“Take a deep breath and stop trembling.” He waited for her to regain her composure.
Without warning, he flicked his middle finger at the base of her middle fingernail. A hard tap, which made a slight noise as it landed. She shut her eyes tightly.
A rebuke. The kind to grab her attention, nothing else, and though delivered quickly, it hurt like crazy. Yet again, her Dominant had demonstrated his endless repertoire of torments. On previous occasions, he had often flicked a vulnerable part of her body, either her engorged clitoris, her lips, an earlobe, or clamped nipple. On this occasion, rather than a sensual tease, he proffered a reminder for her to behave as his submissive at all times.
Why did he have to read so much into one word? Gemma scowled to herself, not daring to show the emotion on her face. As a submissive, she was best placed to know that sometimes keeping one’s mouth shut had great advantages when dealing with Dominants. Nothing slipped passed their sensitive ears or diligent focus on details or nuances.
Jason wasn’t only a Dominant, he was a sadist. Part of her growled hungrily at his sudden display of dominance. Restless to begin their cruise, she knew he would expect much from her, physically and emotionally. She would eagerly consent, maybe not obviously at first. She would fight him off a little, until he stripped her vestige of independence away, leaving her vulnerable to him. Gradually, she would crack apart, peel back the layers of resistance, and give him the submissive he desired.
Love came with their marriage vows, but the other part of their relationship, the domination and submission, had to be consented to and agreed upon. On the plane, she had leapt into his arms when he asked her to be his consensual slave for the cruise. The test of her abilities she had been seeking for many months, since her sexual submission had broken out of the confines of their bedroom.
Correction over, he released her hand. Gemma alternated between shaking and hugging her hand under her armpit while the sharp pain dispersed. She stared out the window and blinked back tears. Not a great start to their vacation.
“I want this to be special, babe,” he’d said on the jet. “If you can orgasm freely, it’s one less area I have to consider punishing you over. I can forgo denying you for the duration of the cruise. Find my dominating diversions in other ways.” He hadn’t indicated the other ways he would seek his gratification.
With a silent sob, she realised she hadn’t even made it to the yacht before he delivered his first judgement.
Chapter 2. Sublime
The limo made its way through the dense traffic of the busy port city. Car horns hooted, and the air was thick with exhaust fumes. The sights distracted Gemma from her throbbing finger. She couldn’t look at Jason, not until she had her emotions under control.
Gemma was angry with herself and with him. She had said something idiotic but, in her opinion, he really did read too much into her words. How would the two so-called servants fit into the grand scheme of his plans? Having another Dominant and submissive on-board confused her. Jason had assured her there was to be nothing sexual about the woman’s relationship with Gemma, but the maid had permission to bathe, dress, and give her beauty treatments.
Did Jason intend to test Gemma’s declaration she wasn’t a bisexual in any capacity? He had always been adamant about not sharing or loaning her out; however, he had made those claims in the context of men. Would he have Maria on board purely to taunt or tempt Gemma into giving in and letting her be used by a woman?
Her lack of interest in women had no deep-seated reasons. At school, she’d had predominately female friends and likewise at university. Like all teenagers and young women, they’d talked excessively about sex and relationships. They’d bitched and teased each other.
When she had turned thirteen, she’d had her first serious snog with a speckled boy and suffered his halitosis. He had stuck his tongue in her mouth when their lips had barely met. Gemma had told all her schoolmates she had a fantastic French kissing session with him and tried hard to make the frivolous girls envious of her. In the end, many of her so-called friends weren’t her real friends. They quickly got jealous of her good looks and sexually gregarious nature. By the time her school days ended, Gemma had amassed a core of three companions who weren’t judgemental about her behaviour or competitive about boys.
In her daily school life, she had been constantly followed around by a pack of panting, lanky, sex-obsessed adolescents, whom she suspected of secretly placing bets on who would have her first. She’d held out for some considerable time before the inevitable happened.
Guy would never be a hunk. He had been a bony, skinny young man, who relied on charm and a rather pathetic moustache. Why she fancied him had been lost in the backwaters of her memory. Probably because she craved sex. Her sex drive had been switched on the moment her periods started. Seeing pictures of copulating humans in her biology textbook enthralled and made her tingle inside, right in her belly. By the time Guy came along, she was fully developed, curvy, and well versed in t
he theoretical intricacies of sex.
Their brief affair had lasted one night. Not only had he shown no interest in her gratification, he promptly fell asleep, leaving her rather taken aback and disgruntled. She had wondered whether she should have given more on her part.
Instead, she had learnt to masturbate, at home, in bed. She had read reams of romantic fiction, leafed through women’s magazines about sexual dissatisfaction, and secretly perused Joy of Sex in the corner of the library, stuffed between the pages of a large atlas.
At no point in her sexual education had she thought about girls. Her own sex organs she accepted as part of her and necessary, but she didn’t feel a burning desire to plonk a mirror between her legs and gawp in amazement. She liked to masturbate, yet couldn’t imagine doing it to another woman. The image of Guy’s penis lingered, and she had built bigger, better ones in her mind. Visions of titanic, godlike men standing over her with enormous erections poised and her legs quivering underneath.
“Put it in me!” she would shriek in her head.
Feeling sordid and disappointed by the experience, Gemma hadn’t boasted of her deflowering to any of her friends. Instead, they had styled each other’s hair and make-up, bought clothes at the flea market, and walked arm-in-arm down the streets, talking brashly about absolutely nothing of consequence.
When Gemma started university, she had met new men of all ages, not just immature youths. Each new acquisition in the bed department had improved her technique and style. What had been lacking was romance and emotional connections. She’d failed dismally to have a real boyfriend, an admirer to show off to her parents. Her sexual encounters had rarely lasted beyond a handful of dates.
She’d been tactile and needy from the outset of her sexual awakening. Her breasts a wonderful playground, she had offered them keenly as soon as a man had his hand down her front. She liked the feel of strong hands holding her tight, pinning her underneath. On all fours was joyous, having herself pulled on and off a good-sized cock. Do this, do that. Stand there. Bend over. Men who simply got on with the deed liberated Gemma.
She enjoyed romantic kissing and cuddling, but to fire her boiler to its highest setting, she had to be taken. A conquest. Their faces when they’d watched her respond instantly to their instructions had been delightful to see. She had seen satisfaction, pleased expressions, and heard their grunts, exertions, and final climaxing cries. A man skilled in how to use his body parts effectively, capable of splendid acts, hit her erogenous zones every time.
Guy’s whimper had long been forgotten.
By her final year of study, she’d run out of sexual steam. Nothing set the fireworks off anymore. From then on, she had shifted into increasingly masculine areas of work or pleasure. By the time she’d graduated and started employment in the antiquated bookshop on a nondescript back street, she was lonely, undisciplined in thoughts, and fantasising about ever more unorthodox forms of sex. She shouldn’t have been the least bit surprised when the grey-haired gentleman, who owned the shop, had asked her to bend over his desk and let him spank her. The moment of hesitation had been fractional, barely a second. Gemma crossed the threshold and moved on in her personal journey until it led her to Jason Lucas, multimillionaire CEO, her one-time boss and now her eternal lover.
Maria wouldn’t be touching her between the legs. Gemma’s body wasn’t on offer for sex from anybody, regardless of gender. Jason’s definition of sexual play didn’t reassure her in the slightest though. There were plenty of other ways to be used by man or woman without penetrative intercourse. Jason claimed the couple were there as servants. Not that he would lie, but he was very capable of manipulating her into thinking they were for something else and letting her be led from there. Unconvinced by his little handmaiden lecture, some decisions had to be hers.
In his past, Jason had engaged in ménages with more than one woman. He hadn’t told her the details; however, Gemma had extracted rudiments from Judith, her submissive friend and confidante. After several glasses of wine, Judith would openly let loose about his early years. Jason had been right when he had told Gemma his history was off limits. Judith’s stories illustrated extreme adventures in brinkmanship and sexual deviancy involving voyeurism and orgies.