by Jaye Peaches
“Yes.” She let go of the necklace. Why had she drawn attention to it?
Audrey seemed uncomfortable, fidgeting in her seat. “With Joshua around?”
“Well, not overtly. Not that he would understand, but we want to get into the habit of being his parents in his company, nothing else.” She clasped her hands tight together, as if in prayer. Please don’t pass judgement on us!
“But you’re still....” The word submissive, mouthed rather than spoken, eyebrows raised and disappearing under her fringe.
She took the bait. Audrey possessed the same knack for extracting information from her as Jason did. Was it the sharp eyes? Or maybe the edginess to her tone? “I am Jason’s submissive, Audrey. I will always be his sub. It’s not as if we have a reason to stop. In fact, it’s becoming so ingrained I don’t think we could if we tried. For me, it’s like being bilingual. The language of marriage and our other relationship fused together. We flit between them with other people, Josh or work. The same common threads existing in both: love and companionship.” Gemma plastered her face with one of her more confident smiles.
“At Christmas, I thought…. Well, you were very discreet.”
“My parents were present. They have no idea, so, yes, we stayed vanilla. Almost vanilla. Nobody sees us in the bedroom.”
Audrey’s face flushed pink. Any further awkward conversations ended with the arrival of her grandson in his nanny’s arms.
Her mother-in-law stayed until Jason came home. After a repeat of the family news catch up, Audrey departed, leaving Jason and Gemma alone, Clara having left earlier.
The moment Joshua fell asleep, Jason’s demeanour changed. Gone, the patient father, the affectionate son, and the attentive husband, who’d kissed his wife in the hallway when she went to meet him. Gemma saw only her Dominant, her Master. He loomed over as she tidied away Joshua’s toys in the snug. His shadow draped over her kneeling body. She didn’t look back.
“We have outstanding matters to discuss. Go to the lair and wait for me.” Her pulse immediately spun out of control. Under her T-shirt, goose bumps sprung up on her skin, and her knuckles went white as she gripped the building block in her fist.
Chapter 21. An Oversight
Jason instructed her where to go and how to position her naked body for binding. He bound her breasts into the protruding balls of round flesh, which discoloured them into a shade of pink. Her upper torso, he semi-suspended, using ropes attached to the ceiling rigging and, via another set of ropes, he attached the loops about her breasts to rings at the front end of the table. Almost immobilised, he left her half-bent over the padded table, her nipples hanging close to the surface. Using leather cuffs, he strapped her ankles to the rounded table legs. One on each corner, spreading her wide and exposing her sex.
Throughout his methodical rope work, Gemma inhaled slowly through her nostrils and blew out from her mouth. Mental preparation was critical. It didn’t matter how she entered the room, whether excited, curious, or downright nervous, the outcome she wanted was always the same—exhilarated, sexually satiated and Jason a happy man.
His tone of voice implied reprimand. Perfunctory in style, with no salacious words or enticing, humorous teases, he projected his commands with a cool aim, bouncing them off the walls and into her waiting ears. Her pussy clenched as he demonstrated his dominance. For a brief moment, she revelled in her state of abject vulnerability.
The sight of the clover clamps, along with the round stone weights with their little hooks, made her rigid with apprehension. She tracked them as he waved them before her eyes. Smooth pebbles, so innocent and almost beautiful in appearance, handcrafted, she suspected, but unappreciated by her when he used them. He attached the clamps to the nipples, letting them pinch each one tightly. She screeched in discomfort, blinked, refusing to even countenance tears. Biting her lip, she waited for his interrogation to begin.
Jason stood on the opposite side of the table, leant over, and rested his elbows on the surface. “Why didn’t you tell me about the unisex changing room?” He picked up a weight, wafting it back and forward like a pendulum. His eyebrows raised slightly. A subtle change in his otherwise expressionless face.
“An oversight.” Gemma winced. Damn. She wanted to rewind and wipe out the ridiculous word. “I didn’t know when I signed up for the class. Sir,” she quickly added.
Jason clucked his tongue. “Oversight. We’ve had issues with your oversights before, haven’t we? I suggest you avoid the word.” Sharply said and fitting for his reprimanding mode. Her corrective Master, not her playful one had taken up residence in the dungeon lair.
Ignore the blasted tits!
She met his gaze and spoke her next words carefully. “I will use the cubicles to change, Sir.” The longer the clamps pinched her nipples the worse they would be when he removed them.
“You’d better. Because, sometimes, this lovely skin of yours may not be so pristine.” He referred to his marking her. Temporary marks, which could endure for several days, unseen beneath her clothing.
“Of course, Sir.” She felt indignant. As if she would parade about in a public space half-naked.
“One weight for the changing room.”
He suspended a slim metal chain between the two clamps and added a weight. Her bound breasts had hardly any slack. Instantly, a sharp pain enveloped her poor nipples as they stretched downwards. She yelped, and her eyes watered.
Breathe. Concentrate. Fucking concentrate.
Jason snorted and gave the weight a flick of his finger. “Then we have the matter of you hanging the phone up on me. Disrespectful, don’t you think? I certainly think so.”
Don’t bloody argue with him.
“Yes, Sir. I apologise. I was upset.” With you…. She didn’t say that either. A film of bleariness covered her vision as she fought with unshed tears.
“You became distressed with memories, and instead of talking them through with me, you hung up. Another weight.”
She gritted her teeth and tried to lower her body so the weights would rest on the table, but he had bound her too tight to move. The next weight tipped her up to the top of her pain scale.
“Argh. Fuck!” He was edging her too close to the precipice. The all-important safe-word hovered in the background.
A finger patted her cheek. “Where are we at, Gemma?”
“Nine, Sir,” she rasped.
She indicated her score out of ten. Ten being the threshold of intolerable pain. She concentrated her thoughts on anything other than her tormented breasts—the property she would be viewing on Monday, even the blackmail situation seemed appealing to a mind desperate for distractions. He didn’t want her drifting, losing focus. He flicked the weight, and she screeched another expletive, bringing her back into the room.
“Finally. You ignored my calls. Made me wait for, what? Four or five hours to speak to you. Thousands of miles away, in another country, wondering if you were all right, and you didn’t ring or answer my calls. I was, am, seriously pissed off, Gemma. A very, very unhappy Master. Why? Did you think I’d be cross with you for being blackmailed?”
The pain in her nipples spiked. He wanted her to speak, but she could barely breathe! “Josh was being difficult—”
“You’re blaming our son?” He stood up straighter, leaning on the flat of his hands rather than his elbows. She had to peer up to see his face and his lips, angled downwards, pressed together, told her everything.
“No! I was busy....” she blustered. Now a tear escaped.
“Busy. I was in bloody meetings, and you were too busy to even attempt to contact me!” He shook his head. He returned to having his elbows on the table, bringing them face to face again. Closer, this time. Nose to nose. His blue eyes unblinking as hers flitted about, trying not to meet his gaze.
“You don’t have an excuse do you?”
Gemma gave up. “No, Sir.”
It didn’t matter that she had been cross with him. That wasn’t the point, as
far as Jason was concerned. She understood his perspective. He couldn’t control her over such long distances if she didn’t communicate with him. Ignoring him had effectively cut off his domination, made him impotent and ineffective. Gemma had, for those few hours ceased to be his submissive, at least in terms of the practicalities of their dynamic.
“Another weight, Gemma.”
“No! Please no! Please, Master. I can’t,” she sobbed, straining to move away from him.
He hovered with the weight in his fingers, dangling it by her face.
“No? You get to say no?” Cocking his head to one side, he swung the weight.
Gemma came close to offering him anything, but since anything could include adding the weight, it was a pointless alternative. She gazed at him with her most pitiful expression of supplication.
“Please accept my heartfelt apologies. I was scared. I’m allowed to be scared, aren’t I?”
“Of me?” retorted Jason, snatching the weight into the palm of his hand.
She shook her head. “No. Of my memories. The changing room didn’t cross my mind. But hanging up…. I heard what you said about my judgement—” Gemma gasped with the pain of her nipples. “I can’t do this, tell you, with these fucking things hanging off me.”
Jason swiftly removed the weights, but left clamps in place. He cupped her clammy face in his hands. “You shouldn’t have left it so long, Gem, before ringing me back. I hate being apart from you and not knowing if you’re safe. Don’t be afraid.”
The pain eased. Gemma relaxed. “I will try.”
His mouth encased hers, pressing hard against her lips. One of his more desperate kisses, which consumed her and brought butterflies storming out of her belly.
His hands and lips slipped away. No smile, but his features softened. “Ready for me? I need this, babe. Taking you hard brings you back to me, makes me fly. It does you, too. You need it.”
Denial would be pointless. Throughout his tormenting nipple play, her traitorous sex had given him all that he desired. If he touched her pussy, he’d feel the lush wetness and the swollen labia. He’d see the flush of pink signalling her availability.
“Sir, I’m always ready for you,” she said sheepishly.
With no more words spoken, he stripped out of his clothes. A swift, easy penetration from behind. Her slick interior gave no resistance. He knocked against her with his ferocious pummels. Hard, he had warned, and hard she got. He swung her on and off his erection, and he loosened the ropes slightly so her upper body could sway in time to his movements. She could feel the thickness of his cock stretch her with every thrust and with it came the flowing juices, squirting about him. Her arms had been bound behind her back, and he held onto them for leverage, crashing into her bottom as he screwed in and out of her flowing channel.
She wanted to be quiet. A foolhardy notion. “Oh, fuck. Fuck. Uh.” Each time his cock pierced her, driving up into her belly, she muttered and moaned.
Throughout his torment of her breasts, Gemma had been fired up below. It never happened as a conscious effort; it was instinctive, almost innate in her to find his sadism aroused her masochistic needs. Her pleasure in being used by him, knowing that he desired her in the wanton state, crept into her clitoris, enticing it into near orgasm. She gave him her body, and he took it without compunction, guilt, or empathy. Far from being disgusted at the idea he was using her for his own gratification, it ramped up her own natural desire to come. She couldn’t resist him.
“Please, may I come,” A bead of sweat formed on her upper lip. She felt ashamed to ask. A few minutes earlier, he’d been berating her for ignoring him. Now, her own selfish pleasure occupied her thoughts. His reply didn’t surprise her.
“No.” A small huff of laughter, as if to remind her the fuck was his and not hers. She couldn’t face coming without permission. Would such an indulgence result in punishment? She couldn’t risk finding out.
He slapped her bottom, alternating cheeks, forcing her away from the epicentre of her discomfort, her breasts, to another, her arse. Gemma desperately wanted the endorphins propelling about her bloodstream to take her into a different place, where she would fly, like a bird in the sky. He permitted it, usually. During sensual pain play, floating off on her pain cloud to the numbing world of subspace didn’t displease him. Sometimes, he actively sought to put her there. The onslaught of the spanking confused her brain. It kept her grounded, and she lacked the wherewithal to drift off. Her ludicrous body still demanded an orgasm. It remained on a precipice, teetering on the brink.
She changed tack. “Please, Sir. Please. May I come for you?”
“Tell me when you’re coming.” No pause. He ground into her.
She gulped. She understood the instruction, the reason behind it. Her belly burst with a fresh flow of adrenaline sending her heart rate soaring.
His hands worked in tandem. Sliding over her flesh, sending ripples of goose bumps across her back. Hot and cold sensations intermingled, a bizarre sensation. She panted as his palms crept closer to their chosen target. She heard the soft growl from his lips. All too tempting. Her squished nipples, now numb from the clamps, were about to be awoken.
He cupped his hands under her breasts, taking the weight, and supporting them. The chain lost its tension, and she sighed in relief. He chuckled.
Damn, damn him! She whimpered, twisting her head and trying to glance behind. Out of sight. His face hidden behind and the descending ropes impeded her ability to turn any further.
The gentle caress around her swollen breasts continued. She knew it to be a false hope.
“What you going to do, babe?” he teased.
The soft touch went. He pinched the chain between a finger and thumb and held it, poised, before sliding his other hand between her legs and rubbing her clit, rotating in a circular motion. The dilemma: not to come, be left needy, or have him pull the retched clamps off as she came. She let out a sob of indecisiveness and he kissed the sweaty hairs on her head. A moment of tenderness in the midst of his little sadistic game. It triggered a sense of acceptance at her predicament. In the end, her body decided. The humiliation pushed her over the edge.
“I’m coming, Sir!” Contractions, tiny at first then passing over her whole body. With one brisk tug, the clamps flew off and clattered onto the table. She hollered, almost a scream.
Blood rushed into her nipples having been backed up behind in her swollen breasts. Excruciating! Heavenly! The orgasm went on for several minutes, rising and falling as waves of spasms cascaded over her bound body. He didn’t stop. Throughout, his cock pounded in a rapid succession of thrusts. The sound of her cries, the tightening around his hardness, finished him. He bucked hard against her, clawing at her flesh with his fingernails as he tormented her further. He shouted her name. Juddering and seeming to stop breathing, he pumped his come deep inside her.
A brutal orgasm for the both of them, and she suspected she’d carry the marks of his fingers for several days on her back and arms. As his submissive, she had given him what he needed. She glowed with the realisation then her eyelids drooped with fatigue. The ropes chafed her skin, and she no longer wanted the constraints.
Her sensual sadist departed. In a blink of an eye, that element of him was satiated, content, and no longer required. In his place, her caring Dominant untied her, rubbed her down, and carried her on to the bed, wrapping her up in a fleece and spooning himself around her trembling body. Now, the post-scene bedlam of emotions struck her down. Tearful and apologetic, she muttered crazy words of contriteness in a daze of post-coital confusion. The throbbing pain remained in her breasts, and her sore nipples made their presence felt. She felt dizzy with the disorientating neurochemicals zipping about her body.
Jason spoke to her, but she didn’t hear the exact words. He had tested her pain threshold, endurance, and desire to orgasm under pressure, the first time since their cruise, and it had been a long time since he had done such a demanding and intense scene. She hoped
she’d pleased him because her body felt like it was paying a high price for his demands on her.
Gradually the trembling stopped, her breathing regulated, and she became sleepy.
She jerked. A tiny cry filled the room. It grew into a persistent bleat. Its origin—the speaker installed in the wall. Joshua had woken up.
“Don’t move,” said Jason as he slipped his pants on. He left the room.
It wasn’t long before he reached the nursery. The speakers remained on. She could hear Jason chatting quietly to his son. The cause of the problem? Joshua’s favourite cuddly had escaped through the cot bars onto the floor. The matter was resolved. She peered at the monitor screen, squinting across the room at the image recorded by the fixed camera. She saw Jason rock Joshua in his arms. Then she heard it. Quiet, almost inaudible. A singing Jason. A sweet voice, perfectly in tune, and delivered in a soft timbre. A gorgeous masculine rendition of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”.
Tears re-formed in her eyes. She’d never had the privilege of Jason serenading her. However, he happily blessed Joshua with the honour. Pangs of jealousy? Perhaps, but they passed quickly. The song worked its magic, and Joshua nodded off in his cot.
She lay back on the bed and pondered her multi-faceted husband. How did he do it? Be so many things?
Jason returned and slipped back next to her, kissing her cheek as he drew her into his embrace.
After a few minutes, he threw back the fleece blanket. She wondered for a second if he planned to do anything else with her body. No, it was an inspection. He checked all the rope marks, the breasts, nipples, and, turning her over, he traced the marks left by his ravishing fingers, which had pinched and plucked as he came.
“These are minor. Don’t go swanning around in that changing room of yours with a bare back.”
“No.” Nothing more would be said on that subject. She’d barricade herself behind the cubicle curtain.
He wrapped her back up, and, with little effort and considerable grace, carried her back upstairs to their bed. The marital bed.
