by Jaye Peaches
“I want to feel a part of you. Judge with my hands and eyes how you are changing, how you respond to my touch, how you feel physically. I want to make you feel needed and desired because I know that you’re going to see yourself as ugly.”
She opened her eyes and looked at him. A tear trickled down her cheek, and he held her in his arms.
“You’ll always stay beautiful to me.” Jason kissed her hair.
He let her climb back into bed, and she put the bra back on, but left the nightgown off. Returning to the protocols, Gemma could appreciate the rule about communicating her needs and concerns. She would have to try hard to ensure that she didn’t just turn it into a list of daily whinges. Jason wouldn’t tolerate that kind of abuse of his time.
She pursed her lips. “Punishments, discipline. I’ve said I’m not happy about S&M and pain—”
“It won’t have to be corporal punishment. I’m sure you know how inventive I can be. Expect some withdrawal of privileges, for example, unhealthy food, like chocolate or cakes. The TV. Me!”
Hearing Jason talk about punishing her brought out that unpleasant feeling of being doomed to fail. She was bound to screw up.
“As I said, these protocols aren’t rigid. We can adapt them. I don’t want you to fret about discipline. Stay positive. This piece of paper is not a contract. The only contract I have ever desired from you is the marital one.”
Gemma returned the list to him, and he placed the document on the bedside table.
“How do you feel about it?” he asked.
Part of her was disappointed that they had to resort to rules and agreements, as if she was back at school. She’d had these kinds of protocols before, with a handful of Dominants. However, they’d applied to a limited period, a few hours in an evening or a weekend—certainly the case for her first Master. She’d been learning the ropes back then, and they’d seemed appropriate and helpful.
As she had moved on in her relationships, the agreements and contracts hadn’t been entered into formally. Discussions about limits and expectations, but nothing as tangible as a piece of paper. By then, she had just wanted to have sex, to be tied up or used. Her bottom spanked for no apparent reason or her tits covered in clothes pegs for the hell of it. She hadn’t wanted the servitude side or the domesticity of living with a Dominant.
“We’re not going to drift into Total Power Exchange, are we? I mean, giving you absolute control over me? Guarantee me that,” she insisted.
He squeezed her hand. “Guaranteed. I don’t expect it, Gem. This is purely about your pregnancy—not sex, not servitude or controlling the minutiae of your life. You have your leisure time, your friends, and I want you to talk freely, express yourself, and just let me control you in a way that helps you. The sexual submission remains as is, you being my sexual slave and I, your master. Nothing has changed in that respect, except the extremities of our play. I will tone it down as your pregnancy progresses. We went over this after you wrote that delightful little essay for me.”
Gemma made her decision. “Okay. Let’s agree to this and I will try very hard to be obedient and compliant.”
He clapped his hands together, rubbing them gleefully. She’d made the right choice, from his perspective. “Good. Because now all I want to do is fuck you, and you didn’t put your nightgown on, so I’m taking that as a yes.” Twisting over onto his side, he loomed over her, fumbling with his shirt buttons.
She didn’t argue with his observation, and with a dutiful expression, she lay back and let him loose on her body.
The following morning, the day began—post-morning sex—with a fresh start to her pregnancy. Gemma knelt at Jason’s feet in the sitting room, and he told her what she needed to do.
Make a list of foodstuffs to avoid based on medical advice.
Make a list of food or drinks that made her feel sick.
What unhealthy food did she like to eat—which proved to be a long list. Those foodstuffs he would take control of and ensure she sought permission from him before eating them. Gemma mournfully watched him jot down chocolate and cakes, and then she let out a cry of indignation when he added caffeinated tea and coffee.
“Contact Mrs Harris and Mr Brooks and come up with shopping lists, menus, and meal plans that fit these lists. I want you to enjoy eating healthy food. Oh, and find yourself a good masseur. One who specialises in pregnancy. You have my permission to have weekly massages, pedicures, whatever makes you feel good about yourself.”
She mouthed a thank you. She adored Jason’s massages, but a professional masseur was spot-on what she needed to help deal with stretching ligaments.
“Keep up with your exercise classes, but I think you’re going to struggle with Zumba and dancing, eventually. Find something else to do. Yoga, for example. Keep yourself fit and relaxed.”
Another good idea. Why haven’t I thought about all these things?
“This is about trust. I’m not going to be around to check on you all day. So, be warned, if I find out you’re cutting corners or flouting my rules, you’re in trouble.” He wagged a finger in her direction.
His tone required a different level of response from her. “Yes, Sir.”
What did Jason get out of all of this? Kneeling at his feet, she could see the impact her demeanour had on him. Even in his casual weekend dress, his pose, the legs slightly apart, hands on armrests and his golden hair combed across his forehead, all shouted refinement and self-assurance. An elegant Dom with his willing submissive attentively listening.
She buzzed with the delicious sense of being handled, being given security, and letting go of her worries. He relished seeing her submit, her acquiescence played out before him. His demands and her obedience with no ifs or buts. Gemma suspected he would take some satisfaction in disciplining her and keeping her on the straight and narrow path. The inevitable slipup. He didn’t expect perfection. For one thing, she didn’t think she could go without cake for the duration of her pregnancy. She held back a coy smile as she wondered how she should plead for the forbidden foods.
Gemma’s life from that Saturday morning existed in three strands. Mrs Gemma Lucas continued as she always did. In public, the wife of a multimillionaire CEO, an active participant in her work and leisure activities. In private, Jason controlled his pregnant submissive wife. To her relief, once she settled into his protocols, they didn’t require too much adjustment to her daily life. Up to a point. Sometimes she struggled to follow them to the letter.
The final strand was the continuing sexual submission, which took place in the lair or between the sheets of their bed. It also happened in his studies, the kitchens, or the sitting rooms. Wherever Jason wanted to have sex. They continued to explore her capabilities, and as she reached the end of the first trimester, she accepted she could manage to do many things they typically did.
Jason spanked her lightly, usually with her lying over a pillow on the bed. Flogging presented no major worries if done carefully, and other toys like the vibrating wands and pinwheels he applied sparingly. Limiting the use of sensual toys made them even more erotic and enjoyable, like a rare treat. She practically climaxed as the vibrating wand wafted in front of her clitoris.
Going forward, oral and manual masturbation filled any voids. Each time she knelt in the middle of the bedroom, Jason pressed his groin against her lips. Sometimes in his work suit, eager to enjoy her. All masterful and seductive. By the end of the pregnancy, in the absence of other penetrative sex, it became a huge turn-on for her. She shook with the need to orgasm, begging him with her mouth locked around his splendid cock.
“Going by blow jobs, we’re fucking more often than we ever did before I got pregnant,” she commented one day as Jason pulled his trousers back up and she wiped her mouth.
“I’m not complaining,” he said with a wry smile. He patted her head. “You’re very attentive and pleasing. I might keep you pregnant for the rest of your fertile life!”
Gemma assumed he was joking—she missed
the more intense levels of their kinky play.
Chapter 7. Misbehaving
For Gemma, sex turned out to be the easiest part of being pregnant. Jason’s rules were another matter. She knew, deep down, they had been given to her for his own pleasure—the gratification of having her under his control. She understood her diet wasn’t that important, as plenty of expectant women ate terrible junk food throughout their pregnancies and produced healthy babies. Jason used her pregnancy to force her to eat healthily.
His protocols became one long play session, and trying to comply with his demands kept her occupied and distracted from negative thoughts and worries. She realised it had been his intention from the moment he suggested the set of rules.
She misbehaved, though. Either through simple forgetfulness or downright disobedience. The folic acid tablets—her first slipup. Even before she made it to the dating scan, she took them haphazardly. He spotted the untaken tablets, which she had left on her bedside table in plain sight.
“Gemma!” Jason called her back out of the bathroom, waving the strip in front of her. “What day is it today?”
“Friday.” She cringed, twisting a foot about on the floor.
He ran his finger along the days of the week printed on the back. “So did you sleep through Wednesday and Thursday? Because the last time you took one was Tuesday.”
“I don’t have any excuses, Sir.” She fell back on polite truthfulness. Then, belatedly, she added her contriteness. “Sorry.”
“You promised me to be diligent with these. From now on, every morning, you kneel here at my feet, open your mouth, and I will put one on your tongue. When I am away on business, I will text you a reminder.” Jason put the strip of pills on his side of the bed.
Her shoulders slumped, while her heart thumped in her chest. His pill-giving ceremony would turn into the kind of little ritual that on the one hand made her squirm and on the other, roused her needy clitoris into action. No doubt, he would ignore the latter and make a big deal about the former.
The matter didn’t end there. The same evening, when they arrived at Blythewood, Jason summoned her to his study. She knelt before his desk, caught sight of the object he held, and grimaced. You’re not sticking it on my nipple!
“Tongue out.”
It pinched. A clothes’ peg on her tongue for half an hour while he worked. Saliva drooled out of her open mouth, the tongue hung over her lower lip, and her jaw ached more and more with each passing minute. Not once did he acknowledge her presence, which pissed her off more than the peg. In the grand scheme of pregnancy, missing a couple of tablets was unlikely to cause complications. He wanted the excuse to have her perched by his desk in discomfort, in close proximity and struggling to decide if it turned her on or not. Given the tingling between her legs and the way her nipples stuck out, she couldn’t hide the fact she would love for him to take her over his desk. He didn’t, though, merely dismissing her from his presence after removing the peg. Glancing over her shoulder as she slunk out, she caught sight of his grin. Things had gone well for both of them.
The big mistake—her coffee fix. Gemma missed the caffeine hit dreadfully, and decaffeinated tasted all wrong. The first week of caffeine withdrawal, she turned into a zombie and forgot her folic acid, leading to her peg-on-tongue reprimand. Subsequently, it seemed coffee was everywhere: the rich scent drifting out of the street cafés the ugly coffee machine at work that always needed cleaning, and the sleek espresso maker in her kitchen. To make matters worse, Jason blatantly drank it in her presence—a small act of sadism on his part, one to irritate her. The overpowering aroma wafted around the kitchen, along with the churning sound of the bean grinder calling to her from across the room.
After her evening Zumba class, Gemma and her friends would go to a café for chitchat, and she had tried to stick to decaffeinated. Her resistance cracked immediately. Surrounded by lattes, cappuccinos, and macchiatos, she weakened. At the first gathering after the instigation of Jason’s rules, she had a caffeinated latte. The next time, she added an unhealthy chocolate muffin to her order. Her own furtive rebellion, and she said nothing to Jason about her defiance—his absence, her blessing.
Three weeks after the rules kicked into play, another visit to the café, and this time, she sipped on her latte and chewed her way through a flapjack while listening to the loud-mouth Glory rabbiting on about something or other. Then her heart sank. He’d come to collect her, an unannounced detour on the way home from a late session in the office. Weaving through the chairs and tables, with nothing more than a dismissive nod to her discreet bodyguard, tucked out of the way in a corner, Jason came and sat next to his wife.
At first, he smiled a great deal, greeted her friends, asked them how they were or if their drinks needed top ups. Gemma remained still and silent, her coffee and flapjack placed right in front of her. There was no denying they were hers.
While the others continued to natter away, Jason moved closer to her and put his mouth by her ear. “Decaf, I hope.”
She didn’t answer, failing to muster a direct lie; she considered it pointless trying, as he could see through them.
“Chocolate-covered flapjack?” He flicked a crumb away with his finger.
“Made from cereals!” Gemma hissed under her breath.
“And treacle.” Not a healthy eating option by his criteria. “Oh, dear. Please tell me this is a one off?”
Her silence said it all.
Jason snorted. “When we get home, this matter will be dealt with properly.”
The silence continued in the Austin Martin all the way home. She could tell he was seething by the way he gripped the steering wheel and didn’t give her leg the occasional stroke, like he normally did. She’d repeatedly drunk a forbidden beverage and eaten unhealthy food. Yes, it meant a black mark. Not telling him—a heap load of demerits. His stipulation echoed in her head—in his absence, she was to obey him. She’d betrayed his trust and been insubordinate. Unlike the silly folic acid pill, she’d shifted into punishment territory. She didn’t expect a simple rebuke.
Staring at the vehicle in front, not daring to glance at him, she clung to the strap of her handbag and ground her teeth together.
Once home at the White House, she watched as Jason went to the espresso machine and made a mug of steaming black coffee. He didn’t drink it, but indicated with a jerk of his thumb they were to go upstairs to the bedroom. She followed him up the stairs, two paces behind, and managed not to stomp. Once there, he placed the mug, untouched, on the dresser.
She muttered a futile apology, aimed at his buffed shoes. He usually took them off indoors, but such had been his focus, he’d left them on. She made no explanation. She could plead a weakness on her part, however, he would call it blatant disobedience. They’d discussed the rules, and she’d agreed to them. If she wanted him to be controlled, then it required her to accept his discipline when she screwed up. Jason had expectations of her, and she had to live up to them, regardless of her own desires.
“Well?” He stood legs astride and hands on hips.
She grimaced, making a conscious effort not to look up at him. “I accept your punishment, Sir.”
“Good. You’re going to have your coffee, Gemma. A special blend of my own. You can enjoy a shot of something in it to help it down.”
She gulped hard. Blend?
He wore one of his dark three-piece suits with a white shirt and blue tie. An imposing, formidable figure of authority. She watched him slowly unzip his flies and draw out his erection.
The sight of it was far from threatening; it came as a relief. If he desired sexual gratification from her, she could deliver. Butterflies erupted inside her belly as he pointed at his feet.
She sank down with ease. In a few months, such a manoeuvre would prove challenging. Her lips drew him into her mouth, taking his shaft deep and along her tongue. Holding her head, he steered his cock back and forth. Her eyes quickly watered as he jabbed the back of her throat. She s
ucked in air between each thrust, accompanied by his grunts and hair pulls. Breathless, she panted and gagged on him. He didn’t let go of her, as his cock stiffened, ready to spurt its load.
Suddenly, he stopped, stepped backwards, and reached for something. She followed the hand, mesmerised. Taking the mug, he leaned over it and, to her amazement, ejaculated into the coffee. The white fluid spilled into the hot drink just like a shot of rich cream. Now, she understood. Jason swirled the unusual ingredients around.
“Um? A good mix, don’t you think?” He held it by her nose.
She sniffed. It smelt of coffee and something else. Individually, she had no problem swallowing the two components, but in combination, it was an unnatural cocktail. She wondered if she might retch. She hadn’t suffered with morning sickness for a couple of weeks.
“Please. I’m very sorry, Sir. I won’t do it again,” Gemma pleaded, there on her knees at his feet.
He nudged the rim of the mug against her lips. “You’ll see. In a few months, when you complain about sleepless nights and a kicking baby in your tummy, you will be grateful I weaned you off stimulants. Hopefully, you won’t be kept awake too much. This punishment is about disobedience and dishonesty. Wilful behaviour on your part. You know I’m disappointed. Drink!”
In that moment, Jason morphed into her Master. The controlling Dominant who would brook no nonsense or mitigation had reappeared after weeks of being kept quiet and reserved. Gemma grasped the handle in her shaking hand and took a tiny sip. Strong coffee taste. With a hint of thick saltiness. The mug, half empty, looked like a pint. She swallowed. It didn’t taste terrible. An essence of Jason, something she normally would relish. Taking a deep breath, she gulped it down in one go. She centred her mind on the fact she was drinking him.
She gasped, licking her lips, and pulled a face. “Sir.”
He made a small noise of appreciation, almost a guffaw. “Well done.” He removed the mug and placed it back on the dresser. “Freshen up your face. No tears or regrets. It’s done.” He helped Gemma to her feet.