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

by Morgan, Sophie

  He got on his knees behind me and placed the tip of his cock between my legs, almost inside me but just not quite. It was torture feeling him there for such a long time but I did my best not to move until he told me to push backwards, pulling on my lead as he did so. I sank myself back onto his cock and groaned – the first noise I’d made in ages.

  The noise he made in response can only be described as a growl of pleasure. ‘God, Sophie, you’re so fucking wet.’

  He wasn’t wrong.

  He chuckled. ‘I love that you’re loving this.’

  I stared at the ground, knowing he was right, but wanting to lower my head, just to give myself a moment to process it without him seeing. But I knew he saw everything; sometimes he saw too much.

  He pulled on the lead, dragging me back to him. He didn’t move his hips, though.

  ‘Fuck me. Show me how much you’re enjoying this.’

  I smiled. This I could do, collar and lead or not. I moved my hips forward before sliding back down his shaft. He seemed to want me to take my time so that’s what I did. For a long time I kept up a steady but very slow rhythm, moving forward until his cock almost escaped me and then pushing back down until his pelvis met my arse.

  After all this time I knew his reactions well and could tell when he was fighting off his orgasm. He kept making me hold still so he could recover slightly, and I was an obedient pet and did so, although I made sure to move my hips just a little at those points – sometimes I think it’s as good for him to fight for control as it is for me.

  Of course, the fucking, on top of everything else, took its effect on me too, and soon I was fighting off my own orgasm. We both wanted it to last and, even though his knees must have ached as much as mine, we just kept slowly fucking each other.

  It was him that broke first. Usually he loved being teased and could withstand it much longer than me (I think it’s because he’s usually more patient), but he just didn’t seem able to hold back any longer and as I pushed back on him he thrusted forward, suddenly fucking me hard. Of course I echoed his tempo, and soon my orgasm was building momentum too.

  I had a moment of sudden panic – if we were doing something particularly intense on the D/s front he tended to prefer me to ask permission for my orgasm, but how can you do that when you can’t speak? Fortunately Adam knows me well, sometimes better than I know myself. Through deep breaths he told me I was allowed to come, which is just as well because seconds later we both cried out.

  For a moment he stayed where he was, and then he leaned back on the sofa, putting his head back, catching his breath.

  Unthinkingly, I crawled back to my bed and curled up once again.

  I don’t know how long I slept for but I must have been out within seconds of lying down. When I awoke he was in front of me again – though this time I noticed he’d taken a couple of my cushions to protect his knees. I smiled to myself; he clearly wasn’t as used to kneeling as I was.

  His cock was hard again and just inches from my face. His hand was between my legs. I could feel and hear how wet I was as he pushed his fingers inside me. As he did so, he began talking to me, telling me how dirty I was for getting turned on by being treated like an animal, and how I clearly made a good little whore pet. His words made my skin burn but I clenched around his fingers.

  He pulled out and then pushed his fingers into my mouth, making me taste our mixed juices, a reminder of both our pleasure.

  His hand moved back between my legs as he pushed his cock into my mouth. I tried to use my tongue on him but he wasn’t interested in that. He was just going to use my mouth – fuck it while he roughly fingered me.

  His thumb found my clit and applied pressure. Within seconds I came. He gave me a moment to begin to get my breath back but didn’t take his cock out of my mouth. Soon he was back to fucking my face, his hand in my hair, choking me as he pushed into my throat. He stiffened and filled my mouth.

  This time he didn’t leave me on my makeshift bed but pulled me up onto the sofa with him. He took my lead off but as he tried to remove the collar, I placed my hand on his. I liked wearing it, and went back to sleep in his arms with it still around my neck.

  The dynamic of pet play was an interesting one – it felt liberating, mostly because I wasn’t expected to speak, which is a relief in the most embarrassing of scenarios he comes up with. It wasn’t about pretending to be an animal specifically, obviously, but more about the simplicity of it. He had even more control than usual, and we both enjoyed that and it felt less jarring than our foray into 24/7 D/s had.

  In a lot of ways, the closeness of our relationship, the D/s side and the ordinary boyfriend/girlfriend side, helped make the changes in Adam’s work life easier to bear. If nothing else, stuff like this distracted him for a few hours.

  Also, it was bloody fun.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  As the weeks passed and Adam’s various interviews didn’t result in any job offers, I began to see a slight change in him. Not much – fear not, this isn’t going to turn into some made-for-TV-drama-style relationship – but suddenly there were moments of nerves. I caught him looking pensive. Worried. Sad.

  We were actually pretty lucky really. I brought in a decent salary, certainly enough to cover the rent and bills – not least because I’d been used to paying those on my own before we moved in together. We could keep ticking along in the short term pretty well even if his money ran out, and thankfully we were a long way from that happening yet. It didn’t stop him getting frustrated, though. It all started with a row over a takeaway pizza, of all things.

  I’d got in late from work and Adam had been out at an interview so neither of us had sorted out anything for dinner. We arrived home pretty simultaneously, and he picked up the post and riffled through it while I shrugged out of my coat and went into the kitchen to open the fridge and begin pulling out the makings of a meal. He followed me in, half-reading a letter.

  ‘Soph, don’t bother cooking. Shall we order a takeaway? I fancy a pizza.’

  I looked at the eggs, vegetables and herbs I’d put on the side, mentally weighing up whether it was worth dropping £20 on the cost of a pizza and associated accoutrements (because if you’re going the takeaway route, a pizza without garlic bread is a travesty).

  I gestured at the chopping board I’d just put on the side. ‘We don’t need to. I can make a Spanish omelette in ten minutes or so. It’ll be quicker than waiting for the pizza to arrive.’

  He looked up at me from his letter, his eyes assessing me in the same way they did when he was trying to decide how I was going to react in a D/s scene.

  ‘It’s OK, I don’t mind waiting. We could open a bottle of wine, wait in style.’

  I turned to the knife block, picked out a vegetable knife and went back to the board. ‘Nah, week-night pizza is a bit decadent. I don’t mind cooking.’

  He moved in behind me and gently took the knife and put it down, twirling me round to look at him. He kissed the bridge of my nose and smiled down at me. ‘Soph, we can have a pizza. It won’t break the bank.’

  I looked at him. He knew me too well. This whole ‘able to tell what I was thinking’ thing was seriously hot (albeit also bloody annoying at times) in sexual situations. It made him, for the most part, a thoughtful and sensitive boyfriend. But on the rare occasions I did want to hide something it made it difficult. Times like now.

  I sighed and put the knife away. I smiled at him, but it felt forced. I just hoped he couldn’t tell. ‘OK, let’s get pizza.’

  I grabbed my tablet and began looking up the menu online. He leaned in behind me and we began discussing the relative merits of barbecue sauce on the base (a must in my book) as we chose our meal. I put the order through and then went to grab my card to put in the details to pay.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he asked as I rummaged through my handbag.

  ‘Ordering the pizza,’ I said, my tone snappier than I meant it to be.

  ‘You don’t have to do tha
t,’ he said, his tone snappier than mine. ‘I’ll pay for the bloody thing. I suggested we have pizza, I’ll get it.’

  ‘You don’t need to, I’m ordering it. I can pay.’

  He grabbed the tablet from my hand. ‘I’ll pay for the pizza.’

  I went to grab it back, aware this was a bit of an unseemly tussle, and that it wasn’t even about Italian takeaway options. I wasn’t really sure what it was about. ‘I was doing it, the account’s in my name, just let me pay for it.’

  Suddenly he turned round and for the first time ever he properly snapped at me. It made me flinch. ‘You don’t have to pay for it. I don’t need you to pay for everything.’

  I felt stung. ‘I’m not paying for everything.’ And even if I were, is that something to get the arse about? ‘It just makes sense for me to pay a bit more for things than you while –’

  ‘– While I’m not working. I know, I’m not working. Thanks for bringing it up. I hadn’t noticed. So I’m not working and yet I’m suggesting extravagant takeaways. Fine.’

  I was outraged at the injustice. ‘I didn’t say that. I didn’t even think that. And when I said you’re not working, I didn’t mean it that way, I didn’t mean it in any way, it’s just a fact. And it’s fine, we can cope, you’re going to get something else. In the meantime we’re OK.’ I paused, swallowing back an odd lump in my throat. ‘We’re fine.’

  I think he heard my tone change, heard the slight wobble in my voice. Suddenly his frustration seeped from him and instead he was sheepish and quiet. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

  ‘I’m sorry, Soph. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I’m an idiot. It’s just I didn’t expect moving in together to be like this.’

  Shit, what did he mean by that? I felt the panic rise in my chest. I was really happy, happier than I’d ever been. Wasn’t he? I think he saw the look in my eyes, and suddenly he was stroking my arms, pulling me closer.

  ‘No, Soph. That’s not what I meant.’ He swore under his breath. ‘I just meant, when we moved in together I never expected that I wouldn’t be able to pull my own weight, that you’d have to carry me.’

  I was confused and not a little irritated. ‘I’m not carrying you. We’re carrying each other.’

  He shook his head. ‘Not at the moment we aren’t, sweetheart. You’re carrying me. And it’s lovely that you want to, I’m bloody lucky that you can, but it makes me frustrated. It feels wrong.’

  I shook my head in annoyance. ‘We’re a partnership. We share stuff. When you’re working you earn considerably more than me. You might not be working now but that’s going to change soon enough and we’ll be back to the usual dynamic. This is just a temporary thing. It’s certainly not something to feel awkward about.’

  ‘But I do. It doesn’t feel right.’ He could tell I was getting annoyed, but he said it anyway. I had to give him points for honesty.

  ‘You know you’re an idiot? That this is ridiculous?’

  He nodded sombrely. ‘I know. I do. And I’m sorry for being a twat about it. But it bothers me.’ He paused for a minute before waggling a finger in my direction. ‘But don’t pretend when it was the other way round that you didn’t feel awkward about it. Remember the meals out where you insisted on splitting the bill and the phase where you’d make sure you booked the cinema tickets and whatever else to “make up” for it if by some miracle you did let me pay the full amount for a dinner?’ He made speech marks with his fingers for ‘make up’. It made me want to bite them in annoyance.

  He was right. But that wasn’t the point.

  ‘I got over it.’ It was almost true.

  He grinned at me. ‘I know. And I know this is a ridiculous row.’

  I nodded. ‘It’s really stupid. Especially since it’s somewhat academic – it’s all our shared money anyway.’

  He took the tablet away again and began putting in his details. ‘Let me use some of our savings to buy us dinner.’

  I couldn’t help but smile. ‘Fine, but for the record, being funny about me earning more than you, even temporarily, is a bit lame. I thought better of you.’

  ‘I know. I’m a terrible feminist.’

  Git.

  Even with the moments of bickering and the strain of Adam’s job situation, we continued to have a lot of sex. Maybe it was our matching (and rather enthusiastic) libidos, but the fact that most days ended with a cuddle and some kind of rude fun meant we stayed emotionally close even with the day-to-day difficulties. It’s really hard to be pissed off with someone if you’re falling asleep with your legs tangled together and his arms round you – although his occasional duvet hogging remained a hard limit.

  That said, there came a point where suddenly things didn’t feel so solid any more. And it came, much to my surprise, from the sexual, and even submissive, side of things rather than any awkwardness about money or any real-life concerns. It was also, mostly, all in my head.

  The thing about boundaries shifting is that sometimes you don’t feel you’ve gone too far until it’s too late to come back. I know it sounds a bit fortune-cookie-wisdom-ish, but it is definitely true. Unfortunately, and somewhat inevitably, it was a conclusion I came to after the event.

  Adam had pushed my boundaries and buttons in dozens, if not hundreds, of different ways in the time we had been together. He’d hurt me, embarrassed me, aroused me, in ways I’d never have dreamed of, and in some cases not even have considered erotic until he did them. I was in his thrall. It was as exciting as it was surprising, and for someone who enjoys being on the back foot as a fundamental part of her submission, it was a very heady thing. I loved it. Loved the psychology of the things we got up to. Loved how, when it was over, we’d make dinner together or watch telly or hang the washing – quiet moments that were such a mundane and steady contrast to the filth that had gone before.

  Over time I began to get used to his mind fuckery, his ability to keep me on the back foot by laying the ground work for an experience we would have together long before we did it. Sometimes (but, to my frustration, still only sometimes) I would be able to silence the curiosity and the nerves that he tried to build. OK, who am I kidding? I couldn’t silence them, but I could certainly quieten them. But then sometimes he could see me becoming blasé, and that’s when he upped the stakes more, the clash of our dominance and submission suddenly becoming more competitive than our computer gaming (which once got so bad Adam chucked his controller on the floor in frustration – I laughed, he kissed me, we got distracted).

  To start with I didn’t realise what a challenge he had in store for me. He had decided, after some soul-searching, that perhaps the best way to guarantee work was to set up as a freelance copywriter from home. He’d begun scouting for clients for his fledgling agency and when he was recommended to a large company in York by an ex-colleague, he was invited up to pitch some ideas for a brochure and advertising campaign. He asked if I fancied making the trip up with him. Never averse to some time meandering the snickelways, I agreed, and the next thing I knew he’d thrown caution to the wind and booked a posh hotel suite for the weekend, happy that he could claim it back on expenses, and I was Googling nice places to have dinner once he’d completed his meetings.

  He’d warned me the week before that he was going to push my boundaries further than ever before while we were away. I felt the prickle of nerves, of course – I’m not daft – but I have to admit that I was feeling a little complacent. Everything he had pushed me with before I had coped with (for the most part), so while I had a flutter of nerves, it was mostly in fear of letting him down rather than worrying what he was up to. Stupid Sophie.

  The suite was gorgeous, with views of the river from every window, a massive claw-footed bath and a bed big enough for six (or at least for me, doing my very best starfish, and Adam, which was quite enough). Adam went off for his meeting while I wandered around the shops and had a leisurely lunch. We agreed we would meet back at the hotel in the late afternoon for, I assumed, some
kind of sexual shenanigans before we went for dinner.

  That was the first time I underestimated him that afternoon. Unfortunately it wasn’t the last.

  No one can see me this far up. That’s what I kept telling myself as the sun warmed my bare skin. Even if someone on one of the tourist charters puttering past far below caught a glimpse of me, they’d probably just think I was admiring the view of the river. Unmoving. For half an hour. And they were moving. They wouldn’t be able to tell. Unless they came back. What if they came back?

  Adam had been subtle, after all; the rope securing my wrists to the top of the balcony was as long as it needed to be and no more, stretching my arms wide and allowing me to lean down and hide my predicament by pressing my bare breasts against what had started as cool metal, but which had warmed up the longer I stayed out there. I suppose I should have been grateful that the balcony was child-proof and as such there were few gaps for any passers-by to see how little I was wearing. He was definitely testing my patience. He’d warned me not to look, no matter how big the temptation or how bored I was, and while the sound of him moving around the suite, doors opening and closing, even the TV channel changing, gave me some idea of what was going on, the temptation to turn my head was high. I ‘casually’ flicked my hair off my shoulder, risking a glance only to find that the depth of the balcony meant I could see very little; I was unable to turn with my wrists immobilised.

  And it wasn’t just my arms he’d secured. My ankles were anchored to the struts that held the balcony in place. He’d spread my legs just a little further than was comfortable, leaving me with a twinge in my thigh muscles. Adam enjoyed that, enjoyed my reaction as I realised I would effectively be trapped here until he decided otherwise. My foot flexed even as he knelt down to tie it, betraying the nerves that made me want to bolt, to kick away, before the feel of his hand, gently stroking my thigh, calmed me as though I were a spooked animal.

  I tried desperately to be rational. I trusted him. I knew he had no more interest in doing anything public than I did, that we enjoyed our shared secret. Suddenly all the research into hotels he’d done made sense. Even while I was nervous and awkward, I knew it must be safe and discreet, even if it felt like he was displaying me to anyone who happened past.