by Jaye Peaches
“I remember the party. Emily would have been there. A spirited event. I mainly waited on others. Nothing sexual. I don’t recall meeting any particular Dominants or anything special. A nice, fun evening with good company.”
An unremarkable party. Occasionally, she did go further. She’d arrange to meet the Dom in a public place, a pub or restaurant, to discuss possibilities. A successful interview would invariably lead to a liaison and sometimes sexual encounters.
“Martinson is following up Emily. Frankly, without a surname it’s difficult. He’s going to enquire at some photography studios. The other woman, Raven, as you call her”—he smirked for a second—“is an enigma. The schoolgirl is out of bounds. I’m not allowing anyone to be involved in the surveillance of a minor. The park drop makes life easier. Gibson will approach the Emily when you do the drop. See if she is willing to talk.”
“What?” Wouldn’t that blow everything apart? She stared at the photograph in her hands, wondering how something so seemingly inconsequential at one time in her life had become a major issue.
His arm coiled around her, drawing her closer. “Don’t worry, babe. This is not for you to trouble yourself over.”
“What do I do?”
“Make the drop. Hide the money in the waste bin and scarper.” He repossessed the photograph. Another confiscation. The matter was entirely in his hands.
Thursday morning arrived, and Gemma woke up in a positive frame of mind—her twenty-ninth birthday. For her special day, she dismissed the blackmail investigation.
Gemma lunched with Clara, her heavily pregnant sister-in-law, Andrea, and her best friend, Trudy. Gemma’s childhood friend had returned to work with no sign of a sibling for her son, Thomas.
“We rather rushed with the first, didn’t have a chance to consolidate our relationship. We’re taking the time this time round. Plus, we need my income.” Vivacious Trudy, once her sex-goddess friend, now rarely bothered with nightclubs, her life devoted to her policeman partner. “Greg is up for promotion to sergeant. Then we can afford to think about sprog number two and the extra nursery fees.”
Gemma felt guilty, listening to Andrea and Trudy discuss childcare issues, money, and mortgages, while her nanny entertained Joshua in his high chair. She wished sometimes she could be ordinary and able to join in with mundane debates about the cheapest pushchairs and bargains on nappies. With a hug and a kiss, Trudy went back to work. Determined to be generous, Gemma spoilt Andrea in Mothercare, buying her maternity clothes, a steriliser, and a top-of-the-range baby monitor.
“Gemma, it’s your birthday!” Andrea blinked in disbelief at the amount ringing up on the cash till.
“And I get to treat you. I like to please, remember?” There had been no mention of Gemma’s submissiveness in front of her ignorant friend Trudy. She couldn’t bring herself to own up after all their years of friendship. Their lives had drifted apart, and she’d decided it served no purpose to come out to her vanilla friend. Andrea, fortunately, had made no off-the-cuff remarks or hints, and for once left her inquisitive nature locked away.
With Trudy gone, Andrea couldn’t resist a little dig. She whispered in Gemma’s ear with a tiny smile. “Still his slave?”
She rolled her eyes at Andrea’s remark and glanced over to Clara, who was occupied with pushing Joshua in his buggy. Andrea followed her gaze and raised a quizzical eyebrow.
“Yes, she knows.” Gemma sighed. “But, she’s never asked a single question about what we do. Unlike somebody I know.” She wagged a finger at her sister-in-law. The warning worked, and they went back to talking about maternal topics.
That evening, Jason treated Gemma to a meal at the Presario, while Clara stayed on to babysit.
Unlike the previous time, with Mina, they had the usual seats in a secluded corner, and Marco waited on them in person. She peered about, over the tops of other people’s heads, wondering whether the insolent waiter, Marcel, was working that evening. She couldn’t see him.
Jason clinked his fork on the plate. “What are you looking for?”
She turned to face him. “You know”—she dropped her voice— “that waiter from last time.”
He said nothing. Merely the smallest of smiles formed on his face. It told her everything she needed to know. He didn’t tolerate racism in his businesses. Marcel had been sent packing. She felt justified in having told him. He’d taken her complaint seriously, and it showed he valued her friendship with Mina.
“Oh,” she murmured and picked up her wine glass. “Cheers, darling.” She raised it before taking a mouthful. Unlike the cheap cup of tea at lunchtime, the wine probably cost several hundred pounds a bottle. “A lovely meal.” She fluttered her eyelashes at her husband. Especially true, since Jason had permitted her to choose whatever she fancied, including an extravagantly calorific dessert.
“Back on the chocolate ban, tomorrow, I think, Mrs Lucas.” Jason admonished at her sweet-toothed choice. His eyes twinkled—a tease.
“My birthday, Mr Lucas. When am I getting my present?” Under the table, she risked a small rub of her toe against his calf.
“Patience. Don’t drink too much, or I won’t let you play with your birthday present.”
“Play! Is it a toy?” She leant across the table, while her foot attempted to slide under the hem of his trouser. “A sexy toy?”
Jason sat back in his seat, shifting his leg out of reach. “It’s a good job it’s your birthday, or else all this asking would get you in trouble.” Again, his eyes twinkled. Birthdays were a great day for demanding things from your Dominant. Guaranteed pleasure, even if he appeared to be holding her at bay.
They discussed the property she’d viewed on Monday. It would require a legal change of usage, enabling it to be reclassified as a retail outlet, since Gemma would be selling artworks.
“I love that it’s by the river. People walking along the embankment will come across it, and it’s a prestigious location.”
The plan gave her good vibes. Having established her own charitable foundation, she’d set aside grants for budding art students from disadvantaged backgrounds. Through contacts opened up by her obstetrician’s husband, Hugh, she now had links with two art colleges and a university. She planned to give the best students a chance to exhibit, eventually, in her own gallery. In the meantime, she would sponsor temporary exhibitions at other locations. Part of the arrangement meant issuing prizes to the best of the bunch, and she would have to present these awards at ceremonies. Not something she relished, public speaking.
Since Joshua’s birth, her self-confidence continued to grow, bolstered by the progress in her art-gallery plan. Jason reached over and took her hand. With little consideration for their surroundings, he brought her knuckles up to his lips and gave them a small kiss.
“I’m proud of you, Gemma.” A succinct sentence, and it made her heart soar.
By the time they arrived home at the White House, the pounding beats of her heart had reached a pulverising level of anticipation. A situation not helped by Jason’s tongue exploring her mouth throughout the journey.
Jason quickly and politely dismissed Clara. Having checked on Joshua, Gemma came back downstairs to find him in the kitchen, resting against the breakfast bar with a coffee mug. On the pine kitchen table, parked in the middle, stood a box—large, oblong, and unmarked. Her eager hand shot out to open the lid. Jason cleared his throat and shook his head. Her palms itched to know what was inside, and she stood riveted to the spot. Jason put down his mug and approached.
“For God’s sake, put me out of my fucking misery,” she whined, wringing her hands.
“Tut, subbie. Show some respect, even on your birthday.” He looped a finger around her collar necklace and, with a gentle tug, drew her into his arms. His adventurous hands, with practised ease, began to strip her naked. He tossed items of clothing about the floor. With a jerk of his wrist, he ripped her knickers apart.
“Oh fuck,” she murmured, squeezing her legs together
. How did he do that? Make her so wanton just by shredding her underwear? Her bottom bumped into the table edge as he walked her backwards, lips nibbling on her neck.
He slipped a hand between her legs, forcing her thighs apart.
“Oh fuck,” she muttered again while fumbling with his shift buttons.
“You’re so wet, babe,” he chuckled. He withdrew his fingers from her pussy and held them to her lips. “Suck. And no more swearing.”
Curling her tongue about his middle finger, she licked it, tasting her own nectar.
The finger slipped out with a popping sound. Jason flicked her cheek with it. “Greedy, greedy creature. Kneel on the table by the box.”
She clambered up. “Can I open it?” She tried to peep through the flaps. “Sir,” she added as a precautionary measure.
“Go on.” He stood by the table as she opened the lid.
Her eyes widened, and she clapped her hands together in delight. “Oh. My. God! It’s a Sybian,” she shrieked. “A device for my pleasure. Thank you, thank you. I’ve never tried one before.”
“Never? It never ceases to surprise me what you haven’t tried.”
What he knew about sex never ceased to amaze her. “I’ve yet to find something you haven’t,” she countered. “Can I take it out? Please, Sir?”
“Sure. It’s all clean and ready to use. I fitted the smallest phallus. Start small and work up to the biggest size.”
With his help, she lifted the masturbation device out of the box and placed it in the middle of the table next to her. She stroked the smooth leather saddle. Bulky and heavy, it needed to support her weight and keep her from toppling over. Situated on the apex of the saddle were the flesh-coloured silicone phallus and clitoral stimulator. They made the device somewhat unattractive compared to living tissue. By now, her hands shook uncontrollably. Just looking at the oversized toy made her want to come.
“Please may I try it out,” she whispered. Please, please. It’s my birthday, isn’t it!
Jason’s arms folded across his chest. His eyes sparkled under the halogens, and she tempered a mischievous desire to reach out and ruffle the smooth lines of his blond hair. The height advantage gave an added bonus.
“Some adjustments first. Look in the box.”
A blindfold, cuffs, and a gag, plus a tube of lubricant. She laid them on the table in front of him. They were for him to use, not her.
Jason completed the task she had begun and finished unbuttoning his shirt, sweeping it off his shoulders, along with his tie. She chewed on her lower lip, ogling his musculature. He came up on the table behind her and pressed his smooth broad chest against her back. Another burst of adrenaline, its effect immediately felt in her pussy. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to keep still.
“First,” he whispered into her ear, “I don’t want you tinkering with the setting, so these hands are going to be out of the way.” He bound her wrists behind her back with the leather cuffs, linking them together. “Then, no peeping, no visual distractions.” She descended into darkness. “And I don’t want your hollering, waking Joshua up.”
She opened her mouth, and he fitted the ball gag. Not too tight, but sufficient to dampen her volume down to acceptable levels. Bound, blindfolded, and gagged. A trinity of vulnerabilities.
He nudged the small of her back. “Lean forward. Bottom up.”
His fingers glided down her slit, and she shivered. Cold lubricant. He smeared it around the opening of her pussy, teasing her at the same time with hungry fingers, entering her, stretching her. She jolted, squirming at his frigging actions. Husky pants exuded from her mouth. Hot breaths. She’d felt the cool temperature of the kitchen as she undressed. It didn’t feel cold now. She was on fire with a passion like no other.
“Yes,” she muttered encouragingly. His fingers left her. She moaned in frustration at their departure.
“Slip yourself onto it. Ease down.” He supported her hips, manoeuvring her over the Sybian. She wriggled, adjusted the position of her knees, and squeezed the saddle between her thighs. Slowly, she descended and encased the phallus, centimetre by centimetre, in a tortuous fashion, until she swallowed it whole with her sopping pussy.
“Ooooo,” she moaned through her gag. Even without the device switched on, the friction of the ribbing on the dildo brought her to the brink of an orgasm.
“Okay. Come as you wish. I’m not going to interfere. Enjoy, babe.”
A flick of a switch, and the motor erupted into life. The noise took her by surprise. She rose up on her knees, as the vibrations shook her whole pelvis.
She screamed into her gag as she came.
Gemma didn’t think it was possible to have multiple orgasms so close together. Each time she climaxed, Jason turned up the speed and intensity of the device. She needed his support, and he gave it to her, wrapping one arm about the bosom, and the other around the waist, keeping her upright on the saddle. While she shook and wailed with unmitigated delight, begging him to turn it off, which he didn’t, he rained kisses on her neck and hair.
The constant stream of orgasms pulverised her insides. The phallus targeted her G-spot perfectly, forcing her to climax in tandem with her increasing tender clitoris.
“Oh God, I’m coming again,” she mumbled, close to exhaustion.
Her covered eyes could give her no sense of balance, and she wobbled about as she crushed her knees into the saddle, trying to alleviate the consuming sense of cramping. Tears slithered out of her eyes. Cool rivulets formed on her cheeks, not through pain, but due to the intensity of the orgasms.
Whether she had hit the highest setting or because Jason decided she was overstimulated, he switched the device off, and Gemma collapsed back into his arms. He lifted her off the Sybian, and she curled up on the table, foetal position, and bathed in the sweaty humidity of her skin.
In the darkness, he dragged her legs across towards him, sliding her over the smooth surface, until her legs dangled over the side of the kitchen table. She bent over, and he had the lubricant out again and, with her still bound, gagged, and blindfolded, he rubbed the cold gel into her anus. Though spent, she didn’t care about the preparations. It might be her birthday, but Gemma was still his to use, however and whenever he wished. Watching her lose herself on the Sybian had inspired his own lustful designs.
A birthday fuck—a sacrificial offering. Sex with her Dominant on her birthday was destined to be rough and frantic. Speared on his hardness, she couldn’t come any more. She couldn’t see Jason, only hear a form of guttural noises, his panting grunts, as he found his pleasure deep inside her. He used her bound wrists like a handle to cling onto as his inflexible shaft pounded. She could feel and hear his bare hips slapping against her buttocks. She groaned with unconcealed desire at the thought of him there, naked in all his glory. He took his time, changing pace and depth, sometimes dipping gently, other times, thrusting hard.
Gemma was pinned down by his weight, and half-listening to the creaking table joists as her voracious husband pummelled her until a frenzy of liquid deliverance spurted out of him onto her back. Jason came with a volcanic orgasm, erupting onto her skin in fiery surges. She ventured she would remember little of it afterwards.
No pain. Sensations, blurred and impossible to define in words. She floated about the room in a paradise of her own making. She had been taken to another place, the submissive heavenly space where she could live out minutes or hours if left unguarded and unprotected from her own loss of self-awareness. Gemma didn’t care one jot.
Thankfully, for the duration of their frantic kitchen sex, Joshua hadn’t woken up. If he had, Gemma doubted whether either Jason or her could easily have extracted themselves and been capable of dealing with an irate, tearful baby. The test never arose. He leaned over her, beads of sweat dripping down on to her shoulders, panting with his exertions. He removed her bindings, along with the gag and blindfold. Gemma blinked in the bright lights, and her legs wobbled.
“I don’t think I can w
alk,” she muttered. “You’ve killed my legs, Jason.”
“Stay there.”
She remained bent over the table, listening to Jason put away her new toy in its box then he removed it from the room. When he returned, he had her robe, a damp cloth, and towel. She was starting to shiver; the cool air, which she’d barely noticed, now felt icy.
He bathed her back, between her legs, and towel dried her. Wrapping the robe around her shoulders, he packaged her ready to be carried upstairs to bed. The next thing she remembered was sinking into the mattress then nothingness.
The Sybian took its rightful place in the lair that weekend. She had another session with the device on the Friday evening, and he played the scene differently to her first experience. It was no longer her toy, it was his. Perched on the table, he flogged her all over, denied her an orgasm then he allowed her to come while simultaneously yanking off a zipper of clothes’ pegs attached to her tender flesh. Throughout, he offered her teasing words and praise in equal measure. That demanding session with the Sybian didn’t alter the fact she loved the damn thing; she just had to become accustomed to the way Jason liked using it.
Chapter 24. Playing Games
Joshua turned one year old on the Monday. The relatives descended on Blythewood on the Sunday, armed with presents and “hasn’t he grown” comments. Therefore, on Monday, Gemma and Jason kept the day low-key, with Jason finishing work early. They took Joshua to a fun ceramic shop and let him loose, making colourful handprints on plates and mugs. Jason constantly mopped the paint off his son’s hands, struggling to suppress his natural desire to keep everything clean and tidy. Afterwards, they had cake at a café, and Joshua added jam and cream to the collection of grubby marks.