As fantasies go the reality was pretty bloody amazing. It made me suddenly desperate to think about all the other things I wanted to try, happy I had a partner in crime I could do them with. Although not that way, because obviously we weren’t going to be dating. We’d decided. Obviously.
Fuck. Who was I kidding?
CHAPTER FOUR
The next few weeks passed in a further flurry of emails and texts messages, mixed with some truly memorable late-night phone conversations – and an increasing number of visits. Adam would come round, we would do scandalous things to each other and then, once we were both exhausted and sated, he would do the long journey home to minimise faff for his early starts to work.
But then slowly things began to change. He still came round of an evening, but we would eat together. He took me out for a leisurely curry one night. We jumped each other afterwards (albeit tentatively – we’d eaten a lot of curry) but spending time together where we weren’t having sex was beginning to be as fun as the filthy things we got up to between the sheets. And on my sofa. In the shower. You know what I mean. Then he came round so I could cook him lamb tagine – something he’d always been intrigued to try but hadn’t had the chance to. It took ages, so we ate late and it just seemed to make sense for him to stay over. I suggested it, aiming for a casualness I wasn’t sure I could quite pull off, and he agreed, similarly casually. And then we just grinned at each other like idiots for a little while, until we dozed off.
Suddenly I was thinking about our lively debates about politics or discussion about the best Bond film of all time as much as the way he’d tied me to the bed and licked me until I whimpered the morning after we’d spent a night together (although, obviously, that was bloody amazing too).
He began to visit for weekends, often arriving late on Friday night so we could spend all of Saturday together before either working or fulfilling other social commitments on the Sundays. It was a weird middle-ground: we weren’t dating, and it’s not as if I’ve ever been a ‘joined at the hip, must do everything together’ kind of girlfriend anyway, but I began to look forward to our weekend routine, while trying my very best to not overthink it and instead just enjoy it for what it was.
Of course, as ever, not knowing exactly what our relationship was made me feel a little unsure of myself at times, not least when he mentioned, in passing, that he’d slept with Charlotte a few times.
We were discussing hotels when he mentioned it. Not in an inappropriate way – one of the lovely things about Adam was the fact that when he wasn’t being incredibly rude he was very gentlemanly. We were talking about going to see a gig and, as he began to realise how for me the attraction of seeing any band on a big arena tour has to be offset by exactly how difficult it is to get home afterwards, he suggested trying to find a nearby hotel. We Googled to find what was available and, as he leaned over to see what had come top of the list, he dropped the bombshell.
‘Nah, not that one. Charlie and I stayed there once, it was a total dive.’
I was confused. Was I supposed to know who that was? Had I not been listening when he’d told me about his friend? ‘Charlie? Who’s Charlie? Were you at another gig?’
‘Definitely not a gig, but there was a performance element.’ He smiled a bit at the memory. ‘Charlie. Charlotte, Charlie. It was a fetish club night.’
I hoped my eyes weren’t cartoonishly wide, but it took a moment for the penny to drop.
‘Thomas’s Charlotte?’ He didn’t call her ‘Charlie’. In fact I hadn’t heard anyone else call her that but Adam.
‘Yeah, that Charlie.’ He held his hands up. ‘But she wasn’t seeing Thomas then. It was a casual thing for both of us. It only happened a few times.’ He looked at my face, and I dread to think what he saw there, but he clarified some more. ‘And it hasn’t happened for ages.’
I didn’t know what to say. I know this is unreasonable, bearing in mind I too had seen Charlotte naked, but I felt a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach that I was pretty sure was jealousy. He was looking at me worriedly. ‘Soph, I’m sorry, I thought she’d mentioned it.’
His concern was sweet, seemingly heartfelt, and reassured me that he wasn’t some kind of player. I hoped. I smiled and tried to stop overthinking things. ‘It’s OK. I didn’t know, but it’s not my business anyway really.’ The silence lengthened and I suddenly thought through the rest of his sentence and burst out laughing. ‘Hold on, a fetish party? I don’t even know what that is. I’m like the BDSM country mouse visiting the town mouse hanging out with you.’
He grinned and pulled me into a cuddle. ‘Stick with me, little mouse. I’m sure I can open you up to all kinds of new experiences.’
He wasn’t kidding.
Adam was definitely broadening my sexual horizons. There didn’t seem to be many things he hadn’t tried or didn’t want to try. He was very experimental and creative, and his ability to make me blush at his suggestions for things we could do became legendary.
I didn’t feel inadequate in our rude chats. I was more than happy holding my own in a smutty conversation and he often commented on how refreshing he found it to be able to chat so openly about sex. But I wanted to do more; I wanted to show him that he wasn’t the only one with an imagination. It took a little preparation but within a week or so I had ideas for a couple of erotic surprises, thanks to some well-thought-out internet shopping.
As we were a pair of news nerds we increasingly found ourselves on a Saturday morning, after some early morning fun, sat on the comfy sofa in a local cafe, drinking coffee, eating pastries and swapping sections of the broadsheets.
On one such Saturday I put my plan into action. We’d booked tickets for an early showing at the cinema, and were enjoying killing time reading out stories we found interesting and mocking each other’s choice of newspaper.
I was incredibly nervous when I excused myself to go to the bathroom. He didn’t notice, though, too wrapped up in the cricket reports from the previous day’s test.
When I returned a few minutes later I had a small box in my hand. It had a neat ribbon tied round it, and a little note tucked under the bow – if there was one thing playing with Adam had taught me, it was that details mattered.
I popped the box onto his lap and smiled at him as he looked up at me, slightly confused.
‘What’s this?’ he asked. ‘It’s not my birthday.’
I knew when his birthday was. He’d casually mentioned it in passing a few weeks before and I’d added it to my online calendar the following day. I wasn’t sure if it sounded a bit too keen to admit that, though, so I ignored it.
‘You should open it.’ I was blushing. For a change.
Still bemused, he slipped the ribbon off and removed the lid. He lifted out a small plastic object with a couple of buttons on it; it looked not unlike a garage door opener or some such gadget. He clearly was none the wiser. I felt a surge of smugness. I’d obviously stumped him.
It didn’t stop my voice sounding a little husky with embarrassment when I spoke, though. ‘You should read the note.’
He unfolded the piece of paper and read the words I’d written on it in neat blue handwriting.
I think we both know you have the ability to push my buttons in all the fun ways. Now you can do so literally. You’re holding the remote control to a vibrating egg. I’m sure you can guess where it is right now. The buttons will turn the vibrations on and off and vary the speed. Do you want to play?
His face lit up like an overexcited kid on Christmas morning and I grinned to myself, knowing that the gadget element would appeal to him.
His whisper was part wonder, part awareness that there were folk around us who neither of us wanted to be part of our game. ‘This is brilliant. You’re brilliant. I’ve never even heard of this, much less used one.’
He folded the note neatly into the box with the ribbon, before sliding it back into my handbag. He put the remote control in his pocket.
It didn’t take him l
ong to find the on switch. I’d reached for my coffee and I almost threw it over myself as I suddenly felt the vibrations deep inside me. I looked at him and he grinned.
He left it on and gradually increased the speed. I tried to read my paper but it was impossible. I couldn’t concentrate on anything, and my hand was still shaking, which made lifting my mug a dangerous sport.
I leaned over, resting my head on his shoulder as if reading his paper with him but the truth was I was just hanging on for dear life. There was no way I would orgasm like this in public – at least I hoped there wasn’t – but I was becoming increasingly wet and embarrassed. I cursed myself for coming up with such a daft idea. I suddenly had When Harry Met Sally flashbacks. And no one wants that.
As my fingernails dug into his arm, suddenly it all stopped. I realised how tense I had been as I finally relaxed, returning to my side of the sofa. I was breathing hard, my chest rising and falling. Thankfully there wasn’t anyone sitting too close. They might have been worried I was having an asthma attack.
He pulled his hand out of his pocket to turn the page of his paper and started chatting to me as if nothing was any different. I slowly returned to normal and began to relax as we finished our drinks.
We got up and headed for the exit. When he held the door open for me I didn’t realise his hand was in his pocket. As I exited to the sunny pavement I felt a pulse in my cunt and I almost stumbled as I let out a short, high-pitched squeak. No one seemed to notice but he laughed as he walked out behind me, musing at how much fun this was going to be. His power-crazy look made me laugh, although I was wondering exactly how I was going to sit through a film and focus. Thank goodness we’d gone for a popcorn flick with lots of explosions rather than anything too highbrow.
I received a couple more surprises as we walked to the cinema, but he mostly left me alone. He thanked me for handing him such control, but warned that he wasn’t going to be all that responsible with it, in case I hadn’t already guessed.
We took our seats. I get irate at the amount of adverts they show before a film at the best of times, but with Adam using the time to torture me, I was more desperate for the trailers to start than ever. He pressed all the buttons and asked me what all the different settings were doing to me – constant vibrations, pulses, etc. I explained as best I could, whispering through gritted teeth, as he cycled through the programmes.
I think it would have been easier to focus if he had just left the toy vibrating but he spent the next two hours tormenting me. He made sure to change the setting before I got used to what I was feeling, driving me crazy and causing me to hold on to him once again.
At one point, when the explosions were especially loud so the few people in the cinema sitting near us couldn’t possibly overhear, he leaned in to whisper in my ear, to ask if I was wet. I hid my face in the crook of my arm as I nodded.
He put his hand on my inner thigh and moved it upwards – thank goodness Saturday-morning cinemagoers tend to flock to more family-friendly films than we had so there was no one in our row. He slowly moved his little finger up and down the seam of my jeans and told me that he could actually feel the vibrations.
It was at that point I kicked him in the shin. I was beyond caring if it would get me into trouble, although he later admitted he probably deserved my admonishment. He removed his hand and put it over my shoulders, keeping the remote in his other hand and making sure I never settled. The film pretty much passed me by – he later bought it for me on DVD as a gift – and by the time it finished I only had one thing on my mind, and it wasn’t the mark-ups on over-priced cinema popcorn. Finally, the lights went up. He was grinning at me.
‘So. What do you want to do next?’
I couldn’t speak for a minute. What on earth did he think I wanted to do?
‘Lunch?’ He was having so much fun. I wasn’t sure if I found him endearing or annoying. The throbbing between my legs wasn’t helping me decide.
In the end I thought politeness might work more in my favour.
‘Can we go home? Please?’
He stroked my arm with his fingertips and I shivered. There was no way I was going to manage eating lunch without throwing it all over the place. After long, desperate seconds he took pity on me.
‘Of course we can.’
He left the egg on a constant setting all the way home but it still pulsed as I walked and I still didn’t seem to be able to ignore it, not least because the weighted egg shifted inside me as I moved, sparking sharp waves of pleasure.
As we got back to my flat I felt him turn it off for the first time in hours. I became aware of how wet I was and wondered if I’d get the chance to sort myself out and change my underwear before he decided to do anything fiendish with me. Not a chance. Definitely optimistic.
As soon as we entered the living room he was behind me. His hands wrapped around my body, groping my breasts as his mouth found my neck and shoulder, kissing and gently biting me. It was as though he had been waiting for the moment we closed the door behind us and had privacy. Suddenly I realised I had inadvertently been teasing him for as long as he had been teasing me.
He unbuttoned my jeans, shifting them down my hips and putting his hand between my legs.
He chuckled softly. ‘Your knickers are soaking.’
I tried to press my thighs together but he gave them a quick slap so I left them open. He pushed me forward, bending me over the arm of my sofa, pulling my knickers down to join my jeans around my thighs.
He reached forward and took hold of the thin plastic cord protruding from my cunt and pulled it. I gasped as the egg popped out into his hand.
Within seconds I was gasping again. I hadn’t heard him unzip himself or the tell-tale sound of the condom wrapper being pulled open, but without warning he had pushed himself all the way inside me. I was so wet that he slid in easily but I cried out in surprise, my fingernails digging into the cushion as he began to move.
His hand moved to my mouth, pressing something to my lips. It took a second to click, but it was the egg that had spent so long inside me. I clenched my teeth shut.
For a moment he stilled, then he pulled my hair in warning. I opened my lips, taking the wet toy into my mouth, tasting myself on it.
He kept fucking me hard and it wasn’t too long before I felt him go stiff as his orgasm hit him. His breathing was heavy as he moved to dispose of the condom. When he returned he held his hand out under my face and I opened my mouth, letting the egg fall into his outstretched palm.
He helped me into a sitting position on the sofa and pulled my legs forward and open as he knelt on the floor in front of me. Within seconds he was licking me. As with the sex, there was no preamble, no teasing, just a relentless, firm pressure on my clit as he licked and sucked it. I felt his fingers between my legs and then I felt him push the toy back inside me.
He turned it on and I bucked my hips up, grinding myself against his face as he continued to focus on my clit. He put it on the fastest setting and flicked his tongue over me again and again. My hands were in his hair and I was moaning loudly. I was lost.
‘Please may I come?’ I groaned. I know. It wasn’t something I made a habit of asking without being explicitly told to, but I wasn’t risking everything stopping for any reason.
He nodded his permission as he kept licking. I thrust upwards again and kept hold of his hair. It felt as though his tongue was vibrating as I came, crying out loud until I flopped back down on the sofa.
He moved his mouth away and turned the egg off before climbing up to join me. As I rested my head in his lap I congratulated myself on a good plan well executed. Adam, it was fair to say, was similarly pleased, which made me feel happy, and not unlike a goddess for a bit. Everyone wins.
Of course not all of my plans worked out quite as I had planned.
I’m a big fan of buying sex toys online. There are a couple of things I’ve bought in person, but mostly I’m internet all the way. No embarrassment (which is obviously
a major thing with me – sadly even a trip to an Ann Summers shop can see me blushing), a great selection of items, lots of bargains and sales to be had and, usually, a good number of reviews that tell you how normal folk have found the objects you’re considering buying. Invaluable stuff.
I have, however, on occasion not read the small print as well as perhaps I could have.
Adam and I had discussed anal play a lot. It was something he had a lot more experience of than me, and initially I was quite wary as my early experiences had been a mix of incredibly hot and quite painful. I decided I would order a plug for us to use together, something we could have fun with and that would act as a signal to Adam that I trusted him to do a little more arse-related stuff than we’d done previously.
As ever a victim of the allure of additional features and (non-literal) bells and whistles, I found one that could be inflated using a little bulb and that would vibrate as well. It was reasonably priced, a bargain even, and the fact it could be made bigger seemed especially useful as I was getting used to having my bum played with.
When it arrived there was one problem.
I don’t know whose arse it was supposed to fit into, but it wasn’t going into mine, even before being expanded.
It was a bit ridiculous but made me laugh a lot. In an email to Adam I told him my mistake and explained how I was pondering sending it back for a refund (unused I hasten to add). Adam’s email in response made me gulp a little bit.
Keep it. It might not be a total loss. x
Huh.
That Friday he came over and, as often happened, after an early dinner we spent the rest of the evening in bed.
At one point he asked to see the plug and I laughed as I fetched it. He said it was definitely too big to go in my arse, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t fit elsewhere. I hid my nerves as best I could, but he just put it on the bedside table after inspecting it and we went back to debating who wrote the best Batman comics (Tim Sale, obviously, although he said Miller).
No Ordinary Love Story: Sequel to The Diary of a Submissive Page 6