“I’m out of practice,” she panted.
“Don’t worry. I’m being kind, aren’t I?” He tightened the clamp on her nipple, and she glared at him.
“Remind me to look up the word in a dictionary, Sir.”
He tugged on the chain hanging from the clamp. “You really shouldn’t bother. I’m quite sure what I’m doing fits the description. Now, when I take it off…that might not be so kind.”
She had to agree. Taking the clamp off hurt like crazy. He sucked on the tender nipple.
“Please, may I come, Master!”
He released her with a flick of his tongue. “Oh, wait, my little subbie.”
His cock nudged her opening and her wet pussy welcomed him with ease as he drove upwards. He growled, knocking her breasts as he moved.
She tried to clench him, hold him in her grasp. Her predicament didn’t help. “Please, release my legs, Master.”
Jason paused, catching his breath. His damp hair trailed against her as he lowered himself. She shook each leg as he undid the cuffs.
“Thank you.” She didn’t ask about her arms. He’d given her sufficient freedom.
He clutched her buttocks, lifting her up, angling her for better access. With a deep sigh, she felt him slip back in and, as she squeezed him tight, he groaned, a satisfactory sound to her ears. She crossed her ankles behind his back and clung on. Her back banged against the edge of the cross and his pounds chafed her thighs. It hurt, but not a complaint passed her lips. The look of feverish delight in his perspiring face fed her own needs.
A whimper from her was all it took—he fired into her hidden belly.
“Come. If you wish.”
A simple decision, and she tottered on the brink of something tremendous. She feared an orgasm might overwhelm, send her spiralling beyond pleasure and into exquisite pain.
“Argh….”
Don’t come. No, let it go. Hold it, hold it. Yes, take it.
She flitted between two states. Close, but unable to finish. Bound to the cross, she remained stuck on a plateau. For how long? She didn’t know. Jason continued, with the embers of his erection, to thrust. She heard his pants, felt hot perspiration drip on to her, and his moist breaths clouded over her skin. How she loved the closeness, the intimacy of bound sex. Trapped and completely dependent on trusting her Dom, she rediscovered the nothingness, and the voices in her head began to calm.
Relax. Let it happen.
“Ah, fuck!” She exploded. Shook. Cramped. All her senses scrambled, and she went limp.
He eased out of her. She remembered little afterwards until she stirred on the bed.
Jason inspected the damage. “Peg marks will fade.”
Gemma lay unfazed, basking in a wonderful post-coital glow.
He drew onto his chest. The familiar restful heartbeat hypnotised her.
“Pleased, babe. Do I need to say anything more?”
A small shake of her head was all she could manage. If he was elated, so was she.
***
They decided to host Joshua’s first Christmas at Blythewood House with both sets of grandparents and a collection of siblings. The mansion was filled with family, young and old, and Gemma, for the preceding weeks, had been busy preparing food with Mrs Harris. Jason helped choose the menus and visited his wine merchant to top up his supplies. From Christmas Eve to the day after Boxing Day, the house buzzed with relatives, amongst them John and Andrea, whose second pregnancy bloomed inside her belly.
For Christmas, Gemma bought them baby clothes and paraphernalia.
John gave Joshua a gift of bulbs—tulips and crocuses. “Jason is convinced he’s going to be sporty or musical. Don’t forget gardening.” Joshua shook the bag of bulbs vigorously, spilling them on the carpet.