He left her there for a moment and returned with a couple of bath towels and a tube of lubricant. Placing the towels on the carpet, he tapped them. “Lie here on your back. Legs apart and knees bent.”
A position of complete vulnerability, as if she’d been told to lie on a gynaecological table. The image thrilled her. She loved medical play, except when he showed his sadistic side. He wouldn’t end their holiday with that kind of scene, would he? Her legs shook.
He fiddled with the iPod. A rare event—Jason shied away from music during sex, and especially during scenes. She fondly remembered the discussion they had about it, not long after he first took her into his lair. He loved music—classical and popular.
“Don’t you ever want to bring music into your play?” She’d been exploring his CD collection in the corner of the sitting room at Blythewood. “Create an ambience?”
“I love the beauty of music, the emotions it can trigger, but I need to concentrate on you, don’t I?” He brushed past her, leaning over to see which CD she’d selected. “I want to hear you, the sounds you make, however quiet they might be. I don’t want distractions. I evaluate the risk better. It can be dangerous, don’t you think, not focusing on you?”
She’d formulated a different perspective. Music stirred up strong emotional responses, which might cause him to lose his self-control, allowing the timbre or dynamics of a piece to interfere and shape his scene. At the time, she’d been too wary of him to open up and express her opinion. A few years later, naked in a hotel room in Berlin, he switched on the iPod and she wondered why.
His choice of music answered her question. Poulenc’s “Stabat Matat.” The very same piece had brought them together almost four years previous. Her eyes smarted with tears at the memory of finding her then boss seated next to her in the auditorium of the concert hall. A handsome man with a presence that stopped most people in their tracks to simply soak up his appearance or listen to what he had to say. It had been the start of their journey together and the night they first had sex—glorious fucks, which had extracted Gemma from her concealed shell of fear. She’d been attracted to Jason on their first encounter and, years later, the fascination hadn’t diminished one iota.
“Shut your eyes.” He knelt between her legs and stripped off his shirt. He generously smeared the cold lubricant around her pussy. The icy gel made her shiver. The extent of his preparation gave away his intentions. She swallowed hard. A fisting—the first since Joshua’s birth.
“I’m of the opinion you’re going to be a little more elastic.”
Her eyes sprang open. “Is this an experiment?”
He loomed over her.
“Concentrate on the music and relax, babe. You’re safe in my hands.” He cupped her pussy and pressed a finger inside. It slid in easily, and she squeezed her eyes shut.
He took his time, rocking his slender fingers in and out, twisting his hand around as she stretched to accommodate—first up to the knuckles then past them. His thumb was the last digit to penetrate. The music enveloped her, slipping into her ears and drowning out all unnecessary thoughts. It made her strangely oblivious to his actions and, at the same time, aware of his presence.
Once immersed in her, he ceased moving and hovered over her, casting a bloom of hot breath on her tingling skin. Her chest rose and fell rapidly with her growing desire to climax. He drew slow circles around her clitoris, using a thumb, lifting the hood to touch and stroke it. Her legs quivered with anticipation. Throughout the fisting, she muttered the occasional exclamation, but nothing coherent. She felt hot, sweaty, and impatient for completion. She waited for him to speak, to tell her to come, as she was unable to articulate the request herself.
The frigging thumb went. His hand looped around her neck, drawing her into a semi-seated position, his fist remaining deep inside her soaked pussy.
“Open your eyes.”
She responded and immediately he agitated his engulfed hand, hitting every point of arousal she possessed. She watched, mesmerised by his intense expression of concentration—lips pressed together, eyes piercing, focused on her quaking body.
“Come!” he urged. He spoke just as the music soared, a multitude of voices together, singing passionately. Tears splashed down her cheeks while she gushed below. A response she couldn’t control.
The power of her orgasm surprised her. Gemma crushed his hand, squeezing him with strong spasms. She struggled to contain a scream of ecstasy as the orgasm lingered, rippling about her pussy in pulses until he lowered her back down. He needed help to extract his hand from her taut hole. Relaxing her musculature with deep breaths inhaled through her nose, he slipped out without hurting her. She floated. A dreamlike state with little substance and few cohesive thoughts.
He lowered himself over her body and waited for her to come back from where she had disappeared to when she’d imploded. He stroked her cheek, wiping away the wetness.
“Babe, come back. You’re in the land of fairies.”
They stared at each other for a few seconds. He searched her face, assessing her, as he always did when they paused.
“Say no, and I won’t.” The choice seemed unnatural to her. She didn’t want to decide. She trusted him, every day and all day.
She shook her head. “I’m where you want me, Sir.”
Without ceremony, he flipped her over on to her belly.
Sometime later, he finished. He hadn’t hurried or been especially rough, but he had been thorough, and he’d kept his erection going for a considerable time before he chose his moment of glory deep inside her well-fucked pussy. They remained there on the towels, and he encased her aching body with his own warm, sweaty one. A blissful state of happiness infused every inch of her.
Eventually, yawning, he murmured into her ear. “You check on Joshua. I’ll run the bath.”
“Yes, Master.” She staggered onto her feet and paused while his semen trickled out of her.
A tantalising sensation—being so wet between the legs. His warm fluid seemed to glue her inner thighs together. Gemma cupped a hand underneath and dragged his musky nectar up and over her belly. She smeared the liquid into a fine sheen, preventing it from dripping down onto the carpet below. She went to move, and he spoke.
“No. Stay. Lick your hand clean.” He remained stretched out on the floor, hands resting behind his head, one knee bent, and his limp penis flopped over his groin. She did as he asked, licking each digit, followed by the palm until she could no longer taste the salty residue and only her saliva remained.