by Jaye Peaches
Jason had rung before I left for work in the morning, a brief business like call as he had asked me if I had been applying the cream and sitting in my icy bath. I had reassured him that I was recovering from my punishment.
“Good, wouldn’t want you to be off work,” he had teased me as he put the phone down.
I spent the day gingerly sat on my bum at work. Every opportunity I had to run an errand away from my desk was quickly pounced upon.
Just after seven o’clock, his Jaguar pulled up outside, I was watching from the window. Grabbing my overnight bag and switching the lights off, I shut my front door behind me and stepped out into the evening light. Martinson was out of the front driver’s seat and opened the door for me, relieving me of my bag. I peered inside the car, Jason was in there waiting for me.
“Lie down if you want, you can rest your head on my legs if you wish.”
I smiled, grateful for his consideration. We set off and I was quite happy, snuggled up in the back of his car, the warmth of his thighs under my face. He rested a hand on my head and absentmindedly stroked my loose hair strands.
The car door woke me with a jerk. I must have dozed off for a while.
“We’re here. Come on, babe, time to eat.”
Jason helped me up and out of the car and I followed him into the house, holding his hand.
I cooked a quick dish of omelettes and a tossed salad dressed in one of my favourite homemade dressings. He sat on a breakfast bar stool watching me.
“Jason, if I need particular ingredients in, to cook for you, um, how can I get them here?” I asked.
His kitchen was well stocked, probably by his mysterious housekeeper. There were a few things missing that I would prefer to be present.
“There’s a notepad in the top drawer, just write what you need and Mrs Harris will stock up for you.” He pointed at one of the units.
“Oh, right.”
I checked the contents of the drawer and easily found the small note pad. The imprint of his handwriting left on the blank sheet.
“Mrs Harris. Has she been your housekeeper for long?” Curiosity was getting the better of me, but he seemed forthcoming tonight.
“About six years, since I bought Blythewood House. She is here during weekdays only, except when I’m hosting a weekend function, which means she works over the weekend for me. Why do you ask?”
“No particular reason. The house is well kept, she must work hard during the week.”
Jason chuckled to himself. I looked at him and he stopped.
“Oh, Gemma, she doesn’t clean the entire house on her own. She has cleaners who help her for a few hours here and there. I just leave her in charge of it all. Like Martinson is in charge of security for me.”
He walked over to the dresser and started to collect cutlery and table mats. A thought crossed my mind.
“What about your lair, does she clean that?” I pursed my lips, wondering if he would answer.
“Yes, I like it clean – good hygiene,” an eyebrow rose, “and yes, she knows about my lifestyle.”
“She is alright about it?” I said while flicking the omelette on to a warmed plate.
“Why wouldn’t she be? Look, Gem, she is in her fifties, worldly wise, widowed unfortunately. She is also very discreet, plus there is the confidentiality agreement. I trust her implicitly,” his voice had changed, topic of conversation over. I did not want to remind him of my own transgressions.
The food was laid out and he started to tuck in. “Eat standing up if it helps.” He stabbed at his salad with a smirk on his face.
“I’m fine thank you,” I said prissily. I tucked in as I was ravenously hungry.
I packed the dishwasher and tried to return the kitchen to its spotless state. Jason had retreated to his study. Checking around the kitchen, I was satisfied and hopefully Mrs Harris would be too. What next? Jason had given me no indication of his plans. I headed to the bedroom and sorted through my bag, putting a few personal items on the bedside table. I turned around and practically jumped out of skin. Jason was standing in the door way leaning his shoulder against the door frame, arms folded. His tie had gone and two of his shirt buttons were undone.
“This isn’t where I want you,” his voice very soft.
Oh. Was he cross with me? I wished I knew what he was thinking sometimes.
“I didn’t think you would...”
He interrupted me. “I decide what is best for you, that’s what I do for you, remember?” he walked into the room, undoing his cufflinks.
“Yes. Sir,” I bowed my head, hands clasped in front of me.
“There is plenty I can think to do with you without touching your sore derriere,” he ran a finger down my nose and tipped my face up to his. “Go get ready.”
I quickly exited the bedroom and headed to his lair. The door was unlocked; he must have stopped by on the way to the bedroom. I quickly placed my clothes in the closet and found lurking inside an underbust corset. It was black with elaborate stitching, flat steel bones and a steampunk finish - leather trimmed and with silver hooks at the front. A struggle to put on, as it had been a long time since I had cinched my waist in tight and in the end I left the lacings relatively loose. Satisfied with my appearance I went in, my bare feet pattered on the dark wooden floors. After a quick bathroom stop, I went and knelt by the divan. Maintaining the posture was hard. When I rested my bum on my heels it hurt, so I had to sit up putting pressure on my kneecaps.
Please come soon Jason. I fidgeted uncomfortably. I had reached point when I had to stand up and risk his wrath when the door opened and closed behind me. His voice was right by my ear as he bent down.
“Well done. Very sexy too. You can stand if you wish,” he whispered. Walking around me, he examined the corset and ran his finger around the edge under my bosom.
“Mmmm. Not tight enough.” He stood behind me and began to undo the lacings.
“Sorry, sir,” I said and sucked air in through my mouth as he drew the corset tighter around my waist.
“I want you to be able to breathe comfortably and stand up dead straight, understand?”
“Sir.” He finished adjusting the corset and I felt almost robotic in my stance.
“This corset will help you concentrate on what I want you to do for me. You’re a fidget, Gemma. You flinch and wriggle far too much.” Jason poked my back. “I’m sure I’m not the first dom to comment on that?”
“No, sir.”
I had been disciplined before on my restless tendencies. The scenes flooded back into my memories. Not unpleasant nor unwanted like others - these memories were laced with nostalgia and reminded me of my innocent days.
“There are scenes I want to do with you but you will have to learn to be very still and not jiggle when you’re touched. So I’m going to train you to stand like a statue. Plus a little endurance to go with it.” He went to fetch something out of my visual range of floor staring.
“What kind of things?” I could not help asking
From behind me, Jason reached round with his hand and flicked at nipple as a clear act of censure.
“A Wartenberg pin wheel perhaps. How did you manage with that previously?”
“Er. I fidgeted a lot,” I confessed and he grinned at my honesty.
“So we’re going to train that tendency out of you. Discipline your squirming body.”
My mind raced, training with my new master! Over my years as a sub, I had found that each dom had their own style and requirements when it came to training their subs to do as they wished. My bondage man had been keen on endurance and made me hold bricks above my head or stand on tiptoes upon a small narrow stool. I must have been fitter back with him, as I could not imagine my body would cope with the ordeal of such strenuous poses.
Another man, with whom I had spent a few weekends, had used dripping hot candle wax to make me hold squats or encourage me in my pathetic attempts at press-ups. He had bee
n my anal trainer too and I had been grateful to find him patient and easy going with my anxieties over being hurt. Little by little, he had coaxed me, rewarding my advancements with orgasms. He had never punished me for failing if I had entered into the spirit of trying something new out. My adventures with him had been tiring and perhaps the most progressive of all my dominants. I had a feeling that Jason fell into this category of trainers - a pusher of limits.
“Arms out in front and hold this in them,” instructed Jason.
Jason handed me a ball. A heavy water filled ball the size of a netball and I gripped it tightly as if I had been given a cannonball to hold. My arms ached immediately and the corset felt even tighter.
“It’s very simple. Do not move your arms or for that matter anyone other part of your body. I’m going to be touching you. Each time you flinch excessively I’m going to keep count. You will punished. A suitable penalty for each movement.”
I took deep breaths and focused on the ball. I knew that was why he had given it to me. My painful distraction.
“Keep your legs apart,” he said close to my shoulder.
A finger ran down my arm, not quite ticklish and I managed to ignore the sensation. Other pokes, prods and pinches followed. With my back and belly rigidly contained in the corset, he targeted the fleshy part of my thighs or under my armpits. When he touched my clitoris with a simple stroke of my finger, it felt so nice I forgot the ball for a second.
“That was definitely a flinch,” he told me.
“Ooooo,” I whimpered. My shoulders were killing me and my elbows sagged. However, the scene was erotically charged and I gushed below with every hushed admonishment. I did love to be trained.
“Straight, Gemma. Arms straight.”
He pulled my arms forward locking my elbows back into place. On and on, he toyed with me. Reprimanding me when my arms sagged or when I moved fractionally.
“Six,” his count continued.
“Please, sir! My arms!” I pleaded.
“I didn’t tell you to speak!” he said quietly. “Nearly there. Just a little while longer,” his voice tormented me.
After an eternity, he stopped and took the ball out of my hands. For a couple of minutes he massaged my shoulders. “Not bad. I’ve seen far worse. Squirming little subs with no discipline. Seven in total. In the past I would have inflicted seven little stabs with one of my electric wands.”
I blanched at the mention of the punishment.
He patted my sore bottom. “Don’t worry. I know it’s a hard limit for you. Out of interest, why?” Jason always seemed curious about my thresholds and limits.
“I had a great uncle, an electrician. He killed himself in an accident. Electrocuted. I don’t remember him much, but I suppose I have a fear of electricity.” I remembered my mum crying when she had been told the news. I was probably five or six years old.
“Fair enough. You would have thought he would know better,” said Jason drolly.
“I don’t think they were as well trained back then,” I suggested.
“Well, speaking of training. Your punishment. How about rubber bands on the soles of your feet?” He headed towards a drawer.
What! I tried to imagine what they might feel like, pinging against my tender flesh. I found out all about rubber bands. They were painful and definitely a punishment that must mirror the shock of an electric prod. He put two bands over my right foot and drawing back the elastic, pinged my sole with the stretched rubber. I screamed at each of the seven twangs and acknowledged it was a very effective and eye watering discipline.
“What do you think of fidgeting now, Gemma?” he asked removing the bands from my foot.
“I’m going to try harder to be very still for you, sir,” and I meant it.
I stood listening to what he doing behind my back. I heard chains rattling and something dropped down from grill attached the ceiling. The little exercise was over and the serious play was about to start.
“Step back, hands above your head,” Jason spoke with that clear, crisp dominating voice.
The master’s voice, it sounded natural and part of him. I did as he asked and waited patiently as he strapped cuffs to my wrists pulling my arms up high. I was stretched but not suspended in any way. He checked that my shoulders were lose and not pulled taut.
“I’m going to blindfold you, nothing rough tonight, you can come whenever you like.”
He stroked my breasts with his hands and I gasped, relishing the thought of such freedom. My vision denied I was left using my other senses. Something tickled me, first on my arms then my shoulders and then across my thighs. Breasts were next and I arched my back and wriggled around as he teased me. It felt almost like a feather duster and I guessed it was a super soft flogger. He draped it over my buttocks painlessly. Oh Jason, clever master, and generous master. Now and again, he stopped to squeeze my nipples or lick my clitoris, stimulating me further. I could not contain myself as he tickled the flogger between my legs and I came quickly, all of the tensions of Thursday washed away and the spasms rippled across my exposed body. As I came he released the corset lacing, allowing the constraining garment to drop away from me.
“You needed that didn’t you, baby.”
The flogger dropped to the floor. His breath was on my neck, his tongue on my nipples, his fingers probing me below. My senses were going crazy with lustful thoughts. Steadying my body, he kissed the soft skin on my belly, rubbing his nose against me.
“Umm, you smell delicious, Gemma. Very sexy desirous smell. I am going to fuck you now.”
“Thank you, sir,” I rasped.
Jason’s hand took my thigh pulling it up to his waist. With one hard thrust he speared me from below, pushing up to meet me. I squealed and wrapped my legs around him drawing him in deeper. Over and over he rose up into me, his tongue and lips caressed me as he moved. The inevitable climax was building inside me, desperate to be released. Crushing me almost to his chest Jason climaxed with a cry of, “Oh fuck!” As he eased back and relaxed his hips, I came too. Tears of sheer joy streamed down my face with the strength of the orgasm. For a few minutes we remained embraced, he took my blindfold away and undid the cuffs so my aching arms drop to my side. I flopped on to him and he took my weight easily.
“Tired? Let’s get you to bed.”
Pushing back the hair out of my face, he planted a kiss on each of my eyes.
Chapter 11
The next morning I awoke, later than usual and the daylight shimmered brightly across the spartan bedroom. Even the furniture was minimal and I missed the presence of a traditional dressing table with a mirror. Next to me, Jason was lying on his side, head propped up on his arm gazing at me.
“Hi,” he murmured.
The sheet covered his lower body and I know he was expecting his morning wake up fuck. My bum was better though still sore. I had an idea. I peeled back the sheet to see a ready and waiting erection. Sticking my tongue out, I manoeuvred across his reclined naked torso. My lips pressed down on his chest, kissing his tiny nipples. Downward my tongue licked, his skin tasted divine and scrummy. I reached his muscular groin and rolled my wet tongue around the soft, downy hair of his balls. My fingers twirled around the pubic curls and he shifted his weight and smiled as I opened my mouth to receive him. Lying there, he moaned softly, stroking the back of my head as I went about the business of pleasuring him.
“Ummm, a good start to the day,” he muttered.
Lunchtime came around and Jason emerged from his study, where he had been all morning, stretching his arms. He looked at what I was preparing in the kitchen for him with eager anticipation. I served the fish paella to him at the table and sat next to him with my dish.
“I see things are improving in the posterior area,” he peeked down under the table to see me rested firmly on the chair.
“Yes, much better thank you,” I replied perkily.
The food served we ate in silence. Between mouthf
uls, his hand rested on my thigh or the toes of his bare foot ran down my calves. I had to pause, clenching my fists around my fork as his fingers climbed further up my thigh. My whole body tensed. I was rigid with nervous energy. Nipples swelled, blood descended down past my navel. A piece of chicken dropped off my fork; he had reached my bottom.
“Lift your bum up.” His hand slid underneath me, palm up.
As he took the last forkful of food off his plate, he squeezed the tender flesh of my buttock hard. I dropped my fork and shuddered with pain. Pulling his chair closer to mine, he added the other hand below, cupping a cheek in each of his large hands. I gripped the table edge tightly, and his hands continued their cruel massage for a number of minutes. I lifted my body off my seat, but his hands followed, pinching through my knickers, skirt bunched up. The dregs of my meal remained untouched. Head flung back, I could not contain my vocal cords any longer. A small cry of distress from my lips. Jason's face betrayed his pleasure, the faintest smile - my giver of pain was happy. Then he stopped, hands slid out.
“Do you know why I did that?” he said quietly.
“Because you can. Sir.” I rasped.
“Yes, my beautiful girl. I own that arse, all the time. Tidy up.”
I cleared the table and my hands trembled slightly. He had vanished. Reappearing he had my pumps in his hands and there were shoes on his feet.
“Are we going somewhere?” I asked.
“Not far, I want to show you something.” Jason looked enigmatic, not giving anything away.
He led me by the hand out of the back door on to the cobbled courtyard. Opposite was an extensive stable block, which had been modernised and extended, with a secure door and high level windows. Nothing gave away the interior, no horses anymore to trot over the cobbles. Jason pressed his thumb to a pad and the door catch was released.
“Easier than keeping track of a key. I will get Martinson to sort access for you,” he informed me as we entered.
