All Chapters of Fifty Shades of Lust {Steamiest Short Stories}: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

ELLA My body was no longer mine. It belonged to the chains, the cocks, the hands, the mouths. Every part of me had been claimed so many times that the lines between pain and pleasure had dissolved into one constant, screaming ache. The vibrator still buzzed low inside my pussy—too weak to make me come again, but strong enough to keep every nerve raw and twitching. Cum leaked from my ass in slow, thick trails that ran down the backs of my thighs and pooled under my knees. My nipples were so swollen they throbbed with my heartbeat. My jaw ached from being forced wide for so long. My throat felt scraped raw, voice gone from screaming and gagging.And still they circled.The chains held me upright—wrists cuffed high, spreader bar between my ankles, collar locked around my neck so I couldn’t drop my head. My chest heaved with every shallow breath. Tears had dried on my cheeks in salty tracks, but fresh ones kept coming, silent now, just leaking from the corners of my eyes because my body

I noticed the camera on a Tuesday.It was one of those small, matte-black domes mounted under the eaves of the house next door, angled precisely toward my backyard. Not at the fence line, not at the shared driveway—directly at my patio, my lounge chair, the glass doors that opened from my bedroom. At first I thought it was a birdhouse or a motion light. Then I saw the tiny red LED blink once when I stepped outside in my robe after my shower.I froze, towel clutched to my chest, water still dripping from my hair onto the concrete. The blink felt like an eye opening. I stared at it for a full minute. It didn’t blink again. But I knew.That night I lay in bed with the lights off, curtains cracked just enough to see the faint silhouette of his house next door. Mr. Ellis—mid-thirties, quiet, always in dark button-downs and jeans, never waved, never made small talk. He’d moved in six months earlier, alone, no partner, no dog, no noise. I’d caught him looking at me once or twice over the fen

Midnight arrived like a held breath.I stood in my kitchen for ten full minutes before I moved. The house was silent except for the low hum of the fridge and the occasional tick of the clock. I’d showered twice since the video—scrubbed until my skin was pink—but I could still feel the ghost of his cum on my tongue from watching him come. I’d edged myself three times in the shower, fingers circling my clit, stopping every time I got close. I wanted to arrive desperate. Dripping. Ready to beg without words.I wore nothing under the thin silk robe I’d bought last year and never worn outside the bedroom. The fabric was pale gray, almost sheer in lamplight. My nipples were already hard against it. My thighs were slick. I didn’t bother with shoes. Bare feet felt more honest.I turned off every light in my house.I opened the back door.The night air was cool, smelling of wet grass and distant rain. His yard was dark except for the faint blue glow from his security camera dome—still watching

I chose seat 3C on purpose.It was the last row in first class before the bulkhead—close enough to the galley for privacy, far enough from the toilets that no one would pass by constantly. The flight was a red-eye from New York to London: eleven hours, mostly night, lights dimmed after takeoff. I’d booked it months ago, knowing I’d be restless, knowing I’d need something to occupy my hands and mind while the cabin slept.I boarded last. The flight attendant smiled politely as I handed over my boarding pass. I wore a simple black dress—knee-length, fitted, thin enough that the outline of my nipples showed if the cabin got cold. No bra. Black lace thong underneath. Thigh-high stockings clipped to garters. Heels I’d kick off once we were airborne. Lipstick dark enough to leave marks.I walked down the aisle slowly. Most seats were filled. Business travelers, couples, a few solo women like me. Then I saw him.Seat 1A. Window. Tall, broad shoulders, dark suit jacket already draped over the

The turbulence started an hour after the lavatory.At first it was gentle—little dips and rises that made the cabin lights flicker and the seatbelt sign chime back on. Passengers stirred, buckled up, murmured complaints. I stayed in my seat, blanket pulled high, thighs pressed together to trap the lingering ache between them. His cum was still inside me—warm, thick, slowly seeping out every time I shifted. My thong was ruined; I’d left it balled up in the lavatory trash. The dress clung to my skin where sweat and wetness had soaked through.I glanced forward.He was still in 1A. Tray table up now. Jacket back on. Looking out the window like nothing had happened. But his posture was different—shoulders tense, fingers drumming once on the armrest. He knew I was watching. He knew I was still leaking him.The plane dropped suddenly—stomach-lurching freefall for two seconds. Gasps rippled through the cabin. My hands gripped the armrests. My pussy clenched around nothing, sending a fresh tr