by Jaye Peaches
For a moment, she leaned on him, letting her quivering legs steady. He put his arm around her, releasing a deep sigh. “I’m tired. It’s been a long day. Brooks can rustle something up for me. Have a bath. Something to help you relax.”
She toyed with one of his shirt buttons. “I had a little rebellion. Miss non-subbie fought back. It’s going to take time for me to get the right mindset for you. Most of the time, I want your dominance so much. Other times, I resent it. I could have had an herbal tea or decaf, even one of those icy smoothies. I drank coffee. Part of me…no, I’m not going to deny it. I knew I was intentionally disobeying you. I hate disappointing you. You do believe me?”
“Babe, tell me. If I hadn’t turned up today, how long would you have gone before telling me. How many secret cups or cake slices? I don’t care you had those forbidden things. It’s the deceit that bothers me. It’s not like you. Let’s make this easier for you. In the future, you text me in advance, ask permission, and I will consider it. You might be surprised by my generosity.” He ruffled her hair, like a child.
She sniggered. “Okay. I’ll be good from now on. But you might be getting lots of texts in the coming months!”
Jason laughed. He dipped his head and kissed her lips. “Bath.”
***
The morning light burst through the window. Gemma woke up feeling optimistic and determined to put him in a better mood. The moment he began to stir, she rushed downstairs and made a cup of strong coffee for him and an herbal tea for her. She buttered toast and brought everything up on a tray. The combined smells of toast and coffee roused him. She knelt, naked, by his side of the bed, head bowed and legs parted, just as she had while on holiday on Sublime. She waited while he munched on his slice and sipped his drink.
“Look at me,” he said.
Tentatively, she gazed up at him. Relief flooded through her. A beaming smile covered his face, his head nodding approvingly. “Beautiful sight, babe. This is a much better start to the day.”
Gemma opened her mouth, an offering to him.
“No. Here on the bed. There is time for a quickie before work.” He patted her side of the bed.
She bounced back from her mini-depression like a jack-in-the-box, expressing gratitude, as he heaved in and out of her. She allowed him to go deep in her, feeling no discomfort at his pace and depth, and came with a screech of delight. With a groan and a shudder, he ejaculated, thankfully in her and not her herbal tea.
***
At Gemma’s next antenatal appointment, she called Mrs Henderson by her first name—Maggie—and after a moment of bemused small talk, they relaxed.
“How’s the sex life?” asked Maggie.
She cleared her throat, nodding. “Oh, good. After all the concerns, it’s very good. Vanilla, that is.”
“Vanilla?”
“Straight sex. No kinky stuff. Making love in bed sort of thing.”
“And the other kind?” Maggie’s eyebrows rose.
“Fine. We’ve toned it down somewhat. Nothing excessive or demanding. He’s happy. So I am.”
“It’s important to you, that he is happy. What about you? Emotionally, I mean.”
“I like to please him. He’s very Dominant at the moment, but we agreed it works best for me. Keeps me from worrying about the birth and other things. To be honest, the sex is good. Pregnancy has kind of spiced it up a bit. He likes experimenting, nothing outrageous, just fun, kinky play.”
“I see.” Maggie pursed her lips. “My husband and I have been married a few years. Spicing it up is what we need, too.” Her eyes flitted about.
“What does your husband do?”
“He’s an art historian, lectures at Goldsmiths.”
Gemma’s heart had a skip-a-beat moment. It hadn’t crossed her mind the solution to her problem would be so convenient. For weeks, she’d been searching for a possible contact at a university, and Maggie’s husband might be the man. “I paint. It’s turning into more than a casual activity. I’m having a workshop built at our country house. An atelier for me. I’m thinking of jacking in my job and opening a gallery.”
“Sounds exciting. Hugh is something of a collector, buys and sells for patrons of the arts.”
“I’m planning on setting up scholarships for students, using the gallery to help exhibit new talent. Would Hugh know of a suitable contact for me to speak to, someone at his university?”
“Oh gosh. I’m sure he could help. He came from a humble background himself, nothing grand. His dad took him to the National Gallery when he was a child, and he loved it. Not my interest, though. Maybe that’s why we drift apart a bit.” She frowned.
“Jason doesn’t see art like I do. He treats artwork as an asset to invest in, not what the artist is trying to communicate. But he supports me. I don’t think it’s necessary to enjoy each other’s interests. I don’t like golf, but I go to his club now and again.”
“But you enjoy your sex life. The extra side of it. A shared hobby, you might say.”
Gemma forced out a smile of agreement. Their D/s existence was more than a diversion, it was a way of life. She didn’t let him tie her up and whip her to further a hobby. She didn’t agree to be used and humiliated for an occasional respite from the real world. She and Jason were the real world.
“I fell in love with him because of that hobby. I don’t think we consider our lifestyle a hobby,” asserted Gemma.
“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to trivialise what you do. I’m curious. That’s all.” Maggie went silent.
Gemma leaned forward. “You can e-mail, if you like. Ask some questions, if you think it would help.”
They laughed together for a while. Then the tables turned and they went back to being obstetrician and new-mum-to-be. Later, Gemma reported to Jason by text her pregnancy was progressing normally.
The day of her twenty-week scan, there happened to be another key meeting at work. Since Daniel had announced he was considering selling the company to an American operative, the rest of the workforce had ranged from downright depressed to optimistic at the news. A plethora of heated meetings followed, involving the less-keen staff. Then, upon entering due diligence, the employees came together to make the company look good on paper. Daniel, naturally, wanted the best deal. He didn’t want to sell his baby short and reminded them at one lengthy meeting, he’d built it from scratch.
The meeting had gone on longer than planned, and Gemma loitered on the fringes, inching her notebook along the conference table, her bottom perched on the edge of her seat. She wanted her penny’s worth of thoughts to be heard, but so did a number of others, and they competed with each other, interjecting boisterously. Each highlighted their best projects, the quality of their clients, and the physical assets the company held. The clock ticked on. In the end, she threw in the towel, grabbed her handbag off the back of the chair, and stuffed the notebook inside.
“Sorry, Daniel. Antenatal appointment.”
Gemma dashed out of the door leaving a peeved-looking Daniel. She hadn’t told him her intentions with regard to returning to work after the birth. All she had told him was her due date and nothing else. The lack of decisive information upset his sensibilities. Having taken her under his wing during the early stages of the takeover, now, he pushed her away and kept her at arm’s length. Gemma felt put out and disconnected.
Walking out of a meeting infuriated Gemma, until it dawned on her, as her driver, Gibson, harried her into the waiting car, how annoyed Jason would be at her tardiness.
The car ground to a halt in traffic. “Sorry, Mrs Lucas.” Gibson glanced over her shoulder.
“Not your fault. I should have left earlier.” Gemma sighed.
Her mobile rang—his ring tone. She witnessed a sympathetic expression on Gibson’s face in the rear-view mirror.
“Where are you? You’re late. Your name has been called already.”
She shrank in her seat. “Sorry. Held up in a meeting.”
“I was in a meeting, too
. But I left on time,” he growled.
“You’re the boss. I’m not.”
“You’re pregnant and entitled to attend antenatal appointments,” he snapped, hanging up. His voice betrayed his emotions—pissed off.
The car moved forward, increasing in speed and Gibson tried her best to get Gemma to the clinic quickly. Jason didn’t say anything as she rushed into the consultation room over twenty minutes late.
Maggie made excuses for her. “Traffic is always bad around here.” It didn’t alter the fact Gemma hadn’t reached her appointment on time.
Jason made no reference to her failings in the presence of her new friend and doctor. For half an hour, they concentrated on the baby inside of her. The moving baby inside her belly. At nineteen weeks, she had felt it squirm. Grabbing Jason’s hand in bed one morning, Gemma had tried to move his palm over the strange phenomenon. He’d pulled a disappointed face. The popping sensation was too deep under the skin and not strong enough for him to feel. Now, on the screen, he could see the foetus wriggle about, kicking and sucking its thumb.
“A thumb sucker!” he grumbled.
“They often suck in the womb. Good practice for later,” reassured Maggie. “Everything is as it should be.”
Gemma smiled. No more folic acid pills, which Jason had been sticking on her tongue every morning as if she had been attending mass at the local church.
She booked another appointment in a month’s time for further checks on the baby.
“Unless you have concerns.” Maggie stopped typing the measurements into the computer record and looked at her.
Their e-mail exchanges had gone on over the last few weeks. Their doctor/patient relationship had transformed into a friendship. Gemma was tempted to ask her out for lunch one day or a chat after work. She chuckled over some of their e-mails. The two women shared a similar sense of humour, allowing Maggie the opportunity to explore Gemma’s kinky lifestyle, picking it apart with subtle questions about domination and submission. Sadomasochism the doctor didn’t understand, but she liked the idea of handing over control to another person.
Of course, Gemma told her, domination and submission worked if both roles were successfully fulfilled. Returning to work, following the scan, Gemma pushed aside the impending assignation with her husband that evening at the White House. Her rather dominating husband, who fitted the requirement perfectly.
His lecture, conducted with her standing on oak flooring, seemed to echo about the study. He perched on the edge of his desk, arms wrapped about his chest, and ran through her list of failing with unpleasant clarity. Her lack of assertion for staying in a meeting, which would be meaningless to her in a few months’ time. His humiliation at having a wife who couldn’t keep a simple appointment, when others seemed to be there early, desperate to see their babies appear on the monitor screen. His voice quiet, warped into an unbearable sound of disenchantment.
She remembered little of the detail. She caved in, became fractious, and her emotional state cracked apart. In her hormonal stew, his chastisement seemed excessive. Her ability to process what would be routine reprimand failed. Not a word passed out of her lips; instead, she sobbed.
Jason held her tight, as her tears formed rivulets down her cheeks. “Gem, please don’t. I can’t help you like this.” He scooped her up, sat on the Chesterfield sofa, and deposited her on his lap.
She’d surprised him with her emotional collapse—he’d shifted into aftercare. He rocked her, maintaining his embrace. Coiling her legs up, she clung to him.
“I’m sorry,” she blubbered.
“Don’t apologise. This isn’t working, is it? Rules and everything—”
She shook her head. “It is. It is. Honestly. I’m just finding my emotions difficult to handle. I mean, you’ve told me off before, and I’ve not disintegrated into a heap.” She hiccupped, wiping her nose with her sleeve, which caused Jason to roll his eyes. She giggled at his exaggerated mannerism.
His arms dropped away and she sat up, unaided. “I’ve overreacted to all this.”
“Don’t be silly. You’re a good sub, even with the odd breakdown in communication.”
“Don’t end this, please.” She pressed a hand to his chest.
He wiped away her tears with a thumb and cocked his head to his side. “You know how gorgeous you look? Pathetic, but deliciously sexy. I’m a sadist, but I don’t enjoy watching you fall apart. I’m don’t want you to be an emotional masochist for me. It’s not you. No more punishments. If you screw up, we’ll deal with it without resorting to penalties and lectures.”
“How will the rules work if you can’t make me accountable?”
“Babe, your own disappointment is punishment enough. Come clean, apologise, and we’ll draw a line under it.”
She drew in a long breath. “After the birth—”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
They talked about the scan, the latest edition to her picture collection. Something to show the grandparents when they next called round for a visit, a bump-admiring visit. The conversation perked her up. Sitting side by side on the sofa, snuggled up to him, she chatted about her gallery plans. Since she’d e-mailed Hugh Henderson, his connections had proved very useful, and from his contacts, Gemma continued to build a network of people to help with her art gallery and scholarship ideas. Jason applauded her efforts.
He made love to her, later that evening, a glorious display of his skills in drawing her out from her despondency and making her glow. Sinking into her, as she rested over a pile of pillows, he eased in and out, clutching her shoulders. She clenched hard about him and let her extended stomach rest on the pillows. Rocking against her, he leaned down to nibble on her neck. She giggled and in her faintest voice, asked him to pull on her hair.
Grasping the ponytail, he drew her head back and her chin upwards. Deeper he went, a penetration of his hardness which transcended the disappointment of anything she’d done that day. It brought out her baser needs, and she panted as he growled above her. She let him verbalise his needs, to hear him utter obscenities wasn’t an insult—she sought the lust of being his slut. Still desired and wanted. It fed her emotional ego, allowing her to surrender to a state of submission.
She begged to come, a string of pleading words. He teased her, flicking his fingers about her body and playfully pinching her between his forefinger and thumb. The command to come given, and she did, with Jason locked in her pussy. On she went, howling in disbelief at the sensations inside her belly as he pumped, making her shake uncontrollably.
“No more,” she gasped. “I can’t take…it…Sir.”
Jason finished. Releasing her from his clutches, he murmured into her ear. “I love you. Don’t ever doubt that I love you. You’re a gorgeous sub and a beautiful wife. Plus, I love fucking you.” She melted against him.
With Jason fast asleep next to her, Gemma resolved not to put a foot wrong. Those last few months of pregnancy, she would stay focused, not stressed. Maintain a serene state of pregnancy. She didn’t care about Daniel and his company. She’d played her part, contributed to the company’s success. She was moving on. She wouldn’t miss coffee—herbal teas would be her new passion. Jason would treat her to meals out, allowing her to indulge in desserts and cake. Having him present them to her as gifts would be far more nourishing to their relationship than clandestinely devouring them in his absence.
What had started out as a list of rules became a release from stress. Over the next few weeks and months, Gemma spent a considerable amount of her time curled up on cushions at Jason’s feet, showing him her gratitude by simply being with him.
Chapter 8. Preparations
At seven months pregnant, Gemma plucked up her courage and asked Maggie out for afternoon tea. They’d both agreed their friendship wasn’t a breach of ethics. She was an expectant mother, not a patient. Her obstetrician accepted the offer with appreciative words and they agreed to meet one Thursday afternoon. Gibson pulled the ca
r up outside the side entrance of the private hospital. Waiting in a doorway, Maggie scrutinised the rain clouds. The doctor seemed apprehensive as she tugged on her collar, trying to shelter from the bitter December cold. Stepping forward, Maggie peered at the privacy window. When Gemma lowered the window, Maggie’s face lit up.
Joining Gemma on the back seat, Maggie stared at the driver’s seat. “Wow. A chauffeur.” Maggie grinned.
Gemma couldn’t tell if Maggie was impressed or perturbed by the presence of the driver. She recalled how ill at ease she had been when Jason used to collect her from her tiny apartment in his chauffeur-driven cars. Jason told her back then she would become accustomed to the privilege and accept the arrangement without thought. Seeing Maggie’s disconcerted face, Gemma realised he had predicted the future quite accurately; she felt quite at home in the back of the Jaguar.
“Gibson is my protection officer. Driving high-powered cars is a perk. I assume?” She lifted her voice so Gibson could hear.
Gibson tilted the rear-view mirror before answering. “Depends on the car, ma’am.”
Turning to Maggie, Gemma spoke. “I thought you might like to have tea at the Dorchester Hotel. Starbucks doesn’t compare to a proper, well-presented afternoon tea.”
Maggie put a hand on her chest. “That would be fantastic.”
Gemma leaned back and repositioned the uncomfortable seat belt yet again under her bump.
“Do you have afternoon tea at the Dorchester often?” Maggie asked.
“Oh no. I’ve taken my parents a couple of times. Mum likes to be pampered. It’s nice to treat people.”
“Your husband doesn’t take you there then?”
“Not so far. We dine out for lunch sometimes, but he doesn’t stray too far from his office. A quick hour for lunch and back again.”
“What about the weekend?”
“We live outside London at the weekends. Just the two of us. Very quiet and reclusive.”
