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She expected rough sex. The kind that put a strain on her bindings and stimulated the endorphins.
She misinterpreted his intentions. She cried, tears trickling down her cheeks. No pounding thrusts nor jarring of her belly with the stiff end of his cock greeted her. He fucked sweetly. He put to work his ever-skilful fingers and lips. He delved into her, lingering with each dip of hips. His mouth sought out and found a nipple. Sucking it into his mouth, he slowly stretched it out, elongating the apex and letting go just as she couldn’t bear it. To his cocktail of sensual teasing, he added the occasional nibble of his teeth, or flick of his tongue. She whimpered in ecstasy.
“Shhh, babe. I love you. Come for me,” he said as he eased in and out, methodically massaging her vagina.
“Oh, Master, make me yours,” she groaned. “Please.” She gave him the signal and summoned forth her Dominant, who waited in the wings to strike.
He coiled his hands loosely about her neck. A light squeeze, and her brain received the transmitted message. Her jaws clenched, suppressing a scream. The orgasm ricocheted throughout her body, spiralling out from her contracting pussy, her buttocks clenched and her toes curled. She held her breath and basked in the climax. As she came, Jason continued to fuck. He fucked through her orgasm, grinding, banging, maintaining his pace and not letting her rest. He exploded, delivering his liquid gift with appreciable grunt then panting he heaved himself off her splayed form, spraying tiny droplets of perspiration over her breasts.
“Thank you,” she whispered. She meant more than the sex. He’d reclaimed her.
“My pleasure, babe.”
Later, after she’d been unbound, cleansed, and treated to a muscle-relaxing massage, she lay on his chest. No hairs to twirl in her fingers, she absent-mindedly fingered one of his dainty nipples while he stroked her hair.
“I’m proud of you, babe. The piercing. You know what it means to me to have your consent.”
“It doesn’t change my hard limit. This is a one-off.”
“I know.” He kissed her head.
The details of the piercing were put to one side. It was in his hands, now, and she would wait until he was ready. A gift offered, and he wouldn’t forget. Gemma snuggled down, her eyelids drooping, and she fell into a peaceful sleep.
Chapter 26. An Essay
Gemma struggled to sit down the next day for two reasons. The after effects of the spanking, which during the sex she’d absorbed, re-stated itself in the form of a sore bottom. The second reason—she was to face her blackmailer, and the nervous excitement created much agitation. Clara had been giving her strange looks all day. She could see Gemma flitting about and avoiding chairs, but said nothing.
Gemma, due to her peculiar style of logic, remained blissfully happy about the punishment. Negative emotions had been purged and the incident filed away as:
One of those stupid debacles that Gemma instigates when she doesn’t have her head screwed on right.
Stupidity became the subject of the essay she wrote during that day. An instruction from Jason when he got out of bed in the morning, after receiving his wake-up blow job.
“Keep you occupied, won’t it? A piece on why you need rules,” he said as he straightened his tie in the mirror. “Handwritten.”
She smiled at his request. He was doing her a favour, and she knew it. A busy mind kept her from sinking into bad mental places. Sitting at her own desk at the White House, she laced the essay with wit and humour, while keeping the reasons behind her needing rules clear and expressive.
***
I’m impulsive and indecisive: a terrible combination because my judgement is rubbish as a result. I rush in and beat my head at it rather than apply my brain cells. When I know what I’m doing, I sink in a puddle of contentment. If I can’t work out what to do, somebody, you, Master, telling me what to do is the best thing.
I love sex. Being fucked hard in every hole is my paradise, and I could be lost there forever. I’m insatiable. I know it, you know it. Thinking of you all day makes me wet. Just like a dog waiting for its master to come home and take it for a walk. I’m looking at my lead all day, hoping it will be attached to my little collar and take me somewhere thrilling. Without rules or protocols, I would be an uncaring, selfish whore and a disaster for any man who came my way.
When I’m a subbie, I want only you. Your leash, your command, and my obedience. You have that voice that cuts through my addled neurosis and pulls out the person who only wishes to please and delight you. The rest is scythed away.
I don’t like being punished. I’ve tried to avoid being a subbie who attracts attention by being disobedient. That has never been at the forefront of my mind. I know you don’t enjoy punishing me, so what’s the point? I want to make you happy, not pissed off. Please don’t think I break your rules for attention—once, maybe, but no more.
I can no longer deny the fact that we, in the world of BDSM, are sadist and masochist. Even when you punish me, I think I’m fighting to keep the pain slut inside me at bay. The rest of the time, I think I’m proud of her. That horny slut in me. She goes walkabout and up in the air when you make me super subbie at the same time – hint! (Not that I’m telling you what to do!). I’m not sure where I want to take her yet. My pain slut. I need your guidance. Your advice, because I think you know where you want to take that sadist inside you. Your self-control gives me the confidence to follow you there. With your rules, you also guide me.
I struggle with humiliation, doing something I don’t like or not in the mood to do. I don’t get off on humiliation alone. I do if you’re being super Dom at the same time. I would do anything for my super Dominant. I get a kick out of doing silly things just because you tell me to do them, and I’m making your freaky control genes explode with the power it gives you.
I want to be positive about my life. My creative abilities, being a mum and a wife. I worry that I’m not good enough. I know I’m strong and determined, but I don’t use those skills to the best of my ability. I let myself become rudderless and inarticulate. I give up too easily when things get tough. Then I act up. Brainless. I become impatient and petulant hoping to resolve them quickly. I want to help Emily. I like helping people. I want to have an art gallery now. I want Josh to say he loves me now. I want my parents to be always happy with me and above all else, I want to please you, Master. Now!
Not surprising that I need rules, because my dreams are impossible and ridiculous. If I can’t bend and ply myself to achieve them, you can. You make me like clay, useful and pliable. Not just for the sex, but in so many other ways. Please keep training me, giving me rules, even new ones, I don’t mind. I want to improve, better myself for you. And me. I still have those selfish bones tucked away.
I’ve learnt to please with my body. I’ve learnt to give you my pain. I’ve learnt to give you my obedience. One thing I have not learnt, because I’ve never had to, is to give you my love. That comes naturally. I am most definitely your submissive. No one else will tame me, take me, or own me EVER. That love is stre
ngthened when I’m guided and controlled by your love. Your domination. Your wonderful rules.
