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“I can’t wait to watch your body change. See and feel that baby move inside of you,” he whispered in her ear.
He ran a hand down her back, and she quivered. The other began a journey from her neck down. He skimmed over her breasts, pausing to squeeze each nipple gently then his fingers went over her abdomen. So far, nothing outwardly had changed down there. He cupped her sex, and she shut her eyes, relaxing against his chest. If this was what he meant by inspection, he could do it several times a day, she decided.
“I want to feel a part of you. Judge with my hands and eyes how you are changing, how you respond to my touch, how you feel physically. I want to make you feel needed and desired because I know that you’re going to see yourself as ugly.”
She opened her eyes and looked at him. A tear trickled down her cheek, and he held her in his arms.
“You’ll always stay beautiful to me.” Jason kissed her hair.
He let her climb back into bed, and she put the bra back on, but left the nightgown off. Returning to the protocols, Gemma could appreciate the rule about communicating her needs and concerns. She would have to try hard to ensure that she didn’t just turn it into a list of daily whinges. Jason wouldn’t tolerate that kind of abuse of his time.
She pursed her lips. “Punishments, discipline. I’ve said I’m not happy about S&M and pain—”
“It won’t have to be corporal punishment. I’m sure you know how inventive I can be. Expect some withdrawal of privileges, for example, unhealthy food, like chocolate or cakes. The TV. Me!”
Hearing Jason talk about punishing her brought out that unpleasant feeling of being doomed to fail. She was bound to screw up.
“As I said, these protocols aren’t rigid. We can adapt them. I don’t want you to fret about discipline. Stay positive. This piece of paper is not a contract. The only contract I have ever desired from you is the marital one.”
Gemma returned the list to him, and he placed the document on the bedside table.
“How do you feel about it?” he asked.
Part of her was disappointed that they had to resort to rules and agreements, as if she was back at school. She’d had these kinds of protocols before, with a handful of Dominants. However, they’d applied to a limited period, a few hours in an evening or a weekend—certainly the case for her first Master. She’d been learning the ropes back then, and they’d seemed appropriate and helpful.
As she had moved on in her relationships, the agreements and contracts hadn’t been entered into formally. Discussions about limits and expectations, but nothing as tangible as a piece of paper. By then, she had just wanted to have sex, to be tied up or used. Her bottom spanked for no apparent reason or her tits covered in clothes pegs for the hell of it. She hadn’t wanted the servitude side or the domesticity of living with a Dominant.
“We’re not going to drift into Total Power Exchange, are we? I mean, giving you absolute control over me? Guarantee me that,” she insisted.
He squeezed her hand. “Guaranteed. I don’t expect it, Gem. This is purely about your pregnancy—not sex, not servitude or controlling the minutiae of your life. You have your leisure time, your friends, and I want you to talk freely, express yourself, and just let me control you in a way that helps you. The sexual submission remains as is, you being my sexual slave and I, your master. Nothing has changed in that respect, except the extremities of our play. I will tone it down as your pregnancy progresses. We went over this after you wrote that delightful little essay for me.”
Gemma made her decision. “Okay. Let’s agree to this and I will try very hard to be obedient and compliant.”
He clapped his hands together, rubbing them gleefully. She’d made the right choice, from his perspective. “Good. Because now all I want to do is fuck you, and you didn’t put your nightgown on, so I’m taking that as a yes.” Twisting over onto his side, he loomed over her, fumbling with his shirt buttons.
She didn’t argue with his observation, and with a dutiful expression, she lay back and let him loose on her body.
The following morning, the day began—post-morning sex—with a fresh start to her pregnancy. Gemma knelt at Jason’s feet in the sitting room, and he told her what she needed to do.
Make a list of foodstuffs to avoid based on medical advice.
Make a list of food or drinks that made her feel sick.
What unhealthy food did she like to eat—which proved to be a long list. Those foodstuffs he would take control of and ensure she sought permission from him before eating them. Gemma mournfully watched him jot down chocolate and cakes, and then she let out a cry of indignation when he added caffeinated tea and coffee.
“Contact Mrs Harris and Mr Brooks and come up with shopping lists, menus, and meal plans that fit these lists. I want you to enjoy eating healthy food. Oh, and find yourself a good masseur. One who specialises in pregnancy. You have my permission to have weekly massages, pedicures, whatever makes you feel good about yourself.”
She mouthed a thank you. She adored Jason’s massages, but a professional masseur was spot-on what she needed to help deal with stretching ligaments.
“Keep up with your exercise classes, but I think you’re going to struggle with Zumba and dancing, eventually. Find something else to do. Yoga, for example. Keep yourself fit and relaxed.”
Another good idea. Why haven’t I thought about all these things?
“This is about trust. I’m not going to be around to check on you all day. So, be warned, if I find out you’re cutting corners or flouting my rules, you’re in trouble.” He wagged a finger in her direction.
His tone required a different level of response from her. “Yes, Sir.”
What did Jason get out of all of this? Kneeling at his feet, she could see the impact her demeanour had on him. Even in his casual weekend dress, his pose, the legs slightly apart, hands on armrests and his golden hair combed across his forehead, all shouted refinement and self-assurance. An elegant Dom with his willing submissive attentively listening.
