by Jaye Peaches
Jason and Mark arrived straight from work, which, I suppose, I had done, too, except I’d put Joshua to bed, made the final preparations for the dinner, changed out of my sweaty clothes, and showered, before dressing up. Jason had collected Mark from Gliech and brought him home. They were already chatting about the stock market when I dashed into the hallway to greet my husband.
I stood on tiptoe and pecked Jason on the cheek. “Master, welcome home,” I whispered, embarrassed Mark might overhear my words of endearment.
“Babe, something smells good.” He cocked his head to the kitchen.
“Brook’s creation. I’ve been busy today.” I dropped my first hint of annoyance.
With the three of us around the vast dining table, my irritation lasted throughout the meal, and the bad attitude did me no favours as I rolled peas about my plate with a fork and constantly re-folded my napkin. Even worse, I made snarky remarks and notched up a whole list of pushy, resist-being-a-submissive points.
What did he expect? Switching from an assertive frame of mind to a submissive wife didn’t happen in a blink of the eye. Jason, whether at work or at home, had nothing he need do to alter his thought patterns—the man lived and breathed dominance.
I let the two men talk. Jason had asked Mark how he found the London scene. The word “scene” was duplicitous, as he meant the BDSM community.
“Encouraging. David has been invaluable,” said Mark as Jason topped up his wine glass. “He has been happy to loan me his sub for a few scenes. Keep in practice, so to speak.”
“His sub suits your needs?” asked Jason.
“She is quite adequate,” said Mark, holding his glass up for a mini-toast accompanied by a wink.
“He’s had her for some years now. It was meant to be temporary, but she stayed. Finding your own will be the challenge.”
“I’ll persevere. There will be someone to suit my sadistic tastes. I can be patient.”
“Sadistic tastes?” I couldn’t resist poking my nose into the conversation. “How did they develop, Mark? Did you tease your pet bunny rabbit as a child?” As soon as I said the words, I had overstepped my remit as congenial hostess. Jason glared down his nose in my direction, and I ducked my head, returning to squishing peas on my plate.
Mark handled my irritation in good spirits. “Not rabbit, Mrs Lucas, German Shepherd. I trained him to bite. A good bite is invaluable sometimes.”
I grinned. Mark knew how to stand his ground.
I switched on the coffee grinder, stacked the dishwasher, and throughout my tidying up, I banged, clattered, and slammed things down. I screamed in my head for release, except I didn’t know I needed it until Jason came up behind me and squeezed my hips, pinning me against the worktop.
“Listen.” He propped his chin on the top of my head. “Either you find your place, or I will put you there. The choice is yours.” He left me to stew as I focused on the aroma of Arabica coffee beans.
Inhaling the bitter perfume, my breathing steadied, and I closed my eyes, trying to visualise images of my submission, like I had done in the chalet, but nothing came to mind except abstract paintings hung upside down, shattered sculptures, and the damn toilet in the gallery flooding the floor, again.
Oh God! I needed Jason to slap me into place. He would want me to arrive there unaided, as I’d done in New York. I couldn’t fail him again. I chanted a mantra. I am two people in one: the working mum who makes decisions and the dutiful submissive wife. I had done it before in my previous jobs, and it never had been an issue back then, flitting between my domestic and working personas.
Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Jason by the breakfast bar, his expression neutral, not angry, which he was entitled to be, and I felt a modicum of contriteness at my rude behaviour.
“We’re going to the sitting room,” he announced, loosening his tie. “If you want to join us, you can, or you can stay here.”
I paused. I was almost there, but not quite, “I’ll stay here for a little while longer, Master. Then I will be ready for you. The coffee, too.”
“Good girl.” He smiled.
Those lovely words of affection gave me jelly legs. He picked up the baby monitor and left the room.
Later, after I’d completed my tidying-up chores, I knelt by his feet, and he stroked my hair. A nothingness descended over me—it felt superlative.
“Why six months in Cardiff?” asked Jason, swilling his tumbler of whisky.
He’d been probing Mark about his past. The topics had ranged from Gliech’s business model to difficult clients and the constantly changing tax laws. Jason enquired about Mark’s previous job.
“Secondment from the head office in Manchester, and not a great success. I’d hoped it would stretch me, but, in the end, it was a babysitting job while they restructured. I was delighted when the agency approached me about Gliech. I’d always wanted to work in the City.”
“Before then? You had another job when you graduated,” said Jason.
My ears pricked up. Jason had Martinson scrutinise Mark because he had met me. Jason’s interrogation style—subtle and polite—kicked into play. He sought something from Mark.
“Yes.” Mark paused. “That company doesn’t exist any longer. I believe you bought it out and sold it off, piece by piece, Mr Lucas.” His tone had hardened, giving off a sense of dissatisfaction.
I lifted my head off Jason’s lap and gazed into his face, probing that almost impenetrable expression. His eyes sparkled, almost with humour. I tensed, my back straightening. Had Mark been one of those Jason had made redundant in the past after he’d bought up a company? Was Mark bitter? I gulped back an exclamation—did he plan to expose Jason’s secrets, my little scene?
“I believe I did,” agreed Jason. “You were made redundant.”
“Indeed. The terms were not great. Unfortunately, the company wasn’t in good shape. I’d taken the job because, as a graduate, you have to start somewhere, and I needed the job while completing my post-graduate accountancy training.”
Jason put down his tumbler and laced his fingers together, tapping the tips on his lower lip. “You didn’t enjoy working there?”
They eyeballed each other like two cowboys about to have a shootout.
“I sought experience, not pleasure. I certainly got experience.” Mark scowled. “The wrong type.”
“The wrong type? Don’t be alarmed, Mark. I know full well what you found out. After all, I bought the company. It was very pleasurable for me picking that one apart. There were good profitable sectors, but unfortunately there were extremely bad ones, especially in the accountancy division. The division where you worked.”
My mouth opened and shut. I itched to ask questions, but it wasn’t my place to interfere. I let Jason control the conversation.
“You knew back then about me? Investigated me?” Mark shifted forward on his seat, his eyes widening.
“Yes, to be blunt, and again when you met my wife. I protect Gemma carefully. She deserves to be protected. You don’t need to know why,” said Jason, running his fingers through the loose strands of my hair. My scalp tingled.
I snuggled against his legs at those words.
Mark clenched his fists, and his expression hardened. “I did nothing wrong,” he snapped. “You would know that. It didn’t matter. In the end, Jackson was destroyed without my help.”
Now my ears were burning and the penny dropped. A company in Manchester Jason bought and dismantled with glee three years ago. He’d relished that acquisition. The major shareholder, Devlin Jackson, had been the managing director: a slimy man whom I’d dismissed from my thoughts for a long time. I shivered. The groping, lewd bastard had wanted sex with me in return for a contract with my previous company. Jason had come to the rescue, and, with zealous passion, destroyed Jackson and his company.
“My wife is curious, Mark. Tell her what you found out while you were working for Jackson.”
Mark settled back in his seat. “I was young, fresh face
d. I’d been there a couple of years with several clients who stayed on my books for the duration. Devlin took a personal interest in one in particular. Practically managed that one himself. Every time I saw their accounts or did an audit, I wasn’t happy. I’d told Devlin, and he shrugged, trying to drag me off the bad scent. I began to suspect he was up to no good. To cut a long story short, I accumulated sufficient evidence to prove he had been money laundering for the local drug gangs. Devlin isn’t a good accountant. He’d left a trail and I, being the neat and tidy type, spotted the errors. The little things he hadn’t bothered to erase.”
“You were going to report it?” I asked.
“Well, I thought about it, but, to be frank, me up against him alone wasn’t appealing. Plus the criminal activities went beyond Jackson. The gangs have guns, and I didn’t want to risk exposing my activities. Also, Jackson became increasingly threatening, which made me wonder if he knew what I was up to. Thankfully, Mr Lucas came and took the whole company apart. Jackson’s little operation was lost in the mash up. During the company’s dying days, he dismantled the links and covered his tracks. Did you find any evidence?”
“Nothing before I took over,” said Jason. “However, it was a hostile takeover. Later, when I sold the accountancy business on—I had no interest in their portfolio—the auditors expressed reservations, so I had forensic accountants tear the figures apart, dissect the money trails, but everything had gone cold. As you say, he emptied the coffers and made sure he didn’t fall foul of his special clients.” Jason flicked his fingers in the air like speech marks.
Mark smiled. “There was no point in me farting in the wind, so to speak. I found a different job in Manchester then the move to Cardiff. Why the curiosity? It’s been years since I worked there.”
“Devlin Jackson hasn’t forgotten what I did, unfortunately.”
I stared at Jason, glared almost, as he took a sip from his whisky. Secrets! He’d said he wouldn’t keep secrets from me.
Jason leaned down, resting his hands on my shoulders. “It’s recent, babe. There was a fire in one of my hotels. No one hurt, but it badly damaged two rooms. Arson. A guest had left a pile of cigarettes lit in the room and legged it. The CCTV picked up the man leaving. Thinner, older, but I recognised Jackson. The idiot wanted his revenge. Pathetic.”
“Why now?” I turned, ignoring Mark, who’d shuffled forward to perch on his seat, his hands clutching his knees.
“Because he set up a new accountancy business, and this time he was caught. He’d picked up where he’d left off with more laundering and foolishly he didn’t know the Serious Fraud Office had kept a watching brief on him. They pounced and found plenty of evidence this time. He attempted to burn the hotel down on bail. He’s in custody now, breach of bail conditions. So don’t worry.”
“The gangs—”
“Will find a new launderer. He’s on his own. They washed their hands of him, so to speak.” Jason and Mark chuckled.
“He won’t be in prison forever,” I countered.
“No. However, you know that is not for you to think about. So, don’t.” He jabbed the back of my head—a mild threat to keep my nose out of his business.
Mark stared into his empty tumbler, fingering the rim uneasily. “He never found out about me, did he?”
“There is no reason to believe he did. When I saw my security report on you—that you had worked at Jackson’s company—I had to make sure you weren’t in on the act.”
“I take it you’re satisfied I was not.” Mark’s eyebrows rose.
“You wouldn’t be here, in my house, if I wasn’t convinced. Now, enough talk of criminals. My wife is all on edge again. She needs some attention. Don’t you, babe? Proper attention.”
I felt as if tentacles crawled all over my skin, triggering a wave of goose bumps. Little signs of my sudden arousal.
“I should go, then.” Mark went to stand up.
Jason waved him back down. “No, stay. She will enjoy the extra player. In fact, she would love to gratify you. Wouldn’t you, Gemma?” Jason pinched my chin upwards.
Something unexpected whirred inside my mind. I responded to the proposal with an almost mechanical click of compliance, followed by a little spike of adrenaline then a sledgehammer of arousal struck my libido. I stoppered my gasp of surprise and tried to frame a rational reason for my reaction.
I should despise Jason for foisting my submission on my accountant. He’d never invited somebody to join us who didn’t have a connection with his Nightshade Club. At least, he should have witnessed Mark in a scene. Earlier, I’d been bolshie and rude, shown little courtesy to our guest. Perhaps this was my chance to make amends.
Jason had reminded me how he took care of me. He constantly removed threats and dealt with unpleasantness on my behalf. All I had to do was open an art gallery, nothing complicated. Whatever stresses bombarded me during the forthcoming week couldn’t match the demands placed on Jason to keep me, and his business, safe. I surrendered my will, my body, because it was the best I could do, and I had promised Jason I would give him my best.
My safe-word didn’t enter into my considerations.
“Master.” I lowered my eyes. “I serve you.”
I made my point. I would do it because Jason asked, not because I needed the thrill of two men dominating me.
There’d been no planning this time. Mark’s cheeks had gone pink, the corner of his lips twitching upwards, unable to suppress a smile. Jason took him to one side, and they murmured to each other. My Dom explained the rules and the etiquette of play. Mark nodded, rubbing the bulge in his pants.
I undressed but left on my knickers. Even exposing my bare breasts to Mark produced a wave of palpitations. Jason teased me with his nimble hands, shoving aside the gusset of my panties and probing my wet hole. Reaching around, he scrunched my breasts and pinched my nipples. My pussy clenched, tightening about nothing, desperate for the thrust of his cock.
“Take it,” Jason ordered me, as Mark unzipped his flies.
When was the last time I’d touched another man’s penis? I couldn’t recall. I tentatively lifted a finger, flinching slightly as the swollen end twitched. The man was well endowed.
“Just your hands,” instructed Jason. “Stay still.”
I gave Mark’s cock a hand job while Jason whipped me into a state of oblivion with a beaded flogger. The small knots stung amongst the thud of the leather. I floated away to my own special sanctuary.
Mark said very little. A few grunts and wheezy mutters of appreciation escaped his lips. He stood astride over me, clothed, except for his cock, and tilted his head back. Occasionally, he combed strands of my hair out of my eyes, but mostly he kept his arms to his sides.
Jason, having finished with the flogger, embraced me, folding his arms around my waist as I rhythmically pumped Mark’s cock. Sandwiched between the two men, I’d no way to shuffle in any direction. Jason skated his hand up over my rounded breasts before slipping his palm under my chin. He squeezed my neck, hinting at suffocating me, but he never enacted the stifling grip. Excited by the power he held over me, I wrung Mark’s cock in my hands. Rarely did we practise the wonderful art of breath control, and he need only tease me with it to bring me to the edge of an orgasm. I shook, my fingers aching from my relentless massaging, and my knickers were drenched with my leaking sap.
Jason demonstrated to Mark not only how much control he had over me, but the extent to which I trusted him. The ease with which he could excite me accentuated the differences in the two men’s experiences and abilities. Mark, beyond offering me his penis, had no role in feeding my hunger. I didn’t crave his cock in my mouth, and after he ejaculated over my breasts, my appetite for a fuck remained unsated, but it wasn’t Mark I needed. I would have to be patient, Jason wouldn’t fuck me in Mark’s presence, he would bide his time until we went to bed.
With cum dripping in my cleavage, Jason commanded me to come and once more, I came without direct stimulation. I soared,
writhing in combination with my convulsing pussy.
After that, my mind went somewhat fuzzy. Jason covered me with a blanket, and I sipped water, blinking in the light as if I’d been blindfolded.
Mark crouched next to the sofa, where Jason had deposited me, and kissed my forehead softly. “You’re quite amazing…. Your husband is a very lucky man. I think it’s okay to call you Gemma, now.” His stammering and flushed face were quite at odds with the confident man who’d advised me about my taxes. I smiled and nodded in agreement.
Jason said our good-byes to Mark in the hallway. The young Dom had bounded out of the room, uttering words of thanks, delighted with the outcome of the evening. An unexpected scene and Jason had trusted him unreservedly with his submissive wife and our secrets. Why? I still didn’t know, but I suspected Jason aspired to have a true apprentice, one who went beyond the odd email exchange. Was it an act of altruism to mentor a younger version of himself, just as Damien had done? I doubted Jason would tell me. It didn’t matter. I trusted Jason’s judgement—it rarely failed.
Chapter 26. Distractions
Jason strode into the gallery on Friday morning, the day before the opening. He arrived as my team was putting the final touches to the displays and the website’s photo gallery as well as making phone calls to the various news agencies, reminding them of the event. The huge glass-fronted windows of the gallery faced the riverside. Although the building was set back and separated from the walls of the riverbank by trees and a road, the sunlight blazed, transforming the interior into a bright and airy space.
I greeted my husband by the door, offering him my lips, which he briefly supped on. “I didn’t know you were planning to visit.” I fiddled with the elegant knot in his tie, flustered by his sudden appearance.
“I didn’t want you to know.” He grasped my hand and wandered around the gallery, perusing the pictures and exhibits. When we passed my small personal collection of paintings, mainly watercolours, he stopped.
