by Jaye Peaches
Afterwards he had very appreciative.
You've got a talent, Gemma, he told me, it takes some nerve to be fucked that hard. Can you walk, sweetheart?
I tried and just about managed to make it back to my caravan where I shut myself in the bathroom for an hour calming my trembles and washing away the evidence. By the time my parents had returned from their stroll, I was reading a book looking charmingly innocent. My Irishman went home the next day and I never saw him again.
Sitting in the jet's opulent, pristine cabin I contrasted my holidays. No jammed packed estate car or roof rack, my luggage was in the cargo hold and we were waited on throughout the flight. Jason was at home, reclined in what was probably his chair as he read a business magazine. Glancing up to smile at me occasionally as I recalled my childhood holidays, I watched the night sky envelop the plane.
“Niall.” My one time lover's name came back suddenly and I unconsciously pronounced it aloud.
“Excuse me?” said Jason stirring from his reading.
“Nothing. Just a random thought. I'm excited.” I grinned inanely.
The drive to the hotel was short, though the road was narrow and winding. The scenery swaddled in blackness, no street lights or even moonlight. We were collected by a chauffeur driven car sent by the hotel. Drawing up outside, a doorman bounded forward to open the passenger door, bracing cold winds swirled into the car.
“Welcome back, Mr Lucas” he tipped his hat at Jason.
“It is nice to be back, George,” smiled Jason at the eager doorman.
As we walked through the foyer, everyone was deferential towards to Jason and curious about me. No checking in, our plastic door key was handed straight to Jason without comment.
“The usual room, sir,” said the concierge. “Anything else you require, sir?”
“Champagne, please,” Jason took me by the hand and led me to a grand staircase.
“Jason,” I spoke up. “You wouldn’t happen to own this place?” I asked quietly.
“Whatever made you think that?” said Jason with a knowing smile.
We ate in our hotel room, privacy guaranteed. A massive suite with sitting room, bedroom and cathedral sized bathroom. The furnishings were lavish but not too over the top. After dessert, the timid waiter left with our last plates. Our conversation had been innocuous. I asked him about Frankfurt, he about my job and it all seemed very normal and somewhat reserved. Jason appeared distracted and preoccupied as if weighty thoughts sat in his mind.
The restrained mood was shed quickly as he divested me of clothes and spent an hour tormenting with unproductive foreplay. With a wicked grin, he allowed my frustrated release and then with a succession of grunts he filled me with rapid movements. A splendid, if somewhat unromantic, start to the weekend. I wondered what else he had planned for me as the evening was understated by his standards.
***
The morning we took our breakfast in the restaurant. A full cooked breakfast served buffet style from hot plates. Jason helped himself to scrambled eggs, toast and bacon. He sat reading his newspaper at a corner table. The staff gave him a wide berth, his privacy always respected. I was starving and headed back for seconds. I stood perusing the hot plates, deciding how greedy I was going to be. Two men stood by close, young like me and laughing loudly.
“What do you recommend?” I asked.
I was happy to engage in conversation with someone who was not Jason. I missed talking to people spontaneously. Jason’s social style was to be distant and cold with the unfamiliar.
They turned out to be keen hikers, spending the weekend in the mountains, though they commented the weather was not looking great. We chatted for a while over the scrambled eggs and wrinkled rashes of bacon. I wished them the best and headed back to the corner table.
Jason was not reading the paper any more. He looked at me his face hard and there was a disquieting unpleasantness about him. I quickly finished my food, not able to decide whether I should probe him with questions. In the end, I had to ask one.
“So what plans do you have for today?”
I looked at him over my teacup. His eyes were cold and unwelcoming. I shrivelled in my seat.
What now?
“I’m re-thinking my plans as we talk. Back to our room. Now.”
The way he said the last word sounded portentous.
Unlike last night when he held me close to his side, we made our way back to the suite walking apart. He strode ahead of me and I scurried behind trying to keep up. I followed him to the sitting room and he turned to face me. Jason’s face revealed total displeasure.
“You know I don’t like it when you flirt so blatantly in front of me,” his voice cut through me.
We were standing very close to each other and I could sense his rapid hot breath on my face.
“For God’s sake, Jason, I was not flirting. I was chatting to two nice men who had been hiking the day before and we struck up a conversation. It happens. It’s what nice people do.”
I had put my hands on my hips, which riled him further. He pointed a finger at my face.
“Don’t push me, Gemma. You are mine!” His voice was becoming quieter and more intimidating.
“Down!” He demanded, pointing to floor with his finger.
I hesitated. I even took a step back. Something inside me resisted. The sensation spread from an instinctive minor act of rebellion to an all-out act of defiance.
He wanted me to submit to him there in a plush, romantic hotel room where the staff had placed red roses in the vases and chocolates on our pillows. Maybe he wanted to humiliate me; a reminder of my place and his statement of ownership. I had genuinely thought, after his declaration of love, our trip was meant to an amorous weekend away from work and everything else. He said he loved me and yet continued to treat me as his submissive, as and when he chose. I had not consented to being his full-time submissive, not without clearer protocols and boundaries. All the things I should have clarified earlier in our relationship. I was still learning how to define my submission and I was furious with myself for letting my judgement slip up again.
Mentally I screamed and my pulse rate shot up in response. So what was I to him when I was not submitting? Did I provide him with any companionship beyond sex? I was confused and I could not tolerate the emotional pain any longer. The state of affairs could not go on forever. I wanted a more fitting relationship than being his sometime sex slave. He had promised a future together, had he not?
Refusing him was not a trivial matter. To have a little resistance in our play was acceptable if it was a prelude to submission. To be put in my place when I was not in the mood was sometimes necessary when handing over control to another person. I had been taught to deal with those issues by previous doms. To do as I was asked, give gratification and find my submissive qualities as quickly as possible. Once I was there, in the right frame of mind, I was superbly content and at peace with myself. The reason I submitted would become apparent and it was not unusual for me to regret my defiance.
Standing in the hotel room, my refusal was not because I was not in the mood or because I needed to be dragged into a scene. I did not want to submit period. I was not willing. I was not giving my consent. I wanted to confront him and force out of him what he was thinking, feeling and above all else be honest with me.
“No,” I found my voice and stared him straight in the eyes.
He blanched and took a step back as if I had struck him in the face.
“You are defying me?” his voice was laced with vehemence.
“No, Jason, I’ve had enough, that’s what’s happening,” I continued quickly not wanting to lose momentum. “You say you love me and then at a flip of switch treat me as if I mean nothing to you. You said you don’t do 24/7 relationships, that we would be equal outside that room, your room. You implied that we would work towards something, but we’re going nowhere. What is the point of declaring your love to me if i
t is not based on... understanding and ... a sense of purpose.”
I stumbled over my words as my emotions ran high. I held back tears, because they would make me look weak and I needed to hold my ground.
“I can’t be your dominant if you won’t submit to me or follow my rules,” Jason hurled back at me with acidity.
His words riled me. He saw my submission as the issue where as I wanted to talk about love. Our journeys were already taking us in opposite directions.
“What are you going to do about it, Jason? Take me regardless?” My words sank into him like a knife, I did not think I had ever seen him like this. His face was struggling to contain emotions he did not want to show.
“I would never do that to you, Gemma,” he clasped his hands behind his head in exasperation. “I always seek your consent, you know that. What about last week by the fire? You readily sank to your knees in front of me then. I didn’t ask you to, you’re just as contrary with your feelings, pushing yourself on me.”
“You looked so stressed. It had been a difficult week, to put it mildly. I wanted to help you relax, please you. I’m sorry if it made me out to be a pushy bottom. You didn’t complain at the time nor did you ignore me when I asked you to take me to the lair. The scene was everything I’ve come to love about you. You teased me, you pushed me, you were patient and you gave me such amazing pleasure. But I want more. Earlier you said you loved me as we lay by the fireplace. You’d said nothing all week and then you say it to me so sweetly,”
My voice was starting to break. “If that’s not what you truly feel and all you want is to love me when I’m only being your submissive. It is over, Jason. I quit! I’m not going to be turned into your fucked up unloved trophy girlfriend, whatever!!” I spat the words out while the tears started to flow.
“Please find me another room in the hotel I don’t think I can bear to be here with you for another minute. I’m stuck. I’ve nowhere to go. Don’t imprison me in this room too.” I blurted out the request before he could speak.
I looked at him and he was circulating the floor in small circles, hands on hips. He did not look at me and his eyes were on his feet. He said nothing to me and the lack of eye contact was unnerving.
I stood up and taking a tissue from the ornate box on the coffee table, I dried my eyes. Taking my handbag, I turned, headed to the door and left him, not quite banging the door behind me. I stood in the corridor, unsure what to do. I had to move though as I did not want him finding me lurking about outside the room. I headed downstairs and found an armchair in the corner of the library. I stared out of the window, another icy day, but the sun was coming through and making the frosty grass glisten. I was emotionally drained, unable to put together sensible thoughts.
God, what have I done?
“Miss Marshall?”
I looked up to see the hotel receptionist bending down, she was holding out a plastic card.
“Mr Lucas asked that I give you this. Room fifteen.” She looked embarrassed and I took the room key allowing her to scurry back to her reception desk.
I clutched the silly piece of plastic wondering how I was going to retrieve my clothes from Jason’s suite. I made my way to room fifteen, which was situated in a different wing of the hotel. A smaller size suite than the one I had been sharing with Jason. I could think of nothing else to do but lie on the bed and cry.
I reminisced about my love life. Had I ever had a love life? I had my back catalogue of men. Not quite categorised, it was a substantial list of names and faces.
Boyfriends? Probably none of them. No birthday presents had been exchanged. I had not taken them to my apartment and they were not introduced to my parents. Romantic occasions were rare and awkward in nature.
Sexual partners? Plenty of those - vanilla men and doms. I was an expert in being intimate and needy in my relationships. Sex for personal gratification and nothing else.
Dominants? Many. From those with whom I would do a simple one off scene to the handful I called master. In between there had been many ‘sirs’. Doms with whom I had regular arrangements or agreements and especially those that sought to train me in a particular skill they found pleasurable. Not all of the men I met had become my bedfellows. Many dominants I had scened with were strictly no sex types. Usually because they had monogamous relationships with vanilla wives or girlfriends. I had been their secret sub who fulfilled their kinky or fetish desires. The gratification of dominance came in many forms. Bondage being a common requirement or simply being spanked or degraded in a particular fashion. Sexual play without intercourse could be hard for me but I had sunk into the submission with glee once I knew that they were receiving their pleasure and controlling me.
Lovers? Where was the love in my sexual exploits or submission? Totally absent. I chose not to connect and form emotional bonds. Primarily because I had rarely witnessed love between doms and subs. I had assumed it was something to avoid and not actively seek out. I had witnessed scenes and participated in them. They could be intensely sensual and pleasurable but those acts had precluded romantic love and I did not want to be hurt emotionally by falling for a dom who would or could not reciprocate. My self-protective armour was tough and I wore it with pride.
As a student, during my sexual exploration of my fellow students, I had fretted I had effectively become an unpaid whore; a prostitute in all but name. Learning to submit freely had taken away that angst. Offering my sexual body to others to control was liberating and in the world of BDSM I was a sensual being with power to hand over the gift of my body. I had chosen who, when and to what extent. Those boundaries had not required love to support them. They had been understood by all those men I had submitted to with exception of one man.
Jason had been different from the outset. I was traumatised and my faith in dominants had taken a serious knock. He had understood this, so he had wooed me with vanilla love, making it his first success in winning over my heart. When he had punished me and I had cried out “red”, I had not told him the true reason for my breakdown. With the benefit of hindsight, I now knew he had guessed the cause of my safe-wording. Far from giving up on me as a lost cause to submission, he had altered his tactics. His aftercare became critical and remained poignant and thoughtful. Another positive score for my insulated heart. The barriers to my being in love had been eroded with every passing week.
He protected me beyond the routine duties of a caring dom and he feared for my safety. Aggressive in his tactics, he had kept me adhered to his person or properties at all times. I had resented him, now I was grateful.
When he had called me his girlfriend, I had accepted the description with delight. Had he used the term with honesty? With his parents and mine, he had been open about our relationship and I had moved in with him on the basis of our growing intimacy. A step of commitment that neither of us had attempted before with others. All good omens and indicators of a future together and those actions had, I thought, demonstrated love to me. Commitment, it would seem, did not mean love or romance to him. Had I misinterpreted him so badly?
Lunchtime came and went. I could not face food and managed only to sip on a glass of water. The situation needed to be resolved somehow. If I returned to his room, he would see it as me returning compliant and defeated, ready to be his submissive and nothing else. He would expect me to kneel, be lectured about my failings and be put in my place with some act that demonstrated his dominance over me. Or worse, he could reject me. A submissive who refused her dominant did not always get a second chance. He had never indicated to me that he would keep me no matter what I did wrong.
There was a knock at the door. What if it was Jason? I was grateful I could peep through the spy hole in the door. It was the hotel concierge. I opened the door and he held an envelope for me, with my name handwritten on it. In his other hand was my suitcase. I stepped to one side and he quickly placed it in the room. He did not say anything and rapidly beat a retreat, his mission accomplished. Shuttin
g the door I leant back and pondered what I was about to read. The presence of the suitcase was ominous. Taking a deep breath and settling myself in an armchair, I tore the envelope open. A letter written in Jason’s meticulous handwriting. There were no corrections evident and I suspected he took his time to compose it.
***
Dear Gemma,
You are right. I want it all. The lifestyle of a Dominant, which is all I have ever really known, is my unceasing goal. I take pleasure in the responsibilities of leading, controlling and owning a submissive. I wanted also to be something I had not been and had little practise at - the considerate lover who openly shares their life and passions without restrictions. I am well aware, as you keenly pointed out to me, that I have not been successful. My role as your Dominant, in the context of being a lover, has not been clearly defined. To suggest to you, as I did those many weeks ago, that I would let you be free and equal while reshaping you into my submissive, was implausible. I am not the right Dom for you, Gemma.
You are a strong, independent person. You have managed to cope with a horrific trauma and you did not need to be a submissive to achieve this. It was your desire to return to submission that has driven you to be with me. You know this is not what you need. You need stability and love. Perhaps this is what you have come to realise.
I will arrange you to be flown back on a scheduled flight as soon as possible. Accommodation will be found for you too.
I’m sorry our relationship has come to such an abrupt end. It never has been my intention to harm you physically or emotionally.
Jason
***
I dropped the letter on the floor and I was racked with heart wrenching sobs. He had released me completely from our arrangement.
What did I expect! Why was I so disappointed? I left him and yet it felt like he had abandoned me so readily, so, so easily.
