Sublime Trust

by Jaye Peaches

  He grasped my hair, dragging me up to be level with his face. “Tell me, baby.”

  “I’m yours,” I gasped.

  He made good on his word, and a long night ensued. I crawled across the floor of the lair at one point in a futile attempt to escape him. My inelegant scuttle, conducted in the midst of my nervous giggles, wasn’t due to pain or fear, but because if he’d laid a finger on me, I would have come.

  I applied every trick in my repertoire to hold my orgasm at bay. In the end, he didn’t fuck me to my orgasm, neither did he spank me or use some wicked toy on my poor clit. Instead, he bound me with ropes, creating an intricate pattern of knots, contorting me and lacing me up as if to clothe me in netting. With me left there, on the floor and immobilised, he waited.

  While I concentrated on breathing, he commanded me to look at him. Jason, stretched out naked on the bed, fingered his spent cock. His demeanour was exactly what I needed. Pure dominance fed successfully by my unrelenting submission. Even the clover clamps, which he’d attached to my nipples, had been part of his game plan to bring me to this point.

  I folded away my negative thoughts, allowing him to plug my sieve of leaky submission with his dominance. My regret at not showing gratitude to Jason and his unstinting team of protection officers I would right in the morning with a heartfelt apology. I felt at peace and deep in subspace.

  “Come!”

  Still trapped by my bindings, my orgasm lingered for an eternity. After Jason had untied me, I succumbed to sleep in his arms.

  Chapter 14. An Education

  The twin challenges of work and siblings settled, and Jason rediscovered the friskier elements of his dominance after many weeks of subdued play.

  Determined to rectify my recent misdemeanours, we entered a phase of trying out new ways to maintain my submission. He pushed my pain limits, and the sadist re-emerged. I relented to his demands because it helped conquer his stress, and the games he devised thrilled and aroused me, something I struggled to acknowledge.

  While the weekdays remained hectic and rarely provided free time, the weekends proved to be more accommodating. He summoned me to his Blythewood study not long after breakfast and thrust a piece of paper into my hand: a list of essential oils and other ingredients.

  I ran my finger over the words, my jaw dropping. “Seriously, I’ve got to buy this stuff?”

  My insides somersaulted, forced to respond to the sudden release of adrenaline, while my brain echoed other ideas. No way is he touching me with anything on this list.

  “Health food store. There’s one in the local town.” He continued to stare at his monitor, waving me away.

  Standing at the cashier’s desk in the store, I watched the assistant put my shopping into a carrier bag. I avoided looking at him or the strange collection of small bottles: tiger balm, cinnamon oil, peppermint oil, wintergreen oil, and clove oil. Did it shout kink? It did to me.

  I buried my trepidation for most of the day by sweating away in the garden digging up potatoes while Joshua dug for worms.

  My nerves went ballistic not long after Jason strapped me to the gynaecological examination table in the lair. With my legs spread wide on the stirrups, Jason spoilt me—his words, but not mine—with a lesson in chemical play.

  After he’d ramped up with a good flogging, he entombed my vision with a blindfold and tied my wrists above my head. I held my breath, waiting for the first touch, wondering if it would sting, burn, or soothe. I’d tried toothpaste on my clit—a frivolous moment of adventure with one of my early Doms. The memories flooded back, I’d giggled and squawked a great deal.

  Jason had diluted the oils, he reassured, acknowledging my lack of experience before smearing them on my clitoris, labia, or nipples.

  “Oh fuck, oh fuck.” I writhed in my bonds, responding to the tingles, fiery heat, and other strange sensations.

  If he’d had a clipboard, I suspected Jason would have been making notes as if he were professor and I, his lab rat. I ceased fighting my bonds and conjured up an image then lost myself in a fantasy world of mad scientist and debauched experimentation.

  I needed to orgasm, but no permission was given. The chemical play along with the gynae table and bondage had put me in a state of delicious helplessness. My silly utterances, attempts at squirming away, shrieks, or uncontrollable fits of giggles entertained my Dominant. I heard the chuckles and felt the slaps when I got too frisky with my swearing.

  Verging into addled state and drifting on the fringe of subspace, I wasn’t surprised he ended the session.

  “Well done, babe.” He removed the blindfold. “I diluted them quite a bit, since you’re new to many of them. But I’m impressed. We can build up the concentrations gradually.”

  I blinked in the bright light, my lips quivering. “Concentrations? Gradually? You got to wear fucking gloves!”

  He laughed. “Be honest. You were close to coming.” He bent down and licked my well-washed pussy. “So you can, because I’m a rock after all your caterwauling and moaning. Didn’t know where to put yourself, did you? Good scene, babe. I love teaching you new things.”

  ***

  Moulding, shaping, healing, pushing, educating, training, nurturing: words used by many a Dominant to refer to the unending task of keeping their submissives pleasing to them. I held the opinion that when it came to me, Jason practised all of them in some fashion. If I had walls about me, hiding my inner thoughts, Jason had long ago brought them tumbling down.

  My emotional scars following my rape had largely been healed. The nature of my submission moulded to Jason’s preferences and my sexual skills trained to meet his needs. There were my limits, a list of kinky things I baulked at doing. Those pastures became Jason’s playground, and he relished the task of educator.

  He could take my softer limits and use them to stretch me. He had succeeded with humiliation, but some limits were about physical impediments. I feared some things to the point he would never push them, others I acknowledged could be shifted or budged. In handing myself over to him, I’d let him become the master of my limits.

  In the heat of summer, I lay on the bed in the lair, rigid like a scaffold pole with my hands by my side and feet pointing down. Another limit, another scene to push me into new arenas of pain and pleasure. I stared up at the ceiling, teeth gritted, and reminded myself acceptance played a big part in submission.

  Jason wound the bondage tape around me, looping it under my body with his speedy hands. Starting at my ankles, he worked his way methodically up my legs towards my bottom. The noise of the tape being peeled off the roll was similar to masking tape ripped free, a very sticky sound, and the black tape was transforming me into a different kind of mummy from the one Joshua knew.

  It was typical Jason gave me no warning of his plans. One minute, I’d been fiddling with my hair in the bathroom, fretting about split ends, and the next minute, he’d sent me to his lair and told to make myself ready—meaning, get naked.

  I never said I wouldn’t do bondage tape or mummification, I simply had no experience to prejudice my opinion, and it had held back my curiosity. He hummed under his breath, and the sight of his happy disposition buoyed my confidence.

  The bondage tape stopped at the top of my thighs, and he reattached it to my skin above my hips, leaving a useful gap. I had to sit up while he wrapped me up to my breasts, another gap and then the rest of my chest up to my neck. He had told me he would leave my mouth and nose alone.

  “Bye-bye.” He grinned as he covered my eyes, ears, and the top of my head, leaving the ponytail free.

  He’d promised me there would be no pain, but I found myself questioning his definition. Spurred on by my request for him to scratch my itchy nose—which he didn’t do—he proceeded to tickle me with a feather duster. He also licked, nibbled, and touched me randomly. I’d no indication of where he would strike or when. There were several minutes when the room went silent and he didn’t touch me at all. Having my hearing muffled made the sile
nce unbearable.

  “Master?” I trembled, and he responded with a flick of his finger on my nipple.

  He wouldn’t leave me alone, but ignoring me was an unpleasant sensation. My mind went to bedlam and, accompanying my hot head of random thoughts, my body started to cook as well. He flipped me over, lifted my bottom up on a pillow and, finding the gap between my thighs sufficient, he penetrated my wet pussy with a hard thrust.

  I sweltered, and the enjoyment of being vulnerable and restrained for his pleasure wasn’t fascinating me any longer. I concentrated on breathing and relaxing. Most things Jason did to me sent me to cloud nine. Mummification had not—it was on my fail list.

  “Come!” he grunted.

  Nothing happened. How could it? There was nothing happening down there but sweaty, chafed thighs. I bucked my hips in a vain attempt to push him off, but it became apparent he liked my little display of resistance, and it encouraged him to fuck me harder.

  Should I fake it? Make up an orgasm for his benefit, and would he know? Just as I began to wonder if I could fib my way out of the situation, he exploded inside.

  Withdrawing, he quickly snipped the tape off me with a pair of medical scissors. I bolted upright and flapped my arms about.

  “Hot!” I shrieked.

  “I take it you’ve overheated, not my hot sex?” He went to fetch a flannel and glass of water, which I demolished in two or three mouthfuls.

  “Next time, you’ll need to put a fan over me, ’cos, Sir, that was hard.” I flopped back down. “I was struggling, couldn’t come and....” His eyes widened, his jaw dropped—a rare display of complete surprise.

  “Couldn’t come? If you didn’t come, what was all the moaning and arse bucking about?”

  My God, he’d thought I come. I’d been agitated, not climaxing, and he mistook it for an orgasm?

  “No, it didn’t happen. What if I had faked it?” I said with a small curl of my lips.

  “You would fake your orgasm!” he mocked.

  “According to you, I just did.” I wiped a cool cloth over my face. I’d need a long shower and a hair wash.

  “That’s what I thought until you foolishly opened your mouth just now.”

  “Wow, I never thought I had it in me. I mean I’ve not done it before with you.”

  Jason didn’t look cross, which surprised me greatly. If anything, he appeared faintly amused, his lips twitched at the corners, and he had the faint trace of smile wrinkles around his eyes.

  “I’m honoured. Why did you fake in the past?”

  “Some of your predecessors unfortunately didn’t make me sexy at all, no matter what they did to me,” I confessed and lay back down, flustered by my admission.

  “Why couldn’t you come now?” He loomed, furrowing his eyebrows.

  “A tad hot, and I didn’t enjoy it,” I whispered. “Actually, I hated it.”

  He plonked himself astride my body, arms crossed on his chest, and stared down at me with those wicked blue eyes. “So, I failed to make you feel sexy? So why not say you were struggling with overheating and tell me? You could have passed out. I’m a little pissed with you. You didn’t want to disappoint me, and I understand the reason, but it’s not an excuse. You should have given me a safe-word.”

  “Yes, Master. Sorry, Sir. I panicked in the heat of the moment. Heat being the word.” I lowered my eyes, feeling diminished by his little lecture.

  He bent to kiss me then trapped my neck with his hand. I tensed at his attention-grabbing technique. It worked every time.

  “Don’t do that again, understood?”

  “Yes, Master. I value your education, and I won’t forget to communicate better in the future.”

  He released his grip with a satisfied nod.

  Later, in bed, my dishonesty haunted me. Unable to sleep, I tossed and turned on the bed. It wasn’t like me. I usually told him if I wasn’t there then he’d obligingly find some way to help me. I secretly loved forced orgasms, even if they left me tender and exhausted.

  I woke him up with my restlessness.

  “Stop doing bloody gymnastics on the bed and go to sleep or else it’s the floor for you,” he chided.

  Sleep refused to descend. Thinking about Jason’s assumption I’d reached an orgasm, I cast my mind back to the few men with whom I’d faked, galled to realise I’d resorted to trickery to keep them happy.

  Fibbing to Jason didn’t fit with these failed lovers. Jason didn’t berate me when I screwed up sexually. If anything, he would talk through what had gone wrong and tell me what he expected from me next time. Mummification was still on the books, but he had taken on board my comment about overheating.

  However, even though he’d admitted he should have checked in better, which he did in the shower as we both cooled down, I remained frustrated by my failure to submit. I let out a big sigh.

  “For fuck’s sake, Gemma. What’s the matter?” He switched on the bedside light.

  “I wish I’d said something. I feel disappointed I let you down.” My shoulders inched up in the tiniest of shrugs, and I practised the doleful expression that either fired him into action or annoyed him sufficiently to ignore me. I crossed my fingers under the sheets it would be former.

  He manhandled me off the bed, bent me over the end then snatched the hairbrush off the dressing table and walloped my bare backside.

  “Thank you, Sir,” I shrieked.

  The spanking liberated my thoughts of failure and, by the time my bottom blazed, he’d decided to fill me. I remembered little of his antics, other than he nearly propelled me head first off the bed with the force of his thrusts.

  “Are you going to come for me now?”

  “Yes, Sir!”

  That orgasm rocked, and he enjoyed his, too, underneath his veneer of cross Dom.

  “The next time you want to bring something to my attention at this ungodly hour, you’ll not be sitting down for days, under fucking stood? Don’t bloody keep me awake with your post-mortems. Is that educational enough for you?” he snarled before tossing the duvet back over the bed.

  “Very, Sir. Thank you.” I curled up into a ball, and he spooned about my body. My bottom throbbed, my pussy was super sore with overuse, but Jason had absolved me. I fell asleep immediately.

  ***

  Education occupied my thoughts in other ways. Joshua’s education. It seemed ridiculous to me to fret about schooling when he wasn’t even two years old, but Jason had pointed out private schools in the London area required early registration.

  “Register him now!” I exclaimed over breakfast.

  As Saturday progressed, we kept batting back and forth issues regarding Joshua’s schooling. I had conceded before he was even born that private education was a requirement due to the security aspect. Many of the most expensive independent schools catered for the children of the rich and famous.

  The world of private schools was an anathema to me. Like many state-educated children, I’d sneered at the wealthy kids who went to the posh schools. I’d subsequently re-evaluated my opinion. Jason and his siblings had been privately educated, which must have been expensive for his parents, and they weren’t snobs. In fact, I’d found them to be grounded in everyday life with the exception of Jason, whose wealth kept him distant from many normal activities.

  Over lunch, I accepted an urban school was sensible though unfortunate from my perspective. I wished Joshua could enjoy the country air, but it wasn’t practical. The next topic of conversation emerged in the evening with us ensconced in the sitting room after Jason had come down from putting Joshua to bed. A bright summer evening and Blythewood House bathed in pleasant sunlight. I felt cosy and assumed Jason would be in a good mood, too.

  Sat alongside him, at his request, I updated him on my research. “I’ve been surfing the internet and there are a number of private schools near to our house in London. I discounted the boy-only ones—”

  “Why?” he countered.

  “Because I don’t want him going
to a single-sex school,” I asserted. When it came to Joshua, Jason and I were equals, and decisions had to be agreed together.

  “What’s wrong with going to a single-sex school?” The terse edge to his tone remained, acting as a warning signal. I’d been resting a hand on his thigh, and I removed it, clasping my hands together. I was determined to hold my ground.

  “He’ll spend his evenings chasing girls,” I parried.

  “Going co-ed didn’t stop the boys chasing after you.” He crossed his legs, as if in response to my withdrawal.

  I wrung my fingers into a tight knot and suppressed a scowl. “No. But I learnt how to handle them. I knew they were sex-obsessed adolescents and, contrary to what my mum may have believed, I held off sex for a bloody long time given their predatory nature.”

  “All the more reason to keep him apart from the fairer sex, don’t you think?”

  “What, and have him sneak off to find them after school? It will be a compulsion.”

  “Will it? I didn’t follow the girls around. I wasn’t one of your lurkers.”

  “So it was only me? Nothing to do with the boys. I’m responsible for their behaviour?” I huffed at the implication I led the boys on. “You were a saint then? Can’t believe that. You got your sexual appetite from somewhere. Being starved of female company for all your school years couldn’t have been healthy.”

  “Make up your bloody mind. You want kids to be aware of their sexuality and respect each other, but you’ve just accused your schoolmates of stalking you all the time and you obviously think I didn’t respect girls in my youth. You went to the co-ed school, not me.”

  We glared at each other, at an impasse. I took a deep breath—time to find a compromise.

  “Look, I think the message about equality in schools is important, and it’s not about sex, really. It is about respect and mutual understanding. I want him to appreciate women, girls, and the best start is to be with them. Study, play, and talk with them and not hang about in the evenings hoping for a kiss. Anyway prepubescent girls and boys don’t always want to play together. We’re probably arguing about something that is a long way down the line.”