Judged by Him (14 page)

His voice mirrored the one that had held sway in the car from the airport: her Master.

“Sir. What do you want to do to me now?”

She had understood. She could be made to do more.

“Oh. Have you ever had a giant dildo inserted in your vagina?”

Gemma went crimson. She hadn’t, but she had often wondered what it would feel like.

Day Six

The pregnancy test was negative. She threw the stick across the bathroom in disgust. With a grim face, she told Jason the news over breakfast.

“Sorry, babe.” He patted her hand. “Don’t fret. I’m not worried. What bothers me is you’re getting worked up about it.”

“I’m young, Jason. I’ve had friends who fuck once and they’re pregnant.” She landed a dollop of jam on her toast, smashing the spoon against the plate.

“Seriously, Gem. You’re not doing yourself favours comparing our situation to others’. Let’s enjoy this holiday. Since you’re not pregnant, we don’t have to end play.”

“I still can’t believe what you did to me last night.” Gemma shook her head a few times, trying to hide a smile.

“Do not complain about last night. You had a spectacular orgasm. If I hadn’t gagged you, you would have woken up the whole crew with your screams.” Jason wagged a finger at her. “On the orgasm count, you are way up on mine, you greedy slut. I will have you. I’ve no plans to be gentle. A good, hard, eye-watering arse fuck is what you need.”

Butterflies raced about her bell. Rough sex…she could handle his rough sex. The midday heat hadn’t arrived yet. He brought her up to the sundeck to have his obligatory morning oral sex. For the next ten minutes, Gemma held out and let him do as he pleased. The buzz of excitement remained, but he was too quick for her. One orgasm more to add to his quota.

Picking up his shorts, he left her spread out on the lounger. “I’m going to work. You can entertain yourself. Don’t stray. I may want you again.”

Maria arrived with soothing feminine words and sensual fingers. Gemma didn’t want to confess to him she looked forward to Maria’s attentive hands. Especially the manner in which she used them. Though non-sexual, they always made Gemma feel erotic and needy.

***

The noise from outside Jason’s study distracted him. Music blared through the walls alongside the sound of Gemma singing heartily and loudly. Her singing became increasingly boisterous and over the top for his tastes. Was this another one of her attention-seeking ploys? He slammed his laptop lid down in annoyance.

Walking out of his study, he collided with Gemma as she stepped back, swinging her hips to the beat of the music. With her iPod plugged into the music system, she had decided to dance in their salon. He couldn’t complain about privacy. The crew couldn’t see her jive and wriggle her hips.

“Whoops! Sorry.” A hand covered her mouth to suppress a giggle.

“Have you been drinking?” he asked.

“No! I’m high on life.” She pressed her body against his.

“I’ve been trying to work, and all I can hear is your gob and an interminable thumping.” He pushed her off his chest.

He had to admit she was gorgeous to behold. Braided hair gave her a refined elegance, even with the sweat shining in the roots. Her mouth had a veneer of lipstick, sufficient to give her lips a fuller, redder appearance. She wore a strapless purple dress, breasts supported by the tight-fitting wrapped fabric about her belly. The motif of henna was visible above the cut of the dress top. Her stained feet were bare.

She licked around her mouth, as if to tempt him in. A beguiling invitation, which, once again, she appeared unable to tame. She looked hot and thirsty, but he doubted it was the reason for her actions. Jason cast his mind back to a vision he had beheld while sunbathing the previous day involving her very fuckable mouth.

“Go up to the sundeck and wait for me.” Her shoulders slumped at his stern tone. He glared down at her, wondering if she would resist again. Instead, she dropped her eyes and sighed deeply.

“Yes, Sir.” A scowl crept briefly over her face.

Her disposition, he thought, wasn’t a credible display of obedience. Additionally, she hadn’t dropped to her knees on sight of him. All small displays of disobedience. He itched to discipline her. He’d had little reason over the last few days to spank her, bar the incident with Enrique. Yes, he would spank her. A brief interlude and a warm up to his plans to be played out on the sundeck.

“You need a good spanking,” he said curtly, and she gaped, dropping her jaw low.

“Whatever you like,” she said with a sulkiness in her voice he wouldn’t tolerate—something she would surely know. He suspected she must have fancied a spanking. What she wouldn’t have factored would be the severity he intended. Unfortunately for his wife, she had misjudged his mood—he wasn’t feeling playful.

His fingers gripping her above the elbow, he propelled her towards one of the armchairs. Bending her over, he pulled her knickers down and her skirt up over her head. She was resting at the perfect height for a thorough spanking; therefore, he gave her one.

She grunted with each blow of his hand. A flat palm, bouncing off each buttock in turn, sufficiently fearsome to make his hands sore and her cheeks rapidly redden. His hand swept to shoulder height, descended fast, making a loud smacking sound, echoing over the marble and glass. He held her in place, pressing down, and the sight of her squirming awakened his libido. His cock shifted, moved, and began to rise up in his pants. Its ascent continued as she slumped over the armchair and started to wail.

***

I was dancing, singing, that’s all!

She wouldn’t say a word. Work continued to frustrate him, and she had to resign herself to these releases of his stress. His need to dominate her when he couldn’t haul his employees into his office for a rebuke or reprimand. The circumstances required her to be their substitute.

She shrieked in the end, unable to keep quiet any longer. She howled at his fearsome pace, kicking up legs up and stamping feet.

“Sorry! I’m fucking sorry!”

Jason stopped. Her flaming bottom pulsated in response to his hard smacks. He ran his hand over the heated skin, rubbing her cheeks until she let out a small moan of relief.

“Better. Go up and wait for me.”

She knelt naked by the lounger. She considered the location appropriate, given his mood. He approached her and touched her head.

“Good girl.”

He dropped a bundle of rope onto the lounger. “Crawl here, slave.”

She crawled to the pole supporting the canopy. Several inches in diameter, metallic and white. At the base, he placed a towel, folded over to cushion her knees.

Seeing the modicum of comfort he had offered her kneecaps, she said, “Thank you, Sir.”

“Put your back against the pole, legs to each side, and hands behind. Good. Higher up by your head. The rope will keep you steady.”

He bound her wrists together behind her back, securing her to the pole. Looping her tattooed breasts with rope, he knotted that behind her shoulders and then also to the pole.

“Perfect.”

She caught his eye. “Please, may I have a drink of water?”

The singing below deck had made her parched.

“All right.”

He fetched a glass of water and allowed her a few sips to moisten her mouth then poured the rest over her breasts. She flinched at the coldness.

“Fuck, yes,” He pushed his cock inside her mouth, over her moistened tongue, and then he descended deep. He gripped the pole with both hands, fingers curled tight about it. His eyes shut while her own remained watery and open, staring up at him. He fucked his submissive slave tied to the pole, and she ceased to be the other thing she identified with being: Gemma. For the duration of this scene, she wasn’t his wife. Wives were not tied to poles with their husband’s cock thrust into their oral orifice with little consideration. Husbands made love.

He was hard, she noted, immensely stiff and large. She could barely accommodate him. Gemma witnessed her Dominant in his blissful nirvana. He had dreamed up this scene and relished it with a passion. His passion, certainly not hers. She loathed the humiliating pose and the lack of emotional play. No teasing, no touching her intimately. She was a vessel for his testosterone urges and his controlling personality. She let him because he was enjoying
her
. Nobody else. She was the sole recipient of his dominating play. The sentiment of giving herself to him unconditionally didn’t extend itself to any sense of pleasure in her own body. Her jaw ached from being held open, and her head banged against the pole with each of his deep thrusts into the oral cavity.

What really caused her problems were the buttons on his shorts. Flapping back and forth, they hit her face. On a few occasions, they hovered close to her delicate eyes. She sensed peril. She needed him to be aware of her situation, to remedy the danger to her person. As her Dominant, he had a duty of care, to make sure she wasn’t irreparably damaged or injured. His eyes remained shut, seemingly lost in his own ecstatic heaven. If he didn’t come soon, the buttons would be taking her eyes out.

“Jason,” she spluttered against his cock. An indiscriminate noise. She tried to waggle her tongue, but he took it as a stimulus and moaned.

No! Stop. Now!

Gemma became distressed. Her body tensed further, and she tried to say “yellow,” her safe-word. The word sounded like a pathetic string of Ls.

He looked down at her. Something must have caught his attention. Whether it was her agitated movements or incoherent speech, she didn’t know.

Gemma shook her head from side to side in a frantic display of mercy. The visual gesture he should acknowledge and respond to immediately. He did. Removing himself from her mouth, he dropped into a crouch.

“Yellow, fucking yellow. I’ve been trying to get your bloody attention,” she yelled at him fiercely.

“Sorry, babe.” He cupped her face in his hands. “What’s gone wrong?”

“Your bloody buttons. Do you want to blind me?” she snapped.

“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.”