Christian Grey shifted restlessly in his seat. His seat was in his helicopter which he owned because he was very rich. The helicopter had been circling the bowling alley for thirty minutes. There was no landing pad for a helicopter in this bowling alley & adventure playground so the pilot was waiting for four parking spaces to become available at once. Christian’s cock slept peacefully throughout.
Finally, they landed. Christian Grey nodded at his pilot, the pilot nodded back. They had an understanding. The pilot was not invited to the birthday party. He was used to this. He’d been popular in high school but the things that made him him an enjoyable teenager to be around hadn’t translated to adulthood. He was a goof. But adulthood was serious. He realised that now after being Christian Grey’s pilot for all these years.
Grey was dreading this party, he appreciated the finer things in life like silver teapots and scarves that went the whole way around your neck; what was there for him in a bowling alley & adventure playground? But then, as he stepped through the door, a wave of sound crashed over him. Kings of Leon, his favourite! Christian relaxed while his cock rocked out, unseen.
Grey spotted his family, they were nice people but they could never understand what it was like to be Christian Grey, to be fuelled by a desire for money, sex, and control. No, only Christian Grey desired those things.
“Happy birthday Jayden! I can’t believe you’re seven already!” Grey exclaimed to his nephew, Jayden, who was seven already, “I got you a present!”. His cock sensed that this was family time and therefore no place for cocks so it went for a nap.
“Oh boy, thanks Uncle Christian! What is it?” yelped Jayden, like a seven year old about to open a birthday present.
“Well, open it,” smiled Christian, the annoyance of his helicopter ride now forgotten.
“A Nespresso machine! Thanks Uncle Chris!” said Jayden.
Christian ignored the over-familiarity of his nephew calling him Chris. It was a birthday party, some relaxing of the usual rules was permitted. He took in his surroundings. The neon words on the wall reminded him of neon whips, ready to strike a misbehaving submissive. The sound of the bowling balls knocking over the pins, dominating them, reminded Christian of the time he metaphorically threw a bowling ball at some pins. It was a sexy metaphor and no mistake but just as he was settling into it, exploring the silky layers of metaphor he had created, he was brought back to reality by his family reminding him that he had to change into bowling shoes. His cock concurred, bowling shoes were a must in a bowling alley.
Christian strode manfully to the shoe counter. He wasn’t sure if that was what it was called but it was where you got your bowling shoes from so Shoe Counter seemed as good a name as any other. His cock agreed, shoe counter would have to do in lieu of any signage indicating otherwise.
The woman behind the shoe counter looked Christian up and down and then up again so that she didn’t have to look at his shoes. Her name was Ruth. Ruth hated all shoes except for bowling shoes. She wanted to keep all the shoes in the world locked up in little cubby holes where they couldn’t be worn. She loved her job. Although she only got to confiscate shoes for an hour at a time, it satisfied her. Christian’s cock was not privy to this information. Perhaps things would have been different if it had been.
“I reckon you’re a size eleven,” said Ruth.
“I am,” said Christian.
“Here you go then,” said Ruth, her part in this story coming to an end although her own, arguably more interesting, story continued without Christian.
Christian put on the bowling shoes. They were quite unlike the Armani shoes he had worn to the party and clashed horribly with his Armani suit, Armani socks, Armani cologne, and Armani watch. They actually went quite well with his Armani bandana but annoyingly, he’d left his Armani bandana at home, not realising that this was an adventure playground as well as a bowling alley. His secretary hadn’t mentioned it when she read the invite. She would need to be disciplined. His cock jerked abruptly at the mention of discipline.
Christian stood near the shoe counter, thinking about discipline, his hands curled into tight fists, almost drawing blood, his entire body vibrating softly at the thought of the dirty sex things flashing across his mind. Christian was into sex in a big way. If he wasn’t thinking about money he was thinking about sex. It was probably about a 60/40 split between money and sex in Christian’s dangerous, unconventional mind. He was still vibrating, more noticeably now. People were staring. His cock was dancing to the primal rhythms and wild blues power of Kings Of Leon which must have been on repeat on the bowling alley’s audio system.
Christian suddenly came back to his senses, realised where he was, and briskly exited the building. That had been a close one. The last time he’d gotten like that he’d spanked seventeen women and a plastic dog-shaped money box for Guide Dogs For the Blind before he’d been restrained. Christian Grey was a dangerous man, he thought to himself in third-person as he jumped into his helicopter. “It’s a good thing I’m both very white and very rich” he screamed from the helicopter as it rose above the sensible family saloons that neither he nor his cock would ever have to concern themselves with. “So white and so rich!” he said again, quieter, to himself.