There were charity functions or gala balls requiring his presence, if only to raise the profile of his own charitable foundation. With Jason’s assistance, I’d completed my Pygmalion transformation into a high-society woman. Long evaporated into the past, the Gemma Marshall who’d lived in a pokey flat and cruised the nightclubs for fun. My diction sounded smart; I knew what to talk about and when to keep my mouth shut. My smutty wit didn’t receive invitations to the events to which Jason took me. If the urge to say something crass grew, I bit my tongue and behaved.
Jason wore me on his arm like an item of fine jewellery. On each occasion, before we left the house, he checked me over in the hallway. No smudged make-up, twisted straps, or ladders in the stockings. In public, I had to be prim and proper. A well-turned-out lady accompanying her wealthy husband. However, if the mood presented itself, he could not resist a little play. As time constraints and the impact of Joshua challenged our sex life, my Dom had to resort to other tactics to entertain his controlling nature.
Keeping the thrill alive in our kinky lifestyle proved tricky. As my Dominant, it was an inherent trait in Jason to find new ways to humiliate, beguile, or maintain me as his plaything. Thing was the word, sometimes, as I’d no choice in his requests and absolutely trusted my husband. He gradually redefined the concept of “public” humiliation, and if he was game for a little action when we were socialising, then I went along with him. After numerous functions, I’d almost lost my inhibitions and found the public aspect tantalising.
I’d been fine when instructed to leave the house without an item of underwear. I’d mastered the art of keeping my knees together and my legs crossed. When he blindsided me with new requests, I had to learn to think on my feet.
With the days becoming longer and the air crisp with spring energy, we attended a banquet in aid of cancer research, and it brought out a less benevolent side of my husband.
“I need to go to the ladies,” I whispered in his ear.
“No.” Jason held me close, his lips tickling my earlobe. “If you get desperate, use the gents.”
Hearing the jocular tone in his voice, I groaned and closed my eyes for a few seconds before looking at my watch. Another hour of post-dinner circulating before our scheduled departure. I’d manage.
“Let me get you another drink, darling,” he announced.
Sipping my gin and tonic, I jiggled on my tiptoes, knocking my heels together. I had drunk plenty of water during the four-course meal and regretted every glass. I tried talking to a pompous gentleman to distract my natural urges. A boring man who ogled my breasts. I made some excuse to move then spied a younger woman standing alone and caught her eye.
“Hi.” I offered a handshake. “Gemma Lucas.”
“Julianna Woodford.” She used her fingertips to shake my hand as if I was diseased.
“Did you enjoy the meal?” I pictured a fake Cheshire cat grin appearing on my face, and my lips twitched with the effort of keeping it there.
“Yes.”
Oh God! Another useless conversation.
Jason drifted past me. “Keep drinking,” he muttered, before heading away.
“My husband,” I said to my silent companion.
She watched Jason cross the room. “I recognise him. My husband studied law with him.”
“Really?” I didn’t know the name Woodford, but Jason rarely spoke about his old student friends.
“Yes. There are photographs of them together. I found them when clearing out his things.”
I knitted my eyebrows, curious to know what she meant.
“Alex and I are divorced.” She glanced at her feet then back across the room. Jason had moved out of range.
“I’m sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say and took a step backwards.
“Oh, don’t be. The complete bastard went off with his secretary, so bloody unoriginal.” She gazed around the room until she came back to my face then smiled. “I’m spending his money on what I think is important.”
“Sounds like a good idea.” I swigged my drink, my bladder swelling with discomfort. “Sorry, I have to visit the powder room.”
As I moved towards the ladies’ bathroom, the temptation to disobey Jason grew. However, I veered away from the door. I wanted to thrill him with my obedience and see the look of approval on his face when I told him I’d done what he wished.
I wandered the building in search of an isolated male toilet. Whether Jason intended me to go so far afield didn’t matter, I had to pee. I found a toilet block towards the back of the building, probably for use of the kitchen staff. I entered the gents and decided to play the blind-drunk-got-the-wrong-door-and-failed-to-notice-the-urinals card if caught. Thankfully, the toilets were devoid of other occupants. The room was freezing and smelt dreadful. I quickly did the deed, washed my hands in the stained sink, and hurried out of the room and back to the main reception area.
“Where have you been?” He caught my arm for the second time that evening, pinching my elbow.
“The loo. The gents at the back of the building. Quite deserted. And before you accuse me of taking risks with my person, you were the one who set the criteria. I did as I was told.”
“You were meant to use the main toilets,” he chided. No look of approval adorned his features, and my shoulders slumped.