Sublime Trust

by Jaye Peaches

  She yearned for him during his trips abroad, which created a ghostly emptiness at night and left her with a sense of vulnerability. Jason had left her alone many times before, but on those occasions, she’d never had to stir from her bed to deal with a fractious child. They had moved Joshua out of the master bedroom into his nursery. Whether he woke her or not, she would lie awake, pestered by a deep-seated obligation to check on him. She observed his breathing, warmth, and position in his cot. Returning to her bed, she noted the empty space next to her and sighed into the silence.

  To help with the separations, Jason installed a Webcam in his study at the White House. When he went abroad, they would try to find time in the evening to chat using the technology. By the time Joshua was four months old, he’d settled into sleeping earlier in the evening. It gave her the opportunity to talk to Jason alone.

  Not just talk. Webcams opened up a new world of online, long-distance play. When he commanded her to undress and present her naked body to him via the camera, she could see his response portrayed on the screen. Her image, which appeared in a miniature window, proved disconcerting until she accepted it was necessary to help her with positioning.

  At first, he liked looking at her nudity. He quickly progressed the online scenes into more substantial activities. He would tell her to masturbate with either her fingers or a vibrator. Why she found the setup hard, she didn’t know. Nobody else was watching and although he wasn’t in the room with her, he had her attention. Playing with herself before a tiny lens stuck to his desk lacked dignity. However, an orgasm was a good carrot to encourage her and she gushed with gratitude as she came. He never reciprocated. If he took pleasure, it was off camera.

  On a couple of occasions, he requested she do scenes involving pain play. He favoured clamps on her tender parts, instructing her to add weights until her eyes stung with tears.

  “Swing your hips back and forth. Legs farther apart.” His face seemed to be peering closely at the screen. His camera was mounted into his laptop. He loomed forward, lips curving up at the ends. “Now, frig my little clitty.”

  Oh crap, she muttered under her breath. The pain below as the weights dragged her sex lips down collided with the humiliation. She blurted. “Please, may I come?”

  When they’d finished the scene, he stayed on the line for some emotional aftercare. “All right? Pain gone?”

  “Yes. I’m okay.” She winced and cupped her mons, wishing she had a cold pack. “You do know that when it comes to sadomasochism, you’re the Top, not me. I’m not very good at self-inflicted pain.”

  “Uh, uh. So that is why you came?” He laughed, eyes twinkling with delight.

  Another time, he berated her for taking time adding the clamps to her delicate labia.

  “It’s one thing for you to attach clamps, it’s quite another for me to do it to myself,” she snarled.

  “Babe, unfortunately when it comes to online stuff, you’ve got to play the part. I enjoyed watching you squirm. Fancy an orgasm? How about a vibrating toy?”

  She admitted the massaging wand was a blissful addition then convulsed with a strong orgasm as he ordered her to come.

  When at home, to help her adjust to the lifestyle changes, he added a ritual to their mornings so she woke up in the right frame of mind for him. If Joshua woke up first, Jason would bring him to her for a feed, otherwise she knelt by Jason’s bedside and told him, “I’m yours, Sir.” A precursor to offering her body to him each morning.

  At weekends, the offering usually resulted in his morning fuck, especially if Joshua didn’t require attention. During the week, Jason preferred to spend his limited time with Joshua. It pleased Gemma that he chose Joshua and not her. It meant she could crawl back into bed until Clara turned up, usually when Jason headed out the front door.

  The nature of their sexual interactions changed when Joshua moved out of the bedroom. She’d felt uncomfortable with the idea of her son hearing them having kinky sex, imagining in years to come the child recounting the trauma of listening. For those early months, the kink had remained out of Joshua’s sight and sound, even if he was a small baby. Instead, Jason had used her in other rooms. Stretched across the table in the kitchen or on all fours before the lifeless TV screen, he fucked or played with her. Wherever they went, so did the baby monitor, linking them back to his crib. With his relocation to his nursery came a sense of guilty liberation.

  Jason didn’t ramp up the kink with Joshua’s absence. She tried not to sulk. Fear of interruption challenged their playtime and Jason, as a consequence, kept the scenes simple. No elaborate bondage, which disappointed her—she adored being bound from head to toe—and he always ensured she could be rapidly released.

  Her lactating breasts remained out of bounds, and he never did anything more than caress the tender flesh. His gentle touches confused her brain. Not exactly sexually stimulating, it sometimes triggered a release of milk from her nipple. Watching her breastfeed in the evenings, he leaned over and whispered in his son’s ears. “I’ll have these back soon.”

  He conquered her inability to leave the house by indulging her. While Clara babysat, Jason grabbed any opportunities to take her out for meals, the theatre, or to a concert. Those adult moments became as important as sex to Gemma. Jason spoilt her taste buds, ordering her favourite dishes, especially desserts. To repay him, she dressed in her most stunning frocks and behaved impeccably. With a beaming smile spread across his face, he took her upon his arm like a magnificent jewel. If the odd photojournalist snapped a shot of them out and about, he didn’t seem to care. She wondered if fatherhood had mellowed his hostile attitude towards unwanted attention.

  He took her to see a West End musical and, during the journey home, in the back of the car, he asked about her art-gallery plans. She’d decided to resurrect them from the sidelines. His questions drained her, emptying the lingering melodies out of her head, and, instead of snuggling up against him, she slumped into his shoulder. Her initial attempts to kick-start her project had floundered, but she didn’t want him to know. It had to be her baby.

  “I’ve started to search for a suitable property.” Jason’s company had extensive connections with London’s real-estate businesses. They had provided her with numerous options. Too many, she realised. Her criteria had been too broad.

  “Good.” He patted her thigh. “I’m glad.” He lounged, stretched out his long legs, and closed his eyes. He didn’t see her nibble on her lower lip.

  The next evening, Gemma sat cross-legged on the sitting room rug at the White House, surrounded by property descriptions of commercial buildings in central London. She grasped at her hair and cursed. Her head spun. She’d no idea where she should situate the gallery. With a furious attack of frustration, she gathered up the pile of glossy documents and tossed them high into the air. They drifted down in a random fashion, scattering across the carpet. She knelt in their midst, full of self-inflicted despondency. She’d told Jason she had everything clear in her head. She’d been wrong. Her grand scheme crawled forward at a snail’s pace.

  She heard the door handle squeak and glanced over her shoulder. His evening conference call to the States had finished early.

  “What’s going on?” Jason leant on the doorframe, crossed his ankles, and scratched his temple with a finger. Dressed in jeans and shirt, he appeared quite unlike an executive—very sexy, relaxed, and tranquil. She listed his qualities with annoyance. Why couldn’t she chill out?

  “My new filing system.” She frowned at the mess of papers.

  He snorted. “Not very effective.”

  “Rather like me.” She flicked a pen across the floor. It disappeared under a chair. A mistake.

  He came closer, standing over her. “Take your clothes off.” He spoke with sharpness she couldn’t ignore.

  She shut her eyes and took a deep breath. Why now? Couldn’t he leave her alone? Her hesitation bordered on defiance. She expected him to make a pointed remark, but he gave her a modicum of tim
e to accept his command. She stripped, dragging her clothes off her rigid limbs, as if to make a statement about her reticence. She laid the garments on a nearby chair and returned to kneel near his feet. Her heart pounded. As much as she hated the humiliation, she found his demeanour increasingly calming. She needed to empty her thoughts, focus on him.

  “Clean up this mess.” He stepped over the papers, strode over to the drinks’ cabinet, and poured a whisky. It probably had been his original intention to fetch a drink before stumbling upon her childish tantrum.

  She crawled about the floor, picking up the sheets: specifications, floor plans, and marketing briefs. She piled them on a coffee table and returned to kneel in the middle of the room. She stared at the rug beneath her, her lips squeezed together.

  He sat in his favoured armchair, placing the tumbler on a nearby table. “Present yourself to me, Gemma.”

  She wanted to cry. Weary. Confused. Her body ached with the desire to please him, yet, she wallowed in her own misery. With a concerted effort, she adjusted her posture, straightened her back, parted her legs, and placed her hands on her thighs. She viewed his feet. She’d conducted her movements without poise or grace. It had been a long time since she had accomplished elegance in her slave-like positions.

  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Babe, try to relax. Take deep breaths. Shut your eyes.”

  She filled her lungs and fought to empty her mind of anxieties. She imagined undressing her handsome husband; revealing his splendid features caused a smile to spread across her face.

  “Better. Paint a picture in your head. Don’t think of those properties you’ve been viewing. Think of what you have always imagined your art gallery to look like.” She heard the creak of leather as he settled back into his seat. Time was not the issue now. He waited.

  She saw before her a building. A single storey building, perhaps with a mezzanine floor. Panels of artwork arranged in symmetry. Daylight through a wide window at the front, a darker, artificially lit area at the back. White floors. White walls. A couple of comfortable settees. Office area at the back. Deliveries to the rear through a kitchenette. Modern feel. Her basic design. Parts of it varied according to what pictures she visualised on the walls. Traditional paintings, landscapes, and portraits. Upstairs would be for special collections, commissioned from the students she would sponsor. Too much, surely, for one building to accommodate.

  Her eyelids fluttered. She opened her mouth to speak, but Jason interjected. “Buildings are just empty spaces. You can put what you like in them. Decide on how much space you need. Don’t look at their interiors now. Anything that isn’t structural can be removed.”

  Don’t worry about space. Where did she want to put her gallery?

  “Location. I....”

  “Sssh. Locations are about clientele. Find where your customers are now. Where they go. You want to be there. Create a mission statement. Be different from the competition.”

  She’d driven past two places she admired. Up-market areas with good shops, boutiques, and galleries selling everything from ceramics to textiles. Her shoulders sagged because she knew nothing in the pile on the coffee table came close to those places.

  “Tell me,” he coaxed.

  Calm sank over her. Why the rush? Nothing needed to be resolved that evening. Life would not fall apart if she didn’t see the answer lying before her. “I’m going to have to wait. Something better will come up. I will concentrate on the scholarships. Continue to paint. Perhaps hire space for a temporary exhibition.”

  “Good. A much better vision than what I saw in here earlier.”

  She waited. The tumbler clinked on the table surface.

  “Show me a different position. One that would please me.”

  His voice melted her inner strife. He’d squeezed the submissive out of her and her mindset shifted. She leant down, stretched out her arms, and slid forward, pointing her bum up in the air. The vulnerable position completed her transformation. The ache inside grew, and her skin collected goose bumps, not from feeling cold, but because of her sudden arousal.

  He fucked her on the sitting-room carpet. A raw coupling, without decorum. He’d helped her overcome the mental block and, in return, he took her eager body, slapping his legs against her bottom with each pummelling thrust. Since Joshua’s birth, the roughness had crept back into play.

  She doubted he’d planned to fuck her in the sitting room. He’d come down to fetch a drink. Her wetness, which leaked about his pounding cock, served to highlight how much she desired him. His techniques for bringing order to her rambling thoughts went beyond his ability to help her with decisions. Somehow, he’d driven her to a state of lustful readiness. She grunted, struggling to hold position on all fours.

  “Thank you, Sir. Thank you for fucking me,” she murmured as he propelled his body in and out. Her nails clawed at the rug, and the coarse fabric of his jeans, which hung off his hips, chafed her bottom. The cold steel buttons of his flies knocked against her buttock. Small utterances came out of his mouth. Unintelligible sounds of exertion and pleasure. A revitalising waft of whisky reached her nasal passages, mixing with his natural musk.

  Rocking back and forth to meet his thrusts, she impaled her pussy onto his slippery shaft, forcing him deeper until she felt him in her belly, hitting her almost painfully. He reached out and coiled her sweaty hair about his fingers. She anticipated the sting, the pain in the roots as he yanked on her locks. The stabbing sensation shot down her neck, triggering a gush below. She loved having her hair pulled—it laid bare his potency, his control over her. She expected him to nip, nibble on her flesh, or poke and tease, but he didn’t. With her swollen, heavy breasts swinging uncomfortably, her arms gave out beneath her.

  The grip on her hair remained. He drew her up off the floor, and she peered across the room through half-opened eyes. She saw elegant furniture, the embroidered cushions, paintings on the wall, and photographs of their families displayed on the mantelpiece. The undimmed wall lights glowed harsh and bright. Too bright, too real. She blinked, squinting then cast her vision back into semidarkness. She only wanted to feel Jason. Her legs wobbled. They wouldn’t hold out much longer. Now, she wanted to come, and she clenched her pussy about the tip of his gliding cock, trying to trap him.

  “Come for me,” he rasped.

  For a moment, she felt nothing, as if the need had gone. She stalled on a sensory plateau and hovered, unsure if she could complete. She held her breath and waited, imagining the look on his face when she came. With a gasp, the pulsating sensation began in her clitoris, spreading to her pussy. Wave upon wave of spasms. They rippled outwards, forcing her to tighten other muscles. She cried out, a hoarse sound. Jason continued with his fucking, unabated by her orgasm, which left her whimpering and shaking.

  All her concerns and worries seeped away, purged by a cathartic fuck and orgasm. Her clitoris throbbed. Aching legs complained. Still, her relentless Dominant refused to let go. She whimpered and slipped into a strange abyss of nothingness.

  Finally, he juddered, let out a cry, and spurted. The heat and feel of ejaculating liquid was indiscernible from her own.

  Gemma lay sprawled on the floor with legs spread wide. He stuffed tissues up her drenched pussy to contain the spillage. Then, he left the room and, a few minutes later, returned with a blanket. She barely noticed him roll her up in it. The fluffy fibres brushed against her face as he carried her upstairs to bed.

  Lying side by side, they discussed her inability to focus on her plans and goals. Jason spoke of patience and keeping unnecessary worries at bay.

  “You’ve got Joshua to keep you occupied. Being a mum isn’t about giving up on things. You’re taking time out. There’s no rush just because you feel like your professional life is on hold.” He spooned his body around hers. She felt his warm, slightly sweaty chest moving as he breathed softly against her neck. “You’re mine and I love you.” His words of comfort helped her drift off to sleep.
/>   Chapter 14. Webcam

  “You humped my desk!”

  Jason’s eyes widened in disbelief. His voice seemed to echo off the study walls, rebounding back into Gemma’s ears. Her body stiffened. She’d confessed, now she waited for him to calm down and dish out his punishment.

  Her first major act of disobedience since, when? Joshua’s birth? Masturbating without permission ranked as serious insubordination. She’d long known her Dominant loved to control her orgasms. In a scene—it went without saying—she asked. Beyond the lair, she’d always assumed she required permission, even without it explicitly stated. He’d never punished her for masturbating without him present, because the requirement hadn’t been part of their arrangement. She asked because she knew it thrilled him. Except, now it was a rule and spelt out in black and white. What annoyed Gemma most was how easily she did break his stipulation.

  She blamed the Webcam.

  He’d gone to Frankfurt for two nights. The first evening, he’d only had the time to text, and the following evening they had linked up via Webcam.

  ~

  “Joshua asleep?” Jason’s voice came out of the speaker slightly warped.

  Gemma fixated on his digital image. Jason lounged on his hotel bed, his jacket discarded, tie half-loosened, two or three shirt buttons undone, and his hands interlocked behind his head. She couldn’t see his lower half. A pity. She’d liked to have known if there was a bulge down there. His bright eyes gave her palpitations. She’d waited all day for his call, struggling to keep him out of her thoughts. Seeing him on the screen, a flurry of butterflies burst out of her belly, and she imagined him buried up to the hilt in her pussy.

  Whether he could sense her arousal, she didn’t know, but he ended the pleasantries of greetings and catch-up news, and told her to undress and present. She knelt on the floor and adjusted the camera angle downwards. With a deep breath, she spread her legs. Coyness descended over her. She felt embarrassed by her capitulation. For most of the day, she’d been yelling down the phone at property agents, blaming them for sending her the wrong information. Oh, how they would laugh at her now, naked and exposed.