by Jaye Peaches
Jason held her wrists and slid them over the surface of the table, stretching her arms above her head, pinning her down. His cock, leathery, hard, and dry, pressed into her entrance and her wetness greeted it—the paddling may have been challenging, but it had still infused her with wantonness. Her eager pussy flexed and opened for him. The stiff end of his cock slipped into her hole—a deep frictionless penetration.
“A hard fuck, Gem,” he warned her as his balls touched her cleft. “This time you can come. I want to see it. Feel it.” He grunted as his hips pounded her, knocking her pelvis against the table.
The edge of the table hurt. Squashed between him and the corner, the pressure quickly made her clitoris tender.
“That’s it, baby, you squeeze me hard and come.”
Jason shifted. Letting go of her wrists, he grabbed her waist and pinioned her. Fingers pressed into the rawness of her spanked bottom, and she had to hang onto the table edge with her fingers.
The orgasm, even with her crushed clitoris, was stupendous and triggered his own spillage. He pumped many times, emptying every last drop into her pussy.
“That is how this table gets used. By me, for me,” he panted. “Good girl.”
Gemma should have appreciated his compliment—he was content to use her, and she had given him the pleasure he sought from her. However, somehow, she couldn’t recover from the sense of disappointment, of failing him, and the regret remained.
“I’m struggling with the Webcam,” she explained as they cuddled in bed after abandoning his study. “Doing sex over the phone is okay. I can’t see you. Having you on the screen really makes me hot for you. I was overcome with fatigue and unrequited lust yesterday. Pathetic and silly, I suppose. Then you had a phone call in the middle of me—”
“Phone call?”
“Yes,” she whispered, she buried her face in her pillow. “You spoke to someone in German. It finished me off.”
“Are you a linguaphile, Gem? You got turned on by me speaking German? Your ears have gone pink!”
She flopped on her back. “Why didn’t you let me come? I’m all on my own and—”
“Babe, I don’t have to give a reason, do I?”
“No. I suppose not.” She sulked a fraction, her lips pulled together in a blatant pout.
“No.” He stretched out in the bed, yawning. “I do think you need a little refresher in denial and, if you’re having problems with the Webcam, it wouldn’t be a bad thing. Reinstate the motivation to please me and not yourself. You’re out of practice and it’s a point of good focus for improving your attitude. No orgasms for a week.”
She should have guessed the serious side of their relationship would be reinforced at some point since Joshua’s birth. She’d been coasting, pleasing herself as much as him. “As you wish, Master.” She curled up into a ball. A week of orgasm denial would leave her fighting her submission on a daily basis. Probably do her the world of good.
The next day, Gemma avoided sitting down and even fed Joshua standing up. The nanny cast a wary eye over her stiff posture. The raised eyebrows were back on Clara’s face. Unlike the previous day, Gemma decided to lift the lid on recent events.
“Bad day yesterday. Not a happy Master.” She shrugged her shoulders.
“Oh.” Clara paused, and the corners of her lips twitched. “A whips or paddle sort of day?”
The nanny may have chosen to say little about Gemma’s lifestyle, but it was obvious she had a greater insight into it than she let on.
“Paddle, actually,” Gemma admitted with a grin. “Rather a lot of paddle.”
“Did you kiss and make up afterwards?” Clara mashed up potato for Joshua’s lunch.
“Uh. Not really. More a case of fuck-and-be-damned approach.”
Clara burst out laughing, her rather sombre façade broken for the first time.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she chortled as Gemma stood stony faced, rather stunned by her response. “But don’t you find it all a bit quaint and unreal. A modern mum and all that.”
“Modern?” Gemma considered her response. “Well, no. I’m not modern. I’m generally old-fashioned, I suppose. Do as I’m told and accept the consequences if I screw up.”
“Everything else about your lives is open and real. Don’t you think it’s all a bit unnecessary?” Clara handed her the bowl of food then strapped the wriggling Joshua down in his high chair. He immediately squawked as if she planned to take the bowl away.
“Settle down, Joshie.” She began to spoon the puree into his eager mouth. “To be honest, it’s the only lifestyle I’ve ever known. From the time I finished university, I’ve been somebody’s submissive. I don’t want to live differently. I’m quite content. The sore bum I have is a rarity. He doesn’t enjoy doing it and, by the weekend, he will be affectionate to me again.”
“Still. It’s odd that you want to live like this. At his beck and call.”
“Mainly for sex. And he is very good at it!” The familiar bloom of heat rushed to her cheeks. The spoon hovered before Joshua’s lips and, with her back towards Clara, it made talking easier. “If all I experienced was bad and unpleasant, I wouldn’t put up with it. I know what it’s like when it goes wrong. I’ve learnt that lesson. It is a mutually beneficial relationship. I’m well taken care of by my husband; I’m protected, and Jason is generous. I don’t want another way of living. I asked for this, not him. He would have taken a watered-down version. In fact, that is how we lived for the most part until Joshua came along.”
Joshua made a mess of the food, with lumps oozing out his mouth into the bib. “Am I doing this right?” Gemma sighed.
“Oh. He’s going to be a playful young man. Lead you on a merry dance.”
“Just like his dad, then. Playful.”
Gemma smiled, and Clara didn’t mention her chosen way of life again. On the positive side, she realised Clara wasn’t stuck up, nor was her coarse language offensive to the older woman. From then on, they both relaxed in their language and, if they were in the mood, they could be saucy about the world about them.
Chapter 15. Holiday
Another weekend loomed. Fully recovered from the previous week’s misadventure with the paddle, Gemma expected a different adventure, and she was proved right. On the Saturday, they were to visit Jason’s club for an evening’s entertainment. Clara, who’d agreed to babysit and stay the night at Blythewood, didn’t comment when Gemma appeared in a black corset, short skirt, and fishnet stockings. The satin-trimmed cape draped over her shoulders shimmered in the light.
“If you need us, Claude, the manager, will find us if you ring the club number,” Gemma said as they left Clara ensconced in the TV room with the baby monitor and an array of snacks.
Their regular playmate, Monique, wasn’t available, so Jason chose another club submissive to join them. Iselda, a twenty-five-year-old redhead, had been with the club for less than a year. A natural submissive, he’d been told—bisexual and versatile. Pretty, way too pretty. The moment Iselda stepped into the room, Gemma felt pangs of jealousy and tried hard not to compare her narrow waist and ample buttocks with her own.
She’d managed, over the years of visiting the club, to combat her concerns that Jason might be attracted to the club subs. Now that he permitted them to join their play, she constantly had to remind herself he didn’t touch them sexually. His chosen girl would have their hands and mouth all over Gemma, but not him. However, Iselda’s actions came close to Gemma’s limit of acceptability. Iselda gazed longingly at Jason’s handsome features until he gave her a verbal warning for disrespectful eyeballing. She failed abysmally to comply—his stark blue eyes fascinated most people. He decided to discipline her.
Their first scene with Iselda went well because Gemma wasn’t the one on the receiving end of Jason’s whip. Instead, she held a vibrator against Iselda while he lashed the other woman’s back. Iselda moaned enthusiastically, crushing her thighs together in the hope of staving off her orgasm. Jason warned Iselda
not to come, or he’d punish both of them.
The presence of another woman always created ambivalence in Gemma. Never quite the full ménage a trois, due to Jason’s hand’s-off approach, she’d become accustomed to his taste, which was to have within his control two submissives, encouraging them to tease and torment each other at his bidding. Gemma suspected that, in his past, before their relationship, Jason had been more sadistic in his group activities, probably involving other Dominants, too. His wild days had ended with Gemma’s arrival in his life. Tempered, contained, and no longer inclined to be a fervent sadist, Jason watched her explore a side of her submission she’d previously avoided: bisexuality.
Iselda managed to do as she was told, just. Jason left her on the brink of an orgasm then invited Iselda to join him in teasing Gemma. Moist lips and probing fingers explored her sensitive places in tandem, driving her wild. Jason was aggressive: he bit her inner thighs, pinched her buttocks, and slapped her pussy. Iselda—the gentle one—licked, kissed, and sucked her into a state of pleasure.
Gemma wriggled about on the chaise longue. “Please, may I come?”
“No.” Denial mode remained in operation since her paddling. She glowered for a second, before reminding herself what he had told her—he loved seeing her come for him. Him! She obviously wasn’t in the right frame of mind. She had to disown her orgasms.
Iselda knotted her limbs about Gemma, while Jason fucked. She loved the scene—wrapped between two hot bodies, oozing sexual deviancy and debauchery, at the very edge of acceptability. In the end, the granted orgasm seemed superfluous, just having Jason inside her fulfilled her needs. Poor Iselda, noted Gemma, never did receive her orgasm.
When they returned to the bar area, cleaned up and back in clothes, Iselda snuggled up against Gemma. A strange but comforting arrangement. The pair rested at Jason’s feet with Gemma between his legs and Iselda leaning against her. Jason slouched further down in his seat and drank a small measure of whisky. She could feel his engine purring. A very cheerful man.
Coming out of her blissful state, Gemma wanted to know more about the girl propped against her legs. Iselda turned out to be quite talkative and quick-witted. More interestingly, she was a qualified nursery nurse, who worked part time at a children’s day-care centre.
“Do you babysit?” asked Gemma.
A perfect ending to a perfect visit to the club. They’d found a highly suitable babysitter. Not only could she look after Joshua when they had to be out at the weekends, keeping Clara’s weekends free, she could monitor him while they disappeared into the lair in the evenings at Blythewood. The idea of his parents being on the premises but unavailable wasn’t odd to Iselda. She understood Jason and Gemma didn’t want to be interrupted mid-scene unless it was an emergency.
They gave her a tour of Blythewood the first time she came to babysit. “You lucky cow,” Iselda gasped when Gemma took her into the lair. “Why do you come to visit the club?” She wandered about the room, touching the furniture, admiring the ceiling pulleys and rings on the bed, clucking away like a happy hen.
Gemma stood by the doorway and grinned. “We do like company. Get out and about sometimes.”
The week after they discovered their new babysitter, Jason flew off to New York for a few days. Gemma suffered with serious withdrawal symptoms until he reappeared late Thursday morning at their London townhouse. She bounced around the house, waiting for him to walk through the door. She greeted him in the hallway. One of his extra-special lingering kisses with her back pinned against the wall. It told her all she needed to know. He wanted her, no waiting around for the evening.
His fingers lifted her skirt. Finding her bare flesh, free of underwear, he stroked his fingertips along her wet slit. She gasped and banged the back of her head against the wall.
“I rule this, babe, don’t I?” The fingers crept into her slick pussy, finding little hindrance.
“Yes!” she sighed. “You rule me, Master.”
As Jason led Gemma by the hand upstairs, she called down to the nanny in the kitchen. “He’s all yours for a bit, Clara.”
In his keenness, Jason stripped Gemma naked with none-too-gentle hands, tearing a hole along the seam of her blouse then he scooped her up and threw her on the bed.
“New York went well, then?” she gasped between his tonguing kisses and wrapped her legs about his waist.
“Very. Shut up,” he said not unkindly then smothered a nipple with his mouth, his sharp teeth nipping on her delicate teat.
The frantic tumble, Dominant style, ensued between the sheets. The bed coverings didn’t stay in place long, rammed by feet until wedged at the base of the bed.
“Please may I come for you, Sir?” she implored melodically, kneeling on all fours, her bottom wiggling at him.
“Yes.” He thrust without pausing. A deep penetration, swinging into her, battering her pussy. She revelled in his urgency and, ignoring the possibility of ending up sore, she held firm. Her breasts shook uncomfortably as she held onto the headboard. The orgasm happened spontaneously. A burst of tremendous spasms turned her clit into an instant nest of painful nerve endings. A scream of delight escaped her mouth, as he drove into her. He clamped a hand over her mouth, “Shut up!”
On he went with his speedy rhythmic pummels and the much-needed sensation began to build all over again.
“Are you coming again?” He panted.
“Yes…Sir,” she stammered, holding her breath.
Slippery insides aided Jason, giving him the pace and force he desired. The slapping noises as his flesh hit hers added to her arousal. He tried to temper her desire with bites and harsh squeezes of her tender thighs and sex lips. Her body collapsed, bringing his muscular weight down on to her slender frame.
“Please!” she shrieked, her face shoved into a pillow. Nothing seemed to hinder her sexual appetite nor his. She wanted more, so much more.
“Greedy little slut, aren’t you.” He rose, hoisting her back on all fours. Driven by impatience, she shoved her bottom higher, lifting her cleft. His fingers parted her cheeks, smearing her juices about her anus. Jason growled as her legs quivered. His pincer-like hand clasped the back of her neck, steadying Gemma, giving her a signal of readiness. Then Jason penetrated her tight bud with one hard thrust, and the intrusion put her in her place. He spat on his hardened cock, moistening it, allowing the shaft to go deeper.
Pain shot across her opening. She whimpered, desperate to achieve some kind of relaxation to alleviate the discomfort.
“Oh. Oh!” she whined, losing the impetus to respond.
His occupation of her tight anus caused a pandemonium of intense pleasure and pain. Her legs shook, and she buckled underneath his ferocious movements, flattened onto the bed. He performed press-ups, rising then hurtling down as she stretched about him, allowing him to gain momentum. She saw his biceps bulging by her head, inciting her to stick her bum higher, propelling herself backwards to meet him. She moaned, snivelled, and, throughout the raw fucking, she fought off the intense need to come again.
“Oh. Please may I come, Sir. Please,” she wailed. He made her wait, groaning as he filled her. A violent judder of his limbs accompanied his ejaculation.
“Now, come!”
Gemma felt ripped apart by her orgasm, even though he’d stopped moving and held himself steady inside her flexing muscles. She writhed with the cramping, drifting close to the sensation of losing consciousness.
He eased out of her. “You all right?” he asked, lying down.
She sighed, limbs flopping into a heap of inertia. “Yes, fine.”
He patted her bottom. “Clean yourself up. Please make me a sandwich while I shower. I have to get back to the office this afternoon.”
“Oh!” She frowned with disappointment, crushing her unrealistic fantasy of an afternoon of wild sex.
He slapped her bottom hard. “Move, my slumbering slave.”
Gemma smiled at the comment. In a post-coital haze, she loved the though
t of being his slave.
Clara didn’t make a remark about what she must have heard from on high. There was a look of envy on the nanny’s face—or was it Gemma’s imagination—as Clara watched her flounce around the kitchen making Jason’s baguette. He came down in a fresh suit, his damp blond hair sparkling in midday sunlight.
Collecting Joshua from his high chair, Jason sat with a baguette in one hand and his son propped on his lap.
“He’s grown!” He peered into Joshua’s mouth. “Is there another tooth?”
“Yes. Monday night’s addition. Lots of grizzling and a bit of a temperature. I cut his fingernails, too. Deadly things.”
Gemma sat opposite him while Clara prepared Joshua’s lunch.
“Yes, I saw the scratches.”
“And now you’ve added a few of your own, Sir.” She leant on her elbows and fluttered her eyelashes.
“Does he bite?”
“Yes. My nipples. Sharper teeth than yours, too.”
“I haven’t touched your nipples in a long time. Just wait, though. Once Joshua has finished with you, you’ll have me instead. I hope he’s toughened you up.”
She snorted. “I think you could hang a tyre off them and I wouldn’t notice after what Josh has put me through these last few months.”
“A tyre. Not something I have lying around. I think I will stick to my usual collection.”
She shrugged. “Whatever.”
“Babababa,” babbled Joshua.
“Still stuck on the Bs. Elocution lessons later, young man,” said Jason between mouthfuls.
“It’s better than the mindless, ear-piercing shrieks.” She recalled the headache she’d acquired the previous day as she and Clara walked about the shops while Joshua hollered from his buggy.
“Shrieker, hey? Don’t know where you get that from, Joshua!” Jason smirked. “I have to gag your mother. Terrible racket she makes sometimes.”
