Judged by Him

Work occupied his mind, an unfortunate intrusion of thoughts constantly interrupting his leisurely reading. He substituted these unwanted thoughts with those of his wife. She would be naked up on the sundeck, her henna tattoos creating a pattern of suntan that would be revealed once the dye had faded.

The idea of temporarily marking her had come to him one day as he watched a group of Asian women walk down the street. His car was stuck in traffic, and he had time to see their hands. The rest of the bodies were covered by colourful saris. The image of Gemma with decorated hands and feet tantalised him.

His groin stirred. If he had been at work, he would have refocused his mind on his daily tasks. This day, he didn’t have to. In fact, the opposite was possible. She was up there, ready and available. Sometimes he wished they were the only ones on the yacht, allowing him to use her freely, without the precautions of avoiding the eyes and ears of the ignorant crew. He would bend her over the rails and enter her, hair flowing in the breeze as Sublime sailed serenely in the water, or better still, tie her to the railings and whip her like during the days of buccaneers and pirates.

He had always told Gemma he didn’t role-play or act out fantasies. A half-truth. He was happy to use fantasies as inspirational notions or designs for his scenes. If Sublime were a sailing yacht rather than a motor yacht, he would have lashed her to a mast and fucked her. His cock hardened and, since he was on holiday, he would do as a Master should—use his slave for his own purposes.

He tossed the book on the nearby lounger and decided to head up to the sundeck. Enrique would be up there with her. With Maria reported unwell, he had asked Enrique to provide for her needs. The man wasn’t adept at serving women, an easy observation to make. Enrique had frowned.

“What service should I provide for her?” he had said slyly.

“You are an impatient man, Enrique,” had said Jason. “Keen to have her in your hands aren’t you? You’ll wait. When I’m ready for her to be touched by another, you will have your fun. We will both have our fun.”

“I can wait.” Enrique folded his arms.

“She’s an artist. Talk about your paintings or graphic art. You don’t have to be friends, but breaking the ice with her might help. Don’t you think?”

***

The earlier massage had been reasonably agreeable, and Gemma had to keep her mind from roaming, taking her to erotic locations and images, ones that didn’t normally trouble her daydreams. Maria had been quiet and distracted, her fingers not quite as forceful or thorough.

Now Gemma wanted to sunbathe properly, unlike Jason, who hid under parasols or hats. Lying on the sundeck, on her favoured sun bed, she basked in the warm air naked and glowing with a sheen of tanning lotion. She rotated every fifteen minutes or so, to create her uniform tan. As she wriggled onto her back on one rotation, she spied Enrique standing in the archway, leaning against the bar. The presence of the man incensed her.

“What do you want, Enrique?” she snapped at him.

“I was sent to see if you had everything you required,” he said haughtily.

“Where is Maria?”

“Maria is indisposed at the moment,” he replied with a shrug. “I’m here instead of her.”

“What’s wrong with her?” said Gemma, sitting up sharply.

“Nothing that a few hours’ sleep won’t help with. She suffers with the occasional migraine.” His face remained expressionless.

“Oh. Poor thing.” Staring at Enrique, she drummed her fingers on the sun bed. “Well, I don’t need anything. So, please leave me alone.”

His lips curled up in a faint smile. “My instructions are to stay with you.”

Gemma fumed and covered her body with a towel.

Enrique strolled out from under the archway. “You can choose to ignore me, señora, or, if you wish, we keep each other company. I have your Master’s permission to be with you.”

“And now you have my permission to go away!” she said fiercely.

“I don’t obey your wishes, señora. You should know that.” He crossed his arms.

Gemma stood up and marched past him, clutching her iPod. Pausing, she turned to face him.

“You just want to ogle me for one of your perverted pictures, Enrique, don’t you?” she snarled. “So fuck off!”

She spun round and walked straight into Jason.

She stepped back, under the shade of the archway, the dimness casting her into shadows. Her heart battered her chest, both with the shock of bumping into him and because instantly she knew he had heard her curse at Enrique. With bright sunshine behind him, his face appeared in silhouette. She couldn’t see his expressions or even his ominous eyes. Sensing her fate, she dropped to her knees.

Swearing at Enrique, a servant to her husband, counted as unacceptable behaviour. His words in the car echoed about her head. She should treat the Mexican couple with respect. She was about to find out how seriously Jason took Enrique’s status.

“Apologise to Enrique,” growled Jason.