Trust Me to Know You (24 page)

“Well,
apart from the fact I’m impressed with your artistic hobby, you do realise I’m stinking rich and you can have two easels and paint boxes, and whatever else you use? One here and the other there? Make sense?”

I could sense the blushing heat in my face as he threw his head back and laughed at my small worldview of my future lifestyle.

“Oh,” was all I could think to say, “yes, I suppose I could buy another easel.”

“I’ve given you an allowance, remember? You’ll need new clothes, good quality stuff and jewels. I’d like my girl to look good.”

I leapt into Jason’s arms full of gratitude, and started to kiss him, ready to submit to his attentions again.

***

In the end I had chucked a lot of stuff. The bin bags lined the entrance hall. My apartment was starting to look like a hoarder’
s den. I settled back on my bed to relax and enjoy a small glass of
white wine. I savoured its dryness in my mouth as I
chilled out. My mobile started to ring, his ringtone, so I knew to answer quickly.

“Jason?” I asked cautiously.

“Gemma, just checking on my girl.”

I beamed at those words.

“How’s the sorting going?” he sounded cheerful.

“Slowly, I’m not being very decisive,” I said honestly. “Taking a break with a glass of the old vino.”

“Drinking while packing, um, not very wise,” he teased me.

“I’m not pissed,” I replied indignantly.

“I should hope not. I don’t know if you can control your urges while tipsy,” Jason’s voice had dropped and become husky with a formidable edge to it.

“Oh, sir, I wouldn’t dream of breaking your rules.” I shot up on my bed.

“What are you wearing?”

My insides were starting to do their somersault thing. He wanted to torment me over the phone.

“I’ve got a t-shirt on, that lacy pink bra you like and knickers...”
My voice trailed off.

“And?” Jason’s words were becoming softer and sensuous with each utterance.

“Well, that’s it,
sir.” I almost whispered. Nothing else, I had taken my jeans off earlier after spilling coffee on them.

“I see, so you’re prancing around in your underwear basically.”

“And t-shirt,” I quickly added.

There was a noticeable pause from Jason. “Put the phone down and take them off,” his voice was delicious and I was becoming responsive to his tone.

Putting the phone, I took off my t-shirt, bra and undies. Picking up the phone, I put it to my ear.

“I’ve done that, sir,” I purred down the phone at him. “I’m lovely and naked, stretched out on the bed.”

“Take a photo with your phone and send it to me.”

Crikey, the seemingly mundane call was definitely rising in temperature
. I stretched my arm up and took a shot of my body stretched out for him. Fiddling with the
buttons,
I worked out how to send the photo as a text message. The silence, while I waited for him to receive it, was endless.

“Good. You look very sexy. Now, using one finger I want to you touch yourself and tell me what you’re doing,” his voice was like treacle, dripping slowly down the phone to me.

I used my index finger and started to circle one of my nipples until it was rigid and stiff. Just having him on the end of the phone I was on fire as if he was lying right next to me in bed.

“I’m playing with one of my nipples,
sir,” I said in hushed tones. I moved my finger down to my navel. “I'm moving my finger slowly down my body, caressing very gently.”

“Keep going, I like where you going with that finger.”

I was lying on my back squirming. My finger reached my clitoris and I gave it a little rub, gently at first and then harder.

“I’m rubbing clit for you now, sir.”

Jason must be able to hear the arousal in my voice, because I was sure I heard him chuckle to himself. “Find some clothes pegs, one on each nipple. Go!”

I dashed out to the kitchen and found two pegs as asked and lying on the bed positioned them on each nipple. I made sure the phone was by my chin so he could hear my wincing.

“Done, sir. My nipples are pinched tight.”

“Spread your legs wide and put your finger inside and tell me what you find.”

Oh my
! Phone sex
was great, so kinky. I gently placed my index finger inside and I knew what I found. I pushed my finger in as deep as it would go and hoped he would let me worked in and out.

“I’m very wet, sir, wet for you. I’m ready to fuck myself with my finger,” I panted at him with throbbing nipples.

“Good. I like to know you are always ready for me.”

I waited for his next instruction I wanted to come for him over the phone. The pause seemed like an eternity.

“Well, Gemma, you can take your finger out now. Pegs off, put your clothes back on and get back to packing.” Jason’s tone had changed, it had gone all boss like.

My somersaults stopped mid vault and I deflated like a punctured balloon. I let out an audible ouch as I removed the pegs.

Oooo nooo I was so close
- unbearable!

“You’re not to come, remember my rules. I need to get back to work now, I have stuff to do,” he said matter-of-factly and hung up.

Arggghhh
, my body was wound up tight for him and he had hung up. The rejection felt wasteful and I was dejected. I lay there and dared myself - go on would he really know? I was not seeing him until the weekend, by then I would have rehearsed my lie – a little lie - and he would not suspect.

Masturbation was my sexual weakness. To prevent my growing vicarious love life from spiralling out of control, I went the do-it-yourself route.
It involved less emotional hassle and easier to master. Quick and certainly not as messy as sex, no bothering with condoms or
sweaty bodies. I had a small collection of vibrators, big
and
small which I had kept stashed in the bottom drawer of my various bedrooms.
Originally, at my parent’s home, then my student digs and finally my own little apartment. I had practised my secret vice with little to curtail my ravenous habit.

Harmless I had told myself. No alcohol or drugs, I did not
smoke or over eat especially. I exercised, walked instead of catching buses or the tube trains. As far as I was
concerned,
I looked after myself well. I
did not
see any mental dependency or an addiction.
Everyone did it, didn’t they?
Well
, maybe not every day.

My first master, the one who took me under his wing and nurtured my submissive nature, had a different opinion. The day he
had taken me to his house for the first time as we had crossed the threshold, he had spoken with quiet determination and absolute authority.

“Gemma,
once you enter my house, you will be mine to control. You will obey me, do as I wish and learn what you need to do without questioning my motives. Things that make no sense to you to begin with, will become of use later. You have to trust me. Do you trust me
, Gemma?”

“Yes. Sir.” I had said with my heart fluttering wildly.

The first aspect of my training he had taken on was my sexual appetite. No fucks with anyone. OK, I had thought, that was what I wanted, to be taken in hand and sorted out. No touching yourself or masturbating was the next command. That one had made me panic.

“Not at all?” I had said eyes wide open. I had answered him back so he spanked me over his spanking stool. Screaming out, “I can’t do it, sir!” I had admitted the level of my sexual self-service: daily frigging under the sheets in the morning and at bedtime to help me to sleep. His approach had been to coach me with the carrot not the stick. There were n
o threats of terrible punishments if I broke the rule. I suspected
he could have inflicted rather more painful techniques to create an aversion to masturbating.

“I don’t want you to hate your body, Gemma. Quite the contrary,
you need to treat it with respect. You must stop seeing your sensual side as belonging to you. It will be your master’s to control. Once you let him give you pleasure, you won’t want to touch yourself. Pleasing him will be your focus. You will please me by not masturbating and only when I ask you to.”
Relying on controlling me had been
his technique. He would ring me during the week, when I was back at my apartment, and order me to masturbate over the phone for him.

At first, he would ring two or three times a week. I had
eagerly waited for those calls each evening. Pacing up and down my shabby little sitting room, the TV soaps blaring in the background to help pass the time, I would pounce on the phone the moment he rang. I would have to tell him what I done that day. My behaviour towards others and how well I was
performing
in my new job. Then he would tell me to strip and touch myself and come strongly for him. I did
every time. I had loved that he was there back at his house listening to me lose it for him.

The calls came less frequently. Once or twice a week, then once and eventually one complete week flew by and he did not
call at all. By then I had found other ways to occupy my time. The evening classes in watercolour painting, a dance class, meeting Trudy in a pub or simply the pleasure of reading. My rampant thoughts of lust had been replaced with hobbies, sensible socialising and self-discipline. That Friday when I
had arrived at his house, he had asked if I had struggled to comply with his wish for me to cease masturbating and I had
said I was grateful for his methodology. It had gently removed the selfish desire and made me regain my self-respect. For the rest of the time I was with him, I
did not break his masturbation rule and I was
proud of my achievement. So was he and
it had been fantastic boost to my morale, knowing he had been pleased with me.

After we had parted company, I was without a full-time dominant for weeks or months on end and the self-indulgent act had crept back into my life but never to the frequency that I had sustained in my final year of studentship. However, I would always struggle with my demon fingers and the way they drifted down between my legs when I fantasied about naked men, d
ominating naked men. I had acquired different tastes
since my silly student fantasies. I fully understood what it was to be dominated and controlled. The fearsome voices, the physical stature and the power these men had over me. It meant containing my frisky fingers was incredibly difficult sometimes.

Jason’s voice was of that calibre. Closing my eyes, I started to touch myself again and even re-attached the pegs on my nipples. It did not take much and remembering
his sultry voice on the phone was all it took to bring me to a small but pleasurable climax. I lay there satiated and happy
, the minutes ticked by as I slumbered.

Jason’s ringtone made me jump in my skin.

Oh fuck, what now?

Control,
control
. My voice must not betray anything.

“Hello, Jason,” I tried to speak as calmly as possible.

“Have you been touching yourself, Gemma?” The question was blunt and his voice was icy.

“Ummm .... No, sir.”

As soon as the words left my mouth I knew I had screwed up, too long a pause and a lack of assertiveness in my voice. He inhaled sharply down the phone, his voice slightly breathless, like he was exerting himself.

“I’m coming over for a personal inspection. You better not be lying to me.”

T
he phone went blank and I scrambled off the bed. He must have already been heading down to his car and the office was only ten
minutes’ drive away at this time of night.

“Shit,
shit!
” I said as I quickly put my bra, knickers and t-shirt back on. My hair was a mess, a bit sweaty and my face terribly flushed. I rushed to the bathroom to throw water on my blotched complexion to cool it down. I had a pee as I was suddenly bursting, probably with anxiety. By the
time I had straightened my hair, tidied the bed and removed the pegs from the room, the doorbell rang. He must have been breaking the speed limit to reach my apartment.

I nervously approached the front door and opened it. Jason was standing there one arm leaning on the outer door frame, his face was hard and unwelcoming. He was wearing his typical sleek business suit, tie loosened, hair combed neatly back. I smiled at him trying to encourage him to look friendlier. Behind
him, I saw his Austin Martin parked up on the road, no escort tonight, but he did not bother when he commuted between his townhouse and work.

“Hello,” my voice was quiet and I could not hide the quivering tone.

He walked across the threshold and then leant back on the door to shut it with a slow click of the locking mechanism. The whole time his eyes were on my face. I lowered mine to the ground, convinced I was betraying myself.

“Sorry about the mess, you know, packing is not a tidy job.”

I tried to look as apologetic as possible and he took a few steps into the apartment hallway.

“I’m not here to inspect your packing. I’m here to inspect you:
my
girl.” Jason continued to walk toward me, a panther stalking his prey.

I could not take my eyes off the floor in front of me and I started to back up, walking away from him backwards. We walked in tandem like this, keeping a distance.

“Would you like a coffee, or something? Wine maybe. Sir,” I added belatedly.

“No.” A short response was not encouraging.

I pushed my bedroom door open with my behind and practically stumbled backwards into the room. Naturally, he followed, divesting himself of his jacket as we went, hanging it up on the door handle. Holding out his hand, he pushed me against the bed and then with a none to gentle shove, I was tipped back on to the bed
behind me. He reached down,
forced my thighs apart and grabbed my sex with his hand. I shut my eyes and folded my arms over my eyes. There was no hiding my very damp knickers. He pulled the crotch of my knickers to one side and pushed a finger up inside me.