by Jaye Peaches
Jason, to give him credit, listened to my last argument and nodded in agreement.
“Okay. Let’s choose his first school based on educational criteria. The best facilities, teachers, and suitable location. We will base the choice on these criteria and these only. Whether the school is single or mixed sex, we both abide by the choice. All right?” He squeezed one of my thighs.
I rocked my head from side to side and agreed, if only because I hated arguing and had a headache. He went to fetch a bottle of wine, which I suspected was his way of implying he needed to unwind from our unusually heated debate.
Staring at my half-empty wine glass, I accepted his request to sit by his feet. Being subservient to him calmed me, and we returned to the natural boundaries of our relationship. I was Jason’s submissive wife and in my place.
He’d hinted at his sexual awakening, and its obscurity maintained his enigmatic nature. His loss of virginity he had never been brought up in conversation and, for some reason, I had never broached the topic, assuming it had happened at university given his lack of contact with girls during his school days.
However, after our debate about our son’s schooling, I wanted to know the answer. “How did you lose your virginity, Jason?”
“I’ve never told you, have I?” He pursed his lips and swallowed the dregs of his wine, tipping the glass back. “The answer may surprise you. Given your opinion I must have been, what was the word, starved of female company at school. I was sixteen.”
His answer did surprise me. Who had the lucky girl been? “Did your parents know?”
“Of course not. For the very reasons you’ve been spouting on about. They assumed being in a single-sex school kept me isolated from girls and not thinking about them. Thinking about them! We boys were crazy about girls. I hung out by the school gates, watching the local girls with their short skirts swing by.”
“So, my point is valid. Why separate girls from boys if they take the opportunities at other times?”
“Not quite that simple. The gates were locked, and the walls were high, a bloody fortress. I had heaps of homework, and Mum had me in every after-school club, occupied and sequestered.”
“So, who did sixteen-year-old Jason find?”
“The local vicar’s daughter. She used to drive by the school on the way to work.”
My jaw hung. “She seduced you?”
“God no, Gemma. I seduced her, kind of. Let’s say it was mutual. A stunner with legs up to her shoulders, and bearing in mind I was already close to six foot tall by then, I looked older than I was. I never was that lanky, skinny type and easily passed for an eighteen-year-old, dressed in my rugby kit, and she thought I was walking home from the local sports centre. In reality, I’d been to an after-school club. One day, it rained hard, and she pulled over and offered me a lift home.”
“A stranger?”
“Well, she’d seen me several times and, quote, I looked trustworthy.” Jason chuckled.
“Where did you go?”
“Nowhere. We stayed in the car.”
“In the car? You did it in a car?” Jason had always claimed he hated sex in a car, unless it was a big limo.
“Yep. Bloody uncomfortable, too.” He wagged a finger at me when I frowned—I loved having sex in a car. “It didn’t happen the first time she gave me a lift. She picked me up a few times, and we got chatting. I smelt of sweat, and it turned her on. She smelt of perfume, a good smell.”
“She just let you?”
“Yep. I suggested she pull over in a lane, in some woods. We kissed and….” Jason smiled. “She had fantastic tits. Happened really quickly. Fumbling, inelegant tumble. We moved to the back seat, and I fucked her there. She told me to come in my hankie, hardly romantic.”
“The vicar’s daughter. Wow. Did you regret it?”
“Nah. But I didn’t boast to anyone. It would have meant getting myself expelled and getting her in big trouble. The next time she saw me was at the church for a service. We’d trooped down there from school, and she sat in the congregation, under the scrutiny of her preaching father. She spotted me in my uniform, went bright red, and scuttled away at the end of the service.”
Served her right. So much for morale fortitude. “So you abstained for a while?”
Jason put his glass down and snorted. “No. I was more selective. I had a secret relationship with the next-door neighbour’s daughter, Sally. Roughly my age. I snuck into her house on the pretext of doing homework with her twin brother. He obliged us and helped with the cover-up.”
“My God. John would never have done that for me! You lucky boy. I thought I was the clandestine one. You were, too.”
“It wasn’t that frequent. The family moved, and she disappeared out of my life. The thing, which will amaze you, I let her take the lead. She had more experience than me. So I let her teach me.”
I leaned against his leg. “Why haven’t you told me before? There is nothing profound about your sexual awakening, not much different from my own, in fact.”
“My parents have no idea. They think university brought out my desire for kink. Rather, it was the girl next door. She asked me to tie her to the bed. Of course, now I wouldn’t accept topping from the bottom, but since I was a novice in kink, I loved it. I kept it a secret because we were still at school, and because of what we got up to. Nothing to do with dominance or submission. I had no knowledge of those concepts, at least not in the bedroom. Those discoveries came from my liaisons at university. So, I told nobody. I suppose the secrecy became part of me. What I sought in relationships was privacy and the room to explore my natural traits.”
“Secrecy even from your wife,” I sulked.
He smiled at me, running a finger down my cheek as I pouted. “I never omitted it intentionally. You never asked before now, and I don’t talk about my past. You know I don’t live in the past.”
“I do. I have it with me all the time. Not just the bad parts, good, too. I dwell in my past.”
“And some people focus on the here and now, or the future. Me, for example. Neither of us have a right or wrong way of seeing things. They complement each other quite well. You have reminded me single-sex education is not a paradigm of sexual purity, and I have told you Joshua needs to be on a waiting list now.”
I laughed because it was true. Left to me, it would have been a mad scramble to find Joshua a suitable school because I would have procrastinated about the choices.
Perhaps I should have been more resentful at my ignorance over his past. Listening to him open up about his first sexual act, I acknowledged his reserve wasn’t calculated nor due to shame, which caused many to hide their loss of virginity, me included. Jason, when in the right mood, could be very forthcoming.
What he’d revealed made sense. He’d always acquired his knowledge of sex from personal practice, and, after each liaison, he’d moved on to apply his findings to the next relationship, leaving behind the unwanted emotional baggage of a failed partnership. His schooling and learning style were poles apart from mine. Nevertheless, they had certainly shaped him and made him the man he was to me.
I offered to top up his wine glass, but he declined with a shake of his head. He leaned forward and ran his fingers through my hair. The length now reached between my shoulder blades, but he hadn’t asked me to cut it, and I hadn’t enquired whether he wanted me to have it shorter. A knot trapped his combing fingers.
“Ow!” I said, tilting away.
He snapped his fingers, and I jumped. “Go get the hairbrush. The wooden one.”
My favourite and his preferred one. Returning from the bedroom, I knelt back down and offered it to him on the palm of my outstretched hand. After he’d accepted it, he indicated with a twizzle of his finger I should kneel facing away.
He brushed my hair from roots to tips. Made from natural fibres, not plastic, the hairbrush took effort to force through my tangles. I sat still, refused to wince, and let him work out the knots. Each pass of the brush align
ed strands as if they were soldiers on parade. By the time he had finished, my head felt light, and my scalp tingled.
He reached round and undid the buttons of my blouse. Having removed my blouse, he snapped the clasp of my bra, and I shook my breasts free. Taking the brush, he stroked my back with the bristles. Neither a ticklish nor a painful sensation—his actions existed in an ambivalent world of in-between. Down my arms and spine, he grazed the fibres, and I arched my back in response. Nudging me onto all fours, he lowered my jeans then my knickers, leaving me naked. The skin brushing continued.
“Lie down,” he commanded.
Lying on my belly, he worked the brush all over me, sometimes pressing down, other times barely touching and it tickled, forcing me to giggle and squirm. Rolling me over, he did the same, paying particular attention to my breasts and pubic area. I turned pink, the skin hot and sore. Joining me on the floor, he brushed as I rotated, aware of the increasing discomfort.
“Oh God,” I murmured.
The sensual torment drove me wild, and my pussy tightened, the juices coating my inner thighs. I didn’t dare look at him, in case it undid me completely. I swivelled back onto my knees, arms stretched out in front of my head, and he entered me from behind, gliding in with one swing of his hips. Then he drew out slowly, almost tenderly until the tip of his erection lingered inside my vagina.
Thud!
He knocked back into me with a slap. The brush remained in his hands and, while one hand held me in place, the other continued to scrape the fibres down my back and thighs. Repeatedly, he withdrew slowly and slammed back into me. Over and over, he raked my tender skin in a perverse duet to his fucking. How I loved the rhythm of pummelling thrusts and scrapes of bristles, torturing me with pain then pleasure. To hear him grunt with fearsome exertion then almost chuckle as the brush tickled my bottom, electrified my pussy.
“Do you want to come?” he asked.
Come? I wanted to explode. My toes curled up and my legs wobbled, ready to give out from underneath me. “Please, Master.”
“Why?”
“My orgasms are yours, Sir, only yours. All of them.”
“Mine,” he moaned. “So come for me, babe.”
He’d hit my orgasm button, and I writhed, breath held and calves twitching. He continued to fuck, undeterred by my quaking. The sensation built again, stronger, and my pussy contracted. He flung the brush away and picked up the pace of his thrusts. Shaken about, my breasts swung while he scrunched my buttocks. I hovered on the brink.
“Wait.”
“I can’t, I can’t!” I screeched.
“You will, baby,” he growled. “You will for me.”
He grasped my beautifully brushed hair and twisted it about in his fingers until he had a keen grip on my strands. He forced my head back, requiring me to arch my back and straightened my arms.
“How much do you want it?”
A lot, truly I wanted that second orgasm so much. “For you, Master.”
“How much do you want it?”
“I want it. I need it!” I shrieked. “Do what you want, do it to me, I don’t care....” I ended my plea with a whimper.
“Oh I will, my little subbie. Don’t you worry, I will.”
I lost control and came wildly, unable to contain my climax, and my legs buckled under me. The orgasm ripped through my body with wave upon wave of contractions leaving my clitoris throbbing and super sensitive.
He slapped my bottom hard, jolting me. “It’s going to be a long night for you, babe. A long night.” He withdrew, saving his orgasm.
In the morning, I lay next to him in bed, and he checked over my fading marks and discolorations. Something floated into my memory, and I leapt up with a heart-stopping thump of recollection. “You said something about a dinner party,” I cried.
“Yes, we’re going to be hosting for our kinky friends. You were supposed to be planning it while I tormented you—a distraction. It seems my suggestion didn’t work.”
“We planned it during a scene?” I remembered drooling on the floor and saying “Yes, Master,” a great number of times.
“You don’t remember? Jeez, I really put you in subspace.” He swung his legs out of bed.
I scratched my head, trying and failing to reconstruct the fuzzy conversation. “So…how many guests, exactly?”
Jason burst out laughing.
Chapter 15. Being on Show
Grand social occasions had become a common occurrence in our calendar. Demanding public functions, where we morphed into Mr and Mrs Lucas mode: meeting and greeting, offering polite interchanges of nonpersonal information and the obligatory publicity snapshot.
One major function was the winter ball staged by Jason’s charitable foundation every December. My first ball, before I married Jason, had ended with an attempted abduction, a murder, and a small knife wound in my side. Not an auspicious occasion for me.
The following year, the venue had been changed to help banish my haunting memories. Jason had no problem with moving to a different hotel. The new venue had a modern setting, with glass walls, avant-garde décor, and halogen lights rather than garish chandeliers. Gone, too, were the masks, tuxedos, and ball gowns, the garments I associated with my near demise. Party frocks and formal wear were sufficient. The evening had a feel of an executive party rather than a ball, making it easier for me to attend.
My attendance was obligatory. I was expected to be there on Jason’s arm, greeting his guests and smiling non-stop, wearing my gold chain with a tear pendant encrusted with rubies and diamonds. Another present from my generous husband to substitute for my usual kink-identifiable collar necklace.
As the years passed, my confidence grew, and I mingled on my own. I had learnt how to deal with large-scale events. Gone, too, was Jason’s requirement I be within arm’s reach—I’d no doubt others watched me constantly. Opting to offer my cheek for a kiss or my hand for a delicate shake, I negotiated my way round the rooms with poise and a classiness my mother would never have thought possible.
We made a fine couple, Jason and I, regal almost in our appearance and quite efficient in our operations. I concentrated on wives and the elderly, wealthy patrons, fluttering my eyelashes when they mentioned impending donations to Jason’s worthy causes, while Jason circulated amongst the executives. The pattern was the same each year.
While the ball occupied our winter calendar, in our diary for the summer was my father-in-law’s retirement do. The formal affair took place in the Old Hall at Lincoln’s Inn. A banquet to which numerous lawyers, judges, and other legal personages had been invited to mark Clive’s decision to cease his career while he still had his health and sufficient money to enjoy life. Jason and I had been invited, along with Jason’s barrister brother, Michael, and his new girlfriend, Rebecca. We sat alongside his parents at the top table, watching the presentations of gifts and listening to anecdotes of Clive’s more illustrious court cases.
Circulating afterwards, I was introduced to the world of judiciary. I didn’t feel comfortable being in the company of so many judges as it reminded me of being in a church with lots of priests. Could they see through me, see what I did? Was I a victim of domestic abuse or a whore in their eyes? Jason seemed to be relaxed, displaying his charming persona. Having studied law, he was at home with the legal professionals, even if their expertise was in criminal law and his was in commercial.
“This is Judge Thompson.” Clive introduced us to yet another aging gentleman with a poker face and a firm handshake.
“Pleasure to meet you,” I said for the umpteenth time.
Clive drifted away.
Jason shook Judge Thompson’s hand with a wry smile. “How are you, Brian?” he asked.
“Good, thank you, Jason. Still finding my way on the bench. Very different from being a barrister, but it was the right move.”
“Claude said you cancelled your membership,” said Jason, referring to the manager of his BDSM club, the Nightshade.
I f
roze and sensed the deepening colouration effect pass over my face. I ducked my head, thankful I wasn’t wearing my collar necklace.
“A pity, but necessary. Too busy, for one thing. So much to bloody read all the time. Fortunately, I have a visitor from time to time. It works well; she’s very discreet.”
“The good ones generally are. Obedient, too,” said Jason, giving my hand a squeeze.
“Must circulate.” The judge grinned, gave me a wink, and moved off.
I glanced at Jason and cocked my head at the departing man.
“My darling, the legal profession is notorious for liking a little corporal discipline, both tops and bottoms. What they can’t do in the courts—” Jason cut short his aside. Clive had returned with another hand to shake.
The banquet was the official retirement party. A week later, we had to attend the unofficial family one at Clive and Audrey’s home.
I had offered to lay the table in the dining room while everyone else sat in the garden. Keen to pull my weight, I detested sitting around doing nothing while Audrey beavered away. Jason followed me in with a tray of dirty cups and deposited it in the kitchen.
“Do you know where everything is?” he asked, before I headed to the dining room.
“I’m sure I’ll manage.”
I surveyed the room and removed the vase and bouquet from the table. From the doorway, Jason watched, and I couldn’t help the brazenness rising inside me. Being away from Blythewood at weekends frustrated us both—life had become dull. I didn’t resent visiting family, however, I wished we could be more ourselves in their company.
As if he sensed my agitation, Jason grabbed the chance to give me a quick kiss and cuddle in his parents’ dining room. He snaked his hands around my waist, down my back, up my skirt, and groped my bottom—my bare, knickerless bottom. Standing there, he swatted each cheek in turn, left and right, and I naturally stuck my bottom out farther.
