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“Yes, please.”
“So, how was that lesson?” Jason turned on the taps, and the water shot out of the showerhead, splashing against their skin. “Tip your head back.”
The water cascaded down her back as she sat between his knees. “My legs gave out.”
“I noticed. Poor Maria. You sat on her face.”
“She didn’t complain.” She grinned, recollecting the earlier scene, an educational one intended to improve her sexual versatility. It had ended rather abruptly when Maria’s darting tongue proved too much for Gemma.
“She can breathe through her nose, fortunately. This shampoo?”
“Yes. Your favourite.”
He sniffed the open bottle. “Certainly smells good.” Jason lathered her hair into a white foam.
“What other lessons do you have in mind?”
“It’s time to add some ropes, string you up again. Maybe a zipper or a good hard flogging.”
He rinsed her hair out. Gemma fell silent at the word zipper—it referred to the use of clothes pegs in a line on a piece of string. Pull the string and the pegs snap off in quick succession—a painful and pleasurable combination if done during an orgasm.
Jason wrung her hair out and kissed her neck. “Done. The clothes pegs scare you? We’ve done the zipper several times.”
Gemma stood up and, reaching for a towelling head wrap, bound it about her hair. “We haven’t done it in a while. Sometimes, I forget whether I actually enjoyed it or not. The more pegs you add, the longer they’re on before they come off, and the pain lingers longer. I’m telling you this because you have no idea. What’s your pain threshold like, Jason?”
She wrapped another towel about her chest. A small, enigmatic smile curved his lips. She couldn’t interpret its origins.
“Not as good as yours. I’m aware of how clothes pegs work. I had a zipper done on me once.” He took the bath sheet she offered and rose out of the water.
She froze, replaying his last sentence, registering its significance. “You have? When? Why?”
“Oh, long time ago. Simple curiosity. When Damien started to let me join in with his scenes, while he mentored me, I realised I had no idea what it was like to be on the receiving end. Not as a submissive, simply as a bottom. He suggested I try a few things out. If I wanted to understand the nature of the pain I was going to inflict on my subs, I should be on the receiving end. A good philosophy.”
Gemma remained gobsmacked, her mouth opening and shutting in the goldfish style that so amused Jason. An incredulous image of him on the receiving end occupied her thoughts. “What else did you try?”
Jason rubbed his legs dry. “Oh. Not much. I can’t recreate some of the things you experience. I don’t have the right body parts, for one thing. Zipper was an easy one to try. Some chemical play, though not on sensitive parts, on my forearm. The cane, whip, and paddle.”
“I can’t believe this. You submitted—”
Jason’s hand stopped moving. He straightened. “No. Not submitted, I allowed somebody to demonstrate on me. Not a scene. No submissives present. I was curious. That’s all. So, I am well aware of how clothes pegs feel on the flesh.”
Gemma removed her covering. She pictured Jason covered in pegs. Her hand holding the string. She didn’t know if it excited her or not. “I can’t get the image out of my head of you—”
He flicked her nipple, making her jump back, covering her breasts with her arms. “If it lingers too long, my little subbie, I shall find a way of distracting you from thinking about it. Time to dry your hair. Maria can braid it, assuming Enrique has finished with her. He likes to fuck her after she has been naughty
with you.”
Gemma held out her hand for Jason’s towel. She couldn’t stop thinking about Jason. Now, she saw him bent over. “Somebody caned you! Who?”
Ten minutes later, she wasn’t thinking about Jason being a bottom. Over his lap, he walloped her bottom with the palm of his hand. Another to add to the considerable collection he had landed her backside.
“Now, what are you thinking of?” A sharp yank on her scalp, and he pulled her head up. She tried not to grin at him. Heat radiated out of her bottom. Spanked on a wet bum, she had resorted to various techniques to take her mind off the pain of his stinging handprints.
“Mr Mistoffelees, Sir,” she yelped. “What else!” She referred to a poem she used to help escape. Her love of T.S. Eliot poetry came in handy when she needed to distract herself. She often called upon the verses lodged in her memory. Her first Master had been a fan of the musical Cats, and it had been at his suggestion that she learnt the words by heart.
She struggled to fight off a fit of giggles. Each time she caught her breath, another wave of ridiculous sniggers erupted out of her mouth. She knew it wasn’t a serious admonishment. Her feet waggled up and down like flippers. An image of a seal spread over Jason’s knees came to mind, and it set off another stream of titters.
Jason stopped spanking and pushed her naked body off his lap. She flopped onto the floor, clutching a buttock cheek.
