Sublime Trust Page 2

  She’d been tactile and needy from the outset of her sexual awakening. Her breasts a wonderful playground, she had offered them keenly as soon as a man had his hand down her front. She liked the feel of strong hands holding her tight, pinning her underneath. On all fours was joyous, having herself pulled on and off a good-sized cock. Do this, do that. Stand there. Bend over. Men who simply got on with the deed liberated Gemma.

  She enjoyed romantic kissing and cuddling, but to fire her boiler to its highest setting, she had to be taken. A conquest. Their faces when they’d watched her respond instantly to their instructions had been delightful to see. She had seen satisfaction, pleased expressions, and heard their grunts, exertions, and final climaxing cries. A man skilled in how to use his body parts effectively, capable of splendid acts, hit her erogenous zones every time.

  Guy’s whimper had long been forgotten.

  By her final year of study, she’d run out of sexual steam. Nothing set the fireworks off anymore. From then on, she had shifted into increasingly masculine areas of work or pleasure. By the time she’d graduated and started employment in the antiquated bookshop on a nondescript back street, she was lonely, undisciplined in thoughts, and fantasising about ever more unorthodox forms of sex. She shouldn’t have been the least bit surprised when the grey-haired gentleman, who owned the shop, had asked her to bend over his desk and let him spank her. The moment of hesitation had been fractional, barely a second. Gemma crossed the threshold and moved on in her personal journey until it led her to Jason Lucas, multimillionaire CEO, her one-time boss and now her eternal lover.

  Maria wouldn’t be touching her between the legs. Gemma’s body wasn’t on offer for sex from anybody, regardless of gender. Jason’s definition of sexual play didn’t reassure her in the slightest though. There were plenty of other ways to be used by man or woman without penetrative intercourse. Jason claimed the couple were there as servants. Not that he would lie, but he was very capable of manipulating her into thinking they were for something else and letting her be led from there. Unconvinced by his little handmaiden lecture, some decisions had to be hers.

  In his past, Jason had engaged in ménages with more than one woman. He hadn’t told her the details; however, Gemma had extracted rudiments from Judith, her submissive friend and confidante. After several glasses of wine, Judith would openly let loose about his early years. Jason had been right when he had told Gemma his history was off limits. Judith’s stories illustrated extreme adventures in brinkmanship and sexual deviancy involving voyeurism and orgies.

  Gemma hadn’t anything to compete on that scale. The sordid parties she had attended were mild in comparison. Whatever he had up his sleeve for the next three weeks, she would keep her husband focused on her and not give him the chance to involve servants.

  Her meandering recollections were interrupted. Boats and masts came into view, a flotilla of moored boats, bobbing up and down on the surface. Sizes and shapes changed as they drove around the perimeter of the marina. People milled around, tourists and locals, intermingled and colourful. Gemma turned to Jason. His blond hair framed his pleasant face.

  “Which one?” she asked. “There are so many!”

  “Babe, the ones you are looking at are small fry. Cast your eye wider afield.” He grinned and pointed out the window.

  An enormous luxury yacht occupied the farthest jetty. The biggest vessel in the marina by a considerable margin. Dwarfing its neighbours. White, sleek as if aerodynamics had been built into its design.

  “No!” Palpitations rose into her throat. “All that for two of us?”

  “Just for us. Though it’s chartered for up to twelve guests.”

  “It’s ridiculously extravagant for two people.”

  “Wait to you see the inside, Gemma. You’re going to swoon!” He laughed.

  “Are you going to tell me what she’s called now?”

  Jason whispered in her ear, “Sublime. She’s called Sublime.”

  Her face flushed.

  The cold air between them quickly thawed, and she was glad. Gemma didn’t want to start their cruise with the lingering emotions of a Jason punishment.

  Chapter 3. The Crew

  Opulent, extravagant, and luxurious. Numerous descriptive words entered Gemma’s head. She had boarded a 200-foot long floating palace.

  They went through to the main deck and the communal salon, complete with grand piano and gigantic TV screen. Gilded door frames. Shiny glass facades and mirrors. White marble floors. Pearwood finishing. Halogen lights dazzled. Soft furnishings of cream leather or suede. Simple decorative cushions neatly aligned on the upholstery. Glass-topped tables and a tropical fish tank…. Some of the features she had been able to assimilate in the few brief minutes before she was introduced to the assembled crew.

  The majority dressed in white shirts and navy shorts. The yacht’s team of officers, in navy trousers and jackets, lapels and cuffs striped according to rank, stood at the head of the line.

  Crikey, I’ve joined the Navy.

  Jason introduced the man with the most stripes as Captain Mark McKenzie. His Scottish accent was a welcome discovery for Gemma.

  “A pleasure to see you, Mrs Lucas.” He shook her hand warmly. “Allow me to introduce the rest of your crew.”

  Down the line he went. Chief Officer, Ludo Savage. An American, Gemma guessed from his accent.

  Chief Engineer. Gemma heard only Kevin and lost the surname in her head.

  “Essential for keeping a boat afloat, Mrs Lucas,” informed Captain McKenzie jovially.

  Head Chef Dario, short and very Spanish. He bowed slightly to her. Do not argue with a chef, her mother had told her.

  “Señora.” Lips parted to reveal a toothy grin.

  “Chief Steward Esteban Soto is in charge of supplying the vessel and providing you with anything you wish. Think of him as the concierge of your voyage. He is also trained in advanced first aid.” Captain McKenzie indicated a middle-aged, slightly balding Spanish man.

  “Anything you need, Señora, I will find for you!” he claimed.

  There followed the second officer and engineer, a sous-chef and the boson Ted—who was young, British and spoke with a lilting, broad Devonshire accent.

  “I help with the motor launches, Mrs Lucas, the Jet Skis, snorkelling, and scuba diving. All the water sports. I’m also responsible for the lifeboats and safety equipment on-board.”

  “Hopefully, I won’t be requiring your expertise in launching the lifeboats, Ted.” Gemma shook his hand; his jaw dropped slightly when she smiled.

  Two deckhands, Modesto and Gaspar, the boat’s dogsbodies, helping to keep everything spick and span.

  The last two in the lineup were a swarthy-skinned couple smartly dressed in black shorts and white T-shirts and, for them, Captain McKenzie stood to one side.

  “Enrique, Maria. Delightful to see you both again. It’s been too long,” said Jason with sparkling eyes. They had accompanied him on previous voyages. Her husband had told her no more about their past relationship with him. “My wife.”

  She took their hands, each one in turn, with a single, swift shake.

  “Señora Lucas.” In Maria’s low voice swam a soup of American and Mexican Spanish, blurred and unique. A pretty woman in her early thirties, dark hair tied back and height equivalent to Gemma’s.

  “Maria.” Gemma gave a slight nod of head.

  Enrique was perhaps in his forties and therefore older than Gemma had imagined. Short and stocky, muscular arms with small tattoos, sharp brown eyes, and an unfortunate small scar down one side of his strangely handsome face. Another set of Jason eyes, noted Gemma with a quickening of her heartbeat. .

  “Señora. Señor. Welcome aboard. Your stateroom is all prepared for you. I’m sure you would like to partake in some refreshments when they are ready. Maria and I will assist you with your unpacking.” His English was perfect in execution and grammar, his accent similar to Maria’s. A foreigner only in the execution of the
language, not in its richness.

  “Thank you, Enrique. Captain.” Jason faced the crew. “Thank you for the warm welcome. I’m sure you have much to do before we depart tomorrow. I will leave you to your tasks while I give my wife a tour.”

  Gemma sighed in relief. Formalities dealt with, she couldn’t wait to see the rest of the yacht.

  The crew dispersed quickly, leaving Gemma and Jason in the main salon.

  “Wow!” She put her hand to mouth and twirled on the spot with glee.

  “Gemma, come on.” Jason caught her arm and led her farther into the yacht. “These are the guest quarters. Ours are on the deck above. Let me show you around.”

  The decor remained uniform throughout the yacht. Spotlessly clean, no smudges, scuffs, or marks adorned the pristine interior. Everything shone brightly, finished with elegance and refinement.

  The main deck housed the gym, spa room, and galley. The main galley was situated in the midst of the deck, and the chef nodded when Gemma stuck her head round the door.

  A dining salon with a metallic table and a dozen mahogany chairs, generously padded in white. At the bow of the deck were four compartments and, at the farthest stern point, the bridge with the captain’s cabin.

  “Enrique and Maria have one of these compartments. Leo has another,” Jason indicated as they strolled past the rooms.

  They had discussed the security arrangements during the flight. Leo Lubinsky was the chief security officer for the three weeks. Jason’s usual bodyguard and security chief, Martinson, had taken an extended break, and Lubinsky, an ex-Navy SEAL with plenty of experience as a bodyguard and surveillance expert, came highly recommended. His sidekick, Jean Dufour, was a French Canadian who had previously been in the Canadian Mounted Police amongst other security jobs. Meeting the men at the airport, Gemma had thought the pairing made a formidable team: hard muscles, inscrutable faces, and ears incorporating the ubiquitous communication devices.

  Jason had already warned Gemma there would be armaments on board the vessel and, where the local laws permitted, both guards would be armed when on shore. Gemma had shrivelled at the idea of armed bodyguards, something forbidden under UK laws as only government agents could carry weapons. Were they facing a greater threat, or was the precaution purely because, away from England, they were allowed to be armed? She dare not ask in case the answer scared her.

  The bridge was a bank of confusing computer screens, buttons, and flashing lights. Captain McKenzie rose to greet them from his a swivel chair perched high.

  “Mr. Lucas. Mrs Lucas. I should remind you before we leave tomorrow there is the obligatory safety talk.”

  “Safety is important, Captain. Of course, my wife and I shall listen attentively.”

  The tour moved on. Jason stopped in the lobby area. In the centre of the main deck was a door with a numeric keypad. He punched in a four-digit code.

  “Only Enrique and Maria have free access to our deck. Everyone else has to ring the doorbell, so to speak. Unless it’s an emergency or we are onshore.” Jason opened the door to a stairwell leading to the upper deck.

  Jason gave Gemma the key code, which she quickly memorised. Upstairs, she entered another lavish lobby with the uniform gilt decorations and marble floors, which continued throughout the private deck.

  “To the aft is an outside dining area.” Jason pointed to a glass door.

  They stood in the owner’s salon and bar. Off the central space were a mahogany-furnished office and a small pantry with dumbwaiter to the main galley.

  Forward was the stateroom. The spacious compartment, complete with panoramic windows semi-circling around the bow of the yacht, stunned Gemma. The emperor-sized bed stood centre stage, its large backboard of wood and marble, providing a privacy screen when entering the room. Chest of drawers lined each side of the cabin and in the bay of the bow windows, sofas and armchairs. Two bathrooms adorned either side of the stateroom, each decorated with mirrors, marble, and gilt-edged tiles. His, with a shower and dressing area, her larger one with a Jacuzzi, shower, and generous closets and dressing table.

  After two years with Jason, Gemma had become accustomed to luxury, but to have it all on such a grand scale and in immaculate condition impressed. She swooned, if only emotionally. At the base of their bed, a glass-topped low table and above it a separate light fitting. To an innocent bystander, perfectly acceptable furnishings. Jason placed the contents of his jacket pocket on the glazed surface and grinned at Gemma as she lined up the ceiling with the table.

  “Yes, you’ve guessed. An additional feature required only by me, the owner. It disappears when chartered.”

  Jason retrieved a remote from the bedside cabinet.

  He pressed one button, and blinds sheathed the windows, casting the room into semi-darkness. Another button and the lights came up gradually. Then the ceiling compartment slid open to reveal a ring and pulley.

  “I told you I was going to string you up, didn’t I?” Jason tapped the table. “Tucked away in this room is a padded top for this. So don’t worry about the glass.”

  The remote activated and everything returned to normal lighting and style.

  Gemma gulped and stood nervously, tapping a foot repeatedly. Enrique and Maria arrived with their luggage and Esteban with a tray of refreshments.

  “We will have the food on the sundeck, please,” announced Jason.

  He led her up the stairs to the flybridge, complete with a mast arch in the centre to cover the bar and yet another dining table. A cascading pool to the aft with sun loungers and, to the bow, a large lounger. It resembled a bed: square shaped and sheltered by a fixed white canopy draped over it like a tent and anchored with poles.

  “It can get hot out on the ocean. This keeps the sun off all day.” Jason settled on the lounger, and Gemma lay down next to him.

  Her heart thumped with excitement.

  “All this space, just for us,” she marvelled. “I can’t get my head around it.”

  Enrique appeared with the tray of refreshments and laid it on a low table next to lounger.

  Jason nodded in dismissal. “Thank you. We won’t need anything else for now.”

  Enrique retreated.

  “Grapes, bread?” Jason asked. “The Spanish eat late. It will be a while before we have to leave for dinner.”

  Gemma dined on bread and salami, quaffing the fresh orange juice. She examined the surroundings, twisting about while popping grapes into her mouth. The lounger reminded her of a four-poster bed, the kind Jason favoured in his dungeon.

  “This is a fuck pad for you, isn’t it?” she blurted. “The canopy, the seclusion.”

  “We’re not exactly overlooked up here, Gem. Until we’re at sea, anyway. Yes, the canopy provides shelter from the sun. But you’ve guessed correctly. An innocuous arrangement to a charter guest, not to us—the support poles come in very useful. Speaking of the sun, make sure you use plenty of lotion. On this deck, you bathe nude. I don’t want any of those white strap marks or a pale arse on you. Nice and even all over. Don’t overdo it though.” He slapped her bottom as she lounged on her belly. “I don’t want a bronzed goddess. A golden tan will do.”

  “Do I get a bronzed god?” She sniggered.

  “You’ll get what you’re given. As usual,” he replied with another hard slap.

  She didn’t mind. At that moment, only one thing occupied her mind. Sex. Driven by her insatiable libido, she was soaked below. Uncomfortable in her long shorts, she crossed her legs to give herself relief and rested her head on her arms. She would have to wait until they were at sea before they could use the lounger. The bustle and noise of the marina reminded her they were not alone.

  Jason prodded her. “Let’s get below before we turn into a peep show.”

  She agreed, and they returned to the stateroom to unpack. While Gemma broke the ice with Maria by discussing matching outfits and garments, Jason showed Enrique the contents of one holdall.

  Chapter 4. Summons


  Enrique grinned at the collection. “A fine selection,” he commented. “And the rope is of good quality. Not that I expect you to use anything else.” He ran his hand down the fibres.

  “Find a home for this lot, Enrique. A locked drawer. I don’t want my wife to know what I have in store for her. She may not like surprises; however, I like watching her response.” Jason patted him on the back.

  Jason made his way to the office and began linking his laptop and other devices to the vessel’s Internet connections. He leant back in his chair and waited for the devices to boot and attempt to talk to each other.

  His hand drifted to his crotch. There had been movement down there earlier; he had felt it lying next to Gemma on the flybridge. He couldn’t fail to notice her crossed legs and fidgeting hips. So desperate for sex, she had to comment about the hidden on-board facilities he had specified and fitted when he’d purchased the yacht. That night, they would dine out, and she would be stuffed with food and fatigued by the late hour. He would keep her waiting until the next day. Simply seeing the error messages on his laptop monitor suppressed his desires. There would be a period of frustration while he kicked his computer into action. She would have to learn patience.

  Gemma had tested Jason in the car on the way over from the airport. Her silly remark about a handmaiden had riled him. Not the word itself. It had come off the top of her head, a throw-away term. What bothered him was her fretting about the presence of Enrique and Maria and their role as servants. She doubted the definition, and she had every reason to wonder at their presence.

  The Mexicans were a kinky couple like them, and Gemma suspected Enrique and Maria would be doing more than laying out their clothes and serving food. His wife wouldn’t be forced to do anything she didn’t wish to do. If, however, she kindled it, nurtured, and acknowledged the liking, then Jason would let her. No man might have sex with his wife, but he’d never had any issues with women using each other if they did it at his command and with him in control of the situation.