Gradually we became more amorous and half an hour later I had him in my mouth, slowly moving up and down, savouring the feeling as I knelt on the bed, his hand on my inner thigh.
I shivered as he ran his hand along my slit and then pushed a finger inside me. I moaned around his cock.
He withdrew and in a few moments I felt something else between my legs. He was pushing the plug into my cunt, presumably to show me that it wasn’t a wasted purchase after all.
It was, somewhat disconcertingly, similar in shape to a cone, getting wider as he pushed it in. I groaned as he pushed the widest part inside me, feeling myself close around it. Just the thin shaft and base protruded. There were two cables attached – one to the controller for the vibration and one to the bulb that inflated it.
He immediately turned the vibration on to maximum, making me cry out at the sudden intensity. Then he squeezed the bulb. I felt the plug widen inside me. It was an odd sensation, not unpleasant, but it made me feel full.
But he wasn’t done. He kept squeezing it, counting out loud the number of times he squeezed the bulb as he slowly inflated the toy inside me. He kept a hand on the base to prevent it from falling out and the pressure he put on it made it even more intense.
When he got to eight I was shaking. I kept my mouth on his cock but I had given up any hope of being able to pleasure him. I just knew he would want me to not let him slip out.
‘Look at you, two of your holes filled at once. Do you like being nice and full?’
I really did. The intensity of the plug was on the very edge of being painful, but paired with sucking him (which remained one of my favourite things to do sexually) it was bringing me close to orgasm. That said, the sing-song nature of his voice irked me a little, so I ignored him.
He spanked my arse, hard enough that I was pretty sure he’d have left a hand print, and asked me again.
Grudgingly I nodded, unwilling to look at him, knowing that he’d be able to see how much I was enjoying it by how wet the bloody plug was.
‘Do you think you’d enjoy it even more if all your holes were being used?’
I stiffened. Nervous. Unsure. We’d talked about triple penetration and I was very curious about it, although still half convinced most normal women wouldn’t be able to cope with it, whatever the porn films said.
He didn’t demand an answer from me this time, but I felt his finger moving around the toy, collecting as much of my juices as he could. He then began to circle my arse with his finger, making it wet. I couldn’t help it, I went tense.
He stroked my arse, softly, giving me an odd kind of reassurance.
‘It’s OK, Sophie. I’m not going to hurt you, but if we’re going to do this you need to relax or it might be uncomfortable.’
His finger returned to my opening, but stayed there.
‘Push backwards for me sweetheart.’
I growled slightly around his cock and he laughed.
‘I’m sorry, I promise I’m not doing it to be humiliating, it just means you can take this at your own pace.’
He might not have meant for it to be humiliating, but it still felt that way as I began to shift myself. I must have been incredibly wet, though, as my juices acted as a good lubricant as I moved backwards, my arse opening for his finger. It felt incredibly tight, undoubtedly because of the fullness in my cunt, but I was able to push back easily, allowing him to slide in.
As soon as his finger was inside me it was as though the vibrations of the toy were moving through it too. The feelings were incredibly intense. Any movement, however small, meant waves of pleasure pulsed through me, with even the movement of my body as I breathed in and out feeling powerful.
Adam started to thrust his hips upwards into my mouth. It reminded me that he was there and I began to lick him again, trying to focus on him as much as possible. It was pretty difficult with everything else going on. He pushed to the back of my throat and I gagged a little before taking him as far down as I could.
At that point he began to move his finger in and out, slowly at first but quickly getting faster and harder. I was moaning around his cock as he told me what a dirty girl I was for getting off on having all her holes used at once. I would have blushed if I wasn’t already bright red.
He fucked my mouth, continuing his filthy monologue. Then he stopped mid-sentence and let out a cry. I felt him flood my mouth. As the first stream hit my tongue I too went over the edge, clamping my mouth round him as I bucked against his hand and the toy, my cries only muffled by his cock. I collapsed onto the bed. He withdrew his finger and quickly deflated the plug and turned it off, pulling it out of me.
It’s ironic really because, while it didn’t work very well as a plug for me, it became a toy that Adam particularly enjoyed using. My relationship with it veered between love and hate (depending on how far he expanded it) but, either way, when it came out of the toy drawer I knew life wouldn’t be dull.
That said, it’s not as if there was much chance for my life to be dull. A change in my job role made for slightly more regular hours, but while weekend shifts in the newsroom were a thankful rarity, later nights became more frequent. Paired with trips to see my parents every week or two, and keeping up with friends, life was always busy. My life was full before Adam arrived, but I was soon realising that I wanted to make room to fit him in it. I could see him enjoying the banter at my friends’ birthday parties – complete with the drunken arguments about the hundred best albums ever recorded. I could see my parents liking him. Increasingly I realised my first instinct when I read or saw something interesting was to tell him.
It was odd.
It was lovely.
It made me nervous.
Post James I had decided I was not in the place for a relationship. But I felt myself wavering a little. Not for any relationship, and certainly not a relationship with James. But Adam. Straightforward, funny, clever, filthy Adam. That was very much a different thing.
I tried to tamp down the feelings as much as possible – not least because I felt somewhat guilty. We’d started this as a no-strings thing and while it hadn’t been a conscious choice I was aware that the change in my feelings could make things awkward if he didn’t feel the same. And, somewhat ironically, the one thing we weren’t talking about at this juncture was our relationship – the sex, yes, previous relationships, yes, even what we wanted long term. Just not this. So, in true ostrich fashion, I just kept things as simple and straightforward as I could by, erm, not saying a word. I could mask the feelings, right?
According to Thomas I absolutely couldn’t.
Adam and I had met him and Charlotte for dinner one weeknight. It was a fun evening – lots of drinks, good banter, some nice food. Tom and Charlotte were both on good form, and by the time I’d said goodbye to the three of them to head home (Adam had an early start, making for a rare night where we didn’t meet and then end up going home together) I had a stitch from laughing so hard.
When my phone pinged as I got to my car I assumed it would be Adam, saying goodnight (yes, we tended to do that too, but that’s not a sign of anything and, I promise, isn’t as sickening as it sounds). It wasn’t.
Thomas says: You kept that quiet! I didn’t realise things were that serious. Really pleased for you both though. About time.
I felt my face scrunch up in a mixture of confusion and scorn that, when she saw it, my mum always warned me would cause early wrinkles. What was he talking about? How did he know they were serious? Were they serious? According to whom? Had Adam said something to him?
Bearing in mind my ability to disappear off into an imaginative flight of fantasy with very little effort, I thought the best thing was to seek immediate clarification.
Sophie says: What do you mean, serious? Did Adam say something?
Hmmm. In hindsight that might have sounded a smidgen too keen, but curious minds need to know. Thankfully, Thomas didn’t keep me in suspense too long.
Thomas says: Adam wouldn’t say
anything to me, and as far as I know, Charlotte hasn’t asked him. I could ask her to if you want though.
Yikes. I replied as fast as my fingers would type.
Sophie says: No, no need to do that! So what did you mean then?
The reply pinged back almost immediately.
Thomas says: You’re both clearly very happy. Charlotte says she’s never seen Adam so obviously keen on a woman. And obviously I know you pretty well, and I’d hazard the same.
I couldn’t help smiling. I know it’s lame, looking to optimistic friends for relationship validation, but, hell, I’d take what I could get. I wasn’t admitting that to him, though.
Sophie says: Yeah, yeah. You just want everyone as loved up as you two are.
There was no immediate reply – and one wasn’t really needed – so finally I put my phone aside, buckled my seat belt and began the drive home. By the time I got back I had two messages waiting for me.
Thomas says: I wish we were loved up. Things aren’t always what they seem.
I replied, asking him if he was OK, reminding him that if he ever wanted to chat I was here – let’s face it, after everything we’d been through I knew him better than most, knew all about his kinky side, and wouldn’t judge him for anything. He didn’t respond.
As for the other message, as I tapped out a brief reply I sincerely hoped that WAS what it seemed.
Adam says: Miss you sweetheart. Really wish I could have stayed over tonight. Let me know you get back safely please. X
It was lame for me to feel a bit warm and fuzzy every time he called me ‘sweetheart’, right? I thought so.
CHAPTER FIVE
As mini-break-obsessed Bridget Jones knew, the first weekend away is a cornerstone of any new relationship. As far as I recall, though, hers didn’t involve a St Andrew’s Cross and mirrored ceilings.
Adam and I had been spending a lot of time together. There were still ridiculously early starts, where I packed him off with biscuits and a travel mug of coffee for a ninety-minute drive across the city to get to work. Paired with late nights interrupted with chat and lots of filthy sex, this meant we were in a constant state of smiling exhaustion.
My tiny flat was our bolthole. As we were both fundamentally antisocial, and were still in the heady days of wanting to jump each other at a second’s notice, it made sense for him to come to mine rather than us going to his, with his (undoubtedly very nice) flatmate. But the flat, which was a fine size for one, suddenly felt constraining. I don’t mean that I didn’t enjoy sharing my space with Adam – if anything I was surprised how easily I took to having someone around so much after years of living alone. It was just, well, there weren’t a huge amount of options for places to have sex other than the obvious bed and sofa, and the living room was, literally, not big enough to swing a cat-o-nine-tails. Although actually that might have been for the best – those things sting.
We were lying in bed one night when Adam suggested a weekend away. As someone who, despite a lot of travelling with work, still remains tragically excited at the prospect of staying in hotels (oh, the free toiletries, breakfast in the restaurant, getting the paper delivered to your room, the minibar with overpriced yet tempting peanuts!), I agreed before he’d even fully explained what he was thinking of. And then when he did my brain was a little blown.
I think it’s fair to say I’m not an especially innocent person, but even so I had never heard of the concept of a kink cottage. I knew you could hire out professional dungeons by the hour if you wanted, but the conveyor-belt nature of that (and my slight squeamishness about hygiene) meant it didn’t really appeal to me, even to assuage my long-held curiosity and longer-held fantasies.
I was intrigued by the idea of playing in a dungeon, definitely, but frankly if I owned a house with lots of space the first thing I’d be doing with the big spare room in the basement would be building the best home cinema my budget would allow, rather than building a red room of pain. But apparently that’s not a problem. You can rent whole kink-friendly holiday homes. I was fascinated. And also intrigued. We chose a weekend and Adam booked it. The details were scant, I think in part because he knew I would drive him crazy with questions about what we were going to do if I knew too much about the facilities beforehand, but he told me it was completely private, with lots of opportunities for rude fun and even a secluded garden in case we wanted to play outside. As a woman whose entire journey between work and home is covered by CCTV this intrigued me a lot, at least until the weekend arrived.
It was snowing. And not the ‘throwing snowballs and drinking hot chocolate and having fun’ snow, so much as the ‘slushy, icy, miserable, you could break your neck walking to work and not be found until spring’ snow. We had a debate about whether or not to go at all, but decided, having looked at the traffic information, that it was worth trying the two-hour drive to get there, not least because the cottage was likely to be warmer than my flat in winter, and Adam’s booking for the weekend was non-refundable.
The drive up was one of nervous anticipation. We didn’t talk much because Adam was concentrating on the road. While conditions weren’t too treacherous, bad weather does make people drive like idiots and with the unknown roads he was even more vigilant than usual. The silence meant my mind wandered, and I began thinking about what I was letting myself in for, how things would go, whether it would be a long, intense experience or a series of short, sexy moments.
We found the cottage, tucked away at the end of a quiet residential road (I wonder if the neighbours suspected anything), as secluded as promised. We parked the car, picked up the key (hidden in a little pot by the door – ah, the joys of being out of the city) and unloaded our bags. I had a pretty hefty overnight bag, but barring clean clothes for the journey home, a washbag and phone charger it contained nothing but a series of outfits and underwear I had no intention of wearing outside the confines of our home for the next forty-eight hours. I dragged it inside and we wandered around the building, exploring.
Every room we walked through seemed to have some kind of kinky purpose to it, as I suppose you would expect. The living room had a St Andrew’s Cross on the wall. I walked up to it the way you would an exhibit at an art gallery, looking at it with fascination, trying to imagine what it would feel like to be tied to it, seeing how sturdy it was. Adam was watching my reactions closely, perhaps too closely for my taste. He took my hand in his and pulled me towards the stairs.
‘Maybe later.’
I felt my cheeks heat and he smiled; it made me smile back, secure in the knowledge that I could have fun here with him, that no matter how hardcore the setting, he wasn’t going to metamorphose into some kind of überdom who pushed me further than I could cope.
It was probably just as well I’d had that thought before I got to the top of the stairs, as the view from the landing made my throat go dry. Three closed doors led to more rooms, but my eyes were drawn to the cage, sitting neatly at the top of the stairs, the door open invitingly, a cushion and small blanket resting on the top of it.
Adam pushed open the first door, and I forced my feet to move, to follow him. A bathroom, with a bath big enough for two (OK, probably more than two, but certainly enough for us). The second door opened onto a huge bedroom dominated by a four-poster bed in dark wood complete with, I couldn’t help but notice, metal rings attached at intervals along its main beams for bondage purposes. We put the bags on the floor and I trailed out behind Adam as he opened the door to the third room. I got a brief glimpse of a lot of equipment that looked not unlike a home gym, before the door was closed firmly again.
‘Later,’ he said again, his soft kiss on my nose conflicting with the familiar hungry look in his eyes. ‘Let’s get the rest of the bags first.’
We shuffled back downstairs, discovering the kitchen as we headed back to our starting point. The kitchen was the only room without any equipment or toys in it, and the thing that struck me most was how well equipped it was. Stainless-steel oven, hob and ex
tractor fan, surfaces with plenty of space for cooking, a coffee machine, juice extractor. I peered into the oven. The whole place was pristine, which assuaged my concern about hygiene, but the kitchen was even cleaner than any of the other rooms. I suppose that made sense – who’s spending a weekend in a kink cottage and making a roast instead? – but it seemed like a bit of a waste. Then I turned round and saw Adam’s face, and all thoughts of cooking flitted from my head.
I was nervous and excited, watching him warily as he stood in front of me. Waiting. He’d brought two bags with him. He’d left the one containing his change of clothes upstairs. The other one, the soft black leather one I had grown to know well, the one that contained all his toys, was now clasped in his hands.
He was staring at me. Without breaking my gaze he unzipped his fly and pulled his cock out, beckoning me over in invitation. I smiled at him and took a step towards him, brought up short as he growled:
‘No. Crawl.’
Suddenly the silence was really loud. I could feel my heart begin to beat faster. I gave him a dark look, but got on my hands and knees and crawled across the tiled kitchen floor, feeling faintly ridiculous in my jeans and jumper. When I reached him, I had a moment of doubt. His cock was right there, but I didn’t dare risk the presumption of taking him in my mouth. I looked up at him.
He laughed, and patted the side of my head. ‘Good girl. You can suck me.’
I felt myself flush red, embarrassed that he’d taken it as a silent request for permission, even while I realised, with some surprise, that it really had been.
I took him gently in my mouth, sucking him softly, and he moaned, leaning against the counter. His sighs of pleasure as I began to use my tongue helped me recover my equilibrium a little. A sense of my own power returned as I watched him lose himself for a moment, his eyes fluttering shut as he enjoyed the feeling of my mouth on him.
No Ordinary Love Story: Sequel to The Diary of a Submissive Page 7