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Damp blonde hair, I remembered.
“He said you’d gone clubbing. I saw red and wanted you out of there, so I came.”
I smiled. “Kind of my knight in shining armour. Except you were mad at me and made me feel terrible about myself.”
“I had to get you out of there quickly. Too many people and very crowded. Martinson was concerned you could be slipped out unnoticed. I was made angrier watching you dance,” he frowned.
“You need to be more open with me, Jason. This relationship isn’t going to work otherwise, and I want it to work.” I held out my hand to him this time and he took it.
“Good me too. That’s enough on the subject. At least security doesn’t have to be clandestine about following you anymore.”
I decided to drop the thought of bodyguards trailing around after me, it was depressing and I did not want another argument. After all, I was ensconced behind iron gates and perimeter fences, not a vulnerable apartment block. The ugly topic of personal protection came up again rather quickly though. I stuck my head around Jason’s study, he was busy typing at his laptop. He stopped and looked up, slightly annoyed by my interruption.
“What?” he snapped.
“I’m taking the beamer for a spin and picking up some veg from that farm shop.” I went to leave, but his voice cut across the room.
“No you’re bloody not, Johnson will drive you.”
“Jason, what’s the point in me having a car if I can’t drive it,” I said standing with my hands on my hips.
Jason looked quite furious all of sudden. Unexpectedly he snapped his fingers and I paused fractionally, then dashed over to his desk and stood by his chair. He grabbed me, dragging me down so I was kneeling at his feet.
“Don’t fuck with me, Gemma. This is serious. I didn’t know you were at risk when I got you the car. From now on you don’t go anywhere without me or another escort. Do I make myself clear?” he glared down at me.
“Yes, sir.”
He picked up his desk phone and punched the numbers down.
“Miss Marshall needs to go out, fetch a car round for her,” he barked down the phone then hung up.
“When I’m done here and you’re back, after dinner, I’m going to fuck you to remind you I’m your master. I think you’ve been forgetting your place over the last few days. You will respect me and my wishes. Do you understand me?” he demanded an affirmation from me.
I knew I should let him do this: take away the worries and burdens he had revealed to me over the last twenty-four hours. There in his lair, I would magically fall under his spell and submit to whatever he desired from me. The letting go was key to my willingness and what once had to be drummed into me had now become intrinsic to my sexual life.
“Yes, sir. I am very grateful for your concern about my safety, truly.”
I looked up meekly and I was mentally shackled to him immediately. I may not be his slave by definition, but in practice I could not stop myself from being obedient. I exemplified a dignified humility, which I would cling to even though there was always a part of me that would not succumb to the full-blown submission of a totally controlled slave.
“Good, now off with you. I’m expecting something mouth-watering for dinner.” He turned back to his laptop and carried on typing.
A promise had been made and I did not think he would renege on its delivery. The looming scene distracted me as I was ferried about the countryside to my chosen destination. I was sure the driver had to ask several times where I wanted to go as I fiddled with the straps of my handbag. Sexual lust did not require much ramping up for me. The mere threat of being tied up and spanked set me ablaze. What I was finding with Jason was it went beyond a simple desire. Others could create the longing in me but only Jason managed to consume my thoughts to the point of insensibility.
As my silly back seat fantasies took hold, I was embarrassed by my wetness. Even though he was cross with me, and I would probably be made me to pay for my earlier impudence in some fashion, I wanted it badly. The sensual pain I craved was calling to me and I imagined my rosy red bottom bent over for him as I offered up my pussy for his delectation.
Stop it! I shouted at my libido.
I did not enjoy my trip out, not just because I was in a needy state of mind, but because I could not wander freely. Behind me, a few paces away, was the driver. Now I realised they were not just chauffeurs. These men, in their dark suits and glasses, were highly trained bodyguards tasked with protecting a wealthy man. I was part of that wealth too, an asset for him. I did not want to be seen as his possession, like an owned commodity with no emotional attachment. I hoped he was protecting me because of the threat against me and not to reinforce the role I had in his life.
With those stalking footsteps behind me, I was constantly being monitored and observed. Jason could now have a running report of my activities and how I spent my free time. What I bought, to whom I spoke and even the trivial exchanges with the shop assistants were no longer the personal events in my life. Something had happened to my privacy and it was unsettling. I should be grateful, that was what Jason told me, to have the expertise of his protection officers about me at all times. Instead of being reassured and relaxed, I was unnerved and I gave up on my shopping trip.
“Take me home,” I said the burly man.
Home. At least I had called it home and the little word brought me out of my despondency. During the journey to Blythewood House, I lifted myself out of the doldrums and plotted an evening meal hoping to placate his annoyance with me.
Later in his lair, I would submit myself to his ardent demands, trying hard to please him. Having contained my lustful thoughts while out shopping, I concentrated on the practicalities of mentally and physically preparing myself for his scene. The prerequisite wash, douching myself and I stroked my clit a little to bring on my arousal further, not that my ever reliable sex organ needed much encouragement. I did not think he would bother with foreplay. My intuition paid off as he gave me a cursory check over and barked his orders at me with little civility.
“Here, slut,” he snapped his fingers at a spot on the floor.
