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“I’ll be going to Los Angeles for the weekend,” Christian had said, the same way as he said that he wanted poached eggs, not scrambled. “Alright,” Ana replied, the same as she always replied to his requests. Christian looked at her expectantly, as if he was waiting for her to say more, to wonder when they were going to leave, where, how. She looked back pointedly, if passive aggressively. Before their wedding, she might have wanted, hell, even begged to go with him, but now the idea left her with only a vague sense of dread at being unable to leave.“Are you feeling alright?” Christian asked, because clearly she must be sick, there must be something wrong with her if she didn’t want to spent all her time with him, glue herself to his side and listen as interchangeable people with interchangeable voices mentioned over and over again that it was so “romantic” and “inspiring” that such an influential man had fallen for such an everyday girl. Ana found nothing romantic or inspiring about it. And now, she felt no need to act like it should be. Everything had changed two months ago. She had been sitting in a cafe, on just another ordinary day, looking at the world around her that had been tainted by her life with her husband, stained fifty shades of grey, when she met him. A flash of color in her dull world, vibrant blue to shake up the monochrome life she was living. It was two months ago that she met Sonic the Hedgehog, and experienced what true sexual deviancy was.~~~Christian left Friday morning. He left Ana in bed, still assuming she was sick. It was a small mercy, not getting up to cook him runny eggs he’d pretend to enjoy before buying breakfast at the cafe near his workplace. Ana spent the day flipping through the television channels, taking a risk and switching to channels not on her “approved to watch” list (a bit of a strange thing to have for an adult woman, she thought) and sneaking into Christian’s office to peruse his collection of books.In there, she found numerous copies of Playboy magazine, with the articles on business circled and Christian’s unreadable chicken scratch writing scrawled over Pamela Anderson’s face. If he was getting his business advice from Playboy, it meant there wasn’t a time he wasn’t thinking with his dick. It dragged Ana’s disillusioned view of her husband into disgust. She wondered how she could have ever thought she could find happiness with a man who didn’t know that happiness could be found without the objectification of another person.She decided to go to bed.~~~Ana woke up at 10:13 PM to the sound of the phone ringing. She scrambled to get it (Christian had always gotten angry if she didn’t pick up the phone), but by the time she had made it to her cell phone, left abandoned on the kitchen counter, Christian (and it was definitely Christian) had hung up. She stared at the phone (monochrome, just like everything she owned), as if it would start ringing if she glared at it hard enough, before sighing and putting her head in her hands. How had her life become one that even missing a phone call was a cause of major distress? That if she watched the wrong television show her husband would freeze her credit card?She looked at the Blackberry in her hands (Christian didn’t let her have a smartphone, like the truly restrictive and possessive man he was). In a moment of weakness, a need for consolation, a need to forget, to be with someone who actually cared, she moved back to her bedroom, to the walk in closet that stored her grey clothing, her white blouses and black shoes, and made her way to a spare wallet that lay unused on the back shelf. Well, mostly unused. Reaching into the coin pocket, she pulled out a tiny white scrap of paper with the words “Sonic - 44-3443-33.” She dialed without thinking.Sonic picked up after only three “golden rings” (as he had called them once). “Hey baby,” he all but purred, and Ana shivered, already imagining that seductive voice whispering into her ear. “Sonic,” she said, “do you know where the Grey Mansion is?” Sonic hummed. “The big marble place on fourth?” He questioned, and she nodded, before realizing that he couldn’t see her. Sonic saved her from too much embarrassment, by saying “you’re nodding, yes?” “Yeah,” she confirmed.“I’m on my way,” he said, reading her mind again. “But why are you there?” Ana swallowed thickly. She hadn’t told Sonic who she was. “I live here,” she said, feeling very small and insecure. She cursed Christian again, and herself. Perhaps this was a bad idea. “You married to that Christopher guy?” Sonic asked, a vague whirring sound telling her he was running at top speed. “Yes,” she said again, gleefully ignoring Sonic using the incorrect name. “Huh. Must be an unhappy marriage, if you’re summoning me to your house.” Ana sighed, all her frustration instantly validated. “You have no idea,” she said.Sonic laughed, and Ana felt that delightful, addicting color wash over her. “Well, I’ll fix that,” he said, and Ana shivered with want. “I’m almost there” he said, and Ana sprinted down the staircase in her house to the front door, flinging it open before Sonic could even knock. “Well that was fast. Almost puts me to shame,” he laughed, and Ana replied by dragging him inside her house, giving him a passionate kiss on the side of his muzzle, right on his lips. He laughed again, picking her up (how could a three foot tall hedgehog pick her up? she wondered briefly, before deciding anything was possible in a world Sonic was) and carrying her to the couch. “You’re so wet already,” he teased, moving one of his cartoonishly large hands to her vagina. She nodded, breathless already. “You’re ready to go? Already?” he questioned, and she nodded again, hands scrabbling at his spikes.He slowly began to push in, and Ana whined, because she needed more of him. He was a whirlwind in her world that stood still, and she wanted more, more, more. He smirked, beginning to move in earnest. “Sonic,” she whined. “Faster. Fast is your specialty, remember?” Sonic’s grin grew absolutely wicked. “Baby, I’ll have you coming so fast they’d have to call you Sonic instead."The weekend went by much faster. Sonic fucked her on the couch, on her and Christian’s bed, on the counter, on Christian’s desk. It was late Sunday night, when Sonic had just finished pounding her against the banister on her staircase, that Christian came home. “I’m hope,” he said, in a poor imitation of a lover, and she desperately pulled her robe around her. Sonic looked at her in concern, and she quickly opened up the window, mouthing my husband to her lover. He jumped through the window, but not before giving her a kiss that left her knees shaking even as Christian came to find her.