Impostor

E.L. James

I wanted it to be like anything else I ever wrote - simple, mindless prose.

The kind of fanfic throwaway that anyone with two brain cells and an iPhone could dictate and pass off as a masterpiece.

I had not intended for it to become the monster scandal it finally evolved into.

Ian looked at me, his need etched heavily on his face.

Standing next to the full-length mirror, he admired himself.

His expensive, bespoke leather jacket matched his kid-skin gloves; dark fabrics hugged the curves of his luscious body.

He stood there, an Adonis to my Venus.

My forbidden lust rose in me, unbidden, as I remembered our most recent debauchery.

A slight grin crossed my lips as I recalled his commands, and my innate need to satisfy my Master.

My cheeks still were flushed and red from his riding crop.

I had been disobedient, insoucient, a brat - and even, dare I say it, irascible?

My insolence had been rewarded by severe remonstrations from him, accompanied by repeated strikes of black, hand-woven leather, oiled with the most sensual essences available to mankind.

To create these rare treasures, exotic beetles from the Amazonian rain forest had been crushed into delicious paste, their frail bodies squeezed, until they yielded their secret fragrances.

Then, the remnants of these had been bottled and put for sale in the cosmetics aisles of all the best stores in Manhattan.

Stores owned by Ian, and his fratbro cohorts.

Stores that made them billionaires, as scores of woefully inadequate women sought to hide their inner pain, and empower their lioness within.

The irony of all of this was lost on me, as I knelt there on the marbled tile, my ass still stinging from my lesson in humility.

“What do you think you are doing, El?” Ian asked.

“I found some innocent, amusing thing on the web, something to pass the time. May I read it to you?” I inquired.

Ian’s stern look made me quiver with unbridled desire, and I salivated at the thought of an upcoming test of my love for him.

“Go on,” he insisted. My heart skipped a beat...

“It’s a writing contest, on this website. They do these challenges. This one is to imitate the style of one’s favorite author. I submitted an entry, under a pseudonym. Am I naughty, do you think, Ian? Me pretending to be me? When I am really me?” I spat out, rapidly cadencing my words for best effect.

As I watched my Master, I noted the bulge in his leather chaps that meant I had done my duty.

My innermost secrets throbbed with ecstasy as I knew I had managed to achieve my hidden goal.

Even though Ian thought he was my Master, and I his Slave, the reality was far more subtle.

I finished typing my entry, my red-glossed nail polish slick and shining as my fingers tapped out their symbols on the tiny smartphone keyboard.

Satisified I had managed to at least confound the Universe once more, I rolled over, exposing my soul to my one, true Master.

As Ian approached, I turned my attention to the small screen, that showed the President of the United States standing next to the Russian Premier.

Ian’s first lashing with the cat-o-nine tails bit into my soft flesh, and I cried out as I listened to the most powerful men on the planet control my Destiny.