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“No! Please, no. What could you possibly do to me to make me come?” She was sure she was beyond any sexual response with her body deflated and throbbing badly in places.
“Oh, I know exactly what will make you come,” he teased.
“I’m telling you I’m spent,” she said firmly.
“My dear, I’ve gotten orgasms out of girls in a worse state than you. Believe me.”
He knelt next to her and leant over her, his face fixed on hers. A faint, wicked smile formed on his face, like photograph developing in a dark room. She found him very imposing, and her breathing picked up in pace. His handsome naked body, irresistible. She had claimed nothing was happening inside her. A lie. Her brain couldn’t switch off her greedy sexual appetite.
She had to show resistance. The game required it. He would want her to hold back from him, add to the challenge. “Oh, no, you’re not going to prove a point with me.” She started to sit up, but he pushed her back down.
“Unfortunately, I’ve decided I will. Why are you giving me such ungrateful looks? I’m about to give you pleasure for nothing.” He parted her legs.
“Jason, what are you doing? Sir!” she shrieked as he started to lick her.
His fingers found her clitoris and, with a slow circular movement, rubbed her gently. The dramatic arousal made her body quiver. He sucked and tickled her with his fluttering tongue. Fingers continued to seek out her clit and to drive her to another climax.
“I can’t!”
“No can nots. You will. Because I demand it.” In between words, his tongue darted in and out of her. Then he paused and slapped her thighs several times. “Where is the fucking gratitude, slave. Your orgasm quota is way up on mine. I’ll leave you half-baked if you don’t give me serious gratitude!”
“Thank you. Thank you. Please, don’t stop. Please, make me come. You’re the best, Master,” she gushed as he buried his face deep within her.
Another splendid, body-wrenching orgasm. She wept into the pillow as his fingers kept her going for what felt like an eternity.
Her final sapping orgasm had left Jason fired up, his body demanded his own kind of gratification, and she simply would do whatever he wished, indebted to him.
He sat astride her legs and slapped her breasts hard with his right hand. “Next time, you show your gratitude quicker. Don’t make me fucking ask for it.”
He smacked at her branded breasts repeatedly until he transformed the undyed skin pink and her responses flitted between pleasure and pain. Bizarrely, she wanted him to treat her so, to repay his generosity with her submission, to give her body to him and her willingness to accept his sadistic side.
With his back to the panoramic window, his shadow cast a darkness over her body. Beyond, through the window, she saw dazzling blue sky and wisps of cloud. Another flick of his wrist, and she winced as her tender flesh stung from his smack. A chuckle accompanied his little slaps. Something moved across the view beyond Jason. A bird perhaps? Another bobbing flicker of movement, hovering at the window edge, then gone. She wondered what a seagull would make of her submission, her desire and need to be treated as her husband’s sexual plaything. Nothing. A bird, fortunately for them, had no opinions.
She lay with her arms stretched wide away from her body. An act of capitulation, as if she was on a cross. Her focus returned to Jason and his looming presence. She wriggled beneath him, very aware of her aroused clitoris, still pulsating from her last orgasm.
“I’m sorry, Sir. I apologise for my ingratitude!” she howled, knowing how he loved the sound of contrition.
He ceased smacking her sensitive breasts. She barely noticed he reached his own climax with the vigorous action of his tugging hand. Grasping her hair and pulling her head off the pillow, he groaned and came over her face, spurting across her cheeks and lips.
“Thank you, Sir. Thank you for coming on me. Thank you,” she whimpered, nursing her sore breasts with her hands. The unique connection she felt with her husband had been achieved. Not through lovemaking or tender words, but by her submission. A capitulation that enthralled her.
They lay side by side, breathing heavily, eyes shut. Gemma didn’t move. His semen trickled down her face, and she licked her lips.
“Mmmm!” she murmured. “Tasty.”
“Gemma. Go wash your face. I know what you did last night. Sleeping with my semen all over you. It’s repulsive”—he flicked her arm—“and very kinky.”
Underneath the white sheen, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
Chapter 27. The Nightclub
When Gemma and Jason disembarked Sublime, a limousine was waiting for them with its engine purring. At the sight of the sleek white vehicle, she gave Jason’s hand a squeeze of gratitude and saved the lingering kiss for when they settled in the back seat. Remy and Lubinsky took up positions in the front seats with the driver.
“Thank you for tonight,” she whispered, glancing over to the trio of men. “When I dance, it will only be for you.”
He patted her thigh. “Of course.”
Throughout dinner at the waterfront restaurant, they chatted amiably. A husband and wife conversation, so natural and fulfilling after two weeks of sexual topics.
