Sublime Trust

by Jaye Peaches

  “Good girl.”

  She relished the compliment, but she’d little time to process his words. Cold lubricant smeared her pussy entrance, followed by a slow penetration, the friction barely discernible as he slid back and forth. He didn’t go all out, but neither did he hold back with the depth. Her breasts shook, swaying unhindered. When the pain in her tits became too much, she hollered. Sensing her struggle, he reached forward and cupped them, supporting them in tandem with his rocking movements.

  He came with a gorgeous cry of her name. A judder then panting in her ear. Familiar signs of completion.

  Free of her restraints, she lay on the bed and he rested the vibrating wand between her legs and let her come in her own time, without interference. She clutched the device, pressing it onto her tender bud. The sudden arrival of her orgasm surprised her. An urgent need requited with little effort.

  “Well?” he asked, as she curled up, basking and content.

  “A good start. I might need to wear a bra, though, unless you plan to act as a surrogate bra each time.” The scene, although brief, was just what she needed to give her confidence.

  “I’ll let you wear a bra. Something pretty, though. You did well, babe. Made me come easily. I quite like holding those bulging boobies of yours. Remember, if it all reaches the point where you can’t do the kink, or even plain sex, I will wait for you, babe. I can be patient; you know that.”

  She clambered over him, lying on his body, and his arms folded about her. His heart under her ear, the perfect sound. “I love you,” she murmured.

  Saturday evening arrived—the next session. Gemma wore a frilly pink bra, minimal coverage with sufficient support to enable him to bounce her around he if was inclined. He strung her up from the pulley. Wrists bound above her head with her feet planted on the wooden floor. Blindfolded, the last image she’d seen before she was enveloped in darkness had been Jason standing in his cargo trousers and smooth, bare chest with firm pectorals. Sexy man!

  She didn’t jump out of her skin with surprise when the flogger landed. Jason had warned her in advance about his choice. Nothing harsh, the carefully applied lashes hardly registered as pain. The jiggling beads at the end of the tails bit, minor stings lasting a split second. He expertly curled them up between her legs, catching her delicate clitoris. Rather than strike her with the flogger, he wrapped it around her, drawing the tails across her skin. The ripples of beads felt cold against her warmth.

  She whimpered and moaned throughout the delicious scene, an erotic and calming one. The moment the tails coiled around her thighs, she was blissfully happy. She let her mind go, started to feel floaty—not a subspace kind of floating, more of a content drifting sensation. It enveloped her, centring her mind, and heightening her sexual arousal. She wanted to come. He’d barely touched her, and she yearned for a climax.

  “I want to come,” she muttered, more to herself than him.

  “What was that?”

  “Can I come?” she groaned, tilting her head back.

  He rocked the flogger back and forth, tickling her eager sex.

  “If you ask properly. Just because you’re pregnant doesn’t make you immune to good manners,” he reprimanded with a sultry voice.

  “Please, may I come, Sir,” she gasped.

  “You may.”

  With his permission and minimal stimulation from his caressing flogger, she exploded. Her knees buckled, and she pulled her legs up. Her body quivered, and she thrashed her head from side to side. On and on the spasms went, and, throughout her orgasm, he kept knocking the suede tails against her clit.

  He released her from the pulley then pinned her wrists down on the bed, and she wrapped her legs about him as he thrust in and out. Fast and deeper than he done since the pregnancy had begun. She felt no pain or discomfort. A perfect act of sexual intercourse, stimulating and intimate, their bodies moving in unison. His tongue savoured her skin, licking her flesh where sweat seeped out of her pores. He swept away the blindfold, and tears streamed down her face.

  He rose slightly, taking his weight off her body. “Babe?”

  “I’m fine. Please don’t stop.”

  Gemma pushed her pelvis up to meet his thrusts, arching her back and clenching her pussy tight about him. He gasped at the rigidity she was creating between her legs. Their coupling perfect and lengthy in nature, neither wanted to end the joining of their bodies. They came almost simultaneously, his body shuddering as he ejaculated inside her pussy, while she bucked about underneath, riding the waves of spasms.

  He tossed a sheet over her. “Why the tears?”

  The shivering abated. “I said I was going to be emotional. Damn hormones. I feel like all my emotions are overexerting themselves. Hammered by hormones!” She giggled. Her body pressed against his naked form while his nose brushed her hair.

  He sniffed. “You smell different. Sweeter.”

  “Sweaty!” She laughed. “Thank you. For bringing me in here. Making me do that ridiculous research and essay. I just hope I don’t burst into tears every time!”

  “So do I. It’s very disconcerting. Fucking a crying woman in the middle of her orgasm. You were delectable, hanging up there with your pink bra. If that’s as much as you can tolerate pain wise, I am more than happy, babe. If you don’t want it, the kink, we’ll manage without. Other things are more important now.”

  He leaned over and planted a kiss on her lips. Gemma didn’t want to tell him he could have gone harder on her. She decided to save the admission for another day.

  She loved him so much. Her perfect husband and Dominant all rolled up into one perfect package of love.

  Chapter 5. Tea

  Jason scanned the clinic, before returning to check messages on his mobile. Unlike Gemma’s GP’s surgery, an inner city NHS practice, the private clinic served a different class of clientele. The chairs weren’t bolted to the floor, and the TV monitor, instead of warning of the perils of overeating, churned out advertisements for expensive, unnecessary baby products. Waiting to see Mrs Henderson—Maggie—in the plush seating area of the private maternity unit, Gemma pondered on the strangeness of how a thread of e-mails could lead to the beginnings of a friendship.

  A Tuesday morning and her first proper antenatal appointment. Jason had collected her from work in his Austin Martin. Whatever reason he had given to Carla, his personal assistant, it had to be a lie; her pregnancy remained a secret. They’d agreed if the scan was normal, they would go ahead and start telling people. Parents and siblings first then using the capillary effect to reach the extended family. Two e-mails out to friends, which they judged to be the easiest way to make an announcement, one to the vanilla network, the other to their clandestine kinky ones.

  Jason, in one of his more frosty lectures some months previously, had forbidden Gemma to have a Facebook account, much to her annoyance. The rise of social media sites had barely begun and she’d been locked out by her cautious husband. Yes, they were wealthy, at risk of blackmail, kidnap, and other unpleasant scenarios, so why, as Jason liked to point out, did she need the extra outlet? She could e-mail, text, and instant message her friends. He wasn’t a dinosaur when it came to technology. However, he didn’t want to put his trust in a system he couldn’t control. Even if she stuck to vanilla subjects, he wasn’t having her posting personal things on the Web.

  The last time she had attempted to persuade him to let her have one, he had spanked her for a good ten minutes and made her write a hundred lines like a naughty schoolgirl. I shall not divulge my personal life on the Internet. With little time available, she’d had to do the lines while at work. She’d scribbled away while pretending to read a document in the privacy of her own office.

  Someone walked in when she had reached halfway down the sheet, and she had to cover up the lines with a report. Her face had flushed with embarrassment because she had been sure her colleague had caught a glimpse of the repetitive sentences. It never crossed her mind at the time that while at work, she wasn
’t supposed to be in role and Jason never expected her to take time out to deal with his requests. Demands, she clarified. She’d found the idea of doing what Jason asked thrilling, as if she was a covert spy controlled by her Master from afar. The reality wasn’t that far removed from her imagination. Her need to be his submissive blurred at the edges, especially where it touched with her other existence—his wife. What had once been defined and kept to set times had seeped into her daily life.

  Thumbing through a magazine, she wondered how Maggie would deal with Jason, knowing about the kinky sex. What kind of image had the doctor in her head—did she see Jason as some domineering tyrant who wouldn’t let Gemma sneeze without express permission or maybe a sex-mad demon who ravished her daily, tied to a post, or something monstrous. She checked her thoughts with a sigh. The silly images were her erotic fantasies and nobody else’s.

  During their frequent e-mail exchanges, she’d asked Mrs Henderson to treat them normally and Jason, in his tailored suit and polished shoes, appeared normal. Deep down, she wanted him to feel humiliated. Maggie knew more about him than he did of her—a rare advantage in the games Jason played. Gemma had been reserved and sensible throughout her online conversations with the doctor. Nothing untoward had been revealed. She felt smug as they waited for her name to be called. It didn’t cross her mind that he might take her for a little mind play on such a day.

  “Please come in, Mr Lucas, Mrs Lucas.”

  Mrs Henderson waved them into her consultation room with a warm smile of welcome. Though they had managed first name terms by e-mail, the doctor had chosen to return to formalities for the benefit of Jason.

  “Please sit down.”

  There was a glimmer of recognition on her face. An inevitable consequence of Jason’s profile in the world of finance and business media. Plenty of articles had been written about him and his company. Whether in newspapers, specialist magazines, or the minor celebrity pages of the glamour rags. An increasingly common occurrence now that he financed films and attended red-carpet premiers. He refused to do interviews with the press or television journalists and vetted information about him was always released through his publicity team. The moment any untruth or illicit rumour appeared, he would have his lawyers clamp down and threaten legal action.

  That didn’t stop his photographs appearing on the Internet or in the press, but at least they weren’t too frequent. If Maggie recognised Jason’s face, Gemma wondered where she had seen him portrayed. Not a medical journal; perhaps the doctor’s husband worked in the City.

  “Welcome. Today, you’ll get a first look at your baby. Nothing special. You’ll probably see a heartbeat and maybe the head taking shape. You’re about eight or nine weeks pregnant, I believe,” she said, checking through her notes.

  “Yes. About that,” confirmed Gemma.

  Next to her, Jason, without shame, scrutinised the room, taking in the pictures of happy pregnant women, the anatomical portrait of the woman’s womb with the perfect foetus contained within. The rows of books and journals on her shelves, the certificates of qualifications lining one wall. Blinds covered the window, and the artificial light gave the room a yellow tinge. It smelt like a hospital, the familiar disinfectant of a well-cleaned room. He glanced at her and smiled, crossing one leg over the other and resting the ankle on his thigh. He appeared composed and at ease, which made her envious. She was determined he should feel some degree of discomfort. She had in that very seat two weeks previously.

  The obstetrician glanced up and spoke to Gemma. “Any bleeding, cramping?”

  “No. None at all.”

  “Have you being sick much? Always an unpleasant side effect.”

  “A couple of times.”

  Jason pitched in. “Vomiting? When?”

  “Yesterday afternoon and last week. In the afternoons, that’s when I feel a bit nauseous. It was the tea.”

  “Tea? You drink tea at home without any problem.”

  “It was lapsong souchong. I seemed to have developed a strong dislike of it.”

  His leg slid down, and he sat up straighter. “Twice? Why did you make it the second time? Were you expecting a sudden liking for it?”

  No, not here! With my doctor present. “No. Both times, someone brought the tea to my office.”

  “So you couldn’t say no to a cup of tea?”

  She cringed. “I’m too polite. In any case, once they know I’m pregnant, I’m hoping that they will line up at my door with plates of cream cakes and tea, preferably English Breakfast, not lapsong souchong.”

  “They’re going to wait on you?”

  “They’re nice people at my work.”

  “Nice? And they’re not at my company? You should know; you worked at both. Nice! I should hope not. I would like to think that my employees operate beyond the narrow field of nice.”

  Not that game again. Gemma aimed her barb at his own expectations of being waited on. “Carla gets your coffee. I bet she has it there on your desk every morning before you’ve sat down.”

  “In your absence, someone has to slave away for me, don’t they, Gemma?”

  Damn him! The ground couldn’t swallow her up quickly enough. How did she let him do it to her?

  “Oh, don’t be ashamed. The good doctor knows all about us, doesn’t she? So why the red face? Now, shall we let Mrs Henderson explain what is going to happen next? Then you can put aside any thoughts of making me feel uncomfortable about your e-mail correspondence. I have no problems with being identified as your Dominant.”

  Jason turned to face the baffled Maggie Henderson. “I’m sorry, Mrs Henderson. Gemma and I have these little exchanges from time to time.”

  Their rapid flow of words had fired across the doctor’s face without a pause for breath. He won the battle of humiliation. The moment her mouth opened and no sound came out, he had her on a back foot.

  “Yes. I see,” said Mrs Henderson, picking a loose thread off her white coat. “The scan would be the best thing to do next. Then we can discuss how to proceed. The ultrasound scan equipment is in the next room. If you would like to follow me?”

  As they walked out of the room, Jason nudged closer to Gemma and put his lips to her ears.

  “Don’t try and second guess me. You don’t get to humiliate me.”

  For several minutes, Jason and Gemma put aside their brief D/s tete-a-tete and took great pleasure in seeing their baby. Not in the flesh—the image was of a pixelated speckle of black, greys, and white. The procedure was carried out with modesty, a white sheet wrapped around her waist to hide her lower-body nudity. Gemma found it all amusing. Only a few weeks ago, on board their yacht, she’d spent a considerable amount of time naked, but in the pokey, dark room she covered herself up in front of her husband and a doctor.

  She saw the heartbeat. A swell of relief flooded through Gemma’s body. It was a real, living thing growing inside of her.

  “About eight and a half weeks, I should say.” Mrs Henderson printed a screenshot and passed the printout to Gemma. She gazed at the blur of black and whiteness before passing it to Jason. He had a quirky look on his face, as if bemused such a small thing could cause so much fuss.

  “This is making you sick?” he grinned.

  “The tea made me sick. Remember?”

  Mrs Henderson quickly suggested she and Jason should withdraw to the consultation room, allowing Gemma to make herself decent. She slipped her knickers back on and smoothed her skirt down. The idea of leaving Maggie alone with Jason for too long didn’t enthral her. He appeared to be in a playful mood. The dangerous kind.

  When Gemma re-entered the room, Jason returned the printout. She stared down at it until Maggie offered her a small picture-frame type piece of cardboard. The words ‘First Scan’ were embossed in gold across the top.

  Gemma slipped the scan inside and there it was, her first baby picture.

  The obstetrician offered her a batch of leaflets. Gemma sighed. More pieces of information to assimilate, dige
st, and cause her anxieties. She had to make a decision—whether to have a special scan done. Her brain exploded again. She heard Maggie’s voice explaining the process and how the results would be handled.

  Gemma had never been very good at science at school. Faced with words like defect and chromosomes, she was at a loss to know what she should be deciding. Maggie gave her the relevant leaflet.

  “Basically, Mrs Lucas, it’s a risk assessment. A noninvasive procedure with no side effects. Used to determine if there is an increased likelihood of birth defects.”

  “I’m more into tangible assets, myself. Jason is the expert in intangible risks.”

  He stared at her for a second. One of his puzzled faces, as if he hadn’t been expecting to make any decisions.

  He pursed his lips. “If the procedure is noninvasive, then you should have it done.”

  She fingered the photo frame. “Sure. Let’s go ahead with that. Did you say blood work?”

  “We draw a few samples. Tests for the presence of certain hormones, blood group, etc. It’s all here.”

  Mrs Henderson held out the rest of the leaflets, but Gemma didn’t take them. She froze. She could do the samples, as long as she kept her eyes shut. There would be bleeding during the birth, especially afterwards. She remembered watching one of those birth films at school. The type that put all the girls off while the boys made disgusting noises to hide their embarrassment. There was always blood trickling out, especially when the midwife delivered the placenta. Bright scarlet liquid spilling, dripping….

  Since Jason’s stabbing on board Sublime, she’d convinced herself she could manage blood. She had saved his life, after all. Occasionally, in her dreams, she saw flashes of his arm, with the red liquid oozing between her fingers, but those images didn’t distress her. They had supplanted her own nightmarish image—the flowing blood from unwanted injuries. His rough hands, not Jason’s. Gemma slipped backwards in time, past Jason’s dreadful attack to her own personal hell of redness.

  “Gemma!” Jason’s voice cut through the clutter of memories.