by Jaye Peaches
Buoyed by a burst of adrenaline, my senses buzzed, my insides flip-flopped in tune with the rush of energy. In my veins, the blood whooshed, heading straight to my clitoris, engorging it. I fixed my gaze on Jason. I begged, implored in the only way I could, with quivering, parted lips, mouthing please. He had to give me permission. I built to something tremendous, awaiting the command, but, instead, to my chagrin, he stuffed two fingers inside my drenched pussy and frigged me.
“Oh God!” I screamed.
I panted, desperate for permission, and glanced around the room, as if my audience would dampen my arousal. Silly me—what I saw were four Doms, mesmerised by my acquiescence and egging me on, not with greedy eyes, but with the expectant expression Dominants mastered with ease. Instead of diminishing my budding climax, they tipped me over.
“Now!”
Jason’s permission arrived in time and before the ow sound was out of his mouth, I came, writhing, bucking so hard that my bum lifted off the rug and my calves twitched uncontrollably. The tension spewed out of me. I shook, cried, and gripped the throw in my fisted hands.
Finding focus, I blinked at Jason, who loomed over me with a massive grin. He lowered his head to kiss my throbbing sex.
“Keep going, babe.”
“What?” I quaked.
Things went hazy after that first orgasm. Many more were forced out of me, as others repeatedly dragged my spent body back from the brink of exhaustion.
I remembered hands. Many different hands. Tongues, too, and firm, sucking lips. All those detached body parts came together in the form of four different men, who used me, taking it in turns to tease, caress, and slap me, but never penetrate.
I screeched, begging them to leave me be, while at the same time I kept coming, aching to be fucked properly rather than tormented by fingers. My conflicted emotions reigned, and if it wasn’t for the presence of Jason, I’d have freaked out.
Jason administered a few hard spanks and I revelled in the sensation of his hands on my bottom, singling them out from the others. Pain I didn’t register in an obvious way, rather the thud and pressure of his hand striking me. Lying on my belly, I propped myself up on my elbows and groaned, drawing up my knees. I swelled with a passionate need for my husband, the connection to him drawn from the spanking, and he built up a delightful rhythm.
“Oh, thank you, Sir, thank you,” I muttered after each blow.
With my eyes shut, I tilted my head back. Somebody stroked my face and wiped away the tears pouring out of my eyes.
“Well done, Gemma,” said Garratt in my ear.
I shivered at his lovely words. My backside was toasted, and the heat emitted by my flesh made up for the lack of fire in the hearth. For a few minutes, nobody touched me but Jason. I collapsed onto the floor, my knees giving out, and drifted off, floating up to somewhere distant. My body wasn’t mine to control any longer. Strangely relaxed and in the place of complete submission, I believe my biddable sensual being would have yielded to anything.
I had an awareness of Jason lying over me, indulging my lips with his mouth. His rapid heartbeats knocked hard against my breast, and he pleasured himself, rubbing his erection, easily discernible through his clothing, against my hip then he nudged my legs apart and pressed his bulge against my clit. Letting his cock free, he entered, gliding upwards with a swift motion of his hips. Each spearing penetration of his cock, he accompanied with a murmur of delight.
He rested his hands on either side of my head, supporting his weight. Now and again, he would brush the hair from my eyes, allowing him to see me and I, with bleary focus, gazed at his flushed face. The sheer bliss on his expression made me soar to see him above me, holding sway as he took his pleasure.
I lay motionless, acquiescent, and way beyond any achievable orgasm. Words were in my ears: his words, those gorgeous things he would say to me when in his Domspace of ecstasy. A bizarre mixture of romantic utterances blurred together with the jargon of smut and lewdness. I didn’t remember the details, only the hot cum spilling out over my belly.
Finished and spent, I lay increasingly aware of my surroundings, my watchers and, as I awoke from my stupor, I entered a state of embarrassment at the debauched scene on the living room floor.
Judith came over and gave me a big hug. “Gem, you were so hot and sexy, spaced out on the floor, five Doms all over you, fucked by your Master and screaming orgasms. Envy, darling, pure envy.”
I buried my face in my hands. Oh God, how could I have behaved so shameless? It wasn’t me!
Judith tore my hands away. “Will you stop with the shame? It was a pat on the back for that wonderful meal and being a good hostess. You’re meant to enjoy it, it’s allowed!”
Jason appeared at my side and scooped me off the floor. I didn’t have a chance to say good-bye properly to our departing guests. I fell asleep on a sofa, a blanket draped over me. After they’d left, Jason swathed me in his arms and nursed me back to consciousness, calming my frayed senses.
The evening didn’t finish with the farewells to the younger couples. Past midnight, I stirred from my stupor and found the others were chatting quietly around me.
“Did you enjoy your nap?” Jason teased me as the remaining two couples conversed in the background.
“Oh gosh. I have to shower—”
“I sponged you down, babe. You’re fine. How are you?” he enquired. I peeked under the covers and examined my body. Nothing showed considering the number of hands that had assaulted me, a few red splotches and a couple of bite marks I recognized as Jason’s—they had a familiar appearance.
“All right. Well used.” I giggled then abruptly stopped. “Are you pleased with me?”
“Gem, you were perfect. Why do you think I wouldn’t be happy?” he whispered.
I sat, uncoiling myself from his clutches. The night air had seeped into the room, and I shivered. “Please may I get dressed?” On the other side of the room, Monique and Judith both had clothes on.
“In a minute.” He dragged me back on his lap, and I perched there rather like a small child. “We’ve been talking about us, that we two been together for nearly five years, and all the time you’ve been my sub in some way or other. Garratt thinks we should have a celebration, something special, perhaps.” He touched my necklace.
“Collaring ceremony? I’m not your slave. We agreed no slave, total-control thing.” I shrank, unsettled by the implication he might want to rule me entirely.
“No, not like that. I mean a symbolic act for us to share with our friends. We were married before our vanilla family and friends, but we’ve never shown our commitment to our other friends.”
“True.” I started to see the appeal. I’d been to a few collaring ceremonies, and each had a uniqueness. “I would like that.”
“Which also means we can deal with an outstanding issue, Gemma. Your piercing. Remember? You offered me a permanent mark on your body. It’s time we did it.”
I cast my mind back to a winter evening when I’d foolishly made contact with a blackmailer. Jason had been furious, sending me spiralling into a panic attack. I’d regretted my stupidity and offered him something I’d normally not consider—piercing. “Yes, Sir. Where did you want it?”
“Your clitoris would be my first choice, but before you start freaking out, I don’t think you are suitable, so it will be your hood instead. Garratt will do it.”
Garratt might be a businessman, but his working life had started differently. He studied medicine and practised for a year as a junior house doctor. A combination of inheriting a small fortune from his deceased grandfather and a keen interest in pharmaceuticals led him to give up medicine, and he built a pharma company from scratch, buying up promising small pharmaceuticals and merging them into a bigger empire, making himself an even greater fortune when he put it on the stock market. His fascination with medicine remained; he simply disliked patients.
Garratt was quite the piercer. He had done many subs, slaves, and other women in
his time, developing a reputation in our community as safe and reliable.
“When?” Faced with a vision of it happening that night, my throat constricted with a wave of panic, and my confidence fractured. “I’m not ready,” I muttered, and my lower lip trembled.
Jason swiftly wrapped the blanket about my shoulders and stroked my back. “Calm. Breathe. You’re still coming down from an intense scene. As Garratt and Damien have suggested a party, you can have your piercing done on the day.”
Garratt’s ears pricked up. “You want me to confirm the location, Jason?”
“Yes,” said Jason. “I was thinking a vertical hood piercing.”
“Gemma, come here, let me see.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath—I was about to be touched in an intimate fashion. An hour earlier, he had done the same thing, part of an amazing erotic experience. Now, as I tiptoed over to him, I felt different. Objectified and humiliated.
I stood in front of Garratt, knelt and presented for inspection, leaning back and jutting my pelvis forward. I’d gone on automatic pilot, too tired to argue or offer resistance. He peered, pulled my labia and hood about with his fingers.
“Yep, it will have to be the hood. Vertical will look lovely on her. A gold ring should catch the light and give you a little buzz, Gemma.” He waved me away with his hand.
A buzz! I hoped it would do more than that and, if it looked sexy then Jason would be thrilled. Perhaps he’d treat me to one with a diamond on the end. My fears began to subside.
“You can get dressed now, Gemma,” said Jason with a nod.
Garratt rubbed his hands together. “So, Jason, are you ready for this celebratory ceremony. Where and when?”
I retrieved my dress from where I’d left it, half-listening to the conversation, desperate for bed.
“Oh, I thought of doing something special. Not here, a few good friends in an idyllic setting. Send Joshua to his grandparents again for a weekend and have lots of fun. Kinky fun.”
“Where, then?” Damien crept forward to the edge of his seat. “Jason, stop fucking teasing.”
“Switzerland. My chalet. The one I recently took back from its long lease. Refitted, too. A holiday home with a lovely little dungeon in the cellar.”
I froze, the dress half over my head, and gawped at my amused husband, reclined in his chair, looking smug. He had never told me about a dungeon!
Chapter 20. The Chalet
We had stayed at the chalet once since Joshua’s first birthday. Back in the spring, a long weekend, and the snow glistening on the mountain tops while lush grass swayed in the valleys. Jason had acquired the chalet not long after he bought Blythewood House. Skiing had been a childhood passion during the school holidays and he visited the chalet with old school friends and relatives who were keen on skiing, especially his exuberant cousins.
The seven-bedroom chalet, perched on a hillside on three levels, maintained the wood-exposed interior of a log cabin. A luxurious log cabin with ample modern conveniences, complete with a wood-burning stove in a magnificent central fireplace. During our spring break, each night Jason and I had made exquisite, slow love before the fire. Our naked bodies had entwined and coiled, and we’d needed no toys or ropes to bring out our innate sexual characteristics—he led, and I followed.
For years, the chalet had been leased to wealthy holiday seekers, but Jason had decided to take it back and convert it to a family home. After our visit, the rooms had been refitted with new beds and kitchen. However, Jason, when explaining his plans to me, had made no mention of a dungeon.
Standing half-dressed, my mouth opening and shutting in annoyance at his secrecy, I wondered what he’d installed in the cellar. Once a games room for the entertainment of holidaymakers, it was an ideal space to transform with its dark wooden floors and walls, and perhaps due to the subterranean location, I could imagine it being slightly intimidating and therefore erotically enthralling. My impatient desire to see the alterations somewhat displaced my irritation with Jason.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded, plonking myself back on the sofa next to him.
“An early birthday present to myself. Put it this way, you won’t need to worry about presents, because you’re going to gift me your piercing, and everyone will watch you proudly present yourself to me. Then, my love, you can open your art gallery with a big smile on your face.”
He’d had it planned out, dates, location, and my gift, and try as I might to pick holes in his assumptions about my compliance, I couldn’t wait.
***
The gathering took place in late August, not long after Jason’s 36th birthday. No longer a young entrepreneur, he’d reached a respectable age for being a billionaire and, a few days before our departure, I’d spied an indication of thinning hair at the apex of his head, and for some reason he took the remark to mean I wanted a spanking, which he’d duly delivered. However, my rather vain husband kept his hairstyle shorter after my ill-received remark.
My parents were given the task of babysitting our eighteen-month-old son. They came to stay the weekend at Blythewood with Mrs Harris for company and under strict instructions not to mention the lair or whips. By leaving Joshua on his home turf, we hoped he would settle without separation anxieties and give Mum and Dad a break in what amounted to facilities similar to a grand hotel. The grandparents loved the idea when I suggested it. The prospect of spending quality time with their grandson was the only selling point they needed to commit to the weekend.
On our jet, Garratt and Judith accompanied us, along with Monique and Iselda, who was our occasional babysitter and another submissive from Jason’s club. Hitching a ride, too, was Damien, who took the two girls under his arms with a big grin, announcing both of them would be sharing his bed.
A lovely surprised greeted me at the chalet, Enrique and Maria. Jason and I hadn’t seen the Mexicans since our Mediterranean cruise where they’d served us as stewards. I emailed Maria regularly and counted her as a close friend. For the weekend, they were to be our guests, not servants. Because of this, the frostiness, which had once hindered Enrique and I melted, and we had the big art discussion we should have had on the Sublime.
The last couple to arrive were Sebastian and Zoe, who had taken a vacation in Italy before joining us. Bronzed from sunbathing and noticeably affectionate, they showed an addition to Zoe’s personage, her engagement ring. The champagne cork flew across the room as we celebrated. Matthew and Eva, though invited, had other longstanding commitments and had politely declined.
The first task given to me by my Master was to be tattooed with henna by Maria. The pattern was based around Js and Gs joined by Celtic knots. Just like on the cruise, when he’d previously had me tattooed, he chose my hands and feet, around my nipples and belly button, and two additional little knots above my pubic bone and coccyx. After the henna had dried, I twirled in the middle of the living area, and Jason gave his approval.
I didn’t have to wait long for a trip into the basement and Friday evening, while our guests entertained themselves, we had the place to ourselves. The room seemed darker, more confining than our lair back at Blythewood. Although furnished with similar apparatus, the major exception was the lack of a bed, and, in its place, a padded floor mat. The walls and ceilings had the gruesome addition of hooks, pulleys, and rings. Across one wall hung the implements, and on another, a metal St. Andrew’s cross. In the middle of the room, a huge, wooden padded box.
“Wow. It’s definitely a dungeon. Kind of imposing.” I ran my fingers over the smooth surface of the cross, flinching at its coldness.
“Glad you like it.” He unhooked a crop from the wall and patted it on his palm. “Since you’re over there, why not spread yourself?”
Play began, and the session proved both intense and enthralling with a lengthy, all-over cropping. The new surroundings stirred my insides into a knot of excitement, convulsing my pussy as he fucked me, driving his cock deep, and it seemed an eternity before h
e allowed me to come. The more he controlled my orgasms, the more intense they were when he did give me permission.
In a haze of contentment, I re-joined our guests and curled up on a cushion at Jason’s feet.
“Well-fucked, is she?” asked Damien.
Jason chuckled and combed my sweaty hair with his fingers. “She loves the dungeon. What a surprise!”
The others had already had a peep at Jason’s new playground earlier in the day. Trooping back, they’d displayed an unbridled envy, with the exception of Garratt, who’d converted an outbuilding on his estate into a huge dungeon.
Saturday passed quickly with a lunchtime picnic out on a verdant meadow, and the early evening fast approached. The plan was to have a late afternoon barbecue during which Jason and I weren’t allowed to do anything. We watched, cuddling and kissing, while, on the decking, three control-freak men argued about how to cook meat.
The next stage, having digested our food, would be the collaring ceremony, and afterwards, Jason and I would do a scene for the others, which would include my piercing.
Throughout the day, nerves nearly destroyed my calm exterior. Jason stayed close by, touching or whispering sweet things in my ear—complimenting me on the henna tattoos, the way my hair moved in the breeze, or my adorable smell. I thanked him for each word of adoration and kissed his hands in an act of devotion. I understood their purpose was not to be ingratiating, but rather to boost my flailing confidence.
After the barbecue, I struggled not to hit the panic button with silly anxieties. I suffered with haunting images of failure—my mouth gluing together, forgetting my vows, freaking out during the piercing, and losing the ability to orgasm on command, which Jason had been training me to do.
I flitted about the chalet, unable to settle or engage in conversation. I watched as Damien whispered into Jason’s ear, gesturing in my direction. Jason nodded. The two men were concocting something, and I froze to the spot as Damien walked towards me, took my hand then whisked me away to his bedroom.
