For a moment, she rocked on her feet, the palpitations in her chest too strong to tolerate. Jason grabbed her and drew her into his embrace. She clung to him as if he were a rock in the middle of the ocean, her lifeline.
“It’s okay, babe. You can cry, shout, whatever. Get it out of your system. Sssh,” he soothed.
Sitting down, he pulled her on to his lap, and she curled up there for several minutes while he stroked her hair with slow sweeps.
“What’s wrong with me? I should be a happy mum,” she croaked.
“You are. You just don’t know you are. You’re that lost woman, again. The one who reappears from time to time. This time, your hormones are screwing you up. You’re tired and making your body do things it’s not use to doing. I’m not cross with you, but I don’t want you sitting here feeling sorry for yourself when you could be enjoying it all.” He kissed her tear-soaked lips, fishing out his handkerchief to wipe her snotty nose.
She frowned. “Why did you say all that stuff when you came in here?”
“Because it’s the truth and, as the cliché says, the truth hurts sometimes. What you need is structure. Either you come up with something, let Clara help you as she’s paid to do, or else I will step in. Think about it.”
She eased herself up and ran a finger around a jacket button. The answer lay before her, so obvious, yet so hard to articulate. “I miss you, Jason. You know what I mean. No sex or spankings to rescue me. Well, there are the blow jobs, but they are yours.”
“I offered you orgasms. You declined.”
“I don’t feel they would be right. Like a halfway house. Neither satisfying nor fulfilling, they would be functional, not emotional. I want you back inside me, owning me, making me all yours. I’m in limbo. I miss your rules and presence in my life. Your control over me.” The words stumbled out of her mouth. Why was it so hard to talk about her needs?
He listened patiently, head cocked to one side. “Gem. You’re subdropping. Remember, we laughed about this with Maggie when she mentioned the baby blues? You do know everything you have just said is one big major subdrop—the baby blues.”
Gemma went quiet, pondering his explanation. He had seen it. Why hadn’t she? “What should I do?” she whimpered, tears building again.
“It’s simple, darling. Make a life out of your days. You’ve four days a week in this house. Make the most of being in the middle of a city and be active. Get out and about. Join those baby groups and fill your days. When you want some time to yourself, you can give Joshua to Clara. That is what she is here to do. Eventually, you will want to start that art gallery business, and she can care for Joshua while you work. Spend Fridays being creative in the atelier. Take Clara with you. One of the drivers can take her home at the end of the day. Then it will be us two at the weekend, as it has been.”
Everything he said made sense. She snuggled closer to him and it started to happen, the need to be touched by him. Her breaths grew faster and she couldn’t keep her eyes off his face. His expression softened. A faint smile drifted across his lips, his blue eyes penetrated, reaching into retrieve her forgotten submissiveness. He shifted his hand, followed the contours of her body, sought out the waistband of her trousers and with characteristic ease, he peeled them down, along with her knickers.
The bleeding had stopped a few days earlier. She’d told him, and he’d seemed pleased, though they both knew she remained out of bounds for another couple of weeks. Her fear of orgasms seemed silly and selfish. Gemma had been taught that, though they gave her pleasure, her orgasms were gifted to her by her Dominant. His to own, demand or deny. Jason hadn’t denied her, she had.
His finger touched her clitoris, a gentle caress and she shut her eyes with a moan of delight. Her lips moved soundlessly, but in her head she chanted, Take me, take me.
For half an hour, Gemma underwent a sexual rebirth. He continued to strip her clothes off in a leisurely fashion, invoking her with murmured words of enticement. He didn’t touch her lactating breasts. Instead, he reminded her of his mastery in the sensory realm. Nothing painful, he concentrated on the pleasurable. He required only his fingers, lips, and tongue to tease out of her the necessary orgasm. She thrashed about on his lap as he circled her swollen clit, pressing down with his fingertips. She buried her mouth in his suit and stifled the cries. The ecstasy of coming, after a long sexual vacation, caused almost painful cramps and intense sensitivity in her organ. She knocked his hand away, unable to tolerate his touch any longer. Limpness followed the rather splendid climax. On her belly, she lay across his lap as he stroked her naked back and buttocks. She pushed back against him.
“Are you sure?” he whispered.
“Yes, Sir, please.” She encased her head in her arms.
A supreme spanking, cathartic in quality and outcome. All the tension left her body, and she soared into a state of subspace. By her standards, the spanking wasn’t especially painful or prolonged. The smacks echoed about the room. Nobody to hear them and with the blinds drawn, their privacy maintained. Passing pedestrians would have no idea what went on behind the windows.
Patting at first, he increased the power and flatness of his hand. He bounced his palm against her bottom cheeks as if she were a springboard. Every few blows, he rubbed away the stings. By the end, she imagined her buttocks covered in pink handprints and her globes glowed in tandem with the image. For a few minutes, he rested his hand on her fiery buttock. A gentle, calming weight. His restraint filled her with gratitude. Much as she wished to be fucked, it wasn’t appropriate. His cock twitched beneath her belly, poking upwards through his pants.
“Thank you, Master,” she murmured, utterly relaxed on his lap.
As she regained her awareness, the desire to show him gratitude overwhelmed. He’d extracted himself from work at short notice in order to deal with her issues. His indulgence made her purr inside with delight, but she wanted to pay him back. She unzipped his flies, slipped down onto her knees, ending up between his legs and, with relish, began the task of reciprocation. He sighed and leant his head back. She cherished his serene face with his lips slightly parted, uttering quiet noises of appreciation.
She swallowed his hot, salty ejaculate and licked him clean.
“Good girl.” They exchanged smiles of satisfaction.
Perched at his feet, she conceded the solution to her problems presented itself in the form of her husband. She’d learnt during her pregnancy that she needed his guidance, his control in her daily life. Above all else, the protocols established had to be beyond the bounds of sexual submission.
“I once told Maggie, when she asked about submissive qualities, that I am a part-time semi-slave type submissive.”
Jason covered his limp cock, re-zipped his trousers, and smiled. “Reasonably accurate.” He cocked his head to one side. “Go on.”
“The semi-slave suits me fine. I don’t want you to tell me when to brush my teeth, give me permission to sit on the loo, or speak. What I found out when I was pregnant is the time limits for my submission aren’t necessary anymore. For one thing, I don’t think, with Joshua, we would get close to eighteen hours of scenes or kinky play every week. We rarely achieved it when I wasn’t pregnant.” Since their marriage, and with the exception of holidays, her submission to Jason had been confined by time limits. The location had become less significant; she’d accepted play could happen outside the boundaries of their bedroom or his dungeon.
“True.” He grinned, his finger ran down her face, tracing the outline of her nose and lips. “No time limits. You want to be my submissive full-time? 24/7. You know I don’t require that level of service from you.”