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“You’re still, you know….” She jabbed a finger at the necklace. It had never crossed Gemma’s mind that Audrey might think they’d ended their arrangement following Joshua’s birth.
“Yes.” She let go of the necklace. Why had she drawn attention to it?
Audrey seemed uncomfortable, fidgeting in her seat. “With Joshua around?”
“Well, not overtly. Not that he would understand, but we want to get into the habit of being his parents in his company, nothing else.” She clasped her hands tight together, as if in prayer. Please don’t pass judgement on us!
“But you’re still....” The word submissive, mouthed rather than spoken, eyebrows raised and disappearing under her fringe.
She took the bait. Audrey possessed the same knack for extracting information from her as Jason did. Was it the sharp eyes? Or maybe the edginess to her tone? “I am Jason’s submissive, Audrey. I will always be his sub. It’s not as if we have a reason to stop. In fact, it’s becoming so ingrained I don’t think we could if we tried. For me, it’s like being bilingual. The language of marriage and our other relationship fused together. We flit between them with other people, Josh or work. The same common threads existing in both: love and companionship.” Gemma plastered her face with one of her more confident smiles.
“At Christmas, I thought…. Well, you were very discreet.”
“My parents were present. They have no idea, so, yes, we stayed vanilla. Almost vanilla. Nobody sees us in the bedroom.”
Audrey’s face flushed pink. Any further awkward conversations ended with the arrival of her grandson in his nanny’s arms.
Her mother-in-law stayed until Jason came home. After a repeat of the family news catch up, Audrey departed, leaving Jason and Gemma alone, Clara having left earlier.
The moment Joshua fell asleep, Jason’s demeanour changed. Gone, the patient father, the affectionate son, and the attentive husband, who’d kissed his wife in the hallway when she went to meet him. Gemma saw only her Dominant, her Master. He loomed over as she tidied away Joshua’s toys in the snug. His shadow draped over her kneeling body. She didn’t look back.
“We have outstanding matters to discuss. Go to the lair and wait for me.” Her pulse immediately spun out of control. Under her T-shirt, goose bumps sprung up on her skin, and her knuckles went white as she gripped the building block in her fist.
Chapter 21. An Oversight
Jason instructed her where to go and how to position her naked body for binding. He bound her breasts into the protruding balls of round flesh, which discoloured them into a shade of pink. Her upper torso, he semi-suspended, using ropes attached to the ceiling rigging and, via another set of ropes, he attached the loops about her breasts to rings at the front end of the table. Almost immobilised, he left her half-bent over the padded table, her nipples hanging close to the surface. Using leather cuffs, he strapped her ankles to the rounded table legs. One on each corner, spreading her wide and exposing her sex.
Throughout his methodical rope work, Gemma inhaled slowly through her nostrils and blew out from her mouth. Mental preparation was critical. It didn’t matter how she entered the room, whether excited, curious, or downright nervous, the outcome she wanted was always the same—exhilarated, sexually satiated and Jason a happy man.
His tone of voice implied reprimand. Perfunctory in style, with no salacious words or enticing, humorous teases, he projected his commands with a cool aim, bouncing them off the walls and into her waiting ears. Her pussy clenched as he demonstrated his dominance. For a brief moment, she revelled in her state of abject vulnerability.
The sight of the clover clamps, along with the round stone weights with their little hooks, made her rigid with apprehension. She tracked them as he waved them before her eyes. Smooth pebbles, so innocent and almost beautiful in appearance, handcrafted, she suspected, but unappreciated by her when he used them. He attached the clamps to the nipples, letting them pinch each one tightly. She screeched in discomfort, blinked, refusing to even countenance tears. Biting her lip, she waited for his interrogation to begin.
Jason stood on the opposite side of the table, leant over, and rested his elbows on the surface. “Why didn’t you tell me about the unisex changing room?” He picked up a weight, wafting it back and forward like a pendulum. His eyebrows raised slightly. A subtle change in his otherwise expressionless face.
“An oversight.” Gemma winced. Damn. She wanted to rewind and wipe out the ridiculous word. “I didn’t know when I signed up for the class. Sir,” she quickly added.
Jason clucked his tongue. “Oversight. We’ve had issues with your oversights before, haven’t we? I suggest you avoid the word.” Sharply said and fitting for his reprimanding mode. Her corrective Master, not her playful one had taken up residence in the dungeon lair.
Ignore the blasted tits!
She met his gaze and spoke her next words carefully. “I will use the cubicles to change, Sir.” The longer the clamps pinched her nipples the worse they would be when he removed them.
“You’d better. Because, sometimes, this lovely skin of yours may not be so pristine.” He referred to his marking her. Temporary marks, which could endure for several days, unseen beneath her clothing.
“Of course, Sir.” She felt indignant. As if she would parade about in a public space half-naked.
“One weight for the changing room.”
He suspended a slim metal chain between the two clamps and added a weight. Her bound breasts had hardly any slack. Instantly, a sharp pain enveloped her poor nipples as they stretched downwards. She yelped, and her eyes watered.
Breathe. Concentrate. Fucking concentrate.
Jason snorted and gave the weight a flick of his finger. “Then we have the matter of you hanging the phone up on me. Disrespectful, don’t you think? I certainly think so.”
Don’t bloody argue with him.
“Yes, Sir. I apologise. I was upset.” With you…. She didn’t say that either. A film of bleariness covered her vision as she fought with unshed tears.
