by Jaye Peaches
Her behaviour wasn’t because she hadn’t bonded with her small child—she couldn’t take her eyes off her adorable son, and she stroked the soles of his feet as he suckled. His profile had the same handsome features as his father, and she would envisage how he grow and develop. Unfortunately, the tedium of routine deflated her mood. She didn’t know what to think or do with herself. Making excuses, she protested she was too tired to read, draw, or paint. Her brain switched off, and even chatting with Clara didn’t inspire her into activity.
Clara Davies wasn’t a dull woman. The nanny’s sense of humour Gemma found witty and engaging. She talked about her sons and their antics, the girlfriends they’d brought home as teenagers, and having to endure their fanatical interest in football. She described their family’s summer holidays, the camping trips in France or by the English coast. To Gemma, Clara was as a confident, self-assured woman who had single-handedly brought up her sons for several years.
Hearing about Clara’s life served to distort her own self-perceptions. She couldn’t focus her thoughts in any cohesive fashion. Clara’s ideas for finding a network of mums to support her sounded fine, but she couldn’t face the strain of meeting new people. She wallowed in the mud of inability or self-inflicted inertia. Sitting in the bath, watching the milk trickle out of her nipple, she squeezed the drops out and concluded she was a milk-making machine. Nothing else. Unattractive, flabby-breasted cow with the sole purpose of feeding her helpless baby.
Gemma’s mental state of lassitude and general disinterest in the outside world impacted her friends and even her family. Her mother commented she always seemed to be ringing Gemma for updates and not the other way round. She had expressed surprise when Gemma told her Joshua hadn’t been weighed since the last midwife visit two weeks previously. Her mother barked down the telephone at her, making her recoil and tears spring to her eyes.
“I shall speak to Jason.” Gemma shrank in her seat at the idea of her mother intervening.
“No, don’t. I’ll get it sorted,” she blurted. However, she didn’t. It meant leaving the house.
Fortunately, for Gemma, her mother didn’t have to interfere because Jason swung into action.
Chapter 11. Stepping up
Gemma spent the afternoon on the sofa, curled up under a blanket, flicking through the TV channels with a remote control. She drifted in a haze of uneventfulness while Joshua lay on a fleecy blanket on the floor, having one of his wakeful moments of kicking. The sitting-room door swung open. Gemma jumped, clutching a hand to her chest. Dressed in his executive clothes and looking remarkably similar to the stern-faced boss she’d met over three years earlier, stood Jason. Behind him, hovered Clara.
“Clara, could you take Joshua to his room? I want to speak to my wife alone.”
Gemma heard the distinctive Dom voice—the unwavering I-expect-obedience tone. It had been absent for many weeks. Before Joshua’s birth, she would have welcomed it with open arms. Today, she sat stunned, unsure of his intentions and whether she could cope with him. Clara scooped up Joshua and left.
“Why are you here? It’s the middle of the day.” She glanced at her watch—two o’clock in the afternoon.
He leaned back on the door, shutting it. Since Joshua’s birth, there had been no hint of calling her into play. Nothing to indicate he wanted her to be submissive, until that afternoon. Gemma could tell from his narrow-slitted eyes that he wasn’t happy.
“Is there something wrong?” she asked, becoming alarmed he might have bad news to announce.
“No. Apart from Clara ringing me to tell me my wife is slipping into a black hole of despair she seems unable to drag her out of.”
Gemma closed her eyes briefly, assimilating a growing anger. “Me? She rang you about me?” Clara had gone behind her back—how could she trust the nanny?
“I told her, if she thought you were unhappy or struggling, she should ring me. So don’t get mad at her. She’s doing her job.” He came closer, looking down at her upturned face.
“Your hair needs washing. Chipped nails, too. I don’t recall you having a wax recently.” He listed her faults as if she were an unkempt dog in a show. “You’re not taking care of yourself, are you?”
“Wh…what?” she stuttered, running her hand through her hair, fingers catching in the tangles.
“When did you last step out the front door, other than to walk a few hundred yards down the road? Far as I know, you’ve not asked for a car in days. You should be expressing your milk and letting Clara look after Joshua while you go to the salon, gym, or somewhere to get you out of this house.”
Not a drop of consideration in his stern voice. They stunned her, his cruel words. Her eyes watered as she absorbed his criticisms.
“Please, Jason, I’m tired....”
Her watery eyes didn’t deter him. “You have a nanny. Not what most mums have to help them. Apart from the breastfeeding, you can do anything you want. Yet, you sit here on your arse doing fuck all. Where’s your artistic nature, your fun-loving side now? What happened to your friends? You should be showing Joshua off, a proud mum out there. If you want to visit anyone, you have the time and resources to do it. So, why are you sitting here?”
His nastiness overwhelmed her, and she let out a sob. “Why are you saying these things to me? I’m finding my feet, still. I don’t want to go out. I don’t want company. I’m happy just being with Josh,” she blustered, glaring at him, but her heart wasn’t behind the words.
“No, you’re not. You’re apathetic and scared. Your life is changing. Our life is changing. Hiding here isn’t going to make it any easier.” He continued to loom over her, his tall stature intimidating. It implied she had to submit. She didn’t feel submissive in the slightest.
Gemma leapt up and shouted, “You bloody try, then. Have your tits chewed all day, sitting in the middle of night burping him, worrying if he’s well fed, ill...or needs anything. You try!” Tears streamed down her face, and her heart beat at a rate of knots, flooding her body with hot angry blood. “I don’t know what to do. I didn’t imagine I wouldn’t know what to do....”
For a moment, she rocked on her feet, the palpitations in her chest too strong to tolerate. Jason grabbed her and drew her into his embrace. She clung to him as if he were a rock in the middle of the ocean, her lifeline.
“It’s okay, babe. You can cry, shout, whatever. Get it out of your system. Sssh,” he soothed.
Sitting down, he pulled her on to his lap, and she curled up there for several minutes while he stroked her hair with slow sweeps.
“What’s wrong with me? I should be a happy mum,” she croaked.
“You are. You just don’t know you are. You’re that lost woman, again. The one who reappears from time to time. This time, your hormones are screwing you up. You’re tired and making your body do things it’s not use to doing. I’m not cross with you, but I don’t want you sitting here feeling sorry for yourself when you could be enjoying it all.” He kissed her tear-soaked lips, fishing out his handkerchief to wipe her snotty nose.
She frowned. “Why did you say all that stuff when you came in here?”
“Because it’s the truth and, as the cliché says, the truth hurts sometimes. What you need is structure. Either you come up with something, let Clara help you as she’s paid to do, or else I will step in. Think about it.”
She eased herself up and ran a finger around a jacket button. The answer lay before her, so obvious, yet so hard to articulate. “I miss you, Jason. You know what I mean. No sex or spankings to rescue me. Well, there are the blow jobs, but they are yours.”
“I offered you orgasms. You declined.”
“I don’t feel they would be right. Like a halfway house. Neither satisfying nor fulfilling, they would be functional, not emotional. I want you back inside me, owning me, making me all yours. I’m in limbo. I miss your rules and presence in my life. Your control over me.” The words stumbled out of her mouth. Why was it so hard to talk about her needs?
He listened patiently, head cocked to one side. “Gem. You’re subdropping. Remember, we laughed about this with Maggie when she mentioned the baby blues? You do know everything you have just said is one big major subdrop—the baby blues.”
Gemma went quiet, pondering his explanation. He had seen it. Why hadn’t she? “What should I do?” she whimpered, tears building again.
“It’s simple, darling. Make a life out of your days. You’ve four days a week in this house. Make the most of being in the middle of a city and be active. Get out and about. Join those baby groups and fill your days. When you want some time to yourself, you can give Joshua to Clara. That is what she is here to do. Eventually, you will want to start that art gallery business, and she can care for Joshua while you work. Spend Fridays being creative in the atelier. Take Clara with you. One of the drivers can take her home at the end of the day. Then it will be us two at the weekend, as it has been.”
Everything he said made sense. She snuggled closer to him and it started to happen, the need to be touched by him. Her breaths grew faster and she couldn’t keep her eyes off his face. His expression softened. A faint smile drifted across his lips, his blue eyes penetrated, reaching into retrieve her forgotten submissiveness. He shifted his hand, followed the contours of her body, sought out the waistband of her trousers and with characteristic ease, he peeled them down, along with her knickers.
The bleeding had stopped a few days earlier. She’d told him, and he’d seemed pleased, though they both knew she remained out of bounds for another couple of weeks. Her fear of orgasms seemed silly and selfish. Gemma had been taught that, though they gave her pleasure, her orgasms were gifted to her by her Dominant. His to own, demand or deny. Jason hadn’t denied her, she had.
His finger touched her clitoris, a gentle caress and she shut her eyes with a moan of delight. Her lips moved soundlessly, but in her head she chanted, Take me, take me.
For half an hour, Gemma underwent a sexual rebirth. He continued to strip her clothes off in a leisurely fashion, invoking her with murmured words of enticement. He didn’t touch her lactating breasts. Instead, he reminded her of his mastery in the sensory realm. Nothing painful, he concentrated on the pleasurable. He required only his fingers, lips, and tongue to tease out of her the necessary orgasm. She thrashed about on his lap as he circled her swollen clit, pressing down with his fingertips. She buried her mouth in his suit and stifled the cries. The ecstasy of coming, after a long sexual vacation, caused almost painful cramps and intense sensitivity in her organ. She knocked his hand away, unable to tolerate his touch any longer. Limpness followed the rather splendid climax. On her belly, she lay across his lap as he stroked her naked back and buttocks. She pushed back against him.
“Are you sure?” he whispered.
“Yes, Sir, please.” She encased her head in her arms.
A supreme spanking, cathartic in quality and outcome. All the tension left her body, and she soared into a state of subspace. By her standards, the spanking wasn’t especially painful or prolonged. The smacks echoed about the room. Nobody to hear them and with the blinds drawn, their privacy maintained. Passing pedestrians would have no idea what went on behind the windows.
Patting at first, he increased the power and flatness of his hand. He bounced his palm against her bottom cheeks as if she were a springboard. Every few blows, he rubbed away the stings. By the end, she imagined her buttocks covered in pink handprints and her globes glowed in tandem with the image. For a few minutes, he rested his hand on her fiery buttock. A gentle, calming weight. His restraint filled her with gratitude. Much as she wished to be fucked, it wasn’t appropriate. His cock twitched beneath her belly, poking upwards through his pants.
“Thank you, Master,” she murmured, utterly relaxed on his lap.
As she regained her awareness, the desire to show him gratitude overwhelmed. He’d extracted himself from work at short notice in order to deal with her issues. His indulgence made her purr inside with delight, but she wanted to pay him back. She unzipped his flies, slipped down onto her knees, ending up between his legs and, with relish, began the task of reciprocation. He sighed and leant his head back. She cherished his serene face with his lips slightly parted, uttering quiet noises of appreciation.
She swallowed his hot, salty ejaculate and licked him clean.
“Good girl.” They exchanged smiles of satisfaction.
Perched at his feet, she conceded the solution to her problems presented itself in the form of her husband. She’d learnt during her pregnancy that she needed his guidance, his control in her daily life. Above all else, the protocols established had to be beyond the bounds of sexual submission.
“I once told Maggie, when she asked about submissive qualities, that I am a part-time semi-slave type submissive.”
Jason covered his limp cock, re-zipped his trousers, and smiled. “Reasonably accurate.” He cocked his head to one side. “Go on.”
“The semi-slave suits me fine. I don’t want you to tell me when to brush my teeth, give me permission to sit on the loo, or speak. What I found out when I was pregnant is the time limits for my submission aren’t necessary anymore. For one thing, I don’t think, with Joshua, we would get close to eighteen hours of scenes or kinky play every week. We rarely achieved it when I wasn’t pregnant.” Since their marriage, and with the exception of holidays, her submission to Jason had been confined by time limits. The location had become less significant; she’d accepted play could happen outside the boundaries of their bedroom or his dungeon.
“True.” He grinned, his finger ran down her face, tracing the outline of her nose and lips. “No time limits. You want to be my submissive full-time? 24/7. You know I don’t require that level of service from you.”
“I know, but it wouldn’t be a full blown Master/slave-type relationship. I just want your control in my life to a degree that helps me cope and gives you pleasure. To submit to your will as you wish, and then, when we have sex, I would be there ready for you. I’ve missed being available to you. It’s a struggle, sometimes, but that kind of submissive is now all I desire to be.”
“I’ve always sought your consent. I wouldn’t want to place you under any obligation.”
“I think we’ve grown to know each other well enough that verbal consent isn’t always the way you call me to play or do a scene. Sometimes you have to cajole me, like on holiday, or when I disobey, resist you. I trust you. You would never hurt me. It’s been a long time since you took my submission for granted. I have my dignity.”
“I would never take your submission for granted. I’ve made that mistake in the past. I don’t want to lose your trust.” He paused, contemplating. His finger moved from her face, and he rubbed it along his chin. “Rules. We had rules for your pregnancy. Do we define the boundaries, my expectations of you? I don’t want you to accuse me of suffocating you.” He offered her clothes. “Put them back on, Gem. You look cold.”
She hadn’t noticed her post-orgasm shivers. “Yes, rules would be alright. Nothing detailed. I can’t abide those long lists of rituals some subs harp on about.”
“Fine. I don’t want them either. For one thing they’re bloody hard work to maintain, discipline wise.”
There was a period of silence while she got dressed and he ruminated. Standing up, he walked about the room and opened the blinds. The spring sunshine blazed down, brightening the decor.
“They would have to incorporate your time with Joshua. I want you to find some occupation for yourself, Gemma. Seriously. Go and meet your Zumba friends; take him with you. I have no issue with you breastfeeding in public places as long as you are discreet.”
“Okay. I would like that. I thought I might go back to my Pilates class while I’m breastfeeding. Build my energy levels back up.”
“And your stomach muscles. I want that shapely figure back.” He wagged a playful finger. “You look pale. Go and see that GP of yours and check you’re not anaemic. I want Joshua weighed ev
ery two weeks. Make sure he’s growing properly, and it will reassure you he is getting enough milk.”
The plans came together quickly. Back in his hands, she felt a sense of calm purposefulness.
Jason straightened her shirt collar. “Unfortunately, I have to return to work. I have a meeting I need to be present at.” He stared down at his suit. “Shit! I’m covered in your slobber.” He grimaced, but his eyes betrayed his emotions—they twinkled.
He bent over to give her a brief kiss on the lips.
“I love you so much,” she said.
“I know.”
Chapter 12. Beginning again
Dr Blanchard confirmed Jason’s diagnosis.
“You’re mildly anaemic. Just on the threshold of iron deficiency. I won’t prescribe tablets, but you need to increase the iron content in your diet. Green leaves, fortified cereals, that sort of thing.”
Gemma visited the GP the day after Jason’s intervention. The doctor called Joshua sweet. Gemma suspected she said that to all new mums. She explained about her lethargy and feeling low. Her diligent doctor asked a string of probing questions then she reassured Gemma she wasn’t suffering from postnatal depression, just a bout of baby blues.
“Get those good vibes going, Gemma. A brisk walk with a push chair.”
Gemma opted to register Joshua at a surgery closer to the White House. A private practice with a full array of services including baby-weighing sessions, yoga classes for stressed-out parents, and healthy-diet workshops. Compared to her own surgery, the place had a gentle, quiet atmosphere and suited her requirements.
