environment, or the presence of his chosen witnesses. If he was fulfilled, she should be, too, he reasoned.
Nevertheless, he couldn’t force a sentiment on her if it wasn’t a natural response. Fakery, he wouldn’t stand for. Her silence spoke volumes. He was determined to find the source of her inhibitions.
He tenderly rested his chin on her right shoulder as his waning erection slipped against her back. He wished he could find a mechanism to help her cope with her anxieties.
“Why are you reticent about erotic humiliation, especially sexual acts in the presence of others? Exhibitionism, is it not a common activity in the communities you frequented when you trained? Or were you in some particular coven that abhorred sharing their passions?” he murmured.
“Nothing to do with my socialising. I was always happy to be nearly naked, didn’t mind being spanked or paddled in open areas. Nor tied up or teased with something non-penetrative. But sexual intercourse with others watching, I couldn’t do...because….” Gemma gave a small shrug of her shoulders.
“Because of your rape?”
“No, not the rape. Something else. Before my first Master and university. While I was still at school. God, remembering it makes me feel like a harlot.” Her body tensed, and he squeezed her waist.
“Go on.”
“I didn’t deep throat or swallow back then. I liked the way men moaned, but I wasn’t good at the art of oral sex. But it was the safest way of having sex, or at least that is what I thought. I was eighteen, about to leave home, and full of confidence. It happened in a bike shed at the local community centre. A grubby, dark shed—nothing romantic or comfortable. The recipient, unremarkable, and I’d forgotten his name. I’d taken a fancy to him when we met at a pub. By then, my parents couldn’t stop me going out, not any longer.” Gemma paused, tracing her finger along the edge of a pool tile.
Jason waited, letting her work through her thoughts and memories.
“His friends interrupted us,” she continued. “I foolishly thought we were going to be on our own. They had been watching through a window, probably sniggering in the background, but I hadn’t heard. It was a dare, for his eighteenth birthday, a coming of age thing, to get a girl to go with him. He said I would open my mouth to anybody, that they should try me out because I was easy. I bolted out of the door, and their laughter followed me, including his.”
“Jealous. They were jealous.”
“Whatever, the reason behind their actions didn’t matter to me; I was mortified. After that incident, I was convinced sex anywhere other than a bedroom or secluded, secure location wasn’t a safe place. I felt having sex in the presence of others opened me up to degrading comments and laughter. My first Master didn’t require public acts of humiliation. He wasn’t interested and, after him, I made a name for myself as one who never submitted to orgies or group sex. It’s not me.”
“But you were willing to be spanked or provide other services?”
“Probably because I could be explicit about my limits and keep them non-sexual. Unless I was in a sexual relationship, I concentrated on platonic scenes—at least, when in the company of others, being a bottom to a top. I admit I found those encounters erotic and pleasurable, so I had an incentive to submit. There was also a clear understanding of what both parties wanted from the experience. I went to parties and did scenes at clubs solely on the basis I could say what I would and wouldn’t do. So, no more sex in bike sheds.” She gave a slight titter.
“You trust me. So why not relax and enjoy it, here in the middle of the sea. Why care who is watching? We’re not doing anything kinky.”
“I simply have a deep-seated mistrust of my own reaction to having sex with people about. It dampens my arousal. I don’t want to be seen as a prostitute or, this sounds silly, rubbish at it.”
“Babe,
Nevertheless, he couldn’t force a sentiment on her if it wasn’t a natural response. Fakery, he wouldn’t stand for. Her silence spoke volumes. He was determined to find the source of her inhibitions.
He tenderly rested his chin on her right shoulder as his waning erection slipped against her back. He wished he could find a mechanism to help her cope with her anxieties.
“Why are you reticent about erotic humiliation, especially sexual acts in the presence of others? Exhibitionism, is it not a common activity in the communities you frequented when you trained? Or were you in some particular coven that abhorred sharing their passions?” he murmured.
“Nothing to do with my socialising. I was always happy to be nearly naked, didn’t mind being spanked or paddled in open areas. Nor tied up or teased with something non-penetrative. But sexual intercourse with others watching, I couldn’t do...because….” Gemma gave a small shrug of her shoulders.
“Because of your rape?”
“No, not the rape. Something else. Before my first Master and university. While I was still at school. God, remembering it makes me feel like a harlot.” Her body tensed, and he squeezed her waist.
“Go on.”
“I didn’t deep throat or swallow back then. I liked the way men moaned, but I wasn’t good at the art of oral sex. But it was the safest way of having sex, or at least that is what I thought. I was eighteen, about to leave home, and full of confidence. It happened in a bike shed at the local community centre. A grubby, dark shed—nothing romantic or comfortable. The recipient, unremarkable, and I’d forgotten his name. I’d taken a fancy to him when we met at a pub. By then, my parents couldn’t stop me going out, not any longer.” Gemma paused, tracing her finger along the edge of a pool tile.
Jason waited, letting her work through her thoughts and memories.
“His friends interrupted us,” she continued. “I foolishly thought we were going to be on our own. They had been watching through a window, probably sniggering in the background, but I hadn’t heard. It was a dare, for his eighteenth birthday, a coming of age thing, to get a girl to go with him. He said I would open my mouth to anybody, that they should try me out because I was easy. I bolted out of the door, and their laughter followed me, including his.”
“Jealous. They were jealous.”
“Whatever, the reason behind their actions didn’t matter to me; I was mortified. After that incident, I was convinced sex anywhere other than a bedroom or secluded, secure location wasn’t a safe place. I felt having sex in the presence of others opened me up to degrading comments and laughter. My first Master didn’t require public acts of humiliation. He wasn’t interested and, after him, I made a name for myself as one who never submitted to orgies or group sex. It’s not me.”
“But you were willing to be spanked or provide other services?”
“Probably because I could be explicit about my limits and keep them non-sexual. Unless I was in a sexual relationship, I concentrated on platonic scenes—at least, when in the company of others, being a bottom to a top. I admit I found those encounters erotic and pleasurable, so I had an incentive to submit. There was also a clear understanding of what both parties wanted from the experience. I went to parties and did scenes at clubs solely on the basis I could say what I would and wouldn’t do. So, no more sex in bike sheds.” She gave a slight titter.
“You trust me. So why not relax and enjoy it, here in the middle of the sea. Why care who is watching? We’re not doing anything kinky.”
“I simply have a deep-seated mistrust of my own reaction to having sex with people about. It dampens my arousal. I don’t want to be seen as a prostitute or, this sounds silly, rubbish at it.”
“Babe,
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