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“The one in the safe.”
The private album of intimate photos and pictures included snapshots of a degraded Gemma, taken not long after they had moved into the White House. Recent additions included prints made by the graphic artist, Enrique. Completed in inks, the series of debauched pictures was stylish and loosely based on their sexual exploits on the Sublime. Gemma had grown to like the portraits, reminders of a special voyage.
The safe had become a secret repository of her kinky adventures.
Part Two
Chapter 10. The Arrival
Gemma went into labour on a Sunday. The same week as her 28th birthday and two days after her due date. Exhausted by sleepless nights, constant indigestion, and plagued by swollen ankles, she didn’t care to celebrate her birthday. She snapped at Jason, but he remained tight lipped. Babies came when they were ready, according to Maggie.
She forgot most of the Sunday. The recollections of early labour, pacing around the bedroom while Jason watched her progress, slipped away. The car journey to the hospital and the subsequent hours of protracted labour were gone in a haze of exhaustion. Later, snippets came back to her in daydreams or waking moments, as if an implant had burst to life.
Jason’s attempts at humour and distraction punctuated her spell in the birthing pool. He asked if she wanted to be held under for a breath play session. She glared at him but it began a session of banter about water play for a while.
“It’s not deep enough. Completely inadequate facilities, very disappointing. I had in mind to treat you to a little nipple suspension.” He splashed the water with his fingertips.
“Would you like me to stick my head under water for you? A do-it-yourself version?”
“That would be topping, I think, don’t you? You’re passive, I’m active.”
“I think very much that at this precise moment, I’m active!” she growled, and another contraction hit her.
The pool failed to provide comfort. Her skin fostered wrinkles like a prune, and she decided to get out. She found all fours or bending over more amenable. Jason took a more active role than earlier in the labour. He reminded her about her breathing, massa
ged the lower back or sat behind, supporting Gemma when she rested between contractions.
As her contractions grew more frequent, painful, and longer, she ceased caring who witnessed their private moments. Jason continued to cajole her, a kind of gentle annoyance, which made her both laugh and snap at him.
“Would this be easier if I had brought the flogger, darling? A warming glow to the skin while you stretch below. It usually works.”
She crushed his forearm. “Don’t you dare think of fisting me!”
He laughed. “No? We could meet in the middle. My son and I could even shake hands.”
He tried to pull free, but she clung on, digging in her nails. “Argh! Keep your hands where I can see them, Sir.” She relaxed a fraction, as the contraction ebbed then released her grip on him.
With an amused snort, he changed tack. “You didn’t want the stirrups? I’m disappointed. I thought they were your favourite piece of furniture. Restraints? Would a little tie-me-down help focus the mind. Alternatively, maybe up.” He peered at the ceiling, lips pursed. “The light fitting doesn’t look very strong. Shame they didn’t think to put a hook up there.”
She visualised his scenario and snickered. “Giving birth suspended? How kinky. I quite like the sound of that. You’d have to catch the baby on the way out. All that pressure. Were you good at catching when you played cricket?”
He looked at his hands, flexing them. “Um. Out of practice. I think you should stay on the floor.”
That comment ended the exchange. The next contraction hit a new threshold of pain. She gave in to it. Jason’s voice called her back from somewhere. A persistent, demanding voice telling her to concentrate and not to float off. He brought out his dominant persona, stopping her from panicking and losing her way.
She caught his eyes, gazing down between her legs. She pushed her body hard through the pain. That was how their son arrived into the world. A full head of yellow hair, squawk of annoyance at being disturbed from his happy place, and then he settled on Gemma’s hot belly.
“Well done, Gem. He’s here.” Jason kissed her sweaty forehead.
Maggie delivered the placenta with minimal fuss and with Gemma barely noticing—she was infatuated with her son. Jason, his emotions visible and unveiled, stroked her perspiration-soaked, knotted hair. Those rare moments when his eyes glistened, watery and affected, she cherished.
They named him Joshua. An easy choice of name. Jason wanted the same initials as his own, and they liked Joshua best.
A perfectly formed baby, Maggie told them. Her son rested on her belly while she dozed, exhausted.
Later, Gemma tried to feed her son with mixed success. His small head rocked about trying to find the nipple. Then he sucked, and she couldn’t help but notice he sucked hard. She could hear his gulps.
“That’s definitely your gob, not mine,” commented Jason standing to leave.
