Judged by Him (17 page)

He laid his hands on her shoulder straps and stripped her naked, taking his time to savour her smooth skin, the tight fit of the dress, and her lacy lingerie. Pushed down, she lay on the floor as Enrique and Jason systematically bound her body.

Enrique had prepared ropes for him. Not all of the same length, they fulfilled different purposes. Some would bind her arms to her torso, others to bend and splay her legs, and the longest ones to lift and hold her up off the ground. Jason opted to provide plenty of support for her body. In his opinion, she was a novice at suspension, and he didn’t want to put too much strain on her flesh.

He touched her as he encased her in rope. Sometimes a caress then a pinch and, when he had the opportunity, a hard smack to her bottom. If she complained, he warned her and she abated. He licked his tongue over her belly, from her mons to her cleavage, tasting her succulent skin. A feast for the senses.

They had begun with playful words, but as he prepared to hoist her up, he turned to vulgar ones. Her chest rose and fell, listening to what he said to her. She pleaded—her, “please be gentle, Sir” made him chuckle. He would never harm her, but gentleness wasn’t at the forefront of his mind.

As she rose off the ground, she tensed.

“Don’t. Relax or else it will hurt more than you like.”

He would flog her first, to help her give and surrender to him. Once naked, he fisted his hand about his cock, ensuring it extended to its maximum, and smeared some lubricant on it for extra comfort. Gagged, she held a small bell in one hand. If she dropped it, she would be telling him to stop. Enrique, with the benefit of his experience, would watch her carefully, too. Jason rarely suspended any submissive without the presence of another. Fucking a bound woman, hung from the ceiling, brought him to a place of Domspace. Somewhere he would take his pleasure, and rather like subspace, he could stay there in a blissful paradise forever.

***

Gemma’s previous experiences of full suspension were limited to a few occasions with Jason and a number of times with a former Dominant mentor who had plenty of skills in the art of ropework. The helplessness of bondage took her to a new level of submission. She physically floated off, in tune with her mental drifting. To be used for sex while so vulnerable gave her a
sublime
sense of fulfilment. The ropes would form a pattern about her skin. A different kind of temporary marking to the ones of the impact implements. Being bound, with no freedom to move, she put her faith in Jason completely. She felt both liberated and a binding connection to him—facets no other play could replicate.

Lying on the floor, she watched her husband and his assistant go about their task with minimal communication. Although it had been some years since the two men had last practised their ropework collectively, it appeared as if it had been only yesterday. Whatever Jason required, Enrique passed without a word. While Jason looped his intricate knots, all based on Japanese bondage styles, Enrique supported her body in different positions.

There was nothing tedious or boring about the process of being prepared. It took time, but her husband took little moments to keep her on edge. He flicked her erect nipples like a doctor with a syringe full of liquid. She winced each time his finger landed on her tender flesh with force. When he ran the palm of his hand over her skin, she swooned. When he wished, Jason could impart such a delicate touch and his smooth skin felt almost ticklish.

He flipped her over and bestowed several hard smacks to her bottom.

“Meanie!” she yelped.

“Twenty-five thousand,” he whispered in her ear, and she gulped back another complaint. She had no ground to stand on—just like in her suspension. He could take what he wanted from her as recompense.

“Master,” she muttered, “I’m sorry.”

Jason finished binding her and bringing his hand down to her most delicate part, he cupped it.

“Was is this?” he hissed.

“Your pussy, Sir,” she said quickly.

He slapped it hard, and she bit back a cry. “What is this?” he repeated.

“Your fuckhole,” she answered. Fingers probed, juices flowed about them, and she shivered—the only movement she could achieve with her constraints.

“My hole, yes, to fuck. Mine.”

The moment came for her to be lifted up, and the pulley creaked slightly. Gemma experienced a moment of panic, the sensation she would come crashing down. An unnecessary worry. The ropes were of good quality, soft, but strong. He told her to relax and let go of her fears.

While she hung, he used her as he had promised. She lost most of his actions in a haze of bliss. Both of them had orgasms; however, for Gemma, there were moments of pain, which she absorbed and secretly delighted enduring. He didn’t take her too far. The toys he’d threatened her with were cursory interludes. What she craved, he delivered, and he penetrated, rocking her on and off him. Hearing him grunt, growl, and call her his slut simply added to the thrill. She spluttered nonsense into her gag, sometimes a delightful moan, occasionally a plea for mercy, words she didn’t mean—she clung to the bell tightly.

With her back on the floor, divested of her bindings, he whispered. “Easily worth twenty-five thousand, babe. I would have paid double to do that to you. Good job you’re my sex slave and not a paid whore.” He went to fetch a towel.

“Are my debts repaid, then?” she murmured into the rug when he returned.

“Definitely. How did you find the suspension?” He stroked a stray strand of hair out of her face. Her mascara stained his fingers.

“Are there casinos in London?” she replied. “I might squander more of your money. I liked paying off your debts.”

“You should have a chat with Lubinsky,” he suggested sternly and wiped the perspiration off her face with the towel.

Next to him, Maria discreetly bathed Gemma’s ravished private parts.

“Your orgasm was so strong, Enrique had to hold your head to stop you whiplashing yourself.” He knelt over her with a glowing face, a bead of sweat slipping down his temple.

“I’ve had enough whip lashing for a while, thank you, Sir. That’s what my skin is telling me.” She raised her body up on her elbows. “That vacuum pump thing. You know, it was the first time for me?”

“Yes. A hard or soft limit?”

“Oh soft, probably. I don’t know. I’m tired.” Her mental acuity vacated her brain, and she released a deep yawn.

He patted her head sympathetically. “Come on off the floor.”

She joined him on the bed, and Maria massaged the tightness from her upper arms where the ropes had exerted tension. Out of the corner of her eye, Gemma watched Enrique probe Jason’s shoulders hard with his stubby fingers then down his spine and back to his neck. Jason’s face was tranquil and sleepy. Gemma closed her eyes, letting Maria relieve her aches and pains.

Day Seven

If Gemma doubted the validity of the pregnancy test, she couldn’t doubt the sight of blood on the toilet paper. She quickly dealt with the necessary sanitation issues and re-entered the bedroom. Jason lay on his side and patted the bed.

“My period,” she said sullenly.

“We knew it would come,” he reminded her. He eyed her up and down. She showed him the faint redness about her breasts and upper thighs, which he inspected closely; otherwise, she had survived relatively unscathed from the evening’s adventurous bondage scene.

“Are you cramping?” he asked kindly.

“A little,” she admitted.

“Don’t worry. After last night, I will keep above your waist for the day. Let you rest that part of your body. After breakfast I have to work. You can keep me company.” He touched her lips. “Lie between my legs. I want your mouth around this.” He pulled back the sheet to reveal his waiting erection.

“Just like being at home.” Gemma clambered into position.

Hunkered down between his legs, she kept her eyes on his blissful face and touched his shaft with the tip of her tongue. For a brief while, she forgot about periods and failed conceptions. She had him, and that was sufficient.

***

Jason shut the lid of his laptop. Gemma closed her magazine and glanced up at him from the study floor. She was chaste with him—not surprising, given her period and recovering body. The fading marks littered her torso.

“Things not good with work?” she asked.

Jason sighed and tilted his seat back. “I have this premonition something is about to blow up in my face. The warning signs. I hope it happens when we have finished this holiday. Poor Philip is battling the storm on his own.”

“You pay him well to do it, Jason,” she pointed out. “That’s what your senior execs and VPs are there for. You never switch off completely and let them take the reins. When do we leave Monaco?”

He dispatched a blue-eyed stare at her. “Later today,” he said.

He didn’t say where to. She should be used to his tendency to keep secrets from her, but she couldn’t understand why he was being especially furtive with his plans. She pursed her lips. At least the later departure gave her the opportunity to do her own clandestine activity.

“In that case. May I go shopping? I have a gift in mind for you.” She gave him one of her best faces of supplication—a sweet smile and head cocked to one side.

“Sure. Take Remy and Lubinsky. Obey them as you would me,” he ordered as she picked up her magazines.

***

Before departing, Gemma asked Esteban to help her source the gift she had in mind. He made a few phone calls and recommended a small shop on a back street of Monaco-Ville, the Medieval pedestrian streets popular with tourists.

The shop was an easy walk up into the Medieval quarter. Lubinsky remained a few paces behind her, and Remy led. They weaved passed the tourists, and Gemma stayed sandwiched between her two escorts, not daring for one second to drift away into the crowds or window shop.

Once in the shop, the pair stood back and let her take in the choices available for her to buy. The shop assistant would see Gemma’s wealth in her deportment: the bodyguards, fine jewellery, designer clothes, and her enviable shoes.

“Madame?”

Gemma turned to Remy, and he came over to help with the translation. She gesticulated at various items on the shelves behind the assistant while Remy explained what she sought to buy. The assistant laid out the selection on the countertop. Gemma carefully touched them each in turn, running her tattooed fingers over the surfaces and picking up the smaller items within. She studied each one in detail. Finally, she chose one of the most expensive and asked it be gift wrapped.

Gemma used her private credit card. She paid off this card from her own bank account. She didn’t want Jason to know about the cost. Remy carefully picked up the purchase in both hands, tucking it under his arm.

Having achieved her goal, Gemma took the opportunity to peruse other shops and stores as they descended toward the harbour. She didn’t wander and indicated clearly to Lubinsky which ones she wished to enter. By the time the little group reached the yacht, she had also acquired a deck of playing cards bearing the name of the casino—a memento.

Remy deposited Jason’s gift on the glass table in their stateroom. Jason wasn’t in his study, and Gemma was pleased to find him reclined on a sun bed, resting and listening to music on her iPod. She paused under the mast arch and took in the unusual sight of her husband unoccupied and enjoying music. He wore cut-off jeans and a sleeveless vest. A baseball cap sheltered his face from the glaring sun. The sundeck was swathed in a balmy early summer warmth, and the white yacht reflected the heat back around the deck.

Gemma felt loathed to disturb him, at least not abruptly. She approached quietly and slipped down on to her knees, next to his sun bed. His hand reached out and touched her face. He surprised her with his wakeful blue eyes under the baseball cap. His finger traced down her cheek, under her chin, and around to the back of her neck. Slowly, he drew her towards his face, and she parted her lips for his kiss. A brief touch of moist mouths and he lay back.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked.

“Yes. It’s waiting for you in the stateroom.” She tapped the side of her nose.

He swung his legs round and, taking her hand, helped her stand. “I’m intrigued. Show me.” He led her towards the steps.

***

An oblong box shape, squidgy to touch under the metallic wrapping paper. He guessed the object was thirty or so centimetres at its widest. He lifted the present. Heavier than he had expected. He heard a slight rattling noise. Jason gave her a bemused grin, and Gemma bit her lip.

He ripped off the wrapping to reveal bubble wrap. Removing the protective plastic, he unveiled the ornate gift. Jason gave a gasp of genuine delight. He traced a finger over the exquisite leaf-like decorations on the surface and judged the workmanship to be of high quality. He opened the hinged lid and laid the two sides flat on the table.

“Wow! Gemma, it’s exceptional. Thank you.” He admired the contents of the box.

Gemma breathed a sigh of relief. “Marquetry and inlaid mosaic woodwork made from walnut and birchwood.” She picked up a counter, placing it on a point. “The wooden counters are lacquered. Very sleek and smooth don’t you think?”

“Now we have no excuses for not playing backgammon do we?” He shut the lid carefully. “You bought nothing for yourself? No clothes or jewellery?” He would be surprised if she had refrained from buying something for herself.

Gemma twisted her hands behind her back. “I bought a pack of playing cards.”

He struggled to stay straight-faced. “Seriously, I’m banning you from gambling.” He shook his head. “If I find out you have been on any online gambling websites, I will punish you.”

“Punish me?” she said with a mock expression of horror.

“One strike of the cane for every penny you lose.” Jason folded his arms.

“Penny. Don’t you mean pounds?” she bristled.

“Pennies. My final word on the matter. Stick to cribbage.”