My thoughts drifted back to the morning’s play. My little disciplinary scene. “Did I please you? Being Miss Piggy?”
Jason chuckled, returning to caressing my hair, reassuring me. “Yes, of course. You make a cute piggy.”
For a few minutes, we ignored our son, and Jason gave me one of his brilliant, lengthy kisses, the kind that sucked the air out of my lungs and made me tingle all over.
Chapter 3. His Play Thing
I led a predictable life.
My statement didn’t include Jason springing scenes or sex on me. I was always his sexual being and while sometimes I waited, desperate for my Dominant to strike, other times I preferred the seduction of the attentive husband. Sex remained the unpredictable aspect of my life since I never knew what he had planned. I coped with his surprises. His yearning for me when he took me broke any resistance in an instance. Without the ability to ask him directly or guide him in any way to my sexual needs, I had nothing to do but trust him to interpret my manners and subtle words. Generally, he read me like a book, and I never had to wait long. It was rare for him to leave me needy and in a constant state of denial.
He e
xpected me to meet his requests and demands without question, necessitating me to flit, rather badly on occasion, from his sexual plaything to his chore slave. The requirement to serve was in my rules, and he’d never specified sex as the only form of service. However, that element of our agreement often caught me by surprise, as it wasn’t an aspect of my submission he seemed fussed about. For my part, I didn’t see my lack of attention as deliberate, merely unfortunate.
I scheduled a large proportion of my time around fixed events in the day. Baby group on Mondays plus Zumba in the evening and my dance class Tuesday afternoon. Wednesday I would appear at Pilates on an ad hoc basis and my weekly trip to my beauty salon continued unabated on Thursdays. In between, I concentrated more and more on my art gallery plans. The property purchase proceeded, and my daytime interactions with my son decreased as I transitioned into a part-time working mum. Clara became his primary carer during the day.
At least I saw Joshua as I flitted about between tasks, phone calls, and meeting somebody in person. Jason concentrated his time with Joshua in the mornings and at the weekends. Consequently, Jason and my sexual activities were pushed to the side.
The morning act of intercourse diminished to the point of being a token offer on my part. The ever-changing wake-up schedule squeezed out our routine blow job. Joshua was like his father, an earlier riser, and Jason preferred taking him down for breakfast in order to discuss important things with him—the cricket score from the winter Test series or golfing legends. I imagined Jason explaining to Joshua the intricacies of the stock market while spooning mashed up milky Weetabix into his gaping mouth. It all meant nothing to Joshua who, like me, probably enjoyed hearing his father’s voice.
The halcyon days of our daily high sex drive had peaked during our Mediterranean cruise on the Sublime. Jason’s libido remained high when he was in the mood, although, instead of penetrative sex, he increasing preferred the delights of teasing or tormenting me. My body presented a wonderful playground for stimulating orgasms, what with his new favourite game of having me come on demand.
His little box of tricks—as he called it—a selection of sensory toys including feathers, clamps, pegs, and small vibrators. Tying me down, he trained my orgasm control around his voice command rather than through intercourse. There was no rush, as I gradually learnt to wait for him and focus my self-control around his words or actions.
Middle-of-the-night sex became commonplace. If Joshua woke with teething problems, then Jason took advantage of me once the boy had settled back to sleep. After a busy working day, reinvigorated with a few hours’ sleep, sex in the middle of the night grew easier and became his latest fetish, requiring it to be mine, too. Rarely vigorous to the point of rough, I wouldn’t describe our night-time trysts of sex as gentle, either.
The lair at Blythewood House was used on Friday and Saturday nights, and we managed our time around visits by family, Joshua’s wakeful spells, and our energy levels. Jason had the final decision on what we did there, as I could neither request nor refuse him. I dutifully went with him to the lair in whatever mood and tried hard to please him regardless.
Very occasionally, I grumbled or criticised. On one level, the behaviour wouldn’t be respectful, however, he did frequently seek out my feedback and feelings to ensure he kept me safe, happy, and coping with his more demanding persona.
After one scene, when I struggled to accept my need to ask for pain, Jason recalled an event from our past.
“That spanking I gave you in my office years ago, do you remember?”
“How could I forget? It was a bloody painful punishment.”
The event remained imprinted in my memory as a series of permanent images. The day he’d summoned me to his penthouse office, admonished me for being embroiled in office gossip, told me to take off my knickers, bend over his lap, and then spanked me hard, both with his hand followed by a ruler. Throughout it, I’d wrestled with the pain and humiliation, and yet, at the end, he’d fucked me, too. Something I hadn’t expected I would desire from him or find satisfying.
Jason deconstructed my lingering memory. “You were aroused, and that was when you first denied your masochistic desires. You baulked when I suggested you got off on pain.”
I recollected the conversation. He had known back then what I was capable of doing, even if my trauma-corrupted mind had dismissed the idea as impossible. Given my sexual history, I had almost feared the idea of sexual gratification through pain alone.
He had known for years and held back from pushing me. Little attempts now and again to nudge me towards trying out new scenes, but, ultimately, he had left me to discover my true masochistic nature myself. I got off on pain. Sadistically administered pain for no other reason than he controlled it, and I endured it because he took such pleasure from me, and that was what I had to cling to when he was being my sadist—to suffer pain for him was my hardest challenge.
We continued to chat, teasing apart my doubts and worries, and, throughout, Jason caressed and soothed me until I calmed my anxieties and once again accepted when it came to my submission, Jason understood me perfectly. He cherished me and shaped me to be what he wished.
All these changes to our sexual life were gradual but perceivable to the pair of us. A slow development squeezed out of our busy schedules, grabbing the kinky opportunities when they arose and making the most of them.
Sex itself may have been whittled down in scope, but my submission in other forms remained prevalent and strong. I grew to enjoy the little rituals reminding me I was Jason’s in other ways than for sex. Greeting him in the morning, welcoming him home after work, or taking the chance to sit or kneel at his feet while he worked or read the paper. Calling him Master when we were alone, massaging his feet in the evenings, or bathing him in the shower.
He would set me small training tasks, recapturing my early days of submission. Laying out a full dinner service on the dining room table with nothing on and the place settings to millimetre precision, waxing the leather floggers and whips with beeswax, or practising moving between all those erotic slave positions with grace.
When Jason was away on business, we had face-to-face chats over the webcam—either a quick meet up in the morning with Joshua staring at his father on the monitor screen or the pair of us in the evening. We often did one small scene over the webcam, usually when he was out of the country for more than one night. I had grown to love these little playful events in our online interactions.
“Two clothes pegs, one on each nipple.”
Jason rested on his side on a hotel bed, convincing me he was reading something on the window next to the webcam window view. I knelt on the floor of his study with the laptop placed in front of me. The tight pegs crippled my tender nipples as I tried to stay patient, waiting for his next command.