Damien cleared his throat, catching my attention.
“Keep going, Gemma,” he urged in his American accent.
Another vision, and it broadened my smile. Jason’s naked, illuminated body, covered in glow paint, fucking me in the dark. My pussy clenched as I recaptured his mastery over my vulnerability. Domination, throughout my adult years, had been a sexual desire for me. To be under Jason’s control brought peace of mind in many aspects of my life, but ultimately my lust and greedy sex craved that control. The day I’d painted his body and he’d stalked me in the lair had been a visual representation of his dominating traits: intrinsic and always there, even if not visible.
Was it always so? My husband and my Dominant neatly defined as one?
My husband buried under the surface a kind man, whose gentle words of comfort when I told him about
my rape had kindled my love for him. He had always wanted a submissive partner to share his life with and to own, so why me? Damaged me? Before we met, I’d thrown off my submissive mantel, abandoned my kinky friends, and tried to be a new person.
A conversation came to mind. A time in the past when I’d been plagued by doubts about my ability to submit and wanted to know what drove Jason to stick by me.
“I was destroyed, Jason. Why put so much effort in me when other subs would have fulfilled your needs from the outset?” I lay on him in bed with my head on his chest.
Jason coiled an arm about me. “They didn’t, though. Sexually, they were pleasing. I was tired of fucking a compliant sub without the companionship of sharing my life. I didn't want to train a novice, and I didn't want a slave. To be blunt, you were broken, and mending something broken is often the best way to create and reshape it to an enhanced form. I buy broken companies and sell them on as improved ones or keep them to make me richer. I applied the same technique to you.”
I sat up, moving my legs astride his. “I’m an acquisition?” I grinned half-heartedly. I didn’t like the implication I was a project.
“Yes, I began this in a different frame of mind. I didn’t factor in you needed me or that you would fall in love. To love another is a great gift, and your selfless act led me to reciprocate. I went from wanting to fix your submissiveness to caring how I did it. Your rape was violent and debilitating for you. Your recovery halted my unrealistic sadistic desires and refocused me on other needs. I love you, babe. Healing you was the challenge that helped me grow as a Dom. In retrospect, I chose you for selfish reasons and I’m deeply sorry if you thought of yourself as an acquisition. You’re not. You are my treasure.”
I sighed, glowing with delight at his words of love. It reminded me of Jason’s excellent aftercare. The addition of a specific clause in my rules on aftercare was to me an indication of how seriously Jason took his responsibilities.
Rarely did he omit to support me or heal my wounds or simply give me an all-important cuddle. For our first few scenes, Jason’s aftercare with me had been dutiful, practical, and the extent of it determined by my need for comfort: a brief hug or word of reassurance.
The trauma of my rape brought out a richer level of aftercare from him, and mutual love made it a necessity. I wasn’t required to ask permission to speak freely and consequently, I could encourage him to divulge his feelings. Aftercare was a two-way street. Both of us should receive its benefit was my philosophy. After one intense scene, I’d fretted I hadn’t provided him with emotional aftercare.
“Jason, do I look after you sufficiently post-scene, especially the more extreme ones?”
Jason paused before answering me, his finger rubbing his lower lip, a little quirk of his when he was deep in thought.
“I suppose as the top I’m very conscious of the potential long-term damage I could do to a bottom. I mark you temporarily with physical injuries. I bind you, spank and fuck you hard. You definitely need aftercare. I confess, a small part of me fears my sadism will become rampant and uncontrollable, and that giving you pain would be far more pleasurable than making love to you. I have to come to terms with the knowledge most vanilla people would find what I do repulsive, violent, and tantamount to domestic abuse. Knowing you are safe with me, undamaged, healthy, and mentally stable is essential to my well-being as your Dominant. So, babe, your aftercare is my aftercare. Your honesty and ability to communicate your concerns gives me self-awareness and maintains my boundaries, contains the beast lurking within me.”
“How small a part? The sadist?”
“Tiny, babe, trust me.”
I trusted him. I had to, and it meant listening to his words of encouragement when he pushed my limits beyond what I thought I could achieve. It had taken my submissiveness to places I hadn’t imagined. Scenes I would never have anticipated or dreamed of participating in. Our pre-Joshua holidays had been hedonistic adventures and though demanding and emotionally draining, I never regretted where Jason took me to on our voyage of discovery. Seeing the dungeon in the chalet, I knew the journey would continue in some form.
Jason’s level of consistency in his domination amazed me. It had its downside, his resolve and unflagging patience when I disobeyed him; he never gave up on me. Jason understood my disobedience grew from my need to resist my submissive self from time to time, even to resent her existence. I tried hard to explain my actions in various rational ways, but Jason always brought me back down to earth with a thump.
My obedience had failed me on occasion, and Jason had been unwavering in his dominance when he punished me. Disciplining to shape, mould, and train me remained an unending accomplishment, and I accepted his need to control me through disciplinary measures. Once he had punished me, he moved me on, giving me a different path to follow and allowing me a way to navigate back to my submission.
Not all his disciplinary ways involved pain. Jason liked to humiliate. Once the school bully, he had redirected his need to exert his authority in a demonstrative form of unpleasantness into a playful Dom who twisted his subs around his little finger. I couldn’t go with him at first, fearing he would embarrass me in public. His skill was stripping away my inhibitions and turning my humiliation into a seductive fantasy, providing both of us erotic pleasure.
However, Jason wasn’t perfect. He had flaws, but I adored him, and his self-confidence masked those imperfections. Unlike mine, which followed me around like an unwanted shadow. Not that he picked me apart routinely, but occasionally he’d dissect my shortcomings if I had complained or struggled with my submission.
Recently, with my gallery plans, I’d crumpled under the weight of my doubts.
I sucked in a sharp intake of breath, scrunching my hands into fists.
“Gemma,” Damien interjected into my dark meanderings. “Relax, you’ve tensed again.”
I breathed deeply, unclenching my fingers, and recalled the conversation.
“You’re too perfect, Jason. I could list my flaws endlessly.”
“And I can’t?” Jason’s eyebrows went up a notch. “You really believe I have none? You know them, Gem. My arrogance and ruthless dealings with those about me. I walk over people to achieve my goals, and those achievements for the most part have been financial. I don’t perceive success unless it makes me richer. I suffer with jealousy, which is why I struggle with your dancing or extrovert socialising. I’ve not shared you, which some Doms would have no qualms about doing. I’m vain.” He paused and pointed a finger at me. “And that includes you being an attribute of my vanity. Your beauty is part of me, and I would have others see you as mine, a possession.”