by Jaye Peaches
The other stipulations Jason had suggested followed. She re-joined her Pilates class, choosing one on a Wednesday afternoon and leaving Joshua with Clara. When it came to leaving him, her leaden legs could barely cross the threshold of the front door. For a moment, she felt like a terribly bad mother, abandoning her son to accommodate her own indulgences. The crippling guilt went with her in the car. Anxiously picking at her leggings, she came close to asking Gibson to turn the car around and take her home. She didn’t. She held firm and left the class feeling invigorated.
The despondency lifted further when she took Joshua to see her Zumba friends for the first time. Though not able to do the intense workout—she didn’t want to shake her breasts about—she had the opportunity to sit and chat with her friends as they met afterwards in their usual café. They made comments about his dainty looks, discussed whether his eyes would be blue or green and, of course, admired his hair. The newborn locks had nearly all fallen out and revealed, underneath, another dusting of blondness.
The Thursday before she had her six-week checkup with Maggie, she and Jason discussed the new set of protocols for her submission. He hadn’t rushed to provide her with written details. He waited for her to put in place the other measures.
She presented her new routine to him after dinner, lying on the bed at the White House: the mums’ support group she would meet at a local church hall, Zumba on Mondays, Pilates on a Wednesday, and she would forgo salsa classes until she’d weaned Joshua off her milk. She would have a weekly massage, wax, and pedicure on a Thursday and have Joshua weighed once a fortnight until he was weaned.
“Good,” said Jason and handed her a sheet of paper to read through. “I don’t think these will surprise you. They are basically what they were when we first met, without the pregnancy ones, and no time limits, of course.”
Gemma’s first reaction, upon reading the new set of rules, was Oh my God, what am I doing? The time limit’s gone and her submission to be uninterrupted. She had never given any Dom such a gift on an indefinite basis. She’d been submissive for weekends with some of her previous Dominants, her holidays with Jason, and for the duration of her pregnancy. What she held was a substantial undertaking. No restrictions on her sexual use, with the exception of stated hard limits.
The second reaction: a tingling, electric buzz in her clit. Merely reading the rules filled her with erotic excitement. Her breast constricted and she was convinced milk leaked into her pads.
Gemma turned on to her side to face him, biting her lip, uncertain as to the nature of her emotions. Was she up to the task?
Jason’s face was annoyingly blank. Whatever he thought about the rules, he obviously didn’t want it to cloud her thoughts. “If you weren’t daunted by this, I would think there was something wrong with you.” He glanced over to where Joshua stirred in his crib.
“What do you want, Jason?” Mutual consent was critical to success.
“I am happy for us to return to the arrangement we had in place before you were pregnant, Gem. You know I never would demand you be mine for 24/7 or for indefinite periods. I don’t need you waiting on me or giving your life to serve me or anything that involves micromanaging you.”
“So you don’t want this?” She waved the piece of paper in his face.
A slowly drawn smile formed across his face.
“I didn’t say that. I had assumed you wouldn’t want or need to be controlled like this. All along, since I’ve been your Dominant, you’ve shied away from needing anything continuous. Your recovery from your assaults took precedence over my wishes to impose on you something I believed you weren’t capable of achieving. To have you accessible to me all day, any day, is not something you seemed to desire, and you rejected me once because of your fears. For me, I would love to fuck you when I want, how I want. To have you naked for me at my command. To have this delicious body of yours and discipline you for my pleasure. Does that not sound like a Dominant’s paradise?”
Gemma had to admit, from his point of view, it did sound amazingly erotic and fulfilling.
He sighed. “I’m not going to force you. I never expected this kind of arrangement, Gem, not in my wildest dreams. I put it out of my mind every time we’ve discussed your submission. I told you in New York, in the first year of our marriage, I was satisfied with your submission, your limits, your availability, and sexual skills. I still mean it. We can go back to how we were. I wouldn’t make you something you’re not.”
She contemplated his words. Was she pushing herself to be something she wasn’t? She was adamant he wouldn’t treat her as a full-blown slave, not in the context of the BDSM world. The agreement gave her plenty of freedoms—for speech, leisure, and career. The restrictions on her diet had gone, although he had added one rule that was a catch all—instigating temporary measures to achieve particular goals. There were no rituals described, no mention of how she should address him other than with respect. Nor had he laboured to produce a list of specific chores or services beyond sexual ones.
As if he read her mind, Jason spoke again. “I’m not a machine. I’m not going to be fucking you day and night, every day. Remember how we were before I asked you to marry me. I was busy and tired during the week. That doesn’t change. We will have the romance, the vanilla nights, and all that. I know it is important to you. To be treated as a wife, to be seduced. All we’re doing is removing time limits and making it explicit that you’re mine to control. No more ambiguity about what to expect from me. Your marriage vows become your submissive rules. The loose ends tied up. You are my obedient wife and sub.”
“I don’t want be a fuck vessel.... I would be a hypocrite. I’ve always told you I don’t want to be a sex slave.” She recalled all the indignant tirades—on the plane to New York and at the apartment there—when she had spoken with determination about her wishes.
“Definitely not. Be realistic. I’m working. You’re a new mum. What little time left in the day for the pair of us will be limiting in itself. What I will be able to do for you is help you. Make sure you don’t fall prey to your low self-esteem, your lack of discipline about your goals in life, and ensure you stay positive, occupied, and content with being a mum. That you continue to learn and discover yourself. In return, you will give me your obedience, your masochist pain, and your wonderful orgasms. You will thrill me with your submission, and I get to own you;your sexual being will be mine to possess. Everything this beautiful body has to offer me. I will always love you and take care of you. You are mine, babe.”
Owned. Possessed. His.
All words that called out to her innate need to be given over to somebody. She wanted him then. Sod Maggie, let him loose on me. However, Jason’s self-control was exemplary. Behind his facade of willpower, he must want her. Gemma disciplined her trembling fingers and tightened her grip on the piece of paper. She contained her fantastical thoughts of lust.
“What do my safe-words mean? Specifically ‘red’ in this context?”
“Yellow remains the same—mercy. Red ends a scene. It provides a break from each other, especially if you think I’m being unreasonable with regard to your abilities. It doesn’t rescind the agreement or the rules. That would take more than one safe-word. If you don’t want to be my submissive, we would end the agreement and start again from scratch, like after I proposed to you. No tinkering with rules every week to fit your moods. They must have staying power, and we will renegotiate them after a suitable time frame. It would defeat the purpose of controlling you to bend them to your will. This is different from anything we’ve done before.” He squeezed her hand. “Don’t decide now.”
Joshua started to cry. Gemma rolled off the bed. The conversation had reached a natural conclusion.
The next day, Maggie gave her the all-clear.
“This is the end of our formal arrangement.” Maggie printed off the discharge letter. “You’ve not suffered with the blues too much?”
“A little, to be honest. Jason stepped in, all D
om on me, and we’re going to try something new. Me being his submissive on a full-time basis.” Her voice wavered. Just saying it made her nervous.
“Are you sure about that? Sounds like a big commitment.”
“Oh. Kind of, yes, it is. Well, actually, no.” She halted. Maggie’s eyebrows had knitted together in a confused expression. Gemma took a deep breath. “Nothing really much is going to change. To the outside world, we will continue to be Mr and Mrs Lucas. When we are in the company of others, nothing will show of what we are to each other. The precious time we have to ourselves won’t amount to much. I vowed to obey him as is wife. So I am his sub, his wife, and a mum. A triad of roles.”
Explaining to Maggie convinced Gemma she wanted to commit to Jason’s control over her life. His rules. She itched to tell him.
The day dragged as she waited for him to arrive at Blythewood. She painted in the atelier while Clara pushed Joshua around the extensive grounds in his pram. Later, Clara left, and not long afterwards, Jason greeted Gemma in the hallway. She held Joshua in her arms. He tickled his son’s cheek with his little finger.
“Well?”
She rocked Joshua and smiled at her husband. “I’m fine. Everything is fine. Dinner is ready.”
After eating, Gemma showed him her latest painting. She’d propped it up on a chair in the sitting room. A picture of the atelier with Joshua asleep in his crib.
Jason sipped on his glass of wine. “It’s lovely, darling. I’m pleased the atelier is working out for you.”
Upstairs in the master bedroom, Joshua took an eternity to fall asleep. She resorted to having him next to her in bed, massaging his tummy and singing lullabies. Finally, the baby nodded off. She dozed, vaguely aware of Jason arriving in the room, moving about. Opening her eyes, she watched him scoop up Joshua with his long-fingered hands and lay him in his crib next to the bay window.
Jason lit scented candles and switched off the lights. Shadows flickered on the walls. The subtle aroma of lavender hung in the air about them. Mesmerised by his purposeful arrangement of the room, she knew what awaited her. She felt the familiar quickening in her lower belly and watched him undress without blinking, not wanting to skip a moment of their time together.
His cock was resplendently hard and leapt out of his pants. He leant against the closet door, stroking his erection. “Your turn.”
She slipped out of her clothes as seductively as possible. Each layer stripped way with a wriggle of her hips. Her knickers slid down her legs, and she kicked them over to him. He caught her panties and sniffed them.
“Mmmm.” The lacy knickers ended up on the floor. “Next time, I’m going to tear them off you.”
She edged closer, hiding her trembling hands behind her back. His cupped her face and drew her into his arms.
“Babe, I’ve missed you,” he murmured, burying his nose in her hair.
“I’ve missed you, too.”
He glanced at the crib. “I’m going to make love to you, nothing else for tonight.”
“I like that idea. I think I could go with it,” she whispered.
Leaning against him, she kissed the apex of his breastbone. He tasted slightly salty with a trace of shower gel.
Suddenly, he bent down, capturing her in his arms. She whooped with surprise. He scooped her up and tossed her on the bed.
He explored her flesh, each curve and dip, the raised nipples, the exposed neck, the firm buttock cheeks, and all of her secret treasures. He smeared fragrant oils across her body. She shimmered in the candlelight. After a long, leisurely buildup, which drove her to the edge of coming, he settled between her legs, nudging her knees apart.
A gentle penetration. She groaned, gritting her teeth together to mute the sound. He seemed to savour her, dipping in and out, rocking his hips against her thighs. His arms acted like pillars, supporting his weight on either side of her head. She wanted him closer, to feel his chest press down on her. She gripped about his shoulders and hung on to him as he lingered between her legs, neither picking up his pace nor halting. A rhythmic thrust, like the tick-tock of a clock’s hands. Coiling her limbs around his waist, she became a limpet, stuck fast to him, and each thrust sent ripple-like waves crashing around her beached body.
She curled her toes into her soles, clenched her pussy, and squeezed him until he shuddered. Each grinding movement of his cock became a delicious sensation of friction, working her G-spot into a frenzy of expectation. With her orgasm imminent, she clawed at his shoulder blades, digging in her nails, and he growled, but he didn’t tell her to stop.
She came freely. His tender words of adoration encouraging her to completion. Not the vulgar expressions he used during scenes when he demonstrated his dominance. Instead, he concocted a magical soup of verbal indulgence, keeping her on the brink. The candles flickered against the plain walls, creating erotic shadows. She could see him projected, a dancing silhouette, rising and falling. She arched to meet his slow pedantic gyrations, and then, to her surprise, her pussy drenched with a flood of wetness.
“I want to fill you, babe, make you mine again, show you my love,” he murmured. “You’re burning, like a furnace beneath me.”
“Do it,” she gasped, letting her arms and legs flop down, away from him.
She gave her signal. He withdrew from her saturated pussy, rose up above her head, and lowered his cock into her mouth. He descended carefully, letting her tongue slip underneath his ribbed surface. Her arms wrapped about his thighs and in reply, he sat astride and pinned her down. As he fucked her mouth, she came uncontrollably, her legs writhing behind him, and she bucked as she sucked him deeper into her throat. His veins throbbed against her tongue, and the sliding, bulbous tip tickled the roof of her mouth. She devoured him, tasting her own pussy flavour and saliva.
Cupping his sacs, she stroked and twirled the fine hairs until he let out a muted howl and came. She swallowed his semen, spluttering, as he pumped vigorously.
“Gem, Gem,” he crooned until he finished emptying himself into her throat.
His cock remained rigid and hard as she licked him clean.
“You’re a magician, babe. A spellcaster.” He withdrew his cock from her mouth. “Look at it. Nothing will diminish it when you let me take you.”
“Then take me, lover.” She twirled her tongue around her moist lips and raised her arms above her head. A position of surrender.
“So be it.” He flipped her over, and she hooted with delight.
The mattress beneath her shifted. He moved, reaching over to the bedside table. A few seconds later, she felt it. A familiar coldness. She flinched then let loose a small giggle of anticipation and nervousness. He smeared the lubricant, fingering her puckered hole.
“Here is where you love it, babe.”
“Yes, there.” She juddered, fighting to calm her excitement. “You know I do. Make me wild.”
He prised past her tight entrance, stretching her with two fingers while his other hand gripped her waist, drawing her backwards onto his probing fingers. She came up on to her knees and spread her legs wide.
“My holes. I’m big, babe, like a ramrod. I’m going to fuck you to oblivion.”
Far from feeling afraid of his intentions, she beckoned to him, pushing back, steadying her body using her supportive limbs. She spied their reflection in the dressing-table mirror. Her husband rising up behind her rounded bottom, face serene, and his white-knuckled hands holding her waist. The pinch of his fingers hurt. She didn’t care.
Gemma closed her eyes, concentrating on staying relaxed and pliable for him. A deep single plunge of his cock and she instantly came. Shaking and clutching the pillow, she bit back a cry, fearful of waking her son. Coming down from a resounding high, she let herself go and disappeared into a mental black hole.
The next day, she would remember little of his long fuck.
Her abilities to please him impressed her ego. Whatever happened that night, he used her comprehensively. Her mouth, her pussy, and anus
all visited by his thick, hard erection. Even her breasts, though tender, withstood his rod between her cleavage, rocking back and forth. Most remarkably, they contained their cries so not to wake Joshua.
Tiredness overcame her in the end, and she recalled Jason bathing her before letting her sleep. Later, Joshua woke up and, as agreed earlier, Jason fed him expressed milk from a bottle. Gemma could hear him whisper in his son’s ears as he sat by the bay window in an armchair.
“Your mum is a fantastic woman, Joshua. Be good for her.” He spoke so sweetly to his son, she struggled to hold back tears of appreciation.
She climbed out of bed and knelt at Jason’s feet. Resting her hands on her thighs, her naked body still glowing from her orgasms, she articulated in a low voice. “I give myself to you. Willingly and without fear. I’m yours, Master. I submit to your will.”
Jason popped Joshua back into his crib. Turning back to face her, he lifted her chin.
“I accept your submission. I promise to protect and care for you and Joshua.”
His blue eyes glistened in the moonlight and, bending close, he kissed the tears slipping down her cheeks.
Chapter 13. Four Months Later
A Friday teatime, Jason and Gemma gathered in the kitchen at Blythewood House. Mrs Harris pureed an apple and passed the bowl to Gemma. Joshua dribbled over his first spoonful of solid food.
Jason kept his distance, snapping photographs for the family album. “This is going to be messy.” Most of the bowl of apple ended up smeared over Joshua’s face.
Gemma laughed, mopping her son’s lips with a flannel. “Yes. But not as messy as when he starts to feed himself.”
Life had settled into a routine since she had declared her submission. It amused her how unremarkable the transformation had been. She adjusted quickly. The pregnancy felt like a dry run, and she reverted to the mindset that had carried her through those months. The major difference being the influence her son had on their lives and the absences inflicted on her by Jason’s role as chief executive.
