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“I know. Lunch is not our usual time, but Mr Lucas is abroad and I wanted to treat my friend here.” She pointed at Mina and smiled.
Vict
or bowed his head. “Of course. I understand there has been a…misunderstanding,” he murmured.
“The young waiter over there seemed to have spent too much time looking and not listening to our order. My friend asked for well-done steak. The plate is bloody, Victor. Not the standard of service we would expect.”
Victor blushed once again. The redness rose up from his neck, and his veins stood out. “Naturally. This will be rectified immediately. I apologise to the mademoiselle.” He picked the plate up. “Marcel has only been with us for a month.” He seemed to think Marcel’s inexperience was a sufficient explanation. Gemma did not.
A fresh plate appeared promptly, and Mina, carving into the dark brown meat, had to admit the steak was perfect the second time around. She wiped her lips with her napkin. “How do you know the manager’s name?”
“Oh. Well…you see, Jason owns this restaurant.” Gemma gave a small, apologetic shrug. She hadn’t intended to tell Mina. She preferred to keep her privileges secret. “I should say he doesn’t have anything to do with running it. He has a whole big hospitality division to do that. Hotels, golf courses, other leisure facilities, here in the UK and abroad. Handy, sometimes, for getting a table at short notice and keeping the staff on their toes.” She grinned, and Mina added her own beautiful smile.
***
Leaning on the wall by the closet, Jason listened to Gemma’s retelling of her luncheon tale. He didn’t move. He reacted slightly when she mentioned the waiter’s attitude towards Mina. He knew the colour of Mina’s skin without Gemma having to draw attention to it.
“I’m glad you had a good time.” A brief comment, which she suspected, underplayed his true reaction.
“Show me the photo,” requested Jason, moving the conversation on to the unpleasant topic of the blackmail note. She’d placed the photo in an envelope in the bottom drawer of the tallboy. Kneeling, she took it out from where she’d buried it under her socks and handed it to Jason without rising from her position on the carpet.
Taking it out of the envelope, he held it up to the light. “You don’t recognise the man?”
“Ashamed to say, no. No one I would have gone off with alone. Just a party acquaintance. I served anyone who asked. Except intercourse. Me, being inhibited in the presence of others, you know, my humiliation issue. In any case, such parties would be platonic. No sex.”
“Not inhibited enough not to be thoroughly paddled. You’re spaced out.” Jason turned the photo over and held it up for her to see.
“I assume that was the reason I can’t remember any details. Not something I could explain to Gibson. Is that what I look like?” The picture showed her mouth ajar, eyes shut, and her limp body wilting across a lap.
“Yep. Pretty much what you appear like.” Jason grinned for a second before examining the back of the print. “It has been scanned from the original I think. A grainy quality. Reprinted on photographic paper.” He popped it back in the envelope, which he placed on top of the tallboy. A clear indication he’d taken possession of it.
She twirled a lock of hair between her fingers. “Are you going to work…the office I mean?”
He shook his head. “Martinson will be calling by this afternoon. He has some questions for you.”
Another interrogation. The horrible blackmail noted filled her with foreboding. She didn’t want to think about it. She wanted something quite different.
Jason shifted and stood over her. The room fell silent, except for her breathing. She concentrated hard on appearing meek, not wanting to reveal her restlessness. He wasn’t going back to work. Ridiculous erotic images chased about her head, weaving together into a familiar montage of lust. The hub of them, her passionate need to be in his arms. Following three days of separation, she’d developed a bottomless appetite for sex.
Gemma kept her eyes down, and he went back into the closet, fetching something. He tapped it against his leg, catching her attention.
“Middle of the room. Bend over, please.” He used a smooth, stern voice that oozed out of his mouth and melted into her, making her insides do somersaults.
He pointed at a spot with the cane. She crawled over to it, stood up, and bent over, grasping the backs of her knees. For a minute, she couldn’t work out what she was being punished for, what serious transgression she had committed. He rested his hand on her back before tracking down to caress her bottom. The palm slipped between her legs, travelled along her slit, and she shivered, knowing his fingers would find the evidence of her weakness. He smeared the wetness over the raised buttocks and then, without warning, flicked the cane against her bottom. Once. Twice. Then more. Teasing swipes, which made the cane bounce on and off her with a ping.
Not a punishment. The force of his swishing arm fell short of what she’d expect from a disciplinary caning. Her body relaxed, as much as she could without falling over. The photograph of her marks - made by another’s hand—had spurred Jason to create his own. The cane moved about her bottom, thighs, and farther down, reaching her slender calves. A constant stream of tapping. She gasped at the harder ones, wriggling her toes in the carpet fibres and her body swayed back and forth, as she tried to maintain balance.
Most of snaps of the cane stung or bit. He’d chosen a slim cane, the kind that whipped through the air, rather than a heavier one, which would land with a painful, jaw-clenching thud. Every few blows, he rubbed her down, spreading the heat. He roved between her legs, touching her supersensitive sex, still swollen from her earlier orgasms. She floated in a fog of pain. Daydreaming, she concocted fantasies—the naughty schoolgirl bent over remained her favourite. Each crack of the cane supplanted anxious thoughts. Pure escapism, and it was exactly what she needed from him. The delicious lust that had filled her since his return grew and overcame the discomfort, blurring the boundaries between pain and pleasure.
The caning continued, unabated. The inevitable climax hovered expectantly. It would need assistance to finish.
Her arms shook, struggling to keep their grip. “Please, I would like to come. Please, Sir. For you, Sir. Please.”
“Hush. Stand up.” Calm instructions. So unlike her rambling words.
She wobbled as the blood rushed out of her head. Jason clasped the back of her neck, pinching lightly, easing her back. She rested against his naked chest and felt it rise and fall as he breathed rapidly.
“Legs spread.”
