by Jaye Peaches
“Mmmmm. Smells glorious. I’m very hungry,” he put his arms around my waist and sniffed at the pan on the stove.
“Five minutes,” I told him, trying to push him off.
He laughed in my ear and wandered off to set the table.
“Jason,” I ventured a question.
“Um yes.”
Jason looked across at me from the other sofa, where he was perched cross-legged and reading yet another contract. He had come home in sweatpants and top, having been to the gym at the end of the working day. I had finished cleaning up the kitchen after a dinner where food had his absolute focus of attention. Back in the drawing room, I sat down opposite him and I lined up my questions. Was he going to be receptive tonight I wondered?
“Do you still want me to go to the gym three times a week? I don’t want to disobey you, but I have no gym to go to in the week. I’m not at work,” I explained rapidly.
“True, very true, Miss Marshall. I believe there is a small private gym a couple of streets away, you can join there.”
I sniggered for a fraction of a second when he called me Miss Marshall; the sarcasm in his voice was rich and clear. He might address me deferentially by using the formal title but deep down we both knew it was a falsehood. He was not the one who had to be respectful at all times. I refocused my thoughts to the issues I wanted to clear up. Point one ticked off. He looked back down at his contract. Point two: “Also...”
He sighed in minor frustration as I started to speak.
“I need to shop. You wanted me to get more quality clothes to wear.” I picked at the strands on my threadbare jeans.
“Yes, along as you take an escort.” He frowned thinking to himself. “I should probably arrange for you to have a female protection officer. Don’t want Johnson or any man following you into the changing room.”
I blushed, I had not thought of that predicament. Good another point dusted off.
“Work...um, when will I find out about a job?” I could immediately see by his expression that he had had enough of the interrogation.
“Am I going to get any work done this evening?” he snapped at me.
“Sorry,” I tried to look contrite.
“What’s the rush? You don’t need money,” he chucked his papers on the coffee table in front of him. “Is there anything else you want to discuss, Miss Marshall, while you have me pinned down?” he growled.
“I just want to know when I can get back to work. I’m used to making my own way. I’m twenty-four years old and I want a good career, not be stuck in a house all day,” Tears suddenly welled up in my eyes.
“That’s enough! And don’t blubber. You’re forgetting your place.” Jason slumped back in his sofa. “We’ve not had one night here and you expect everything to fall into place straight away. You will have to learn to wait.”
I nodded. I knew he was right. “I’m sorry. Sir,” I looked down. I could sense those blue eyes striking me down, putting me in my place.
“I think you need a lesson in respect.”
I gulped, something was going to happen, and I did not think my pleasure was in his mind. I instinctively came off the sofa and knelt before him. Waiting, the good submissive before her master. Jason leant over, picked the newspaper off the table and began to roll it up in his hands, making a rolling pin shaped implement. My pulse rate had shot up, he was going to spank me and the knowledge was like a nectar to my bee-like libido. I took a sharp intake of breath and began to undo the buttons on my Levi jeans.
“Everything off,” he instructed.
I nodded and obeyed him without question. Being told to strip was such a huge turn-on button. The moment he said the magic words I was ignited below. Nudity did not shame me when I was with familiar people or surroundings. I was not a narcissus about my body form, although there was always room for improvement. However, I liked the notion men found flagrant bareness appealing and the act of divesting my clothes always helped sink me into my submissive place. The contrast between the two of us was marked; he was clothed and unassailable where as I was nude and vulnerable.
I was grateful there were thick drapes hanging in the front window. No-one could see me as I stripped off, carefully placing my clothes on the sofa. I could not fail to hide my firm nipples and I knew I was already becoming wet below.
He looked at me with such a stern face, his chiselled features and thin lined lips. Handsome, an incredibly handsome man. He tapped his lap. I lay across him, arms stretched out in front and legs behind, across the other side of the sofa. My head I rested on the intricate pattern of the sofa. If I was an electrical appliance, I had been well and truly plugged in and the tingle of static was shooting all over my skin. He stroked my buttocks, circling my flesh with a finger. Tracing my scar line he bent over and kissed it, I groaned. Tender moment over he pinned me down with one hand and took the rolled up newspaper in the other hand.
Quietly he spoke to me. “You will count for me up to fifty and say thank you after each blow. I will have your gratitude. This may be a terraced house, but I can assure you the walls are thick, scream and shout, you’re not going to be heard.”
He did not mention Mr Brooks below, no doubt the so called butler was part of Mr Lucas’s privacy agreement club. I shut my eyes and clenched my teeth. Waiting for that first firm hand to land on my exposed backside.
We were lying in bed and Jason was massaging cream into my very red posterior. I winced under his administrations. He was naked having alleviated himself of clothing when we staggered into the bedroom, eager to have more sex with me.
“Who would have thought a rolled up newspaper could be such a good spanking tool,” murmured Jason with amusement.
I smarted at the very recent memory of his “good” spanking as he called it.
~
After ten well-placed blows, I struggled to contain myself, crying out the numbers pitifully and moving about his lap. He threatened to tie me down unless I kept still for him. He laid another ten blows on me and I begged him to stop after one retched ‘thank you’, as if the pain was unwanted. Deep down I was gushing with the attention he was giving me. He did not cease, only safe-words would stop him. I did not though. We both knew I was deeply aroused and struggling to contain myself as I wriggled about on his lap.
The blows became harder and I tried to distract my pain receptors with all my usual techniques. I found I was drifting, not an unwelcome sensation as I liked the feeling of lifting off. My counting was a distant mutter as if my voice had been disconnected and the rest of me was floating away. The pain diminished, I was pumped with my body’s defensive hormones and neurotransmitters and they flooding me with strange sensations of detachment from reality. My head lay on one side, resting on my outstretched arm, eyes shut and vacant expression.
“Gemma!”
He pulled my ponytail, lifting me up and my eyes opened. Jason was having none of my floaty effects. I was hardly audible with my count and dragged back from my befuddle state, he forced me to focus on him.
I howled the fiftieth count with relief and a bizarre sense of achievement at having reached his goal. I did not want to disappoint him. He stopped abruptly and immediately inserted two fingers deep inside me, fucking me with them for several minutes. By then my begging was truly pathetic and he held off until his cock was too uncomfortable to be contained behind his waistband. I was pushed off his lap, then turned and made to kneel on all fours in front of the dormant fireplace.
“You will be respectful and undemanding of my time, my slut. I want you to be perfectly behaved for the rest of the week, not a step wrong. I don’t have the time to provide this kind of maintenance every night. Do you understand me?” he had snarled. Every bit the master of me. “Now you will please me with your body, don’t even ask for fucking permission! You own wishes are of no consequence!”
His hard cock released he penetrated me deep and fast, thrust after thrust pounded my red-faced bottom. His hands grasped my sho
ulders tightly to achieve maximum penetration. Far from being detached, I was in a wonderful place. Being taken roughly was what my submissive nature dined out on. Even in pain, I could not ignore the part of me that thrived on being used. Dominated and controlled were the icing on my sexual cake and I licked the sweetness off with relish.
At the last moment when he came, he pushed my head down on to the floor, pinning my neck with a firm hand, making sure he filled me. Leant over panting hard, he must have been aware of my whimpering. My body was still wound up tightly waiting for the permission he would not give. I was left deflated as he picked himself up from his knees and headed to the door.
“Come, I’ve not finished with you yet.”
I went to collect my clothes and followed him.
~
Up in the bedroom I was building again as Jason rubbed oil into my bum cheeks.
“I want you on your back,” he told me.
I would not dare say no to him that evening. I had asked too much of him already. I flipped myself over and he removed the pillows from behind my head making me lie down flat. From a bottom drawer, he fetched scarves, several scarves plain and unadorned. Taking my wrists, he stretched my arms and tied them to the corner bedposts.
I was expecting him to arrange me spread-eagled, but no he had something else in mind tonight. I breathed rapidly as he took my left ankle and tucked the heel up by the top of the underside of my left thigh. Jason then proceeded to tie my ankle to the top of my thigh. He repeated this for my right leg and I was trussed up frog-like with legs pushed apart making me wide open to his attentions. The last scarf he reserved for my eyes, descending me into pitch blackness. Lastly, to complete his arrangement of me, he put a pillow under my bottom at the base of my spine, raising me up.
“Perfect!” Jason spoke to himself.
Then pinching my chin bone between his fingers he leant down between my exposed parts and his breath was on my face. I pictured his eyes piercing me behind my blindfold. My anticipation was overwhelming.
“I enjoyed my fuck downstairs, plus you took your spanking well and it has made me benevolent. You may come as you wish while I eat you out,” his voice was now coming from between my constrained thighs.
Oh Crikey! A tongue, the very tip of it caressed my warm wet circle, and then it darted inside of me. The tongue was gone as quickly as it had arrived.
“Oh God, Oh God!” I squealed in delight. He took my thighs, wrapping his arms around them from underneath, forcing my legs further apart. He began to tease me in earnest.
This is why I let him do those other things to me.
I’m in Heaven.
Chapter 15
The week passed by with no further misdemeanours nor the need to have my role re-enforced by one of Jason’s spanking sessions. Jason rose every morning at six o’clock. He took no interest in me, unlike the weekend. Instead showering and shaving were the first order of the day. I dashed downstairs to make him breakfast and waited in silence as he knocked back his coffee and toasted bagel. With nothing more than a peck on the cheek and briefcase in hand he was gone. Jason had left me a scribbled note: Martinson’s contact details for arranging trips out.
On Tuesday, I walked the two streets to the gym with Johnson in tow, trailing a few feet behind me, eyes vigilant for my ex-boyfriend in case he was lurking in the side streets. An expensive place, way out of my league, but I had Jason’s allowance to spend.
There was no-one on the reception desk and the reason became apparent after waiting for ages for somebody to respond to the call button on the desk. The gym was small and the reception was left unmanned while the one member of staff on duty concentrated on training sessions. Having signed the obligatory membership forms and listed my complete lack of medical problems, I was given a swipe card to gain access to the inner rooms.
After a brief run through with the trainer, I spent an hour working my way round the circuit of apparatus and equipment. The consolation prize of being out of the house was marred by the tedium setting in within ten minutes. I seriously disliked working out in gyms. The solitary aspect was the killer and having the place to myself made matters worse. I had long ago given up on listening to music on my iPod while exercising. The rhythms made me want to dance, not run repetitively on the spot. As an alternative, I had tried radio channels and found talk shows tolerable. Topics of debate ranged from the mind numbing trivial and insignificant to cerebral, moral subjects that made me yawn.
Given a choice of isolating forms of exercise, I would prefer gardening. Not exactly something that induced a cardiovascular work-out but it did make me ache afterwards so I had always concluded that it was sufficiently energetic to constitute as exercise. My family were all gardeners. For my parents, it was the one activity that they had in common. Their little back garden was divided into three areas: flowerbeds, vegetable plot and perennials. They had been provided with ideas on garden design by my brother who studied horticulture at college. My gardening days had ended when I left home. Living in urban environments removed the opportunity and I had gradually lost interest.
Seeing Jason’s extensive garden at Blythewood had inspired me to want to be out doing something. I quite fancied the opportunity to try my hand at cultivating and growing new plants. I would rather be outside, especially in the warm summer months. Even being out in the cold winter ones would be more appealing than the monotony of gyms. I doubted Jason would see gardening as suitable exercise to improve my endurance. Yet when he told me to go to the gym, I did the deed. That control thing he had over me was kicked into action.
I accepted that I was his to command when it came to sexual matters. I had given him ownership of me and he could do as he wished to gain both his erotic gratification and dominating fulfilment. He clearly loved to control and I gave up my sexual being willingly. After that, the boundaries became bleary. Was letting him decide on other aspects of my life permissible? He had ordered me to the gym because he wanted my stamina to improve so he could fuck me for longer. So I went. What would he expect after that? My diet, my clothing or perhaps my social life. My insides churned at the idea. I was not going to submit that far for him. At some point, we would hit an impasse and I would find out how controlling he could actually be.
In the evenings, Jason usually appeared around seven o’clock. I timed my meals for him well after one noticeable screw up not long after I moved in. He ate his dinner as if he had been starved all day. I generally remembered my place and did not venture comment or initiate a conversation. He read some paper or other while he tucked into his food. After tidying up, I lounged in front of the TV while he beavered in his study to late into the evening – I pined for him but I could not ask to be with him.
I was impressed by his hard working attitude. He did not shy away from long hours, taking conference calls that fitted with other time zones, especially his American employees. Once when passing by his door I had heard him viciously berating someone over the phone. I had a twinge of sympathy for the recipient. However, at least they were not spanked for their screw-ups.
By eleven o’clock, I would retire and decide that if he wanted to have sex with me, he could wake me up. That tactic seemed to work for him. He would either crawled into bed and drifted off into a rapid deep sleep or he threw the duvet off me and climbed on top of me. He would lay his nakedness against mine and buried himself into me. Kissing and nibbling on my breasts, quickly arousing me from my semi-slumber. I never went to sleep until he came to bed and I did not refuse him as he grasped my hair, thrusting himself deep into my wetness with an all too obvious urgency.
Stroking his head with my hand, I whispered silly things to him in a calming voice. I let him relieve his day-time stresses in waves of a much-needed orgasm and then he would roll off me and fall asleep. Mine own needs were pushed to one side, he never gave me permission to come. I did not mind - I was fulfilling my purpose.
I recollected he said his needs were different
during the week, quicker and to the point. He was almost completely uninterested in me and I was little more than a pleasure vessel for him, as close to being his sex slave as I ever had been. I accepted my role had changed on those nights and waited for the weekend when I would be given his rigorous attention.
I did catch his attention in other ways, simply because I was sharing his homes. He had lived on his own for most of his adult life and it showed in his habits and the way he kept his houses. They were tastefully decorated and furnished, homely and comfortable, but he seemed to haunt his homes rather than live in them. There were few pictures on the walls, no ornaments on the dressers or cabinets, and the kitchens were purely functional. At Blythewood House, the only full height mirror was in the interior of his dressing room and at Piedmont the mirror was tucked away in the bathroom. It was not as if I wanted the rooms to be quaint and covered in knick-knacks, just extras that would make them appear to be more than fancy hotel suites.
Blythewood had the dungeon space. Not something that every house in the country had going for them. It was hidden away and unless you eyed up the outside wall and compared it to the inside floor space, could you judge that an entire room was tucked away out of sight. Piedmont was a sleepover house. A bachelor pad that he had rented since making his wealth. The most used room in the house was his study. There were plenty of books: legal textbooks, financial reports, political essays and heavy tomes on the world of economics. On one closer inspection when he was at work, I found a few books on sexual psychology, anatomy, advanced first aid, tantric massaging and golfing legends. His hobbies summed up nicely on one shelf. I was strangely re-assured by those books, as if it made him a real person and not a freaky executive with kinky ideas about sex.
I had added my own bits and pieces. The toiletries in the en-suite cabinets expanded dramatically overnight. His own clothes were pushed to one side as I hung up my own. They looked out of place next to his refined elegant suits. I really needed to go shopping, soon. My books went to Blythewood, along with my ancient computer and most of my artistic hobby stuff. Only when I was there in the townhouse did it cross my mind that I was going to be spending more time here then at Blythewood. Boredom set in quickly.