by Jaye Peaches
Please, please let me stay with you forever, Jason Lucas.
Later that night I heard him breathing heavily, deep in sleep.
“I love you, Jason,” I said aloud. He did not stir.
***
Jason dropped the printed sheets on the kitchen table in front of me. I looked at the title on the top sheet:
Job Description
I glanced up at Jason, dressed in sweat pants and t-shirt, he was helping himself to his morning coffee. He planned to head straight for the gym before starting work. Feeling the excitement growing in me, I leafed through the papers. It looked the perfect job for me - small company, growing rapidly and seeking my level of experience.
He could sense my elation, “I thought you would be pleased.”
Jason sat himself down next to me and scanned down one of the documents. I was reading rapidly and noticed that I was only required to work twenty-five hours a week.
“It is part-time!” I exclaimed.
“What’s wrong with that? It gives you plenty of time with your personal shoppers and gym visits. You’ll have to decide quickly, the interview is on Thursday.” He quickly devoured his bagel.
“Shit!” I was in a fluster, everything was happening suddenly and I was ill-prepared. “You didn’t fix this, It’s not a shoo in is it?”
Jason put his mug down and glared at me.
“Certainly not. I don’t do nepotism. If you want this job, you’re going to have to get it on your own merits and it’s your responsibility not mine. I had someone in my HR department source potential jobs for you. This looked the best of the bunch.”
“Oh. Well, thank you. I will take it seriously. It is a bit sudden that’s all.”
“Christ, you are contrary, Gemma. One minute you’re demanding I find you a job and the next you’re chickening out of it.”
He scraped back his chair, putting the mug and plate in the washing up bowl. I went across to him and caught his hand.
“I am excited, Jason, honestly. Thank you,” I reached up and kissed him on the cheek. He fondled my bottom for a minute, savouring his lips on mine.
“Good. Start your research. I want you to impress them, like you impressed me,” he slapped my bottom.
“Yes, sir,” I beamed back at him.
***
Thursday evening and I was clock watching. It was already gone past seven o’clock and Jason was not back from work yet. I resisted the temptation to text him with my news. I paced up and down the hallway and the suspense was unbearable. I heard a car door slam and footsteps on the front steps. The key in door and then he was facing me, looking somewhat bemused by the welcome.
I flung myself at him, making him drop his briefcase to catch me in his arms.
“I got the job! I got the job!” I was like an excited school girl.
“Of course you did. I never doubted you,” Jason pushed me away. “We’ll celebrate later, Gemma, I’m very hungry. Please feed me.”
“I start on Monday,” I shouted over my shoulder as I skipped into the kitchen.
***
Lying on the bed, face to face on our sides and staring at each other, we were suitably satiated by frantic love-making. Jason was tracing his finger around one of my erect nipples. I had my hand pressed against his chest, feeling the rapid pounding of his heartbeat as it gradually diminished in pace.
“Was that celebratory enough for you, Miss Marshall?” Blue eyes smiled at me.
I was pleased, as he had stopped work earlier than usual in order to have sex. I nodded appreciatively. He ran a hand down my side to my thigh.
“You’re especially smooth today.” His finger continued down my leg.
“I had a celebratory waxing after they contacted me in the afternoon.”
My hour long interview had been in the morning. It seemed to go well, plenty of affirmative comments on my short presentation. My future boss, Daniel Crosswell, had asked a number of challenging questions, and for a moment, I had lost my confidence. The phone call in the early afternoon was a huge surprise. I had impressed enough to knock the other candidates out quickly. I could not wait for Monday.
“Never knew a waxing could elicit such pleasure in you.” Jason looked incredibly relaxed, most unmasterful. “Just your legs though, you shaved here.” He flicked my pubic bone.
“I don’t do Brazilians without forward planning. I never know when you’re going to fuck me next. Hurts you know!” I reminded him of the post-waxing skin sensitivity.
“There’s still your mouth. I prefer Brazilians. I’m sure we can do forward planning.” He ran his around my groin. “Though what’s wrong with a little discomfort in what is mine to enjoy?”
There was that wicked grin of a man who knew he had a sadistic streak. I was not going to find out what that last statement meant as it frightened me a little.
“I had one former master who liked to do the waxing himself.”
Jason raised an eyebrow at my revelation. “Your previous adventures never cease to amaze me.”
I giggled. “Jason, how did you get started? I mean did you know you were a dominant when you were young?”
Jason’s face was no longer smiling and he looked at me with that unnerving, unreadable expression. Perhaps the past was not an appropriate topic tonight.
“Well... I didn’t wake up one morning and decide to be a dominant,” he paused. “I played the sexual field at university for a couple of years, but didn’t connect with anyone. When I was twenty, in my final year, I met a mature student.”
I looked taken back at the thought, an older woman.
“No, not that mature, Gemma. She was a doing a doctorate. Very quiet lady and I liked her. On our first night out, she never looked me in the eye or spoke out of turn. It was an evening that awoke desires in me. I already knew I innately sought to control people and things, being a dominant gave me chance to do so in a sexual context. Only later, with others, would I discover I enjoyed instilling discipline in women, requiring their obedience, owning their bodies and being in control. Also helping them to realise their desires and fantasies.
“I don’t derive pleasure from dishing out punishments or giving pain without the context of domination. It is being able to have the control over a submissive woman and knowing she is willing to let me punish or discipline her for the purpose of modifying her behaviour. Occasionally I would top a pure masochist, always something to be appreciated.” Jason was being very honest about his motives, not many dominants take the time to understand their actions.
Jason continued. “The doc and I were only together for two terms. Then we went our separate ways. I won’t forget the first time I told her to drop on to her knees and she waited for me to tell her how she could please me. By the time we parted, I had already found my own way and was easily meeting like-minded people.”
I thought of my previous dominants and none of them quite fell into the same bracket as Jason. “Men in positions of power often prefer to be submissive in their free time, not you though?”
“No. I can’t imagine giving myself to another, having another in control of any aspect of my life. I understand though, that those who have much responsibility in their lives want someone else to lead them in their private lives. It’s not for me,” he shrugged dismissing the idea. “In any case submissives have power, you know that. If you left me, I couldn’t stop you. You have your safe-words too.”
Jason tugged at my nipple. “Your turn! Where did my little subbie start out?” He charged me to reveal my past.
“OK. I’d graduated unattached to anyone. I wasn’t a virgin, sorry to say, that went to a spotty guy. A big regret looking back. He fucked me on his brother’s bunk bed, while his parents watched football downstairs. After graduating, I was struggling to find a job in my field and ended up working in this antique bookshop. It was something out of a Dickens’s novel. The proprietor, a smooth gent in his fifties, not only collected books, but m
aps, music, anything on paper that looked old. I worked hard for him, lots of dusting shelves. He liked it clean and old books make a lot dust.”
I shut my eyes reminding the musty smell that emanated from the books.
“I made an error when cashing up for the night and he called me into his back office. Gave me a serious dressing down, as if I had committed some terrible crime. Then sacked me on the spot. I was horrified, my first job and I was fired. So I begged him and he agreed that if I let him spank me then I could keep my job. I was shocked, silly innocent me. Though you can guess that I was secretly aroused by the offer, somewhere in my sexual awakening I had had fantasies about being spanked perhaps. Forgotten memories re-emerged. So I let him do it to me, bent over his desk with all my clothes still on. It was not hard but yep I was aroused and the pain accentuated the sensation.
“It grew from there. The linking of humiliation or pain to my sexual arousal. He trained me to react instinctively and not try to analyse why I respond as I do. Sessions became more frequent, harder, fewer clothes!” I chuckled at my memories. “He built up the scenes really well, teaching me about humility and obedience, before introducing intercourse into the equation. It certainly weaned me off sex and made me behave as a service submissive. The relief from not having to think about how he would use me came later, with experience.”
I opened my eyes and Jason was staring at me, captivated by my memories.
“Go on,” his voice was husky.
“I had got a proper job three months later and resigned from his bookstore. He had suggested I came back to visit at weekends. Not to the shop, but his small house, all antique on the inside like his shop. No dungeon, he had things stashed around the house, like a magic shop. Every weekend I learnt something new. He took me through the complete range, never pushing me to my limits. He was strangely paternalistic, treated me like a schoolgirl in need of specialist education. Then the relationship was over. I think he wanted to train another novice, it was what he enjoyed doing best.”
“Do you stay in contact with him?” A hint of jealousy in Jason’s voice.
“No. He died a couple of years ago. Cancer. He told me before he died that he made up the cash register error. He recognised me for what I am from the moment he met me,” I bit my lip. “After that I had two more long standing masters. They were into fetishes. The first one liked rope work, tying me up and leaving me on display. The rope burn got too much and I left him for my clamp specialist. He really liked to deny me too.”
Jason was almost laughing aloud at the thought of his predecessors.
“I had enough of one trick horse,” I said. “So just moved about between different men. Some were odd weekdays, others the entire weekend not stop, very intense. Lots of cleaning floors in the nude for one guy, that’s all he wanted me to do for most of the time.”
“Oh, hence your question. Good grief you have had variety,” he chuckled.
“None of them were too extreme though. I never felt fear or threatened by them. Whether that was down to luck, I don’t know… Until him. He was different… He, he caught me conventionally with straight sex.” My voice started to break. I did not want to remember him and taint my relationship with Jason as he had captured me vanilla style too.
“Enough, Gemma. No more recollections,” Jason took my hand and pressed it against his stiffening cock. “You need to serve me now. I am your master. Remember that. You are my slutty girl. My collection of fuck holes.”
The demanding Jason was back. “So be a good girl and assume the position.”
“Yes, sir,” I moved closer to him.
I loved his dirty talk.
Chapter 17
Another Sunday had come round and I was joining Jason on his golfing adventures. The weekend had past so far without incident, if you counted two sessions in his lair as an ordinary weekend. Recalling memories of my previous masters had inspired him to pick up on my comment about one horse tricks. He had used ropes, clamps and a good sensual spanking all in the first session. The next scene had been a total denial session, very hard, but he had rewarded me well when we retired to bed.
Orgasm denial was rather like masturbation, it took a great deal of self-discipline and distraction not to do the deed. The irony was not lost on me that I had been told not to orgasm by doms who had believed they were in control of my body. Even when Jason would tell me that my orgasms ‘were his’ I wanted to shout back ‘well you stop them coming then!’
Self-control was supposedly the skill of the dominant not the submissive. According to some doms, we were useless sluts who had no ability to hold back out sexual vices. Words often said with a grin of delight. Threatened and cajoled into holding our climaxes for their pleasure we were then required to release them at the right moment or on demand. A strangely perverse service, which I struggled to provide.
I had tried hard to master different distraction techniques, boring day-to-day thoughts, which were the equivalent of a bucket of cold water to my arousal. Alternatively, there were the useful approaches such as filling my mind with new ideas, work plans or what I should paint next. Much depended on what he was using to arouse me. Some things were virtually impossible to fight against – the Hitachi massager wand was one. Others like feathers tickling me incessantly or his lips sucking me depended on my mood. What did not especially work was the stick approach. Being told you would be spanked or disciplined in some way often made me want to come strongly. Jason was crafty and knew that my imagination would run wild if he started threatening me with implements.
“Do you want clothes pegs all over you, Gemma?” he would warn me.
“No, sir!” Yes! I mean!
“Ask me for it, Gemma. Ask me to do something in return for your coming,” he would tease me.
“Anything!” – Don’t say anything, shit too late.
The precipice of an impending orgasm was not a good time to ask me what I wanted. I really did not care as long as I got my orgasm. A mistake I would instantly regret once I came out of my quivering coital state.
Lying there, he would whisper in my ear. “You said anything, babe.”
“Oooo, did I, sir?” I would pretend I could not remember.
The last case of ‘anything’ helped me hold off the previous evening’s orgasm, much to his disappointment, he loved his anythings.
I applied lipstick in the bathroom mirror. Checking my skirt line was straight. The hem stopped just above my knees and I was wearing a set of pearl earrings and necklace. A ridiculously expensive present from Jason to congratulate me on my new job. I looked back in the mirror and Jason had appeared behind me, dressed in his golf gear. He sniffed me and reached his hand up my skirt, tugging on my thong.
“Off with these. No panties for you today,” he said with a huge grin.
I was about to utter the words ‘public humiliation’ when he pre-empted me. “A private members club. So these off!”
I blushed and quickly slipped them off. Why did he have to be so pedantic with definitions?
“Don’t you dare let anyone see or else I shall have to punish you severely.” He pulled my hair back and kissed me on my lips hard. I wondered what severe meant and whether I wanted to explore any more of his particular definitions.
***
His Austin Martin car pulled up in front of the clubhouse. Behind us, Martinson was following in a conspicuous Volvo 4x4 SUV. Jason parked up right by the entrance and immediately a doorman leapt out to collect his clubs from the boot. Jason grasped my hand, giving me a reassuring smile and we walked through the double doors into the entrance foyer.
“Mr Lucas.” A man approached Jason, hands rubbing together nervously. “I’m sorry, sir. Mike Henderson can’t caddy for you today. He is sick.”
Jason frowned, his disappointment obvious.
The nervous man suggested two other names with a hopeful look. Jason picked one. “I tee off in ten minutes time.”
“Very go
od, Mr Lucas.” The man scurried off.
I turned to face Jason. “There is something you’re not telling me? Parking space by the entrance, choice of caddy, very nervous man...” I was tempted to wave a finger at him, but quickly suppressed the desire.
Hands on hips, Jason looked down at me with a dazzling grin. “Why, Gemma, didn’t I tell you I own this golf club?”
I looked at him amazed.
“Oh, perhaps not,” he said without changing his expression. “You need to be on your very best behaviour. The ladies of the club will have high expectations of you.”
I was so out of my comfort zone and it triggered a mouthful of nervous nausea. I took Jason’s arm to steady myself as he walked me to the bar. I was faced by eight faces, different ages and looks. Their eyes collectively turned to face Jason and I, all conversations halted.
“Ladies allow me to introduce you to Gemma Marshall, my girlfriend.”
Well, a pin could have been heard dropping followed by a sound of gasps been suppressed. I tried my hardest not to blush. Secretly I was delighted to be referred to as Jason’s girlfriend. I stood back as Jason rattled off a list of names as he went round the room for introductions. They went mostly over my head, as each one smiled and said hello politely.
“I’ll leave you ladies to your chat,” Jason bent down and whispered in my ear. “I’ll check on your progress after the ninth hole.”
I watched him depart and taking a deep breath faced my inquisitors. I should not have worried, they were all awfully well-mannered and not as curious as I thought they would have been. I deflected a few awkward questions about Jason’s habits, keen to protect his privacy. I explained I met him at his office and I was about to start a new job elsewhere. Jason suggested, in the car on the way to the club, keeping simply to the truth.
