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

by Morgan, Sophie

  Adam ran his hands over me possessively, pushing back a strand of hair, brushing a bit of fluff from my arse. The nerves came back a little when, having ensured I wasn’t going anywhere, he disappeared off, returning with one of his favourite combinations: the glass butt plug and that bloody inflatable plug. As he pushed the glass inside me I whimpered a bit, forgetting myself and where I was. I flushed red and ducked my head into my shoulder for a moment – daft, really, as if there were anyone in eyeshot it would hardly stop them seeing me. When he slid the inflatable plug into my cunt, he chuckled to himself at how wet I already was. I steeled myself, biting my lip to silence the moans as he pressed the bulb and inflated the plug, filling me. He moved beside me, leaning casually with his back against the balcony railing, looking at my face, watching my teeth press harder against my lip, seeing my nostrils flare every time he pressed the button and filled me further. He kept pressing, smiling at me for a second, until he saw real grumpiness on my face.

  ‘No, no. You don’t give me that look if I want to do this to you.’

  His tone was sharp. I had, as ever, no clue what that look was or how I could stop it, but his displeasure made me regretful. I felt a little worried, too, but I was mainly upset at disappointing him, displeasing him. I tripped over my words as I replied.

  ‘I’m sorry, there’s no look, I’m not looking, I just …’ I tailed off in uncertainty, frustrated as ever at how, despite words being my thing, he could leave me so inarticulate. So unsure. My voice was small. ‘I want to be good.’

  His smile made my stomach flip. He leaned down and kissed my shoulder. ‘I know you do. And mostly you’re a very good girl. You do please me.’ As the words filtered into my brain they were punctuated with three more hisses of that bloody plug. ‘Best make sure that’s nice and tight.’ He grinned at me. Even though my cunt was already so full – it felt like his fist was in there – even though I was aching already, I smiled back, enjoying the giddy look he gets sometimes when we play, like a little kid let lose in a sweet shop. A smutty, evil kid, admittedly.

  He really was adamant that everything stay nice and tight. His final piece of rope tied both plugs tightly in place, leaving a jaunty bow on my hip. As he stood up, brushing dust from his trousers, he picked up the little box which made the plug vibrate. I moaned quietly in the back of my throat, a plea almost. He kissed my side.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m not going to put it on high. I know it’ll be hard to be quiet coming out here. I just want to have it working enough to keep you ticking over.’

  I snorted at his wording as well as the sentiment. Tied, naked, plugged and awaiting his pleasure? As if keeping me aroused was going to be a problem. The vibrations burst into life inside me and the trembling in my legs began. He kissed my shoulder.

  ‘Do you trust me my Sophie?’ His expression was searching. I nodded, certain.

  ‘Yes. I do.’ He looked at me for a couple more seconds before nodding his approval.

  ‘Good. Just remember, if you trust me no real harm will come to you.’ I tried not to shiver at the warning in his words. ‘Now remember, keep looking straight ahead and be a good girl for me.’

  I smiled. ‘I promise.’

  He went inside again. I watched the boats far below, a man walking his dog on the riverbank. There was nothing else to do, just stand, wait, and enjoy the view and the unseasonably warm weather. As I stood there, that feeling of submissive simplicity kicked in. I trusted him. Loved him. I wanted to please him. I knew he wouldn’t do anything to harm me. He was clearly inside plotting something, but it didn’t matter what. I could cope with whatever he threw at me. I was already wet in anticipation. My eyes grew a little sleepy, enjoying the warmth of the sunshine.

  In hindsight, I realise he’d lulled me into a false sense of security.

  I don’t know how long I’d been out there before he came out to untie me. His voice was low as he began undoing the knots, telling me to stay looking ahead, not to move even when I could do so. I flexed my wrists a little once he had undone them, but otherwise stayed in position as he reached down to my ankles.

  He tutted loudly, running his fingers along my sticky inner thighs as he went. I restrained the urge to point out that when you’re left standing upright with something vibrating between your legs for a significant length of time it’s unreasonable not to expect gravity to work its magic. He was in a stern-looking mood and even I’m not that foolhardy.

  Once he’d untied me he put his hands over my eyes.

  ‘I’m going to lead you inside now, but I want you to keep your eyes shut. Do you understand?’

  I said yes. Suddenly I didn’t feel quite as confident as I had before.

  ‘Good girl.’ It was one of his favoured terms of affection, and made me feel a little comforted. Not much, but a bit. And every little helps, right?

  As he led me back inside, he put a blindfold over my eyes. His hands held my wrists behind my back and suddenly he was pushing me to the floor.

  ‘Kneel.’

  I knelt, slowly, unsure of where in the room I was. My knees made contact with a fluffy rug which I knew was in the centre of the room. I sank into it, taking a crumb of comfort from the warmth and the softness of it, even as Adam began to tie my wrists behind me. His silence was making me nervous, as was the blindfold, which he pulled slightly lower on my nose.

  ‘Can you see anything?’

  I opened my mouth to speak but before I could do so he slapped me hard across my face. The surprise of it (and the not-inconsiderable force) made me gasp. He laughed quietly, and the sound made me feel nervous. ‘I guess not.’

  I sat very still, half expecting him to hit me again, wondering where the blow would come from. But then he was gone.

  I could hear him moving around. Sometimes he was nearby, sometimes in the bedroom. At one point it even sounded like he was in the en suite. I had no idea what he was doing, and not being on home turf meant it was much harder to mentally picture where he was, let alone know what he was up to. The carpet that flowed through great parts of the apartment masked the sound of his movement. I was constantly jumping, wondering if every slight creak and change in the air was him coming closer.

  Finally he stroked my face. I flinched, half expecting him to slap me again, but his hand was warm and soothing. It was comforting, a return of my Adam, and that connection made me feel a little calmer for a moment. Until he spoke, at least.

  ‘Do you remember your safe word?’

  For fuck’s sake. I sighed, in nervousness I think, my tone brusque. ‘Yes.’

  He leaned in and his voice was steely enough to make me shiver. ‘Don’t take that tone. Just remember it in case you need to use it.’

  I felt a surge of fury. I opened my mouth to retort, thought better of it and harrumphed to myself instead (that’s a bit better, right?). At that point I don’t think it mattered. He was gone. I think.

  I don’t know how long I knelt there. It was long enough to begin to feel a little uncomfortable. I wanted to shuffle a little on the floor, but had no way of knowing whether he was watching me or not, and no intention of showing him I was uncomfortable if he was in the room.

  Suddenly I heard a whoosh and felt a sting on my breast. The cane. Fuck.

  I hate the cane. It hurts more than anything else he uses on me – there’s little room for tone with it. With a flogger, if you use it gently, it can be really sensual, little more than a tickle. Even at its lightest, the cane makes me shiver. This wasn’t anywhere near its lightest.

  He hit my breast twice and then seemed to move behind me – it was hard to tell because of the rug. He hit my arse. The noise of the cane slicing through the air made me wince, but there was never time to prepare for it even if I knew where it was going to land. Suddenly there were lines of fire all over my body. He was relentless. I tried not to cry out, but the pain felt intense, and not being able to see him made me feel oddly bereft.

  He hit me a lot, enough that I began to whim
per under my breath. It was a harsh kind of pain, and despite the vibrations in my cunt, I struggled to cope with it, feeling myself tear up behind the blindfold as the relentless lashes continued. Surely he would be getting bored now?

  No such luck. Every so often he paused and I felt him move closer. At one point he ran a fingernail across several marks he’d made on my breast and the pain made me cry out. He put his finger to my mouth, mocking me as he whispered ‘ssssssshhhh’ into my ear.

  I was two people in conflict. The rational side of me knew this was a head fuck, knew he was messing with me, knew this was intense, as intense as he had warned me it would be, but that fundamentally this was my lovely boyfriend Adam, who I could trust and who would look out for me. My more irrational side was in a panic, reacting only to the pain, adrenaline and nerves, desperately hoping it would soon be over and that we would move on to something that was slightly less challenging. Which side was going to win out? No bloody clue. But for the first time in a long time it was a balanced battle.

  Finally, thankfully, he stopped. I heard the sound of him throwing the cane on the sofa. It was all I could do not to collapse on the floor in relief.

  I felt him move nearer. He grabbed the back of my head and pushed me forward, and I realised I was nuzzling his crotch through his trousers. I leaned into him, eager, probably pathetically so. I rubbed my face against him, feeling him harden against me. I opened my mouth, a silent but fairly obvious indication of where I wanted things to go. He patted my head.

  ‘Not yet, in a minute.’

  I felt a surge of disappointment as he grabbed me by the arms and lifted me to my wobbly feet. I heard him pick up the control box and bulb for the plug, which was still deep inside me. It was just as well, as I think otherwise I’d have fallen over them. He led me into the bedroom. I didn’t even have time to feel relief, as he led me straight through; suddenly the cold tiles of the bathroom floor were under my feet. This was unexpected.

  His voice was brusque. ‘Into the bath.’

  I clambered in tentatively, using my feet to get my bearings. My lack of sight and my hands being tied behind my back made me unbalanced and ungainly. I was relieved to find the bath was empty; my first fleeting thought was that we would be doing some kind of water breath play, and the idea of doing that without the reassurance of eye contact made me feel real fear.

  It was OK, though. The bath was wide enough that I could kneel comfortably in the bottom, waiting for whatever happened next. I heard him unzip his fly near my head somewhere and for a moment I thought I was finally going to get to taste him – maybe he had moved me to the bath because he wanted to come across my body and was worried about getting it everywhere.

  But that wasn’t what happened. Two things happened almost simultaneously. The plug in my cunt burst into high-speed vibrations which, bearing in mind the eroticism of everything that had happened before, meant I felt my orgasm thundering towards me like a steam train.

  And Adam began to piss on me.

  The warm stream started across my breasts. I froze. My brain pretty much shorted out. As my orgasm built inexorably, the stream moved up, nearer my shoulders, wetting my hair. I began to shudder, partly from my orgasm and partly from shock. I came, but my cries were distressed. How could he have done that? We’d always said that was a hard limit. How could he have done that? I felt grief, bone-deep disappointment. I wanted to cry, I wanted to punch him, but I couldn’t do anything, I was scared my legs wouldn’t support me if I tried to move. The sound of my orgasm had shifted to a muted series of sobs.

  Adam’s hands were at my waist. Stilling the vibrations, untying the rope that kept the plugs in place, pulling them out. Suddenly there was a flash of light, the blindfold had been taken off and I was staring right at him, his brown eyes wide with concern. I blinked, trying to focus on him, trying to focus on anything, realising I couldn’t because my eyes were full of tears.

  He was talking to me, but I didn’t understand what he was saying for a few seconds. He kept repeating himself, as he leaned round, pulling the ropes from my wrists, helping me up, grabbing a warm towel from the rail.

  ‘Sophie? It was water. It was warm water. Just warm water.’

  I blinked at him, trying to understand, my brain not quite working. He held up a glass. ‘It’s water. I dribbled it on you with my mouth.’

  I nodded. He smiled in relief, pleased that I understood, pleased that I knew the extent of his head fuck now. He kissed my face, pushing my wet hair over my shoulder. Wet from water.

  ‘Oh, sweetheart, you were amazing. Are you OK?’ He kissed me again, pressing kisses to my face, rubbing my arms, which were suddenly cold with goosebumps. ‘You’re freezing, come on, let’s get you into bed for a minute.’

  He half-led, half-carried me back into the bedroom and we clambered into bed together. The warmth of his body and the duvet he covered me with helped me back to myself a little. He stroked my back, pressing kisses to me, hugging me. He was my Adam, back once more.

  We kissed. We gently made love. It was slow and tender and affectionate, a chance for us to reconnect, for me to regain my equilibrium. He moved slowly above me, his hand between my thighs, touching my clit, bringing about an orgasm we shared together, one I gave willingly rather than having it wrenched from me.

  As our breathing slowed we lay quietly together in the warmth, mindful that we had time before our dinner reservations for a bit of recovery.

  I looked at my breasts and thighs, curious to see the marks of the cane. There were none. He sleepily told me he’d used it, but not enough to mark – it had just felt more intense because of the way he had messed with my mind along the way. I couldn’t argue. It had felt intense. It had all felt intense.

  ‘I really thought you had …’ My voice was tentative to start with and trailed off before I could form the words.

  He stroked my face and pressed a kiss to my lips. ‘I know, sweetheart. I thought you had understood when I talked about no real harm coming to you. When I saw you start to shake I knew you hadn’t.’ He kissed me again. ‘I’m so sorry if it all felt too much.’

  I wrapped my arms around him. ‘It’s alright, I’m OK. I just didn’t understand what you meant by “real” harm in the heat of everything going on. I got caught up in things.’

  He looked at my closely. ‘But you’re OK? Promise?’

  I smiled at him and nodded. ‘I’m OK. Promise.’ It was the first time I had lied to him.

  I still couldn’t quite believe it. He hadn’t pissed on me, he hadn’t pushed past my hard limits. The relief was immense. I could still trust him. But as I lay there listening to his breathing as he dozed, tears began to fall down my face. There was one problem.

  I couldn’t trust myself.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  It’s ironic, really, that something that didn’t happen could have had such a massive impact on my mindset. But it really did.

  I had to hand it to Adam. He’d said he was going to mess with my mind and he did that to grand effect. And he was lovely afterwards, really lovely. He knew how much it affected me and took great pains to reassure me. He was, in terms of aftercare, a good and responsible dominant. But more than that, as my boyfriend he was loving and caring and concerned.

  That evening I lay there wide-eyed, my brain whirring, while he dozed. Then we went out for a decadent dinner, all beautifully cooked seafood and the kind of sinful chocolate pudding that makes me swoon. He complimented me on my dress and my throat went dry at the sight of him in one of the sharpest of his suits. It was romantic, fun, and Adam was on great form. We were as comfortable around each other as ever before. It was lovely, genuinely so.

  The problem was, even while I was enjoying the evening, there was a tiny part of my brain having a freak-out. It was like an alternate track: mostly I could ignore it, but every so often it would get louder and then I was thinking again about something I didn’t want to think about at all.

  And then we went back to
the suite. We snuck out onto the balcony on hands and knees so no one could see us and, giggling like children, laid naked on the ground, just a spare blanket nabbed from the wardrobe keeping us from the cold of the concrete. We snuggled together to minimise the chill, and then snuggling turned to groping and then we were fucking, laughing about how uncomfortable it was to be on top (the concrete was hard on the knees) and taking our pleasure from each other. As we recovered from our respective orgasms, we cuddled together to watch the stars and then he kissed me and told me he loved me and I kissed him back and told him I loved him too.

  It was a really memorable night, beautiful and romantic – well, as beautiful and romantic as it could be when earlier on I was convinced Adam had pissed on me. But that was the problem. I should have been able to shake off the odd feeling, but I really couldn’t. And to be fair to him, it wasn’t about Adam, it was about me.

  As I lay in bed, my mind kept going back to the moment in the bath, the building orgasm, the certainty that he was pissing on me. Two things kept going round in my head.

  I thought he was pissing on me and I didn’t stop him.

  I thought he was pissing on me and I came anyway.

  I know some people enjoy the taboo, but watersports had always been a hard limit for me. Despite my limits shifting during the time I was with Adam, certain things remained out of bounds. All the illegal stuff, obviously, anything likely to cause permanent injury or damage, anything toilet related, anything involving multiple partners (yes, even though I’d had a threesome before I was wary about ballsing up a relationship by having a threesome while in one), anything involving needles (I’m a big wuss). I trusted him to keep to those limits and, really, he had kept to them.

  I hadn’t.