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She buzzed with the delicious sense of being handled, being given security, and letting go of her worries. He relished seeing her submit, her acquiescence played out before him. His demands and her obedience with no ifs or buts. Gemma suspected he would take some satisfaction in disciplining her and keeping her on the straight and narrow path. The inevitable slipup. He didn’t expect perfection. For one thing, she didn’t think she could go without cake for the duration of her pregnancy. She held back a coy smile as she wondered how she should plead for the forbidden foods.
Gemma’s life from that Saturday morning existed in three strands. Mrs Gemma Lucas continued as she always did. In public, the wife of a multimillionaire CEO, an active participant in her work and leisure activities. In private, Jason controlled his pregnant submissive wife. To her relief, once she settled into his protocols, they didn’t require too much adjustment to her daily life. Up to a point. Sometimes she struggled to follow them to the letter.
The final strand was the continuing sexual submission, which took place in the lair or between the sheets of their bed. It also happened in his studies, the kitchens, or the sitting rooms. Wherever Jason wanted to have sex. They continued to explore her capabilities, and as she reached the end of the first trimester, she accepted she could manage to do many things they typically did.
Jason spanked her lightly, usually with her lying over a pillow on the bed. Flogging presented no major worries if done carefully, and other toys like the vibrating wands and pinwheels he applied sparingly. Limiting the use of sensual toys made them even more erotic and enjoyable, like a rare treat. She practically climaxed as the vibrating wand wafted in front of her clitoris.
Going forward, oral and manual masturbation filled any voids. Each time she knelt in the middle of the bedroom, Jason pressed his groin against her lips. Sometimes in his work suit, eager to enjoy her. All masterful and seductive. By the end of the pregnancy, in the absence of other penetrative sex, it became a huge turn-on for her. She shook with the need to orgasm, begging him with her mouth locked around his splendid cock.
“Going by blow jobs, we’re fucking more often than we ever did before I got pregnant,” she commented one day as Jason pulled his trousers back up and she wiped her mouth.
“I’m not complaining,” he said with a wry smile. He patted her head. “You’re very attentive and pleasing. I might keep you pregnant for the rest of your fertile life!”
Gemma assumed he was joking—she missed
the more intense levels of their kinky play.
Chapter 7. Misbehaving
For Gemma, sex turned out to be the easiest part of being pregnant. Jason’s rules were another matter. She knew, deep down, they had been given to her for his own pleasure—the gratification of having her under his control. She understood her diet wasn’t that important, as plenty of expectant women ate terrible junk food throughout their pregnancies and produced healthy babies. Jason used her pregnancy to force her to eat healthily.
His protocols became one long play session, and trying to comply with his demands kept her occupied and distracted from negative thoughts and worries. She realised it had been his intention from the moment he suggested the set of rules.
She misbehaved, though. Either through simple forgetfulness or downright disobedience. The folic acid tablets—her first slipup. Even before she made it to the dating scan, she took them haphazardly. He spotted the untaken tablets, which she had left on her bedside table in plain sight.
“Gemma!” Jason called her back out of the bathroom, waving the strip in front of her. “What day is it today?”
“Friday.” She cringed, twisting a foot about on the floor.
He ran his finger along the days of the week printed on the back. “So did you sleep through Wednesday and Thursday? Because the last time you took one was Tuesday.”
“I don’t have any excuses, Sir.” She fell back on polite truthfulness. Then, belatedly, she added her contriteness. “Sorry.”
“You promised me to be diligent with these. From now on, every morning, you kneel here at my feet, open your mouth, and I will put one on your tongue. When I am away on business, I will text you a reminder.” Jason put the strip of pills on his side of the bed.
Her shoulders slumped, while her heart thumped in her chest. His pill-giving ceremony would turn into the kind of little ritual that on the one hand made her squirm and on the other, roused her needy clitoris into action. No doubt, he would ignore the latter and make a big deal about the former.
The matter didn’t end there. The same evening, when they arrived at Blythewood, Jason summoned her to his study. She knelt before his desk, caught sight of the object he held, and grimaced. You’re not sticking it on my nipple!
“Tongue out.”
It pinched. A clothes’ peg on her tongue for half an hour while he worked. Saliva drooled out of her open mouth, the tongue hung over her lower lip, and her jaw ached more and more with each passing minute. Not once did he acknowledge her presence, which pissed her off more than the peg. In the grand scheme of pregnancy, missing a couple of tablets was unlikely to cause complications. He wanted the excuse to have her perched by his desk in discomfort, in close proximity and struggling to decide if it turned her on or not. Given the tingling between her legs and the way her nipples stuck out, she couldn’t hide the fact she would love for him to take her over his desk. He didn’t, though, merely dismissing her from his presence after removing the peg. Glancing over her shoulder as she slunk out, she caught sight of his grin. Things had gone well for both of them.
The big mistake—her coffee fix. Gemma missed the caffeine hit dreadfully, and decaffeinated tasted all wrong. The first week of caffeine withdrawal, she turned into a zombie and forgot her folic acid, leading to her peg-on-tongue reprimand. Subsequently, it seemed coffee was everywhere: the rich scent drifting out of the street cafés the ugly coffee machine at work that always needed cleaning, and the sleek espresso maker in her kitchen. To make matters worse, Jason blatantly drank it in her presence—a small act of sadism on his part, one to irritate her. The overpowering aroma wafted around the kitchen, along with the churning sound of the bean grinder calling to her from across the room.
After her evening Zumba class, Gemma and her friends would go to a café for chitchat, and she had tried to stick to decaffeinated. Her resistance cracked immediately. Surrounded by lattes, cappuccinos, and macchiatos, she weakened. At the first gathering after the instigation of Jason’s rules, she had a caffeinated latte. The next time, she added an unhealthy chocolate muffin to her order. Her own furtive rebellion, and she said nothing to Jason about her defiance—his absence, her blessing.
Three weeks after the rules kicked into play, another visit to the café, and this time, she sipped on her latte and chewed her way through a flapjack while listening to the loud-mouth Glory rabbiting on about something or other. Then her heart sank. He’d come to collect her, an unannounced detour on the way home from a late session in the office. Weaving through the chairs and tables, with nothing more than a dismissive nod to her discreet bodyguard, tucked out of the way in a corner, Jason came and sat next to his wife.
At first, he smiled a great deal, greeted her friends, asked them how they were or if their drinks needed top ups. Gemma remained still and silent, her coffee and flapjack placed right in front of her. There was no denying they were hers.
While the others continued to natter away, Jason moved closer to her and put his mouth by her ear. “Decaf, I hope.”
She didn’t answer, failing to muster a direct lie; she considered it pointless trying, as he could see through them.
“Chocolate-covered flapjack?” He flicked a crumb away with his finger.
“Made from cereals!” Gemma hissed under her breath.
