It’s a holiday here, so today’s post is a little later in the day, but it is still Monday here. Just finished another WIP, a little collection is building and I hope there will be a flurry of publishing this summer.
One of these books takes my favourite characters into new territory and the story below is part of that exploration. Gemma’s submission has generally been the bedroom kind – sex and kink being the key elements. However, now and again, Jason reminds her that being his submissive isn’t always about these things. Pleasing him means servicing his needs and wishes, not all of them have an obvious reason and she must obey him, even if her own life is hectic.
Jason is visiting his Savile Row tailor for a suit fitting. Gemma has been summoned to join him and having arrived at the exclusive shop, she is immediately put on the spot…
“Well, Gemma? Cat got your tongue? What did I ask you to do?” his voice had an awful bite to it, making her heart pound.
She was increasingly flustered as she ran through the whole of yesterday as if she was fast forwarding a video player. Nothing! Surely it had to be something worthy of his summoning’s.
“I’m sorry, I can’t remember,” she said, eyes wandering around the room.
They were alone thankfully; the tailor had been asked to leave while Jason redressed. It was after Jason had finished putting his jacket back on that he confronted Gemma.
“Not remember? Do you know what I found in the car on the way here?”
What is he getting at now!?
He stepped closer and reaching round to the back of her head pulled the hair back making her look at his grim face. With his other hand, he fished something out of his jacket pocket. A flimsy piece of printed card. A postcard?
He shoved it into her mouth and she held it between her teeth. She could see it now: a parcel delivery note. The kind that informs the absent householder there was a parcel waiting to be collected. At Blythewood House, the gatehouse would deal with parcels that needed to be signed for, but at their townhouse, if nobody was in they went back to the depot and Brooks, their butler, arranged for the package to be collected. Then she remembered. She was supposed to have gone to the depot to sign and collect the package; Brooks had gone to visit his ailing brother.
“I could let it slip, that you forgot yesterday, but then I found this lying on the back seat of the car.”
His fingers reached round her head, coiling about her hair, gripping her ponytail tightly. “So not only did you forget to go to the depot, you lost the delivery card. Stuffed down the back seat all lost and lonely. What would have happened to my package? Eh?” he said scathingly. “One bloody thing, Gemma.”
“I’m very sorry, master,” she said as he took the card from her mouth and thrust it into her hands. “I will deal with it now,” she said quickly.
His hand let go of the ponytail and she wanted to rub her stinging scalp but dare not.
“Kneel, Gemma,” he ordered.
She hesitated a fraction.
Not here please!
She knelt. The puppet master pulled her strings very effectively.
“Master,” she murmured.
His hand reached for his flies, she could hear the noise of the zipper.
No, no! She screamed in her head. Not here!
She glanced up and found his zipper had been pulled up, not down.
“Lick my shoe,” his tone, fearfully controlling, reached into her submissive being, yanking on her need to please him. Gemma responded hypnotically. She leaned forward and stuck her tongue out, slowly she circled the tip over the polished leathery surface. Her humiliation was crippling her. She shook as she curled her tongue over the laces, manoeuvring to the other side of the shoe.
“The other one.” Jason nudged his left foot towards her mouth. She sucked on the toecap and licked feverishly.
Gemma couldn’t stop the sense of power he had over her enveloping her pathetic sex. There in her knickers, Gemma was sizzling away, hot and needy. His voice seemed directly linked to her belly, because the sensible part of her brain was revolted by her actions. She wanted to cry as her confused rational mind fought against her submissive one. She heard footsteps.
“Thank you, darling, for tying my shoe lace,” said Jason quickly.
Behind his fixed expressionless exterior, she knew he was amused. She made an act of playing with his laces before rising up on wobbly legs.
Jason gave her a cursory good-bye while on the phone summoning his personal bodyguard, Martinson, to drive him to work. Gemma collected the parcel as soon as she left the tailors. The package she collected wasn’t bulky and nothing about it identified where it had come from. She left it on the desk in his study.
Just before lunch a text from him.
: Polish my shoes. All of them.
At that moment, it hit her how the rest of the day was going to be played out. Gemma was to be ‘asked’ to do tasks.
Gemma polished his ‘damn shoes’. All ‘bloody eight pairs’ of leather, top quality designers shoes. Standing in the utility room, she stuck on her headphones and made a point of listening to dance music to help pass the time and the sound of her curses.
: Polish the silverware and the dining room table
The message came after lunch. She telephoned her regular beautician at the salon and cancelled the appointment for her waxing. She would have to find the time to shave her own legs and intimate parts.
She had domestic staff to assist and do many of the household chores. The butler, Brooks, usually polished Jason’s shoes. The domestic cleaner, who Brooks supervised at the weekends, polished the silverware. All of her tasks that day were superfluous and unnecessary.
: Polish the floor of my study
There was a definite theme developing in his instructions. Lots of polishing. She knelt on a cushion and waxed the wooden floor of his study. She ached now and two of her nails had broken off. Her hands were chaffed and rough from the various polishing fluids and waxes. Even her iPod couldn’t relieve the fatigue. Gemma switched to a classical music playlist and attempted to drown out her throbbing knees with choral masterpieces.
Throughout her labours, Gemma never questioned why she was being made to do those tasks. Jason’s rules had handed her over to him to control and certainly for sex she was owned by him 24/7. However, he didn’t decide how she spent her days in his absence. Her hobbies, activities and interests were hers to choose. He demanded nothing of her time other than to be there for him when he was home.
Resting back on her haunches, she recalled how she had once polished his silverware at his previous townhouse Piedmont. She had just moved in with him and had been at a lost as to how to spend her days. No employment, just like now, to occupy her waking hours and she had polished his silver. He had on that occasion pointed out he didn’t need that kind of service from his future wife.
“Sexual submission, Gemma. That’s what I want,” Jason had told Gemma on that occasion and she had been immensely grateful he hadn’t been seeking a service oriented slave as his submissive.
Deep down she knew it wasn’t the type of submission she wanted to offer a dominant. Sex was her elixir. Yet here she was polishing. It was imbued into her and it was there in her rules too: obey, please and serve her master. Blindly doing what Jason asked her to do because she had given him jurisdiction over her and nothing she thought in her head would make any difference to him. She did it all to make him happy.
Gemma greeted Jason in the hallway. Her weary body wasn’t enthusiastic in her welcoming and she told him dinner was nearly ready in a deflated tone of voice. A Brooks offering since she had been polishing the day away.
“My package?” he asked.
“On your desk,” she replied.
He came down to eat in his casual clothes. Whatever tailored suits did to him, smart casual wear was equally effective in making him sexy and younger too.
“I am sorry I didn’t go to the depot yesterday; that I lost the delivery card and forgot all about it,” she said laying the dishes down in front of him. Gemma waited by the table.
“Sit down, Gemma,” he said. “We’ll speak of this after we’ve eaten, I’m hungry.”
Nothing more was said over the meal. He waited for her to wash and tidy up the kitchen.
“Show me what you have done today,” Jason said rising from the kitchen table.
Gemma showed him the shoes. He inspected each pair carefully. The silverware in the cabinet in the dining room was scrutinised. The oak flooring in his study, which was glistening, and the room smelt of beeswax.
“Good,” was all he said.
Her rebellious side then was about to explode when she saw what was on his desk. He had unwrapped his parcel and inside there were toner cartridges for his colour printer.
That was it! All the fucking fuss over toner!
“Take your clothes off,” he said in her ear.
Gemma did while she fumed, lying them on the couch in a neat pile.
“I want to inspect you. Show me your hands.”
She held out her sullied hands. The floor might be smooth and shiny, but her hands were rough and calloused by the brushes and cloths she had held tightly in her grip.
“These will need moisturising,” he said matter-of-factly.
He glanced down at her redden knees. “Bend over the desk.” His voice tender and, as she rested her head on the cool desk, she began to unwind. Gemma remembered she had served him well that day and done everything he asked. Did it matter they were only toner cartridges? No, he had asked her to do something and she had been negligent.
“Babe, you’ve got a cut,” he said as he examined her with a pen light. She heard him click it on and off.
“I cut myself shaving. Out of practice.”
“Ah. You cancelled your appointment?”
“Only way to finish what you asked me to do,” she said to the wooden surface of his desk.
“Did it bleed?” Jason leaned over to see her face. Gemma shut her eyes tightly. She didn’t want Jason to see her looking at him. Her sexy husband at his most caring.
“A little. I was OK.”
“Good. Well done, babe. You’ve been very obedient since this morning’s words.”
“I’ve tried very hard to do as you asked, sir.”
“I need to work. You can rest on the floor while I finish some things off.”
She curled up on a pile of cushions and wrapped a blanket about her naked form. She was exhausted and ached, and consequently she fell asleep.
Jason woke Gemma, unwrapped her, and manipulated her body into a position.
“Sssh,” he said quietly as he bent her into a foetal position on her side.
Barely awake as he penetrated her, he knelt on one of the cushions. Gradually he unfolded her, one of her legs lifted high up against his shoulder and he went deeper and deeper with each push of his pelvis. As she became more sentient, he picked up his pace and force. She stretched, uncoiled underneath him and relief flooded her system.
If you want to find out more about Jason and Gemma, start at the beginning of their journey with Trust Me to Know You.