Page 38 of Judged by Him

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Jason found her disagreeable face a combination of childish beauty and bold defiance. She simply had a tendency to forget her training, the discipline her first Master had been the most diligent in enforcing. “Meek and reverent deportment at all times, Gemma,” her first Dominant would tell her as he spanked her bare bottom. One of many scenes Gemma had told Jason about when she recounted tales of her early months as a newly-initiated submissive. He wished he had been there, in those days after she graduated, a fly on the wall of her first Dominant’s rambling house. Dickensian, Gemma had described it. She went nearly every Friday and stayed until Sunday evening. The middle-aged man had broken the day down into sessions, each with a different purpose and regime.

“My timetabled life as a submissive.” She had laughed. “Saturday morning, cleaning or doing his laundry. Friday, he would set aside for punishments. Plenty of time to recover by Monday. It meant he would tot up my weekend of misdemeanours, and I would have to wait a whole week for the appropriate penalties. He liked to keep me waiting, not knowing what he had planned for me. Other sessions, he would make me sit in various demeaning positions or postures, the obligatory poetry readings, and Sunday’s table service. Sexual training, he left for Saturday evenings, and I had to wait six months before he considered me ready for penetrative sex with him.”

Jason liked the man’s style. He wished he’d had the chance to meet him, but Gemma’s first Master had suffered a premature death. Jason’s experience of training women to be his submissive had been entirely sexual in nature. A young man with a potent sex drive to accompany his intentions, deportment and non-sexual service hadn’t been of great interest to him beyond the basics. Sexual humiliation far outweighed the sight of a woman cleaning floors with a toothbrush or scrubbing brush stuck in her mouth.

Things would change, though. As his body aged, he understood a different submissive behaviour in Gemma would be required to maintain his domination of her. He suspected, as his sex drive diminished, perfecting Gemma in the arts she had once been taught by the elderly gentleman would one day be brought back into regular play. Something, perhaps, to look forward to when she was pregnant or nursing too. Indeed, a child might not notice the nuances of such submissive behaviour. An obedient mother who took good care of their children, wishing to please her master in motherhood. Garratt and Judith maintained their D/s relationship on this basis.

Reaching under the table, Jason found the bare flesh of her soft inner thigh. He pinched a morsel between his finger and thumb and squeezed hard. She dropped the cards in her hands and juddered. She tried hard not to give away her discomfort. To add to the effect, he twisted the tissue between his fingers, like a knob on a cooker. She gasped, almost inaudibly, and pressed her lips tight together.

“Your first Master would be turning in his grave, hearing you speak so disrespectfully to me. I should have to tell you something only once and not have to listen to your pathetic whining if you have the audacity to disagree with my decision. I don’t want a drop of alcohol to pass those lips of yours. If you are offered free drinks at the casino, you will politely decline. Do I make myself clear, Gemma?” Jason spoke softly in the voice he knew she would dare not disobey.

Jason’s eyes pierced through her skull and, even though she stared at the cards on the table, she cowered.

“Yes, Master,” she whispered.

“Good.” He released her thigh and leant back. “Now, go and prepare yourself. I want my wife to look stunning, elegant, and be the envy of all the men in the casino. Maria is waiting for you.”

With deep breath, she pushed her skirt back into place, covering the mark on her inner thigh, and left.

Jason collected the cards and handed them to the mute Esteban—Jason appreciated the man’s professionalism in remaining unperturbed by such strange sights as a husband inflicting a small act of corporal punishment on his wife. The kinky aspect of their relationship had been explained discreetly to the steward prior to the voyage. However, Jason doubted the man had any real idea what it all meant. Jason gave him a reassuring pat on the arm as he moved past the Spaniard.

The yacht slipped into its allocated dock at Hercules Port in the heart of Monaco’s La Condamine district, one of many luxury vessels.

With the gangplank in place, Jason watched from the private deck as Dufour unobtrusively departed, black luggage bag slung over his shoulder. Shortly afterwards, another man came aboard. Lubinsky introduced the newcomer to Jason as Louis Remy, a native Frenchman.

“Remy and I have worked together several times. We get on well. There will be no repeat of Ceuta,” said Lubinsky, standing to attention.

“There had better not be,” said Jason curtly.

Jason quickly briefed the Frenchman. He was to accompany them to a casino, wait while they dined, and ensure their personages and betting chips remained secure at all times.

“I understand, monsieur,” he said confidently.

Descending the stairs to the main deck, Jason could hear the hubbub of the excited crew below. They couldn’t wait to see what Gemma wore. She wore a black dress, which completed its drop around her ankles. Small straps over her shoulders and a tight corset-like waistline. Her hips were packaged within the smooth line of the dress, and the skirt had a long slit that stopped at her knees. The fabric shimmered under the halogen lights, defining her bust and curvy thighs.

On her feet, black high heels with straps wrapped about her ankles. When she rested her hands on the black dress, smoothing the fabric over her belly, the henna tattoos on her hands stood out clearly. Numerous eyes gloated at his wife. Jason wouldn’t stand for the licentious ogling for long. He placed a protective arm around her shoulders.

“Babe, I said stunning, and you’ve gone beyond stunning.”

He draped the velvet wrap over her shoulders, pausing to touch the pearl necklace. The collar chain had to be left on board. He preferred her to wear the white pearl set that complimented her dress.

Jason wore a tuxedo, with black bowtie and jacket, and his shoes shone brightly—Gaspar had been instructed to buff them up into mirrors.

The crew, in a polite row, murmured their compliments—a regal, handsome couple, they declared—and wished them luck in the casino. The Mercedes waited by the dock. Doors wide open to receive its passengers. Remy took the front passenger seat and gave the hired chauffeur a nod. The car pulled away from the kerb to drive the short distance to the casino.

***

A steward greeted the couple at the doorway of the casino. Little did the steward know that Gemma wasn’t allowed to open doors for herself, nor choose her own seat, or even move without permission. Jason would select her drinks and food and monitor her posture at all times. She was under the control of her husband in all matters, regardless of their significance. She liked the situation. He fed her submission, making her feel special and at the centre of Jason’s attention.

Gemma floated in her idyllic world of dreams. During the brief drive to the casino, she had admired the scenery. The small principality of Monaco had given the world princesses and princes, James Bond sets, and the glamorous Grand Prix. To be part of the lifestyle would have been unimaginable a few years ago, sitting in her cubicle, staring at computer screens, waiting for the evenings or weekends when she would be some man’s sex toy. An existence that had driven her to an inglorious endpoint. She pushed the unpleasant thoughts away, easy to do as she stared out of the window.

The casino, set in lush, extravagant gardens, resembled an aristocratic palace. The valet opened their door and waited patiently for Gemma’s careful negotiation of the vehicle’s doorway. Jason quickly arrived at her side and held out a steadying hand.

She took a step forward. “Oh, gosh. The ground feels odd. It’s not moving.”

“Weird isn’t it. It will pass quickly. Good job you’re not drunk,” he added with a smirk.

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