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She hadn’t always been indecisive or lacking in self-belief. The younger Gemma Marshall had attended kinky parties and events, mixing and socialising with confidence. With hindsight, she pictured a cocksure graduate, almost arrogant about her capabilities. Walking into a crowded room, she would quickly greet fellow players. Meeting new people, she hadn’t been shy or withdrawn, and if she encountered a nervous newcomer, she tried hard to set him or her at ease.
Having chosen to be a willing sexual submissive, she’d never felt the need to be controlled as a necessity to help her cope with life in general—to sink into submission and let go of decisions. To hand total power over to another.
Jason had taken that power, when it mattered most. Her self-belief had plummeted after her rape. Not only had her trust and libido vaporised, she’d lost confidence in her abilities. She ring-fenced work, family, and vanilla friends in a protected area of her mind, refusing to let what happened to her affect all areas of her life. Then Jason had stepped in to rescue the submissive Gemma. After other violent or manipulative attacks on her, he had often taken more control over her life to help re-establish her confidence. Now, he offered to do the same again.
Entering the bedroom, he joined her on the bed, and she switched the TV off. Passing her a couple of sheets of paper, she leaned back against the headboard and examined the printed text.
“You haven’t written these protocols in legal mumbo jumbo have you?” Trained as a lawyer, her husband knew how to write lengthy contracts.
He glowered, snatching the sheets back off her. “If I had, it would be ten times longer and full of impenetrable caveats. No. Simple language and written from your perspective, since you asked for these rules. There will be your views to take into account, so it’s not cast in concrete yet, more of a slurry.” He held them out a second time.
Gemma smiled at his analogy. She read the first few lines and immediately opened her mouth to make a comment. Questions popped into her head about the first rule.
Jason put a finger to her lips. “At least have the courtesy to read the whole thing before you start your critique. The rules denoted by asterisks are existing ones, primarily about your safety. Some I have modified.”
She sucked in a long breath. Though Jason had written the rules, she could have done the deed herself. The important part would be the discussion and coming to a mutual agreement; they were her rules as much as his, and she needed to be happy with them. She finished reading the document and went back to the first page.
“Number one basically says what I always wanted, that medical decisions relating to my pregnancy are mine. So, if I want an epidural, water baths, or a choir singing in the background, then I get it. Yes?”
“Absolutely. Though I don’t think a choir would fit into a delivery room.” He settled back and shut his eyes. “Go on.”
“Clause three. Submitting to your will, letting you control my body, takes into account clause one?”
“If you want me to make it that explicit, I can.”
“Four: I will obey my dominant as he assists me through my pregnancy. Doesn’t that imply you can do what the hell you like with me?” Jason opened his eyes as she pointed out the rule with a manicured fingertip.
“No. It means that I have flexibility. Pregnancy lasts a few months. I can’t anticipate what other issues may arise based on how you are now. In any case, you vowed to obey me when you married me, so I could argue that the rule about obedience exists already.”
True, she thought. She didn’t regret making the vow, but it had landed her in hot water from time to time when he invoked it. The extra ceremony they’d performed in their honeymoon suite still made her tingle. It had been almost like one of those Master/slave ceremonies she’d attended on a couple of occasions, when a sub was collared or made a declaration of commitment to their Dom. Gemma had knelt, still in her wedding gown, promised to obey him, and kissed his wedding ring. He, in return, had promised to p
rotect and take care of her. After that poignant moment, he’d been very keen to undress her.
“What is clause five all about? Daily inspections! Greeting you when you come home. I greet you already, don’t I?” She felt a tad annoyed at what seemed like a trivial request.
“Greet me?” His arms folded across his chest. “Some days, yes, but you don’t exactly welcome me into the house. A good sub should be there, waiting and eager.”
She had to admit she’d become negligent in kneeling and presenting to him, but then she wasn’t his submissive all day long—they had prescribed times.
“I do when we do the scenes. You really want me to go down on my knees every time you walk into a room?”
“Not on your knees, subbie. Eye contact would be a good start. Recently, you just grunt.”
“I do?” Today, he had turned up in the hallway, and she had to concede she had yelled a belated, “Hi, yah,” from the kitchen. She could see his point.
“I’ll try harder. Inspection?”
He flicked a finger at the paper, eyebrows raised. “Go stand in the middle of the room,” he said unexpectedly.
“Now?”
“Gemma, clause four. Obedience?” He pointed at the rug.
She huffed but got out of bed and stood where he indicated.
“Take off your nightgown. Bra, too.”
She’d taken to wearing a bra in bed to help with the discomfort. After she had tossed the clothes onto the bed, he strolled over to stand next to her.
