by Jaye Peaches
Clara, throughout the banter, maintained a straight face.
“What have you got to eat today?” Jason asked, looking at Joshua but directing his question to Clara.
“Butternut squash and peas,” Clara answered taking Joshua off Jason’s lap and putting him in his high chair. “Healthy food, Mr Lucas.”
“No chocolate?” He caught Gemma’s eye. She tried hard not to pout. “Not happy about that, are we, babe?”
Gemma was on a chocolate ban for a month after she’d commented she couldn’t fit into one of her favourite dresses. She’d made a flippant remark about being flabby and horrible within earshot of her husband.
“I’m coping,” she lied, dismissing an image of chocolate cake from her mind. Instead, she elected to stare out of the kitchen window at the sparrows pecking on the bird table.
“She’s lying, Joshua. Rubbish liar, your mum.” He finished his baguette, washing it down with a glass of coke.
Gemma resisted the temptation to glare back at Jason. “Blacken my name, why don’t you! You men aren’t happy unless I’m trampled underfoot and humiliated,” she mocked.
“So disrespectful. Don’t worry, son, tonight, she will learn her lesson,” Jason pretended to whisper in his son’s ear.
Gemma lost her sulkiness and smiled at him: her happy man. Fresh from what must have been a successful trip overseas and teasing her with unmistakable delight with intense eyes, which for a minute held her in check, making her insides flip flop.
“I have to go.” He picked up his phone and speed dialled a number. “Martinson. Five minutes.”
The playful Dominant slipped away, and Gemma could see the chief executive returning to his place of residence.
Their lunchtime catch up ended. Jason stood up, ruffled his son’s hair, and Gemma followed him into the hallway. She dwelt in her submissive place, unable to relinquish it upon his departure, and sank to her knees in the hallway, her head resting on his thighs.
“It’s good to have you home, Sir.”
“Later, subbie. You can show me you’re appreciation in bed tonight.” He briefly stroked her hair and then left.
Gemma went to make phone calls: her brother and mother. Visits by family members filled their leisure time over the first year of Joshua’s life. Voracious siblings, aunts and uncles, grandparents and lesser cousins ate away precious time. Friends, too. Trudy and Greg paid a few visits with helpful parental advice. Zumba classmate, Mina occasionally called in after her working day to see Gemma, exchanging gossip about mutual friends. Along with Jason’s trips abroad and other social events on his calendar, she felt their time belonged to others.
“Philip has suggested we take a break, a holiday,” Jason announced over an evening meal, referring to his second-in-command. “We’ve not been anywhere since the cruise.”
Not entirely true. “When I was pregnant, we had weekend breaks at your swish hotels. Then there was the trip to Amsterdam.” Interesting sex shops, which had entertained her with their window displays. “Don’t forget Bruges. You enjoyed the beer.”
“A family break, then. Less beer, more child centric. Plenty to visit in Europe; we don’t have to go far.”
His lack of enthusiasm for travel reflected the long hours he spent on planes. She understood his desire to stay relatively local. “Not important what we do, really, when you think about it. Joshua doesn’t care where he is as long as he’s fed and changed regularly.”
Jason nodded.
She plucked up the courage to speak her mind. “Personally, I just think Philip wants a break from you. The whole company does, in fact.” She waited for the snarky response.
He smirked. “I don’t doubt it. I have been raising the bar a lot recently.”
“Wherever we go, I want to be pampered. Spa hotel. You can bond with Joshua while I drift in a state of bliss.”
Jason guffawed. “You’re spoilt rotten already.” He scratched his chin, the evening bristles beginning to show. “Berlin. I’ve been there on business trips.”
Gemma held in check a sense of disappointment. She’d preferred Prague, or something warmer like Madrid. “Berlin? Isn’t that a tad boring?”
“Lots of history. Art galleries, too, I wouldn’t wonder. Language isn’t a barrier.” His fluency in German, along with the blond hair, meant Jason often was mistaken for a native.
“I’ll ruin the illusion. The moment I open my mouth to speak, you’ll be condemned as a foreigner.”
“Berlin it is then.” A big grin formed on his face. “Teach you only to open your mouth for me.”
A week in Berlin turned out to be a low-key event, unlike their previous holidays. Jason delivered the luxury spa hotel, as requested, and Joshua adapted to the change in scenery. Having the child back in their bedroom changed the nature of their pleasure seeking. Sex often ended up being a romp in the adjoining living space. Nothing raucous or kinky. However, Jason remained firmly in control, and she maintained her submissive qualities—demure, respectful, and available. When not engaged in erotic acts, she sought to read, play quiet card games, or listen to background music on the iPod player. If he asked her to get naked, she complied without baulking.
Towards the end of their week’s stay, she floated in a wonderful, submissive place, not through sex or overt controlling actions on Jason’s part, but because she focussed on him and his lead. She sat on the floor, unless he wanted her next to him on the sofa for a cuddle. The cushion pile, which appeared on the floor of the living room, must have bemused the chambermaid, who tidied them back onto the furniture each day. Gemma called him Sir or Master for all of their waking moments. The words rolled off her tongue with ease.
Each time she showed him respect, a gentle look of gratification appeared on his face—a smile, a twinkle in his eyes, or, sometimes, he reached over and squeezed her hand. Her Dominant’s display of appreciation served to deepen her submission each day.
The stillness in the week, the lack of fuss or bother about anything, even the absence of scenes or any form of excessive play, suited their needs perfectly. Untroubled by visitors, work, or routine chores, they outwardly appeared a charming family unit. A total contrast to their previous holidays, where they were markedly engaged in bondage or discipline scenes. In Berlin, Jason didn’t push her limits or try out new scenes. She strived to steer away from disobedience or ugly displays of sulking or petulance, which had often marred the beginnings of their more kinky vacations.
“Why has this been so easy, Sir?” she pondered. Sitting cross-legged at Jason’s feet, she’d been massaging the soles. They’d spent the day walking around museums. Her idea of fun. Tomorrow, he wanted to go to a golf course.
“What are you talking about?”
“Being submissive. I mean, usually you have to help get me there. Curtail my sassy side with a few attitude adjustments.” A subtle reference to his need to spank her into obedience.
He shifted in his seat. “You’re my full-time submissive. Intense scenes aren’t necessary, I don’t think, for me, anyway. I’m pleased with how you are with me.”
“Your dominance has been very consistent this week. I don’t think you ever switch it off, but it didn’t seem to grate me or cause me to question your control. Kind of mellow, don’t you think, Sir?”
She realised they had taken a holiday from more than his working life. The protocols remained, but the kink, the overt interactions of domination and submission had been left behind.
What remained? Simple acts of submission and low-level, almost underplayed, moments of control by Jason. The choice of food, where they visited, or how they entertained Joshua—Jason handled the issues, and Gemma made the odd suggestions, which he agreed to as appropriate.
The final evening, after a delightful day where Jason experienced a new golf course and Gemma visited art galleries with Joshua, they dined in the suite, as usual. After switching the television off, he bent forward to where she lounged at his feet, playing solitaire with her freshl
y painted nails glimmering in the light.
He rested his hands on her shoulders. “Take your clothes off, Gem,” he said with a husky tone.
Her skin tingled, and the cards slipped out of her hands, tumbling onto the small coffee table. She wanted to taste his voice, perhaps it would resemble a supreme soufflé dish or caviar. Something exquisitely delicious and mouth-watering.
She took her time undressing, wriggling her hips, jutting her breasts out, and sliding her clothes off before neatly piling them on a chair. Knelt back down, she presented her body to him in the classic submissive pose of waiting. Legs slightly parted, hands resting palm up on her thighs, and staring straight ahead. A pose that caused a conflict of emotion. Willing and ready, but, at the same time, filled with trepidation.
He left her there for a moment and returned with a couple of bath towels and a tube of lubricant. Placing the towels on the carpet, he tapped them. “Lie here on your back. Legs apart and knees bent.”
A position of complete vulnerability, as if she’d been told to lie on a gynaecological table. The image thrilled her. She loved medical play, except when he showed his sadistic side. He wouldn’t end their holiday with that kind of scene, would he? Her legs shook.
He fiddled with the iPod. A rare event—Jason shied away from music during sex, and especially during scenes. She fondly remembered the discussion they had about it, not long after he first took her into his lair. He loved music—classical and popular.
“Don’t you ever want to bring music into your play?” She’d been exploring his CD collection in the corner of the sitting room at Blythewood. “Create an ambience?”
“I love the beauty of music, the emotions it can trigger, but I need to concentrate on you, don’t I?” He brushed past her, leaning over to see which CD she’d selected. “I want to hear you, the sounds you make, however quiet they might be. I don’t want distractions. I evaluate the risk better. It can be dangerous, don’t you think, not focusing on you?”
She’d formulated a different perspective. Music stirred up strong emotional responses, which might cause him to lose his self-control, allowing the timbre or dynamics of a piece to interfere and shape his scene. At the time, she’d been too wary of him to open up and express her opinion. A few years later, naked in a hotel room in Berlin, he switched on the iPod and she wondered why.
His choice of music answered her question. Poulenc’s “Stabat Matat.” The very same piece had brought them together almost four years previous. Her eyes smarted with tears at the memory of finding her then boss seated next to her in the auditorium of the concert hall. A handsome man with a presence that stopped most people in their tracks to simply soak up his appearance or listen to what he had to say. It had been the start of their journey together and the night they first had sex—glorious fucks, which had extracted Gemma from her concealed shell of fear. She’d been attracted to Jason on their first encounter and, years later, the fascination hadn’t diminished one iota.
“Shut your eyes.” He knelt between her legs and stripped off his shirt. He generously smeared the cold lubricant around her pussy. The icy gel made her shiver. The extent of his preparation gave away his intentions. She swallowed hard. A fisting—the first since Joshua’s birth.
“I’m of the opinion you’re going to be a little more elastic.”
Her eyes sprang open. “Is this an experiment?”
He loomed over her.
“Concentrate on the music and relax, babe. You’re safe in my hands.” He cupped her pussy and pressed a finger inside. It slid in easily, and she squeezed her eyes shut.
He took his time, rocking his slender fingers in and out, twisting his hand around as she stretched to accommodate—first up to the knuckles then past them. His thumb was the last digit to penetrate. The music enveloped her, slipping into her ears and drowning out all unnecessary thoughts. It made her strangely oblivious to his actions and, at the same time, aware of his presence.
Once immersed in her, he ceased moving and hovered over her, casting a bloom of hot breath on her tingling skin. Her chest rose and fell rapidly with her growing desire to climax. He drew slow circles around her clitoris, using a thumb, lifting the hood to touch and stroke it. Her legs quivered with anticipation. Throughout the fisting, she muttered the occasional exclamation, but nothing coherent. She felt hot, sweaty, and impatient for completion. She waited for him to speak, to tell her to come, as she was unable to articulate the request herself.
The frigging thumb went. His hand looped around her neck, drawing her into a semi-seated position, his fist remaining deep inside her soaked pussy.
“Open your eyes.”
She responded and immediately he agitated his engulfed hand, hitting every point of arousal she possessed. She watched, mesmerised by his intense expression of concentration—lips pressed together, eyes piercing, focused on her quaking body.
“Come!” he urged. He spoke just as the music soared, a multitude of voices together, singing passionately. Tears splashed down her cheeks while she gushed below. A response she couldn’t control.
The power of her orgasm surprised her. Gemma crushed his hand, squeezing him with strong spasms. She struggled to contain a scream of ecstasy as the orgasm lingered, rippling about her pussy in pulses until he lowered her back down. He needed help to extract his hand from her taut hole. Relaxing her musculature with deep breaths inhaled through her nose, he slipped out without hurting her. She floated. A dreamlike state with little substance and few cohesive thoughts.
He lowered himself over her body and waited for her to come back from where she had disappeared to when she’d imploded. He stroked her cheek, wiping away the wetness.
“Babe, come back. You’re in the land of fairies.”
They stared at each other for a few seconds. He searched her face, assessing her, as he always did when they paused.
“Say no, and I won’t.” The choice seemed unnatural to her. She didn’t want to decide. She trusted him, every day and all day.
She shook her head. “I’m where you want me, Sir.”
Without ceremony, he flipped her over on to her belly.
Sometime later, he finished. He hadn’t hurried or been especially rough, but he had been thorough, and he’d kept his erection going for a considerable time before he chose his moment of glory deep inside her well-fucked pussy. They remained there on the towels, and he encased her aching body with his own warm, sweaty one. A blissful state of happiness infused every inch of her.
Eventually, yawning, he murmured into her ear. “You check on Joshua. I’ll run the bath.”
“Yes, Master.” She staggered onto her feet and paused while his semen trickled out of her.
A tantalising sensation—being so wet between the legs. His warm fluid seemed to glue her inner thighs together. Gemma cupped a hand underneath and dragged his musky nectar up and over her belly. She smeared the liquid into a fine sheen, preventing it from dripping down onto the carpet below. She went to move, and he spoke.
“No. Stay. Lick your hand clean.” He remained stretched out on the floor, hands resting behind his head, one knee bent, and his limp penis flopped over his groin. She did as he asked, licking each digit, followed by the palm until she could no longer taste the salty residue and only her saliva remained.
“Now, go, my greedy girl,” said Jason with a wicked smile, and she grinned.
She adored being his greedy girl.
Chapter 16. Service
Jason glanced down at the buggy. Joshua gave him a bubbly grin then burped up his latest feed. Unperturbed, his father gifted him a beaming smile. Turning to look at Gemma, Jason’s facial expression changed and she had a telltale sinking feeling in her gut.
“One thing, Gemma. I asked you to do one thing for me yesterday.” His eyes drilled into her sockets. “What was it?”
She backed a step away from him and returned his gaze with bewilderment.
What the fuck have I not done? Gemma racked her brain and
nothing came to mind about yesterday. It had been a typical Wednesday. He hadn’t asked her for sex since the weekend, too busy and pre-occupied with other matters in the evenings. So what had he asked her to do?
~
Wednesday had been a routine day, but Thursday turned into a less-predictable one. Gemma showered, dressed, and gave Joshua his breakfast. Her path didn’t cross with Jason’s until she waved him off. He’d dashed out the front door, ear pressed to his mobile phone, wearing a grim expression and then, a few minutes later, she let in Clara. They discussed meal plans for Joshua and by nine o’clock they’d mapped the day out. Gemma would take Joshua for a morning walk while Clara would concoct more enticing food for Joshua to try.
Then, Jason’s text arrived.
Meet me at my tailors. 10am.
A summons. Peeved at the intrusion into her day, she slammed the mobile on the table and went to tell Clara the change of plan.
“I’ll take Joshua with me. At some point, he will need a feed from me.”
Clara agreed and returned to peeling pears in a bowl.
Gemma didn’t query why Jason wanted her. Years ago, she might have replied with a question. Now, that approach seemed like a pointless exercise. After months of rules, she’d grown accustomed to the idea he had the power to summon her. Not that she wasn’t curious. She lined up a number of options, all silly fantasies and many making her predictably aroused, but she conceded none of them fitted with the location. His tailors?
The car halted outside the ancient Savile Row establishment, which made bespoke suits for the well-to-do. The exterior of the building looked more like a Georgian townhouse than a shop. The white brick facade didn’t have a huge window display. A single mannequin occupied centre stage, displaying an immaculate suit. Gemma peered through the glazed window, her belly fluttering with butterflies. She’d never been to Jason’s tailors.
Her chauffeur for the day, Gibson, helped transfer the sleeping Joshua into his buggy. After assisting Gemma with negotiating the stiff front door, Gibson abandoned her and returned to sit in the car.
