by Jaye Peaches
“Of course not. That’s the nice thing about art, you can do it at any age. I’m glad, really.” Gemma picked at her food. “I have to go.” She would have her massage and try to shrug off the urge to feel jealous about her mother’s artistic activities. She’d done nothing to further her own ambitions except donate the odd picture to a charity auction.
Following her massage, somewhat rejuvenated, Gemma found her guests relaxing in the lower pool, petting each other. They swam closer as she approached.
“Hi, you guys. Happy?” she asked.
“Blissfully. Thanks.” John tucked Andrea close to him in the aqua water.
Gemma smiled at them. “Andrea, would you like a fantastic massage? Maria is more than happy to give you one.”
“Oh, yes.” Andrea climbed out and wrapped an oversized towel around her. “Where can I find her?”
“She’s in the spa room.” Gemma watched Andrea head inside, out of the intensifying sun. “No gym?”
“No. By the time Andi and I finished breakfast, Jason had left, and I lost the inspiration. Pool called.” He splashed water up at her, and she jumped back with a shriek.
Leaving her brother to his swim, she wandered into the salon where Jason sat alone, eating a hearty breakfast. Gemma slipped into the seat next to him and helped herself to coffee.
“You didn’t want me this morning, Sir,” she murmured.
“No. Tempting as it was to wake you up, I left you to your slumbers.” He buttered a slice of toast.
She released a muted sigh of disappointment.
“A bottomless pit you are, Gemma! You will manage. Try a spell in the gym. Sulk, and I will take you upstairs and spank you. Then you can explain to your brother why you can’t sit down.” He raised an admonishing eyebrow.
Uh-oh. Time for a new subject. “When will you go out on the powerboat?”
“Once I’ve finished breakfast. Lubinsky and Ted will have to get the boat ready. We won’t stray too far. We might head inshore and find a cove. You girls can squander your time on the sundeck.”
“Naked?” asked Gemma.
“If Andrea isn’t a prude. She might join you, who knows?”
“Do I have to? Nude?”
“Yes. I said, no white patches. The alternative is to stick to the shade.” Jason stood and flicked her cheek. “Don’t be shy.” He left the salon, and she lingered a few moments then wandered outside.
Gemma watched from the main deck as the powerboat hit the water. Ted ran through his obligatory checks and handed life vests to Jason and John, both attired in sleeveless wet suits. Lubinsky’s similar outfit showed his Navy tattoos covering his arms. Esteban handed down flasks of water, and Ted took the wheel and, at a slow pace, took the powerboat out away from Sublime. Once they were in open water, Lubinsky took over and cranked up the throttle. The boat shot off, bouncing on the crests of the waves at high speed, heading away from the yacht.
Andrea joined her, armed with a pair of binoculars.
“They will be all right?” Andrea peered through the lenses.
“I’m sure. Let’s go and sunbathe. Leave the boys with their toys.”
***
“Naked!” Andrea guffawed. “You sun bathe in the nude?”
“Yes,” squeaked Gemma. “Even tan, all over. Jason insists.”
“So, you do it?”
“Yes. It’s not as if there is anyone to see. Except Maria. I’ve asked Enrique to stay away. I wouldn’t do it when we’re in port. Jason won’t let anyone else see me naked. He doesn’t mind you. You’re nearly family.”
“I think I will stick to my bikini. Sorry. I’m a bit self-conscious.” Andrea laid her towel on the sun bed.
“Okay. I don’t know why. You’ve got a lovely body.”
“You think so?” Andrea started to rub suntan lotion into her pale freckled skin.
“You’re curvy and, well, pretty.”
“You’ve seen a lot of naked women, then?”
“Yes, as it happens. At the parties I use to go to, nudity was acceptable.” Gemma slipped off her shorts and top.
Andrea settled down on her sun bed and pulled her hat low over her face as Gemma stripped off all her clothes. But she peeked and gaped. “Gosh, your boobs. Sorry didn’t mean to stare. That’s henna again?”
“Yep. Pretty, isn’t it?”
“Did you choose the pattern?”
“No, Jason did. The pattern is based on his initials linked together. See?” Gemma held out her hands.
“Oh, yes. Why?”
“Because I’m his.” Gemma shrugged and put on her floppy sun hat. “Don’t tell John about the tattoos. I don’t know what he would make of them.” She lay back and soaked up the sunrays.
“Gin and tonic for you, señora, ice and no lemon.” Maria set the drink on the little table next to her sun bed.
“Thank you, Maria.”
Andrea wriggled on her sun bed, not knowing where to put her eyes. She had a book with her, and every few minutes, she would pick it up and try to concentrate on the words. Eventually, she tossed it away and sipped on her Bacardi and Coke. She was probably wondering why Gemma did what Jason told her to do without questioning him. Andrea should have chosen a career that reflected her natural curiosity instead of watering rows of seedlings at a nursery. Gemma let out a loud sigh, turned on her side to face her, and propped herself up on an elbow. “Go on, penny for them.”
Andrea went slightly red, matching her freckles for a few seconds. “I know you don’t talk about you and Jason....”
“No. I don’t. We don’t talk about what we do together with anyone, including others like us. It’s very private to us.”
The sun shone directly on her face, so Gemma tipped the brim of her hat down. Andrea adjusted her bikini top, and the colourful sequins glimmered in the sunlight.
“I understand.” Andrea paused, pursed her lips. “How did you come to be what you are, though? Did you just wake up one morning and find yourself doing bondage and everything? I’m sorry. I don’t want you to think of the stuff you don’t want to. But when you were younger, how did it all start?”
The only way to keep Andrea from harping on about her kinky lifestyle was to feed her some background and context, perhaps provide an insight into her early years as a submissive. She had generally enjoyed her awakening. Most of her early Dominants had been friendly, helpful, and fun to be with, even when they punished her or attempted to stretch her limits. She could happily reminisce about a few of them with a smile.
Gemma began with a brief rundown of her sexual awakening, nothing detailed, only that she liked men who knew what they were doing and took the lead. She described her first job, the day her employer, a second-hand bookstore owner, threatened to fire her and she had agreed to be spanked. How easily it all happened, as if the story had been ripped from a fantastical spanking story. Then she recounted the natural progression from small scenes to spending weekends as his submissive.
“He was such a sweet gentleman, Andrea. Never raised his voice, even when I broke one of his rules. There was no sex for ages.”
Andrea raised an eyebrow.
Gemma had found it all sensual and erotic. The older man had been exactly what a wayward young woman, on the brink of being promiscuous, needed in her life. He took away the sex and made her think about behaviour and attitudes, not just regarding the men, but her self-esteem and appearance. He insisted she have her hair done regularly, nails manicured, and banned junk food. She cooked for him to prove she could make healthy well-balanced meals.
Deportment had been crucial to his sensibilities. Appropriate postures and positions had been drummed into the young submissive. “Keep your shoulders back. Men want to see pert breasts, not bony shoulder blades!”
Everything—how to kneel, stand, or present her body for inspection—came under his control. There had been no sexual acts during the initial stages, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t found it erotic. Nudity or barely dressed had been the norm,
and she would walk around his house with books balanced on her head to improve her posture. Whatever fell off her head then had to be memorised—a random page or paragraph for him. The bookseller knew she had an excellent memorising system, and he had put it to good use.
Ironing had been a typical exercise. His shirts and trousers had required perfect creases along the seams and nowhere else. While she ironed, she had to count back from a thousand. Her wandering mind, conscious of her nudity, lost count, and a spanking would be her punishment.
“You must try harder!” he had admonished from his seat next to the ironing board.
Why had Gemma done it? The question was all over Andrea’s expressive face. There had been no tangible rewards at first. No orgasms or other sexual delights to hold out for. It had been purely about domination and control. His tone had been perfect—fatherly, caring, firm, and demanding. Within a few weeks, she had gone from a sex-obsessed young woman to an elegant, well-presented one who spoke with respect and thought of somebody other than herself.
The counting made no sense at the time. Trying to iron and do a mental task at the same time had no basis for sexual service. Later, as the weeks progressed, when he spanked her and made her count aloud, she would dismiss the pain by mentally ironing. Seeing numbers in one part of her head while putting beautiful lines of creases on virtual shirts. Gemma had understood. After learning reams of poetry or pages of his favourite novels, she found the verses very useful. Jason would laugh at her as she explained she was recounting a poem while he inflicted his particular brand of sadism.
She didn’t use the word sadism, it wasn’t suitable for Andrea to hear. Gemma paused. Perhaps she was revealing too much information. She didn’t want Andrea to know Jason would be making her howl while recalling poems.
The one-sided conversation moved on as Gemma spoke of the other approach. A Dominant who wants the sub to focus on him and nothing else—their voice and an instant response. It meant obedience without hesitation, and not drifting off. Gemma faltered a little as she skipped around issues of humiliation. Instead, she remembered the positive element—a good Dominant, in return for submission, offered protection and care, and with the domination, she spoke of release and fulfilment. Andrea looked bemused but said nothing.
Gemma giggled a little at some of her reminiscences. Sex with her first Dom hadn’t been the best. He had been nearly thirty years older than her and past his prime. What he had taught her was to be willing and ready for him. After six months of celibacy, the longest in her sexual life, she had been glad of the attention. They’d had sex once a week, and he’d made her beg for it every time. By the time she left him, he had taught her not only to be obedient but to want to obey. Her undisciplined thoughts had been conditioned to please others and not herself.
Humour slipped into her recount. How she could set a table blindfolded, iron perfectly, cook, make beds to hospital standards, wait patiently and show humility in her deportment—a list of achievement she proudly provided. From Gemma’s perspective, she had been given the best foundations she could have asked for because what she did next could have gone so wrong.
Her first Master hadn’t been into sexual training or abilities, and one weekend, he told Gemma it was time to move on, for her to seek out others. Before she left him, she had to write essays, all properly researched and well written. One on BDSM then her limits, the purpose of safe-words, and how to ensure her safety. Although an outsider in the local BDSM community, he had enough connections to send Gemma to the right parties and provide her with suitable contacts for the next steps.
She remained intensely grateful to the now deceased Dominant. Without him, she suspected she wouldn’t have had the confidence or self-belief. After the bookseller moved out of her life, it had been a whirlwind of parties, clubs, and one-off type fetish events. Initially, she never went anywhere new without a chaperone or another sub or Dom she had befriended or trusted. Her day-to-day friends remained vanilla and unconnected to her other life. She kept those parts of her separate, especially her family.
Andrea had sat entranced throughout her recollections. “You did all this while holding down a day job!” she marvelled.
“If I met somebody online, in a chat room or forum, I would only agree to meet with him in a public place. If I went back to their houses, I would arrange for someone to ring my mobile at a specified time or I would leave contact details. I put these safeguards in place. I would always discuss limits, agree on safe-words and duration of play. I don’t think I would have done any of that without the wisdom my first Master had installed in my brain.”
Even after she had ceased to be his sub, he had contacted Gemma with the names of people to follow up with her training. A string of people to work on bondage, oral sex, and then anal.
“How quickly did you learn?” asked Andrea.
“The anal? Oh, an hour was all it took,” Gemma replied.
“An hour!”
How to explain it was about pleasing another and not about her. The positions to learn, the hygiene and preparations. It had taken several sessions to enjoy the act without pain. By then, she had been a sub for a couple of years and played around at many parties, one nighters or quick scenes at clubs. Her mission had been to find a Dominant she could have a steady routine with or committed times for play—private sessions conducted in a home environment.
Gemma had loved the idea of turning up on a doorstep and immediately being a man’s submissive until sent home. A mere handful had been her most serious relationships. She had never fallen in love with any of them. The sex had been endearing and varied—nothing arduous or unpleasant. They had all been professional men and busy lives. None of them had an interest in romantic liaisons, proper dating, or having a girlfriend. Gemma had been their pleasure toy and had stayed with them as long the mutual need had been present.
“Long term commitments in Dom and sub relationships are unusual. A good Dom will constantly be searching for inspiration or new ideas, but most, once they’ve used you sufficiently, would rather have different girls under their thumb. I was doing fine, until I made a bad choice....” Her mind was like a piece of driftwood heading towards a waterfall.
“No. Stop.” Andrea sat up quickly and reached over to touch Gemma’s arm.
Her reverie broke.
“Don’t,” said Andrea sharply. “Tell me how you met Jason. I mean, you said you didn’t fall in love with the others. Why him?”
“He helped me. I had lost my self-esteem, my confidence. The idea of sex terrified me. Jason was my fire lighter, instantly re-igniting my expired flames. Vanilla, meaning no kink, at first. A strange start to the relationship for both of us, but it was the right approach. It re-established trust. I was bowled over when he told me he was a practising Dominant. Like a dream come true. Not because he is wealthy and successful, but because it fitted his personality, and I liked his personality. I became his submissive and felt so good about myself.”
“He found you by accident?”
“No. He was searching for an experienced submissive partner. A more enduring relationship than the ones he had previously been engaged in. I don’t think he was seeking love or romance, not when he started out. No.” Gemma paused, remembering her first sessions with Jason. “He was very much a Dom with me at first. Never showed me his feelings or what he was thinking. How did you meet John?”
“He came to check our stock at the nursery. Wanting roses or something. I bent over to pull a weed out, and he told me later that he fell for my bum! Such a romantic person. What?!”
Gemma was beside herself with laughter. “It was a photocopier with me. I bent over to fix a fault. Jason told me that was enough for him. They’re all the same, these men, aren’t they?”
Once they recovered their composure, they sat in the Jacuzzi pool and talked about Andrea’s ivory wedding dress.
***
John turned slightly green as Lubinsky spun the boat around again. More sharp turns and arcs,
ploughing the speedboat through the water. He clung to the rope line with white knuckles.
Jason, on the other hand, loved being tossed about, shooting across the waves with water splashing around them. Speed didn’t frighten him. He owned a high-powered sports car and would happily let Lubinsky test the limits of the boat’s powerful engine if it wasn’t for the presence of John.
“Do you want a go?” Jason shouted over the roar of the engine and the sound of the waves smashing against the boat.
John shook his head. “Um, you first.”
Jason grinned, took hold of the wheel, and cranked up the throttle. The boat surged forward, smashing into a wave.
“Not bad, John,” shouted Lubinsky as the boat bounced about.
John’s short stint at the controls, following Jason’s own, ended as he handed back the wheel to the experienced sailor. Jason patted his arm and chuckled at his exhilarated expression. “See, it is fun.” John gave a small nod of acknowledgement.
They searched the coastline for a suitable cove or beach area. Heading inland, south of Sublime, Lubinsky suggested a location for John and Jason to swim.
Jason dived into the cool seawater, whereas John slid in cautiously, gasping with the cold. They swam until they reached the shoreline and outcrop. Perched on the dry rocks in the sunshine, John sat with his back to the sun.
“How is your business going, Jason?”
He kept his summary brief, not wanting to mar his day with intrusive thoughts about work. “Mixed fortunes at the moment. I’m awaiting further reports at the beginning of the week. One of those acquisitions that on paper looks straightforward but ends up being troublesome. Unfortunately, everything is happening while I’m on holiday.” Jason exhaled deeply. “The gardening business?”
“If it actually had anything to do with gardening, I would probably enjoy it more. The owner of the garden centre has encouraged me to branch out into other areas of retail. Homeware, giftware, and the dreaded arts and crafts. I know he is right, horticulture alone will not rake in enough money or punters. The cafe has helped draw in regulars. But I’m a gardening expert. The rest doesn’t inspire me.”
