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“What other lessons do you have in mind?”
“It’s time to add some ropes, string you up again. Maybe a zipper or a good hard flogging.”
He rinsed her hair out. Gemma fell silent at the word zipper—it referred to the use of clothes pegs in a line on a piece of string. Pull the string and the pegs snap off in quick succession—a painful and pleasurable combination if done during an orgasm.
Jason wrung her hair out and kissed her neck. “Done. The clothes pegs scare you? We’ve done the zipper several times.”
Gemma stood up and, reaching for a towelling head wrap, bound it about her hair. “We haven’t done it in a while. Sometimes, I forget whether I actually enjoyed it or not. The more pegs you add, the longer they’re on before they come off, and the pain lingers longer. I’m telling you this because you have no idea. What’s your pain threshold like, Jason?”
She wrapped another towel about her chest. A small, enigmatic smile curved his lips. She couldn’t interpret its origins.
“Not as good as yours. I’m aware of how clothes pegs work. I had a zipper done on me once.” He took the bath sheet she offered and rose out of the water.
She froze, replaying his last sentence, registering its significance. “You have? When? Why?”
“Oh, long time ago. Simple curiosity. When Damien started to let me join in with his scenes, while he mentored me, I realised I had no idea what it was like to be on the receiving end. Not as a submissive, simply as a bottom. He suggested I try a few things out. If I wanted to understand the nature of the pain I was going to inflict on my subs, I should be on the receiving end. A good philosophy.”
Gemma remained gobsmacked, her mouth opening and shutting in the goldfish style that so amused Jason. An incredulous image of him on the receiving end occupied her thoughts. “What else did you try?”
Jason rubbed his legs dry. “Oh. Not much. I can’t recreate some of the things you experience. I don’t have the right body parts, for one thing. Zipper was an easy one to try. Some chemical play, though not on sensitive parts, on my forearm. The cane, whip, and paddle.”
“I can’t believe this. You submitted—”
Jason’s hand stopped moving. He straightened. “No. Not submitted, I allowed somebody to demonstrate on me. Not a scene. No submissives present. I was curious. That’s all. So, I am well aware of how clothes pegs feel on the flesh.”
Gemma removed her covering. She pictured Jason covered in pegs. Her hand holding the string. She didn’t know if it excited her or not. “I can’t get the image out of my head of you—”
He flicked her nipple, making her jump back, covering her breasts with her arms. “If it lingers too long, my little subbie, I shall find a way of distracting you from thinking about it. Time to dry your hair. Maria can braid it, assuming Enrique has finished with her. He likes to fuck her after she has been naughty with you.”
Gemma held out her hand for Jason’s towel. She couldn’t stop thinking about Jason. Now, she saw him bent over. “Somebody caned you! Who?”
Ten minutes later, she wasn’t thinking about Jason being a bottom. Over his lap, he walloped her bottom with the palm of his hand. Another to add to the considerable collection he had landed her backside.
“Now, what are you thinking of?” A sharp yank on her scalp, and he pulled her head up. She tried not to grin at him. Heat radiated out of her bottom. Spanked on a wet bum, she had resorted to various techniques to take her mind off the pain of his stinging handprints.
“Mr Mistoffelees, Sir,” she yelped. “What else!” She referred to a poem she used to help escape. Her love of T.S. Eliot poetry came in handy when she needed to distract herself. She often called upon the verses lodged in her memory. Her first Master had been a fan of the musi
cal Cats, and it had been at his suggestion that she learnt the words by heart.
She struggled to fight off a fit of giggles. Each time she caught her breath, another wave of ridiculous sniggers erupted out of her mouth. She knew it wasn’t a serious admonishment. Her feet waggled up and down like flippers. An image of a seal spread over Jason’s knees came to mind, and it set off another stream of titters.
Jason stopped spanking and pushed her naked body off his lap. She flopped onto the floor, clutching a buttock cheek.
He wagged a playful finger. “You have twenty minutes to get ready for dinner. So, be quick. If you have trouble sitting this evening, you only have yourself to blame.”
“Yes, Master. Thank you for spanking me, Sir.”
Wriggling her throbbing bottom in his direction, she fancied he had wanted to find an excuse to spank her for the last few days. The last instance over the armchair had involved tears and protestations. Not the best kind of spanking for either of them. A playful spanking relieved tensions and lifted their spirits. Jason, following his stressful sea rescue, had manufactured an excuse. She didn’t mind.
“You’re welcome.” A slow smile spread across his face until teeth glinted.
Gemma waited until she reached the seclusion of the bathroom before muttering, “You bastard,” under her breath. She tried not to smirk at her reflection in the mirror. Now, she was certain he had set her up; the grin on his face had said it all. She also noticed he never answered her question. His pain threshold remained elusive and untestable by her.
After dinner, he took her hand and led her to the stateroom. A firm grip and she felt her heart starting to pound and her insides buzz with expectation. Enrique and Maria had the evening off, hidden away in their own cabin, up to their own games.
Gemma stood in the middle of the stateroom, while Jason circled around her divesting himself of his shoes, then jacket, watch, and socks. Halting in front of her, he took her chin and tilted her head up to him. His mouth descended and his lips encased her own. He peeled her dress off, unclipped her bra and, kneeling, slipped off her knickers. Rising, he paused between her legs and inhaled her sex. For a few minutes, he inserted his tongue into her slit and flicked it back and forth, making her gasp and rock on her feet.
“Undress me,” he whispered.
