Judged by Him (16 page)

Jason’s eyes pierced through her skull and, even though she stared at the cards on the table, she cowered.

“Yes, Master,” she whispered.

“Good.” He released her thigh and leant back. “Now, go and prepare yourself. I want my wife to look stunning, elegant, and be the envy of all the men in the casino. Maria is waiting for you.”

With deep breath, she pushed her skirt back into place, covering the mark on her inner thigh, and left.

Jason collected the cards and handed them to the mute Esteban—Jason appreciated the man’s professionalism in remaining unperturbed by such strange sights as a husband inflicting a small act of corporal punishment on his wife. The kinky aspect of their relationship had been explained discreetly to the steward prior to the voyage. However, Jason doubted the man had any real idea what it all meant. Jason gave him a reassuring pat on the arm as he moved past the Spaniard.

The yacht slipped into its allocated dock at Hercules Port in the heart of Monaco’s La Condamine district, one of many luxury vessels.

With the gangplank in place, Jason watched from the private deck as Dufour unobtrusively departed, black luggage bag slung over his shoulder. Shortly afterwards, another man came aboard. Lubinsky introduced the newcomer to Jason as Louis Remy, a native Frenchman.

“Remy and I have worked together several times. We get on well. There will be no repeat of Ceuta,” said Lubinsky, standing to attention.

“There had better not be,” said Jason curtly.

Jason quickly briefed the Frenchman. He was to accompany them to a casino, wait while they dined, and ensure their personages and betting chips remained secure at all times.

“I understand, monsieur,” he said confidently.

Descending the stairs to the main deck, Jason could hear the hubbub of the excited crew below. They couldn’t wait to see what Gemma wore. She wore a black dress, which completed its drop around her ankles. Small straps over her shoulders and a tight corset-like waistline. Her hips were packaged within the smooth line of the dress, and the skirt had a long slit that stopped at her knees. The fabric shimmered under the halogen lights, defining her bust and curvy thighs.

On her feet, black high heels with straps wrapped about her ankles. When she rested her hands on the black dress, smoothing the fabric over her belly, the henna tattoos on her hands stood out clearly. Numerous eyes gloated at his wife. Jason wouldn’t stand for the licentious ogling for long. He placed a protective arm around her shoulders.

“Babe, I said stunning, and you’ve gone beyond stunning.”

He draped the velvet wrap over her shoulders, pausing to touch the pearl necklace. The collar chain had to be left on board. He preferred her to wear the white pearl set that complimented her dress.

Jason wore a tuxedo, with black bowtie and jacket, and his shoes shone brightly—Gaspar had been instructed to buff them up into mirrors.

The crew, in a polite row, murmured their compliments—a regal, handsome couple, they declared—and wished them luck in the casino. The Mercedes waited by the dock. Doors wide open to receive its passengers. Remy took the front passenger seat and gave the hired chauffeur a nod. The car pulled away from the kerb to drive the short distance to the casino.

***

A steward greeted the couple at the doorway of the casino. Little did the steward know that Gemma wasn’t allowed to open doors for herself, nor choose her own seat, or even move without permission. Jason would select her drinks and food and monitor her posture at all times. She was under the control of her husband in all matters, regardless of their significance. She liked the situation. He fed her submission, making her feel special and at the centre of Jason’s attention.

Gemma floated in her idyllic world of dreams. During the brief drive to the casino, she had admired the scenery. The small principality of Monaco had given the world princesses and princes, James Bond sets, and the glamorous Grand Prix. To be part of the lifestyle would have been unimaginable a few years ago, sitting in her cubicle, staring at computer screens, waiting for the evenings or weekends when she would be some man’s sex toy. An existence that had driven her to an inglorious endpoint. She pushed the unpleasant thoughts away, easy to do as she stared out of the window.

The casino, set in lush, extravagant gardens, resembled an aristocratic palace. The valet opened their door and waited patiently for Gemma’s careful negotiation of the vehicle’s doorway. Jason quickly arrived at her side and held out a steadying hand.

She took a step forward. “Oh, gosh. The ground feels odd. It’s not moving.”

“Weird isn’t it. It will pass quickly. Good job you’re not drunk,” he added with a smirk.

She didn’t frown at him—she had learnt her lesson.

Jason left her in the bar, with strict instructions to stick to fruit juices and not to move an inch until he returned. He went to arrange for the gambling chips to be ready for them once they had dined.

***

Gemma struggled to take in the casino experience. The opulent building with its painted frescos adorning the walls and very high ceilings, overarching the gaming room, projected a scale similar to an opera house.

“Try not to gape,” said Jason, tapping her chin. “You look like you’re at the dentist.”

He steered her towards the Blackjack table. No one else was there besides the croupier—a smart man in a decorative waistcoat with an expressionless face, who could outdo Jason’s own impassive features. Their chips already lay on the table, and Gemma settled down into a chair facing the dealer. She picked up one of the chips.

“These are hundred euro chips. The minimum bet is ten euros,” she hissed over her shoulder at him.

“It’s what you win that matters. Enjoy yourself, babe.”

He stood back with his arms folded across his chest. Remy was discreetly placed a few paces behind her husband, eyeballing the room. Once people knew she was laying big bets, there would be a crowd.

“Madame.”

The croupier offered her a cutting card, and Gemma cut the deck. He waited, glancing at the chips on the table.

“Gemma, you need to place bet before you can start, remember?” Jason leant forward to whisper in her ear.

“Whoops.” She laid a hundred euro chip, and the game began.

She lost several games in a row. The excitement at being in a grand exotic location had distracted her. She kept glancing around the room, at the other gaming tables and the clientele of the casino. The constant background babble of conversation, the occasion shriek of delight or collective groan of disappointment from the roulette table robbed her of concentration.

Focus
. That would be Jason’s command in her ear. Taking a deep breath, she blocked out her surroundings and gave the table her complete attention. The croupier dealt her a fresh hand. An ace. She tried to remember how many aces had passed out of the shoe already.

Count them. Count the cards.

Gemma started to win. Her mind went into her analytical mode. She saw cards imprinted on her mind, and a mental counter ticked over. She didn’t expect accuracy; she simply wanted to increase the odds of her winning. The chips were returning to her side of the table, and she stacked them into neat piles. Nervously, she sneaked a peak over her shoulder to the stationary Jason. His features remained impassive. He and the croupier could hold a competition for poker faces, she thought sardonically.

A small crowd had gathered about them, staring at her painted hands and decorative nails. She absentmindedly twirled the chips through her tattooed fingers. While sipping on her glass of water, she tapped another chip on the table, mimicking her own rapid pulse. Jason had sent back the free alcoholic drinks offered to her.

She had a good memory. A memory for holding reams of poetry in her head and for viewing spreadsheets of numbers and figures with their calculations swirling around her head. She used her artistic brain to help her remember things, including numbers. She visualised decorative, colourful playing cards and linked them with the numbers. The specific images remained implanted in her head and, through them, the numbers came back to her.

A full bladder distracted Gemma. She told the croupier she was taking a comfort break and would return. With stiff legs, she rose, Jason supporting her arm.

“I’ll wait here for you.”

Returning, she resumed her seat. The croupier dealt a new hand.

“Card.”

“Vingt-deux.”

Bust, and the house won.

That hand marked the beginning of her slippery decline in fortune. The bathroom break had disrupted her concentration and thrown her memory out of kilter.

Gemma watched all her hard earnings slip away, like water through her fingers. Despite the rapidly vanishing chips, she couldn’t stop playing. She was convinced concentration and luck would return to her side of the table.

She became reckless with her bets. Placing bigger ones on high-risk hands. She could hear the gasps about her, and she lost her composure further. Her hands trembled and feet shuffled under the table.

When she had been on a roll—the chips piling up—she had heard the mutters and whispers about the room. “Go watch the painted girl on the Blackjack table.”

The idea of her beauty capturing the men and bringing them to her side didn’t help her concentration. She sensed them about her, admiring the man who stood behind her, probably thinking he was extremely lucky to have such a woman. Jason, however, hadn’t said a word and barely acknowledged her winnings. He waited, content to leave her to the game, until the chips slipped out of her hands.

The house won again. Then again.

Jason rested his hand on her shoulder. “Time to go, Gemma. It’s getting late.”

The excuse given, Jason halted the game. There was a groan from the audience when she handed the croupier a chip for his efforts. The young man gave a grateful, “thank you”. Gemma picked up her clutch purse and took Jason’s proffered arm.

“Shall we?” He indicated the exit.

She waited for him as he returned the remaining chips to the cashier. He would be totting up his losses.

“Well?” she asked, scurrying alongside him as they headed towards the main entrance.

“I’m nearly twenty-five thousand euros a poorer man, my darling,” he said with a raised eyebrow.

Gemma wanted the floor to swallow her up. “Seriously. I...all that money!” Her ineptitude stunned her. “I was winning well at one point.” She tugged on his arm.

“Yes, you were. Close to thirty thousand euros up on the day. Then you went to the ladies, and God knows, you detached your brain and went silly with the bets.” He removed her hand from his arm and gave it a squeeze.

“I...don’t recall.... You’re not winding me up, Jason?” She couldn’t comprehend the amount she had lost.

“I don’t joke about money.”

They paused in the foyer while waiting for the car. The cool breeze from the outside whipped across her flushed face.

“Why you didn’t cash in when you stopped for a pee, I don’t know. Got greedy, didn’t you?” He sighed. “No self-control.”

Gemma stood straight in front of him, arms crossed. “Why didn’t you stop me then?”

She caught sight of the mocking glint in his eyes. “You were having fun, and that is what gambling is all about. Risk-taking entertainment. I wouldn’t have given you a substantial quantity of chips if I wasn’t prepared for you to fritter a considerable amount away.” Bending down, he kissed her trembling lips.

“Next time you gamble with
our
money, you will have the sense to go out on top, won’t you?” He drew back from the kerb as the Mercedes approached.

She fretted as the driver drove them back to
Sublime
. Over and over, she played the last few hands in her head. Yes, she had picked up piles of chips and tossed them on her cards. Perhaps they had been five-hundred-valued chips, not a hundred. She blamed the audience, the chattering hushed voices, and the constant references to her hands.

Jason composed a message on his mobile. “Remember I said there would be either a reward for you or you would reimburse me? I’m letting Enrique know which way the evening fell for you.”

He hit send, and Gemma shut her eyes, resigned to her fate. She could do nothing to halt the progress of events. It didn’t matter if she was in the mood for play or not. Jason was.

When they boarded the yacht, the crew, upon hearing of their adventure, offered their commiserations. Jason didn’t reveal the amount lost, but he made a jovial comment about Gemma bankrupting him and that he’d had to drag her out before he was unable to pay their wages. They laughed at his humour and sarcasm.

Gemma draped her wrap over the armchair in the salon and slipped off her sandals. Jason spoke to Enrique in low tones by the door to their stateroom.

“Go and prepare yourself. Ten minutes,” he instructed her as if she was an actress given her curtain call.

Maria appeared and accompanied her towards the bathroom.

“Do you want me to undress myself, or would you like to, Sir?” asked Gemma as she passed by Jason.

“Nice thought. I will do it. That dress is divine.” He gave her bottom a smack.

By the time she entered the stateroom, he had divested himself of his jacket, shirt, tie, and socks. She didn’t think it would be long before his trousers and pants went, too. What really caught her attention was the rearrangement of the furniture. The glass-top table had been shifted to one side and the pulley system revealed. Below, the carpet had been covered with a thin rug. The blinds were drawn, and the room softly lit, giving it ambiance. Jason had created a mini dungeon, and the sight of it triggered the usual symptoms. Her pussy clenched, her heart thumping hard against her breast, and her scalp prickled.

Gemma sank to her knees at his feet, and he touched her braided hair.

“Remember your safe-words. You have limited experience at suspension. I don’t want you subspace or forget your weaknesses. Focus on me, my voice, and what I tell you do. Stand up.”

***

His nose lingered in her hair. Jason loved her smell—it was an elixir for his passions. He had watched her all evening. The rise and fall of her bust as she experienced moments of exhilarated excitement, seeing her chips pile up. The hands stroking the circular pieces of plastic. The nape of her neck and the narrowness of her waist. The way her hips swayed when she walked in the high heels. He wanted to drink her, devour her, and he’d had to wait while she played her game of Blackjack. Now it was his turn to play.