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“They’re your friends.”
“Your friends, too.”
“I just want you to feel proud.”
“Oh, Gem. You and your bloody self-esteem. I think, underneath all this supposed angst about tomorrow, you’re actually worried about your gallery, and it
’s rubbing on off on other things.” He rose, stretching his legs, which made me envious.
I pondered his remark as he untied my stiff, contorted right leg, allowing me to stand on two legs. Had I transferred my worries from one area to another? Possibly. One thing he was right about; I had to let it go and enjoy the dinner party.
Jason retrieved the vibrating wand and fed it between my legs. He went back to fucking me, and it was the right thing to do. My attitude didn’t negate his need for pleasure and, with each thrust, I discovered my lost arousal, encouraged by the electric pulse of the vibrator and his unceasing dominance.
My mind stayed entirely in the world of that room, my master’s dungeon. I whimpered as the rough sex continued, driving me towards my climax. This time, I had no problems finding it.
“Oooh, fuck!” I wailed.
“Now, Gemma. Hard for me, babe, come hard.” His voice was masterful, and I quivered in delight at his command. The stupendous orgasm enveloped my entire body, cramping my already restricted muscles, and I cried out as he ejaculated.
He untied me in a particular fashion, enabling me to uncrick my body and prevent injury. The blood hurtled through freed limbs, as I shook my extremities. I peered around my body and saw the marks of rope pattern.
Jason prodded my back. “Lie on the bed. I’ll give you a massage.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
He spoke as he kneaded his oiled fingers into my back. “I know you’re disappointed, but sometimes scenes don’t go as planned. It happens.”
“I got muddled in my head. I was okay until my leg gave out. All my sexy thoughts got distracted by worries, and I couldn’t focus. You were mad at me—”
“Mad at you? No, babe. Disappointed, perhaps, you weren’t able to come. If I was mad, do you think I would let you stand on two legs and give you the wand? Eh? I’m a sadist, remember? A few tears don’t put me off. I’d fuck you regardless.” He guffawed, but I sensed he didn’t want to admit he found it harder to be sadistic. When was the last time he’d pushed me to tears and snot just for his pleasure? He turned me over to face him, and he certainly seemed content. “We got there in the end.”
“Sorry.” I sniffed, wiping my nose with back of my hand, which made him roll his eyes, mocking me with a false frown.
“No more self-flagellation. How many times do I have to tell you, I punish, not you. The truth is, I prefer it if you enjoy yourself, too.” His words echoed my thoughts. I looped my arms about his neck, forcing him down to my mouth, and he gave me one of his special kisses. My blood curdled in my veins.
Breaking free of my clutches, he slid to one side. “Come and help me bundle the ropes then you can have a bath.”
Jason flicked my aching clitoris with his finger. His last little admonishment, and I snapped out of my misery and helped sort out the tangle of ropes.
***
The dinner was a huge success all round, both with the food—homemade paté, chicken in a citrus sauce with rice followed by sorbet—company, and conversation. As well as fellow Nightshade co-owner, Garratt with his consensual slave, Judith, Jason had invited his American friend, Damien, who was on an extended visit to the UK. No American submissive with him, as he had taken a break for training, his preferred kink.
To keep him company, Damien arrived with a Nightshade Club submissive, Monique, whom he’d trained during his spell of living in England. They appeared very comfortable with each other’s company, and an air of nostalgia and reminiscing had occupied most of their conversations.
Those two couples elected to stay the night and were familiar with the house, including Monique, which was unnerving for me, as it confirmed what I had always suspected—she had been a regular visiting submissive prior to Jason’s courtship of me.
The other two couples were first-time visitors to Blythewood House, although not to the dinner tables at our London townhouse. I’d been delighted when Jason suggested we invite Matthew and Eva. They existed in the same realm as Jason and I had before my pregnancy—a relationship defined by broad rules with a semi-flexible approach to doing scenes, their Domination and submission mainly confined to the bedroom or visits to Jason’s club.
The other couple were a marked contrast. Sebastian had had the company of several women during his search for the elusive submissive who would meet his particular requirements. What he had always wanted he’d found a year earlier: Zoe. Sebastian had Zoe’s day wrapped around a timetable of events designed to please him and keep her under his thumb. My friend loved it, she’d told me on numerous occasions.
My previous encounters with Sebastian had always left me cold. A man who displayed little emotion other than a raised eyebrow or a frown of displeasure, his approach to submission seemed too disparaging for my taste, too dismissive of a submissive’s needs. Sebastian’s style of domination should offend Jason, and the fact it clearly hadn’t annoyed me. Upon hearing of his invitation, I’d asked Jason why he paid so much attention to a man who took everything very seriously and without passion.
“That’s his upbringing. Stiff upper lip and no personal emotions on display,” Jason had replied. “Sebastian comes from an aristocratic background and went to boarding school. I don’t think he saw much of the outside world until he started working as a stockbroker. However, his email correspondence with me shows a different man, Gem. He doesn’t harp on about pushing limits or perfect scenes. He frets about the emotional impact, good aftercare, and resolving issues without resorting to punishments or disciplining everything. Quite a contrast to his outward persona. He just needs to find the right girl to fit his needs.”
Before my first meeting with Zoe, I’d visions of a quiet, demur young lady who would be mouse-like and mute. Far from my vision, Zoe was chatty and vivacious. Certainly not how I pictured Sebastian’s idea of a submissive. How wrong I was, as he seemed quite taken by her, a contrast to his attitude towards his former subs, who’d rarely lasted more than a few months.
We sat around the spacious oak dining table in our dinner suits and posh frocks, while the conversation meandered between topics with a mixture of frivolity or gravity interlaced. Nobody was criticised for their opinion; we were generous and polite towards each other. We came from diverse backgrounds and embodied different ways to achieve happiness.
