fifty-shades-of-grey

But what dominates the room is a bed. It’s bigger than king-size, an ornately carvedrococo four-poster with a flat top. It looks late nineteenth century. Under the canopy, I cansee more gleaming chains and cuffs. There is no bedding... just a mattress covered in redleather and red satin cushions piled at one end.At the foot of the bed, set apart a few feet, is a large oxblood chesterfield couch, juststuck in the middle of the room facing the bed. An odd arrangement… to have a couchfacing the bed, and I smile to myself – I’ve picked on the couch as odd, when really it’s themost mundane piece of furniture in the room. I glance up and stare at the ceiling. There arekarabiners all over the ceiling at odd intervals. I vaguely wonder what they’re for. Weirdly,all the wood, dark walls, moody lighting, and oxblood leather makes the room kind of softand romantic… I know it’s anything but, this is Christian’s version of soft and romantic.I turn, and he’s regarding me intently as I knew he would be, his expression completelyunreadable. I walk further into the room, and he follows me. The feathery thing has meintrigued. I touch it hesitantly. It’s suede, like a small cat-of-nine-tails but bushier, andthere are very small plastic beads on the end.“It’s called a flogger,” Christian’s voice is quiet and soft.A flogger… hmm. I think I’m in shock. My subconscious has emigrated or been struckdumb or simply keeled over and expired. I am numb. I can observe and absorb but not articulatemy feelings about all this, because I’m in shock. What is the appropriate responseto finding out a potential lover is a complete freaky sadist or masochist? Fear… yes… thatseems to be the over-riding feeling. I recognize it now. But weirdly not of him – I don’tthink he’d hurt me, well, not without my consent. So many questions cloud my mind.Why? How? When? How often? Who? I walk toward the bed and run my hands downone of the intricately carved posts. The post is very sturdy, the craftsmanship outstanding.“Say something,” Christian commands, his voice deceptively soft.“Do you do this to people or do they do it to you?”His mouth quirks up, either amused or relieved.“People?” He blinks a couple of times as he considers his answer. “I do this to womenwho want me to.”I don’t understand.“If you have willing volunteers, why am I here?”“Because I want to do this with you, very much.”“Oh,” I gasp. Why?I wander to the far corner of the room and pat the waist high padded bench and run myfingers over the leather. He likes to hurt women. The thought depresses me.“You’re a sadist?”“I’m a Dominant.” His eyes are a scorching gray, intense.“What does that mean?” I whisper.“It means I want you to willingly surrender yourself to me, in all things.”I frown at him as I try to assimilate this idea.“Why would I do that?”“To please me,” he whispers as he cocks his head to one side, and I see a ghost of asmile.