He wasn’t wrong.
There was no sense of me being ‘punished’ for being me. Mostly he let me get away with any minor mocking, seeing it as a sign of affection, which is what it was, and was generally tolerant of my smart mouth, which even my submissive tendencies can’t keep in line.
Well, mostly tolerant.
I will admit I’d been mocking him more than usual, although if you asked me I’d be hard-pressed to tell you why. I was in an especially good mood, which probably exacerbated it as when I’m happy I tend to be quite irreverent. It was in the aftermath of a particularly heavy scene we had done a few days before, which was playing on my mind – in the positive, flashbacks-popping-in-your-head-to-make-you-flush-with-arousal-and-shame-while-waiting-for-the-kettle-to-boil sort of way. Perhaps it subconsciously inspired me to rebel a little more than usual as a way of reasserting my equilibrium in the face of my memories of lying on the kitchen floor naked, bruised and covered in his spunk. Mostly, though, it was because we had company in the form of some old university friends of mine who came to visit for the weekend and who were blissfully ignorant of what we got up to in the bedroom.
So I pushed. Whenever my university friends get together the mocking and sarcasm flows, and it was easy to get caught up in it. And it was funny to see his eyes narrow as he looked at me as everyone laughed, his eyes saying, ‘If they weren’t here you’d be bent over the sofa right now being made to feel very sorry for what you just said,’ as mine sparkled back at him pretty much saying, ‘I know, but they are. Ha!’
In hindsight, I pushed too far. It didn’t feel it at the time, though. As we made dinner – dim sum from the Chinese supermarket, followed by stir-fried beef with ginger and spring onions, washed down with cold beer – the banter continued. I saw his eyes narrow at the cheekiest of my comments, but knew that he could do nothing about it. It really made me smile, and the humour in his replies and the way his tactile tendencies continued unabated left me fairly sure he was taking it in good spirits. And to be fair, he did – his smile was indulgent, his eyes twinkling.
As we were loading the dishwasher, our guests in the living room setting up the Scrabble board, he pulled me over for a kiss. Laughing, I hugged him, caught up in the fun of the day, loving how well he was getting on with my friends, just enjoying good company and a lovely time. Our kiss deepened and suddenly we were staring at each other with that look of two folk who – no matter how friendly the company – just want to rip each other’s clothes off.
I could read the lust in his eyes, and I was pretty sure mine mirrored his. Suddenly Scrabble wasn’t the game I wanted to play. I leaned up to kiss him again, nipping his bottom lip with my teeth. He growled at me.
‘What is it with you today? You’re in a very hyper mood.’
I grinned at him around his lip. ‘Sorry. I can’t help it. I find it funny doing these things while other people are around.’ I pinched his arse. Quite hard. He winced. ‘Don’t look like that, you big baby. You do worse to me. It’s just you have a low pain threshold.’
He looked with mock outrage. ‘Baby? Me? Wait till we’re alone, then we’ll see who’s a baby.’
I grinned at him, pinching his arse again as I pressed a kiss to his nose. ‘Good comeback. Talk is cheap. There’s nothing you can do until Sam and Emily have gone home. Too noisy.’ I pulled a face of mock upset. ‘Oh well …’
He grabbed my shoulders and pulled me in for another kiss. ‘Oh my lovely, foolhardy Sophie.’ He leaned in to whisper in my ear. I tried not to shiver. ‘Challenge accepted.’ He nipped my earlobe with his teeth and before I could really react or the words had sunk in, he’d picked up the bottle of wine and walked through into the living room, whistling.
Just when I thought the day couldn’t get any more fun, the game was on. And not just Scrabble.
I’d showered before bed to try and minimise pressure on the bathroom as we all got ready in the morning, and came into the bedroom damp and wearing just a towel. He was waiting as I pulled the door closed and before I realised what was happening the towel had been yanked off me and thrown to the floor, the cool air bringing goosebumps to my damp skin. His hand tangled in my hair and dragged me across to the bed. I yelped in surprise and his hand went over my mouth, silencing me.
In the mirror on the opposite wall my eyes looked wide, shocked and a little nervous, although they shone with anticipation – even the worst nerves never managed to shake the anticipation. He smiled at me, but his expression was a little dangerous as he leaned down, his breath whispering warmly against my ear.
‘Keep very quiet now, do you understand?’
I nodded, but his hand tangled tighter in my hair mid-movement and held me in place. My heart began to beat a little faster. The shutters were down; my playful boyfriend had given way to my strict dominant. The anticipation, the sense of challenge, began to build. He was looking at me expectantly and, now more than ever, I knew it was important to respond. I made a hopefully vaguely affirmative grumble from the back of my throat.
He didn’t speak again as he manoeuvred me onto the bed. The duvet had been moved aside ready for my arrival, and the cuffs were already looped round the frame. Before I knew it, my wrists and ankles were secured with the heavy-duty cuffs that he usually ignored in favour of elaborately wound rope. This meant two things: he didn’t intend to waste any time with prettiness, and he intended to do something he didn’t want me wriggling free from. My nerves were rising, even before he turned round to check a pile of things which I couldn’t quite see on his bedside table.
He lay down next to me on his side, using his hand as a headrest. For long moments he didn’t speak, instead just looking at me stretched out and vulnerable, his gaze hungry, assessing. I tried not to move, tried to keep his gaze, tried to do everything I could to not betray how nervous I was – and already how wet. To be honest, bearing in mind how well he knew me and how stretched out and open I was, I don’t know how much luck I had with either, but a girl has to try, right?
Right.
He brushed a stray strand of hair away from my face and began to whisper to me.
‘I love your quick-wittedness and your wicked sense of humour, you know that. I love the fact that we fit together so well, we challenge each other.’ I nodded, my polite acknowledgement seeming somewhat incongruous under the circumstances. ‘But sometimes I think you’re a bit foolhardy. Pushing me because you thought there were no consequences, because with the house full you thought there was no chance of me doing anything with you.’ I swallowed hard, my heart beginning to pound. ‘You were a bit rash there, weren’t you?’
I opened my mouth to argue, saw the look in his eye and decided some kind of self-preservation was in order, especially since we both knew he was right. Not trusting my voice, I nodded again, albeit more slowly this time.
His chuckle sounded loud as he shook his head at me, grinning. ‘You should never underestimate my creativity.’ A pause. ‘I can come up with ways to punish you if I want to.’ He leaned down to kiss me, and I arched up, trying to deepen the kiss. ‘Not that I need an excuse, do I?’
I shook my head, smiling shyly.
He kissed me softly again, stroking my hair out of my eyes. ‘Oh, sweetheart, that’s probably for the best.’
Even with the anticipation, the nerves and his stern gaze I still felt a swell of love for him. And then he moved, and the nerves burst back to the fore.
In hindsight my complacency seems like lunacy. Even then, in the back of my mind, I didn’t expect whatever he was going to do to me to be especially challenging. How could it be? Logistically? He’d hurt me before and while at its most harsh it had been difficult to bear I’d got through it all in the end, mostly unscathed and quiet. What could he do now, with people in the next room, that could be worse than the flogger, or the crop, or the worst of his humiliations?
Ha. Foolish me.
He started with the pegs. Eyeing them cautiously as he lined them up beside me, I count
ed ten. This didn’t look good.
Straight from the washing basket, the pegs were wooden, vicious and unyielding, and I sucked air desperately into my lungs as the pain began to thrum through my nipples when, in businesslike fashion, he clamped them both.
Whatever he was doing, he didn’t intend to hang around. My chest was still heaving with the desperate gulps of air as I processed those first few moments of pain. Then he moved down my body with another a peg, his fingers sliding along my cunt lips. In a split second I realised what he intended to do. I sat bolt upright, or tried to at least, my head jolting up, my arms and feet, which were still caught by the leather cuffs, pulling urgently but ineffectively.
‘Adam, no, don’t do –’ I trailed off, mindful of his earlier order of quiet, and aware of his glare at my panicky voice. He moved away, shaking his head at my impertinence, but any relief I had at him having stepped away from his prize vanished when he came back with the ball gag, which was shoved unceremoniously into my mouth and tightened up around my head. He picked up the peg again and, giving me an evil smile, slid his finger into my cunt, separating me so he could put the peg directly on the flesh of one of my lips.
To my embarrassment I was so wet that to start with it slid off. He chuckled quietly, and I glared at him. He tutted, wiping a finger along my face in warning, and then went back to try again. He managed to slide it on and it clipped in place. The sharp pinch made me whimper, and I breathed in deeply through my nose to try and process the pain.
Moving quickly, he added another peg next to the first, and then two more on my other lip. I was starting to struggle a little, although of course I had nowhere to go. I focused on trying to stay still. On letting the pain wash over me, acclimatising to it. Welcoming it almost. I also had a strong sense of not wanting him to see how much he was getting to me. Forget my competitiveness at Scrabble, this was on a whole different level, and he knew it. Suddenly he was putting pegs on my ears, one on each lobe. The ridiculousness of it (and also the pinch) roused me from my trance, and I glared at him again. He smiled, and I felt my gaze soften in spite of myself, loving the game even while I was trying to beat him at it. I know technically it’s pretty much impossible for me to ‘win’ within our dynamic but that wasn’t going to stop me trying, wide-eyed optimist that I am. Or idiot. Either or.
He leaned down and kissed the ball that was settled within my mouth.
‘Just two more.’
Two? Seriously? I only saw one. Hmmmmm.
He ran his finger along my bottom lip, grabbing it and pulling it away from the gag, for another bloody peg. I was shivering a little by then. The pain was unexpected but the main thing I felt was humiliation. It’s daft, I know – he’d done much meaner things to me in the past, but being immobile and treated this way made me feel so much at the mercy of his whims. It also made me incredibly wet, and that paradox – the tiny voice in my head asking ‘How can this be hot?’ – made me flush more, not least because as he held up the final peg I could pretty much put money on where it was going to go. Lucky number ten.
He put it on my clit, and the touch of his fingers between my legs made me shake with a mixture of anticipation and arousal. I could see his erection in his trousers; he was getting off on this as much as I was.
He knew me well, his eyes noticing the direction of my gaze.
‘Oh, sweetheart. Do you want me to fuck you?’
I nodded, aware I was eager – too eager, perhaps – but beyond caring. He smiled at me.
‘One last thing and then you’ll be ready.’
I wasn’t really sure what he was doing, just that he was lifting my arse off the bed with his hands at my hips. Suddenly something was pressing to my arsehole, sliding in a little way and then stopping. Way too small to be a plug, but something with a ridge to it that meant it only went in so far and then –
What WAS that?
He stood up from the bed and waved at me. ‘Just going to wash my hands. Don’t want to rub it somewhere painful.’
He told me afterwards my face was a picture. I literally had no idea what he had done, and my mind was spinning.
My arse was tingling a little bit. It was an odd feeling but not unpleasant. Kind of warm. I clenched my arse, tightening around whatever it was he had put there, trying to feel what it was, and suddenly the tingling felt hot in a way that was less pleasant. What the fuck was it?
When he came back and settled himself on the bed he put me out of my misery. ‘Ginger. I decided to save you a piece while I was preparing dinner.’
A small part of me saluted his organisation. The rest, feeling the increasing heat in my arse, would have kicked him if my legs were free.
I’d heard of figging before – the practice of putting a small hand-carved plug of fresh ginger in a submissive’s arse. I’d not experienced it, though. On top of the sensations of the pegs all over my body, it was feeling very intense, and that was before Adam slowly pulled open the pegs between my legs and pushed himself inside me.
He slid in easily, groaning appreciatively as I opened myself eagerly for him in spite of myself.
He began to move, pushing the ginger deeper inside me as he did so. Every thrust seemed to knock one peg or another and the bursts of pleasure and pain of his movements left me unable to do anything other than react to whichever came next. Eventually they mingled together, and I began whimpering behind the gag, enjoying the anachronism of the two extremes of feeling.
He came after a few minutes, a product I think of the knowledge of his power, paired with my increasingly frenetic squirming underneath him as the ginger increased in intensity. It was beginning to burn a little, and I found myself shifting my arse, although if you’d asked me if I was trying to manoeuvre it out or rub at the pain I wouldn’t have been able to tell you. He pulled out and stood up, walking across the room to grab his belt.
My eyes must have widened because he smiled at me and stroked my face; it was a mockery of reassurance.
‘Don’t worry Soph, I’m not going to hit you with the belt – not tonight anyway.’ I felt relief, tinged with a weird kind of disappointment – even with the range of different sensations he was inflicting upon me I was still pathetically eager for more. ‘I think you’re going to start squirming more shortly, so this is going to help keep you still.’
I watched warily as he picked up the expanding butt plug I’d bought but discarded as too large for my arse. Picking delicately between the pegs he opened me up and pushed the plug inside me. Shit. I could see where this was going. The bulb hissed, expanding the plug inside me. I couldn’t help it, I moaned. He pressed it again, filling me up. Then he leaned down and tied his belt around my thighs, tying them together to ensure I wasn’t (accidentally or otherwise) going to push the plug out.
Then he switched it on.
At that point the fact I was tied down was probably for the best, as otherwise I’d have surged off the bed. The vibrations in my cunt were causing me to writhe, which had knock-on effects on both the ginger plug and the pegs. Every tiny movement, every breath even, had an impact, a consequence of pain or pleasure.
I burned.
The feeling in my arse was getting increasingly intense. He lay down next to me, resting his chin on his arm, watching intently. If I could have moved I think I’d have definitely kicked him now. I felt like a specimen in an experiment.
I didn’t want to move, but I was finding the ginger in my arse increasingly painful. The cacophony of pain from across my body was shifting as suddenly the feeling of the burning sensation overtook everything else. My eyes began to water, and I began to whimper desperately behind my gag.
Adam smiled.
‘The thing about ginger is it takes a little while to warm up. I think you’re probably getting close to its maximum potency now.’
Getting close? I wasn’t sure I could cope with anything more. He laughed softly, which makes me think my incredulity was written on my face.
‘Don’t worry, the pain
will begin to ease. In about another ten minutes or so it’ll be just like you’ve got an ordinary plug in your arse – although one significantly smaller than usual.’
I blushed.
‘It might hurt more before it gets better, though. But don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll be here with you the whole way.’
And that he was. He played with me, like a cat playing with a mouse. He watched the agony play across my face as the ginger sting turned into a full and fierce burn, watching my eyes begin to water. He watched me try and control my breathing to work through the pain and, when I’d done a good enough job that my obvious distress began to subside, he unclipped and then re-clipped a peg on my nipple. The release and then reapplication of the pressure pushed through my calm and began a whole new wave of pleasure. He stroked my hair, ran his fingers along my face, kissed the top of my breasts. He told me how proud he was of me, how brave I was, how hot it was to watch me endure for him, with his cum drying on my thighs, what a filthy whore I was for not only letting him do these things to me but for getting off on them.
And he was right, I was. The pain was blurring together, merging with the relentless vibrations between my legs. I was being buffeted around in a sea of sensations, aware of nothing but the pain and his voice whispering in my ear, grounding me, telling me I could do this, I could withstand this.
Then he began removing the pegs and I really wasn’t sure that I could. The strange thing about being clamped is that after a while you can’t feel it much any more. Once something has been pressed for so long that it’s gone a bit numb it stops being an aggressive pain, mellowing to a dull ache. My body was a mixture of these aches, until Adam began unclipping the pegs. He started with the ones at my mouth and my ears, gently rubbing life back into them to minimise the pain as the blood began to flow again. Then he moved to my breasts and unclipped those. He didn’t rub my nipples, though. Tears began flowing freely then, the pain rising until I was splashing tears on my poor punished breasts. Eventually he took pity on me, kissing both nipples softly, taking them in his mouth one at a time, soothing them gently with his tongue.
No Ordinary Love Story: Sequel to The Diary of a Submissive Page 15