Sublime Trust

by Jaye Peaches

  ***

  By the time Jason returned to the room in the early afternoon, ready for her, Gemma had taken up position by his preferred armchair. Kneeling and naked. For the first time that day, he hoped to be happy.

  He had expected Gemma to be disappointed. A natural reaction, and his announcement would have been a shock. She struggled with loneliness, being accustomed to an active social life. The crew would be sympathetic and attentive, but they were not her friends. Unfortunately, he had been informed Maria had succumbed to a severe migraine caused by stress. He would have reinstated her under mitigating circumstances. Gemma wouldn’t tolerate Enrique. She disliked him, and he suspected Enrique would attempt to assert his own authority over her. He opted to leave the Mexicans out of sight. He would advise Enrique that two days exile would be sufficient for their penalty, rather than the three he had originally specified. By then, Maria, he guessed, should have recovered.

  His preparations for travel were going well. Back at his headquarters, his staff bent over backwards to accommodate his demands on them. His diary for the next day filled with wall-to-wall meetings. He anticipated unpleasant experiences for a number of his employees.

  Jason came to rest in the armchair and leant back, assessing Gemma intently. If she had been crying, it had long stopped. Her trembling fingers rested on her thighs. The henna tattoos had lasted well, still fresh and vibrant. He continued to find them erotic and delighted at the sight of his initials on her skin.

  “You managed to prepare yourself well. Your hair is beautiful and, though it isn’t braided, you have taken the time to improve your appearance. Did you give yourself an enema?” he asked with a curl of his lips.

  “No, Sir. I’m not into self-inflicted masochism or humiliation. I did my usual routine, Sir.” Her gaze remained firmly planted on his feet.

  He chortled at her reply. She hadn’t lost her sense of humour. “I see. Perfectly acceptable under the circumstances. I want to tell you what I’m going to do with you. I anticipate you’re going to be somewhat anxious about my intentions, given my temperament this morning.”

  “I trust you, Sir. You know that,” she responded quickly.

  “I am having a challenging day and, at the moment, you are the only part of it that is pleasing me. So, I want you to keep doing that, regardless of what you feel about me.”

  “My only wish is to please you, Sir. So you leave here knowing I am yours and only yours.”

  He detected automation in her responses, as if she had devised a script. Her coping mechanism. “Good. Then you can appreciate that in the mood I’m in, you’re not necessarily going to be receiving pleasure from me. You’re going to have to be a good little sub for me.”

  “I will be, Sir,” she said with conviction.

  Gemma closed her eyes, inhaled deeply. Her familiar breathing exercises. He sat opposite her, waiting and watching her gain her composure and her nerves. She flushed with hot blood flowing through her veins. Reaching forward, he cupped his hand under her sex. With a jump, she opened her eyes. Her pussy had betrayed her. Warm juices slipped out, down his finger.

  “Lusty, aren’t you? Me, likewise, Gemma. You’ve made me quite hard and keen for you. My slut. However, I’m not complaining.” His hand left her.

  Gemma sucked in one last deep lungful of air and looked straight at Jason. “I’m ready for you, Sir.”

  Within seconds, she bent over the padded surface of the table with Jason leaning over her. Her legs dangled down, splayed wide for him. Fingers explored her regions and her contours. He sniffed the clean aroma of her hair, rose petals and strawberries—her cocktail of scents.

  “To have you,” he whispered, “to take you. This is all I desire. To leave marks on you and to know they are made by me—this is my love for you.”

  His words heightened her need for him to be deep inside, and he would make her wait. With each of pass of his palm down her body, she would crave more of him and, when his other hand grasped her hair, she cried out.

  “Yes, oh, yes!”

  Time was too short. His actions needed to be swift. He plied her with his cock. Clinging to the table, she could do little but let him loose on her weaknesses. Each time he took her, she gave more of her submission back to him. Arching her back at one point, she screwed her wet pussy on him as if to make a point of her emotional sacrifice.

  Standing over her, Jason took deep breaths to slow his heartbeat, and checking his hands were steady, he reached for what he required. He intended to devour Gemma from head to toe.

  ***

  Gemma collapsed on the bed. As promised, he had marked her body and impaled her with his passionate thrusts. She knew the collection included bite marks and the stripes of the crop across her buttocks, and a pinkish glow from the flogger covered virtually every part of her flesh. Between her legs, she leaked. Inside, she felt a well-fucked soreness, which she had experienced before, though not for some considerable time.

  His accompanying crude words of encouragement had been intensely arousing, like an aphrodisiac to her clitoris. He had been generous with the vibrating wand, offering it to her at intervals, and she’d spewed her gratitude through the ball gag. She’d groaned and whimpered as he grunted at his own exertions. When she could take no more of his devices and implements, he’d dispensed with them and resorted to fucking her hard. The rough intercourse had taken her to the brink of her limits.

  It had become a struggle to contain her emotions. “Okay, babe.” Jason said. “You’re doing well. I’m slowing it up. Is that all right?” He had stroked her face with his warm hand.

  “Yes.”

  “Continue?”

  “Yes. Please don’t let me drift too far, Jason. I’m feeling close to freaky as it is.”

  “I’m watching you carefully, babe. I’m not going to lose you. Listen to my voice.”

  Those interludes of normality weren’t strange to Gemma. To be addressed, almost matter-of-factly, as if their kinky sex was a routine act, kept her grounded. Throughout their time as Dom and sub, there remained a backbone of civility, respect, and mutual trust—essential elements for making their relationship successful and enduring. By the time he had achieved his long-awaited orgasm, she had been ready for his other qualities—tenderness, consideration, and supportive aftercare. Lying on the bed, he conducted himself beyond the duties of a sometime Dom. He conducted himself as her husband.

  She welcomed the ice-cubes, their numbing addition to her insides. One in each hole. He checked over her body from tip to toe and announced that although he had marked her skin aplenty. Within a couple of days, she would free of the blemishes. The exception, the six marks on her buttocks—those he had applied specifically as a more enduring feature of the session.

  “What is all the noise above us, Jason?” asked Gemma, head buried in her pillow.

  “Apologies. Very distracting. The helipad is being assembled on the sundeck. I’m being picked up by helicopter and taken to Rome for my flight home.” Jason remained stretched out on his side, a hand stroking her back gently.

  “Helicopter? You’re leaving on a helicopter?” She perched on her elbows.

  “Easier than guessing which port we’ll be closest to. The GPS can pick us out of the water easily.”

  “When?” she had to ask, having avoided the details of his departure all afternoon.

  “In two hours. That leaves us about an hour to sit in the bath and make sure you’re in a fit state to be left. I don’t want you blubbering the minute I’m up in the air.”

  “I feel strangely in control of my senses. I think you fucked me into a cathartic state of being. Like a good cry, which I did this morning, as you probably guessed.”

  “Which is better, cathartic fucking or bawling your eyes out?”

  “Oh, the former. Definitely.”

  He gently kissed her sweaty forehead. “I’ll go run the bath.”

  Afterwards, she curled up on the bed again, feeling impossibly sleepy. Jason dressed
to travel, slipping back into his executive role. He packed a small overnight bag with a few essential items, stowed his laptop safely in its case, and he ensured her smartphone could receive e-mails.

  “I’ll text or e-mail you from time to time. So don’t stray too far from your device.”

  “Sure,” she murmured, practically asleep.

  Gemma heard the hum of rotary blades. She shot bolt upright.

  Dashing to the window, she saw a whirlpool from the downdraught of the blades. The yacht was nearly stationary, and all about the white-crested waves swelled due to the helicopter’s presence. Before she could work out if Jason had gone up to meet it, the helicopter came into view, blades spiralling about, rising up into the sky. He had gone. She stood, eyes hypnotised by the small two-man helicopter as it swerved to the right ahead of the bow and then headed off into the horizon and away from Sublime.

  No teary good-byes or lingering kisses or embraces. This was what he wanted, she presumed—her fast asleep, exhausted, and unable to register even the loudest of noises. In the midst of the helicopter maelstrom, he had left her, quite alone, in the middle of a vast sea and with no friends to keep her company.

  Gemma tried very hard for the next few hours not to be a blubbering wreck. She succeeded, and that, in itself, was immensely satisfying. However, she couldn’t face leaving the stateroom or the upper deck. She didn’t want the sympathy of the crew or their ingratiating conscientiousness. Instead, she lay on his side of the bed and smelt his scent on the pillow. Barring deliveries of essential meals and drinks, she remained there for the rest of the day.

  At close to midnight, he sent a text.

  : Home safe. Missing you babe.

  She replied instantly.

  : Me too. Glad you’re back safe. Thinking of you.

  She couldn’t hold back the frustrated tears any longer. The intolerable emptiness inside her consumed her completely.

  Part Two

  Chapter 21. Seeing Red

  Day Twelve

  Jason approached in the shadows and took in the salon of the main deck. A large proportion of the crew hung about, positioned on chairs or standing, watching. Kevin, the engineer, perched on a plush armchair. Nick, the second officer, with a beaming smile and arms flailing around, chatted animatedly to Kevin. Beside him the Filipino, Modesto, eyes fixated on Gemma and, standing behind him tapping a foot, Ludo Savage. The chef Dario hovered by the door of galley, neither in nor out, with an empty platter in his large hands. Seated at the games table, the second engineer, Hans, who appeared to be playing solitaire with Gemma’s deck of cards. Laid out on the table, Jason’s backgammon set. By the piano, Enrique with arms folded, back resting on the musical instrument, and beside him, resting her head on his shoulder, Maria.

  Gemma danced in a frilly floral summer dress with skimpy straps and hennastained feet in her sandals, which clicked on the floor as she moved about in time to the music blaring from the sound system. One of her hands held Gaspar’s. Her dance partner. The smile on her face told Jason she was happy in her world of spinning, hip-jiggling salsa.

  Jason’s right fist closed tight while his other hand held his laptop case. The relief at being back on the yacht along with the excitement at seeing his wife was overshadowed by the sight, not only of her dancing with another man, but the presence of an audience watching the gyrating wriggle of her bottom and shoulders. His plan to sweep her into his arms was crushed, and he started to back away from the salon’s vista. As he moved, Maria caught his eyes. She stared at him for a few seconds before tugging on Enrique’s arm.

  Arriving in his office, he unzipped his laptop case and began the process of reconnecting his computer to the yacht’s communication system. By now, he knew Gemma would have been told of his return, and he expected the crew would rapidly disperse to their tasks. What had he anticipated upon his return? A dutiful wife sitting alone reading in an armchair or relaxing on a sun bed enjoying the evening’s lingering warmth, taking in the ambience of Malta’s air. Possibly, she might have sought out the company of McKenzie or Lubinsky, dined with them in the appropriate setting, not nibble her way through platters of food. His disappointment at her behaviour was extreme, feeding his disciplinarian personality and all of his controlling traits.

  ***

  Enrique switched off the music in the salon. Gemma froze, mid-twirl, feet poised. She and everyone else looked towards him, his finger still touching the power switch. Maria gave Gemma a nod and pointed to the upper deck. In an instant, she forgot the crew and ran up the stairs to the owner’s deck. She found Jason upright behind his desk, looking at his monitor screen, tapping at the odd key with a stabbing finger.

  “You’re back!” She couldn’t contain her sheer joy. She practically collided with his desk and held her arms out wide in anticipation of an embrace.

  “So it would seem,” he said coolly.

  “You’re not pleased to see me?” Gemma lowered her arms to her sides and took a step away from his desk.

  “I thought I would be, until I saw you in the salon.” He sneered. “Dancing.”

  “I can explain—”

  “I’m sure you can,” he interrupted, pushing his chair back and reaching for the pen. “But not in here. In the stateroom, and in a suitable pose.”

  She couldn’t believe he wasn’t delighted to be in her company. Her passions had reignited the moment she had received the message about his return. He should be touching her. She backed out of the door, aghast. He hadn’t even looked up at her. Made eye contact.

  Sitting on the bed, she fumbled with the zipper at the back of her dress. Of all the activities he had to see upon his return, it was her dancing—his adversary and the one pastime of hers he suffered her to do. To add to his ire, she had been in the company of several men and, though Maria had been present, it would be of no consequence to Jason.

  Now, she had to face one of his tormenting inquisitions where he would dissect her behaviour, her misdemeanours and failings. She would be disciplined for breaking his rule that she must not flirt with men. Whatever explanation she would give would be insufficient, as he would have set his mind to return her to complete submission, whether with sex or with some form of corporal punishment. She feared both would be on his agenda, in a combination that would tax her abilities.

  She felt strangely resigned to her fate. She didn’t deserve his anger as she had done nothing wrong. However, his undivided attention would be guaranteed, and she would submit to attempt to rectify his negative feelings towards her. Pushing away her own anger, she acknowledged her pathetic, needy wretchedness would allow her to be. A rogue tear fell down her cheek. His return had become a nightmarish anti-climax, all her plans to welcome him scuppered.

  ***

  “Señora?”

  Maria crept quietly into the room. Señor Lucas remained ensconced in his office. He had summoned her to prepare her mistress. Over the intercom, his tone came across as ominous and severe. She had time, she thought, to speak to the señora.

  “Maria. He has seen me dancing with another man. I must answer to him for my behaviour.” She sniffed. “Can you help me with this dress zipper?”

  “No, señora. I will not let you be treated this way!”

  “What did you say?” Gemma turned to see her face.

  Maria’s lips set firm. She believed the señora acquiesced to her master too easily and quickly, and initiating a session in the heat of high emotions was plainly wrong. The wife had been devoted to her absent husband. Perhaps Señor Lucas had come back from the stresses of work thinking of other voyages on his yacht, with other submissives. Those girls had been extremely biddable and compliant to anything he chose to do to them. She remembered those cruises vividly. However, this woman wasn’t only his submissive, but also his legal wife, with rights and status. A status Enrique had never given her.

  “You are his wife, señora. Whatever else you are to him, you have a right to be treated with respect and not accused of infid
elities. You told me this morning how hard you found his absence, missing him and keeping him in your thoughts. You succeeded, and he accuses you of not being a good wife. Don’t let him, señora. I beg you.”

  Gemma sighed, still unsuccessfully fiddling with her zipper. “It isn’t that easy.”

  “Señora. Has he really been told the truth? What evidence does he have to make him think you have been unfaithful? The man is hasty, perhaps. Don’t let him find you here. Make him come to you as an equal. He loves you. Remind him of that.”

  She picked up a small notepad off the chest of drawers and handed it to Gemma, along with a pencil. “You know what to write. Then go, up above. Away from him. Wait.”

  ***

  Entering the stateroom, Jason saw no sign of Gemma. Checking the bathrooms, he failed to find her. He saw the piece of paper on his pillow, resting in the indentation left by her sleeping head.

  RED

  One powerful three-letter word. Jason heard footsteps. Turning, expecting to see his wife, he found Maria by the door, her face tense. She didn’t flinch or drop her eyes, not like his wife. Anger returned as he pictured Gemma dancing, swaying in the arms of Gaspar.

  “She has refused me!” he snarled. “Then she will have none of me. Make up a bed in a guest room for her.”

  “No, señor. I will not.” Maria didn’t move.

  “What did you say?” He crushed the piece of paper in his hand.

  “You will listen to me, Señor Lucas. Your wife does not deserve this. She has done nothing wrong—”

  “How dare—”

  “She has been the perfect faithful wife to you. Let me tell you how, and then, if you still demand it, I will make a bed up for her, because you don’t deserve her. She has thought of you continuously, almost to the detriment of her health. On Tuesday, Esteban told me, she barely ate or slept. She refused to come out of the stateroom, and he was concerned. I wasn’t there, remember, banished. She had been so very lonely. Esteban encouraged her to come to the main deck to eat, and he put music on. She didn’t know about the dance floor, and when the dancing lights came on, she seemed happier. Gaspar is a professional dance teacher. That’s what he does on some cruises, he demonstrates and teaches Spanish styles. She told me she once danced for you, for your eyes only, and that she wanted to do it again. A proper choreographed dance. Gaspar taught her new moves. She insisted Esteban, or another, remain present. This evening, she knew you were coming back. She leapt about with joy. That was why she danced. Do you want me to go on?”