He also plotted a lot of rude fun. He bought toys online, happy in the knowledge that there’d be no need for a trip to the dreaded sorting office because he would be around to sign for his latest goodies. He would send me emails at work hinting at what he’d bought, telling what to expect when I got home. Or I would get home and find him lurking with a twinkle in his eye and a plan in mind. It ranged from the abrupt and violent – grabbing me as I walked through the door for kisses and under-coat groping – to the gentle and loving – one grey, wintery day I got in, drenched through, to find a warm bath already run and Adam keen to help me out of my wet clothes and pass me a glass of wine. Definitely not a hardship.
Even with my horizons continually expanding thanks to my lovely dominant boyfriend, there were still things that left me somewhat perplexed when he first introduced them. That was how I found myself loitering outside a pet shop in an out-of-town shopping centre on a drizzly Saturday morning.
It was cold. We’d had our usual weekend lie-in – well, it was a sort-of lie-in: we were both distressingly incapable of sleeping in beyond 8 a.m. even when we didn’t have to worry about the alarm going off. After a leisurely fuck, not especially D/s-ish but still lovely, he’d got up and flung a pair of jeans at me.
‘Come on. Let’s go shopping.’
I was confused. Partly because we were in our own little age of austerity, trying to ensure no unnecessary dipping into his redundancy money, and partly because I knew we had plenty of food in for the weekend. As he chucked a jumper at me I stuck my tongue out at him.
‘Choosing what I wear? How überdomly of you.’ He pulled the covers away and I stood up, grumbling to myself. He kissed me on the nose.
‘Now now, don’t be bratty. Just for that, I think you should put your jeans on without knickers.’
I looked at him for long moments, trying to figure out if this was sarcastic Adam or gearing-up-to-some-kind-of-rudeness Adam. Then the penny dropped. It was both.
I mock sighed, although we both knew that my pulse had started racing a little at the undercurrent of this supposedly innocent shopping trip.
‘Fine.’ I started shimmying into my jeans. As I did them up, he put his arms round me and pulled me into a deep kiss. He was smiling when we broke apart.
‘Good girl.’
I felt myself grin back at him in spite of myself. Damn it. I picked up a bra and walked over to the jumper on the bed. He was up to something. I knew it.
When we pulled into the car park of the pet superstore I looked over at him with raised eyebrows. He pretended not to see and got out of the car. I followed, already suspicious about where this was going. We don’t own any pets, not even a goldfish, so, unless he was about to buy me a puppy, I knew why we were here. He’d mentioned it before; it was one of the rude things we whispered about as we lay in bed at night, turning each other on with rude fantasies and ideas. It wasn’t breaking any limits, and it was something I was intrigued by – though I was also quite embarrassed at the prospect of wandering into Pets at Home on a Saturday morning in order to fulfil a fantasy.
As we walked up the stairs to the automatic door I couldn’t stop myself asking the question, half under my breath. ‘Why do we have to buy this stuff here? All the other new bits you’re buying you’ve been getting online.’
He heard me and turned round with the kind of smile that made me tempted to push him back down the steps. ‘Now, where’s the fun in that? I wanted you with me.’
Git.
I glared at him, and he took my hand. His fingers were stroking my palm, although I wasn’t sure if it was to try and assuage the nerves he knew underpinned my fury, or to stop me bolting back to the car or hiding in the craft warehouse over the way. Maybe now was the time for me to take up cross stitch.
Of course, I knew the worst thing would be to look nervous and guilty. We were only in a pet shop. It wasn’t a Soho sex shop for goodness’ sake (and even some of those are looking rather classy nowadays). I looked at my shoes as much as possible, almost taking out a display of bird feeders as I did so. He led me to the back of the shop.
We stood in front of a wall with cages displayed on it. They ranged from something small enough for a rabbit right up to something big enough for a Great Dane. Or a Sophie. I remembered the cage in the kink cottage and blushed. Adam leaned in behind me to get a closer look at the dimensions and price ticket of the cage that was holding my attention.
‘One day we’ll have a house big enough to store one of these, so I can put you inside it whenever I want to.’
I blushed at his words. I didn’t say anything, but I felt the twitch between my legs that showed I wasn’t averse to the idea. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing it, though. I muttered noncommittally and walked further along the aisle. He followed but stopped me again to look at something else.
‘Of course we’d need a big cushion to go in the bottom of it.’
There was a couple with a Yorkshire terrier on a lead stood a little way down, certainly near enough to overhear any response. I decided discretion was the better form of valour. I humoured him.
‘Obviously.’
He was looking mischievous and was clearly having fun. I felt my lips quirk in spite of myself. Two could play at that game. I aimed for casual, studied indifference, and wandered over to look at some adorable long-eared rabbits. My calm lasted approximately four seconds, long enough for him to lead me over to the pet bowls.
‘Pick one.’
I stared at them. Through them. Around them. They all looked like pet bowls. Some of them were ridiculously priced. One of them had PRINCESS written on it in a kind of diamante. People bought those for their pets? My mind was drifting a little when his voice interrupted my thoughts.
‘Come on. We can’t leave until we get a bowl.’
We could leave then? Fine. I snatched the nearest non-diamante, reasonably priced bowl I could find, a simple white china thing, and thrust it into his hands.
‘Also a collar and lead.’
What. A. Cock.
He led me over to the collars and leads. It’d been a long time since I’d had a family dog, and when we were getting accessories for Barry there certainly wasn’t this array. Leather, suede, patterned, plain, studded. More bloody diamantes. In spite of myself, I began studying them, curious as to which felt most right for me, and then began to feel a little concerned that any of them felt right for me. Pet play had been my idea in the first place, born mostly of how safe, simple and unexpectedly erotic it had felt in the confines in the cage. I hadn’t quite expected this, though.
Almost without me realising it, my fingers had moved towards a thick collar made of brown suede. I stroked it, and suddenly Adam’s voice was right behind me, his tone low.
‘Do you like that one?’
My voice was hesitant. ‘I just thought it looked soft and nice somehow.’
He unhooked it from the display and I dropped my hand down awkwardly.
‘It’s really long. Are you sure it’ll fit?’
I glared at him in spite of my embarrassment. ‘I don’t think it’s something you can try on,’ I hissed.
He waggled his eyebrows and stuck his tongue out at me but thankfully moved down the aisle to find the matching lead. It was simple brown leather with a plaited part where the looped handle was. I remember thinking I liked it, and then giving myself a mental shake for caring.
Having picked all three things, we could finally leave. As we approached the till I thrust everything into his hands – if he was making me do this he could definitely pay for it. I know we could have been buying it for an actual pet, but previous experiences had taught me I had nothing like a poker face. I knew my expression would give me away if I approached the counter, so I lurked, pretending to read a display about a spray that encouraged good behaviour in dogs. I wondered if it worked on boyfriends.
Meanwhile, I could hear Adam making small talk with the cute girl serving him. He easily made up
a story about our imaginary Alsatian and made her laugh – apparently his dog didn’t always follow instructions but was mostly a good pet. I wanted to take a run up to kick him in his backside – making fun of me while flirting with another woman. He was lucky I didn’t bite his leg.
He picked up the bag from the counter and looked round to see where I was. I walked towards the door and he joined me, taking my hand and leading me outside. I called him an arse and he laughed out loud, leaning over and kissing me on the forehead. I melted a bit, which made me angry with myself as much as him.
Once we’d got home he laid the collar, lead and bowl out on the coffee table, displaying them for me. He then walked out of the room, telling me to stay. It took a split second for me to get the double meaning, by which time my folded arms and unimpressed facial expression were somewhat academic as he’d disappeared from sight. He returned a few minutes later with a pile of cushions, pillows and blankets.
He carefully laid everything out on the floor in front of the sofa and I realised he was making a little bed – no prizes for guessing who for. I suppose I should have thanked my lucky stars he hadn’t bought one of those big cushions after all.
He sank down on the sofa.
‘Strip.’ His tone was businesslike. Almost dismissive.
I’d been naked in front of him a thousand times by now, easily. He’d seen me naked just a couple of hours ago. Hell, he shared a bed with me naked every night, barring extreme wintry weather worthy of fleecy pyjamas. But when he stared at me intently like this I always felt uncomfortable. I took my jumper and bra off and then fumbled with the buttons on my jeans. Finally I pulled them down, trying to ignore the flush of embarrassment – and his matching smirk – as I bared myself to him. I tried not to shift from foot to foot, which was a sure-fire way of betraying my nerves.
‘Get down on your knees and crawl over here.’
It took a few seconds before I could actually move. The idea of doing something so humiliating was hot in the abstract, but when faced with the prospect of actually doing it, my first instinct was to baulk, to prevaricate, to suggest doing it another time. Make some tea. Do that bit of freelance reviewing I’d been putting off. Anything else.
He sat patiently, watching me. He didn’t say anything else, which just made me more cross. He knew he didn’t need to say anything. He knew I would do it, even while I wasn’t sure. Arrogant arse. I sighed and gingerly sank to the floor. I saw Adam nod in approval as I began to move slowly across the carpet until I was kneeling on the floor by his feet.
I kept my head down, not ready to look at him. Unfortunately he knew this trick, so when I reached him he stroked all my hair out of my face, holding it in a makeshift ponytail and pulling it slightly so I had to make eye contact. I blushed, feeling small.
‘Hold your hair for me.’
I did so. He undid my necklace – a birthday gift from him, and the only piece of jewellery I wore – and slipped it into his pocket. We looked at each other for long moments, and then slowly his fingers moved to my throat and he buckled the collar tightly round my neck. The feeling of the suede at my throat gave me goosebumps.
Collars are funny things. Obviously they’re a mainstay of the BDSM cliché but they weren’t something I was ever inclined to try. My submission – whoever I give it to – is a private thing. I don’t need to wear a collar to show the world. In lots of ways the necklace Adam gave me, while subtle enough to wear under my work clothes, was a sign of his love and, yes, his dominance. I wore it all the time; my throat felt naked without it. But to anyone other than us it was just a necklace. I was more than happy with that. Usually.
The suede of the collar was about two inches wide and made it feel difficult to move my neck up and down as readily as usual. It felt constricting. Heavy. Soft. Lovely. Challenging. I swallowed, or tried to, and the collar felt even tighter. I sat, staring at the floor, just breathing in and out, getting used to it. Or trying to.
Adam leaned forward and attached the lead with a ‘click’ that felt so loud it made me flinch. He took a handful of my hair and we began the dialogue we always have before our most challenging play.
‘Do you remember your safe word?’
I nodded. He smiled.
‘Good. Apart from that one word I don’t want you saying anything else. Understand?’
I nodded again. Being silent wouldn’t really be a problem for me. I usually found it harder to speak when he was humiliating me.
He stood up and started to walk away from the sofa, pulling me along by the lead. He took me for a walk all around the flat, tugging from time to time to make sure I kept to his pace – at times he was moving so fast that I had to shuffle quite quickly to keep up.
Eventually he led me back to the sofa and told me to get onto my bed. If I’d been allowed to speak I’d probably have made some smart comment at that, but as I wasn’t, I crawled onto the surprisingly comfy pile of cushions, curling up so that I would fit. He lay down on the sofa and we started to watch some television.
After a few minutes he absent-mindedly reached down and started to stroke my hair. He ran his fingers along my cheek, and then scratched his fingernail along behind my ear. My ears and the nape of my neck are two of the erogenous zones that would make me purr. It took all my effort not to make a noise as his fingers meandered between them, but I lay there, enjoying his touch, my mind drifting. It was peaceful, calming, and eventually even the collar round my neck didn’t feel such a big deal.
I don’t know how long we stayed in companionable silence before he stood up and walked out of the room, picking the bowl up from the coffee table as he passed it. My heart started beating faster, my nerves rising. This was the moment I was worried I wouldn’t be able to cope with, the humiliation going too far in spite of the eroticism and odd intimacy.
Adam came back with a drink for himself and a bowl of water for me. He was also carrying a packet of small biscuits.
He put the bowl down in front of me and told me to drink, but he didn’t stand over me waiting to see if I would do it. Instead he settled back on his sofa, sipping from his Coke and crunching a biscuit. His hand didn’t return to stroke me, though. I felt oddly bereft at the loss, missing his touch.
I lay, still and frozen, staring at the bowl which, thanks to the angle at which he had placed it, pretty much filled my field of vision.
Once he had finished his drink and placed his empty glass on the table, he looked down at me. I hadn’t moved. I couldn’t move. I’m guessing he knew I wouldn’t.
He sat up, feet on the floor, and leaned down to look me in the eye.
‘Are you going to use your safe word?’
Mindful of his warning to stay quiet, and not inclined to get myself into any more trouble, I silently shook my head.
‘Then do as you’re told and drink.’ A pause. ‘Or don’t. It’s OK. We have all day. Eventually you’ll get thirsty enough that you’ll have to.’
His voice wasn’t harsh. If anything, his tone was oddly soothing, but his words were matter-of-fact. He knew this was hard for me but was determined to make me do it. In a way, that made it easier. He wanted this, he wanted me to do this. If I couldn’t be brave enough to try this for myself, I would do it for him, to please him.
So I did.
I lowered my head and my lips touched the cool water. I was glad my hair fell in front of my face to hide me but I realised too late that it was getting wet as I took a slightly slurpy-sounding sip. He reached down and pulled my hair back into the ponytail again. I noticed he had my lead on his wrist once more.
I took a couple more sips from the bowl, in the hope it would get easier. I managed to dip my face in the water – so, no, not getting less embarrassing. I looked up at him, my gaze pleading. He smiled at me and sat back on the sofa. He pulled me by the lead, away from the bowl, so that I was sat between his legs.
He began stroking my hair again and the movement soothed me. ‘Good pet.’ I stiffened for a moment, but he
said nothing more, and slowly I began to relax, resting my head on his knee, basking in his attention and praise.
A while later he reached for the biscuits. I eyed him warily.
He put one in his palm and held his hand out in front of me. Instinctively I moved my head down and picked it up with my mouth. Only as I bit into it did I have a mental jolt. My hands were free. I could have reached for it – even if he’d told me off, there had been nothing to stop me from trying. But instinctively, I had used my mouth. I couldn’t decide if this was a good or a bad thing. Then he called me a good pet again and I decided the best thing was not to think at all. The simplicity and the quiet companionship of what we were doing felt lovely, but there was a prickle of embarrassment with it, a kind of humiliation I couldn’t shake. I wasn’t sure if I loved this or hated it, but I noticed a bulge in Adam’s trousers, so I think it was fair to say I could guess how he felt about the whole thing.
He caught me looking and smiled, asking me if I wanted his cock. I nodded without daring to look at him and he unfastened the buttons on his jeans, pulling himself out. He gave the lead a little tug but I didn’t need the invitation, I moved forward and opened my mouth to take him in. But he stopped me.
‘Not like that. You need to lick it.’
I blushed. Don’t get me wrong, my blow-job repertoire involved a fair amount of licking. But not like this. Never like this. Still, who was I to argue? Not that I could, anyway, what with the whole not-talking thing. Fine.
I blushed as I ran my tongue up and down his shaft, swirling around the top to get his pre-cum. I lapped just below the head of his cock, making him stiffen and gasp. Then I moved lower, licking his balls, loving the sound of him moaning.
I figured eventually he would put his cock in my mouth and I was sure he wasn’t too far from orgasm, but after a long time he stopped me and told me to turn round. I did and he made me crawl a few paces away from him while he kept hold of the lead.
No Ordinary Love Story: Sequel to The Diary of a Submissive Page 18