Christian
Grey was indeed a twisted, depraved sadistic motherfucker. Yeah, he’d whipped
that dippy cunt Anastasia until she cried and then she ran off in a tizzy,
whimpering like a child who’d been caught in the cookie jar. This held no
pleasure for Christian because it wasn’t his game. Christian creamed his $500
designer jeans over money. Lots of money. If he could convince (probably by
murmuring in her ear) that naïve ginch to wear a dog collar and walk around
Kerry Park, then he would win a $10 million bet he’d made with Richard Branson.
She had to bark occasionally and do the whole performance on all fours wearing
a furry bikini. Branson and Grey had similar bets between them for years
because when you’re a billionaire who can do just about anything for
recreation, the hardcore fun drained out of life pretty damn fast. The bet was
simple: get some stupid tramp to do their most depraved bidding just by the
power of charm and a ten figure bank account. Branson had gotten one of his to attend
a black-tie gala (in Washington DC no less) wearing a French maid outfit and
then proceed to unabashedly hit on every married man. She was ordered to be as
overt as possible and always in front of the men’s wives. Branson had been startlingly
clear, his eyes sparkling like ice chips with drunken malice, tinged with
unhinged depraved lust. He hissed his orders, nary a slurred word to be found
despite the 5 martinis, into the money-grubbing 19 year-old college slut’s ear:
“no fucking exceptions or you’ll be
walking back to Penn State, Lyla.” She touched, flirted, laughed and showed off
her tits with impunity to the married men because Branson told her it turned
him on. One wife, drunk on six glasses of champagne, had slapped Lyla’s face.
Branson had a $50,000 side bet riding on the prospect of physical violence. A
$10,000 bonus included for hair pulling. That was very good; Branson was a clever,
twisted, delightfully psychotic son of a bitch. But oh, he had nothing on
Christian Grey. If he could get Annie Steele to walk in the park like a bitch
dog then he would win the $10 million which he could blow on sports cars and
clothes. It was taking more time than Grey had anticipated and to make things
interesting, they had their side bets. The NDA netted Grey $500,000 but when
she struck out anal fisting, he’d had to give it back to Branson. That was an
unconditional part of the bet. Only ole Rich could put ‘anal fisting’ in a
legal document and get away with it. Yes, Branson was very good. The only
problem facing Christian was that he’d chosen his target very unwisely.
Anastasia had all the intelligence and good sense of a tree sloth. A smart
woman was easier to manipulate because she could see all the angles from which she
would benefit by screwing a billionaire. Anal could set her up for life; Donald
Trump proved that one. But, oh, Anastasia was dumb as a sack of potatoes that
had been left in the sun too long. She couldn’t see things quite as well and
thus needed more convincing. While more trusting than an intelligent woman, she
also held onto her values a bit tighter. She was a 25 year old virgin, after
all. He’d managed to blow out her pussy at the four day mark (he’d won $50,000 from
Branson on that at least) but damn she sucked in bed. Ana Steele moved like a
metronome with twice as many sharp edges. But, he was getting closer. Christian
was so close he could smell the seductive scent of crisp hundreds and the
beautiful interior of the custom Nissan GTR he’d buy with Branson’s money. He,
of course, could afford such a conveyance without the Brans but it felt so good
to spend someone else’s money. Well…that wasn’t quite right because he often
spent other people’s money: Grey Capital, a subsidiary of Grey Enterprises, was
a giant Ponzi scheme that made Madoff look like a street hustler bilking the
yokels with Three Card Monty. No, it
felt good to spend Branson’s money.
Grey thought Branson was slovenly dunce of a man with stupid hair. Branson
thought Grey was a weak, weasely, faggy little twerp who would benefit from a
frontal lobotomy. They got along well over Martinis.
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