by Jaye Peaches
Her answer summarised how much she’d changed. Dramatic changes in her lifestyle that had transformed her personality and attitudes. Much had happened in eight years, and one man was responsible.
As if to read her mind, Gibson asked the critical question. “Have you contacted your husband?”
Gemma glanced at her wristwatch. “No. However, he would be awake by now. I’m rather stunned by the letter. If it wasn’t for the photo, I don’t think I would take this seriously, but the photo is explicit. I should contact Jason.”
“I will ring Chris Martinson. Ask him how he wants to proceed. May I take this?” Gibson pointed at the note.
“Yes.”
“Could you find something to put it in?”
Gemma went in search of a larger envelope and found one in the sitting-room bureau. By the time she returned to the breakfast room, Gibson had raised Martinson in Toronto.
“That is what it says, Chris. The photo is inflammatory.” Gibson listened, holding up a hand to Gemma and pointing to the note. Gemma transferred the note and envelope into the larger one.
“The dance class.... The new one.” Gibson turned to Gemma. “How many times have you been now, Mrs Lucas?”
“Today was my third time. I saw nobody I knew and no one seemed to know me.”
Gibson relayed the information.
“I’ll speak to Dave.” Gibson waited. “The boss is in a meeting until when? So that’s five o’clock our time.... Okay.... I will let her know.... Bye.” Gibson hung up.
“Martinson suggested ringing your husband at five. In the meantime, I will run this by Dave Johnson. Don’t worry, this is what we’re here to do. Not all of protection work is about following you around. Try to carry on as normal. If you get phone calls that hang up, spam-like e-mails, or anything unusual in the post, let me know.”
Gemma tried hard not to panic. Far from reassure her, Gibson’s admission that more went on behind the scenes than she knew about did nothing to allay her fears. The time crawled by after Gibson left. She played with Joshua, watched him as he cruised about the furniture pulling himself around various obstacles. He wobbled and toppled over when he let go, grizzling with frustration. During the day, he was very miserable with everything and threw things around his bedroom. Clara cooed at him, fussing at his clumsiness. She had become much as a mother to him as Gemma, who wasn’t offended by the situation—she had bonded with her son. However, Joshua didn’t always want her.
Five o’clock came round, and Jason preempted her own intention to ring him. The buzzing phone lit up with his number. Gemma sought the privacy of their bedroom.
“Jason,” she said with a mixed sense of relief and anxiety. Both sensations sent a flurry of adrenaline about her body.
“Martinson says you were going to ring me. He doesn’t look happy.” Jason spoke with haste, and she was convinced she could hear his fingers thrumming on something in the background.
“He’s not told you?”
“Told me what?” The drumming grew louder.
“I had a letter, a note, left in my kit bag at my dance class.” Gemma took a deep breath. “It’s a blackmail letter.”
The tapping stopped. “Blackmail? Your kit bag. You didn’t see anyone put the note in?”
“No. My handbag I take in the dance room; the kit bag has my change of clothes, and it stays in the changing room. The note and photo were in an envelope at the top of my bag. It must have been slipped in.”
“Photo?”
“Yes.” She told him the contents of the note. Making a special point of her previous name, the amount, and the Facebook page. “The photograph—it’s old and taken at a fetish party. I’m basically naked, lying across someone’s lap, eyes shut, and I’m being spanked with a paddle.” Saying it made her cringe.
“Whose lap?”
Why she couldn’t remember embarrassed her. Had she been to that many parties? “I’ve no idea. His face is not in the photo. I don’t recognise the room or anything. It’s drawing a complete blank. It’s me, though, about eight years ago and post my first Master.”
“You don’t remember seeing anyone at the class you might know?”
“No. No one. But I don’t pay much attention to everyone there. It’s a busy dance school.”
“Well, it would have to be a woman.”
“Why?”
“The changing room.”
Her heart went thump. He wasn’t going to like her next comment. Gemma hadn’t told him the setup at the dance school. “It’s a unisex changing area.” There was a pause on the line. A Jason Lucas fuming pause. Her cringe doubled in size until she couldn’t contort her features any further. Jason couldn’t see her, but she pictured herself—nose wrinkled up, eyes screwed into slits, and her shoulders bunched up by her ears as if to cover her ears.
The silence ended with a raised voice. “You get fucking changed in front of men!”
Damn it. Why did he have to make an issue of the changing room? “No! There are cubicles with curtains, but the lockers, clothes hooks, and benches are all open plan. I don’t get naked or anything, just change into my dance kit and back again. No showers or anything. I’m not exactly revealing anything. I mean why would I parade around butt naked in a communal area?” She bit her lip. She’d said more than she intended.
“We’ll deal with your omission later.” Quieter, yet still an ominous, icy tone. “So, anybody could be wandering in and out of that room. You don’t remember anyone?”
She wracked her memories once again. Nothing. “Sorry. I’m guessing the person who took the photo doesn’t have to be the one in possession of it.”
“I’m well aware of that. There weren’t bans on photography at your gallivanting parties, then?” His sarcasm didn’t help her either. Why did he have to be abroad on such a difficult day?
She sighed and ignored the mocking tone of his voice. “Not that I can recall. It wouldn’t have bothered me back then, as long as I trusted the person taking the photo.”
“We know about your judgement when it comes to trust.”
The statement hurt. It took a few seconds for her to digest the implication. Gemma had screwed up once, a major fuck up of judgement and trust, resulting in a horrific attack on her. It was her turn to become annoyed. Her thoughts hurried into dark recesses, places she desperately wanted never to remember. With her teeth gritted, she shut down the images, and the emotions that went with them, before they could take hold.
She couldn’t hide the bitterness from him. “That was low, Jason. I’ve been with plenty of men where I’ve judged the situation well, you included. If you don’t want to be supportive, then don’t bother to say anything.”
Angered by his comment and seeming lack of sympathy, she hung up without speaking further.
She ignored his ringtone. He would be mad with her, and she had had enough of the day not to suffer what he would say to her. With him miles away, what was the point of dredging up old memories. She could hear Joshua howling and went to investigate, leaving her phone on the bedside table, ringing.
By six o’clock, Clara had gone home, leaving Gemma with a disgruntled son and a challenging bedtime. He drifted off to sleep around seven o’clock, with hot, clenched fists and a tear-streaked face. She suspected he was coming down with a cold or another bout of teething. In two weeks’ time, he would be a year old.
Gemma, stressed into a loss of appetite, heated-up pizza—her preferred comfort food—and nibbled on it. By ten o’clock, she pined for the reassuring company of her husband. She filled the empty hours worrying about the manner in which she’d ended the phone call, regretting her haste. Slamming the phone down on her Dom landed her in disrespectful territory. She went to fetch the telephone.
The dialling tone beeped in her ear, and she waited for him to pick up.
“Gemma,” he responded without endearments.
Her shoulders slumped. “Hi. Sorry. I’m having a shitty day. I can’t believe someone has photos of me,
revealing photos. I don’t know what else is out there.” She dropped into a whisper. “Do you think he took photos of me?” Her tiny voice articulated her fear—a haunting picture of her bloody body—an unknown photograph hidden somewhere and about to be unveiled.
Jason sighed. “I’m sorry, babe. I shouldn’t have made that remark. It set you off, didn’t it? All I know is the police never found anything, and his possessions are gone, destroyed. Don’t fill your head with unnecessary stress. You should have rung me earlier.” His tone softened throughout his reassurances.
She tried to picture his face. The warm, kind expression he could wear when he soothed her troubled mind. “I didn’t want to hear your reprimand. I’m missing you. Josh is being difficult, and I think he is coming down with something.”
Jason snorted. “Again? It’s never-ending snot.”
“You’re not here to wipe it up.”
“Two nights, Gem. I’ll be back on Thursday morning. Martinson says there is nothing to do. That if we want to reveal the culprit, we should plant the money and see who turns up to take it. He’ll explain when we get back. In the meantime, you’re not to worry. What are you doing tomorrow?”
“Meeting Mina for lunch. At the Presario. Josh is staying with Clara.”
“You’ll be watched closely. Don’t misbehave, Gemma.”
She knew what that comment meant. Do not wander or ignore the instructions of her guardians. Joshua would spend his days being followed and watched by bodyguards—the reality of his life filled her with sadness.
“I don’t have any intention of being difficult. I want to know who this person is. Why he has waited so long to come after me. And not me, now, Gemma, back then.”
“Whoever it is doesn’t know that you are married or wealthy. They’ve assumed you have a Facebook account. This person has not been following you. They happened upon you by chance, and probably at the dance school. It’s opportunistic and ill-conceived. Quite amateurish by previous standards.”
Her heart faltered in its beats. “Previous standards?”
“Gem, do you think I’ve not been blackmailed before? All these years without incident? This matter will be handled carefully and then put to bed. Nobody has won when it comes to blackmailing me.” If speech could sound like icicles forming in midair, Jason could create them in an instant. His frosty tone managed to both reassure and scare her. The arrogant confidence buoyed her, but he had hinted at something else. Jason had a method for dealing with blackmailers, and it sounded potentially unpleasant.
“Nobody? You don’t involve the police?”
“Not been necessary up to now. I don’t break bones, if that is what is troubling you. Fight fire with fire is the approach I use, my love.” His voice switched again, back to comforting and helpful. “Now, go and have a hot bath. Get the Calpol ready for Joshua, and you can open a bottle of white for yourself. I’ll ring you tomorrow.”
Instinctively, she straightened up. “Yes, Sir.”
“Oh, if you hang up on me again, subbie, a different photo will be brought to life.”
A genuine Jason threat—tantalising, as they always were when he addressed her as Master and, of course, she’d never trivialise his status. She showed her fidelity with a kiss down the phone.
“Caught it, babe.”
***
Something moved on to the bed. The mattress springs rippled underneath her. Gemma reached out and touched Joshua. The child was breathing gently, fast asleep next to her. Joshua wasn’t the culprit for the mysterious movement. She opened her eyes. Jason lay on the other side of the bed. She smiled as he put his finger to his lips and pointed at Joshua. With that wonderful grace, which she seemed to lack in her tired body, Jason scooped up his son as if Joshua was a feather.
Earlier, after feeding Joshua breakfast, she’d brought him upstairs. The medicine had kicked in, making the fractious child dopey, and she’d laid him on her bed to pacify him further. Gemma hadn’t expected to join him in his slumber. However, the lack of quality sleep caused her to nod off.
While Jason left the room for a few minutes, she lounged on her side. The joy at seeing him back in the house had given her an instant yearning in her lower belly. He came back into the bedroom and stretched out next to her on his side, propping his head up. Somewhere, he had deposited his jacket and tie, undone his top shirt button, and slipped off his socks.
He surveyed her, and his face remained unchanged at the sight of seeing her again. A seemingly unemotional response and one that should offend her after being apart. The façade was a lie. Underneath the veneer, she reckoned he bristled with excitement. She’d learnt to ignore his impassive features years ago.
Jason reached over and pinched the waistband on her jeans, dragging her closer. With skilled dexterity, he unbuttoned the jeans and pulled them down. The knickers went with them, too. She wriggled her bum to assist his undressing. He squeezed a buttock and slipped a finger down her slit, between her legs, and inside her. Gemma shut her eyes and clenched about his plunging finger. Then it slipped out.
Her eyes sprang open. Always slightly unsettling to find him scrutinising her. He rested his finger on her lower lip. She opened her mouth to receive and taste her own wetness. A decent amount of her sap hung on to his finger, confirming what she knew already—an aroused state. He pushed three fingers deep in her mouth and she gagged, producing saliva around the long digits. Armed with her slobber, he smeared it around her warm pussy and pushed the fingers up inside again, shoving past the tight ring at her entrance. She winced, still not quite there yet. He stripped off her jeans and knickers and hauled her towards him. No guesswork needed on what he wanted. She climbed over his legs, sat astride his hips, and unzipped his suit trousers.
My God! A rigid structure sprang up to greet her. She wrapped both hands around the thick erection, feeling his protruding veins, and put him where she needed him to be. She expected he’d been in the fired-up state for a while, thinking of her on the long haul flight, at the airport, and on the car journey back home. She lowered her pussy and met resistance. Too big! Still not enough give; she had to ease down, almost screwing his cock into her pussy, twisting and rotating with her hips. Each time, she sank lower. Eventually, she had all of him, and she remained there, perched on his balls. His watchful eyes hadn’t strayed from her. His expressionless blue eyes matched by firm unmoving lips. She ignored the bland features. They meant nothing. His cock told her all she needed to know.
She pulled off her cotton top and unclasped the bra, tossing it over her shoulder. Her breasts bounced right in front of his nose with her stiff nipples like small pebbles.
She could have come without having to move. Squeezing her muscles around his thickened cock, it seemed to grow ever larger. How she loved him there. Needed him there. She yo-yoed at a pace suited to her, not him. He held her waist, no tight grip, and his thumbs traced her skin, tickling her. She tried hard not to titter.
He took one of his fingers and touched it on her lip. Another finger to lubricate with her mouth. She sucked it all the way to his knuckle then he extracted it with a popping sound. He pressed against the back of her head and pushed her down onto his chest, forcing her bum up. That lubricated finger found its intended home, inside her back hole. He went as far as the second knuckle and, as she trembled with anticipation, he shook his finger inside her, twisting and gyrating.
She wanted to explode. Instead, she made an eager whimpering sound. She implored with her eyes, peering up at his face from her resting place on his shoulder. A whispered word reached her ears—at least, she was sure she’d heard it, and she came: an earthquake of pulsating nerve endings and muscles shaking. Her clitoris throbbed with tenderness, and the sensation rippled on beautifully. The finger slipped out. It was time to return the gift. He was to have his own reward.
Fists grasped her flesh and Jason bounced Gemma, as if he were a trampoline for her innards. Her swinging breasts joined in at their own pace, painfully tossed about. Now h
is face changed. An urgent grimace of need etched his features—lips crushed together, bright eyes narrowing. He growled with a guttural noise of want.
Gemma came again: an uncontrolled, rampant orgasm. She couldn’t contain it, and he erupted alongside her own—a hot burst of liquid deep within her. Jason cried out her name across the room then produced a grunt of satisfied lust. Her sides stung where he clung onto her, banging her up and down on his lap while he pumped the last drops of his essence into her. The final shudder came and she flopped off him, slipping down on the bed on her back. Her eyelids drooped. The aching stiffness in her groin paralysed her. The towel she had put down to catch Joshua’s snot and dribbling mouth, had found a new purpose; Jason’s semen dripped out, pooling beneath her.
By the time Gemma came to her senses, he had showered and shaved. He emerged from the en suite with a towel wrapped around his waist. She focussed on his broad chest: smooth and perfectly formed in symmetry, purring to herself with contentment. He went to the walk-in closet to find clothes, and she ogled him as he searched amongst his wardrobe. For a man in his mid-thirties, he remained physically no different to the man she had first met, four years earlier—youthful and fit.
“Where is Clara?” He slipped on his silk boxers—black and shimmery.
“She rang late last night after you called. She’s ill.” She shrugged. Nannies got sick, too. “She sounded rough all yesterday. I wasn’t surprised when she said she couldn’t make today.”
