This is a work of fanfiction based on E L James's "Fifty Shares of Grey" series. I do not own the "Fifty Shades of Grey" series, or any of the related characters, which were created by E L James and owned by her and Universal Pictures. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only. I am not making any profit from this story. All rights of the Fifty Shades of Grey series belong to E L James and Universal Pictures.


I sit on the high stool by the immaculate marble breakfast bar,watching Christian eating the last morsels of the delicious spaghetti carbonara cooked by Mrs Jones. For once I've cleared my plate ahead of him, and am enjoying the sight of his handsome long fingers as he lifts his fork. Ooh, when I think of what he can do with those fingers! My inner goddess lies sprawled in post prandial bliss on her chaise longe, a self satisfied smirk of reminiscence on her face. I take another sip of the crisp white wine Christian had chosen to accompany our meal, and, catching my gaze upon him, he looks round, grey eyes meeting mine. He raises one eyebrow as he suggestively sucks the last strand of spaghetti into his mouth and chews thoughtfully. I could gaze into those beautiful eyes forever.
"Enjoyed your meal, Miss Steele?"
"Perfect as always, Mr Grey" I reply.
"I like to see you eat well".
"Oh, I know that very well. I hope my appetite was to sir's satisfaction"
He sucks in his breath at my comment, and I see a flame kindle in those grey eyes I know so well. Holy crap, what's he planning now, I wonder? I feel the familiar tightening at the base of my belly.
"Miss Steele, you are so sweet. I think we should have you for dessert"
Oh my, how does he manage to make even the simplest statement sound so sexy?
"Dessert _and_ me?", I reply. "Mr Grey, it sounds as if you want to have your cake and eat it."
"Oh Anastasia, that's exactly what I plan to do". My eyes widen, betraying my excitement. Oh, Fifty, I love you so much when you're being dark, and mysterious, and exciting!
I raise my eyebrows at him. "Well, I don't think Mrs Jones has left us a cake. And I really can't see you knowing how to bake one"!
"Oh, but Anastasia, you're going to help me. And together I think we can make the most beautiful cake. Now, what do ingredients do we need for a cake?". My inner goddess has roused from her slumber and is busy tying on her pinny and rolling up her sleeves. She is _so_ ready for a cookery class with Fifty.
His grey eyes roam the kitchen as I start to rattle off ingredients. "Umm, butter, flour, eggs..." "Hold on", he interrupts me. "Always so eager, Miss Steele. One at a time, I think. Now where does Mrs Jones keep the butter?"
Intrigued, my eyes follow him as he lopes smoothly across the kitchen, all jeans, white shirt and ruffled hair. He goes through a door which I hadn't noticed before - it looks like a kind of pantry - and reappears a moment later with a large tub of butter. Returning to the breakfast bar he puts the tub on the counter and eases the lid off. He dips a finger in the smooth yellow grease and holds it to my mouth. He touches my lips gently with his finger.
"Is this what we need, Miss Steele?".
I part my lips and run my tongue over the tip of his finger, tasting soft warm butter, and Christian. My insides tighten more - only Christian could make tasting butter such a sensuous experience. A huskiness in my voice betrays my arousal as I manage my reply.
"Yes"
He runs his finger over my chin and smoothly down my neck, and I can feel the thin slick of butter left on my skin. Oh my.
"I think we'd better undress you, Anastasia, we wouldn't want those lovely pyjamas getting messy, would we?" he asks. My heart is pounding as I hasten to comply, unbuttoning my cream silk top before slipping it down my arms, letting it drop to the floor. I stand, and pull at the waistband of the matching silk pyjama trousers. They slip smoothly down my legs, puddling around my bare feet. I step out of them and am standing naked in front of Christan. His gaze roams slowly over my pale form, from my bare toes curling with excitement on the floor, up my legs, pausing at the triangle of hair at the base of my belly before roaming on across my stomach. As his eyes rest on my breasts I feel my nipples hardening under his gaze. His eyes lift to my face. "Always so eager, Miss Steele", he says breathlessly.
I watch as he dips both hands into the tub of soft butter, then reaches to encircle my upper arm in his slippery grip. He slides his hands, oh so slowly, down the length of my arm, leaving an even coating of yellow butter over my skin. The feel of his touch is so smooth, lubricated as it is by the soft butter, that it feels as if he is making love to my whole arm. His firm grasp reaches my wrist, my palm, and slips down my fingers. I sigh at the lovely feeling of his gentle massage. He repeats the process on my other arm, and once again I feel his warm caress slip down my arm, until it feels as if all my tension slips out of the end of my fingers.
"Oh, Christian", I gasp.
""Come on, baby," he says. "Now give my your foot".
I lift my leg as he kneels on the floor in front of me, resting my bare foot on his lap. One hand slips under the arch of my foot, lifting it off his thigh, while with the other he takes another scoop of butter and begins to work it between my toes. Holy crap, this feels even better than my fingers. He works his way across my toes in turn, his slippery fingers running over and between them, just firm enough to avoid tickling. Then he's working more butter across the arch of my foot. I point my toes and allow his encircling hands to run up my foot, over my ankle, and up my leg. My leg is enveloped in its slippery yellow coating to the top of my thigh where, tantilisingly, he stops. I push my hips forward, trying to get release against him, but he pulls his hands away. "Oh, not yet, Anastasia. We've so much more to do".
"Oh, Christian, please", I beg.
But he sets my slippery foot back on the floor and, lifting my other foot, repeats the process of running his fingers between my toes, his hands over my foot, up my leg. I close my eyes as I savour his gentle touch leaving its slippery trail wherever it goes.
Almost reluctantly he pulls his hands away from my thigh and stands, as I place both feet on the floor, and one hand on the edge of the counter to keep my balance.
"Ana", comes his voice from close beside me. "You are so beautiful. You are my sweet, and we've barely started".
"Oh, Christian", I manage, "Don't stop, please"!
I feel him standing behing me, the denim covered bulge of his erection pressing into my buttocks, his arms encircling me as he reaches for more butter from the counter. He presses his nose into my hair and breathes in, "You have lovely hair, Ana", he says, and before I really register what is happening he is stroking it, working butter into my scalp, running his hands down each strand of hair, surely leaving it a matted mess. I think of the effort Franco put into my hair, and allow myself a little chuckle at the thought of what he would think of Christian's unconventional shampooing. But it feels amazing. I experimentally move my head under Christian's touch, getting used to the unfamiliar feeling of my hair moving as one matted greasy mass, rather than swaying in its usual free flowing curtain. His hands are moving onwards, massaging butter down my spine and across my back. One greasy hand plunges between my buttocks and I feel his gentle finger probing between my legs. I draw in my breath and push back against him as his other hand reaches round me, working butter into my pubic hair, and sliding up my stomach to my breasts. He teases with my nipples and I groan, pushing my hips back harder, trying to gain satisfaction against his hips. Suddenly his fingers slip into me. "Oh Ana", he gasps, and I am undone, coming in an explosion of slippery lust, my legs weakening under me as his firm encircling arm across my chest holds me up.
He eases me forward until I am lying on the counter, still breathless with the force of my orgasm. He trails kisses down my slippery spine, and I lie still and bask in the pleasure this amazing man gives me. I open my eyes and glimpse my yellow, butter-covered arm lying on the counter. I must look a sight, smeared with butter from head to toe, hair a matted greasy mess. And yet this man loves me, and makes me feel... wow!
I experimentally stand up, unsure of both my wobbly legs and my slippery feet on the floor. I turn and look at Christian, a greasy stain on his shirt and pants showing where he had hugged my buttery body close. "You're quite the baker, Mr Grey"
"We aim to please, Miss Steele".
"Let me undress you", I say boldly.
His gaze rests on me seriously, but he does nothing to resist as I reach for his shirt buttons. Not without difficultly, given my slippery fingers, I unbutton his shirt from top to bottom, then peel it back over his arms. Next I loosen his belt and slide his pants and boxers down his legs, his erection springing free in front of me. I give the end of his shaft a loving kiss, briefly encircling it with my buttery lips before pulling back, as I slip his trousers down to his delicious bare feet. He gasps, "Woah, Ana", he cautions, and I giggle delightedly at the power I have over him. "I love to hear your laugh, Ana", he says.
"Well, what next, master baker, sir", I say.
"Hmm", he pretends to think, "What was next, Miss Steele?"
"Umm", I can't believe I'm suggesting this, "flour?" I squeak nervously.
"Flour, yes...", he says, and paces back to the pantry. I watch apprehensively as he returns, a large bag of flour in one hand. Holy shit, am I really doing this, I wonder?
"You're biting your lip, Anastasia", he says. Oh crap, so I am. "So, I was going to spare your hair, but since you've been so disobedient, I think the hair gets it too!".
My inner goddess is peeping out from between her fingers, one hand protectively over her head. We both know what a mess this is going to make of my hair.
"Oh, please sir..." I beg. But too late. He upends the bag of flour over my head and everything disappears in a cloud of white. I cough as the flour gets up my nose, then cough some more as I inhale more of the powder. It is everywhere, I can feel the weight of it on my head, and it has stuck to the semisolid butter which coats my body... everywhere. I squint through half closed eyes down at my body, streaked with the white powder, settling in drifts on my breasts, and falling like snow on the floor around me, covering my bare feet. I wriggle my toes beneath their doughy coating, feeling the sticky substance squishing between them. I feel Christian's hands massaging my scalp, and know the flour and butter are being kneaded together into a glutinous dough, sticking every strand of my hair together in a solid mass. "You are mine, Ana", he whispers in my ear, "Mine to do with as I please". "Yes, Christian", I moan in answer, "Yours".
Christian again encircles my body with his arms, pressing his naked torso against my back. He feels different now, the flour coating my body giving a roughness in comparison to the smooth slipperiness of the butter, Christian is obviously enjoying the mess he is making of me, and I feel his excitement pressing between my buttocks. I clench my behind, squeezing his shaft with my bottom, and am rewarded with a quick intake of breath. Ever the master of delayed gratification, Christian pulls away.
"Always so eager, Miss Steele". And yet I don't think we've reached the end of your ingredients list yet, have we?" he teases. Oh crap, I can't quite believe what is coming next.
"Really?", I plead", looking up into his eyes, an amused expression playing over his face.
"Oh, I think so", he says, "It wouldn't do to leave a job half done, would it?"
"No", I whisper. He's going to have to drag this one out of me.
"So what was next, Ana?" he smiles.
"Umm, I can't remember?"
"Oh, I think you can. Try harder", he says, a steely edge entering his voice.
"Oh, oh", I plead, but can't put it off any longer. "Eggs?" I whisper.
Christian paces back to the larder and returns with a large basket of eggs. I'm not sure I've ever seen so many eggs, there must be two or three dozen there. Holy crap this is going to get messy!
Eyes gleaming, Christian places the basket on the counter. He takes one egg and cracks the shell with a sharp blow on the edge of the marble. Then, holding it over the low backed leather counter stool he pulls apart the shell, We both watch as the egg slips out of the shell and pools in the dip of the seat, a perfect yellow circle in a clear, glistening puddle. "Sit down, Anastasia", Christian commands.
I gulp. Am I really going to do this? Slowly I turn my back on the raised seat. I pause a moment. "You're biting your lip again, Ana", comes the comment. Crap. I'd better get on with it. I slowly bend my knees, and know he's watching closely as my behind settles into the puddle of egg. Who knew eggs were so slippery? I feel the moisture sliding over and between my buttocks, invading the cleft between my legs, then dripping over the lip of the seat to land on my calves, where it slides down towards my bare feet. Another egg cracks against the marble counter, and Christian holds this one over my lap. With agonising slowness, he pulls apart the shell, until it plops into the crease between my legs, which I hold tightly together. But not for long, as he dips a finger in the slippery substance and slides it up and down between my thighs. I automatically relax my legs for him, allowing the egg to seep down further, followed closely by his finger. Ahh, I feel his finger teasing my clitoris. Holy cow, how can that feel so good? The egg white is so silky smooth I can barely feel Christian's finger, touching me so gently. I am concentrating so hard on the exquisite feeling of his fingers rubbing, oh so gently, between my legs, I am barely aware as, with his free hand he cracks more eggs over my head, pausing between each one to rub the slimy substance further into the mass that was once my hair. I can feel streaks of egg sliding down my face, dripping off my chin onto my breasts. Then Christian's free hand is rubbing egg over my breasts, and I feel my nipples tight against his palms.
"Oh, Christian, please" I beg.
"Lie down, baby" he commands, I want to be inside you".
Eagerly I comply, lying on my back on the floor, heedless of the pool of cake mixture which forms my bed.
I hear the characteristic ripping of a foil packet as Christian pulls out a condom. Moments later he's kneeling between my legs, hands sliding easily over my stomach and teasingly around my breasts. He puts one hand between my legs, and with the other reaches to the counter bringing down one more egg.
"No, Christian" I beg, "I want you now".
Wordlessly he cracks the egg into his cupped hand and I feel its cool slipperiness down... there. I thrust instinctively against his hand and as he slips two fingers inside me I feel the coolness of the egg invading my insides. Then Christian's fingers are gone and moments later I feel his warmth thrusting into me, unbelievably slippery, lubricated by the egg he's just poured into me.
"Ahhhh", I cry out, as he thrusts in and out, the almost frictionless movement feeling oh so gentle, and yet so exciting. His thrusts quicken, and I feel his skin moving on mine, on my thighs, my belly, my breasts. The sensation is so light and slippery yet incredibly sensuous. It is as if I've been turned inside out and am making love to him with my whole body. I feel myself tensing as something builds irresistibly inside me, pushing me higher and higher until suddenly I explode in a shattering burst of sensations. Christian cries out and I feel him pulsing in release inside me as his body relaxes and slumps on top of me. We lie tangled together on the floor, a sticky friction between our bodies as the cake mixture gradually dries on our skin. At last Christian raises his head.
"You. Are. So. Sweet".
"Now how about a shower, Miss Steele?"