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“I’m going to fuck you now. Not as a punishment but because I thought I had lost you for a while and I want to reclaim you.”
He leant over her and kissed her between her shoulder blades. “Afterwards. I’m going to be tearing strips off two security guards. I should be able to tell you later if a Navy SEAL can withstand my scathing tongue or whether he disintegrates at my feet into a pitiful mess. What do you think?” He reached down and undid his zipper.
“Can I be a fly on the wall?” she asked, lifting her head up and peering over her shoulder. A small smile appeared.
He guffawed. Kneeling back, he undid his flies. “Turn over.”
Gemma rolled onto her back and spread her legs. She bent her knees and clutched her ankles.
He released his semi-erect cock and massaged the tip. Seeing her legs parted, he hardened further. “Tempting. But after I’ve finished fucking you, you might need a nice soothing bath and the massage you missed this morning. Yes?” He positioned himself between her legs.
“Oh, yes, please. Much better idea!”
He could have been rough given the mood he had been in when he arrived on the yacht. His wife’s supreme acquiesce and willingness to yield to him had tempered his anger. As he penetrated her wet pussy, he groaned and, for the duration of his pleasure-seeking, put aside disagreeable conversations with disappointing bodyguards. His wife received all of his attention.
***
“Do tell, Sir, please? Are they quivering wrecks, or did they hold out against you?”
Gemma lounged on his lap in their private salon. He flicked through the TV channels, searching for a film or anything appealing then gave up and tossed the remote on to the coffee table. “They survived. The pair of them were suitably apologetic. What was more interesting was when I asked them what had gone wrong.”
“How so?”
“Lubinsky blamed the flies! Dufour claimed your clothing wasn’t distinctive enough. Unbelievable.”
She sat up, tossing a strand of hair aside. “Sounds almost schoolboyish. Seriously, these are trained bodyguards?”
“Trained in protection, not in excuses. I’ve had my suspicions about the pairing. When I asked them to explain what their strategy had been before going into the marketplace, their communication system, they blustered terribly. I told them I thought they might like to try talking to each other. Then I lost my temper.”
“Then? You held out well, my love,” smirked Gemma, quickly covering her mouth with her hand.
“It’s obvious there is bad blood between them. I told them they have twenty-four hours to explain their attitudes and come up with a solution, or else, at the next port of call, one of them will be out of a job, accompanied by a strongly worded letter of disapproval addressed to his superior.”
Jason fingered her watchstrap. A tiny graze marred her wrist. A leftover from the previous night. He frowned at the discovery.
“It’s just a scratch,” she said swiftly. “Considering how out of it I was, there could have been more marks.”
“Mmmm. I think we need to keep you out of subspace, babe. Much safer.” He kissed the scratch.
They ate on board Sublime that evening. Happy to take in Ceuta from a distance. The noise and ambience of a busy enclave filled the air as they dined al fresco, along with buzzing, biting flies. Gemma stood on the sundeck, leaning against the rails, content with life, the difficult afternoon put to one side. She had passed his test, her acceptance of the punishment—in hindsight, she was in no doubt it had been a test—with flying colours.
He hadn’t gone through with the charade of caning her. She was convinced he hadn’t planned to carry out the punishment to completion. He had wanted her willingness and submission. The moment she had slipped to her knees and apologised without reserve or argument, she had quelled his temper. She had learnt humility and acceptance.
The bizarre submissive part of her had missed the caning, although not the severe pain. The thrill of being spanked or disciplined by his hand. She replayed his Dominant commands in her head, making her body buzz and the telltale tingling sensation erupt in her lower belly.
What is wrong with me?
Jason would tell her there was nothing wrong. She was a masochist submissive who loved to be dominated and given pain. But, what else was he going to reveal to her over the coming two weeks or so? Some bondage and spankings couldn’t be it. He had a plan for her. Some form of progression and a goal. He was driven in everything he did. She could disappoint him by not agreeing to play; however, she had been caught by him, hook, line, and sink. She would see out his game.
***
Finding her on the sundeck, watching the sunset, he led her to the bed. Alone, he happily stripped her clothes off without the aid of servants. He easily noticed her heightened state of arousal, the puffed pink lips around her pussy, the nervous shuffling of her feet when he approached her.
“Babe?” he enquired. “What’s fired you up so quickly? Mmmm?” He pressed his lips on hers, and she answered between kisses.
“You. Thinking of you. Not the market fiasco. You went super Dominant on me when we got back,” she whispered.
“I did. Not for very good reasons,” he commented. “Do you want him back?” he asked.
