Judged by Him (40 page)

They returned to
Sublime
close to four in the afternoon for cake and coffee. Gemma wanted to swim, sun bathe, and generally do all the things she had enjoyed during the cruise. Jason denied each request with a simple no. He retreated to his study, leaving her to read quietly. She refused to sulk at his responses. Instead, she wrote a final postcard to her parents.

***

“We’re eating out. When we return, I’ve decided to spank you.”

Gemma, resting on the bed, jerked her legs. A sense of foreboding rushed through her. “Why? You said you wouldn’t punish me.”

“It’s not a punishment. I wish to spank you. Let’s say it is to re-establish our dynamic in its proper place.” Jason loomed over the bed.

She opened her mouth to speak then thought better of it. He had used the word spank. Jason rarely requested a spanking. His preferred style was to tell her which implement he would be using and it gave her an idea of his intentions—a whipping, a flogging, or a caning. Spanking could mean anything and left her uncertain. She slumped in despair, failing to see any erotic enticement in his wish.

Jason, upon seeing her deflated appearance, insisted she had two re-invigorating minutes in a cool shower. She didn’t find the shower refreshing. Consumed by thoughts of her impending spanking, she failed dismally to find excitement for the evening’s events.

Couldn’t he have told me after the meal?

One word echoed in her head.

Acceptance.

Her first Master had taught her being a submissive was more than the concept of simply submitting, of giving control to another over her life. There were other behaviours: obedience, willingness, and acceptance. She considered herself generally obedient, and she willingly gave her body for his pleasure or for her correction. What she struggled with was accepting it was going to happen. Staring at her reflection in the gilt-framed mirror, surrounded by the now familiar opulence of
Sublime’s
interior, Gemma doubted she had evolved at all over the cruise. Part of her felt like she had stepped backwards not forwards.

She had nearly screwed up with her attempts at being bi-curious, she had had failed on many fronts in the nightclub and, instead of being excited about a meal out with Jason, she wallowed in negativity. Wet hair draped around her shoulders, she rested her head on her arms and leant on the dresser. Jason would accuse her of self-doubt, lack of self-esteem. In fact, she concluded that many words that commenced with the word “self” generated the negative attitudes spinning about in her head.

He rested her hands on her shoulders. She didn’t jump as she had heard him approach.

“Sit up, and I’ll dry your hair.” He brushed out the knots with long sweeps of the larger hairbrush.

“Let me play a different scenario for you. I don’t tell you I’m going to spank you, and we go to the restaurant. We have a great time, and we come back here. I tell you to strip and present. You spring tight like a coil, and when I spank you, it hurts like crazy because you’re tense. Tell me the scenario that is going to happen tonight. The one we have already started.” He picked up the hair dryer.

Gemma sighed. She knew his game; now he was playing her. She relayed what she believed would happen in the coming hours, watching his reaction in the mirror.

“Well, I start the evening feeling really pissed off with you because you’ve reminded me I’ve screwed up and need a jolly good spanking with whatever you’re going to have in your hand. I wallow in self-pity all the way to the restaurant until you discipline me, something short and sharp—”

“Do I? You’re feeling
that
negative about yourself?” He shook his head with despair.

“I’m afraid so. However, I’m trying to be optimistic. I think you’re going to take me somewhere different or special. I’m going to like the food and atmosphere. Maybe you might let me have a little alcohol. By the time we get back here, I will have accepted your choice of spanking implement. I’m hoping I will take my spanking well. Feel suitably submissive and glad you’re my Master. How did my scenario go?”

“I like the sound of it.” He ran his fingers through her drying hair. “How are the negative thoughts?” He gathered her hair back, pulling on the locks.

“Dispersing. Thank you, Sir.” She handed him a hair tie.

“Good because I would rather not have to discipline you in the back of the car again. I want to enjoy this meal, too.” He completed his hair-styling tasks. “Take heart from that. You’re hardly a failure as a submissive. Kneel here before me.”

She knelt naked at his feet. Dressed casually in black jeans and a pale blue polo shirt, which hugged his musculature, he had a confident swagger about his stance, more so than usual, or perhaps it was what she wanted to see in him. He held her in his blue gaze.

“Look at me. You’re beautiful. I will continue to discipline you, shape and mould you. You will accept because I ask you to. You will give yourself to me graciously and without fear.”

Cupid’s arrow had struck her heart yet again. He had found the right words for her as he always seemed to do. Overcome with the need to show her appreciation, her devotion, she lay flat before him in the position of surrender.

Another one of her first Master’s lessons stored in her memories,
“Show your acceptance with your body, Gemma. If you can’t find the words, your body will do it for you.”

Gemma’s backside blazed. The rest of her body shivered with a cold sensation, as if she had suddenly been plunged into icy waters.

A soothing hand stroked her head, a slow gentle movement from temple to neck. Gemma tried to concentrate hard on her husband and not the pain below, which had suddenly come alive again as if her senses had crash-landed back on earth. Jason’s roving hand came to rest on her lower back, keeping her still while he rubbed in the cooling lotion. His gentle words of placation oozed into her ears, helping her come out of her lost place.

Many things had gone according to Gemma’s description of the evening’s scenario. Not completely word perfect. She hadn’t left the yacht in a negative frame of mind. She hadn’t required a sharp disciplining in the Mercedes that drove them to his chosen restaurant. Her attitude had transformed following his little pep talk. She had been resolved to enjoy the meal and to show Jason she accepted his control over her.

***

The Bavarian restaurant cooked its food on big stone grills. Her kind of food: grilled meat, potato dumplings, and sticky sauces. Comfort food. It made her feel homey. For Jason, German beer.

Not the most glamorous of restaurants, but Gemma appreciated it had a genuine atmosphere and plenty of traditional Bavarian folk music and decorations. Jason’s beer arrived in a large litre beer mug, and the male staff wore lederhosen and the women white aprons with short, colourful waistcoats.

Dessert was apple strudel with vanilla sauce. “Mmmm. I love this.” Gemma licked her lips. “Perhaps we should have apple trees in the garden. An orchard maybe? I could make apple crumbles or pies.”

“Will there be any of the lawn left?” Jason gave a mock roll of his eyes.

“There is loads of space. Pear trees, perhaps along the wall. Cherry trees, too. I will talk to John. Find out what varieties would grow best.” She scraped her plate clean.

On the way to the restaurant, they had chatted amiably. The return journey to the yacht was quiet. Her hands ran nervously up and down her skirt, while her husband tracked the changing scenery outside his car window. Streetlights and passing vehicles held his attention, not his wife.

Entering the stateroom, Gemma undressed, slipping off each layer with tremulous fingers. Jason removed his shirt, baring his chest. The golden tan glowed under the halogen lights, and she warmed to his appearance. He fetched nothing. His bare hands held no ropes or implements. Enrique and Maria were absent. They were quite alone.

He waved a finger. “Come here,” he said softly.

Gemma approached, shuffling a little as she wondered where he would put her. Over the chair or the bed? He seated himself at the foot of the bed and tapped his lap with one finger. “Over.”

“Over the knee?” A small buzz hit her nervous system. Jason sought to spank her over his knee. The simplest and traditional approach to spanking, and still her preference, even if it seemed a little humiliating.

One firm thigh supported her pelvis and, to add to her capitulation, he wrapped his other leg over the back of her naked thighs. Gemma focused on her breathing. She took her time to centre her thoughts, to find a place to go to where she could process the pain.

“Consider this spanking a reminder. I want you to understand I will not tolerate lapses with regard to your safety. To place your own greedy needs for attention above that of your importance to me. Your gift of your body will not be frittered away by reckless actions. Do you have anything to say?”

“I’m very grateful for your attention, to bring this to me, and I accept the reason why.”

Jason rubbed oil into her skin before starting. The sun had dried out her skin, increasing the risk of it cracking. She expected to drift away, to find somewhere to escape the pain. It usually required her to be at peace with herself and not fighting him. There, in her submissive headspace, she would be floating, and he would enjoy the sight of her under his control.

She brought into play her initial techniques for processing pain. She recited poems, essays, and mathematical formulas with their bright colours. The new places, the exotic locations of their holiday, filled her imagination until the pain broke through. She tried to think of the paintings she wanted to create, and it led her to the realisation she wanted to paint in an environment suited to her desires. She started to formulate her ideas as she grunted, writhing on his lap and twisting her body away from him.

The flat of his hand landed rhythmically and moved from one buttock to the next without pausing. Heat became burning, as he increased the velocity and power of his smacks. If his own hand hurt, he didn’t waver. She could feel the bones in her pelvis jar on a few occasions as he landed on her sit-spot. Her breasts shook as she tried to rise up and meet his descent, shorting the distance. Jason’s response was to push her back down. No escape.

Gemma could no longer think. The time for running away from pain ended. She wanted to be back there with Jason. She had been so foolishly disconnected from him. The night of the attack, she had failed to be there with him and, during the spanking, she did the same again. He wasn’t punishing her, nor even disciplining her. He intended, desired, to bring her back under his wing, his protection and sanctuary. Gemma let out a groan of recognition, at her faults and her needs. They intertwined, knotted together. When she was needy, instead of focusing on Jason and keeping him central to her thoughts, she became impulsive and bratty. She was doing it again, seductively bent over his lap while he smacked her bottom repeatedly.

“Oh, fuck,” she muttered. “Please, give me more.”

I’m crazy!
She hadn’t wanted to be spanked and had even dreaded it. Then it became all she desired. The nature of his blows changed the moment she asked for more. The smacks lightened, swung almost softly against her, and they no longer burned into her tender flesh. He slowed his pace, and between thuds, his hand teased, pinching and nipping her. Different sensations.

To her delight, Jason caressed and rubbed the singed flesh, distributing the discomfort.

“There, my subbie, let it go,” he whispered. “I’m well pleased with you.”

The trauma of the knife attack melted away, the fear of how close she had come to being abducted from a nightclub shrank back, and then came the relief. Jason was pleased with her.

“Please, Master, please.”

Jason understood her pathetic pleading. It wasn’t that she wanted him to stop, she wanted him to take her to her edge, her boundary, and let her float away.

“Go, babe,” he murmured, and she did with each expert swing of his hand.

With every flick of his wrist, she had felt a thud. Her mind dissociated from her body, but not from his presence. If anything, she felt closer to him. Nothing hindered the metamorphosis from stress to relaxation.

A patter of blows landed like raindrops, almost indiscernible, and her bottom glowed. She went to her place of subspace, her shoulders slumped as any sense of rational thought vaporised. She barely moved as he rubbed her down. She held unshed tears in her eyes, kept at bay until she could shed them.

“I’m stopping, Gemma.”

The tears flowed from her eyes at his words. A continuous stream fell down her cheeks. He ended it, but she didn’t want him to. She lay on the bed while he applied the arnica cream. The coolness smeared about her soreness. Coming out of subspace, she tried to curl up into a ball, shivering uncontrollably, but he wouldn’t let her, instructing her to lie on him. Belly to belly, her head on his chest, so she could hear his heart and follow the pattern of his calm breathing. For half an hour, he caressed her unblemished skin and spoke softly to her about the plans for Venice.

“We’ll pack tomorrow and disembark. The hotel is located behind St Mark’s Square. Tomorrow evening, we will go to the opera. There are the obligatory gondolas. No doubt we will visit an art gallery of your choice. Plenty to keep you occupied.”

Gemma lifted her head. “It all sounds wonderful. Don’t forget shopping! I have gifts to buy for friends and family. Wouldn’t do for a billionaire’s wife to return home empty handed. So, we say good-bye to
Sublime
and its crew tomorrow. You said you would release me once we left the yacht.”

“I did, and I will. Once we’ve disembarked, we will be plain vanilla Mr and Mrs Lucas, holidaying in Venice. Lubinsky will remain with us. Remy will return to France. We’ll fly back to England on Friday evening and have a weekend at Blythewood. Then back to the grindstone of work.”

He traced a finger down her spine. Her breathing slowed, the trembling diminished, and she felt relaxed, content, and erotically charged. Throughout the spanking, she had felt him test her, check her status, and she knew her body had betrayed her. It usually did.