Fifty Shades of Pulp

Pulp Chapter 12

APOV

Retiring upstairs to one of Christian's guest rooms, turning on my phone I had several texts and messages from one very drunk Kate. Demanding to know where I was, when I'm coming home sounding all weepy. Returning her call, I was met with tears like those in her voice mail. This time asking for forgiveness, begging that I don't break the lease. I'm still deeply upset by Kate's rant. She is my best friend and has been for years but Ben is my brother and if she's homophobic, I will have to distance myself from her.

Mentioning I wasn't sure what time I be back in Vancouver that I'd most likely stay the weekend in Seattle she was quick to add she would drive up. I told her take a couple of Ibuprofen and get a good night's sleep...what's most needed at the moment. We can talk when her head is clear. Promising to text me before leaving and when she arrived in Seattle.

God, how things turned into a fucking fiasco with Christian, how it all took a turn for the worse. He's like a pendulum swinging from one extreme to another and I'm such a fool for I was attracted to this guy that is nothing short of a Greek God, who wooed me with flowers, sweets and a helicopter ride. The side that's considerate and polite. The one who listened to my stories while seemingly engaged. Naturally, I do something stupid: throwing myself at him.

Leave up to me to act like the countless women who have repeated those exact actions...

Chalk it up to my inexperience with men. Kate may be right...

Ana less writing, music and studies. You need more more Male exposure...

perhaps I should have just d-virginized myself years ago. At least then I wouldn't come across as desperate. Letting out a labored sigh I feel my actions only complicated what little social life I have.

Christian the Dominant not only in business but in his personal life as well. For him it's a never-ending cycle for Control.

Oh boy, that contract of his... so detailed, so cold, so detached. It's nothing other than another business transaction, a Meger and Acquisition. Written in a language devoid of emotions. Finding myself conflicted. There were moments today/tonight of sheer kindness and warmth that in my hearts of hearts were genuine.

Yet his contract brings it all back home for me. The sleeping, eating, working out etc. His control is without bounds. Match that with his stalker tendencies, the implications make my head spin. And that shit about Every Weekend... That is so over the top.

He wants... No scratch that... He demands nothing short of total and complete utter servitude, unless "cleared by him". No eye contact and speak only when given permission.

I can see that playing out in a scene or during role-play, but hell this man is not looking for a Sub as it's claimed to be. Christian is looking for a 24/7 Total Power Exchange... Ugh add the corporal punishment aspect, while recalling his toys along the side wall I wince at the thought. I know there are some that love doling it out as much as the ones on the receiving end, becoming genuinely aroused from pain with the accompanied endorphin rush, ultimately achieving sub-space.

Stop it Steele you're over-thinking. Get some sleep.

Lifting my head from the pillow grabbing the phone. It's only 2:05am.. urggggh...placing the spare pillow over my head murmuring, "This is going to be a long fucking night." By the time 2:20 rolls around I'm done stewing. I need to move around.

Peeking my head out of the door listening for movement, I grab my phone to use as a flashlight I start make my way. As soon as I hit the hallway under-mounted LED lights kick in. The glow is dim yet bright enough that the hall is lit. Sliding my phone into the robe's breast pocket. I hit the first stair and the entire staircase dimly lights allowing me to take in the view as a walk down. It's absolutely gorgeous here. The floor to ceiling glass, the city lights are still in bloom. Like a tons of bricks I'm hit with how silent, cold and sterile this place feels. And just as I thought, right before stepping onto the foyer, another series of light up leading me to all the Madonna and Child paintings. Taking a few moments I count fourteen of them. They're almost set up as a shrine and given the location it is all very oddly placed. And knowing what I know about Christian they don't seem to fit within the scope of his other art collections. Unless, of course these paintings are related to the loss of his mother, because he surely doesn't seem to be the religious type. Peeling my eyes from the various Madonna's. I can't quite put my finger on the symbolism of it all.

Admiring the obscenely expensive Faziloi piano that sits off the living room. The leather furniture that is supple, almost too soft to the touch. This place is cold surrounded by beauty.

Heading straight toward the kitchen. I need to make a mug of hot milk. Hell, anything to distract me and hopefully allowing the churning in my head to stop. Milling around near the stove I realize Mrs. Jones kitchen set-up is pretty sweet. Gathering my ingredients and sauce pan I set off to make warmed milk. Within a minute I have my earbuds in reciting the latest language I'm tackling. Parroting words just above a whisper when I feel his presence. Continuing to recite, I pour more milk. Taking off my earbuds Christian's presence only magnifies, without turning around. I'm the first to speak.....