We had stayed at the chalet once since Joshua’s first birthday. Back in the spring, a long weekend, and the snow glistening on the mountain tops while lush grass swayed in the valleys. Jason had acquired the chalet not long after he bought Blythewood House. Skiing had been a childhood passion during the school holidays and he visited the chalet with old school friends and relatives who were keen on skiing, especially his exuberant cousins.
The seven-bedroom chalet, perched on a hillside on three levels, maintained the wood-exposed interior of a log cabin. A luxurious log cabin with ample modern conveniences, complete with a wood-burning stove in a magnificent central fireplace. During our spring break, each night Jason and I had made exquisite, slow love before the fire. Our naked bodies had entwined and coiled, and we’d needed no toys or ropes to bring out our innate sexual characteristics—he led, and I followed.
For years, the chalet had been leased to wealthy holiday seekers, but Jason had decided to take it back and convert it to a family home. After our visit, the rooms had been refitted with new beds and kitchen. However, Jason, when explaining his plans to me, had made no mention of a dungeon.
Standing half-dressed, my mouth opening and shutting in annoyance at his secrecy, I wondered what he’d installed in the cellar. Once a games room for the entertainment of holidaymakers, it was an ideal space to transform with its dark wooden floors and walls, and perhaps due to the subterranean location, I could imagine it being slightly intimidating and therefore erotically enthralling. My impatient desire to see the alterations somewhat displaced my irritation with Jason.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded, plonking myself back on the sofa next to him.
“An early birthday present to myself. Put it this way, you won’t need to worry about presents, because you’re going to gift me your piercing, and everyone will watch you proudly present yourself to me. Then, my love, you can open your art gallery with a big smile on your face.”
He’d had it planned out, dates, location, and my gift, and try as I might to pick holes in his assumptions about my compliance, I couldn’t wait.
***
The gathering took place in late August, not long after Jason’s 36th birthday. No longer a young entrepreneur, he’d reached a respectable age for being a billionaire and, a few days before our departure, I’d spied an indication of thinning hair at the apex of his head, and for some reason he took the remark to mean I wanted a spanking, which he’d duly delivered. However, my rather vain husband kept his hairstyle shorter after my ill-received remark.
My parents were given the task of babysitting our eighteen-month-old son. They came to stay the weekend at Blythewood with Mrs Harris for company and under strict instructions not to mention the lair or whips. By leaving Joshua on his home turf, we hoped he would settle without separation anxieties and give Mum and Dad a break in what amounted to facilities similar to a grand hotel. The grandparents loved the idea when I suggested it. The prospect of spending quality time with their grandson was the only selling point they needed to commit to the weekend.
On our jet, Garratt and Judith accompanied us, along with Monique and Iselda, who was our occasional babysitter and another submissive from Jason’s club. Hitching a ride, too, was Damien, who took the two girls under his arms with a big grin, announcing both of them would be sharing his bed.
A lovely surprised greeted me at the chalet, Enrique and Maria. Jason and I hadn’t seen the Mexicans since our Mediterranean cruise where they’d served us as stewards. I emailed Maria regularly and counted her as a close friend. For the weekend, they were to be our guests, not servants. Because of this, the frostiness, which had once hindered Enrique and I melted, and we had the big art discussion we should have had on the Sublime.
The last couple to arrive were Sebastian and Zoe, who had taken a vacation in Italy before joining us. Bronzed from sunbathing and noticeably affectionate, they showed an addition to Zoe’s personage, her engagement ring. The champagne cork flew across the room as we celebrated. Matthew and Eva, though invited, had other longstanding commitments and had politely declined.
The first task given to me by my Master was to be tattooed with henna by Maria. The pattern was based around Js and Gs joined by Celtic knots. Just like on the cruise, when he’d previously had me tattooed, he chose my hands and feet, around my nipples and belly button, and two additional little knots above my pubic bone and coccyx. After the henna had dried, I twirled in the middle of the living area, and Jason gave his approval.
I didn’t have to wait long for a trip into the basement and Friday evening, while our guests entertained themselves, we had the place to ourselves. The room seemed darker, more confining than our lair back at Blythewood. Although furnished with similar apparatus, the major exception was the lack of a bed, and, in its place, a padded floor mat. The walls and ceilings had the gruesome addition of hooks, pulleys, and rings. Across one wall hung the implements, and on another, a metal St. Andrew’s cross. In the middle of the room, a huge, wooden padded box.
“Wow. It’s definitely a dungeon. Kind of imposing.” I ran my fingers over the smooth surface of the cross, flinching at its coldness.
“Glad you like it.” He unhooked a crop from the wall and patted it on his palm. “Since you’re over there, why not spread yourself?”
Play began, and the session proved both intense and enthralling with a lengthy, all-over cropping. The new surroundings stirred my insides into a knot of excitement, convulsing my pussy as he fucked me, driving his cock deep, and it seemed an eternity before h
e allowed me to come. The more he controlled my orgasms, the more intense they were when he did give me permission.
In a haze of contentment, I re-joined our guests and curled up on a cushion at Jason’s feet.
“Well-fucked, is she?” asked Damien.
Jason chuckled and combed my sweaty hair with his fingers. “She loves the dungeon. What a surprise!”
The others had already had a peep at Jason’s new playground earlier in the day. Trooping back, they’d displayed an unbridled envy, with the exception of Garratt, who’d converted an outbuilding on his estate into a huge dungeon.
Saturday passed quickly with a lunchtime picnic out on a verdant meadow, and the early evening fast approached. The plan was to have a late afternoon barbecue during which Jason and I weren’t allowed to do anything. We watched, cuddling and kissing, while, on the decking, three control-freak men argued about how to cook meat.
The next stage, having digested our food, would be the collaring ceremony, and afterwards, Jason and I would do a scene for the others, which would include my piercing.
Throughout the day, nerves nearly destroyed my calm exterior. Jason stayed close by, touching or whispering sweet things in my ear—complimenting me on the henna tattoos, the way my hair moved in the breeze, or my adorable smell. I thanked him for each word of adoration and kissed his hands in an act of devotion. I understood their purpose was not to be ingratiating, but rather to boost my flailing confidence.
After the barbecue, I struggled not to hit the panic button with silly anxieties. I suffered with haunting images of failure—my mouth gluing together, forgetting my vows, freaking out during the piercing, and losing the ability to orgasm on command, which Jason had been training me to do.
I flitted about the chalet, unable to settle or engage in conversation. I watched as Damien whispered into Jason’s ear, gesturing in my direction. Jason nodded. The two men were concocting something, and I froze to the spot as Damien walked towards me, took my hand then whisked me away to his bedroom.
He shut the door behind him and I hovered, uncertain and close to throwing up with nerves. What now?
“Kneel here, Gemma.” He pointed to the rug covering smooth wooden floors.