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“Sorry. Forgot they would be in the way.” Jason ran his fingers over her face, peering closely in search of marks. “You’re okay. I’ll take them off. All right?” He shifted out of his shorts.
“I suppose,” she said with a huff. “Let me do this my way. I can give you a much better blow job without you sticking it down me.”
“Very well. Suck hard. I want a good one.” He wasn’t going to let her off easily. Her safe-word called for an adjustment, not a halt in the proceedings. “Ready to continue?” He stood over her again.
“Yes. Sir,” she added with a deliberate amount of hesitation. Opening her mouth, she let him slip inside.
He continued, though she did notice the depth of penetration had lessened. She used her tongue and lips rhythmically and methodically.
Gemma prided herself on her skills at fellatio. In her early years of sexual awakening, she hadn’t enjoyed the practice. She didn’t like the texture of a man’s penis in her mouth. When she began her submissive voyage of discovery, another necessity had been required: deep throating and swallowing semen without spilling a drop.
“If you want to be used like a sub,” one submissive friend had told her, “you’ve got to let him do what he wants. Oral sex is a big turn on for men, especially Doms; it gives them a real kick seeing you on your knees between their legs.”
Gemma had grimaced in response. “I feel like I’m going to puke.”
Her friend had given her bags full
of tips and advice. How to use a toothbrush at the back of the mouth to train it and overcome the gag reflex. A little exercise every day that helped reduce Gemma’s natural response to an object in an inappropriate place. Breathing through her nose, unless the Dom stoppered her nostrils, in which case he wanted the thrill of breath control in addition to the oral sex. For a long while, breath control had been a hard limit until she met a Dom she could trust sufficiently to teach her how to inhale deeply and grab breaths between thrusts of his rather substantial cock.
The grin-and-bear technique stood her in good stead in her early years of sexual discovery, until she found she adored having her mouth around a cock. Jason, well aware of the acceptability of a man’s creamy liquid in a woman’s mouth, drank sweet juices like pineapple and flushed out his body with plenty of water. He had told her since blow-jobs were a major part of both their vanilla and D/s sexual repertoires, she should experiment with what helped her enjoy swallowing his semen. He remained adamant she should swallow his ejaculate without fuss. Unfortunately, when it came to rough oral gratification, she returned to grin-and-bear mode.
He had resumed his serene stance, and this time, she felt the surge inside her. A tingle and buzzing sensation about her clit, which meant she was pleasing him as much as herself.
God, my sex god standing over me. Big cock in my mouth. My titan!
Her adolescent image of the perfect man, her titan, entered her head, and she gave Jason a strong suck. The ejaculation hit the back of her mouth, and she swallowed. His face contorted and hands clawed at the pole with the intensity of his orgasm.
“Yes! Fuck, yes!” he growled as he withdrew from her mouth.
Trickles of semen and saliva ran down her chin, and she licked her tongue around her lips to mop up the spillage. Jason briefly surveyed Gemma. Slipping on his shorts, he called out to Enrique. The man had been standing under the archway, watching and waiting.
“Señor?” Enrique said as he approached Jason.
“Can you draw her? Make her an image of a fucked slave tied to a sailing mast? I want to capture this for prosperity. Can you make one of your paintings out of this? Anonymously.”
Enrique scratched his head, pursing his lips.
To Gemma’s mortification, not only had the man been watching, he now eyed her up and down gleefully.
“Sure. I’ll sketch it out quickly.”
His sketchpad and pencil were nearby. He always kept them close.
“Good, because I don’t think her knees will last. Hold still, Gem.”
Not wanting to witness the artist at work, she closed her eyes and took deep breaths. Throughout the scene, Jason had shifted her emotions from one extreme to another. Her pleasure at seeing him in his world of Dominant space had been countered by her spanking, her aching jaw, and now the humiliation of having Enrique draw her in the ridiculous “pose” bound to a pole at the top of a luxurious yacht.
Opening her eyes again, she blinked in the sunlight. Opposite, Jason reclined in a seat at the apex of the bow of the deck. Enrique scribbled away next to him.
“Done.”
She couldn’t complain about the speed of his pencil hand. Jason came over and untied her ropes. She felt crippled and collapsed into his arms. He lifted her up and deposited her on the lounger. She lay on her side, and he draped a towel over her, offering her a glass of water. She drank the contents in one go.
“Let’s see what you’ve done, Enrique.” Jason waved him over.
Gemma stared at the picture. It was her, but not her. Certainly not her face. A caricature of a terrified slave girl. Hair bound and tied to the pole, making the skin on the face stretch taut. The rope around the breasts had made them melon-shaped and sized. He had added a dildo between the legs, protruding from the vagina.
“When I add colour, I will include whip marks across the belly. Sí?” He swiped his finger back and forth across as if he was whipping the girl in the picture.
