Sublime Trust

by Jaye Peaches

  I wrapped my body over his, feeling each rise and fall of his chest as he spoke. His cock hardened against my belly, my pussy filled with natural lubrication, and my eyes glistened with unshed tears. It was a simple task to slip over him, envelop his erection, and grip it tight, like a deep embrace. Each rise and dip of my body accompanied a pleasing groan from his lips. I lowered my mouth over his, breathing moist air down into his throat, and sighed with delight.

  “Come, baby, come,” he whispered urgently.

  Orgasm on demand had never been as easy as that night.

  Chapter 5. A Bad Day

  By the time the Easter bunny had left a large quantity of chocolate eggs for Joshua and the leaves had unfolded on the trees, my life continued to be mapped around the routines of family life.

  Families occupied time and thoughts as Joshua grew from baby to toddler. My father decided to retire. He made the announcement one spring day. However, in reality, he’d opted to work as a part-time locum, the first step in winding down his long career as a pharmacist. My brother, John, and I were secretly relieved, and Mum wrestled between two minds—glad for his health, but unsettled by the idea my dad would be at home for longer periods, interfering in her daily routine.

  John, and his wife, Andrea, had a newborn baby girl to keep them occupied. Evie Marshall, a wide-awake, hungry baby destined to be a redhead like her mum. For a while, Joshua slipped off the top of the doting grandparents’ list of priorities. I didn’t mind, Joshua had a cousin to play with, and I’d become an auntie.

  Jason and I had agreed I would stop taking the pill and try for our second baby when Joshua reached eighteen months old. It made sense but, at the same time, my budding art gallery idea developed into a tangible building with layouts and the first exhibition mapped out. The idea of pregnancy, plus having Joshua, transformed the art gallery into an insurmountable goal and perhaps premature in its existence.

  Jason insisted the unwritten future shouldn’t scupper the here and now. In other words, don’t count chickens before they’ve hatched. His words encouraged me to throw myself at the project while I had the time to do it.

  For Jason and me the challenge was finding time to be together as a family unit. A constant barrage of events, pencilled into our combined diaries, marred weekends. Whether family visits or social functions, which Jason attended from time to time, our free time was regularly curtailed. My plans for the gallery filled my weekends as I sought out quiet time to think and review my ideas. Jason had stuck religiously to his Saturday afternoon work timetable, and he frequented the golf course on a Sunday, usually once a month.

  I didn’t complain, my lack of planning was as much to blame, and I’d grown lazy when it came to being adventurous with my leisure time. It had been two years since my last visit to a nightclub and seeing my close friends, like Trudy, often relied on quick lunchtime rendezvous.

  When the weather improved, I should have been keen to take Joshua out and about, but I enjoyed staying at Blythewood, taking him for a splash in the indoor pool or letting him loose in the garden while I sat on the patio trying to read up on the world of art dealing. Jason, in the end, decided we needed a break and not long after Easter, early on Sunday morning, when the weather turned warm and sunny, he announced a day trip to Brighton. As I prepared Joshua’s breakfast, one hundred things I had planned to do that day flashed through my mind.

  “Today?” I slammed the spoon on the work surface.

  Jason strapped Joshua into his highchair. “Yes. The weather is set to hold all day. You’ve wanted to take Joshua to the seaside for weeks. I’m not playing golf today and, for once, nothing is in the diary.”

  “I’ve stuff to do.” Tying the bib on Joshua, I handed the child a plastic spoon and awaited the inevitable mess.

  Jason stepped back, keeping his distance from the bowl, which had been known to be sent spinning across the room. “Stuff? You mean lists for your gallery, which is months away from opening.”

  “It doesn’t feel like months. I’ve things to read through. Website layouts and content to review. I’m seeing the designer tomorrow and....” I caught sight of Jason’s frown; he’d moved into the kitchen area.

  Standing by the sink, he waved me over. My mouth stopped itself at his expression—a face I didn’t ignore. I stepped closer to him and, when in reach, he grabbed my arm and pulled me opposite him.

  “I can’t believe what a fuss you are making, given the sulk you put on when I told you couldn’t go previously. That gobby mouth of yours doesn’t know what’s good for it. I’m expecting a delighted wife, and I get a miserable spoilsport. Look out the window. It’s glorious out there. You, who loves open spaces, wants to be cooped up indoors with your lists.”

  I glowered, unappreciative of his comments, because he hadn’t budged on his Saturday routine, and there had been plenty of good weather Saturdays, all of which he had ignored.

  My pent-up frustrations at his sudden desire to rearrange my time bubbled over. “You’re denigrating what I have to do. Making it sound trivial. You’ve screwed up my day royally.”

  I’d hit his anger button. He narrowed his eyes to slits and lowered his voice. “I give you free rein with your work ambitions. Remind me, what is your primary responsibility?” He invoked the rules. I didn’t stand a chance.

  I conjured up the list of words we’d agreed to respect. “Our son.” I could hardly ignore the child banging his spoon on his tray. I glanced over my shoulder, and Joshua grinned at me, babbling away with his childish speech as if he wanted to join in our heated debate. How could I resist him?

  “I’m...sorry, Sir.” I turned back to Jason. “I would love to go to the seaside.”

  He’d pissed me off, though, and I continued to resent the suddenness of his decision. My contriteness lacked the necessary conviction to convince my Dominant.

  “What’s with the attitude?” He looped his fingers through my hair, tugging on my scalp, and I flinched.

  “I’m struggling with obedience. I would’ve liked to have a say in how we spend the day.” Or rather I would like to tell him how to spend his day. “My leisure time is my own,” I reminded him.

  “Your leisure time is. But there is very little you anymore, while Joshua is awake, and especially not at the weekends. Take my word for it, once your gallery is about to open and you’re busy running it on a daily basis, you’ll miss days like this. The guilt will eat into you. Think about him. What happened to wanting to spend time with your son? Joshua will start calling Clara Mummy soon.”

  His comment hit way below the belt, “Or Daddy!” I snapped, going for broke with him.

  His eyes narrowed further, hiding the sharp blueness. His hand remained tangled in my hair, creating the physical connection he needed when he stepped up his resolve to match mine. “This is about Saturdays, isn’t it?”

  I couldn’t pull away from him. He kept me captive, and my nose hovered inches away from his chin. I wanted distance between us, but he wouldn’t countenance it. I ramped up my annoyance in reply. “Yes, of course it is. You’ve never budged a jot on your schedule, even with Joshua. Where does Josh fit in for you, Jason? When you wish?”

  “There are plenty of fathers who see less of their children than I do. Don’t play the injured party with regard to my time with Joshua. You are the one baulking at spending the day with him.”

  Behind me, Joshua shrieked, but I held Jason’s attention, keeping my gaze focused on his eyes. “I am not baulking. I would have liked to be involved in the decision.”

  “Which means you prevaricate and decide to do your own thing.”

  The argument went nowhere. He implied I was indecisive and uninterested in spending time with my son. Or my husband. Not true. I wanted to be with Jason all the time. Then it struck me what was really bothering me. He gave Joshua his time more than me at the weekends. Maybe not the crucial Saturday afternoon work session, but the mornings he swam with Joshua in the pool and on Sundays, he would spend hours pl
aying with Joshua on the floor of the snug, the garden, or Joshua’s bedroom. Even his beloved golf was infrequent. I would be the one doing other things: painting, gardening, or chatting on the phone to my relatives or friends. He was a good father, and I was the rubbish mother.

  I burst into tears.

  “What?” Jason let go of my hair, and his eyes widened again. I’d surprised both of us with my emotional outburst.

  He drew me into his arms, and even Joshua fell quiet. I blubbered and explained I missed Jason’s company and perhaps was jealous of my own son.

  “You are mixed up,” he said with a snort. “I fuck you regularly, and you still want more of me. You’re not selfish but burdened with too many contradictory emotions waging war in your head. All the more reason to take a break. I bloody well need one after my shitty week of work. Pack a bag of things for Joshua. We’re going to Brighton. Understood?”

  He was right. I needed a timeout. “Yes, Master.” I used kitchen roll to wipe my nose and eyes. As I swung past him, he gave my bottom a playful slap with his palm. I returned the gesture with a wriggle of my behind. The tension between us eased.

  We were destined to have a grand day out in Brighton, the three of us. No nanny or protection officers escorting us. We would look like any ordinary family rolling up by the promenade in our Range Rover, armed with the buggy, a bucket, and spade. During the drive south, my mood lifted. I decided to put a CD of nursery rhymes in the carousel to entertain Joshua, and Jason slapped my hand away.

  “No, you don’t. Sing something to him.”

  Over the day, my world of worries and lists diminished into one where I saw everything through the eyes of a child. It was delightful and fun.

  Joshua didn’t like the seawater or waves. Not surprising. It was very cold, unlike our warm indoor pool. He loved the beach, kicking shale with his small bare feet or throwing handfuls about in the wind. Jason’s attempt at digging holes failed as Joshua demolished them by stamping his feet all around the edges.

  Ice cream was Joshua’s favourite part of the day. His hands thrashed about in the air, before grasping the cone, which we purchased from the ubiquitous Mister Whippy van on the sea front.

  “You did bring a spare set of clothes?” asked Jason, watching the ice cream melt over Josh’s chin.

  “Two, actually,” I confirmed. “In case he got soaked.” Not an issue, since he hadn’t enjoyed paddling one bit.

  Driving back, Joshua slept, and it gave Jason and me the chance to have a frank conversation about the morning’s disagreement.

  “You do realise, if I didn’t work at the weekends, I would see nothing of Joshua in the week. I don’t want to be a weekend dad as my own father was. You can see how close his neglect made us. If we want to expand the family, you’re going to have to bear the burden of childcare, even with Clara’s help.”

  “I know. I wasn’t implying you shouldn’t work at the weekend. I objected to the implication your work is inflexible and mine can be changed at a moment’s notice.”

  “Gemma, be realistic, you know I like control in my life. If I shifted my hours around, I won’t be as productive. You can have a special time with Joshua on your own every Saturday afternoon.”

  “I know.” I sighed.

  “You were very wilful this morning. If Joshua hadn’t been with us, you’d had more than a tongue lashing.”

  I stared out of the front window, unable to fashion anything sensible to say. He’d summed up my transgressions and his expectations in one nutshell. “I know. I’m having a bad subbie day.”

  “They happen.” He patted my thigh then returned to concentrating on the road ahead.

  He drove a different route home. I didn’t question why until he pulled over next to a wood on a country lane. The engine cut out, and he turned to me. I glanced at the back seat where Joshua was out of it, his head lolled to one side, gently snoring.

  “He won’t wake,” said Jason. He pressed a button on his chair and the backrest lowered, enough for him to lie semi-reclined. With his other hand, he reached over and released my seat belt. The strap shot across my waist, freeing me.

  The bulge in his pants stood out, beckoning to me. I didn’t need a verbal instruction from him; he’d given me a visual one. I smacked my lips together and glanced out of the window. Trees sheltered the small layby, and the lane we’d driven down remained deserted, but I was a city dweller, and we never did car sex, not in the precincts of London, which remained alive with activity all day. Once we had in New York, but in the confines of a limo with blacked-out windows and me knelt in the spacious foot well.

  Jason grabbed my hand and placed it on his lower belly. Beneath my trembling fingers, his cock twitched and hardened. As if a switch had been activated, saliva filled my mouth—I’d been conditioned to respond to his erection. I clammed my thighs together, aware of another wetness.

  A whirlpool of emotions swirled around my mind. The desire, growing stronger with every passing second, fed my sexual being, but the location, the exposure and lack of comfort, caused me to hesitate. I squeezed his cock, as if a little grope would be sufficient to meet his needs.

  “Lift up your top and show me your breasts.”

  My hand shot back to my side of the car. I opened my mouth to exclaim and instead, nothing came out. My tongue froze, cleaved to the roof of my mouth. Now, my heartbeats pounded against my ribs.

  Jason tucked his hands behind his head. “Very well. Hitch up your skirt, take down your knickers, and sit on your bare arse. You do appreciate, every second you delay with one task, I’ll add another.”

  The temperature in the car cranked up a notch; even in the shadows of the trees, I roasted. Did I want to see how far he’d push me? Add a few extra seconds and test both of our resolves? Surrendering to him was my solitary option, my chief desire, and part of me wanted to be stark naked and fucked in the front of the car. Except, we were not alone and, though he was fast asleep, I didn’t like the idea of debauchery feet away from my son.

  I hoicked up my top, unclasped my bra, and allowed my breasts to bounce before Jason’s expectant gaze. I wriggled my shirt up to my waist and shimmied my panties down to my ankles. My bottom clenched when it encountered the leather. My dishevelled appearance complete, I unzipped his flies and leaned across the central divide.

  How easy it came in the end, the need to worship his glorious member. I licked it with the tip of my tongue and caressed the fine hairs about his balls with my lips. The swollen cock responded by engorging, and the tip gleamed smooth. I stroked his balls, rolling them between my fingers, then plunged my hand up and down his thick shaft. Opening my mouth wide, I lowered my head and sank.

  My hair tumbled over my face, and the ends became sucked into my mouth. I spluttered, trying to fish them out while maintaining my rhythm. Jason combed his fingers through my loose strands and bunched them behind my head.

  “Thank you,” I muttered between sucks.

  He chuckled then let out a long groan as I took his full length. My lips slithered over his moist skin and I held my breath, consuming his cock, allowing each vein to ripple beneath my tongue, almost tickling me.

  My feverish desire to please him showed in the frenetic pace of my bobbing head. Kneeling on my own seat, my breasts bounced, and my naked bottom stuck up, giving somebody a fine view if they’d peered into the window.

  My precarious position, balanced over two seats and trying hard not to smash my face into his groin, seemed to add to the thrill. What a slut! I loved it. Another time, we’d have to find a secluded street in London and hunker down in the back of the car like furtive teenagers.

  “Whoa,” he moaned. “You’re drooling all over the place. Joshua wears the bibs, not you.”

  I giggled between slurps, mopping up my mess.

  “Calm down. I want to come, not have a bath.” He coiled his fingers into my hair and directed the pace.

  The ejaculation took me by surprise. He delivered it with a gasp and a moment
of rigidity in his limbs. I drank the lot as it hit the back of my throat. A fountain of hot cum, and I sealed my lips around his cock, ensuring none escaped. It took several seconds to complete my task then I diligently cleaned him from balls to tip.

  He patted my head and hit the button on his seat, raising him up. I slipped his penis back out of sight, and he tugged on his zipper. “I’m tempted to keep you in that state all the way home.”

  I settled back on my seat, wiped away my spittle, and waited for permission to re-dress.

  He refastened his seat belt. “So pretty. All pink about the cheeks and flushed with excitement. Did you want to come?”

  Oh God, yes. The pulsating sensation in my clitoris remained unabated. I nodded, still savouring his taste in my mouth. “But, I’m happy to serve you, Sir.”

  “As you should. I’ll think about it.” He started the engine.

  “Sir.” I cupped my breasts with my hands and crossed my legs. “Please. What if Joshua wakes?”

  “Oh, he’s seen your tits plenty.” He grinned and began to reverse the car out of the layby.

  “The windows….” I shrank down in my seat.

  “Mmm….” He slid the transmission stick into drive.

  I had strange apoplectic concoctions whirring in my head. One half of me would happily throw off her clothes and lounge naked next to him to prove to him I didn’t care. The other half needed resolution and an end to his impromptu scene.

  It was a scene. I took a few deep breaths and focused on how I should be thinking, what he expected of me beyond the face fuck.

  Had we resolved our differences over our spare time? I didn’t think so. My time came with expectations of flexibility, whereas his was non-negotiable. I decided to keep my contemplations about his working life to myself from now on. What the hell. He earned the millions and kept me in a state of luxury few in the world experienced. Did I have to whinge about showing him my submission? I went to my place of acceptance, and the post-sex euphoria helped cultivate my meekness.