Judged by Him (26 page)

Gemma’s heart sank. She didn’t want to be abandoned, left on a big yacht in the middle of the sea.

“Please, Jason....”

The wrong approach. He didn’t want supplications. He wanted absolute obedience from her and total control over her. The very thing he lacked in the workplace from his normally reliable employees, thousands of miles away.

Jason shot her a fierce glance of disapproval, lines furrowing on his forehead. “I’m very aware how disappointed you are. Do I look like I want to go? That this is something I am pleased about!”

“No.”

“Then why the fuck do you get to whine about it? Why do you get to ask me to stay or take you with me?”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t. Correct. You ask for nothing because you should be grateful to have this yacht, all these people waiting on you. The sun and the stars…you get to a have all this while I sit on a plane, then in my office, and listen to the pathetic excuses of people who have let me down. You will keep me happy by
thinking of me
while I am away. Not your fucking self. While I go and ensure the money is there to provide you with this exorbitant opulence, you will be thanking me in your head, every minute of the day.”

“Yes, Sir.” Gemma shrank her voice to a tiny tone of acceptance.

She wished she could have walked into the room again and spoken differently. Showed him her gratitude for remembering her in his difficult times. Agreed with him that he was right to go home and sort out what troubled him. She should have clearly stated she was fine and all right to be left on her own.

“Once I have dealt with a few essential e-mails, made my travel arrangements, briefed McKenzie, and ensured your needs,
your fucking needs
, are going to be well taken care of, I will come and find you. Then, for the few hours we have left on this yacht,
you
will
make sure
my
needs are totally met and provided for. You will think of nothing but me. You will not speak a word that makes me think you are going to be anything other than my obedient fuck slave. When I leave, I shall make sure that for the next few days you have a constant reminder of me. Your body will be sore, marked, and littered with little memories of me. That way I shall know you are going to be mine.”

“Sir.” She couldn’t fight his anger. She knew it wasn’t directed at her, not the entirety of it. Having his working life impact their special holiday saddened her. He wouldn’t have anticipated such a disastrous turn of events, especially leaving her behind. The pleasure at being his submissive faded. It wasn’t because what he planned to do to her—such an outpouring of desire would normally turn her on terribly—as much as the reason why he wished to do it that marred the sentiment of lust. Rage fuelled her Master.

“Now, go and have breakfast. Have you stopped bleeding?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Prepare yourself for me. I’ll come when I’m ready. You won’t have Maria, so do what you have to on your own. Then you will wait in the stateroom for me. Patiently and dutifully.” His tone wasn’t to be defied; he wouldn’t tolerate hesitation.

Gemma scampered straight for the stateroom and threw herself on the bed, bursting into tears. He would be gone by the evening, and she would be alone. She let the tears flow, and once she had had her outpouring of anguish, she started to pull herself together. She would do exactly as he asked, and she wouldn’t show her true feelings to him. She would allow her body to be used by him. Given his demeanour, she knew he would make gruelling use of her, too.

She expected him to want to cause her pain and for her to give him compliance, pleasure, and unswerving obedience. She would, for the few hours they had left together, be the most perfect submissive for him. She would utilise the years of training she had recounted to Andrea, use all of her techniques to please him. If he left her marked, sore, and satiated with rewarding orgasms, then so be it. She wanted him to.

***

By the time Jason returned to the room in the early afternoon, ready for her, Gemma had taken up position by his preferred armchair. Kneeling and naked. For the first time that day, he hoped to be happy.

He had expected Gemma to be disappointed. A natural reaction, and his announcement would have been a shock. She struggled with loneliness, being accustomed to an active social life. The crew would be sympathetic and attentive, but they were not her friends. Unfortunately, he had been informed Maria had succumbed to a severe migraine caused by stress. He would have reinstated her under mitigating circumstances. Gemma wouldn’t tolerate Enrique. She disliked him, and he suspected Enrique would attempt to assert his own authority over her. He opted to leave the Mexicans out of sight. He would advise Enrique that two days exile would be sufficient for their penalty, rather than the three he had originally specified. By then, Maria, he guessed, should have recovered.

His preparations for travel were going well. Back at his headquarters, his staff bent over backwards to accommodate his demands on them. His diary for the next day filled with wall-to-wall meetings. He anticipated unpleasant experiences for a number of his employees.

Jason came to rest in the armchair and leant back, assessing Gemma intently. If she had been crying, it had long stopped. Her trembling fingers rested on her thighs. The henna tattoos had lasted well, still fresh and vibrant. He continued to find them erotic and delighted at the sight of his initials on her skin.

“You managed to prepare yourself well. Your hair is beautiful and, though it isn’t braided, you have taken the time to improve your appearance. Did you give yourself an enema?” he asked with a curl of his lips.

“No, Sir. I’m not into self-inflicted masochism or humiliation. I did my usual routine, Sir.” Her gaze remained firmly planted on his feet.

He chortled at her reply. She hadn’t lost her sense of humour. “I see. Perfectly acceptable under the circumstances. I want to tell you what I’m going to do with you. I anticipate you’re going to be somewhat anxious about my intentions, given my temperament this morning.”

“I trust you, Sir. You know that,” she responded quickly.

“I am having a challenging day and, at the moment, you are the only part of it that is pleasing me. So, I want you to keep doing that, regardless of what you feel about me.”

“My only wish is to please you, Sir. So you leave here knowing I am yours and only yours.”

He detected automation in her responses, as if she had devised a script. Her coping mechanism. “Good. Then you can appreciate that in the mood I’m in, you’re not necessarily going to be receiving pleasure from me. You’re going to have to be a good little sub for me.”

“I will be, Sir,” she said with conviction.

Gemma closed her eyes, inhaled deeply. Her familiar breathing exercises. He sat opposite her, waiting and watching her gain her composure and her nerves. She flushed with hot blood flowing through her veins. Reaching forward, he cupped his hand under her sex. With a jump, she opened her eyes. Her pussy had betrayed her. Warm juices slipped out, down his finger.

“Lusty, aren’t you? Me, likewise, Gemma. You’ve made me quite hard and keen for you. My slut. However, I’m not complaining.” His hand left her.

Gemma sucked in one last deep lungful of air and looked straight at Jason. “I’m ready for you, Sir.”

Within seconds, she bent over the padded surface of the table with Jason leaning over her. Her legs dangled down, splayed wide for him. Fingers explored her regions and her contours. He sniffed the clean aroma of her hair, rose petals and strawberries—her cocktail of scents.

“To have you,” he whispered, “to take you. This is all I desire. To leave marks on you and to know they are made by me—this is my love for you.”

His words heightened her need for him to be deep inside, and he would make her wait. With each of pass of his palm down her body, she would crave more of him and, when his other hand grasped her hair, she cried out.

“Yes, oh, yes!”

Time was too short. His actions needed to be swift. He plied her with his cock. Clinging to the table, she could do little but let him loose on her weaknesses. Each time he took her, she gave more of her submission back to him. Arching her back at one point, she screwed her wet pussy on him as if to make a point of her emotional sacrifice.

Standing over her, Jason took deep breaths to slow his heartbeat, and checking his hands were steady, he reached for what he required. He intended to devour Gemma from head to toe.

***

Gemma collapsed on the bed. As promised, he had marked her body and impaled her with his passionate thrusts. She knew the collection included bite marks and the stripes of the crop across her buttocks, and a pinkish glow from the flogger covered virtually every part of her flesh. Between her legs, she leaked. Inside, she felt a well-fucked soreness, which she had experienced before, though not for some considerable time.

His accompanying crude words of encouragement had been intensely arousing, like an aphrodisiac to her clitoris. He had been generous with the vibrating wand, offering it to her at intervals, and she’d spewed her gratitude through the ball gag. She’d groaned and whimpered as he grunted at his own exertions. When she could take no more of his devices and implements, he’d dispensed with them and resorted to fucking her hard. The rough intercourse had taken her to the brink of her limits.

It had become a struggle to contain her emotions. “Okay, babe.” Jason said. “You’re doing well. I’m slowing it up. Is that all right?” He had stroked her face with his warm hand.

“Yes.”

“Continue?”

“Yes. Please don’t let me drift too far, Jason. I’m feeling close to freaky as it is.”

“I’m watching you carefully, babe. I’m not going to lose you. Listen to my voice.”

Those interludes of normality weren’t strange to Gemma. To be addressed, almost matter-of-factly, as if their kinky sex was a routine act, kept her grounded. Throughout their time as Dom and sub, there remained a backbone of civility, respect, and mutual trust—essential elements for making their relationship successful and enduring. By the time he had achieved his long-awaited orgasm, she had been ready for his other qualities—tenderness, consideration, and supportive aftercare. Lying on the bed, he conducted himself beyond the duties of a sometime Dom. He conducted himself as her husband.

She welcomed the ice-cubes, their numbing addition to her insides. One in each hole. He checked over her body from tip to toe and announced that although he had marked her skin aplenty. Within a couple of days, she would free of the blemishes. The exception, the six marks on her buttocks—those he had applied specifically as a more enduring feature of the session.

“What is all the noise above us, Jason?” asked Gemma, head buried in her pillow.

“Apologies. Very distracting. The helipad is being assembled on the sundeck. I’m being picked up by helicopter and taken to Rome for my flight home.” Jason remained stretched out on his side, a hand stroking her back gently.

“Helicopter? You’re leaving on a helicopter?” She perched on her elbows.

“Easier than guessing which port we’ll be closest to. The GPS can pick us out of the water easily.”

“When?” she had to ask, having avoided the details of his departure all afternoon.

“In two hours. That leaves us about an hour to sit in the bath and make sure you’re in a fit state to be left. I don’t want you blubbering the minute I’m up in the air.”

“I feel strangely in control of my senses. I think you fucked me into a cathartic state of being. Like a good cry, which I did this morning, as you probably guessed.”

“Which is better, cathartic fucking or bawling your eyes out?”

“Oh, the former. Definitely.”

He gently kissed her sweaty forehead. “I’ll go run the bath.”

Afterwards, she curled up on the bed again, feeling impossibly sleepy. Jason dressed to travel, slipping back into his executive role. He packed a small overnight bag with a few essential items, stowed his laptop safely in its case, and he ensured her smartphone could receive e-mails.

“I’ll text or e-mail you from time to time. So don’t stray too far from your device.”

“Sure,” she murmured, practically asleep.

Gemma heard the hum of rotary blades. She shot bolt upright.

Dashing to the window, she saw a whirlpool from the downdraught of the blades. The yacht was nearly stationary, and all about the white-crested waves swelled due to the helicopter’s presence. Before she could work out if Jason had gone up to meet it, the helicopter came into view, blades spiralling about, rising up into the sky. He had gone. She stood, eyes hypnotised by the small two-man helicopter as it swerved to the right ahead of the bow and then headed off into the horizon and away from
Sublime
.

No teary good-byes or lingering kisses or embraces. This was what he wanted, she presumed—her fast asleep, exhausted, and unable to register even the loudest of noises. In the midst of the helicopter maelstrom, he had left her, quite alone, in the middle of a vast sea and with no friends to keep her company.

Gemma tried very hard for the next few hours not to be a blubbering wreck. She succeeded, and that, in itself, was immensely satisfying. However, she couldn’t face leaving the stateroom or the upper deck. She didn’t want the sympathy of the crew or their ingratiating conscientiousness. Instead, she lay on his side of the bed and smelt his scent on the pillow. Barring deliveries of essential meals and drinks, she remained there for the rest of the day.

At close to midnight, he sent a text.

: Home safe. Missing you babe.

She replied instantly.

: Me too. Glad you’re back safe. Thinking of you.

She couldn’t hold back the frustrated tears any longer. The intolerable emptiness inside her consumed her completely.

Day Twelve

Jason approached in the shadows and took in the salon of the main deck. A large proportion of the crew hung about, positioned on chairs or standing, watching. Kevin, the engineer, perched on a plush armchair. Nick, the second officer, with a beaming smile and arms flailing around, chatted animatedly to Kevin. Beside him the Filipino, Modesto, eyes fixated on Gemma and, standing behind him tapping a foot, Ludo Savage. The chef Dario hovered by the door of galley, neither in nor out, with an empty platter in his large hands. Seated at the games table, the second engineer, Hans, who appeared to be playing solitaire with Gemma’s deck of cards. Laid out on the table, Jason’s backgammon set. By the piano, Enrique with arms folded, back resting on the musical instrument, and beside him, resting her head on his shoulder, Maria.