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Oh God!
I was undone. He wanted more from between my spread legs. He was forcing my orgasm to come again. His palm rubbed my clit frantically, unrelenting, fingers stuffed high up inside me. I bucked and thrashed as the waves of intense spasms moved outward, from tender throbbing parts until all my nerves were on fire. Ceasing, he moved off me, then I noticed how hard we were both breathing. I lay on his desk top with my skirt gone. I had not noticed he had pulled it off. Nor that my t-shirt had been ripped or my bra pulled down exposing my breasts. All this was done while I was in the throes of being fucked by his strong, deliberate hands.
I slipped back down on to my knees, at his feet, while he tidied his clothes. Calmly sitting down, he held my head up by the back of my neck.
“Go finish your cooking. I've had my appetiser, I'm hungry for food.”
I stumbled out of his study, clutching my disarrayed clothes, legs shaking. My bra repositioned, torn shirt and skirt back on with knickers, I reached the kitchen. By then I was dissolving in a post-sex haze of mind-blowing emotions. I splashed cold water on my sticky face, swallowing mouthfuls so I could wash away the remains of his semen and my saliva. The shaking would not stop as if I was still there before him, waiting expectantly for his next instruction. I could not switch my emotional high off, the sense of being consumed and devoured by him. His domination of my body left me incapable of reclaiming myself back from wherever he had dumped my frayed flesh. I had gone from a state of being high to low too quickly. I was curled up on the floor when Jason found me; the chicken still marinating in the fridge like my nerves. He drew me up, propping my back against the cupboards, steadying me. His cool hands held my face.
“Look at me, Gemma!” he said firmly but kindly. “Put your hands on my chest.”
I looked into his blue eyes. They were not harsh or displeased, but concerned and piercing. They watched me, observing my rapid breaths, trembling shoulders. I rested my hands on his chest. His heartbeat was slow, steady and so unlike my pounding one. Gradually the beats reached into me, calming mine.
“You're alright,” he told me, “it can happen sometimes. Try to relax. Deep breaths.”
“Sorry,” I whispered, inhaling from my diaphragm.
“Don't apologise. Emotionally over stimulated, weren’t you? You had a little subdrop. You must come and find me if this happens. Don't hide away. Talking helps or we can just cuddle, yes?” A finger ran down my flushed cheek.
I took the cuddle option and with my head between my hands pressed against his breastbone, listening to his beating heart. His arms encased my shivering body. Gradually I came back from my mental wasteland, my pulse slowed, limbs stilled and head cleared.
“I'm good now, thank you.”
I stepped away from him and his eyes watched me closely, seeking confirmation of my statement. He appeared convinced and his hands dropped to his sides.
“Remember I do these things to you because you let me. Your trust in me is your gift to me, your power over me. Don't let me think you're OK when you're not or else I will be abusing your trust significantly. I reward my subs well. Obedient, p
leasing, little subs, but not if they're trying to impress me falsely. Be honest, did you enjoy yourself in there?” he referred to our intense scene.
I could not lie to him. “Honestly yes. God, yes. Lunch, swimming pool, all of it. I was struggling with coming down, not with what we did. I promise not to hide away if I'm overwrought.” My clear green eyes focused on his blue ones.
He pursed his lips, judging my response. “This is important, Gemma, I may not humiliate you in public, but I will debase you for my own personal reasons. Alright, you look better, I’ll leave you to it. I'll find you a different top,” he smiled, tugging my torn shirt. He was gone for only a few minutes.
While I boiled the pasta and fried the chicken, he stayed in the kitchen, reading at the breakfast bar, he did not leave me this time.
He put the knife and fork down together on the cleared plate. He smacked his lips.
“Mmmmm. Very nice, Gemma.” He took my hand and kissed the knuckles. “You’re a good cook.”
“I took lessons.”
I picked the plates up and walked round to the kitchen.
“It seemed to me that being good at cooking is an important skill to have as a submissive. Doms often want to have someone cook for them and well, I don’t want to be humiliated for bad cuisine.” I loaded the dishwasher and ran the tap to rinse out the pans.
“A wise decision.”
He got up and put the table mats away. Then with full wine glasses in each hand he paused. “Join me in front of the fire when you’ve done.”
Jason was sitting on the couch when I came and joined him, he was staring into the flickering flames, the cool autumn air had made the evenings chilly. He held out my wine glass and I sat next to him. The ambience was all very homely.
“I want you to hand in your notice on Monday. You only need to give a week’s notice as an intern.”
He held me his blue gaze as I digested this request. Had it finally come to the commitment stage?
“Don’t get too excited, my dear,” he drawled. “I don’t want you working for me when we come out about are relationship. For one thing, we have the inevitable meet the parents visit to do first. You can give notice on your apartment too.”
“I have to give six months’ notice,” I told him.
