Page 101 of Judged by Him

“I like the sound of it.” He ran his fingers through her drying hair. “How are the negative thoughts?” He gathered her hair back, pulling on the locks.

“Dispersing. Thank you, Sir.” She handed him a hair tie.

“Good because I would rather not have to discipline you in the back of the car again. I want to enjoy this meal, too.” He completed his hair-styling tasks. “Take heart from that. You’re hardly a failure as a submissive. Kneel here before me.”

She knelt naked at his feet. Dressed casually in black jeans and a pale blue polo shirt, which hugged his musculature, he had a confident swagger about his stance, more so than usual, or perhaps it was what she wanted to see in him. He held her in his blue gaze.

“Look at me. You’re beautiful. I will continue to discipline you, shape and mould you. You will accept because I ask you to. You will give yourself to me graciously and without fear.”

Cupid’s arrow had struck her heart yet again. He had found the right words for her as he always seemed to do. Overcome with the need to show her appreciation, her devotion, she lay flat before him in the position of surrender.

Another one of her first Master’s lessons stored in her memories, “Show your acceptance with your body, Gemma. If you can’t find the words, your body will do it for you.”

Chapter 32. Pleasing

Gemma’s backside blazed. The rest of her body shivered with a cold sensation, as if she had suddenly been plunged into icy waters.

A soothing hand stroked her head, a slow gentle movement from temple to neck. Gemma tried to concentrate hard on her husband and not the pain below, which had suddenly come alive again as if her senses had crash-landed back on earth. Jason’s roving hand came to rest on her lower back, keeping her still while he rubbed in the cooling lotion. His gentle words of placation oozed into her ears, helping her come out of her lost place.

Many things had gone according to Gemma’s description of the evening’s scenario. Not completely word perfect. She hadn’t left the yacht in a negative frame of mind. She hadn’t required a sharp disciplining in the Mercedes that drove them to his chosen restaurant. Her attitude had transformed following his little pep talk. She had been resolved to enjoy the meal and to show Jason she accepted his control over her.

***

The Bavarian restaurant cooked its food on big stone grills. Her kind of food: grilled meat, potato dumplings, and sticky sauces. Comfort food. It made her feel homey. For Jason, German beer.

Not the most glamorous of restaurants, but Gemma appreciated it had a genuine atmosphere and plenty of traditional Bavarian folk music and decorations. Jason’s beer arrived in a large litre beer mug, and the male staff wore lederhosen and the women white aprons with short, colourful waistcoats.

Dessert was apple strudel with vanilla sauce. “Mmmm. I love this.” Gemma licked her lips. “Perhaps we should have apple trees in the garden. An orchard maybe? I could make apple crumbles or pies.”

“Will there be any of the lawn left?” Jason gave a mock roll of his eyes.

“There is loads of space. Pear trees, perhaps along the wall. Cherry trees, too. I will talk to John. Find out what varieties would grow best.” She scraped her plate clean.

On the way to the restaurant, they had chatted amiably. The return journey to the yacht was quiet. Her hands ran nervously up and down her skirt, while her husband tracked the changing scenery outside his car window. Streetlights and passing vehicles held his attention, not his wife.

Entering the stateroom, Gemma undressed, slipping off each layer with tremulous fingers. Jason removed his shirt, baring his chest. The golden tan glowed under the halogen lights, and she warmed to his appearance. He fetched nothing. His bare hands held no ropes or implements. Enrique and Maria were absent. They were quite alone.

He waved a finger. “Come here,” he said softly.

Gemma approached, shuffling a little as she wondered where he would put her. Over the chair or the bed? He seated himself at the foot of the bed and tapped his lap with one finger. “Over.”

“Over the knee?” A small buzz hit her nervous system. Jason sought to spank her over his knee. The simplest and traditional approach to spanking, and still her preference, even if it seemed a little humiliating.

One firm thigh supported her pelvis and, to add to her capitulation, he wrapped his other leg over the back of her naked thighs. Gemma focused on her breathing. She took her time to centre her thoughts, to find a place to go to where she could process the pain.

“Consider this spanking a reminder. I want you to understand I will not tolerate lapses with regard to your safety. To place your own greedy needs for attention above that of your importance to me. Your gift of your body will not be frittered away by reckless actions. Do you have anything to say?”

“I’m very grateful for your attention, to bring this to me, and I accept the reason why.”

Jason rubbed oil into her skin before starting. The sun had dried out her skin, increasing the risk of it cracking. She expected to drift away, to find somewhere to escape the pain. It usually required her to be at peace with herself and not fighting him. There, in her submissive headspace, she would be floating, and he would enjoy the sight of her under his control.

She brought into play her initial techniques for processing pain. She recited poems, essays, and mathematical formulas with their bright colours. The new places, the exotic locations of their holiday, filled her imagination until the pain broke through. She tried to think of the paintings she wanted to create, and it led her to the realisation she wanted to paint in an environment suited to her desires. She started to formulate her ideas as she grunted, writhing on his lap and twisting her body away from him.

The flat of his hand landed rhythmically and moved from one buttock to the next without pausing. Heat became burning, as he increased the velocity and power of his smacks. If his own hand hurt, he didn’t waver. She could feel the bones in her pelvis jar on a few occasions as he landed on her sit-spot. Her breasts shook as she tried to rise up and meet his descent, shorting the distance. Jason’s response was to push her back down. No escape.

Gemma could no longer think. The time for running away from pain ended. She wanted to be back there with Jason. She had been so foolishly disconnected from him. The night of the attack, she had failed to be there with him and, during the spanking, she did the same again. He wasn’t punishing her, nor even disciplining her. He intended, desired, to bring her back under his wing, his protection and sanctuary. Gemma let out a groan of recognition, at her faults and her needs. They intertwined, knotted together. When she was needy, instead of focusing on Jason and keeping him central to her thoughts, she became impulsive and bratty. She was doing it again, seductively bent over his lap while he smacked her bottom repeatedly.

“Oh, fuck,” she muttered. “Please, give me more.”

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