Warts, a Fifty Shades of Grey spite fic
Title: Warts
Author: Albion_witch
Fandom(s): Fifty Shades of Grey
Rating: R
Word Count: 599
Inspirations: The general douchebaggery of Christian Grey and my desire to make him suffer for it, fairy tale style.
Warnings: Physical abuse masquerading as BDSM, sexual dialogue, and potential nightmare fuel
Summary: A tale as old as time…
When Christian Grey dreamed, it was often of the Crack Whore. She was bound to a bare white bedpost, her bare, bony backside facing him. He’d hold a white cane in his dreams. He loved using it on her the most. Oh, he loved the sound it made as it whipped through the air not unlike a fencing foil and he loved the beautiful violet bruises it painted on the Whore’s body.
“Red light,” she said, looking through her shaggy, limp hair.
“I barely touched you,” he replied, stroking the red marks spotting her back with his slender fingers.
“I’m tired,” she explained.
“I’m not.”
“I loved you.”
Her remark was met with a blow to her sagging buttocks.
“I’ve tried my best to make sure that you were taken care of,” she sighed. “Sometimes, you just can’t control of what life gives you.”
The cane flew to her back, a large red welt swelling up where the two met.
“You’re not as in control of yourself as you think you are,” she croaked as her face melted like wax. Her skeletal wrists slipped their bonds and she turned around. There no longer stood an emaciated woman with heavy eye-lids, but a handsome but formidable woman with steel eyes glaring at Christian.
“I taught you well, little boy,” she grinned, “but you are in need of a new lesson.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” Christian scowled.
“Then why do you shudder at the thought of a woman touching you as you touch them?”
The woman strutted over to him and stroked his shoulder. He shivered despite his best attempts not to as the woman wrapped her arms around him.
“You are no different than from me,” she purred. “You get a hard-on at the thought of people dying without your help. You love it that without you, your employees would stumble off a cliff like blind sheep. You are, without a doubt, their god as I was once yours. You remember how you curried my favor so your asshole would stop hurting for one night. How many times did each of them agree to suck your cock for a night off?”
“Stop,” Christian growled.
“I wonder if you’ll make the new girl swallow.”
Christian raised the cane, but he felt it squirm in his grasp. He looked and found it had morphed into a white snake that coiled around his arm.
“Do you remember ‘Beauty and the Beast’? I used to read it to you all the time.”
Before he could answer, the snake sank its fangs into his arm.
When Christian Grey woke up, he found that it hurt when he moved. He began hyperventilating when he rubbed his arms and felt the hard bumps protruding from his skin. The root-like growths on his feet scratched at the wood floors as he limped across the room to retrieve his cell phone out of the slacks he abandoned in a corner laundry hamper. It felt like his fingers were breaking as he dialed Taylor to reschedule all his meetings and appointments for the rest of the month and to send for his doctor.
Christian then heard a gasp and turned to see Ana standing at the door, looking quite horrified. He lurched forward, only for Ana to stumble backward before sprinting down the hall.
“Anastasia!” Christian roared, his face prickled with cysts. “Don’t you dare go out that door!”
There was only the slamming of the front door. Christian Grey, soon to be known as The Tree Man of Seattle, seethed before collapsing on the floor and began sobbing.
Author: Albion_witch
Fandom(s): Fifty Shades of Grey
Rating: R
Word Count: 599
Inspirations: The general douchebaggery of Christian Grey and my desire to make him suffer for it, fairy tale style.
Warnings: Physical abuse masquerading as BDSM, sexual dialogue, and potential nightmare fuel
Summary: A tale as old as time…
When Christian Grey dreamed, it was often of the Crack Whore. She was bound to a bare white bedpost, her bare, bony backside facing him. He’d hold a white cane in his dreams. He loved using it on her the most. Oh, he loved the sound it made as it whipped through the air not unlike a fencing foil and he loved the beautiful violet bruises it painted on the Whore’s body.
“Red light,” she said, looking through her shaggy, limp hair.
“I barely touched you,” he replied, stroking the red marks spotting her back with his slender fingers.
“I’m tired,” she explained.
“I’m not.”
“I loved you.”
Her remark was met with a blow to her sagging buttocks.
“I’ve tried my best to make sure that you were taken care of,” she sighed. “Sometimes, you just can’t control of what life gives you.”
The cane flew to her back, a large red welt swelling up where the two met.
“You’re not as in control of yourself as you think you are,” she croaked as her face melted like wax. Her skeletal wrists slipped their bonds and she turned around. There no longer stood an emaciated woman with heavy eye-lids, but a handsome but formidable woman with steel eyes glaring at Christian.
“I taught you well, little boy,” she grinned, “but you are in need of a new lesson.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” Christian scowled.
“Then why do you shudder at the thought of a woman touching you as you touch them?”
The woman strutted over to him and stroked his shoulder. He shivered despite his best attempts not to as the woman wrapped her arms around him.
“You are no different than from me,” she purred. “You get a hard-on at the thought of people dying without your help. You love it that without you, your employees would stumble off a cliff like blind sheep. You are, without a doubt, their god as I was once yours. You remember how you curried my favor so your asshole would stop hurting for one night. How many times did each of them agree to suck your cock for a night off?”
“Stop,” Christian growled.
“I wonder if you’ll make the new girl swallow.”
Christian raised the cane, but he felt it squirm in his grasp. He looked and found it had morphed into a white snake that coiled around his arm.
“Do you remember ‘Beauty and the Beast’? I used to read it to you all the time.”
Before he could answer, the snake sank its fangs into his arm.
When Christian Grey woke up, he found that it hurt when he moved. He began hyperventilating when he rubbed his arms and felt the hard bumps protruding from his skin. The root-like growths on his feet scratched at the wood floors as he limped across the room to retrieve his cell phone out of the slacks he abandoned in a corner laundry hamper. It felt like his fingers were breaking as he dialed Taylor to reschedule all his meetings and appointments for the rest of the month and to send for his doctor.
Christian then heard a gasp and turned to see Ana standing at the door, looking quite horrified. He lurched forward, only for Ana to stumble backward before sprinting down the hall.
“Anastasia!” Christian roared, his face prickled with cysts. “Don’t you dare go out that door!”
There was only the slamming of the front door. Christian Grey, soon to be known as The Tree Man of Seattle, seethed before collapsing on the floor and began sobbing.