The History of BDSM

I want to get through the Fifty Shades trilogy by the end of the year so I can start 2013 without this particular kidney stone in my system. Given that I hate this book more and more with each page, that could be difficult. Part of the problem is that, as the story unfolds, there’s actually less and less BDSM, and more and more of Ana and Christian’s hideously dysfunctional marriage. That’s not what I signed up for. I was under the impression that this was a book about BDSM, and assumed that it would basically be a standard-issue romance with some extra kink in the sex scenes; at worse, silly, harmless fluff. Instead, only a minority of the sex scenes involve any kink at all (I should total up the number) and the great love story of 2012 is the most abusive nightmare I’ve ever read. I’m more angered and baffled now than when I started this project.

Okay, where were we? The Expander takes an afternoon out of running his empire to force his wife to take his name by threatening to rape her. Mrs. Expander is a drunk paranoid slut-shamer, learning to exercise her right as a member of the one-percent (by marriage) to verbally abuse underlings. Everybody up to speed?

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Ana’s identification of Jack Hyde from the security camera footage is confirmed by state of the art facial recognition software.

Barney, Christian’s surveillance guy, says:

“Sure will. I’m also going to scan the city CCTV and see if I can track his movements.”
“Check what vehicle he owns.”
“Sir.”
“Barney can do all this?” I whisper.
Christian nods and gives me a smug smile.

Think about that. Remember when back in book 1, Christian traced Ana’s cell phone? Now he has access to an entire city’s CCTV network. That’s a frightening amount of power for a private citizen to have, not to mention hideously illegal. We’ve already seen that Christian’s security apparatus takes orders from him, not Ana, and they are willing to restrict her movements. All of this is adding up to a frightening portrait of the power at Christian’s disposal, and just how deeply Ana is embedded in it.

Granted, when there has been violence directed at you, you probably would want this kind of security. But it’s still disturbing to consider how little it would take for Christian to turn on Ana, and how much of a hell he could make her life if he wanted.

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The scene I have anticipated for some time has come. Ana wants to go out shopping out and Christian’s security detail won’t let her. Being Mrs. Christian Grey means being a bird in a gilded cage.

I want to roll my eyes at him, but I narrow them instead, sighing heavily and expressing, I think, the right amount of frustrated indignation that I am not mistress of my own destiny. Then again, I don’t want Christian mad at Taylor—or me, for that matter.

I know some people want to see (and have written fan works) that go inside Christian’s head. I’d like to get inside Taylor’s head, and find out what it is like to bodyguard a neurotic, obsessive-compulsive, borderline-personality-disorder billionaire and his dimwitted, paranoid, gold-digging new bride. “I resigned from the FBI to do this?”

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Ana is shocked when she discovers that Christian deliberately left hickeys all over her breasts, in order to discourage her from showing her breasts to anyone other than him.

I gape at my reflection. My wrists have a red welt around them from the handcuffs. No doubt they’ll bruise. I examine my ankles—more welts. Holy hell, I look like I’ve been in some sort of accident.

That’s what can happen when you wear handcuffs while doing something strenuous. (I suspect this is a nod to a scene in Twilight when, after consummating her relationship with Edward, Bela awakens covered in bruises.)

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