Page 22 of Sublime Trust

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“You were reckless, forgetting your vulnerabilities. Your fear of crowds. Your tendency to suffer with panic attacks and to run when you’re afraid. That’s a hard instinct to suppress.” He took a deep breath. “I should have been keeping better track of you. I can’t judge you without judging myself. I’m sorry. We took too long to find you. You did well to hold your ground. We found you because you stayed still. Now, take your clothes off and lie on the bed.”

She rose unsteadily, holding onto a nearby chair. With a few fumbles, she managed to undress. She crawled over the bed, resting her head on her pillow, and lay on her belly, legs together. Jason came and lay next to her. He ran his hand down her back. She quivered slightly at his initial touch, and a few goose bumps formed on her buttocks.

“I’m sorry, too. I forgot to keep my eyes on you,” whispered Gemma into the sheet.

“What impresses me is your willingness to submit to a punishment you didn’t deserve. You surrendered your body without dissent or questioning my reasons. Today, you should be proud.”

She gave a small sob. Probably due to relief, not sadness. He traced his finger past her newly acquired henna tattoo and between her buttocks. She raised her bottom a fraction and parted her legs, showing him her sex. He slipped down her slit, caressing her labia, and she hugged the pillow in her arms, burying her face.

“I’m going to fuck you now. Not as a punishment but because I thought I had lost you for a while and I want to reclaim you.”

He leant over her and kissed her between her shoulder blades. “Afterwards. I’m going to be tearing strips off two security guards. I should be able to tell you later if a Navy SEAL can withstand my scathing tongue or whether he disintegrates at my feet into a pitiful mess. What do you think?” He reached down and undid his zipper.

“Can I be a fly on the wall?” she asked, lifting her head up and peering over her shoulder. A small smile appeared.

He guffawed. Kneeling back, he undid his flies. “Turn over.”

Gemma rolled onto her back and spread her legs. She bent her knees and clutched her ankles.

He released his semi-erect cock and massaged the tip. Seeing her legs parted, he hardened further. “Tempting. But after I’ve finished fucking you, you might need a nice soothing bath and the massage you missed this morning. Yes?” He positioned himself between her legs.

“Oh, yes, please. Much better idea!”

He could have been rough given the mood he had been in when he arrived on the yacht. His wife’s supreme acquiesce and willingness to yield to him had tempered his anger. As he penetrated her wet pussy, he groaned and, for the duration of his pleasure-seeking, put aside disagreeable conversations with disappointing bodyguards. His wife received all of his attention.

***

“Do tell, Sir, please? Are they quivering wrecks, or did they hold out against you?”

Gemma lounged on his lap in their private salon. He flicked through the TV channels, searching for a film or anything appealing then gave up and tossed the remote on to the coffee table. “They survived. The pair of them were suitably apologetic. What was more interesting was when I asked them what had gone wrong.”

“How so?”

“Lubinsky blamed the flies! Dufour claimed your clothing wasn’t distinctive enough. Unbelievable.”

She sat up, tossing a strand of hair aside. “Sounds almost schoolboyish. Seriously, these are trained bodyguards?”

“Trained in protection, not in excuses. I’ve had my suspicions about the pairing. When I asked them to explain what their strategy had been before going into the marketplace, their communication system, they blustered terribly. I told them I thought they might like to try talking to each other. Then I lost my temper.”

“Then? You held out well, my love,” smirked Gemma, quickly covering her mouth with her hand.

“It’s obvious there is bad blood between them. I told them they have twenty-four hours to explain their attitudes and come up with a solution, or else, at the next port of call, one of them will be out of a job, accompanied by a strongly worded letter of disapproval addressed to his superior.”

Jason fingered her watchstrap. A tiny graze marred her wrist. A leftover from the previous night. He frowned at the discovery.

“It’s just a scratch,” she said swiftly. “Considering how out of it I was, there could have been more marks.”

“Mmmm. I think we need to keep you out of subspace, babe. Much safer.” He kissed the scratch.

They ate on board Sublime that evening. Happy to take in Ceuta from a distance. The noise and ambience of a busy enclave filled the air as they dined al fresco, along with buzzing, biting flies. Gemma stood on the sundeck, leaning against the rails, content with life, the difficult afternoon put to one side. She had passed his test, her acceptance of the punishment—in hindsight, she was in no doubt it had been a test—with flying colours.

He hadn’t gone through with the charade of caning her. She was convinced he hadn’t planned to carry out the punishment to completion. He had wanted her willingness and submission. The moment she had slipped to her knees and apologised without reserve or argument, she had quelled his temper. She had learnt humility and acceptance.

The bizarre submissive part of her had missed the caning, although not the severe pain. The thrill of being spanked or disciplined by his hand. She replayed his Dominant commands in her head, making her body buzz and the telltale tingling sensation erupt in her lower belly.

What is wrong with me?

Jason would tell her there was nothing wrong. She was a masochist submissive who loved to be dominated and given pain. But, what else was he going to reveal to her over the coming two weeks or so? Some bondage and spankings couldn’t be it. He had a plan for her. Some form of progression and a goal. He was driven in everything he did. She could disappoint him by not agreeing to play; however, she had been caught by him, hook, line, and sink. She would see out his game.


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