Trust Me to Know You (23 page)

“Oh, Fuck!
Fuck
!” Jason squirted down my throat, thick, hot and salty. I swallowed his white nectar greedily.

He drew back, released from my first Jason Lucas skull fuck. I was dazed and my jaw ached. Dragging me up by my neck, my back flung on his immaculate desk and pinned down. He frigged my clitoris and sopping pussy with those long fingers and broad palm.

“I coming!
I'm coming
!” I shrieked.

“Fuck yes,” he growled and I did come, squirming, writhing and my mouth drooling.

His hands did not stop.

Oh God!

I was undone. He wanted more from between my spread legs. He was forcing my orgasm to come again. His palm rubbed my clit frantically, unrelenting, fingers stuffed high up inside me. I bucked and thrashed as the waves of intense spasms moved outward, from tender throbbing parts until all my nerves were on
fire. Ceasing, he moved off me, then I noticed how hard we were both breathing. I lay on his desk top with my skirt gone. I had not noticed he had pulled it off. Nor that my t-shirt had been ripped or my bra pulled down exposing my breasts. All this was done while I was in the throes of being fucked by his strong, deliberate hands.

I slipped back down on to my knees, at his feet, while he tidied his clothes. Calmly sitting down, he held my head up by the back of my neck.

“Go finish your cooking. I've had my appetiser, I'm hungry for food.”

I stumbled out of his study, clutching my disarrayed clothes, legs shaking. My bra repositioned, torn shirt and skirt back on with knickers, I reached the kitchen. By then I was dissolving in a post-sex haze of mind-blowing emotions. I splashed cold water on my sticky face, swallowing mouthfuls so I could wash away the remains of his semen and my saliva. The shaking would not stop as if I was still there before him, waiting expectantly for his next instruction. I could not switch my emotional high off, the sense of being consumed and devoured by him. His domination of my body left me incapable of reclaiming myself back from wherever he had dumped my frayed flesh. I had gone from a state of being high to low too quickly. I was curled up on the floor when Jason found me; the chicken still marinating in the fridge like my nerves. He drew me up, propping my back against the cupboards, steadying me. His cool hands held my face.

“Look at me, Gemma!” he said firmly but kindly. “Put your hands on my chest.”

I looked into his blue eyes. They were not harsh or displeased, but concerned and piercing. They watched me, observing my rapid breaths, trembling shoulders. I rested my hands on his chest. His heartbeat was slow, steady and so unlike my pounding one. Gradually the beats reached into me, calming mine.

“You're alright,” he told me, “it can happen sometimes. Try to relax. Deep breaths.”

“Sorry,” I whispered, inhaling from my diaphragm.

“Don't apologise. Emotionally over stimulated, weren’t you? You had a little subdrop. You must come and find me if this happens. Don't hide away. Talking helps or we can just cuddle, yes?” A finger ran down my flushed cheek.

I took the cuddle option and with my head between my hands pressed against his breastbone, listening to his beating heart. His arms encased my shivering body. Gradually I came back from my mental wasteland, my pulse slowed, limbs stilled and head cleared.

“I'm good now, thank you.”

I stepped away from him and his eyes watched me closely, seeking confirmation of my statement. He appeared convinced and his hands dropped to his sides.

“Remember I do these things to you because you let me. Your trust in me is your gift to me, your power over me. Don't let me think you're OK when you're not or else I will be abusing your trust significantly. I reward my subs well. Obedient, pleasing, little subs, but not if they're trying to impress me falsely. Be honest, did you enjoy yourself in there?” he referred to our intense scene.

I could not lie to him. “Honestly yes. God,
yes. Lunch, swimming pool, all of it. I was struggling with coming down, not with what we did. I promise not to hide away if I'm overwrought.” My clear green eyes focused on his blue ones.

He pursed his lips, judging my response. “This is important, Gemma, I may not humiliate you in public, but I will debase you for my own personal reasons. Alright, you look better, I’ll leave you to it. I'll find you a different top,” he smiled, tugging my torn shirt. He was gone for only a few minutes.

While I boiled the pasta and fried the chicken, he stayed in the kitchen, reading at the breakfast bar, he did not leave me this time.

He put the knife and fork down together on the cleared plate. He smacked his lips.

“Mmmmm. Very nice, Gemma.” He took my hand and kissed the knuckles. “You’re a good cook.”

“I took lessons.”

I picked the plates up and walked round to the kitchen.

“It seemed to me that being good at cooking is an important skill to have as a submissive. Doms often want to have someone cook for them and well, I don’t want to be humiliated for bad cuisine.” I loaded the dishwasher and ran the tap to rinse out the pans.

“A wise decision.”

He got up and put the table mats away. Then with full wine glasses in each hand he paused. “Join me in front of the fire when you’ve done.”

Jason was sitting
on the couch when I came and joined him, he was staring into the flickering flames, the cool autumn air had made the evenings chilly. He held out my wine glass and I sat next to him. The ambience was all very homely.

“I want you to hand in your notice on Monday. You only need to give a week’s notice as an intern.”

He held me his blue gaze as I digested this request. Had it finally come to the commitment stage?

“Don’t get too excited, my dear,” he drawled. “I don’t want you working for me when we come out about are relationship. For one thing,
we have the inevitable meet the parents visit to do first. You can give notice on your apartment too.”

“I have to give six months’ notice,” I told him.

“Don’t worry I will pay the outstanding rent. I’m going to give you an allowance for clothes and you need buffing up a bit.”

I blanched at this thought.
What was wrong with me the way I was?

“People will expect you to have a certain appearance if you are going to appear on my arm at high class functions,” he frowned because I was still pouting at him.

“I thought you liked me as I am. You said I’m beautiful.” I looked down at my hands.

“Oh good grief,
Gemma, yes you’re beautiful, but I mean eyebrows plucked, facial, manicures, your hair needs tidying up. I want you to be elegant and beautiful,” he sounded a bit frustrated by my sulk.

“I’m beautiful?” I repeated back at him.

“Yes, you silly girl,” he was starting to look cross with me. I changed the topic quickly.

“I’m moving in with you?”

“Yes, weekdays we’ll use my townhouse, Piedmont, weekends back here. You’ll get use to the routine,” he swallowed a mouthful of wine as I sipped mine nervously. “This is what we agreed remember? You quit your job and we take the relationship to the next level, see how we cope with being in each other’s company on a daily basis.” He raised was eyebrows at me, expecting an affirmation.

I was excited at the way the relationship was evolving. To live with him and be near him was going to be thrilling. When he suggested we lived together, as part of his proposal, I
had envisaged an arrangement where we would be socialising and not ensconced in his houses.

“I just want to clarify.... you know... when I’m your sub. To be honest I’m confused about what to expect.” I kept my head down, twisting my fingers around each other on the wine glass stem.

“
Oh for fucks sake, Gemma
, just look at me. We’re having an adult conversation.”

I matched his gaze with my flinching one.

“You know how to behave in my lair, that’s not an issue. Out here, we’re equal but if I want sex, you will comply as a submissive. You’ve understood up to now. This afternoon, you enjoyed yourself around the house, I don’t see the issue,” he talked as a businessman, negotiating from the high ground.

Parity outside his lair except when he wanted fun. However, confusion reared, how he initiated play was not clear to me.
When I was to be his submissive felt slightly vague and inconsistent. I wanted to understand his intentions, but at the same time, I did not want to appear uncooperative.

“When you snap your fingers... and tell me to go down on...” I stumbled over my words; I found it so difficult to read Jason’s mind.

“You’re my submissive sexual partner and simply put that is it. My sexual being for
my
pleasure. The rules apply wherever, especially touching yourself, you’re mine to enjoy nobody else including yourself. However, I will only expect you to behave outwardly as a submissive when I request it and in private. Good grief I don’t expect you to go down on your knees in public,” he pondered for a minute and small smile appeared on his face. “Though the thought is tempting...”

I turned bright red at his last comment and let the matter drop. Later, in weeks to come, I regretted not tightening up on the nature of our agreement.

Jason had let Martinson into the house. The multi-tasking driver-come-security chief had pulled up in the car ready to take me home. However, first he had to do my thumbprint for the pool room access. I was waiting by the CCTV room.

Martinson gave a small smile and waved me into the room while Jason hovered in the background. Martinson fired up the relevant software and held out a small infrared pad. He gave me instructions and checked the print was correctly captured. I tried to engage Martinson in some kind of friendly conversation. Jason shuffled with irritation behind him. Martinson was uncomfortable with my informality and I fell silent as he completed the process.

“That’s all logged and ready for you to use.” He stood up straight and nodded to Jason.

My elbow was taken by Jason and I was swiftly led out of the room, his breath was warm against my neck, like this morning when he blatantly ravished me on the bed.

Outside Jason dropped my bag in the boot space and slammed it shut. I was standing against the door waiting for Martinson to finish up indoors. Jason stood over me trapping me with his arms on either side of the car. He suddenly felt very tall and imposing. I pressed myself further back. He bent, taking
my lips in his and kissed me quite passionately. His body was tantalising close but not touching me, only his lips. I groaned fractionally the sound transmitting into his open mouth. Over his shoulder I saw Martinson waiting diplomatically in the porch way, staring down the tree lined driveway to the distance gatehouse. Jason eased
back and opened the door for me. I climbed in gracefully and he bent down to look at me as I settled myself in, reaching for the safety belt. This would be the last time I would have to leave him on a Sunday.

“Goodbye, Miss Marshall,” he said quietly.

“Goodbye, Mr Lucas.”

Martinson was in the driver’s seat now and starting up the engine. Jason shut my car door and turned to walk indoors. As Martinson put his foot on the accelerator,
Jason turned back, pivoting on his feet and gave a small wave:
Yes!

Sunday afternoon, I composed my resignation letter to Andy. I gave n
o reason for my departure. I
did not think I had to give a reason for leaving though I knew he was going to ask. It would have helped if I had said I had another job, but Jason had not revealed what he had up his sleeve on that one.

First thing Monday morning, after my usual session in the gym, I headed into Andy’s office. He looked up when I tapped on his door. He seemed to be surrounded by printouts and disorganised heaps of documents, so unlike Jason’s meticulous piles of paper.

I advised him to read my letter immediately and his face was one of surprise and disappointment. He wanted a reason. Was I unhappy or did I have another job lined up?
He leant back in his chair and ran his hands through his greying hair, he was older than he looked and perhaps growing tired of his work too. He had lost his poise very quickly when Jason had walked in on our meeting.

“No. No. Nothing like that, just, well. I have other plans in the pipeline and well, it is a necessary decision,” I fumbled through my pathetic excuse.

“You’ve done good work on the project. You even got the attention of
Mr
Lucas, that’s no easy thing. He’s not known for taking an interest in a project at this level.”

I tried not to blush at the mention of Jason’s name. “I know, well, perhaps it has inspired me to seek new pastures.” A half-truth.

Andy asked me to finished off my work, write it all up in a report and then dismissed me.
I actually felt bad.
I had nothing against the guy and he had been a fair boss to me. I sighed as I sat at the desk, at
least I had done the deed. I did not intend to tell
the others in the office of my plans. Andy could leak
the news
out in his own way.
That night I would start packing my
apartment up ready for the weekend move. Jason had arranged a removal van and men to come to collect my personal possessions on Saturday. All of a
sudden, things were happening quickly.

***

Staring around my bedroom, I looked at the packing boxes and piles of stuff. I needed to be more selective, I could easily fill his houses with unnecessary
crap.
It was Tuesday evening and I was busy packing ready to move out at the weekend. I laughed aloud when I recollected his response to a question about what I should take where.

“So you see, Jason,” I had said fingers running through my hair, “w
hat will I need during the week, you know, in the townhouse, and what at the weekend at Blythewood. Should I take my watercolours and easel here or there?” I was
sitting on the bed, hands on hips.