested enough in li'l ole me to spy on.
Thank God for small fonts or everyone would judge me for being a pervert. I was—sort of. Suddenly, heat flowed through my cheeks at yet another harsh judgement that I had managed to dump on myself. I really needed to stop doing that.
Reading was my passion, I thought defensively and I just liked to read literature. But what I loved was reading smut. The more erotic and forbidden, the better. I had somehow managed to conjure up the habit of reading promiscuous stories ever since I was introduced to it in high-school. Whenever, wherever I had extra few minutes on my hands, whether I was at the university, work, home, cooking, pleasuring myself; the smut stayed locked away—ready to be unleashed at the slightest of opportunities—in the hidden recesses of my phone's folders.
Since I'd never before heard of a virgin being a sex addict, I was fairly certain that I couldn't be a nymphomaniac. Or al-least that was what I hoped for. This contradiction had rendered my situation all the more baffling, especially after spending my teen years under the strict influence of my step-dad, Ray, who loved and raised me like his own daughter but was a drill sergeant of a father—an ex-army. I wasn't allowed to have a boyfriend until I turned legal. He wouldn't permit me jeopardizing my educational years by falling into the traps of a high-school fellow and worse, turning up pregnant because of my naivety, his words, not mine.
So all those angsty high-school years where all my peers were busy exploring their sexuality and finding covert ways to reduce chances of getting pregnant, I, in the meantime, appeased myself by reading... smut. Which was sad. Things got even more heated in my bathroom and bedroom when Amy, my high-school friend, gifted me a little egg shaped stimulator as a mock present for my lack of experience on my seventeenth birthday. She never found out that I had tried it. She was convinced that I'd thrown it away so dad wouldn't get a hold of it.
Silver lining; as years passed single orgasm turned into two orgasms, which further turned into multiple-orgasmic bliss. Okay so maybe I was exaggerating a little bit. But I knew how to bring myself to orgasm.
Yeah keep telling yourself that Steele, you don't know what you're missing out on; Kate's image popped in my head admonishing me for my useless silver lining.
A snicker threatened to bubble out at my ill friend's antics. Because now, due to constant sexual deprivation—as Kate would put—lately all I was able to think about was sex. Yeah right, Kate.
Having been surrounded by people who had active sex lives—maybe a little too active—wasn't much of a help either.
Ray's words stayed ingrained in my brain as I grew up. I could always recall them precisely the way they came out of his mouth, 'Kid, I did all I could've done for you, to protect you from this world and its predators. The time when you'll get out of your old man's influence will be the time for you to make pivotal decisions of your life. Mistakes happen, sometimes they're good since they teach us lessons that no one else can, not even your old man. Make your mistakes wisely and don't ever do anything rash enough that you might later come to regret with an intensity that'd leave you bereft. Don't ever make mistakes that are fatal to your sanity. That's an order.' To which I'd teasingly reply, 'Yes Sergeant,' and his face would light up with proud contentment, slow chuckles rising up his throat as he'd shake his head. I missed Ray. It'd been so long since we'd last been together, watching some silly movie, huddled on that dreadful brown couch that he loved and I hated with a passion.
He came out to be right. I was his daughter after all. I turned out to be too eclectic, sometimes too cautious for my own good. I, by no means was adverse to the idea of giving up my first time. In fact I'd been dating actively—if going to lunch with guys in my university and getting to know them was classified as active dating. They always tried to rush me just so I would give into their sexual advances. Well, I didn't. I might had if they stuck around a little longer and were a tad more irresistible in their pursuits. There wasn't anything remotely enigmatic about them and years of readings could definitely raise a girl's expectations. Now, there was actually a term for it; book boyfriends. Yes, my perfect man was digital. Black and white. Font 12.
After graduating high-school and witnessing many a fall outs of my friends' love lives, I finally decided that I would only give myself up to a guy who at the very least held my interest and whose charm I found somewhat unable to resist. Since I'd waited for so long already, it couldn't hurt to wait a bit more, right? So, fast forward, at the age of twenty one, I was still a virgin, a twenty one year old spinster for the lack of a better word. Not to forget a laughing stock for my peers.
As some new impeccable, formidably dressed blond with a severe bun on her head strode past my chair, a curl got free from behind my ear and slid between my eyes. At her amused glance I quickly dropped my phone on my lap and swept it away with my fingers. My other hand clenched the straps of my bag in a tight clutch. Instead of loosening my grip—it provided me with an odd sense of support—I regarded my long mahogany strands that were as uncontrollable as a flighty horse with a glare from the peripheral and adjusted my blush coloured lace top over my generous breasts.
After I, once cried out, at the injustice when I was only but fourteen, at the tube tops that looked overly vulgar on me and how that wasn't fair, my grandma Steele—God bless her soul—consoled me by saying that it was a blessing to look like a woman and that not to be an ungrateful brat. That memory never failed to break a smile out of my ill-at-ease countenance. I later came to be grateful after I witnessed a lot of girls stuffing their bras with tissue paper to look more endowed. Grandma Steele passed away when I was fifteen. No one fulfilled the hole her boisterous personality left gaping open, not even my eccentric mom who at the time was with her latest flavour of the year.
A ring resounded just outside the waiting hall, perhaps from the PA's desk, bringing me out of my reverie as I looked down at my hand laying innocently on my lap beside my ever cherished phone and the latest erotica novel that I intended to start. My phone regained my attention when I noticed the screen, showing off a picture cover of the novel; a handsome ripped man in a suit presenting a flower to a girl whilst hiding a riding crop behind his back, a sinful smirk gracing his face. Oh!
Why the idea of a man dominating me made me all warm and buttery inside, was something way beyond my comprehension. I certainly read stories about such men and had sighed with stars in my eyes at their dreamy love confessions, but never had I met one in person. If only!
Sexual domination was a wet dream for me, genuine sexual domination.
I was aware of the practice of BDSM and could certainly understand its appeal—again courtesy of my forbidden collection of books—but after a thorough and concealed internet survey, I concluded that even though BDSM sounded promising, I'd rather prefer a man who had a natural dominant streak. What I wanted wasn't play. I wanted the real thing.
After reading a little too many historical rakes, I secretly craved for a man's touch who claimed what he wanted. Someone who wouldn't had to ask me for my submission but instead demanded that I surrendered myself. Someone to whom I'd want to submit. An alpha. Not abusive, but Alpha; sometimes there was a fine line between these two yet both were exceedingly different. Boy, I really needed to stop reading all those stories and join back to the land of the living. The credibility of me ever finding a man like that was only valid in my head while I pleasured myself at night. No one was supposed to know what a freak I really was. I shuddered at the prospect of anyone ever finding out about my dirty fantasies.
My attention diverted back to my bookmarked story and I got engrossed in how Sean tore away his bindings and jumped on Claudia wanting to punish her, pinned her down and muffled her mouth with eager kisses, daring her to say a word or suffer his wrath. He ended up mounting her like a well bred stallion. That part never failed to leave me squirming.
Damn! Now, I desperately needed a change of underwear. I should have known better than to resume my reading in this God-awful intimidating waiting room. Great, now I was uncomfortable.
I squirmed, repeatedly crossing and uncrossing my legs, trying to alleviate the feeling of soaking wet panties and my hollow feeling lower belly.
"Excuse me, Miss." I jumped in my seat, abashed and jerking my head, looked up, trying to turn-off the phone's screen as soon as I heard one of the barbies addressing me. I chucked my phone away in my bad.
She looked at me with an uncertain frown, appearing hesitant to interrupt me. Ha! If only she knew what I was reading and how I was feeling. I felt my cheeks burn red with embarrassment at my unrestrained behaviour.
Seriously Steele? Get a hold of yourself before you're caught with your hand in the cookie jar.
I weakly cleared my throat, "Yes?" And tried my hardest to make my smile as innocent as possible. Reading dirty stories while I was already nervous about interviewing a mogul? Where was my sanity? I hoped I wasn't turning into a lunatic. I always feared if someday I was going to get caught, red-handed. I sure as hell hoped today wouldn't be that day.
"Mr. Grey would like to see you now." She said, giving me a curious once over, gesturing towards the rugged grandeur of the beautifully carved oak door.
I gulped nervously and clutched my bag even tighter, peering at the immensely intimidating door with an imposing nameplate that read Christian Grey in bold italics.
"Uh... Miss Steele?" Barbie called once again causing me to mentally berate myself. I needed to stop spacing out lest Barbie passed me off as a raging loon high on pills. I turned my eyes away from the door and once again gave her a feeble smile, nodding my head in acceptance, "Mr. Grey would like to see you now, if you would please follow me." She stated, looking at my nervousness with an empathic little polite grimace that made me even more nervous.
"Uh... of course! Thank you, Miss...?" I stood up, attempting to overcome my fidgeting and threw a friendly smile her way, in an attempt to regain my manners.
"Miss Stevens. My name is Olivia Stevens." She responded, taken aback by my familiarity, looking awfully young all of a sudden. What—did nobody ask the help what their name was anymore? Lord! Perhaps she was an intern. Poor girl. She was bound to feel left out by everyone working above her and ordering her about.
I gave her a warm smile. "Well, Miss Stevens, thank you for showing me the way." As I followed Olivia, I assessed her and noticed that she too was wearing clothes that looked way more well kept than mine. I sighed wistfully and then shook my head grinning softly. Kate was going to have my ass today for not wearing the cream coloured suit. I might not look overly competent since I was still a student with less money and more expenses, especially since I had lost my job a few weeks back when Kate and I moved to Seattle after our finals. In present circumstances all I could've done was replace faded old jeans with my best fitted slacks; my version of professional.
You'll do fine Ana, just get yourself together.
After giving myself a small internal pep-talk, I found myself facing the intimidating oak door, trying to emulate a regal persona. It wasn't like the old excessively rich billionaire was going to slay me when I interviewed him. If anything, he should fear me since I was a replacement for Kate and she was a student of journalism at WSU. And as far as I've heard there was nothing these powerful people feared more than a self-assured journalist, one who had the ear of the media mogul.
I might not be as poised and assertive as Kate but he didn't know that and what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him... or... me. In fact, I could use it to my advantage. No more meek or timid Anastasia for the day. I straightened my shoulders and strutted towards the grand door with my head held high in a defiant manner, ready to conquer the world—or at least the interview—with my awesomeness.