Judged by Him

“Gemma, come over here,” Jason called from the other side of the sundeck.

She paused in applying sun lotion. Standing next to his sun bed, he scanned her body. “Turn round.” A ticklish finger traced a triangular pattern about her buttock cheeks. “What happened here?” A finger flicked against her bottom.

Gemma sighed. “I fell asleep this morning, sun bathing, with my bikini on.” She flinched as he struck her bottom hard with the flat of his hand.

“You’ve got a noticeable paler patch. Exactly what I said I didn’t want.”

“Sorry, Sir.” She gave a slight huff of breath. Very slight, she thought.

“Well, if that’s your attitude, I might as well turn it pink instead. A nice, rosy, deep pink. What do you say?” He pulled her down onto her knees.

“Whatever pleases you. Sir.” She stared over his head at the waves.

“You can lie across my lap while I spank those cheeks into a more suitable colour. Enrique, Maria. Over here.” He summoned the other two from where they had been patiently lingering in the mast arch. “Move, Gemma. Maria, the wrists, please. Enrique, those beautifully painted ankles. Stretch her out for me. Great. Fuck you look hot, babe!”

Gemma bit back her sense of humiliation because the heat of his body underneath her called out to her. He had warned her he expected nothing but compliance when it came to being subjugated by others. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and accepted her penalty with fortitude. The tingling and buzzing in her belly grew with every well-placed smack. She found being held down increasingly erotic and suspected he knew that, too. His fingers probed her slit every few slaps, checking her status. The gentle touch of his fingertips provided a sharp contrast to the harsh spanking palm.

Afterwards, he took her to the lounger and, for a period, used her in brisk fashion. The style of sex had become the norm for their cruise—the apparent lack of romance, sweet talk, or gentle caresses obvious, yet at the same time, thrilling. Each time he had sex with her, he created a scene, a diversion into the world of kink and away from the world of marital lovemaking. Only when he’d had his fill of her, did he, with considerable gentleness, help her receive her long-awaited reward.

The pair lay spooned on their sides on the lounger. Her hot, sweaty body welcomed the cool sea breeze. Drinks appeared by the table. Maria, with excellent forethought, brought a cold compress wrapped in a napkin and placed it on Gemma’s bottom.

“Mmmm. Thank you, Maria.” The cold quickly pervaded, neutralising the heat.

Alone again, she had to ask Jason. “Was there a particular reason for your sadism?”

“No. I simply like watching you being held down and writhing about in pain.” His lips stretched in a wicked grin. “How is my pain slut?” Jason yawned, he peered under the napkin. “Your bum is still glowing nicely. We’ll rest. Then, I will take you below and carry on where we left off. I have a couple days to catch up on, and you’re as delectable as ever. Smelling incredible, too.”

Gemma shut her eyes. Given his plans, sleep was essential. She had no idea where his stamina came from, how he kept his sexual appetite raging.

The rest of the day, they drifted aimlessly in an erotic haze of sex. Having quenched his sadistic tastes, Jason happily kept Gemma in a state of perpetual arousal without resorting to painful stimuli.

She oozed enthusiastic words of gratitude. “Thank you, Sir, for fucking me,” she murmured during a leisurely bout of sex on the bed. “Thank you for making me come for you.”

“I’m bored with those words. Try and be imaginative.”

“I’m immensely grateful your cock is buried deep inside me, Sir,” she groaned as his cock ground against her. “Is that better?”

“Yes,” grunted Jason, between thrusts. “Fuck, yes. Keep going.”

“Please, spear your wanton one with your enormous organ of love.” She entered into the spirit of gushing for him, and he laughed as her imagination delved into a deep thesaurus of words.

They dined in their stateroom. A nude Gemma knelt next to the coffee table, glass of wine in one hand and fork in the other, while Jason had the comfort of an armchair. In the background, their servants waited on them, fetching and carrying the different courses from the dumbwaiter. Gemma, at last, had grown used to their bizarre presence. Whether they were having sex, eating, or bathing, the Mexicans were on hand to help.

“You’ve worn me out.” Jason lay on the bed, digesting his meal. “What was this dance you had planned for me?”

Gemma knelt in the middle of the room while Maria re-braided her hair. Strands had come loose and lay about her shoulders. His question took her by surprise. She opened her mouth then shut it quickly.

“Show me,” he commanded. Sitting up, he rested his back on the headboard.

“Here?”

“Why not? There is a dock for your iPod. You don’t need lights or anything. The moonlight will be sufficient. Dim some of them a bit, Enrique, except the ones above her.”

A row of halogens above her head bathed Gemma in spotlights. Enrique and Maria moved the furniture back, creating sufficient space.

Apprehensive and slightly unsure about her abilities as an erotic dancer, Gemma turned on her iPod and found the Latin music she had danced to with Gaspar. Taking deep breaths and shutting her eyes, she filled her mind with the music and recalled the moves her instructor had shown her. She lacked inspiration. Something felt wrong.

She looked down at her bare feet and the amber pattern. “I need heels on. Bare feet don’t work.”