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He tugged her ponytail, the handle that connected him to her submissive brain. The scalp burst alive with tingles. They rushed down her spine like waves of cold shivers.
Now her breath picked up a pace. “May I ask permission to have you fuck me, Sir,” she gasped messily.
He admonished her with a slap on the thigh. “No, no. Such unpleasant language. I’ll give you a second chance.” He folded his arms across his chest.
She got it. She understood what he wanted. After all, she’d told him in her essay. The clues were all there. She’d asked for his rules, the protocols to drive their relationship forward into new territory. A year had passed since the birth of their son and the beginning of their journey into a continuous stream of domination and submission. Now, far from wishing the agreement to end, she desired more from him, and Jason was about to raise his expectations to a new height. What happened next was not down to her. It was in the hands of her Dominant.
Gemma moved off his lap, knelt at his feet, and spoke again. “Sir. This submissive would be very grateful if her Master would consider having sex with her for his pleasure.”
She kissed his feet in turn. An uninhibited response to the indulgent gaze of his astonishing blue eyes, the brilliant white teeth bared in a broad smile, and the golden hair, framed about his face, shining brightly in the lamplight.
Gemma was so in love with her husband. Her beloved Master.
Cherished by Him
Volume Three of Sublime Trust
Gemma is seeking to fulfil her dream career—to own an art gallery. Aiding her in her endeavours is her Dominant, Jason, who continues to control her with his rules, shaping both her submission and their mutual desire for erotic kink.
While she struggles to accept her extraordinary marriage, her billionaire husband must deal with troublesome siblings and problems at work.
Just as she achieves her ambitions, a forgotten man reappears. Gemma is about to discover the truth behind the memories haunting her.
Chapter 1. Amending the Rules
By the middle of March, my baby son, Joshua, was walking, almost running, such was his eagerness to be independent. He charged about with splayed legs as if he straddled a horse. His nanny, Clara, and I spent many hours trotting behind him as he scampered from room to room practising his newfound skill to exhaustion. He kicked and screamed when we put him down for naps and continued his resistance to captivity by stumbling up and down his cot with tears on his hot cheeks.
His father, my beloved husband and Master, Jason, didn’t see Joshua take those first steps. Clara and I had witnessed the glorious event when Joshua let go of a coffee table and tottered two paces to a nearby chair. The smile on his face said it all—he had been chuffed to bits. For two days, he hadn’t repeated his achievement, until the weekend, when, in Blythewood House’s safe snug, he decided to master the technique. He’d paced a step at a time between Jason and me, as we knelt on the floor giving him words of encouragement. As we’d moved further apart, his confidence grew and he was there—walking. My eyes had pricked with maternal tears as he chuckled to himself, staring at his little feet in amazement.
After Clara and I had spent a day chasing after him, I could see my son had no sense of danger, so I bought baby reins, which amused Jason.
“His first experience of bondage,” remarked Jason, lifting the child off the ground with the reins. “Suspension, too!”
I shot forward, reaching out. “Jason, put him down!”
Jason clucked and lowered Joshua to the floor, handing me the straps. “Keep a tight grip on him.” I didn’t need the instruction. I could never imagine the day when I would let go of Joshua.
As spring blossomed, the buds came out on the saplings in the orchard at Blythewood Estate and the grass grew long, swaying in the wind. Joshua explored every metre of the garden with observant eyes and curious hands, touching and burying his fingers in the moist soil. My heart swelled as he rambled around the garden, trying to kick footballs, chasing the pigeons off the lawn, or digging with a plastic spade.
As Joshua developed, so did I. A never-ending road of learning as I lived my life in a continuous state of submission to my Dominant lover and husband. We were no longer confined to the bedroom or our dungeon lair at Blythewood House, which served as our weekend country retreat from London. After years of marriage, the power exchange dynamic had stretched to wherever we co-habited, at any time of day and regardless of changing circumstances, such as the birth of our son.
Was Jason still developing as my Dominant? Always, except he absorbed his lessons without revealing his thoughts. He continued to file his findings for future use, communicating with other Dominants at his club—the Nightshade—or via emails. I was never party to any of his discussions, but assumed Jason maintained his friendship with fellow Dominants, in particular Damien and Garrick, his long-term mentors. I could only guess, but perhaps he needed a sounding board for dealing with my occasional emotional outburst.
A few weeks into spring, not long after Joshua’s first walk in the garden, Jason dropped the new protocols into my lap. He had written over the existing printed ones in his meticulous penmanship.
“Read. Remember their purpose is a tool for us to use when we are unsure of what each of us expects from this relationship and to help us remember what is important. If you have comments, add them, and I will decide whether to incorporate anything you have said.”
Jason left me to peruse the words while he worked in his study. I clutched the paper in my hand, admiring the neat handwriting, the rows of text—my list of Jason’s expectations and what guided me in our relationship. A year had transpired since he had first given me my rules, now, as promised, it was time for our first an
nual review.
***
Rules. When I first met Jason, we had stated limits for play and a basic set of protocols for my submission to him. Those protocols, which were mainly behavioural ones for me to follow, had been designed for his dungeon lair, where we practised our kinky ways.
Nearly five years on, Jason had revised those rubrics. I noted they had increased in number and complexity, although I didn’t think Jason considered them complicated compared to his legal workplace jargon. Seeing those extra layers of convolution kicked in my adrenaline, making me doubt my abilities.
He’d clarified some rules and, in other places, tightened up the wording to prevent misinterpretation. A few were new and one in particular gave me cause for concern. I scribbled my questions alongside Jason’s—not quite as neatly. Putting down my pen, I gathered up the papers and went in search of my husband.
