Judged by Him (6 page)

“Go on, Maria,” Gemma said with a determined tone. She wanted to know; she had to know more about her husband. He would never tell her.

“As I said, Señora, he was young. The yacht, chartered for him. He had no interest in the cruise, only the girls. There were demanding, difficult scenes, you understand? The next three times were different. He came with a couple, a Mr. Bradley and Miss Wainwright?”

“Yes, I know them. Garratt and Judith. They’re friends.” More than friends. Garratt and Jason co-owned a BDSM nightclub called the Nightshade, an exclusive haunt for the wealthy. The conservative décor and formal etiquette so different from the clubs where she chose to dance or meet other kinky people. Her first visit had been a daunting occasion. She’d met Judith, Garrett’s long term partner and consensual slave. Many years ago, Judith had shared Jason’s bed. Gemma had initially resented the other woman’s involvement with Jason, even though it had long finished. Given the circumstances, her friendship with Judith had taken time to develop. Now, they were close. “Who was with Jason?”

“Different girls. I don’t recall their names. To be honest, he didn’t talk to them much. By then, he had bought this boat and added his own features. The wild young man had gone, replaced by a very wealthy one; you could tell by the way he expected everything to happen without asking for it. Bodyguards, this time, too. I saw a businessman seeking relaxation and escape from work. Señor Lucas was subdued. He was, the word...alooth?”

“Aloof. Distant?” corrected Gemma.“S
í
. We served him and the couple. Enrique likes to watch. It gives him ideas for his comics, his drawings.”

“Surely Jason doesn’t let Enrique model his artwork on him!” Gemma couldn’t imagine her husband condoning the use of his image.

“Oh, gracious, no. Enrique wouldn’t use real faces or bodies in his work. It is stylised, and all he needs are themes to work on. Señor Lucas likes his work and is happy for him to do this,” Maria explained.

“Would he show me some? I paint, myself, and sketch, too. Jason thinks I should have a career as an artist.”

In their numerous conversations about her paintings, she’d told him she might consider giving up her current career if children entered their lives. She’d constructed a tantalising image of her painting in a workshop with children playing nearby.

“You should, if you wish to. You can do anything you like. You’re lucky,” noted Maria.

“True. These girls, did he show any interest in their lives?”

Maria chortled. “No, señora. I told you, the girls were his pleasure vessels, like this yacht. They waited for him in the stateroom or on the sundeck. Always waiting for him to come and ....”

“I understand. He fucked them and used them. Like he does me.”

As if to read her mind, Maria stopped her massaging fingers and stroked the hair from Gemma face. “Oh, no, Señora Lucas. No, no. Not like you. Believe me. He is so different with you. In one day, I see the difference. ”

“How is he different? Please, Maria, I don’t have a point of comparison. He doesn’t speak of his past, and I have never seen him have sex with another woman. He takes his marriage vows seriously. We both do. What was he like with them?” Gemma implored. “Did he watch them have enemas with you?”

“Yes. But he would never have let them have an orgasm. He did other things with them. He loved to humiliate. You felt ashamed after this morning. You are privileged; he lets you enjoy yourself. Señora, he is between his worlds. The Dominant who wants to control you and use your body and the husband who must love you very much.”

“How can you know that? All I felt this morning was the indignity. The orgasm forced, then he kept me waiting to relieve myself,” said Gemma in a huff, raising her head.

“Not that long, señora.” Maria laughed. “I have seen him force them to stay at his feet, begging, crying for relief, and threatening punishments if they failed. You swore at him! Mother Mary, another girl would have been thrashed for such disrespect.”

“I suppose. I do get angry with him sometimes. I shouldn’t show it.”

“And still he lets you come. With his hands, not a toy—”

“His hands.” Gemma smiled, resting her head back down. “Yes, I like his hands.” She giggled.

Maria continued her massage. “See. You are different. He will come back here again, though. I think he needs to do this kind of play with you. Something to degrade you, yes?”

Gemma sighed. Maria’s perceptions struck a chord.

“Each morning, he reminds me I am his submissive. However he treated me the night before, as wife or his sex slave, I will be made to entertain his dominate nature. He has given me the freedom to orgasm at will. He hinted to me, though, he would seek pleasure from me in other ways. I’m finding out, aren’t I?” She buried her face in her arms.

“I shouldn’t tell you this, señora.” Maria bent low and whispered in her ear, “Yesterday, while you bathed, he came and found me. He asked to know if you were all right. He told me if I ever thought you were too distressed or upset, I should find him and bring him to you. My sweet señora, he never, never asked me to do that before. If the other girls, the previous ones, struggled, he let them have a break or time to themselves. But he offered no sympathy or true concern. If they couldn’t cope, he would send them back and choose another. On his first cruise, when there were several men, he did that. Sent one girl packing because she kept asking for mercy.”

Gemma reflected on Maria’s words and took comfort. She would hold them in her mind as she returned each morning for her massage, manicures, and other treatments her husband specified, such as waxing or plucking her eyebrows. Depending on their schedule and his need to work, Jason might be there, too. His eyes would fixate on Maria’s talented fingers and kneading palms as she worked over Gemma’s fine body. The oils would glimmer and shine, and Jason wouldn’t permit Gemma to be covered, ensuring he would have full view of her nudity.

***

Maria concentrated on massaging the beautifully body under her fingertips. Her señora had gone silent, no doubt pondering their conversation. Maria suspected she had gone too far, but her señora had been persuasive and Maria had sympathy for the woman’s circumstances, especially her ignorance.

An experienced masseur, of both the therapeutic and sensual kind, Maria had noticed the faint scars on the other woman’s buttocks but knew not to comment. A thin line like a white scratch, and small, puckered spots. The latter appeared to be scars from small puncture wounds. Not a needle—too big to be a needle. Something else. The skin had healed smoothly about them, and the marks were only truly visible at close quarters.

Señora Gemma had been the victim of a serious crime and suffered traumatic flashbacks. A syndrome of some kind. The information had been provided in a lengthy e-mail from the señor before she and Enrique joined the crew. Maria’s English wasn’t sophisticated enough to understand the medical aspects. All they had been told was strictly no blood or handcuffs. If she became unresponsive to words, extremely pale, or panic stricken, the señor was to be informed immediately.

Maria didn’t regret her exposé of Señor Lucas’s past. It had settled Señora Lucas into the right frame of mind. Maria had learnt from previous cruises the señor liked watching her massage other women. She was expected to make Gemma aroused and drive her wild so she wriggled and squirmed under her hands. The señor had made the stipulation in a private e-mail.

When Maria reported to the señor what happened to Señora Lucas during the massage, he gave a small nod.

“Good. Keep at it. Don’t touch her. She has to come to me. This has to be her choice. You’re doing her a favour, Maria. Don’t feel guilty. In any case, you’re pleasing me and, if all goes well, Enrique will be able to witness you in action. You will be well rewarded by him.”

Maria remained at Señor Lucas’ feet. She felt a stab of sympathy for the señora. Nevertheless,
Maria suspected the señora would succumb and discover things she hadn’t dared to before the cruise.

“May I speak freely, Señor Lucas?”

Her heart told her to speak. She saw a vulnerability in the other woman.

“Yes,” replied Señor Lucas, arching one eyebrow.

“Her self-esteem, the señora’s belief in her abilities, is not good. For a submissive, she needs greater confidence in herself. I hope I haven’t spoken disrespectfully,” she added quickly.

“Don’t worry, Maria. I’m well aware of my wife’s weaknesses. She has suffered terrible traumas at the hands of others. She is still healing. You must trust me. I love her deeply and will not let her be harmed.” He reached down and briefly touched her hair. “I’m not the same man I was before, am I?”

“No, Señor Lucas. You are not.”

Jason and Gemma dined on a traditional Spanish dish in the ornate dining salon. The location permitted Captain McKenzie to join them.

“Oh, that bites somewhat,” muttered Gemma after the first mouthful of ice cream flavoured with chocolate and chilli.

The conversation virtually excluded her. Jason keenly asked about the latest news on the chartering business. His yacht had been continuously chartered for the past three years. For long leases and short, big guest parties and smaller ones. The money earned had covered the costs of the crew, fuel, and other expenses easily. The crew had changed numerous times over that period—not uncommon—but personnel issues had been minor. The yacht had been refitted twice since Jason’s ownership, one a major session in dry dock for engine maintenance and the second a minor sprucing up of the decor. They discussed the popular cruises, the best ports and harbours, and the difficulties of customs bureaucracy.

Gemma liked the man’s Scottish accent. A soft variation, which was easy to understand and follow. A good-looking man, almost an equivalent to Jason in stature and sexual appeal. She knew he was gay, and she found the thought liberating. She couldn’t be accused of flirting with a homosexual.

“We’re going to Ceuta? A Spanish territory?”

“Yes, Mrs Lucas. A mainly Spanish population; however, you will be in Africa, a stone’s throw from Tangiers,” said Captain McKenzie.

“You will let us know when we pass the Rock?” asked Jason.

“Of course, sir. Not long. I need to relieve Ludo. Thank you for sharing your lunch with me.” Captain McKenzie rose and retreated.

Gemma wandered into the main salon. Jason followed with a glass of wine.
Sublime
rolled and pitched through the rougher sea as it steered towards the Straits of Gibraltar. She explored a cupboard by the big screen TV and found packs of playing cards and a chessboard.

“Let’s play chess,” suggested Jason, and she groaned.

They set the board up on an outside table. Off the starboard side, the coast appeared as a distant blur. The sun drifted in and out of the clouds, while a breeze blew across. Sitting opposite her husband, Gemma tried hard to put up a good fight and managed to take a couple of his key pieces, but she lost decisively. She always did.

The king toppled over with a flick of Jason’s finger. “You really are quite a bad chess player, Gemma. No foresight whatsoever,” he admonished with a sigh.

“Draughts?”

“Hell, no.” He frowned.

“What about cribbage? There’s a peg board,” she tried again.

“Go on, fetch it, and the cards.”

Gemma showed off her shuffling skills and cut the deck with one hand. “Your box,” she said after cutting the pack and losing.

“You mean crib. You always say box.”

“That’s what we called it in
our
family.” She shrugged. “Anyway you’ve got the advantage,” she pointed out, slapping down two cards on his crib pile.

“Tetchy, aren’t we?”

The game progressed at a leisurely pace, and Gemma matched Jason in skill and fortune.

“Fifteen, two, four, and six. Run for three and a pair. That makes eleven.” She pegged her red pin up the board, leaving Jason’s farther behind.

“Two pairs for a four,” he growled. His luck ran out. “Crib. Bloody hell, a zero. You have been mean with your cards!”

The hands after that one fell in Gemma’s favour, and she won by a whole side of the cribbage board.

“Yes. Yes!” she gloated. “Again?”

Gemma hummed a tune under her breath. She couldn’t hide from her husband the pleasure of playing at a game she had a chance of winning. The next one went to him, a close finish, with both of them within a few points of the final hole. A decider was required, and she won easily again.

“Well done, babe. You are definitely the mistress of the
box
.”

Gemma tidied away the cribbage board and returned with a backgammon set.

“Fancy beating me at this?” she asked.

“I can try. I’ve not played backgammon before,” he admitted.

“What! I don’t believe that. It’s so popular.” She opened the box and removed the counters. “Do you mean I get to
train
you?” The idea gave her a thrill, a little buzz.

“A lesson from my sub.” He peered at the instruction sheet, tapping his finger on his chin. “Sure, why not.”

The instructions reminded her how to set the board up. Then she discarded the sheet. She had a good memory of how to play the backgammon. She carefully explained the rules and took the first roll of the die.

The game progressed surprisingly quickly, and she won while Jason laboured to move his pieces around to his home board. She had thrown plenty of doubles to help her counters and a number of useful blots.

They set up the board again, and Jason leant forward, fingers poised as he concentrated. She attempted to distract him, filled with an irresistible urge to tease him. When she bent over to pick up the instruction sheet, which had blown off the table, her breasts bounced, revealing her cleavage. He replied to her enticement with a soft snort, almost a chuckle. A close game and he won as they both bore off their counters.

Jason won the deciding match. Gemma frowned. How had he picked up the game so quickly?

He leant back in his chair. “Can’t think why I never learnt to play backgammon. Never owned a board.”