by Jaye Peaches
Gemma sighed. She knew his game; now he was playing her. She relayed what she believed would happen in the coming hours, watching his reaction in the mirror.
“Well, I start the evening feeling really pissed off with you because you’ve reminded me I’ve screwed up and need a jolly good spanking with whatever you’re going to have in your hand. I wallow in self-pity all the way to the restaurant until you discipline me, something short and sharp—”
“Do I? You’re feeling that negative about yourself?” He shook his head with despair.
“I’m afraid so. However, I’m trying to be optimistic. I think you’re going to take me somewhere different or special. I’m going to like the food and atmosphere. Maybe you might let me have a little alcohol. By the time we get back here, I will have accepted your choice of spanking implement. I’m hoping I will take my spanking well. Feel suitably submissive and glad you’re my Master. How did my scenario go?”
“I like the sound of it.” He ran his fingers through her drying hair. “How are the negative thoughts?” He gathered her hair back, pulling on the locks.
“Dispersing. Thank you, Sir.” She handed him a hair tie.
“Good because I would rather not have to discipline you in the back of the car again. I want to enjoy this meal, too.” He completed his hair-styling tasks. “Take heart from that. You’re hardly a failure as a submissive. Kneel here before me.”
She knelt naked at his feet. Dressed casually in black jeans and a pale blue polo shirt, which hugged his musculature, he had a confident swagger about his stance, more so than usual, or perhaps it was what she wanted to see in him. He held her in his blue gaze.
“Look at me. You’re beautiful. I will continue to discipline you, shape and mould you. You will accept because I ask you to. You will give yourself to me graciously and without fear.”
Cupid’s arrow had struck her heart yet again. He had found the right words for her as he always seemed to do. Overcome with the need to show her appreciation, her devotion, she lay flat before him in the position of surrender.
Another one of her first Master’s lessons stored in her memories, “Show your acceptance with your body, Gemma. If you can’t find the words, your body will do it for you.”
Chapter 32. Pleasing
Gemma’s backside blazed. The rest of her body shivered with a cold sensation, as if she had suddenly been plunged into icy waters.
A soothing hand stroked her head, a slow gentle movement from temple to neck. Gemma tried to concentrate hard on her husband and not the pain below, which had suddenly come alive again as if her senses had crash-landed back on earth. Jason’s roving hand came to rest on her lower back, keeping her still while he rubbed in the cooling lotion. His gentle words of placation oozed into her ears, helping her come out of her lost place.
Many things had gone according to Gemma’s description of the evening’s scenario. Not completely word perfect. She hadn’t left the yacht in a negative frame of mind. She hadn’t required a sharp disciplining in the Mercedes that drove them to his chosen restaurant. Her attitude had transformed following his little pep talk. She had been resolved to enjoy the meal and to show Jason she accepted his control over her.
***
The Bavarian restaurant cooked its food on big stone grills. Her kind of food: grilled meat, potato dumplings, and sticky sauces. Comfort food. It made her feel homey. For Jason, German beer.
Not the most glamorous of restaurants, but Gemma appreciated it had a genuine atmosphere and plenty of traditional Bavarian folk music and decorations. Jason’s beer arrived in a large litre beer mug, and the male staff wore lederhosen and the women white aprons with short, colourful waistcoats.
Dessert was apple strudel with vanilla sauce. “Mmmm. I love this.” Gemma licked her lips. “Perhaps we should have apple trees in the garden. An orchard maybe? I could make apple crumbles or pies.”
“Will there be any of the lawn left?” Jason gave a mock roll of his eyes.
“There is loads of space. Pear trees, perhaps along the wall. Cherry trees, too. I will talk to John. Find out what varieties would grow best.” She scraped her plate clean.
On the way to the restaurant, they had chatted amiably. The return journey to the yacht was quiet. Her hands ran nervously up and down her skirt, while her husband tracked the changing scenery outside his car window. Streetlights and passing vehicles held his attention, not his wife.
Entering the stateroom, Gemma undressed, slipping off each layer with tremulous fingers. Jason removed his shirt, baring his chest. The golden tan glowed under the halogen lights, and she warmed to his appearance. He fetched nothing. His bare hands held no ropes or implements. Enrique and Maria were absent. They were quite alone.
He waved a finger. “Come here,” he said softly.
Gemma approached, shuffling a little as she wondered where he would put her. Over the chair or the bed? He seated himself at the foot of the bed and tapped his lap with one finger. “Over.”
“Over the knee?” A small buzz hit her nervous system. Jason sought to spank her over his knee. The simplest and traditional approach to spanking, and still her preference, even if it seemed a little humiliating.
One firm thigh supported her pelvis and, to add to her capitulation, he wrapped his other leg over the back of her naked thighs. Gemma focused on her breathing. She took her time to centre her thoughts, to find a place to go to where she could process the pain.
“Consider this spanking a reminder. I want you to understand I will not tolerate lapses with regard to your safety. To place your own greedy needs for attention above that of your importance to me. Your gift of your body will not be frittered away by reckless actions. Do you have anything to say?”
“I’m very grateful for your attention, to bring this to me, and I accept the reason why.”
Jason rubbed oil into her skin before starting. The sun had dried out her skin, increasing the risk of it cracking. She expected to drift away, to find somewhere to escape the pain. It usually required her to be at peace with herself and not fighting him. There, in her submissive headspace, she would be floating, and he would enjoy the sight of her under his control.
She brought into play her initial techniques for processing pain. She recited poems, essays, and mathematical formulas with their bright colours. The new places, the exotic locations of their holiday, filled her imagination until the pain broke through. She tried to think of the paintings she wanted to create, and it led her to the realisation she wanted to paint in an environment suited to her desires. She started to formulate her ideas as she grunted, writhing on his lap and twisting her body away from him.
The flat of his hand landed rhythmically and moved from one buttock to the next without pausing. Heat became burning, as he increased the velocity and power of his smacks. If his own hand hurt, he didn’t waver. She could feel the bones in her pelvis jar on a few occasions as he landed on her sit-spot. Her breasts shook as she tried to rise up and meet his descent, shorting the distance. Jason’s response was to push her back down. No escape.
Gemma could no longer think. The time for running away from pain ended. She wanted to be back there with Jason. She had been so foolishly disconnected from him. The night of the attack, she had failed to be there with him and, during the spanking, she did the same again. He wasn’t punishing her, nor even disciplining her. He intended, desired, to bring her back under his wing, his protection and sanctuary. Gemma let out a groan of recognition, at her faults and her needs. They intertwined, knotted together. When she was needy, instead of focusing on Jason and keeping him central to her thoughts, she became impulsive and bratty. She was doing it again, seductively bent over his lap while he smacked her bottom repeatedly.
“Oh, fuck,” she muttered. “Please, give me more.”
I’m crazy! She hadn’t wanted to be spanked and had even dreaded it. Then it became all she desired. The nature of his blows changed the moment she asked for more. The smacks lightened,
swung almost softly against her, and they no longer burned into her tender flesh. He slowed his pace, and between thuds, his hand teased, pinching and nipping her. Different sensations.
To her delight, Jason caressed and rubbed the singed flesh, distributing the discomfort.
“There, my subbie, let it go,” he whispered. “I’m well pleased with you.”
The trauma of the knife attack melted away, the fear of how close she had come to being abducted from a nightclub shrank back, and then came the relief. Jason was pleased with her.
“Please, Master, please.”
Jason understood her pathetic pleading. It wasn’t that she wanted him to stop, she wanted him to take her to her edge, her boundary, and let her float away.
“Go, babe,” he murmured, and she did with each expert swing of his hand.
With every flick of his wrist, she had felt a thud. Her mind dissociated from her body, but not from his presence. If anything, she felt closer to him. Nothing hindered the metamorphosis from stress to relaxation.
A patter of blows landed like raindrops, almost indiscernible, and her bottom glowed. She went to her place of subspace, her shoulders slumped as any sense of rational thought vaporised. She barely moved as he rubbed her down. She held unshed tears in her eyes, kept at bay until she could shed them.
“I’m stopping, Gemma.”
The tears flowed from her eyes at his words. A continuous stream fell down her cheeks. He ended it, but she didn’t want him to. She lay on the bed while he applied the arnica cream. The coolness smeared about her soreness. Coming out of subspace, she tried to curl up into a ball, shivering uncontrollably, but he wouldn’t let her, instructing her to lie on him. Belly to belly, her head on his chest, so she could hear his heart and follow the pattern of his calm breathing. For half an hour, he caressed her unblemished skin and spoke softly to her about the plans for Venice.
“We’ll pack tomorrow and disembark. The hotel is located behind St Mark’s Square. Tomorrow evening, we will go to the opera. There are the obligatory gondolas. No doubt we will visit an art gallery of your choice. Plenty to keep you occupied.”
Gemma lifted her head. “It all sounds wonderful. Don’t forget shopping! I have gifts to buy for friends and family. Wouldn’t do for a billionaire’s wife to return home empty handed. So, we say good-bye to Sublime and its crew tomorrow. You said you would release me once we left the yacht.”
“I did, and I will. Once we’ve disembarked, we will be plain vanilla Mr and Mrs Lucas, holidaying in Venice. Lubinsky will remain with us. Remy will return to France. We’ll fly back to England on Friday evening and have a weekend at Blythewood. Then back to the grindstone of work.”
He traced a finger down her spine. Her breathing slowed, the trembling diminished, and she felt relaxed, content, and erotically charged. Throughout the spanking, she had felt him test her, check her status, and she knew her body had betrayed her. It usually did.
“I’m going to fuck you now. Then you can sleep.”
“I’m yours.”
As the heat dispersed from her raging buttocks, another warmth consumed her flesh—the heat of passion. His thumb made slow, circular motions around her clitoris and, as he pressed, he lit a spark inside her. A small fuse burnt and spread its ignition around her body. From between her legs, up into her pert breasts, and down her inner thighs, forcing her legs to part in eagerness.
An erotic switch, one Jason could flick whenever he wished, and she couldn’t help responding to it. With its power, he added his voice, his piercing blue eyes, and the pressure of his hardening cock against her leg. All of those things caused Gemma to catch her breath.
Her juices flowed as his thumb twisted and turned. Then his fingers grasped her pussy lips, squeezing them. Grabbing her hips, he pulled her pelvis up. A shriek left her mouth, and her toes curled. He lay on top of her. He dragged her wrists above her head and then ground his stiff cock into her belly. Pre-cum smeared over her skin as he trailed his unbridled erection up between her breasts. In response, she dropped her lower jaw and stuck out her tongue to receive him. Sitting astride her head, he lowered himself into her mouth and fisted his hands her hair.
“Fuck this!” he growled.
The voice always made her melt, and she thrashed her legs about under him. She wasn’t struggling for release or escape. The adrenaline hit her body with a rush. Reaching round his hips, her hands sought and found his firm buttocks. The dimples in his cheeks highlighted his musculature, and a groan left him as she cupped him in her palms.
To have Jason towering above her, with his splendid nudity reigning about her torso, made her soar inside.
“I’m coming,” she spluttered.
He couldn’t stop her and, as she began to implode, he dived down her body and plundered her clenching pussy. The squirting, as he rose up inside her juice-drenched passage, audible and undeniable. Smothering her, he took full advantage of her orgasm. He used it and made others out of it, targeting her G-spot with his bulbous tip. Fisting sheets in her hands, she anchored herself on the bed to prevent her pummelled body from smashing into the headboard.
The force of his fucking delighted her. She felt no fear that his intensive style would become aggressive or out of control. Many times, they had come to this place where he held her. It had been born in her fantasy world and made real by her lover, her husband, and her Dominant. No longer the immature girl, who had let boys chase her and men exploit her, she found her sanctuary. Surrendered and powerless to prevent Jason’s sexual domination, she couldn’t stop the orgasms flooding her.
Her back arched up, ligaments stretched, signalling the potential breaching of her tolerance levels. Muscles and sinews were close to being pulled out of line as his strength overcame her weaker body. Jason withdrew, flipped Gemma over onto her belly, and sank into her for his final onslaught. One hand held her hair, his other her waist. And he kept her fixed under him until he poured his essence into her.
Gemma could feel the heat along with his hips chafing her sore bottom. The strange addition of pain brought her to a last and ultimately exhausting orgasm.
***
Gemma’s submission fed Jason’s own needs, her ultimate power over him. To give him control and leave it in his hands to do as he saw fit. His hands were his ambassadors, sent out to rove and explore her stricken flesh. As each wave of muscle had clenched about him, he ached to have his own completion. The longer he held it at bay, the more she came and the greater his cock grew inside her. His piston had pumped from her lips to barrier, stretching and ploughing a path to her cervix.
The subsequent drop was long and hard for them both. They panted, descended, and collapsed into an embrace of kisses. Words of admiration offered by both parties, and Jason found tears on her cheeks. She appeared unaware of the leakage. Jason chased the teardrops away with his thumbs and drew a quilt over their sweaty bodies, trapping in the heat, and she slipped into slumber.
The next day, there would be no more fucking her. Instead, he would make love gently, and he would ensure she was in as little pain as possible, achieved her orgasm, and he wouldn’t interfere with her pleasure. That night, for one last time aboard Sublime, she had been his to do with as he wished. He had the pleasure of watching her lose herself to him. His passionate heart soared. He kept it hidden from all but his lover. His submissive. His wife.
Chapter 33. Vanilla
Day Nineteen
Gemma found upon waking that Jason had already risen, showered, and breakfasted. She followed his lead and went to have her last shower in the marble-encased bathroom. Stepping around the misted glass panels, Jason greeted her with a towel.
“I’ve been packing up my laptop. Have you had breakfast?”
“Not yet, Sir.” She patted down her body. “How is your arm?”
“Esteban inspected it this morning, checked the dressing. No sign of infection. I’m fine.”
She pictured Modesto, drugged up and locked in a prison cell. She almos
t pitied him. “What will happen to Modesto? Did you find anything else about him?”
Jason leant back on the dresser and crossed his arms. “Yes. Lubinsky received a report from the Philippines. He told me earlier over breakfast with McKenzie.”
“And? Please tell me, Sir.”
“He had a different name, but his description and details matched. He’d run away to sea, just like Ted. According to the authorities out there, his father beat his mother. Something the young Modesto witnessed countless times throughout his childhood. He ended the violence himself. Knifed his father in the chest while his mother slept. Modesto spied on us playing in the pool. I guess the sight of me doing kinky play triggered a reoccurrence of his childhood memories. I think you understand.”
She could feel trickles of water dripping down her legs, but her hands remained rooted to her sides, unable to move. “Yes. I do….”
“Babe?” His hand touched her shoulder, and he cocked his head to one side. “Tell me.”
“I thought I saw something.” Bending down, she started to dry her legs.
Jason straightened, and his hand slipped away. “What? When?”
Gemma stopped, slowly rose, and gave her husband a grimace. He wouldn’t like what she was about to tell him. “When you had a little go at my tits. You know…. The window behind you. I assumed it was a seagull or something. I don’t know. I wasn’t exactly with it. Perhaps, thinking about it, it could have been a head peeping up.”
He ran his fingers through his hair. “Shit. He saw me smacking your tits. That could explain a lot. Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I put it down to my imagination. I was pre-occupied.” She grinned, trying to relieve the tension. “I forgot about it.”