by Jaye Peaches
“Ben is up,” said Louise, wringing her hands.
The hour wasn’t early for Jason and me and even with the drive out, we’d made it to their cottage before ten in the morning.
“He’s in his workshop. Something about checking glue has dried.” It wasn’t a picture of domestic bliss. Ben probably sought an excuse not to be in the house and in sight of his brother-in-law.
I fetched a bag of toys and snacks from the Range Rover while Jason helped Louise make coffee in the kitchen.
He stretched out on the carpet with Joshua, who pushed his Thomas the Tank Engine around and under the furniture. In the process, he found crumbs, sweet wrappers, and other pieces of small rubbish. Jason intercepted each, whipping them out of the small hands with a, “Daddy will have that.” He didn’t criticise the lack of cleanliness, but Louise cursed under her breath.
“I don’t let the hotel rooms get this bad.” She grinned and knelt down to hunt around for more litter.
“I’m sure you don’t,” said Jason. “You’ve been in London for most of the week. Housekeeping can wait. Sorry to have missed you.”
“Oh, it was daft, my turning up unannounced. Gemma was the perfect hostess.” She smiled in my direction.
Joshua stared up at Louise. His view of the world must involve a lot of nostrils and chins. “Nutty loo,” he blurted.
I cringed, and Jason laughed.
“We’ve been trying to get him to say Aunty Lou,” I explained to a puzzled Louise.
Joshua plonked himself down on his bottom, stuck a finger up his nostril, and giggled. Louise’s eyes widened.
“Don’t worry,” I hastened. “It’s his thing at the moment. If we tell him not to do it, he keeps doing it. So, ignore it.”
“Ri-ght,” said Louise, backing away.
“Is that Ben’s coffee?” I asked, pointing at the solitary red mug. “I’ll take it out to him.”
Before Louise could suggest otherwise, I darted out of the door, carrying the steaming mug, determined to find the underlying cause of Ben’s concerns about Louise’s pregnancy. My departure also gave space for Louise and Jason to have a heart-to-heart.
The outbuilding was slightly bigger than a single garage and occupied a large part of the back garden. Ben had used most of the money Jason had lent him to create a usable workspace for his business. I knocked on the door and entered before waiting for a reply.
“Hi, Ben,” I announced to his stiffening shoulders. “Coffee.”
Ben was a slender man with dark-brown curly hair and a stature that took him close to six foot without making him appear tall. Dressed in scruffy corduroys and a denim shirt covered in sawdust, he held in his craftsman hands a mandolin with a rounded back and devoid of strings. He was examining the frets.
The workshop bore no resemblance to my atelier. Whereas my space had splashes of colour, paper, and brushes scattered about, his had wood, string, bows, and carpentry tools. On one wall was a well-organised shelf of boxes labelled bridged, pegs, or frets according to different instrument types. Scattered about were guitars, violins, violas, and cello parts. Some hung waiting for the varnish to dry, while others laid out waiting to be reassembled.
The room stank of resin, varnish, and wood dust. My atelier smelt of solvents and paint. I almost sneezed as sawdust billowed across the floor. I shut the door. How could he work in such an environment?
“Put the mug there. Thanks, Gemma.” He pointed at a small space on his workbench.
A moment of silence descended. No words of welcome or kiss.
“Jason here, too?” he asked, turning his head slightly over his shoulder.
“Yes. Josh, too.” I inched forward, placing the mug next to him.
Ben glanced away at the name of our son. “Come to berate me, have you?” He sounded resigned, breathing out heavily though his nose.
“No. Come to offer our support.” I wanted to keep as non-judgmental as possible.
“What, after my telling my girlfriend to get an abortion? I’m surprised Jason isn’t in here with his fists ready to knock me down.” He rested the mandolin on the bench.
“He doesn’t box.” I tried to lighten the tone. “And he left his golf clubs at home. You still want her to have an abortion?” I cut to the heart of the disagreement with my sister-in-law.
He groaned as if in pain. Finally, he turned to face me and leant on his bench. He looked exhausted, with thick, dark lines under his eyes. He raked his fingers through his hair, tugging on it. “Fuck, no. It was all heat of the moment. But it did the damage because Lou knows I’m not keen.”
“You do want children?”
“Yes. Just not now.”
“When would be a good time, Ben? Louise is in a secure job that will give her paid maternity leave; you work at home, which gives you flexibility. I don’t see the issue.”
“It’s not about jobs. The house needs stuff done to it and...I’m not ready, okay?” he snapped.
His darting eyes, which wouldn’t look at me, and the trembling in his usually sturdy hands told me he was fired up with emotion—afraid?
Somehow, I had to make him understand it was all right to be uncertain. I took a step closer to him.
“When I found out I was pregnant, we were both delighted. Been trying for months to conceive, and it was fantastic news. Then I fell to pieces, badly. I didn’t know how to deal with being pregnant: the emotions, the contrary advice from experts, appointments, and other personal issues.” I cleared my throat, wondering how far to go with my own revelations. “You know Jason and I live our lives in a particular way?”
Ben’s cheeks turned a soft shade of pink. He picked up his mug and took a sip before answering. “Yes. Louise says he controls your life and you do kinky sex.” He stared into his mug. I didn’t blame him I’d not want to look at me after saying that.
I snorted with amusement. “I suppose you’ve summed up the two key aspects in a nutshell. Before I was pregnant, he didn’t control me, my life as you describe it, not to that extent. Just in the bedroom.” I didn’t mention the dungeon. “So, when I panicked with being pregnant, Jason took over, more or less, controlling me and making decisions I found difficult to do. The control, his domination over me, has remained since Josh’s birth. I consent....” I rambled, and Ben had a mortified expression, shrinking back against the bench. “Sorry, didn’t mean to embarrass you. I’m trying to explain I reacted to my pregnancy in a way I hadn’t anticipated, and Jason was supportive.”
He furrowed his eyebrows and pulled a face. “You want me to take over Louise’s life?”
I held up a hand. “No, no. She’s the wrong type anyway.” I cringed at my choice of words. “I’m saying I thought I was ready, and I found out I wasn’t, and I needed someone to be there for me. There is no right time, and there certainly isn’t a typical response to finding out you’re going to be a parent.”
“Jason coped.” Ben pouted, almost childishly.
“Jason likes to control things, everything, including people. Pregnancy, kids, are just more of the same, and his methods remain the same. He doesn’t dwell in his past. Whatever his opinions of what makes a good or bad father, he will do what he wants.”
Ben scowled. “My dad was crap. Never cared, treated Mum like shit, and she ran off to Australia to start a new life.”
I went and stood next to him, leaning on his bench. He had issues, I could see where they might lie. “You didn’t go with her?”
“No. Lived with my grandparents, her parents. Wanted to finish school and study here in the UK. Dad was never there for me, once they split up.”
“Why not?”
“Bloody drunk all the time, that’s why. An alcoholic bastard who cared about nothing and nobody except his next drink!” He spilt a little coffee on his shirt and brushed it off with his hand.
“You’re not him, though, Ben. I know it’s a cliché, like father like son, but it’s not true.” I wanted to reach out and touch his rough hands with their bro
ken nails, scratched and covered in glue. Very different from Jason’s elegant, manicured ones.
“I know I’m not him. But he’s not exactly the best role model is he? I’ve got no idea how to be a father.” He stared at the wood shavings scattered about his feet.
I’d made a breakthrough, and I had to dig him out of his bleak pit before he was stuck down there. “Role models are over rated in my opinion. Look at Jason and me. Do we want Joshua growing up believing all men are controlling Dominants or that women should be tied to the beds for a good seeing to? Definitely not. He will see equals, whatever happens in the bedroom.”
Ben’s face opened up a little.
I rested my hand on his arm. “I’m not saying you need to be a different person to be a parent. You shouldn’t make negative assumptions your personal experiences will be repeated. Imagine him or her, in here, watching you work, asking you what you’re doing, looking in awe at your skills, your passion. It’s a wonderful vision, don’t you think? I have Joshua in my atelier, in a separate play area, and he paints with me. What more could I ask for?”
The sparkle in his eyes grew brighter, and he looked about his workshop, nodding his head. He hadn’t imagined what children would do in his life. Perhaps he had seen a baby with nappies and sleepless nights, but beyond was a different life he should be envisaging.
He swallowed a mouthful of coffee, digesting my words, and his face crumpled, and he let out a long groan. “I’ve been terribly selfish, haven’t I? Shit. What an arse. I criticise my father for pushing me out of his life, and I’ve ignored Lou all bloody week. Can you do me a favour? Can you tell her I want to talk to her? That I’m sorry.”
I headed to the door. “I think you should apologise yourself.”
He nodded, straightened, and dusted down his shirt. “Thanks, Gemma.”
“Well?” asked Jason, after a joyful Louise bounded out the door to speak to Ben. He stood up and stretched, before sitting down on a chair. Instinctively, we swapped places, and I ended up on the floor, playing with Joshua.
“Basically, his dad was a drunk. Daddy was bad, so I’m going to be terrible, too.”
“Had to be a reason for his reticence.”
Joshua clambered into my lap and head butted my breasts. “The abortion stuff was an overreaction. Nothing more.”
“You’ve obviously said something to snap him out of it.”
Bouncing my son up and down on my leg, I explained my tactic of describing Joshua and I together in the atelier. “Worked for me, worked for him. He’s very contrite. So I think bridges are being mended rapidly.”
“Good. Because I need to work this afternoon.” Jason wouldn’t want a lengthy lunch.
“How is Louise?” I asked in return.
“Determined to work things out with Ben. I’m sure they would have gotten there in the end on their own.”
I poked his leg. “She needed you, though. Big brother to the rescue.”
Jason sighed and his head rested on the back of the armchair. “Seems to be a common theme at the moment.”
“She said you two used to talk regularly and then, after Michael’s exposé of your Dominant lifestyle, you stopped.”
“I did not. She stopped ringing and emailing,” he rebuffed.
I didn’t want to be drawn into the blame game. “Well, it doesn’t matter what actually happened. She’d made assumptions about what you are and they were wrong. Your family is trying to rebuild their relationships with you. Whether Louise and Ben would have fixed this mess on their own or not is irrelevant. She wants your support and words of encouragement.”
“And she will always have them, Gem. I’m here, aren’t I? You’ve done well with your chat with Ben. You shouldn’t underestimate your own abilities when it comes to helping people out in a crisis.”
I should have glowed at his words, but I didn’t. “Other people’s. My screw-ups, that’s a different story isn’t it?” Joshua shot off across the room, heading for the DVD player, and I scrambled to retrieve him. Holding him in my arms I turned, and caught Jason’s expression. I could see the narrowing of his eyes, the sharp rebuke hidden behind his look.
Ben and Louise returned, hand in hand. Joshua sprang up and, with perfect timing, walked up to Ben and smacked his leg, “Ben!” he pronounced with a self-satisfied expression before returning to his toys.
Ben cleared his throat. “Louise and I are delighted to announce, together, we’re having a baby.” This time he greeted me with a big hug and a smack of his lips on my cheek.
During lunch, Louise and I talked about colour schemes, while Ben discussed his thriving business with Jason.
“I might take on an apprentice. What do you think?” Ben asked and Jason obliged him with sensible words of encouragement. Shortly afterwards, we left the pair chatting about redecorating the interior of the house.
Driving back in the car, with Joshua asleep, Jason put his foot down, keen to be back at his desk. Closer to home, we left the main roads and drove through the leafy villages and towns of the Home Counties.
“What do you fancy for dinner?” I asked, striking up a conversation.
“Something with pasta.”
“And then?” I picked at a loose thread on my skirt seam. “It seems like ages since we were last in on a Saturday,” I huffed, rather too dramatically, perhaps.
“I’m going to tie you up and use you. What did you think?” His eyes fixed on the traffic ahead.
I smothered a grin, stared out of the passenger window, and wondered what being “used” would entail. I crossed my ankles and squashed my thighs together, slipping my hands under my bum, as if they were cold and needed warmth. I wanted the quivering fingers out of sight.
The car halted at a set of lights and, reaching over, he pinched my chin, forcing me to turn to face him.
“Don’t hide that pretty smile from me, Gemma.” He let go, reclaiming the steering wheel. “And don’t be ashamed of yourself.”
“I’m not,” I said, but I knew my voice lacked conviction.
“I’m pleased with the women in my life. They’re strong, ambitious, and know what they want. You may be my submissive, but that doesn’t mean you’re incapable of influencing others. You put yourself down again, back at Louise’s, telling me you can’t deal with your own crises. It pisses me off to hear you speak with such denigration about yourself. You twist and turn, like a leaf in the wind. You convinced Ben he could be a good father. Why can’t you convince yourself you can achieve things on your own? My controlling you doesn’t remove your abilities or skills. So, no more of this pathetic ‘I can’t help myself.’ You’re not a fucking puppet, Gemma.”
“You tie me up like one,” I interjected with a degree of disrespect. His words didn’t offend, far from it. He had picked me up and dusted me down in his own peculiar fashion, and he’d done it many times before. It was the fact he was so bloody right about my reservations that peeved.
“I will also discipline you if you use that tone with me again. Fucking you isn’t what this is about. I didn’t give you rules and take control of certain aspects of your life to have you wimp out of dealing with problems and challenges. Quite the contrary, I want you to be able to face them without pessimism.”
“Yes, Master,” I removed my hands from under my legs, sensing the rising dampness in my crotch. “You’re pleased with me?” I was so goddamn needy when he lectured me.
“Yes, of course I am. You were there for my sister. I’m grateful you helped resolve the situation. You’re part of my family, and your advice is as worthy as mine. Once the kid’s in bed, you’re going to cook for me in the nude with your ankles shackled, a plug up your arse, and a ball gag in your gob. Then, in the lair, you’ll prostrate yourself at my feet, ready for a hard spanking. I think that is what you need, isn’t it, babe?”
My insides melted, churned up with gushes of adrenaline and pure excitement. I turned to him and gave him my prettiest smile. “Yes, Master. It is.”
Chapter 13. Well-behaved
Having gained points for helping his sister at the beginning of June, I heralded the arrival of summer by slipping into a phase of sassy Gemma. The rules, so carefully discussed months earlier, began to lose their significance and, with Jason being so busy, I assumed he wasn’t keeping track of them. It led me into being adventurous with their interpretation.
A sultry weekend at Blythewood, and the morning shower gave me a solitary moment alone with my body. Far too tempting a situation for me to ignore indefinitely. I circled the tips of my fingers around my right breast and tweaked my little nipple hard. The warm water cascaded down my cleavage, and I kept my eyes shut, allowing the spray to splash across my upturned face. I repeated the action with my other breast, squishing my flesh as I pinched.
“Gemma!”
I jumped out of my bliss. “Jason!” I found him peering through the condensation on the glass door, his arms crossed and his attention fixed on my wandering hands.
Reaching in, he switched the shower off, and I stood in a puddle, dripping. The coolness hit me immediately, but I ventured the shivering had nothing to do with being cold. Jason’s expression was icy.
“What were you doing?” He glared at my tits, and I snatched my hands away, hiding them behind my back.
“Breast exam. You know, lumps and bumps. I do it once a month. I have a leaflet.” I went to reach for a towel, and he grabbed my wrist.
“Breast exam. With your eyes shut, in the shower? It looked like more than a breast exam to me. It appeared to me you were seeking sensory pleasure without permission.”
“What? No! I’m permitted to take care of my own health issues.” I glowered back, seeking a route for my salvation. How long had he been standing there watching me?
His fingers remained wrapped around my wrist. “Gemma, how many times a week do I touch those breasts?”
I opened my mouth to reply, knowing immediately my answer would be my own condemnation. I said nothing.
“I’m waiting for your answer.”
“Several times a week, Sir,” I whispered, hoping the extractor fan would mask my voice.
