Trust Me to Know You (36 page)

I shut my eyes reminding the musty smell that emanated from the books.

“I made an error when cashing up for the night and he called me into his back office. Gave me a serious dressing down, as if I had committed some terrible crime. Then sacked me on the spot. I was horrified, my first job and I was fired. So I begged him and he agreed that if I let him spank me then I could keep my job. I was shocked, silly innocent me. Though you can guess that I was secretly aroused by the offer, somewhere in my sexual awakening I had had fantasies about being spanked perhaps. Forgotten memories re-emerged. So I let him do it to me, bent over his desk with all my clothes still on. It was not hard but yep I was aroused and the pain accentuated the sensation.

“It grew from there. The linking of humiliation or pain to my sexual arousal. He trained me to react instinctively and not try to analyse why I respond as I do. Sessions
became more frequent, harder, fewer clothes!” I chuckled at my memories. “He built up the scenes really well, teaching me about humility and obedience, before introducing intercourse into the equation. It certainly weaned me off sex and made me behave as a service submissive. The relief from not having to think about how he would use me came later, with experience.”

I opened my eyes and Jason was staring at me, captivated by my memories.

“Go on,” his voice was husky.

“I had got a proper job three months later and resigned from his bookstore. He had suggested I came back to visit at weekends. Not to the shop, but his small house,
all antique on the inside like his shop. No dungeon, he had things stashed around the house, like a magic shop. Every weekend I learnt something new. He took me through the
complete range, never pushing me to my limits. He was strangely paternalistic,
treated me like a schoolgirl in need of specialist education. Then the relationship was over. I think he wanted to train another novice
, it was what he enjoyed doing best.”

“Do you stay in contact with him?” A hint of jealousy in Jason’s voice.

“No. He died a couple of years ago. Cancer. He told me before he died that he made up the cash register
error. He recognised me for what I am from the moment he met me,” I bit my lip. “After that I had two more long standing mast
ers. They were into fetishes. The first one liked rope work, tying me up and leaving me on display. The rope burn got too much and I left him for my clamp specialist. He really liked to deny me too.”

Jason was almost laughing aloud at the thought of his predecessors.

“I had enough of one trick horse,” I said. “S
o just moved about between different men. Some were odd weekdays, others the
entire weekend not stop, very intense. Lots of cleaning floors in the nude for one guy, that’s all he wanted me to do for most of the time.”

“Oh, hence your question. Good grief you have had variety,” he chuckled.

“None of them were too extreme though. I never felt fear or threatened by them. Whether that was down to luck, I don’t know…
Until him. He was
different…
He
, he caught me conventionally with straight sex.”
My voice started to break. I did not want to remember him and taint my relationship with Jason as he had captured me vanilla style too.

“
Enough,
Gemma. No more recollections,” Jason took my hand and pressed it against his stiffening cock. “You need to serve me now. I am your master. Remember that. You are
my
slutty girl.
My
collection of fuck holes.”

The demanding Jason was back. “So be a good girl and assume the position.”

“Yes, sir,” I moved closer to him.

I loved his dirty talk.

Another
Sunday had come round and I was joining Jason on his golfing adventures. The weekend had
past so far without incident,
if you counted two sessions in his lair as an ordinary weekend. Recalling memories of my previous masters
had inspired him to pick up on my comment about one horse tricks. He had used
ropes, clamps and a good sensual spanking all in the first session. The next
scene had been a total denial session, very hard, but he had rewarded me well when we retired to bed.

Orgasm denial was rather like masturbation, it took a great deal of self-discipline and distraction not to do the deed
. The irony was not lost on me that I
had been told not to orgasm by doms who had believed they were in control of my body. Even when Jason would tell me that my orgasms ‘were his’ I wanted to shout back ‘well you stop them coming then!’

Self-control was supposedly the skill of the dominant not the submissive. According to some doms, we were useless sluts who had no ability to hold back out sexual vices. Words often said with a grin of delight
. Threatened and cajoled into holding our climaxes for their pleasure
we were then required to release them at the right moment or on demand. A strangely perverse service, which I struggled to provide.

I had tried hard to master different distraction techniques, boring day-to-day thoughts, which were the
equivalent of a bucket of cold water to my arousal.
Alternatively,
there were the useful approaches such as filling my mind with new ideas, work plans or what I should paint next. Much depended on what he was using to arouse me. Some
things were virtually impossible to fight against – the Hitachi massager wand was one. Others like feathers tickling me incessantly or his lips sucking me depended on my mood. What did no
t especially work was the stick approach. Being told you would be spanked or disciplined in some way often made me want to come strongly. Jason was crafty and knew that my imagination would run wild if he started
threatening me with implements.

“Do you want clothes pegs all over you, Gemma?” he would warn me.

“No, sir!”
Yes! I mean!

“Ask me for it, Gemma. Ask me to do something in return for your coming,” he would tease me.

“Anything!” –
Don’t say anything, shit too late
.

The precipice of an impending orgasm was not a good time to ask me what I wanted. I really did not
care as long as I got my orgasm. A mistake I would instantly regret once I came out of my quivering coital state.

Lying there, he would whisper in my ear. “You said anything, babe.”

“Oooo, did I, sir?” I would pretend I could not remember.

The last case of ‘anything’ helped me hold off the previous evening’s orgasm, much to his disappointment, he loved his anythings.

I applied lipstick in the bathroom mirror. Checking my skirt line was straight. The hem
stopped just above my knees and I was wearing a set of pearl earrings and necklace. A ridiculously expensive present from Jason to congratulate me on my new
job. I looked back in the mirror and Jason had appeared behind me, dressed in his golf gear. He sniffed me and reached his hand up my skirt, tugging on my thong.

“Off with these. No panties for you today,” he said with a huge grin.

I was about to utter the words ‘public humiliation’ when he pre-empted me. “A
private
members club. So these off!”

I blushed and quickly slipped them off. Why did he have to be so pedantic with
definitions?

“Don’t you dare let anyone see or else I shall have to punish you severely.” He pulled my hair back and kissed me on my lips hard. I wondered what severe meant and whether I wanted to explore any more of his particular definitions.

***

His Austin Martin car pulled up in front of the clubhouse. Behind us, Martinson was following in a conspicuous Volvo 4x4 SUV
. Jason
parked up right by the entrance and immediately a doorman leapt out to collect his clubs from the boot. Jason grasped my hand, giving me a reassuring smile and we walked through the double doors into the entrance foyer.

“Mr Lucas.” A man approached Jason, hands rubbing together nervously. “I’m sorry, sir. Mike Henderson can’t caddy for you today. He is sick.”

Jason frowned, his disappointment obvious.

The nervous man suggested two other names with a hopeful look. Jason picked one. “I tee off in ten minutes time.”

“Very good, Mr Lucas.” The man scurried off.

I turned to face Jason. “There is something you’re not telling me? Parking space by the entrance, choice of caddy, very nervous man...” I was tempted to wave a finger at him, but quickly suppressed the desire.

Hands on hips, Jason looked down at me with a dazzling grin. “Why, Gemma, didn’t I tell you I own this golf club?”

I looked at him amazed.

“Oh, perhaps not,” he said without changing his expression
.
“You need to be on your very best behaviour. The ladies of the club will have high expectations of you.”

I was so out of my comfort zone and it triggered a mouthful of nervous nausea. I took Jason’s arm to steady myself as he walked me to the bar. I was faced by eight faces, different ages and looks. Their eyes collectively turned to face Jason and I, all conversations halted.

“Ladies allow me to introduce you to Gemma Marshall, my girlfriend.”

Well, a pin could have been heard dropping followed by a sound of gasps been suppressed. I tried my hardest not to blush. Secretly I was delighted to be referred to as Jason’s girlfriend. I stood back as Jason rattled off a list of names as he went round the room for introductions. They went mostly over my head, as each one smiled and said hello politely.

“I’ll leave you ladies to your chat,” Jason bent down and whispered in my ear. “I’ll check on your progress after the ninth hole.”

I watched him depart and taking a deep breath faced my inquisitors. I should not have worried,
they were all awfully well-mannered and not as curious as I thought they would have been. I deflected a few awkward questions about Jason’s habits, keen to protect his privacy. I explained I met him at his office and I was about to start a new job elsewhere. Jason suggested, in the car on the way to the club, keeping simply to the truth.

As voices talked over and around me, I was very conscious of the need to keep my knees tight together. My knickerless state was distracting and I
could not
keep up with the flow of conversation. I was starting to look like an empty-headed frivolous girl, with an inability to talk sensibly to anyone. I suspected this humiliation was what Jason intended. He
was busy enjoying himself on the golf course while I squirmed and looking ridiculous on my bar stool. I was starting to feel angry and if truth be told,
furious. Was this public humiliation or did he consider his golf course to be a private arena? It
did not matter to me as I was seriously pissed off with the entire knickerless situation.

The golfers drifted in for lunch after the ninth hole and Jason was one of the first to arrive looking pleased with himself, his round was going well I deduced. He bent down and planted a kiss on my cheek.

“Comfortable, Gemma?” His voice was laced with amusement.

I glared at him, trying very hard to communicate my state of affairs silently.

“Let’s eat,” he said.

He took my arm and led me, with the other wives and girlfriends, to the restaurant. The layout was a buffet style, with a
selection of salads, cold meats and cheese. The men stood in one corner, reliving the morning’s round with exaggerated mock swings and putts. Jason was to one side talking in a hushed voice to an older man. The
women were milling about, interweaving and picking at their food. Jason took pity on me and broke his conversation to come across to me. Putting his plate down, he introduced me to his companion.

“Gemma, this is Philip Hills, a very important person in my company.”

Philip looked uncomfortable at the compliment. However he took my hand and shook it warmly.

“Pleasure is mine, Miss Marshall. I never had the chance to meet you while you were working for us.”

“Please call me, Gemma.”

Meeting Jason’s deputy was confirmation of Jason’s commitment to me and an introduction to a significant person in Jason’s life was encouraging.

Jason glanced at his watch, ever the timekeeper.

“Time to hit the last nine.”

Over the next two hours, I coped without any embarrassing moments. I managed to acquire an appropriate chair to sit on and I had
more success in conversing with the other women. The golfing partners returned as each of their rounds finished. Jason appeared and I could tell by his expression
that he had won his game. Taking me around the waist, he murmured in my ear.

“I want a progress report, Miss Marshall.” He lowered his hand and caressed my bottom briefly.

I flinched and he tutted back at me. Some of the others were leaving and the general hubbub died down. Soon we were left with a few couples who were staying for an extended drinking session.

“Come.”

Jason rose from his seat having finished his coffee and led me out of the bar and down a corridor. At the end was an office, he opened the door and I followed him in. He leant back on the
door and turned the key in the lock as he did. Moving around the room he systematically closed the venetian blinds blocking out the light and any unintended audience. My heart was beating in my throat.

“This is the club manager’s office. He doesn’t work on Sundays so we won’t be disturbed,” explained Jason.

He went and sat behind the desk, swinging back on the swivel chair, hands behind his head. Blue eyes looking me up and down. I kept my eyes down looking at my feet, hands clasped behind my back. Jason waved me over with a finger and indicated I should stand next to his chair behind the desk.

“Down!” he commanded in that way that made my legs buckled away underneath me.

Oh crikey!
I knelt at his feet and steadied my breathing.

His body maybe relaxed but his face had hardened up. “Lift your skirt up.”