No Ordinary Love Story: Sequel to The Diary of a Submissive

by Morgan, Sophie

  The next half an hour or so was ridiculously intense. I had seriously underestimated that little machine. It had more pulsing patterns than the highest-spec rabbit I’d ever owned (and that one had thirty-one speeds – I’m a gadget geek, I can’t help it). Some of the patterns were teasing, taking me almost there; some were full-on, leaving me writhing and whimpering a little to myself, although if you’d asked me I’d have been hard pressed to tell you if it was in pleasure or pain. And then of course there was the power dial. Initially we were using the different pulse pattern programmes at lower intensity – as, frankly, you should when you’re trying anything new and feeling a little nervous. However, by the time a sheen of sweat had started forming between my shoulder blades and my thighs were damp with proof that, actually, any nerves I did have about trying this had dissipated, Adam was happy to ramp things up a little higher.

  It was a surprisingly innocuous setting, used at evilly high levels, that was the most painful and shocking. Adam nearly had to prise me off the ceiling afterwards. One burst on and then a few moments’ respite. You’d think it would be easy to withstand, one quick burst and then relief. Yes? No. At higher levels the feeling of the electricity running through my body felt like tiny needle pin pricks. The feeling was a different kind of pain to the catharsis of a caning or a good session with the belt, and afterwards the memory of it faded quickly, but in that moment as it assaulted my thighs and the edge of my cunt it felt excruciating, like the most difficult thing I had ever experienced. The moments of rest just made my heart beat faster and my hands tremble more, as I knew the relief would be punctured quickly and my cries would start again. If he’d been torturing me for information, he would have got everything he needed and more. He told me afterwards – with a kind of smug pride – that he had seen my fingers clench into fists and my toes curl as I processed the pain. It didn’t surprise me.

  Thankfully he wasn’t a sadist at heart, so eventually he tired of watching my lip wobble as I tried to work through the pain, my inner monologue urging me on, telling me that I need only last a few more seconds until it stopped. And then started again. By the time he’d finished with me, my mouth was dry and my throat was a little hoarse. And I hadn’t even had an orgasm yet.

  The orgasm was an interesting one (as I suppose all orgasms are). I’d always assumed electrosex was a form of D/s edgeplay, and certainly in the right context and with the right person at the controls it gives the opportunity to inflict sensation so intense it can be painful yet not leave any marks, in a way that Jack Bauer himself would be proud of. That said, at the lower levels the sensation is much more about pleasure – in fact if we’re talking about ‘edgeplay’ as a concept then that moment where the pleasure becomes so intense as to be painful can be hugely fun to play with. After a lot of fiddling, Adam found the optimum setting to push my buttons. It was an intense, regular pulsing that increased in strength, and was set at a level that meant that when it reached the strongest part of the cycle there was a couple of seconds of agonising pain before the soothing bliss of the lower levels returned. My inner masochist was in heaven, while the constant shifts in sensation meant I was squirming against the bed in a desperate way, which made him happy too.

  I don’t think I’d have come from the sensation of the TENS pads alone, at least not placed where they were. While the focal point of the electricity zinging through me was close to my cunt, it wasn’t intense or focused enough to bring me off. But when Adam slipped a glass dildo embarrassingly easily inside me and then leaned round to play with my clit while he fucked me with it, it took just a few seconds to push me over the edge, and when I fell it was loud, long and intense. I like to think I’m comfortable with my own body and know how to bring myself off, but even on my best day, at my horniest, and with the best my toy drawer has to offer, I’ve not ever felt an orgasm quite like that. The leg-wobbling aftermath continued as he pulled out the dildo, wiped his sticky fingers on my arse, unstuck the pads, and then began the arduous task of undoing all the rope securing my arms and legs. For a long while afterwards I was a ball of nerve endings, incapable of moving, although eventually I did because, frankly, after all that it felt a bit rude not to thank Adam somehow.

  We lay cuddled together for long enough that my breathing had returned to normal, his hands stroking my back almost hypnotically. Finally, I crawled down his body and took him in my mouth – an obvious but fairly effective way of saying thank you for something so fiendish and so fun. If the size of his erection was anything to go by, I wasn’t the only one who had enjoyed it, a thought that made me smile as I urged him deeper into my mouth, running my tongue along him and enjoying the sense of regaining a little control of things.

  I took my time, enjoying the feeling of him in my mouth, loving his reactions and feeling like he deserved a little spoiling of his own (although my form of spoiling didn’t have the frisson of delicious meanness that his did).

  ‘Oh, Sophie,’ he whispered as he tangled his hands in my hair, holding me still as he came. My heart swelled, and my ego felt a little smug. I figured it was OK because Adam was smug 85 per cent of the time when we did anything sexual (and that’s being conservative). Hell, maybe it was catching.

  I crawled back up the bed and tucked myself into the curve of his arm. He kissed the top of my head.

  ‘You OK?’

  I smiled. These quiet moments were something I had come to love – they were a sign of Adam’s concern for me, and also functioned, in the nicest possible way, as a kind of post-coital post-mortem where he learned about the things I enjoyed the most, and the things I found most difficult to cope with. He was always loving and kind, even at his meanest, but no more so than in these moments when we talked frankly and happily about what had happened.

  Of course, when we’d just done something filthy I could barely look at him without blushing, so a lot of the time I was whispering my responses into his chest.

  ‘I’m great thank you. That was amazing. Really intense.’

  ‘Not too much?’

  ‘No, just right. Bearable. Well, not bearable. At points it was unbearable.’ I broke off and sighed as I tried to pull together my thoughts, which is difficult at the best of times but even more so when I’m returning from my submissive headspace. It’s like part of my brain is still trying to process how I feel about what happened, so explaining it to anyone else is like trying to nail custard to the wall. ‘It’s a weird one. I want to be pushed to the point where I don’t think I can take any more, and then pushed a little bit further to prove that I can, even though I think I can’t. You do that. You know what I can take.’

  He chuckled. ‘I think I’m beginning to know that, yes.’ He kissed me again. ‘You were so brave. I love it when you’re all stoic and trying to withstand the pain. Also, watching you struggle when I’ve got you tied up? That’s not getting old.’

  I laughed in mock surprise. ‘Really? You surprise me. I do have one question, though.’

  His voice was curious. ‘Go on.’

  I felt a bit sheepish saying it, which is odd. ‘What do you think it would have felt like if you’d fucked me while the electricity was pulsing through me?’

  He leaned up to look down at me. ‘You’re amazing. Whenever I think of something filthy to do you’ve always got some idea to make it more twisted. It’s brilliant.’

  I smiled at him. ‘I could say the same about you. It does make for some interesting times.’

  ‘That it does, gorgeous, that it does.’ He pulled the duvet up round my shoulders. ‘We shall clearly have to experiment to see what it feels like to fuck that way.’

  As I drifted off to sleep, I marvelled at what I’d found with Adam. I know it probably sounds daft, but I had never really anticipated having a boyfriend who I could live with, love, do all the usual day-to-day stuff with, and who would then fuck me fifteen ways to Sunday. I felt so incredibly lucky.

  When I went for drinks with Tom one night after work a few weeks later I was
still full of the joys of the honeymoon period. After a pretty shitty few months in the aftermath of my break-up with James, I was happier than I had ever been. Knowing Tom and Charlotte were having similar amounts of fun just made me feel even more lucky – not only had I found a partner who was evil and lovely in equal measure, but their relationship seemed to be going from strength to strength too.

  Or so I thought. It turned out Thomas wasn’t fibbing when he’d texted that things weren’t always as they seemed.

  The evening started fairly well. We ordered the first of a few beers, found a booth and settled down for a bit of a catch-up. He was telling me about the latest developments at work and a promotion he was in the process of applying for. He asked after my mum and I told him how her recovery from her knee operation was progressing. We argued a bit about TV shows we were both watching. It was as easy-going and full of banter as it had always been, and I felt a surge of affection for my friend – I promise it wasn’t the beer talking.

  ‘I’m so glad we’ve had time to catch up. It feels like it’s been ages,’ I said. ‘It’s lovely that I’ve got Adam and you’ve got Charlotte, and us all doing stuff together is surprisingly comfortable all things considered, but it’s been a while since we’ve gone out just the two of us.’

  Tom nodded. ‘Probably not since the aftermath of your break-up with James. It’s funny, I’ve never stayed friends with a girl after we’ve stopped sleeping together.’ He raised his glass in mock toast. ‘To ex-friends with benefits.’

  I clinked my glass but shook my head. ‘We’re not ex-friends. We have ex-benefits. It’s not the same thing.’

  Tom grinned at me. ‘Pedant. That’s the kind of smart-mouthed comment that I’d have caned you for back in the day.’

  I stuck my tongue out at him. ‘Well, those days are most definitely gone. I don’t think either Adam or Charlotte would be especially impressed.’

  He smiled. ‘I know Adam wouldn’t be, but I’m not sure Charlotte would mind.’

  I stayed silent. One thing a life in journalism has taught me is if you don’t know what to say, letting a silence run will usually encourage someone else to fill it. Tom didn’t disappoint.

  ‘We have an open relationship, you know.’

  I took a sip of my beer. ‘Oh really?’ I’d kind of guessed they were open to having fun with other people, mostly from passing comments Charlotte had made about play parties and club nights they’d been to, but I didn’t know the details. I wasn’t really sure it was my business any more.

  Tom clearly wanted to talk, though. ‘Charlotte’s amazing. Sexy, funny, good-hearted. She’s a great girl. In the last year we’ve done so much stuff that previously I’d wanted to do but never had the chance to. Threesomes.’ At this point I blushed, remembering my experiences with the two of them, way back at the beginning of their relationship. ‘Public play, heavy pain, 24/7 stuff. I’ve taken her to parties and made her fuck other guys in front of me. She’s dominated other women, not just you.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘It’s incredible. She’s incredible. She’s fulfilled almost all my fantasies.’

  He tailed off. I wasn’t sure what he was getting at, but he wasn’t saying anything more. I cleared my throat.

  ‘Surely “almost all” your fantasies is pretty good? And as boundaries change you’re going to probably end up doing more, if that’s what you both want. After all –’

  ‘That’s not what I mean, Soph.’

  I was confused. Tom isn’t great at talking about his feelings at the best of times. Having this kind of emotional conversation at all was as surreal as talking to a sea lion. At this point it made about the same amount of sense. ‘Well, what do you mean?’

  ‘I love her. I’m in love with her. And she likes me. She likes me a lot.’ His face screwed up and he used his fingers to make stabbing quotes marks in the air. ‘But we aren’t a couple, not really. She doesn’t want to be one.’

  He looked disconsolate. I put my hand across the table and squeezed his. I honestly didn’t know what to say. ‘But I thought you were effectively dating now?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘We see each other most weekends. We have a lot of fun. We meet up with you guys together. We go to all these kink events. But we don’t really talk about much emotional stuff. It’s mostly sex. And she’s seeing other people.’

  I leaned forward in my chair. ‘Are you sure she’s seeing other people? How do you know?’

  His smile was pained. ‘She’s told me. To be fair to her, she’s told me she’s OK with me doing the same. She just wants to have fun.’

  I cast about for some kind of way to clarify. ‘Is she poly? Is that what she means? Does she want to be in relationships with several people?’

  He shook his head. ‘If it were that, I’d give it some serious thought if we could all make it work. It’s not polyamory. She just doesn’t want a serious relationship at the moment.’

  Tom looked so downhearted it made me feel sad for him. He never really talked much about his feelings – I’d certainly never seen him wear his heart on his sleeve to this extent.

  ‘She’s pretty much limitless, Soph. She is so filthy, so sexy. She’ll fulfil all my fantasies. She’ll literally do pretty much anything I tell her to do. But I can’t order her to love me. And she doesn’t.’

  We finished our drinks in a sombre mood. All my attempts to reassure him about Charlotte were scuppered by one fundamental truth – that he was right, he could dominate her to fulfil his every physical whim, but he couldn’t change how she felt emotionally. Poor Tom.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  As the months passed – and we finally unpacked all our belongings – our life together began to take on a rhythm. It was straightforward, no-fuss, and had a soothing ebb and flow to it. I tended to cook of an evening because I usually got in from work first, but Adam would stack the dishwasher and then spend hours at the weekend marinating things and cooking elaborate and delicious meals, although he’d always make sure the kitchen was free if I had the urge to bake. Meanwhile he did the cleaning, I did the organising, ensuring his godchildren got their birthday presents and his grandparents’ wedding anniversary was marked, and everything pootled along nicely. It might feel ironic when, in sexual terms, there was such a strong D/s element – and thus an inherent power imbalance – to our love life, but in every other way we were equals. We were loving, happy, cheering each other’s highs and supporting each other through the lows.

  It was just unfortunate when suddenly Adam’s career stumbled slightly.

  He’d been working in a copywriting agency for eight years, and had been promoted several times, when suddenly they were bought up by a larger agency. As Adam was in a managerial role that was duplicated by a worker from the larger company he knew as soon as the merger was announced that his role might be at risk. It’s safe to say that neither of us expected things to move so quickly, though.

  I got home from work one night to find him already sat at the kitchen table with a mug of tea. I put my grocery bags on the side and leaned over to kiss him hello, and he leaned into me, his arms enveloping me in a hug. I wrapped my arms round him for a couple of seconds, before kissing the top of his head and arching away to look at him.

  ‘Are you OK? What’s up?’

  He pressed a kiss to my breast and sighed softly. ‘They made me an offer today.’

  I was, admittedly, a bit dazed and confused. As I said, we really weren’t expecting this straight away. ‘Who did?’

  ‘The MD. They’ve made me an offer for voluntary redundancy.’

  I hugged him again, pulling him close, my mind whirring. ‘Really? Seriously? Fuck. Are you OK?’ I know, it’s a stupid question, but that’s the kind of inane thing your brain flings up when something like this happens. Trust me, I too wish I’d said something more profound.

  He nodded. ‘I’m fine. But we need to have a think about what happens now.’

  The offer was, on paper, a tempting one. Adam had talked
often about his frustration with the management structure, even about setting up on his own. They were willing to pay him six months’ salary to go immediately, he wouldn’t even have to work more than minimal notice. As redundancy settlements are tax free they would effectively give him eight or nine months’ money up front to go. If he got a new job, or even started freelancing and building customers for his own agency before he worked through that money, then he was in a good place. I knew what I’d do if it were me, but I also knew that, while I loved him and would support him in whatever he wanted to do, it had to be his choice.

  Thankfully, he could see that taking redundancy made the most sense, and went in the next day to negotiate terms (he even ended up with a little bit more; I was very proud). But as he pointed out darkly when we toasted his new beginning less than a week later, it was somewhat ironic that in the time we had been seeing each other there had been two batches of redundancies at my paper – sadly not an industry rarity – and I had made it through both unscathed, while he ended up the one with the pay-off. All in all, though, he seemed to be dealing with it fine. He was positive about the opportunities the move offered, and undoubtedly the cushion of money sitting in his current account helped with any pangs of anxiety.

  Things changed a little, though, in the first few weeks after he finished at his old company. He’d applied for a few jobs, arranged meetings with ex-colleagues and other agencies, so he was out and about at various points. But when he was home he was amazing: I came home to epic dinners most nights, the washing was up-to-date, and even a few DIY jobs around the house got done now he had time on his hands. It was brilliant. He wanted to keep busy, was laid-back about how long it was likely to take to organise a new role and wanted to make the most of the weeks he was free. Who was I to argue?