by Jaye Peaches
“I’m not stopping yet,” he added. “You need this so much, babe.”
Unable to contain the growing pain, she allowed tears to creep into her eyes. Then it happened, a switch had been flicked. She flopped onto the table, resting her cheek on the cool surface, and absorbed the pain. It was as if a painkiller had been injected into her bloodstream, neutralising all the stings and thuds. However, Jason did not interpret her change in stance as a signal to increase the severity, quite the contrary: he ended the spanking. She was far too gone in her own world to realise the danger. Vulnerability had been the goal, but keeping her safe had to remain the priority.
He led her to the chaise lounge and lay down. She used her greedy mouth to please his hardness, and it wasn’t as easy as she’d thought. For some reason, he carried on spanking her as she worked her mouth about him, flicking her sore buttocks with the tip of a crop. Tiny bites inflicted sparingly, as if he had found flies on her butt to swat.
“Oh, baby, don’t ever say something is easy. No teeth. I felt teeth,” he warned as he slapped the crop down on her upturned bottom.
She spluttered with indignant giggles. “You’re super hard, just as I like you.”
“I. What’s your I got to do with it. Just as I like it. That’s what counts.” He chuckled.
On the way home, he told her she had been exceptionally willing that evening in the club. Daring in her scene with Monique and brave when he turned her back purple with wax. She snuggled up against him in the back of the car, struggling to stay awake, his warmth pervasive. He patted her and kissed her hair.
“You’re the best,” he murmured, yawning.
The following week, she would be very willing in New York. The place lent itself to being submissive: it was her customary role whenever they stayed at the luxury apartment.
***
The flight to New York, two days after their visit to the club, heralded the start of what Gemma hoped to be a successful business trip for her boss. Daniel had been gobsmacked when she’d told him of Jason’s suggestion. She had traded the flight on the private jet for an extra day’s leave to enable her to visit art galleries. Daniel had taken the bait.
His face, when they boarded the plane, had been a picture of stunned gratitude. The service provided by their personal flight attendant, the wide leather seats that tilted back into mini beds, and the pilot who addressed Jason as if he was the only passenger aboard—all impressed Daniel.
She slept for a couple of hours, her limbs leadened with fatigue. Daniel, she was sure, would milk Jason for information about how to conduct the negotiations with the potential buyer of his much-beloved company. By the time she emerged from the sleeping cabin two hours later, the conversation had been very productive for Daniel, sitting there with his notepad brimming with useful tidbits of information.
The journey took them into the night, UK time, however, they arrived early evening, New York time. It gave her the chance to have a good night’s sleep before being driven up to Connecticut at the crack of dawn for the morning’s meeting.
She had decided, during the flight, she would offer herself to Jason that night and show her gratitude. With Daniel deposited at his hotel, Gemma curled up in the back of the limousine, resting her head on Jason’s lap, and waited to arrive at the penthouse accommodation. Pristine, modern, and cavernous in its open-plan layout—she’d not forgotten the impressive apartment and the effect it had on Jason’s dominance whenever they visited, raising it to levels she had in the past struggled to tolerate. She loved the glass wall with its view of the streets below.
Standing staring at the vista, he snaked an arm around her waist, pulling her backwards onto his chest.
“There was a time when the idea of being fucked in front of this window would have freaked you out,” he reminded her.
Gemma reached out and tapped the pane. “Privacy glass. You didn’t tell me until after you fucked me.”
He covered her hand with his, pressing it against the cold surface. “Let’s try it again.”
A few minutes later, stripped naked, she spread her fingers across the glass, and he shifted her hips back. Sucking air into her lungs, she jolted as he thrust into her pussy. He slipped out then entered her with another forceful penetration. Her toes curled on the marble flooring. With her breasts flattened against the glass, she glided up the window, speared on his thrusting cock. A grunt, then another, as with each pulverising gyration of his groin, he lifted her up and down. She teetered on the tips of her toes, breath steaming the window surface.
“Oh, come, babe. Show me,” he muttered between pummels.
Across the road, lights in the opposite building came and went as people moved about the offices. On the distant dim street below, people migrated the sidewalks and yellow cabs weaved through traffic, their headlights glaring. Gemma let out indistinguishable noises. Close to her orgasm, she blocked out the visual distraction and, for a moment, thrilled herself with the idea they weren’t invisible. That they were on show, a grand exhibit above the New York street, and her orgasm erupted.
“Oh, fuck!” she exclaimed as Jason screwed her tight from behind. His climax pumped into her. The hot liquid spurted then dripped out of her, down her thigh.
“Yummy,” she murmured.
Jason chuckled, easing back, letting the rest of their juices tickle her inner thighs.
“Bed, Mrs Lucas.” He gave her bottom a hard smack.
Walking away, Gemma glanced back at the window. The imprints of her sweaty hands on the glass made her smile.
Early the next morning, the car took her to Daniel’s nearby hotel then carried the pair of them north to Connecticut and their daylong meeting. By the time she returned to the apartment that evening, she was exhausted, tripping over her own feet in the hallway. Jason ordered takeaway, and she filled him in on the day’s events. The meetings had been a great success, and Daniel was happy to move the process further, enter into due diligence, and expose his company to a detailed inquisition.
The next morning, Jason went to his New York head office to negotiate a new acquisition while Gemma visited numerous galleries, accompanied by their regular American bodyguard, Amando. His familiar presence was a blessing as she plucked up the courage to speak to various owners and gallery concierges about their experiences. They were very friendly, forthcoming, and helpful. She finished the day filled with ideas.
Jason tracked her down at the final gallery to collect her. Excited and ignited with creative passions, she regaled Jason with her adventures on the way to the airport. On the flight back, without Daniel, who had travelled a day earlier on a commercial flight, Jason took her to the private cabin, and they made love before sinking into a deep sleep.
***
Sitting on the toilet seat in their en-suite bathroom, Gemma kept her eyes glued shut with trepidation. Unlike a typical Friday morning at the White House, she was up before Jason. It was very early: the birds were still completing their dawn chorus of songs, and the traffic hummed in the background. Usually there was no rush for her to be out of bed—she didn’t work Fridays.
Her leisurely morning routine was to lie in bed as Jason headed off to work then rise to prepare for a weekend at Blythewood House. Not that morning. Nervous and strangely euphoric about something, an intangible part of her blazed with energy even though jet lag had exhausted her. The same excitement Gemma had taken to bed had woken her while Jason remained in a state of slumber. Then it had hit her. She was late, but not for work. Her period should have come in New York, however, she had been too busy and preoccupied to keep track of her ovulation calendar and its predicted dates of conception.
Gemma kept her eyes shut, clutching the pregnancy test stick, not daring to glance down at it.
Please. Please. It was the longest minute of her life.
She bounced on the bed as if on a trampoline.
“Jason. Jason.”
He jumped up, disorientated. “What the—”
She waved
the stick at him. “Look. Look.”
Gemma thrust the white piece of plastic at him. He took it and gazed at the blue word displayed on the side.
“You’re pregnant!” He tossed it to one side and grabbed her. “Well done! My brilliant girl!”
He rolled her onto her back and covered her with kisses. “I knew you could do it!”
“You, too. It takes two,” Gemma reminded him. “I’m pregnant, Jason.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m going to be a mum.”
She wanted to cry. She had to cry. She was that happy.
Chapter 3. Questions
Gemma was glad they’d visited Jason’s parents the previous Sunday, an obligatory requirement following their holiday, where, for the duration of lunch, she had perched on a chair with a sore bottom, the enduring legacy of the evening at the Nightshade Club. She couldn’t imagine sitting there now, across their dining-room table from her in-laws, and keeping her mouth shut. She would have still been in a state of disbelief, as she had been most of Friday. They’d celebrated in the morning with gentle lovemaking, making him late for work. Her reticence at sex would strike later. Once on her own, she couldn’t decide what to do with herself. She leapt about the house, playing her favourite dance songs at high volume. She wanted to shout the news from the rooftops.
By the time she arrived at Blythewood House later in the day, she knew she had to keep quiet. She didn’t tell her regular driver, Emma Gibson, nor the housekeeper, Mrs Harris, whom she greeted at the kitchen door. She was aware that pregnancy could go wrong in the early weeks. She wanted to tell people the good news with confidence. Patience would be required, and it wasn’t her forte, but Jason would expect her to hold out. She needed to find the right mental place to put her mind and enjoy the quiet, secret acceptance of her state.
As the day drew into evening and she awaited Jason’s arrival, it struck her that life was never going to be the same again. What about the kink, their lives when they were Dominant and submissive, the trappings of their secluded private life? What would become of that, going forward? The guesswork was about to end and the reality start to sink in.
She said nothing to Jason about her concerns when he arrived home. They ate, and she found speech difficult, as if the changes in her body had wiped out all other thoughts. Falling into the trap of ignoring her concerns, she drifted into safe territory by talking about her atelier idea for the stable block. Throughout the conversation, it became apparent how her life would be changing.
“It crossed my mind,” she put her knife and fork down on the plate, “that there is enough space to split the room into two.” She fiddled with the rim of her plate.
“Go on,” said Jason, helping himself to seconds from the pasta bowl.
“Keep the workshop on one side and add a play area. Like a nursery. I could paint and you know...watch over....”
Jason leant forward and kissed her cheek. “Babe. You can do as you wish. If that is how you see motherhood—painting in the company of children—then do it.”
“I think, Jason, all being well, when I go on maternity leave from my job, I won’t be going back. Will I?” She ventured the thought.
“No. I think you have an idea where your future is going, don’t you? A much clearer picture.”
“Yes. Definitely. Not a sketch any longer.”
She watched Jason eat. Seeing him content and relaxed boosted her happiness. “You’re the best husband ever,” she blurted.
Jason put down his fork and reached across to take her hand. “I’m a good husband because you are a good wife.” He kissed the back of her hand, smiled, and returned to his food.
They didn’t go to the dungeon lair that evening. The playroom with its whipping bench, ropes, and pulleys, drawers filled with kinky-sex toys, and the four-poster bed complete with restraints. All of their secrets hidden in a windowless room with a locked door Jason had the only key to open. His decision hit Gemma hard: the shunning of his indulgent lair exemplified the fact he was treating her differently.
Jason took her to the sitting room and drew her onto his lap. “I want you to visit that GP of yours as soon as possible.”
She looked at him with his eyes blue and bright in the late evening sunshine. “It isn’t necessary. It’s too early. I know from Trudy, they don’t bother with tests or scans for a few weeks. In case….” She wasn’t going to say the word miscarriage.
“That’s not what I want you to see her about.”
They might not be in the lair, but his voice held the tone of that room. “I want you to get a referral to a private obstetrician. As soon as possible. A good private maternity clinic. No expense spared, and a woman, not a man. Someone you can talk freely to about us. Do you understand?”
She blinked for a few seconds—about us—those two words said much. Not Mr and Mrs Lucas, he meant them as Dominant and submissive. Them, as in the lair and their BDSM lifestyle.
“What do I need to find out about?” The palms of her hands itched with sweat. What did Jason intend for her as his submissive?
“All those doubts, questions, and issues floating about in your pretty head. This is for you, not me. I know quite a bit already. I have my own medical contacts. I don’t want to tell you what is and is not possible. You have to find out for yourself. Address everything about being pregnant and a submissive in a BDSM relationship—what you can and cannot do, to protect yourself and our baby. The sooner, the better. I see already the worries on your face. Do you go into the lair? What sex acts are safe? I could tell you, but you need to be reassured by somebody independent of me and not from the Internet.”
His request surprised her. “Talk openly about us?”
“Yes, you have my permission, of course. A respectable doctor is obliged to keep your consultations confidential, assuming you don’t portray me as an abusive husband.” He smirked and then looked away. Neither of them liked to talk about abuse.
“No, of course not. I wouldn’t—”
He put his finger on her lips.
“I know that. You need to ensure whoever looks after you while you’re pregnant understands that, too. Gem, I know you. You’re already fretting about how we go forward. The sooner your questions are answered, the better. I don’t think in these early weeks you would have any problems. The baby is miniscule and not going to be harmed. But if you’re stressed and anxious, that is not good for the pair of you. I have no intention of creating fear in you or terror. That isn’t what we do when we play. You are and always will be safe with me.”
Did he think she didn’t trust him? She couldn’t imagine not trusting him, as it would bring their world of D/s crashing down about them.
“I do trust you. I will seek advice, and then we can talk about it together. Can’t we?” She took his hand in her own and squeezed it.
He gave a small squeeze back. “Sure. Nothing is going to happen without your consent. Now, do you want me to take you into the lair or stay out of it until you’ve had your consultation?”
Crunch time. He’d said he knew what he could and couldn’t do with her. He would have researched the consequences of pregnancy and BDSM as soon as she came off the pill. Did she need to hear it all for herself?
Yes, she decided, for her baby’s sake. The tiny thing inside of her had only her to nurture and care for it because that was the purpose of her body. She was no longer there just for Jason, her Dominant and husband, her lover. She must safeguard their baby, too.
“Believe me, I trust you, Jason. However, you’re right about my doubts. I need to think this through. I don’t want the pain or restraints yet. I can’t consent, not without understanding what I’m capable of doing. Make love to me. I can do that, at least. I’m sure I can.”
She gave him her best confident smile. He smiled back and her heart thumped with relief.
“Let’s go make love then, Gem. Vanilla, for now.” He kept hold of her, leading her upstairs, and a thought passed into her mind. A clear, concise realisation. She
let go as they entered the bedroom, hovering in the open space by the bay window.
“Jason, I only said the pain and restraints. You know, no bondage, intense-impact play, or sadism. You can still be my Dominant. Take me to bed as my Master. Please.” She pleaded with her eyes as much as her words.
To make her point, she knelt at Jason’s feet. His face drew into an expression of ecstasy. The bulge in his pants grew. She’d hit the jackpot. She had given him consent to keep the one aspect of their lifestyle that was most important to them both. His domination and her submission. Both were feasible without their dungeon and kinky sex; their needs could be satisfied in other ways.
“Come, then. Come and please your Master.”
To be naked before a clothed Jason turned her on. A flick of the switch, and she drenched her knickers. With feverish hands, she stripped out of her clothes, sank back to her knees, and though they were in the bedroom, it felt like she had gone to his play space, his dungeon.
“Find me,” he whispered.
She understood. Reaching up, she uncovered his cock. It sprung up half-erect and warm, and she ran her palm up and down its velvet surface. The skin stretched and moved over the engorging member. She ringed both her hands about it, moved them in opposite directions, allowing him to swell further. She stuck out her tongue. The pointed tip caressed his own rounded one, and he murmured with gratitude.
On many occasions, he would fuck her mouth as if it was a hole that opened before him and could be taken without consideration. This time, he allowed her to build up momentum in her own fashion. He placed a hand on her head, and rather than grasping chunks of her hair, he let her bob back and forth. Her taste buds savoured his unique flavour as the saliva thickened and coated his honeyed skin. His erection stood proud before her, and she worshipped it, her flesh-and-blood idol.
“Do you want it inside you, slut?” He stroked her hair back out of her face.
