by Jaye Peaches
Jason perched on the edge of the bed. “All right? What was that all about?” He waited. The nature of his collapse continued to surprise Jason. People often lost their nerve before him, rambled or stumbled over their words, but not to the extent of an emotional breakdown.
“I don’t know,” muttered Ted, his eyes darting about the room.
“How old were you when you lost your virginity. Fourteen, thirteen?” Jason raised an eyebrow when Ted shook his head at the two ages.
“Twelve, sir.”
“That’s very young. Tell me how that happened.” He spoke as if to a novice submissive, coaxing, reassuring.
“I was in care. My parents split up when I was a baby. Dad vanished. Mum, drugged up, nicking stuff, never had the time for me, often in prison, too. So, I went to a children’s home. I had a friend who visited his mum from time to time. Nobody bothered with me. I went with him. She was…the one. I went on my own one day, and after…you know…she cooked me tea. I hated the care home food. I was always hungry, ravenous. I liked her cooking.” He smiled for the first time since Jason had entered the room then it quickly vanished.
He didn’t like the start of Ted’s story. It filled him with a familiar sense of dread. “An older woman. Not a childhood sweetheart, then. Did it happen again?”
Ted drew his knees up, wrapping his arms around them. “Loads of times. I kept finding myself back there. For years. She invited others round sometimes. Men, too. I didn’t like the men. I’m not gay!” he said with a sudden fierceness in his eyes, his face screwed up.
“I’m sure you’re not.” The young man suddenly seemed to have regressed into an adolescent. He looked younger, spottier, and exhibited behaviours Jason associated with teenagers. Jason guessed he had never had a normal adolescence. “Why did you go back to her?”
“She looked after me. Bought me stuff, clothes and games. I liked her, for the most part. Except, sometimes, she would be cross with me.”
“Why was that?”
“If I couldn’t get it up for her, she bullied me,” whispered Ted. “She made me wank for her while she cooked my tea.”
Jason closed his eyes briefly, digesting the implication of the confession. The words the boy had ranted on the floor were hers, shouted in Ted’s ear as he had tried to do as she asked. What Jason saw before him was a submissive, but one who did not know he was. Not trained or given the choice, instead bullied and cajoled into a role he might never had exhibited if he’d had a normal upbringing in a caring home. A sexually immature young man who had no idea what was appropriate behaviour. He had probably masturbated so much as a child, he couldn’t stop himself.
Jason couldn’t contain his curiosity. “Why did you do it on the sundeck, by my wife?” He liked dissecting people, a technique he used when interviewing new executives. Teased them apart to find out what made them tick.
“I don’t know, sir. Honestly. I have to. It’s like a voice in my head, telling me. Seeing you two together, all romantic, fucking in the pool. I thought I could put it out of my head. I went up there and did it without even thinking. Seeing her asleep made it easy. I do it when people aren’t watching me.”
Jason had assumed only Modesto had spied on them, now it was apparent Ted had watched them, too. The idea didn’t thrill him. He tolerated observers if he knew them, trusted them. Who else on board could he not trust? “How old were you when you started out on the boats?”
“Sixteen, sir. I couldn’t stop going to her house. Like a bloody addiction. She wanted me to take drugs, like my mum. That scared me. So, I applied for an apprenticeship and was offered a position on a yacht. I love my job, and I’ve gone and fucking blown it all away.” His reddened eyes filled once again.
Jason touched his shoulder. “Don’t. Control your tears. They serve you no purpose. You do what you do because you have been conditioned and groomed to behave in a particular way. You’ve not unlearnt those behaviours. You must realise you are the victim of sexual abuse? Child abuse.”
“I suppose. I never told anyone. Who would believe me? I’m a nobody. Most of the time, she was really nice to me. The others were only the odd weekend, and she gave me money....” Years later, he still couldn’t see himself as a prostitute.
“You’ve done well with your work. You’re a natural sailor. It would be a shame to ruin your future because of what happened to you as a child. This is what is going to happen. Go back to England. I won’t press any charges. You’re not a criminal. I won’t blot your employment record either. You are leaving us due to ill health. Understood?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.” Ted wiped his nose with a finger.
Jason rolled his eyes and offered him his handkerchief again.
“You need to accept that you need help. That you have a problem with controlling your sexual urges. I will arrange for a respectable charity to contact you, provide you with counselling and support. When you are ready, you can return to your maritime adventures. Start again, fresh.”
“You would do that for me?” Ted stood up quickly. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you.” He brushed the creases out of his shorts, shaking his legs.
“Stay here and wait. Don’t panic. I know it is lonely here, but I can’t have you back on Sublime. My wife, you understand?”
Ted nodded.
As Jason touched the door handle, he paused and glanced behind him. “Oh, and Ted, your dick isn’t pathetic. It needs to be better treated; show it some respect. Yes?”
“Yes, Mr Lucas. I will try,” said Ted with a small smile.
Jason slowly descended the stairs, his hand sliding down the bannister. He caught sight of Lubinsky in the lobby, pacing, agitated and restless. Jason had insisted he went to see Ted alone, overruling the bodyguard’s desire to accompany him.
Halting in his tracks, Lubinsky opened his mouth to speak. Jason shook his head. “Outside.”
The two men strode back to the marina. Lubinsky kept glancing over his shoulder
“Lubinsky, stay cool. Ted is okay.” Jason shook his head in disgust. “Do you really think physical violence is my style?”
Lubinsky gave a rueful smile. “No, and I assume Ted wasn’t inclined, either.”
Jason laughed. “Fuck no. The young man did crumple but not because I laid a finger on him. Well, other than to pick him off the floor and dust him down. He was quite pathetic and sad.”
“Did you find out what you wanted to know?” asked Lubinsky.
“Yes, more than I expected.” Jason shared what he’d learnt without emotion or embellishment as Lubinsky walked at his side.
“Groomed.”
“Yes, encouraged to discover his sexual awakening prematurely as entertainment for his secret whore. Unfortunately, she haunts him. The memories pick away at him, making him feel worthless, and he can’t control his sexual urges.”
“Poor kid. So, he gets off to cope?”
“I don’t think he understands that, which is why it remains a problem. He says he didn’t touch Gemma, and I believe him. His sexual deviancy doesn’t involve anyone but himself.”
“Fuck,” said Lubinsky. “I mean, he’s all right? You left him…?”
“Lubinsky, I’m not a bastard. I picked him up, calmed him down, and then he spewed out his sad story. Ted is a sexually immature young man who has no idea what is appropriate behaviour in the presence of women. Deep down, he knows he’s got serious sexual problems—a voice in his head he can’t ignore but tries to every day.”
“You gave me a second chance,” pointed out Lubinsky.
“And so I have Ted,” Jason said. “I revoked his dismissal. He is currently on sick leave with the proviso he sorts out his life. Back in the UK, he’ll be given the opportunity to have counselling and find out his cock is his to control and should be respected. Ladies should be respected, too. Then, and only if he convinces those who can judge his mental health that he is well, he will go back to work.”
“What, on Sublime?” said Lubinsky, probably t
hinking of the young, nubile women who frequented luxury cruises.
“Ah, well. No. I’ll have him work for a cruise liner full of geriatrics, first.” Jason smirked.
Lubinsky smiled. “Not quite a carrot for him, more half a stick.”
Jason tipped his cap down as they reached the gangplank. “Indeed, one must always balance out sticks and carrots.”
Back at his desk, with Enrique pouring him a drink, Jason gave the order over the intercom to McKenzie for the vessel to depart. When the captain asked about Ted, Jason simply replied the man was on his way home, in one piece.
Jason chortled as he told Enrique what he had found out. “Who would have thought it? I thought there were only two submissives on this yacht, and there were three the whole time. I have to make some phone calls. Contacts in the UK. You can tell Dario we will want lunch soon. Send Maria to me when she has finished with my wife. I want a progress report.”
***
Sublime left the marina in Valletta. Jason related the morning’s finding to Gemma over lunch. Her face was aghast with incredulity.
“While I slept? How did he get up there?” She jabbed her finger up at the ceiling.
“Ted was responsible for safety on the yacht. He had access so he could check the equipment up on the sundeck,” Jason explained, peering at her. “Are you okay, babe?”
“Fine. I mean, I didn’t know he had done it. At least I had a towel wrapped about me.” She took Jason’s hand. “Ted was lucky he was caught on this yacht. You are the right man with the right resources to help him.”
“I can’t force him to seek help. He’s a grown man. Though, mentally, he’s no different from a child when it comes to sex.”
“Terrible childhood. Makes mine pale into insignificance.”
“Yours was idyllic in comparison.” Jason gave her hand a squeeze.
“Where next? For Sublime and us, I mean.”
“Up the Adriatic. To Venice.” Jason leant towards her, planting a kiss on her mouth before the whoop of joy could be heard. Releasing her, he grinned. “I thought you might like the idea.”
With Sublime sailing in open waters, she stripped off and prepared to sun bathe. Jason joined her. He had told her over lunch that since his pet project had been put on the back burner for the time being, he didn’t expect to be troubled by work for the rest of the holiday. She couldn’t hide her elation from him, grinning from ear to ear. If his thoughts weren’t on work, he would concentrate on her.
“Gemma, come over here,” Jason called from the other side of the sundeck.
She paused in applying sun lotion. Standing next to his sun bed, he scanned her body. “Turn round.” A ticklish finger traced a triangular pattern about her buttock cheeks. “What happened here?” A finger flicked against her bottom.
Gemma sighed. “I fell asleep this morning, sun bathing, with my bikini on.” She flinched as he struck her bottom hard with the flat of his hand.
“You’ve got a noticeable paler patch. Exactly what I said I didn’t want.”
“Sorry, Sir.” She gave a slight huff of breath. Very slight, she thought.
“Well, if that’s your attitude, I might as well turn it pink instead. A nice, rosy, deep pink. What do you say?” He pulled her down onto her knees.
“Whatever pleases you. Sir.” She stared over his head at the waves.
“You can lie across my lap while I spank those cheeks into a more suitable colour. Enrique, Maria. Over here.” He summoned the other two from where they had been patiently lingering in the mast arch. “Move, Gemma. Maria, the wrists, please. Enrique, those beautifully painted ankles. Stretch her out for me. Great. Fuck you look hot, babe!”
Gemma bit back her sense of humiliation because the heat of his body underneath her called out to her. He had warned her he expected nothing but compliance when it came to being subjugated by others. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and accepted her penalty with fortitude. The tingling and buzzing in her belly grew with every well-placed smack. She found being held down increasingly erotic and suspected he knew that, too. His fingers probed her slit every few slaps, checking her status. The gentle touch of his fingertips provided a sharp contrast to the harsh spanking palm.
Afterwards, he took her to the lounger and, for a period, used her in brisk fashion. The style of sex had become the norm for their cruise—the apparent lack of romance, sweet talk, or gentle caresses obvious, yet at the same time, thrilling. Each time he had sex with her, he created a scene, a diversion into the world of kink and away from the world of marital lovemaking. Only when he’d had his fill of her, did he, with considerable gentleness, help her receive her long-awaited reward.
The pair lay spooned on their sides on the lounger. Her hot, sweaty body welcomed the cool sea breeze. Drinks appeared by the table. Maria, with excellent forethought, brought a cold compress wrapped in a napkin and placed it on Gemma’s bottom.
“Mmmm. Thank you, Maria.” The cold quickly pervaded, neutralising the heat.
Alone again, she had to ask Jason. “Was there a particular reason for your sadism?”
“No. I simply like watching you being held down and writhing about in pain.” His lips stretched in a wicked grin. “How is my pain slut?” Jason yawned, he peered under the napkin. “Your bum is still glowing nicely. We’ll rest. Then, I will take you below and carry on where we left off. I have a couple days to catch up on, and you’re as delectable as ever. Smelling incredible, too.”
Gemma shut her eyes. Given his plans, sleep was essential. She had no idea where his stamina came from, how he kept his sexual appetite raging.
The rest of the day, they drifted aimlessly in an erotic haze of sex. Having quenched his sadistic tastes, Jason happily kept Gemma in a state of perpetual arousal without resorting to painful stimuli.
She oozed enthusiastic words of gratitude. “Thank you, Sir, for fucking me,” she murmured during a leisurely bout of sex on the bed. “Thank you for making me come for you.”
“I’m bored with those words. Try and be imaginative.”
“I’m immensely grateful your cock is buried deep inside me, Sir,” she groaned as his cock ground against her. “Is that better?”
“Yes,” grunted Jason, between thrusts. “Fuck, yes. Keep going.”
“Please, spear your wanton one with your enormous organ of love.” She entered into the spirit of gushing for him, and he laughed as her imagination delved into a deep thesaurus of words.
They dined in their stateroom. A nude Gemma knelt next to the coffee table, glass of wine in one hand and fork in the other, while Jason had the comfort of an armchair. In the background, their servants waited on them, fetching and carrying the different courses from the dumbwaiter. Gemma, at last, had grown used to their bizarre presence. Whether they were having sex, eating, or bathing, the Mexicans were on hand to help.
“You’ve worn me out.” Jason lay on the bed, digesting his meal. “What was this dance you had planned for me?”
Gemma knelt in the middle of the room while Maria re-braided her hair. Strands had come loose and lay about her shoulders. His question took her by surprise. She opened her mouth then shut it quickly.
“Show me,” he commanded. Sitting up, he rested his back on the headboard.
“Here?”
“Why not? There is a dock for your iPod. You don’t need lights or anything. The moonlight will be sufficient. Dim some of them a bit, Enrique, except the ones above her.”
A row of halogens above her head bathed Gemma in spotlights. Enrique and Maria moved the furniture back, creating sufficient space.
Apprehensive and slightly unsure about her abilities as an erotic dancer, Gemma turned on her iPod and found the Latin music she had danced to with Gaspar. Taking deep breaths and shutting her eyes, she filled her mind with the music and recalled the moves her instructor had shown her. She lacked inspiration. Something felt wrong.
She looked down at her bare feet and the amber pattern. “I need heels on. B
are feet don’t work.”
“Sure. Put them on. Nothing else though,” said Jason.
The second time, the music lifted her spirits and her feet hit the rhythm of the beat immediately. Unlike with Gaspar, she livened up her moves, exaggerated and embellished them with dramatic flourishes. Swung her hips wider, spread her legs, wriggled her bottom about, and shook her breasts in circles. Imagining her legs sliding up and down a smooth metal pole, she almost wished she had the pole to cling to and the opportunity to let herself go completely.
At the end, Jason clapped enthusiastically, and the others joined in.
“Very good. I liked it. Do it again. This time, a treat for you, masturbate at the same time.” Jason chortled.
She managed to dance to the mid-point of the song, legs quivering and clitoris throbbing from a splendid orgasm, before she crumpled to the floor.
“She’s spent, señor,” said Enrique. “I don’t think she will do anything else for you this evening.”
Gemma’s lungs sucked air in, panting heavily, too tired to contest the observation.
“I think you might be right. Leave her there. Maria can give her a little clean-up on the floor. When she’s ready, she can crawl into bed. I’m going to sleep.” Jason settled down on his pillow.
The middle of the night came, and Gemma, curled up on the floor, woke to find a blanket draped over her. Cast in darkness, with merely a small light above the doorway, she crawled to her side of the bed and slipped under the sheets. He stirred and, reaching out, dragged her over to his side. Within seconds, they were intertwined and inseparable, ready to sleep again.
Chapter 23. Breaking Point
Day Fourteen
Gemma reached a breaking point with regard to her daily massages. The state of inner turmoil could only have been created by one man—Jason Lucas. No other person could have brought her to the watershed moment in her sexual life. She had been convinced it would be impossible and unachievable on her part.
