by Jaye Peaches
“I’ve been visiting Penny. Penny Ryan? She’s getting married!” I declared.
Jason’s eyebrows knotted. He didn’t give a damn. “Fine. I came to find you. You should have stayed in my office. I expect we’ll have limp lettuce by now.” He took my elbow, hustling me into the lift.
“No lettuce. Tuna and sweetcorn, or beef.” I glanced back as the jaw dropped on the young man, and I gave him a wave good-bye.
“You have some very conscientious employees, Jason.” The doors slid shut. “He thought I was some spy. I’m sure of it.”
Jason punched the button for the penthouse. “Well if you will go walkabout. Melissa told me you’d gone to see somebody. She couldn’t remember who.”
“Walkabout is your style, not mine. You didn’t have to come and find me. I was on my way back.”
“Visitors are supposed to be escorted.” He went to give my bottom a swat, but I saw it coming and skedaddled out of the way, hiding my butt in a corner. My heart raced with the fantastical idea he might stop the lift and continue.
“Except me. I walkabout.” I grinned, waiting to be spun around and whacked by his hand, but he stared at the doors instead, as if willing them to open. I surmised it was another stress-packed day.
We ate in silence, so much for distracting him with wholesome food served by his wife. He flicked through the pages of a document while holding his sandwich.
I sighed, downhearted by his lack of interest in conversation. I collected the soiled napkins and threw them in the bin. Why did I bother coming to meet him if he was going to ignore me? He leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes.
“Bad day?”
“Not everything is going to plan,” he said, without further explanation, then opened his eyes. Something about the sharp blueness rekindled the arousal I’d experienced in the lift.
“I’m here.” I gave a small shrug then bit down on my lip and waited to see if he took the bait.
“Now, yes.” A small rebuke lay hidden in that simple phrase, and a clue to his intentions.
I stepped back to the door and put my hand on the bolt. He didn’t take his eyes off me. Sliding the bolt across as quietly as possible, I sidled over towards him, almost on tiptoes, like a mouse in proximity to a cat. My nerves betrayed my eagerness, not fear. I didn’t care what he did, as long as he did something with me. It had to please him and spark a fire in me, too.
Make me wet and wanting. Please, Jason, make me yours.
Standing up, he came to the middle of the room where I had stopped. I sank on to my knees. “Master.” I assumed my submissive pose, hands resting on my parted thighs.
“God, Gemma,” he groaned, and ran his fingers through my hair, tugging on a few locks.
I expected to give him a blow job. Something quick and easy to please him, but the way he grabbed my arm, pulling me up, warned me he’d something else in mind.
“You don’t wander off when I’m expecting your company.” He marched over to his desk and began to clear a space amongst his papers.
“I didn’t, not really…. You’re going to punish me for going walkabout?” How did I respond—an indignant wife, naughty brat, or demure submissive?
“Skirt up, lower your knickers, and bend over the desk.” He tapped it with his finger.
I shot a glance over my shoulder at the door. I’d bolted it, but all the same, what if somebody wanted to see him right now?
“Gemma, your list of transgressions grows longer with each passing second. You disappeared on me, turned away from me in the lift, and now you’re hesitating. This is your last warning.” He dissected my faults, and I tingled all over at the sound of his wonderful dominating voice.
I snapped the elastic of my knickers and wriggled them down to my knees. I bent over his desk, resting my head on my arms, and presented my bare arse.
I opted for demure submissive. Sometimes he liked a naughty aspect to my responses, however, today I judged he wanted compliance. His excuse for spanking me was thin, but spankings weren’t necessarily about punishments or breaking rules; occasionally he tested my willingness to submit without question.
He circled a buttock, warming the cheek with his palm, and I snatched a breath, locked my knees straight, and braced my hips against the edge of the table.
The smack of his hand echoed about the room and I jolted, surprised by its ferocity.
I muted an ow, gritted my teeth, and accepted the next slap with the fortitude I knew I mustered.
“Why am I spanking you?”
Because…because…. My mouth opened and shut with each bruising wallop. The answer stayed stuck in my throat as I fought with the enveloping pain. No warm-up, no rubbing down—he rained the smacks down without pausing.
“I…wasn’t here,” I croaked and hunted about the table for something to grip, knocking over a pile of papers.
“Keep still,” he instructed and pressed a hand into the small of my back. “You came to have lunch with me, not for a reunion.” More stinging smacks and I suppressed the desire to snipe at him. He hadn’t been here either.
How long had he waited before he’d come to find me? Had I been gone long with Penny? Maybe. Then, I’d loitered by the notice board and delayed my return further. I clenched my pained buttocks together. Perhaps, I subconsciously didn’t want to spend time with my husband because I knew he was withdrawn and distracted by work. I wanted attention, and now I had it, I squandered it.
“I’m sorry, Sir. I selfishly gave my time to another.” I squawked, struggling to process the searing heat of my bottom.
Jason stopped, and I exhaled, steaming up the polished surface of the table. He circled each cheek with his hot hand, spreading the pain, and I relaxed. He slipped a finger along my slit, pushing my swollen labia aside. My clitoris fired up for action, tensing as he probed. While I lay motionless, he worked my sex with his fingers, shoving two then three inside me. The sense of helplessness and the power he had over me caused me to leak. He chuckled at my state of wetness and withdrew.
Slipping my knickers back up, he smoothed my skirt down and held my hand as I stood. The heat in my arse continued to increase, and the blaze gave me a warm glow in other places. I bowed my head, maintaining my meek attitude, and he rubbed my knuckles with his thumb—my favourite little act of reassurance. His rather ferocious spanking had fed something inside him, and even in the silence of the room, our restless breaths told a story of unrequited lust.
He glanced at his watch. “You’ll have to go. Time’s up. You’ll have to wait, my subbie.” He bent over to kiss my lips.
I didn’t mind the wait. I glowed as he gave me a brisk hug. I’d given him something work had failed to deliver. My acquiescence provided him with a simple moment of dominance in the middle of his otherwise crappy day. I had done that for him, and nobody else but me could satisfy his hunger.
Chapter 10. Withdrawing
The arrival of May brought an unexpected request from my husband. Request implied choice, whereas what he said felt like an order with the assumption of compliance on my part. “We’re going to New York.”
I put my fork down and digested his comment rather than my dinner. “We?”
“You, me, and Joshua. Clara has her holiday to take; you two might as well join me. I need a few days over there; you can show Joshua some sights, visit galleries, spy on them, whatever. I want you near me.”
He hadn’t demanded my company, however, I could think of no reason to say no to his request. I quite fancied seeing more established galleries and quizzing their proprietors about their operations and choice of exhibitions. The more inspiration I received, the better.
“As you wish,” I said, while wondering what had prompted him to desire my company when he preferred to keep me out of his business trips.
Everything was quickly put in place, all the baby necessities listed and sent to the caretaker for him to provide at the New York penthouse apartment. For the flight over in the private jet, Joshua was a good b
oy and, having flown out on the Sunday, we arrived in the middle of the night. Our regular driver, Amando, was there to meet and greet us, providing a baby seat in the back of the car. I couldn’t find fault with the arrangements, given the short notice, but there again, money always bought a high standard of service.
Jason’s apartment wasn’t Jason’s. Once it had been, but now his company owned the exclusive luxury accommodation, allowing other visiting executives to share it. That explained why it was impersonal, maintained only the basic requirements, and Jason’s specific alterations were hidden when he left—the hooks on the wall and straps around the bed.
The apartment was contemporary in design with a vast open living space punctuated by furniture designed to impress and awe. Jason had a study partitioned off by glass to escape to when he needed to think. The master bedroom, from my very first visit as his new wife, astonished me with its size and layout. The bed situated centrally—a stage waiting for a performance.
Rising after a few extra hours of sleep, we piled into a stretch Mercedes and headed off to his office block. Janice, his sometime PA, gushed over the child. Jason wanted to start work and could not wait for me to whisk our son away. His chief in the US, Eliza Gould, arrived, and I took this as my cue to leave.
She was a worthy deputy, a competent woman of a similar age to Jason. Married, she kept her work-life balance very much in the work sphere. Brassy in her voice and not afraid to express her thoughts, she was also witty, insightful, and decisive—all qualities Jason appreciated.
Did I like Eliza? I’d not thought myself as inferior to her, nevertheless she put her career above all else. At least she wasn’t sycophantic, and I knew from Jason that if she disagreed with him she told him with the open candour he preferred.
Diplomatic and prudent, too. Jason had reeled off her skills the first time I’d asked why he’d picked her to run things over here. A good negotiator in any deal and a natural leader. The New York staff liked her bluntness and direct approach, which she tempered with fair-mindedness and a modicum of sympathy if needed. Although I assumed the last sentiment was forced out of her like water out of a dry sponge. I would rather people liked me for being obliging, considerate, and helpful. We were not two peas in the same pod.
Without the support of my nanny, I had to become full-time mum, and it was something of a shock, as I had never had to do it on my own abroad. At home, when Clara went on holiday or was ill, I had places to go and prearranged activities focused on Joshua. In a strange city, with no friends, keeping him occupied daunted. I planned an itinerary of entertainment but failed to take in the jet-lag effect on both of us. I was a grouch, and so was Joshua.
I aspired to be a good mum and wife and not trouble Jason with domestic issues. I intended to keep him company if he needed it, anticipating long workdays and little family time, so I planned our meals to include him. On the first day, I suggested he join us at five o’clock for a quick meal somewhere child friendly and near his office, then he could go back to work having seen Joshua. A great plan, and he went with it, although upon reflection, he hadn’t greeted it with a smile when I’d told him over breakfast.
During the day, Joshua grizzled at everything, refused to sit in his pushchair, and screamed every time Amando went near him. My only companion for the week was my driver and bodyguard, and he trooped behind, offering to push the buggy. “No, it’s fine,” I snapped, somewhat offended by the idea I needed help.
We failed to arrive at five o’clock because of the traffic. An incidence of road rage played out before us, grinding all the cars about it to a halt while waiting for the traffic police to sort out the shouting and screaming. Thank goodness for the locks on the car, even though we weren’t under any threat from the miscreants.
I sent a text to Jason, explaining our delay.
Prior to our arrival, he’d already ordered food to speed up the proceedings and, after he greeted Joshua with a ruffle of his golden hair, Jason fell into a strange morose silence that didn’t lend itself to conversation. My own mood was not great. The day hadn’t gone to plan and, faced with a disinterested husband and a loss of appetite, my patience slithered away. He should have let me stay back in England.
Jason sniffed, his nose wrinkling. “His nappy needs changing.”
“You can bloody well do it then. He’s been a pain all day, and I’m fed up with changing his nappies,” I retorted.
He scraped back his chair, fished his son out of the high chair, and went to the restroom. When he returned, he had a sticky fingerprint on his pristine white shirt. Joshua’s hands were grubby with pizza topping.
“Whoops,” I said, as if the silly word made up for the ruined shirt. Jason continued to behave as if he was a Trappist monk and wolfed down his food.
Looking back, after Jason had returned to work, I couldn’t believe I’d spoken to him with such disrespect and selfishness. He’d found the time to see us amongst his hectic schedule. Once Joshua and I were back in the apartment, the guilt gnawed. I sent a text:
:Sir. Sorry about the nappy and shirt.
I waited for a reply. Nothing arrived, which made the negativity sink deeper into my psyche. I wanted to be disciplined, told to do something penitent or remorseful. Instead, I had nothing to correct my behaviour.
I put Joshua to bed in the guest room, and he fell asleep before I’d pulled up the zipper on his sleeping bag.
Sitting in the great room, I tried to read. Seven o’clock came and went, and still no Jason. It was no good. I had to do something to snap me out of my bout of self-reproach.
I sprinkled the rice grains on the hard kitchen tiles and knelt on them. I tried to centre my thoughts on Jason, on being a good wife and submissive. The efforts seemed futile—my knees might ache, but I still wallowed in a self-absorbed frame of mind, and my Dominant wasn’t even there to witness my act of self-discipline, a fact, which of course, I’d omitted from my analysis of the situation. I’d elected to do the deed without his knowledge.
Time crawled, and I stared at the kitchen cupboards, noting the presence of Joshua’s sticky finger marks.
By the time I’d been there on the floor for over fifteen minutes, the grains had embedded in my skin. Gritting my teeth, I lifted myself off my aching knees and flicked the grains out from where they had buried. My kneecaps were very red and sore. I struggled to walk and went to fetch the vacuum cleaner to suck up the rice from the floor.
The noise of the appliance masked Jason’s arrival. Spotting him on the other side of the worktop watching me with a mystified expression, I jumped out of my skin, my heart pounding against my breastbone. The rice grains remained visible on the floor, and the indents on my red knees, too.
“What are you doing, Gemma?” He pulled on his tie, loosening it.
“Um. I knocked over some rice,” I replied, without meeting his gaze.
“We weren’t planning on dining again, were we? You said we would have a light supper, not a bowl of rice.”
“Fell out of the cupboard.” I dug a perfect hole for myself, with little thought for my escape route.
He came to the cupboard door where the dry goods were kept, lifting out the glass jar in which the rice was stored.
“Magic, was it, leaping onto the floor?” he scoffed. I risked a glance at his face and his blue eyes flitted from the jar to me.
I’d screwed everything up. Pressing my dry lips together, I didn’t dare speak. He ran his fingers through his hair, rolled his eyes to the ceiling, and shook his head. His reaction destroyed any resolve I might have had for holding out with my lies. I didn’t need to lie any further. He unearthed my faults with ease.
“Feeling sorry for yourself. A little contrite about your behaviour today? I had hoped we could simply enjoy a quiet meal together. The nappy change—not a big deal, and I get that you’re tired and struggling. You made it worse with all this.” He pointed at the remaining rice grains. “You couldn’t wait to deal with this together?” His quiet tone was a
lmost lost under my thumping heartbeats. “Do you think choosing your own form of correction is the right attitude for a submissive? Who controls you, Gemma?”
“You do, Sir,” I squeaked.
He stepped closer, and I gripped the vacuum hose tighter. I flinched; I was that nervous.
Whatever my initial intentions were with my kneeling on the rice, they had been wiped out by my foolish act. Jason recognized topping from the bottom, even if he hadn’t said it out loud. I never planned for him to catch me. It was to be my own little act of penitence that would wipe out my sin of disrespect and make me feel better, not the absent Jason, but me. He was right. He didn’t mind changing Joshua. Jason never did complain about spending time with his son, regardless of the activity. He hadn’t shown any anger towards me. I’d inflicted that unwarranted emotion on myself.
His shoes crunched on the rice, and he looked down at his feet. “Finish what you’ve started.”
I sucked up the grains, tidied away the appliance, and had no idea what to do next. He took a shower and used it to regroup his thoughts, I hoped.
Once he’d changed into fresh clothes, he went into his study to work while I skimmed through a book, stretched out on the sofa. Still no sign of Jason. Tired and fed-up, I went to Joshua’s room, curled up on the guest bed to listen to my son’s light breathing, and joined him in sleep.
Jason woke me, shaking my shoulder. “Come to bed.”
I staggered after him. It hadn’t been my intention to sleep apart from my husband, and his summons gave me a glimmer of hope my stupidity had been forgiven. However, he rolled into bed, shut his eyes, and fell into an instant slumber, while I lay awake fretting at my inability to be submissive whenever we left the sanctuary of home.
In the morning, emerging from my grubby state of sleepiness, I discovered Jason giving Joshua his breakfast.
“Go and shower,” he told me. “Eliza will be here soon. We’re going for an early morning run in Central Park.