by Jaye Peaches
The front door creaked. Jason had arrived. I went to greet him in the hallway, leaving Michael mulling over his tea cup. Once Joshua had his daddy moment, Clara offered to bathe the child, enabling Jason to talk with his brother.
“Nothing wrong is there, Michael?” asked Jason, loosening his tie. He’d dealt with Anthony’s business crisis, Louise’s pregnancy, and his pensive expression awaited another disaster.
“Gemma’s been very helpful.” Michael ran through everything he had told me, and Jason remained expressionless throughout, unlike me. I’d been wide-eyed and excited at the thought of another submissive in the family. Michael, uncharacteristically jittery and flushed, waited for his brother’s response.
“Do you want to live with her, Michael? Do you love her and want her companionship? Do you stop in the middle of doing something and think of her?”
I squeezed Jason’s hand under the table, aware his remarks reflected our relationship.
“Yes. I’m crazy about her,” said Michael. “We’ve had such a slow start, being busy with work. I didn’t think we’d make it here—living together.”
Jason smiled. “Move in with her. She is being open and honest with you, and you will find out what it means when you live together. Don’t go mad and try to dominate her. Be yourself, and let her guide you in what makes her happy and you, too. A submissive wants to be controlled and please those about her. Giving up control to another doesn’t mean switching off and letting you walk all over her. Does she know about us?”
“She guessed something after Dad’s retirement do, but I haven’t elaborated on it. I didn’t think it was my place.” Michael had once let the cat out of the bag with regard to Jason’s life as a Dominant. He’d learnt not to repeat the mistake.
“I don’t have an issue with you telling her, as long as she keeps it between the pair of you.” Jason squeezed my hand back. “How about some food, darling.”
I bounced out of my chair, happy to feed the brothers. I’d watched the birth of a new Dominant in the family.
***
Michael invited us to his fantastic apartment for dinner in late July.
Meeting Rebecca again, knowing we had similar taste in men, unsettled me. Just because we were both submissives didn’t make us bosom pals. We’d different needs, and she might frown upon my tastes as excessive or believe Jason went too far with his dominance.
While I helped her in the kitchen, I asked about why she’d guessed. Not surprisingly, my necklace and the blindfold party trick had sealed her suspicions. She also had noted the way Jason held me in his gaze as I set the table, with his critical eye following me around the table. She’d seen my flushed face when he’d whispered in my ear and told me about my penalties.
We joined the men in the living room, and her nervous habits grew more conspicuous. She constantly tucked her dark hair behind her ears and struggled to hide her shaking hand as she poured the wine into our glasses. I expected a chat about legal stuff, leaving me the odd one out, however, Rebecca broke the awkward silence.
“May I ask, is Gemma collared by you, Jason? Is she your slave?”
“No,” replied Jason. “I’m a Dominant, and she’s my sub. She may call me Master, but I’ve never formally collared her or entered into a total power-exchange dynamic. We do scenes, kink, and we have a set of basic protocols. We’ve both been Dom and sub for many years, long before we met each other.”
“Michael explained a bit about how he found out. Does your family know, Gemma?” Rebecca shifted her dark eyes to me, and I flinched at their intensity.
“My parents, no. My brother and his wife, yes.”
The conversation developed into a discussion about domination and submission in general, and it became apparent, although Rebecca wasn’t into the kinds of things Jason and I did, she wasn’t ignorant about the vast array of relationships formed under the umbrella of kink. She admitted she didn’t want to be tied up or be spanked. She sought a man to take control and show dominance in the bedroom. Her cheeks turned red when she confessed it turned her on.
“As a defence lawyer, I have to deal with such terrible people. Psychopaths, criminals, and liars. I need an honest man who puts my faith back. By trusting him and letting him control me, I rebuild my belief in man’s better nature. Michael could do that for me. He doesn’t understand how simple it can be.” She gave Michael an almost imploring look, but he looked unconvinced, his eyes darting about the room and his hands clasped together in his lap.
Jason turned to his brother and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“Don’t overthink this, Michael. Forget about what you think Gemma and I do. Think what will make you both happy. Negotiate and communicate. How do you like sex? What level of control does Rebecca really seek from you? Does it require protocols, rituals, or behaviour modification? You may need to do little to satisfy her submissiveness, given your time constraints. Gemma and I went years before we even considered being Dom and sub full time, and we’re both experienced.”
“Am I a Dominant, though, Jason?” Michael looked at his girlfriend. “Well, am I? I know I like control in my working life, but does it extend to other areas.”
Jason sat back. “Gemma. Please take your knickers off.”
I suppressed the sensation of what! and put my trust in my Dominant, as I should. I rose and hitched up my skirt. Michael eyes flickered between his girlfriend and me as I slid my fingers up my thighs and pinched the edge of my lacy knickers. Opposite me, Rebecca’s big brown eyes were fixated not on Michael, but Jason. She heard the way he spoke to me—the hypnotic voice he used to control me was one she recognised and perhaps envied.
Jason reached up and touched my leg. “Stop. Sit back down.”
He turned to speak to Michael. “Sometimes just the knowledge she would do anything I ask is sufficient for the pair of us. Her need to be please me and my desire to have her submission. Hence, the need for trust, nothing else. It grows stronger over time and with a great deal of effort. Love strengthens it, passion, too, if you’re sexual in need. I don’t get the impression Rebecca requires much from you haven’t thought about already.” He paused, and Michael started in his chair as if he’d been poked. “We are alike, Michael, in many respects. I know this because you took me to that fetish party years ago. You were curious back then but have denied it ever since. Frankly, you know our little displays turn you on.”
Michael laughed, and tossed his head back. “Fuck, you’ve been waiting to turn the tables for all these years, haven’t you? Expose me and force me to acknowledge the fantasies I keep hidden. I’m not afraid of being a Dominant, but I do fear I will not be what Rebecca wants me to be.” He took his girlfriend’s hand. “If I asked you to take your knickers off for me, would you do it?”
“I would love it if you asked me, Michael, then you would know,” she countered.
To prove the point, he asked her, and she did, there in front of us, and when he told her to stuff them down her bra, she did that, too. Jason’s little lesson had instigated things, and it was down to Michael and Rebecca to explore her submission on their own.
Jason was happy for his brother, so different from his relationship with Anthony, and I suspected Jason would enjoy over the coming months mentoring his brother in becoming a subtle, passionate Dominant who kept his girlfriend happy and, in return, she would help him relax and unwind with sex or doing tasks that thrilled him.
Rebecca told me, during one of our many phone calls, the absence of underwear had developed into an erotic requirement for him and so had ironing his white shirts in the nude—resulting in him fucking her over the collapsed board. She confessed his dominance had grown rapidly in the bedroom once he discovered she was hooked on his advocating voice. To her delight, he asked her to organise a dinner party for her friends, her kind of friends. I believed I became one, too.
Chapter 18. Hung up
During the run up to Jason’s birthday in August, the planned soiree of
kinky friends slipped into its final arrangements. Jason had announced the plan to me, as I’d lain bathed in his semen, covered in scratches from his brushing, and drifting in subspace. Only in the morning had I fully appreciated his request, and I’d been tasked with sorting out the details. Jason’s preferred style of dinner party was not trivial in nature—several courses, silverware, crystal glasses, and smart clothes.
Joshua was due to disappear to his grandparent’s house for the weekend, including the Friday, even though the party wasn’t until Saturday, giving him plenty of time to settle and avoid interruptions on the evening. As far as my parents-in-law were concerned, we were having an adult evening. The exact nature of our gathering wasn’t impressed upon them, but somehow I think they had guessed, given we wanted Joshua out of the house.
The Friday night was my first without him, and I fretted, a wreck of guilty mummy thoughts. Would he settle? Would he wander around Granny’s house in tears, looking for me? Would he reject me when he got back? Jason’s approach to all my rambling fretfulness the day before the dinner was to string me up and “take me thoroughly from tip to toe.”
Jason wouldn’t ever fully suspended me without another present. However, tied up, with some aspect of my body resting on a supportive surface, he deemed less risky. With Joshua gone to his grandparents, Jason had the luxury of time to carry out the intricate rope play needed for suspension.
As he measured out rope and began to bind my torso and breasts, we chatted about the forthcoming evening. We didn’t always talk in the midst of preparations. Sometimes, silence filled the dungeon while Jason fiddled with his coils of rope and knots, preoccupied and concentrating. Other times, he could be jovial and quite happy to engage in animated conversation about his work or my art gallery plans.
Those plans were coming to fruition as I waited for the interior designer and his team to turn my ideas into a physical reality. The opening was planned for the end of September. The first exhibition presented a small collection of my output and three recently graduated artists. A mix of contemporary and classical artwork in oils, pastels, or watercolours.
Today, we talked about food.
“Mrs Harris will be here all tomorrow afternoon to help prepare the food, and Judith will step in if needed,” I told Jason as he looped rope under my breasts. I’d given up asking what he planned to do with me with regard to bondage—he’d give me a rough idea, but little else.
“Please, can you put your hands behind your back.” He bound my arms. “You’ve planned it really well, babe. Try to relax.”
I relaxed my arms, responding to his request. “I know. But I want it to go well, make it good for you. I will miss Josh—”
“And I don’t?” He looped a long length up and around the pulley a couple of times and attached the end behind me. “Bend over.” I obliged, sticking my bottom up. “More. Now, give me your right leg.”
I huffed, hopping about. “My right? Can’t it be my left?” I whined.
“Why? Have you injured yourself?” He grabbed my hips, holding me steady.
“No, Sir. It’s just I prefer to balance on my right. I’m right legged and—”
“I want you on your left. Think of it as good practice.”
Damn. I was rubbish at balancing on my right leg at the best of times and worse on my left. He tied rope around my right ankle and attached my ankle to my upper thigh, folding my leg like origami paper. With my redundant leg out of the way, he fastened it in place. I wobbled, swaying about until he pulled on the suspension rope, yanking me up, forcing me to lean forward to keep steady.
“Stop hopping and fix your eyes on a spot on the wall.”
I stared at the implements hanging up on the wall and proceeded to watch as he selected the flogger and cane.
No! How could I plan a three-course meal when he wanted to swing a cane at me?
He worked me over with both, alternating the two, targeting tender spots, chiefly my bottom. I grizzled, peeved at his choice of scene. Unable to find the right mood, I hung there and mumbled my exclamations.
My balance was atrocious, but I had warned him, and no amount of staring at silly spots on the wall would resolve the problem. With teeth gritted and lips pressed together, I let him work his way around my body with various implements before he settled on hanging pegs off my breasts. While my physical body failed to cope, my mental incoherence dithered in a no-man’s land.
He’d begun to strip, and that meant one thing. He delved between my folds, applying cool lubricant around my vagina, testing my elasticity. I shivered, aware of a growing arousal, a need to service him, but was it sufficient? I took a deep breath and focused on his hard cock.
He grunted as he penetrated me. A good sign, I believed. After a slow start, I entered into the spirit of my semi-suspension and drifted, imagining I was driftwood on a wave, the sea crashing down on a golden-sand beach, bathing our bronze bodies.... Then I lost my footing and shrieked in frustration.
The scene wasn’t hanging together well—an ironic declaration. I almost opened my mouth to vocalise my opinion and decided he wasn’t in the mood for my jollity. Jason, in response to my wobbles, tightened the ropes further and held me tight.
He fucked with hard thrusts that rammed into me, his breath cascading across my back. Holding my arms tight he picked up his pace, and I uttered those, “Uh, uh,” sounds as he slapped against me. For some reason, in the absence of an impending orgasm, I planned the whole goddamn meal in my head. The entree course, the main, and dessert. I mentally cooked each dish, running through ingredients and recipes.
“Come for me, Gemma. Now!” he commanded and I tensed, my eyes springing open.
Come! Now? Oh no!
I’d been miles away in my own little world. I hadn’t been paying much attention to my libido; she was cowering under a pile of ropes, forgotten and neglected. Discomforts aside, I wasn’t in pain, and if I’d let my mind wander into my wondrous world of erotic fantasies, instead of the kitchen, I’d probably have been there for him.
My proficiency in the art of coming on demand still had a considerable distance to travel in terms of my successfulness. However, the lack of ability didn’t excuse me from trying.
“Gemma?” he growled, withdrawing and spinning me around on the rope.
“Sorry, Sir. I’m not able to come for you as you would wish,” I blurted.
“Are you in pain?” He crouched down and traced a finger around my hairline. I saw his erection, still engorged and vibrant. He flicked a nipple. “Well?”
God, his cock was quite a magnificent beast, and I wished I could orgasm just by feasting my eyes on the organ.
Shaking my head, I muttered a truthful no. Uncomfortable didn’t mean pain, but I wasn’t floating in some divine soup of subspace.
My eyelids were heavy, drooping over my eyes, and my legs ached with fatigue. Jason, on the other hand, bounced with energy and exuded sexiness, the kind of sex appeal that should have fired me up. I chanced a glance at his startling blue eyes and found, looking back at me, a man who wanted to show me more but was holding his emotions back.
“Tell me.”
“I was cooking dinner.” I flinched, even though he’d not touched me.
“While I was fucking you?” He shook his head, and I stared at the floor.
“Sorry, Master. That I wasn’t able to please you.”
I bit my lip, and tears welled up in my eyes. I hated disappointing him, and nothing seemed to have gone right in my head that evening.
“Babe, I’m trying to help you forget about tomorrow, that Josh isn’t here, and you’re conspiring against me. You’ve done loads of dinners before. Why are you nervous about this one?”
“They’re your friends.”
“Your friends, too.”
“I just want you to feel proud.”
“Oh, Gem. You and your bloody self-esteem. I think, underneath all this supposed angst about tomorrow, you’re actually worried about your gallery, and it
’s rubbing on off on other things.” He rose, stretching his legs, which made me envious.
I pondered his remark as he untied my stiff, contorted right leg, allowing me to stand on two legs. Had I transferred my worries from one area to another? Possibly. One thing he was right about; I had to let it go and enjoy the dinner party.
Jason retrieved the vibrating wand and fed it between my legs. He went back to fucking me, and it was the right thing to do. My attitude didn’t negate his need for pleasure and, with each thrust, I discovered my lost arousal, encouraged by the electric pulse of the vibrator and his unceasing dominance.
My mind stayed entirely in the world of that room, my master’s dungeon. I whimpered as the rough sex continued, driving me towards my climax. This time, I had no problems finding it.
“Oooh, fuck!” I wailed.
“Now, Gemma. Hard for me, babe, come hard.” His voice was masterful, and I quivered in delight at his command. The stupendous orgasm enveloped my entire body, cramping my already restricted muscles, and I cried out as he ejaculated.
He untied me in a particular fashion, enabling me to uncrick my body and prevent injury. The blood hurtled through freed limbs, as I shook my extremities. I peered around my body and saw the marks of rope pattern.
Jason prodded my back. “Lie on the bed. I’ll give you a massage.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
He spoke as he kneaded his oiled fingers into my back. “I know you’re disappointed, but sometimes scenes don’t go as planned. It happens.”
“I got muddled in my head. I was okay until my leg gave out. All my sexy thoughts got distracted by worries, and I couldn’t focus. You were mad at me—”
“Mad at you? No, babe. Disappointed, perhaps, you weren’t able to come. If I was mad, do you think I would let you stand on two legs and give you the wand? Eh? I’m a sadist, remember? A few tears don’t put me off. I’d fuck you regardless.” He guffawed, but I sensed he didn’t want to admit he found it harder to be sadistic. When was the last time he’d pushed me to tears and snot just for his pleasure? He turned me over to face him, and he certainly seemed content. “We got there in the end.”
