“I’ll make sure he does it before you leave tomorrow. If you come in here on your own, you must inform the gatehouse. There is a panic button on the wall by the door and two under those flaps in the tiles by the edge of each end of the pool. They will summon help.” He patted his papers together and returned them to a manila folder on his lap.
“Martinson, he’s more than your driver, he works hard for you? Does he have a life outside of chauffeuring you around?” I was inquisitive about his staff and their relationship with him.
“He’s well paid to be at my beck and call. He lives close by with his family. There is an old estate manager’s house that he has rent free from me. The entrance is further along from the gatehouse,” Jason pointed out of the window across to the trees, “not far from the edge of the gardens.”
“Is he trained as a bodyguard or something?” I turned on my side to face Jason, my bottom was throbbing a little from lying on it.
“He is ex-army, a sergeant in the military police. His skills are broad and invaluable both in protection and investigating, like checking out potential submissives for me.” Jason
held me in his gaze.
“He knows....” my voices trailed off.
I thought back on how Martinson did not query my lying down in the back of car. Martinson must have ferried Jason’s submissives around before, probably in a similar state of discomfort. I would not have been the first to be humiliated in front of his driver, which was an unpleasant thought.
“Yes, as I say he’s paid a great deal of money to work erratic hours and keep his mouth very shut. As are all the others, like Johnson, who if you want to know is ex-Special Branch.” Jason was starting to sound impatient with the direction of the conversation. “Time to head back to the house. I need to work at my computer and you have a meal to cook for me, I believe.” He pointed to my clothes, which were neatly folded on another chair.
Dressed, he led me back to the main house, leaving me in the kitchen to prepare our meal. I diced chicken breasts and left them marinating in Cajun sauce in the fridge. I was drawn to him. I sought him out, hoping for companionship. He was in his study, reclined on his office chair, reading.
“Do you need anything, Jason?” I asked, sticking my head round the door.
Fingers snapped. As quickly as possible, I was next to his leather chair.
“I want to rest my feet. You will be my footstool.”
OK, that game. I was to be his erotic piece of furniture and the humiliation made me squirm with a strange mixture of delight and reticence. I sunk down on my hands on hands and knees.
“I want to feel you, not your clothes. Bum up, elbows down.” Jason’s voice was soft, commanding and impossible to defy.
I pulled my knickers down to my knees, skirt hitched high round my waist. His bare feet rested on my raised bottom, my feet next to the chair legs and head buried in my arms. Busy reading, he ignored me. Eventually my elbows and knees began to ache as the minutes ticked monotonously by. Then his feet started to move. Gentle at first, just running over my lower back to my thighs. I suppressed a moan. A big toe pushed between my cheeks, finding my crack and I spread my legs wider. A foot kicked my bum, not hard, but enough to force me forward on to my arms. Toes scraped my bruised skin, another shove and I landed flat on my belly. Just like lunch, he abused my bottom, this time with his heavy feet. Spread-eagled at his feet, he pressed his heels down, pinning me down. The carpet was thankfully soft, plush and cushioned me. He was hurting me and I let him, unfazed by his treatment of me. I was going crazy with lust, begging him in my head to fuck me.
Jason tossed the papers he had been pretending to read on his desk. “Kneel, face me.”
I complied as I was glad to be off the floor.
“Who do you belong to, Gemma?” A quiet question.
“You, sir,” I intoned, eyes down.
“Why?”
“To please you. I am your obedient girl, sir.” The formula was completed – I continued to give my consent.
What next? He did not appear satisfied.
He grabbed my ponytail, yanking my head back and reaching down he found my wetness with his probing fingers. Nothing said, he did not need to, as he showed me his moist fingers. Fingertips touched my lips and I opened my mouth for him. Three fingers went straight down my throat and I gagged on his long digits. In and out they moved and he created a mess of saliva in my mouth. He was impressively hard, there between his legs, ready for my lubricated mouth. Not the gentle fellatio of the morning, no, he was demonstrating his meaner side, all his dominant facets on display.
I gripped the arms of his chair, either side of his hips. He rocked back and forth in my wide open mouth with little thought for my oral comfort. Up and down I sucked harder, deeper, and faster. He was perched on the edge of his seat and held my face against his navel, chunks of my hair in each of hands. I was suffocating, choking and unable to breathe. Panic rose and he whipped my head back. I inhaled loudly and desperately before he pushed his enormous erection back down my throat. I held the chair tight and struggled to accommodate him in my wretched mouth. Looking up to his face, my eyes stung with watery tears, his face was unsympathetic, ecstatic and absorbed. Whatever I was suffering, he was close to a powerful climax. Inspired, I sucked harder, my lips touching his testicles. Several times he repeated his suffocating penetration and copious amounts of saliva hung down from the corners of my mouth.
“Oh, Fuck! Fuck!” Jason squirted down my throat, thick, hot and salty. I swallowed his white nectar greedily.
He drew back, released from my first Jason Lucas skull fuck. I was dazed and my jaw ached. Dragging me up by my neck, my back flung on his immaculate desk and pinned down. He frigged my clitoris and sopping pussy with those long fingers and broad palm.
“I coming! I'm coming!” I shrieked.
“Fuck yes,” he growled and I did come, squirming, writhing and my mouth drooling.
His hands did not stop.