A/N

I have not read Fifty Shades of Grey, nor will I. I did watch the movie because the trailer reminded me so much of Devil Wears Prada, and I definitely would have enjoyed the 50 idea had it been F/F. Hetero does nothing for me, but I do have a thing for dom/sub, which translated beautifully into this fandom, and I think Cate Blanchett did an amazing job as Lady Tremaine. That's basically the premises for this fic. Reviews are welcome, but please, try to be nice.

I don't think this fic crosses the line (tangering it, most definitely, but not crossing it), but should there be an update the rating probably will change. I just had to get the idea out of my head for the time being.

Okay, I should stop blabbering, but I'm nervous. Be kind, okay?

Her hands can deliver the sweetest caress or the harshest blow. Her lips can brush against my skin with the lightness of a feather, or her teeth can bite it hard enough to draw blood. She is my stepmother; my deceased father's wife, she's my tormentor, my jail keeper, and, occasionally, my lover.

It's not a matter of abuse when it comes to this particular situation; if I tell her no she backs off. But I very rarely do; it feels so good to feel her fingertips tracing my skin and having no way of knowing if her touch will stay soft and light, or if she's going to claw at me next. At times, her deep voice growls guttural words of contempt, other times it purrs with affection.

Right now, she pulls her skirt up enough for me to tie her high heeled boot, and I kneel before her, exposing my bare neck to her predatory eyes. I can feel her gaze burn my skin, and I am surprised I'm not catching fire. I could easily burn into cinders before her, but in a way, I already have.

It has been long since she touched me this way, and I barely fathom how much I have missed it when she reaches down to grip my shoulders.

"Ella," she breathes. She gently pulls me up into standing position and her blue eyes pierce mine on a spear of cerulean fire. I shiver with pleasure as her fingers dig into my flesh.

"My, my, I certainly do intimidate you, child."

She chuckles when I give a quiet nod in response.

"I'm glad."

She runs a long-fingered hand through my hair, traces her nails along my jaw line and ends up cupping my chin. I stare into her eyes and decide to be the aggressor this once. I charge at her and my mouth connects with hers violently, turning the kiss more into a bite than a kiss. She meets my eagerness with carefully restrained fire in return, eventually pushing me away. I take a step back and my chest heaves, my body straining against the corset.

"You are pushing the limits right now, young lady," she hisses. Her lipstick is smeared. Her pupils have dilated to the point where it seems as if her eyes are black with a corona of blue-hot fire - a total solar eclipse - rather than blue.

"I am sorry, Madam," I say in a modest tone, using the proper address, the one that she has taught me to use, and the smallest of smiles curls the corners of her mouth slightly upwards.

"You most certainly aren't sorry, you little wench" she scoffs, but is there a hint of real emotion behind the icy coldness of those eyes? I think there might be. Just as there might be true fire behind her touch. She wants me. It's not merely a means of using me, not means of abusing me, not when it comes to this. I hold as much power over her as she does over me. Perhaps even more. I can tell her no, should I want to. But I don't. I know how she melts before me. I know how powerful it makes me feel to see this mighty, cunning woman crumble to pieces of desperate desire before me, and I don't want to be without that kind of power.

I may be Cinderella, held captive by the lady Tremaine… but she is the lady whom my mere kiss turns into fifty shades of cinders.