Judged by Him (10 page)

“Do tell, Sir, please? Are they quivering wrecks, or did they hold out against you?”

Gemma lounged on his lap in their private salon. He flicked through the TV channels, searching for a film or anything appealing then gave up and tossed the remote on to the coffee table. “They survived. The pair of them were suitably apologetic. What was more interesting was when I asked them what had gone wrong.”

“How so?”

“Lubinsky blamed the flies! Dufour claimed your clothing wasn’t distinctive enough. Unbelievable.”

She sat up, tossing a strand of hair aside. “Sounds almost schoolboyish. Seriously, these are trained bodyguards?”

“Trained in protection, not in excuses. I’ve had my suspicions about the pairing. When I asked them to explain what their strategy had been before going into the marketplace, their communication system, they blustered terribly. I told them I thought they might like to try talking to each other. Then I lost my temper.”

“Then? You held out well, my love,” smirked Gemma, quickly covering her mouth with her hand.

“It’s obvious there is bad blood between them. I told them they have twenty-four hours to explain their attitudes and come up with a solution, or else, at the next port of call, one of them will be out of a job, accompanied by a strongly worded letter of disapproval addressed to his superior.”

Jason fingered her watchstrap. A tiny graze marred her wrist. A leftover from the previous night. He frowned at the discovery.

“It’s just a scratch,” she said swiftly. “Considering how out of it I was, there could have been more marks.”

“Mmmm. I think we need to keep you out of subspace, babe. Much safer.” He kissed the scratch.

They ate on board
Sublime
that evening. Happy to take in Ceuta from a distance. The noise and ambience of a busy enclave filled the air as they dined al fresco, along with buzzing, biting flies. Gemma stood on the sundeck, leaning against the rails, content with life, the difficult afternoon put to one side. She had passed his test, her acceptance of the punishment—in hindsight, she was in no doubt it had been a test—with flying colours.

He hadn’t gone through with the charade of caning her. She was convinced he hadn’t planned to carry out the punishment to completion. He had wanted her willingness and submission. The moment she had slipped to her knees and apologised without reserve or argument, she had quelled his temper. She had learnt humility and acceptance.

The bizarre submissive part of her had missed the caning, although not the severe pain. The thrill of being spanked or disciplined by his hand. She replayed his Dominant commands in her head, making her body buzz and the telltale tingling sensation erupt in her lower belly.

What is wrong with me
?

Jason would tell her there was nothing wrong. She was a masochist submissive who loved to be dominated and given pain. But, what else was he going to reveal to her over the coming two weeks or so? Some bondage and spankings couldn’t be it. He had a plan for her. Some form of progression and a goal. He was driven in everything he did. She could disappoint him by not agreeing to play; however, she had been caught by him, hook, line, and sink. She would see out his game.

***

Finding her on the sundeck, watching the sunset, he led her to the bed. Alone, he happily stripped her clothes off without the aid of servants. He easily noticed her heightened state of arousal, the puffed pink lips around her pussy, the nervous shuffling of her feet when he approached her.

“Babe?” he enquired. “What’s fired you up so quickly? Mmmm?” He pressed his lips on hers, and she answered between kisses.

“You. Thinking of you. Not the market fiasco. You went super Dominant on me when we got back,” she whispered.

“I did. Not for very good reasons,” he commented. “Do you want
him
back?” he asked.

“Tempting offer, Sir, but I’m tired. The adrenaline rush from this afternoon has taken a lot out of me. I think, if I was your wife, I would ask my husband to make love to me,” she said cautiously, picking at one of his shirt buttons.

“Since you are my wife and I’m your husband then that is what we shall do. Gemma, you may sit astride me again. This time you can move as you wish.”

Day Four

In the yellow glow of the morning light,
Sublime
left the coast of Africa behind, heading towards Sardinia. The seas became rougher as the coast disappeared. The sky darkened, and the air went cool. A weather front was passing over. The rolling and pitching woke Gemma, and she stumbled to the bathroom, feeling the urge to retch. She covered her mouth with a hand.

She returned to the stateroom, unsteady on her feet, as Jason opened the blinds and let the daylight into the room. “Keep your eye on the horizon. It will help.”

Gemma managed very little breakfast. They took refuge on the main deck, lower in the vessel where she felt the movement of the yacht less. She curled up in a chair by the window and kept her eyes on the horizon. The white-capped waves smashed against
Sublime.
She tugged a wrap around her shoulders, cinching it under her chin with her fingers. The sudden change in weather did not seem right for the time of year. Surely, stormy seas didn’t strike in the summer?

By early afternoon, the sun shone brightly, the sea calmed, and the wind had dropped. To her great relief, the seasickness passed as well, and hunger suddenly gripped Gemma. Dario whipped up a pleasant light gazpacho for her, accompanied by tomato-covered bread.

Jason retreated to his study to work. Taking the opportunity to enjoy her hobby, Gemma set up her easel on the sundeck. Her goal, to transfer the extravagance of the yacht to her canvas. An hour passed, and Maria appeared.

“Excuse me, señora.” She gave Gemma a gentle prod. “Señor Lucas sent me to remind you of your treatment.”

“What? Oh, drat. I’d forgotten.” Gemma put down her brush and admired the rough outline.

“Very good. You have excellent brushwork. Now, I’m to tell you, he will not be joining us.”

“Just us two, then?”

“Sí, señora.”

During her subsequent massage, Gemma lay still, feeling Maria’s careful attentions. The masseur’s hands drifted to her upper thighs and the taut muscles of her buttocks. Hands that spread wide, pushing up from the buttocks to the shoulders in a sweep. Gemma groaned as her muscles eased and fluctuated under the firm pressure. Part of her, a small element tucked away, wished Maria would move her fingers a little farther inward. A fantasy she tried hard to dismiss from her mind.

She happened upon Jason in the stateroom as she returned after her massage. “Please, may I swim, Sir?”

“You may. I’ll join you.”

She waited for him to change into his swim trunks, and the pair headed for the larger heated pool on the lower deck. Maria and Enrique followed with towels and robes, ready for when they finished their aquatic adventures.

“Will we go out on the speedboat or Jet Skis?” Gemma sucked in air as the cool water rose up her midriff.

“Plenty of time for that on another day.”

The length of the pool permitted Jason a handful of strokes before he reached the other side. Barely worth the effort. He drew her into his arms, and she accepted his passionate kisses with relish. Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see Maria standing next to Enrique, resting against her lover. It pleased Gemma, seeing the couple relaxed and informal in their stance.

Jason nibbled on his wife’s neck. “Take a deep breath.”

She had just enough time to suck air into her lungs before he plunged her below the surface.

***

First Gaspar and Modesto, making a pretence at mopping the upper deck, had peered down between sweeps before Ted had sent them on their way. Then the young bosun stood in their place, leering at Gemma with his mouth slightly ajar. Under such observation, Jason kept the play simple. He would save the more exciting water bondage for the smaller pool on the sundeck. Up there, he and Enrique would bind Gemma, and he would have his fun. Not today. Possibly another week. Timing was complicated. He had made further phone calls while Gemma sunbathed and had her treatments. Now, he had to wait for the weekend.

The boy was too obvious, and Jason had had enough of the peeping Toms.

“Enrique. Get Esteban!” he called out.

Esteban appeared swiftly by the poolside.

Jason gestured to the upper decks. “The audience is unwelcome. If Ted and the deckhands have nothing better to do, they can stay out of sight,” he snarled.

“Apologies, señor.” Esteban shot off.

Jason, satisfied they were not being watched, took Gemma to the edge of the pool and turned her around. She rested her arms on the tiles, head tucked down. He tugged on her bikini bottoms, easing them down her thighs. His body drew closer to hers, his cock, released from his swimming trunks by his eager hand, rose up into her tight pussy, which gave inch by inch. Her arms stretched out before her, allowing her to bend and push back against him. His powerful thrusts forced him to grunt with each swing of his hips. He conducted their brief interlude of underwater sex with the same urgency he used when they had sex in the pool in their country mansion. He relished the fluid sensation of moving in water. Mini waves sloshed about their bodies. Gemma tossed her wet hair over her shoulder, arching her back and allowing his hands to cup her swinging breasts. After he came deep inside her, the rippling surface gradually stilled. There he lingered, kissing the back of her neck, calming his breaths in small huffs.

Resting the side of his head on her back, he faced the main body of the vessel, the two rows of balconies. Something caught his eye on the deck above. He guffawed quietly. Not everyone had resisted viewing him play with his wife. Modesto’s familiar face peeked between the railings, and the moment Jason spied him, he scrambled away. Luckily, Jason had done nothing more than fuck Gemma. What would Modesto have made of him binding her and ducking her in and out of the water—the kind of scene he occasionally did at home in their private indoor pool? It didn’t matter. Modesto’s inquisitive nature didn’t bother Jason as long as he stayed discreet. It might have upset his wife, but Gemma seemed oblivious to their watcher.

Jason had expected the crew to be curious, and their voyeurism aided his own curiosity. He wanted to know if she would be exhilarated by the observers or unnerved. Her constant reticence at being used in the present of others and her lack of exhibitory daring riled him on occasions. She should be happy to please him regardless of the ambience, environment, or the presence of his chosen witnesses. If he was fulfilled, she should be, too, he reasoned.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t force a sentiment on her if it wasn’t a natural response. Fakery, he wouldn’t stand for. Her silence spoke volumes. He was determined to find the source of her inhibitions.

He tenderly rested his chin on her right shoulder as his waning erection slipped against her back. He wished he could find a mechanism to help her cope with her anxieties.

“Why are you reticent about erotic humiliation, especially sexual acts in the presence of others? Exhibitionism, is it not a common activity in the communities you frequented when you trained? Or were you in some particular coven that abhorred sharing their passions?” he murmured.

“Nothing to do with my socialising. I was always happy to be nearly naked, didn’t mind being spanked or paddled in open areas. Nor tied up or teased with something non-penetrative. But sexual intercourse with others watching, I couldn’t do...because….” Gemma gave a small shrug of her shoulders.

“Because of your rape?”

“No, not the rape. Something else. Before my first Master and university. While I was still at school. God, remembering it makes me feel like a harlot.” Her body tensed, and he squeezed her waist.

“Go on.”

“I didn’t deep throat or swallow back then. I liked the way men moaned, but I wasn’t good at the art of oral sex. But it was the safest way of having sex, or at least that is what I thought. I was eighteen, about to leave home, and full of confidence. It happened in a bike shed at the local community centre. A grubby, dark shed—nothing romantic or comfortable. The recipient, unremarkable, and I’d forgotten his name. I’d taken a fancy to him when we met at a pub. By then, my parents couldn’t stop me going out, not any longer.” Gemma paused, tracing her finger along the edge of a pool tile.

Jason waited, letting her work through her thoughts and memories.

“His friends interrupted us,” she continued. “I foolishly thought we were going to be on our own. They had been watching through a window, probably sniggering in the background, but I hadn’t heard. It was a dare, for his eighteenth birthday, a coming of age thing, to get a girl to go with him. He said I would open my mouth to anybody, that they should try me out because I was easy. I bolted out of the door, and their laughter followed me, including his.”

“Jealous. They were jealous.”

“Whatever, the reason behind their actions didn’t matter to me; I was mortified. After that incident, I was convinced sex anywhere other than a bedroom or secluded, secure location wasn’t a safe place. I felt having sex in the presence of others opened me up to degrading comments and laughter. My first Master didn’t require public acts of humiliation. He wasn’t interested and, after him, I made a name for myself as one who never submitted to orgies or group sex. It’s not me.”

“But you were willing to be spanked or provide other services?”

“Probably because I could be explicit about my limits and keep them non-sexual. Unless I was in a sexual relationship, I concentrated on platonic scenes—at least, when in the company of others, being a bottom to a top. I admit I found those encounters erotic and pleasurable, so I had an incentive to submit. There was also a clear understanding of what both parties wanted from the experience. I went to parties and did scenes at clubs solely on the basis I could say what I would and wouldn’t do. So, no more sex in bike sheds.” She gave a slight titter.