Chapter 19 - The Boathouse

Once we’re in the boathouse, I flick the lights on and head up the stairs to the attic, still carrying Anastasia over my shoulder like some prehistoric caveman. 

We’re about as remote as we can be from the house now. Good. We need to be. I am so fucking turned on, so fucking angry, and so fucking frustrated with Ana that it’s best we’re at some distance from my family so that I can deal with her.

At least I know that once I've given her the spanking and fucking she’s earned, I’ll feel calmer. As I've been carrying her, I’ve been deciding how many strokes I’ll give her. Last time I gave her eighteen strokes for her punishment spanking, and she deserves at least that amount again. But she’s going to get off lightly because I know we can't be away from the house for too long, and we have to go back and face everyone. So I guess I’ll have to settle for only giving her six this time, with a really good hard punishment fuck to follow. Then I’ll be able to think more clearly.

I set Anastasia down on the floor. Just as I’m about to take her over to the couch ready to start her spanking, I look down into her face. She’s wide eyed as she stares back up at me - like a deer being stalked by a wolf.

“Please don’t hit me,” she whispers. 

I'm stopped dead in my tracks by her whispered plea. 

“I don't want you to spank me, not here, not now. Please don’t.” 

I'm shocked, speechless. No woman has ever said no to me before. No sub has refused to be spanked – ever. And what she does next completely derails me. She tentatively reaches up and runs her fingers down my cheek, along the edge of my sideburn, then down to the stubble on my chin. She takes my breath away because her touch is soft, tender and loving. It reaches right into my very being, and I’m lost as I close my eyes to lean into her sweet touch. 

Then she reaches up with her other hand and knots her fingers in my hair, and I can't help myself, I’m moaning softly. It’s literally as if her touch is casting a spell over me, and I'm powerless to resist it. I'm spellbound. 

She steps up flush against me, and then gently pulls on my hair to bring my mouth down to hers. As she kisses me, she works her tongue in between my lips and into my mouth. I groan and pull her into my arms, letting the passion she’s unleashing take hold, as I kiss her back with a ferocity fuelled by my frustration and my anger. Then I come to my senses, and manage to pull back from her bewitchment. 

“What are you doing to me?” I whisper, feeling confused and out of control. 

This wasn’t how it was meant to go at all. 

“Kissing you,” she murmurs, her eyes reflecting my desire and need. 

“You said no.” You denied me what is mine. 

“What?” 

“At the dinner table, with your legs.” You closed your legs. You pushed my hand away. That said 'no'. That’s denying me. 

“But we were at your parents’ dining table.” I wanted to see you struggling to keep control. It would have been good practice for you. No one would ever have suspected us. They think we’re a pair of innocents. I suppose you are, and I'm corrupting you. 

“No one’s ever said no to me before. And it’s so – hot.” 

I don't understand this either, because it’s never happened before. No woman has ever refused me. Only Anastasia. And she is driving me insane with these feelings that I don't understand. All I know is that I am so aroused that I have to take her. I move my hand down to her ass, then pull her against me, against my aching erection. 

"You're mad and turned on because I said no?" she asks in astonishment. 

Seems that's how it works for me, baby. Go figure. 

“I’m mad you never mentioned Georgia to me. I’m mad because you went drinking with that guy who tried to seduce you when you were drunk and who left you when you were ill with an almost complete stranger. What kind of friend does that? And I'm mad and aroused because you closed your legs on me.” 

I slowly inch up the hem of her dress, breathing heavily because I know she is completely pantie-less underneath. No obstacles to stop me. 

“I want you, and I want you now. And if you're not going to let me spank you – which you deserve – I’m going to fuck you on the couch this minute, quickly, for my pleasure, not yours.” 

Okay, so I can’t spank her against her will, but I am going wrench back some sort of control here. She’s going to take a punishment fuck and I'm going to make sure she’s left frustrated. Then maybe she’ll understand how she makes me feel. 

I hold her tightly around her waist to keep her still. I’ve hitched her dress up above her ass now, so I move my hand down between her legs to cup her, and then slowly sink my finger into her. Christ, she's so wet and tight. She makes little moaning and whimpering noises as I continue to fuck her with my finger. 

“This is mine. All mine. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, yours,” she groans, as she leans against me. This is exactly how I want her - turned on, aroused and desperate for me. Well, she can sure as hell have me, but she sure as hell can't come. No orgasm for this frustrating creature. She’s going to be left feeling horny and frustrated, to teach her a lesson.
 
Abruptly I take my hand away, leaving her wanting. I unzip my fly, then push her down on the couch and lie on top of her. 

“Hands on your head.” She’s not allowed to touch me either. 

I kneel up and force her legs open wider, as I reach into my jacket pocket to get a condom. I shrug the jacket off, then rip the packet open and quickly sheath up. I look down at her - she looks magnificent lying there, her dress up above her ass, still wearing the sexy purple stilettoes, her legs wide apart, completely open and exposed to me. Fucking beautiful sight.  Mine. For my eyes only. 

“We don't have long. This will be quick, and it’s for me, not you. Do you understand? Don't come, or I will spank you,” I manage to tell her through clenched teeth. 

Then with no preamble, I drive deep inside her, harsh, brutal, all the way, as hard as I can. Ah, yessss! She’s so fucking tight, so fucking hot, so fucking wet. She groans loudly, and bucks her hips up to me. I pin her down, holding her hands above her head, trapping her, giving her no choice but to take what I'm dishing out. A hard, raw, punishment fuck. I pound into her, fast and furious, losing myself in the simple rhythm of my need, my pleasure. 

It doesn't take long. I soon reach my release and ram into her, then still as I fall over the edge to explode. Once I’ve wrung out every last second of orgasmic pleasure, I collapse on top of her, letting her take my full weight, knowing that she's been left aching and hungry for more. That’s what happens with a punishment fuck. Then I quickly withdraw, before she can even think about grinding herself against me for any kind of relief. 

“Don't touch yourself. I want you frustrated. That’s what you do to me by not talking to me, by denying me what’s mine,” I instruct her. Some of my tension has gone, relieved by sexual congress, but I'm still angry with her. 

She just nods at me, seemingly stunned by the speed of my attack on her as she remains on the couch, her breathing erratic as she squeezes her thighs together in her frustration. Good. That was the intention. 

I gaze down at her as I stand up to remove the condom and do up my fly. She looks so bewildered and lost. Why does she do these things to me, act the way she does, to make me so angry? 

“We’d better get back to the house,” I tell her. Ugh, fucking condom to dispose of. Can't wait to stop using them. 

She sits up and starts to straighten her dress. I decide to make a concession, because she took her punishment fuck like a good girl. 

“Here. You may put these on.” I hand her panties back. Knowing I had her panties in my pocket all evening has been making me horny too, knowing how they smelt of her, of her arousal. But now I'm allowing her the privilege of wearing them, because that certainly was one mighty fine fuck. 
She quietly takes her panties without comment. But I think I see the hint of a secret smile, because she knows I didn’t make her ask me for them.
Just as she’s putting her panties on, we’re interrupted. Shit. 

“CHRISTIAN!” 

It’s Mia of course, come to retrieve us. Well, it could have been worse. She could have turned up five minutes earlier, and caught us while I was occupied with burying myself deep inside Miss Steele. 

“Just in time. Christ, she can be really irritating,” I mutter. 

Anastasia hastily tries to restore her dignity and appearance. 

“Up here, Mia,” I call down. “Well, Miss Steele, I feel better for that – but I still want to spank you,” I murmur. 

“I don’t believe I deserve it, Mr. Grey, especially after tolerating your unprovoked attack.” 

“Unprovoked? You kissed me.” And very nice it was too, if unexpected and confusing. 

“It was attack as the best form of defense.” 

“Defense against what?” 

“You and your twitchy palm.” 

As always, our witty banter makes me smile. 

“But it was tolerable?” I ask her softly, checking to make sure I haven't misread this. I’m pretty sure she enjoyed the rough, hard fuck almost as much as I did, except that she didn't get to come. But we can work on that later. By then she’ll be desperate for some release. 

I make some excuse to Mia about showing Anastasia my rowing trophies to explain why we’re in the boathouse, and then we head on back to the house, Mia complaining to us about Kate and Elliot, how they can't keep their hands off each other. 

The whole family has gathered in the hall as Kate and Elliot make their farewells. I notice Ana whispering furiously in Kate’s ear, no doubt lambasting her for dropping her in it with me. Maybe this will help her to see Kate for what she is – interfering, nosy and bossy. 

We take our leave as well, as Ana has her interviews tomorrow, and we need to head back. 

Mia nearly knocks Ana off her feet again with another big hug. 

“We never thought he’d find anyone,” she gushes. 

Yes, Mia, I think we’ve all got the picture now. You never thought I’d find a girl because you were all so convinced I was gay. Really? Do I honestly look gay? I don’t think I do. 

“Take care of yourself, Ana dear,” Mom says, and I think that yet again there could be a tear in her eye. I know my dear Mom would have made a gay partner of mine very welcome, but I can tell that she's really happy about Anastasia, which is great, because if we are going to try this girlfriend/sub arrangement, it won’t work if she doesn’t get on with my family.

I knew they would like her – how could they not? Even so, I can see that Ana is somewhat overwhelmed by my exuberant family, and I remember that she is an only child, who lived alone with her stepfather for several years. Just as well the grandparents aren't here today as well, because they'd be all over her too. 

“Let’s not frighten her away or spoil her with too much affection,” I protest.

“Christian, stop teasing,” Mom scolds, as I kiss her goodbye. I’m really pleased to see that I've made her happy by bringing Ana over tonight. Maybe this will help make up for some of the bad shit I've put her through over the years. There’s been a lot of that, too much, and she doesn't deserve it, she really doesn’t. 

I have a collection of sixteen Madonna and Child paintings in my apartment that I've collected in her honor, because she has been a saint of a mother to me. My savior. 

Even Dad seems to approve of Anastasia, despite his earlier apparent misgivings that Elliot warned me about. 

“Mr. Grey – goodbye and thank you,” she says shyly to him as she holds out her hand. 

“Please, call me Carrick. I do hope we see you again, very soon, Ana,” he tells her and then he hugs her too, which is most unlike Dad. She seems to have won everyone over with her shy charm, and I'm proud of her. Yeah, really proud of her actually. 

~~~

On the twenty minute ride back to Escala, I ask Ana what’s up because I can sense she’s brooding about something, and I discover why Ana looked sad earlier in the evening. 

“I think that you felt trapped into bringing me to meet your parents. If Elliot hadn’t asked Kate, you’d never have asked me.” 

So that’s what this is all about. Why would she possibly think that? 

“Anastasia, I’m delighted that you’ve met my parents. Why are you so filled with self-doubt? It never ceases to amaze me. You’re such a strong, self-contained young woman, but you have such negative thoughts about yourself. If I hadn’t wanted you to meet them, you wouldn’t be here. Is that how you were feeling the whole time you were there?” 

Having spoken to so many shrinks over the years, I can't help but think a lot of these negative thoughts of Ana's stem back to her unsettled childhood. I think about the results of the background check I had Welch run on Stephen Morton, the guy her mom was married to for a short while when Ana was a teenager. 

Nothing concrete has been unearthed about him, but there were rumors and whispers that he was abusive towards her mom, not so much physically, but emotionally and verbally belittling her. And if he was like that towards her mom, it seems likely he would have acted in a similar way towards his stepdaughter, when she was at a very vulnerable age in her formative teenage years. Maybe she too has scars and baggage she’s carrying round that she manages to hide pretty well most of the time. At least Ana had solid, dependable Ray to turn to. And at least her mom had the sense to ditch this Morton guy after only a few months. He sounds like a piece of shit.
 
I want to understand her better. I want her to open up to me. I reach over and take her hand in mine. I see her glance over nervously at Taylor, clearly feeling uncomfortable about opening up in front of him. 

“Don’t worry about Taylor. Talk to me.” I have the feeling that if I don’t take this rare opportunity, she’s going to clam up on me again. 

She shrugs and sighs. 

“Yes. I thought that. And another thing, I only mentioned Georgia because Kate was talking about Barbados. I haven’t made up my mind." 

I sense that at this moment, I could probably put pressure on her not to go. I could do exactly what Kate accuses me of. I could manipulate her to stay because that’s what I want. But all she’s planning to do is go and see her mother, and my conscience pricks me. Of course she should be able to go see her mom if she wants to. 

“Do you want to go and see your mother?” 

“Yes.” 

I hate, fucking hate the thought of her leaving and being thousands of miles away on the other side of the continent. And I realize it isn’t just because I won’t be able to fuck her. It’s much more than that. I won’t be able to see her, or touch her, or smell her. I won’t know where she is or what she’s doing – or who with. 

Maybe I could go with her. I’m sure I could find some business opportunities to develop in that part of the country. That way I’d be combining business and pleasure, so it would still be putting my time to good use. 

“Can I come with you?” I ask. 

She looks shocked – horrified even. Not so keen then. 

“Erm… I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

“Why not?” Don’t you like being with me? 

“I was hoping for a break from all this… intensity to try and think things through.” Break. She wants a break. I don’t like that word. 

I stare at her. What’s she talking about? 

“I’m too intense?” Moi? 

Ana bursts out laughing. “That’s putting it mildly!” 

I love hearing her laugh. If she goes away, I’ll miss that. I’ll miss her wit and the amusing banter we have between us. No one else talks back to me the way she does. It’s just ‘yes sir, no sir, three fucking bags full, sir’. I thought that was how I liked it. But it turns out I was wrong. 

She laughs at me too. No one else dares to do that. 

“Are you laughing at me, Miss Steele?” 

“I wouldn’t dare, Mr. Grey.” 

“I think you dare, and I think you do laugh at me, frequently.” 

“You are quite funny.” 

“Funny?” I don't think anyone has ever called me funny before. Sick and twisted maybe. 

“Oh yes.” 

“Funny peculiar or funny ha ha?” 

“Oh… a lot of one and some of the other.” 

“Which way round?” 

“I’ll leave you to figure that out.” 

“I’m not sure I can figure anything out around you, Anastasia. What do you need to think about in Georgia?” 

“Us,” she whispers. No, no, no, please don’t say it’s over. 

“You said you’d try,” I whisper. I have this funny achy feeling in my chest. It hurts. 

“I know.” 

“Are you having second thoughts?” 

“Possibly.” I knew you were being impulsive when you agreed to try being my sub. Now you’ve had a chance to reflect, you’re not so sure. 

“Why?” 

She stares out of the car window pensively for what seems like an age.

“Why, Anastasia?” I press her for an answer. If she doesn’t tell me, how can I try to fix things? 

She shrugs and closes her eyes. 

I take her hand and squeeze it. 

“Talk to me, Anastasia. I don’t want to lose you. This last week…” has been the best week of my entire existence. 

Finally she seems to come to a decision. She turns and looks straight into my eyes. 

“I still want more,” she whispers. Her eyes are brimming with unshed tears.

She wants more of me. Fifty shades of fuckedupness me. She’s scared because I've told her any previous sub that wanted more has always been shown the door, immediately and without hesitation. 

She thinks I’m going to do the same to her. She seriously believes I would throw away everything I’ve found with her this last week. She doesn't understand that she’s different. Maybe that’s because you haven’t told her. 

I’m really not sure what more I have that I can offer her. But at least she isn’t rejecting you; she wants to be with you. Grab this chance Grey, grab it with both hands. 

“I know,” I tell her. “I’ll try.” 

She blinks in disbelief. She obviously thought that once she’d confessed she wanted more, it would be goodbye from me. For anyone else it would be. But not her. 

“For you, Anastasia, I will try,” I promise, meaning it with every bone in my body. I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life before. Trouble is, I really don’t know how to do ‘more’, but I guess we’re just going to have to figure it out as we go along. 

Next thing I know, she’s unbuckled her seat belt and scrambled into my lap. She wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me exultantly. I kiss her back, relieved that I seem to have given her the answer that she wanted from me. 

“Stay with me, tonight. If you go away, I won’t see you all week. Please.” I need to have an extra-large fix of her to last me while she’s gone, but I know it still won’t be enough. 

“Yes,” she agrees. “And I’ll try too. I’ll sign your contract.” 

I gaze down at her curled up in my lap. I’m fine with this contact, in fact I love having her on my lap like this. She's nice and close, and her hair is right under my nose so I can smell her sweet scent. 

And although I want her to sign the contract, I know this is another of her impulsive moments, brought on by relief that I didn't reject her plea for ‘more’. But I’m not going to take advantage; for once I'm not going to be a manipulative bastard . And actually, what is the point of the contract? I can hardly take her to court for being in breach if she walks away, can I? Either she’ll stay with me or she won’t. A piece of paper won’t make any difference. But it is a symbol of our agreement, so I'd still like her to sign it. 

"Sign after Georgia. Think about it. Think about it hard, baby.” 

Because you’ll have to be brave to take me on with all of my shit. But I really need you to make the right decision. Of your own free will. Which is fucking hard for me to accept. 

“I will,” she whispers as she nuzzles against my neck, and because she’s not directly on my chest it’s fine. More than fine, pretty fucking good actually, and I tighten my grip to pull her even closer. I don't want to let her go, but all too soon we’re home. 

Taylor opens the car door for us, and Ana shyly thanks him and then blushes profusely as she recalls that he’s been privy to our entire conversation. 

I catch him giving her a reassuring smile, as if to say ‘Don't worry; your secrets are safe with me.’ She’s not used to this, but the fact of the matter is, because of the entourage that comes as part of the package, you do lose some of your privacy when you become a billionaire, or a billionaire’s girlfriend. 

So she’s just going to have to get used to it. 

Because I’ve decided. 

That’s what Anastasia is from now on. 

My Girlfriend. 

Hopefully a submissive too, but she is most definitely My Girlfriend from now on. 

I don’t own any of the Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters therein. They belong to E L James. I’m just borrowing them for fun and not for profit. Please refer to the Legal’s page for further details. This work is not to be copied or reproduced in any way without permission.