His fingers are back as quickly as they had gone. Stroking me, spreading my lips apart and dipping inside me.
‘You know that you’re wetter now than when I stopped?’
It takes all the effort I can muster not to call him smug again. I settle for mentally calling him an arse, and am once again thankful that he can’t see my face.
He doesn’t stop talking, though. His voice becomes a constant whisper in my ear.
‘This is what I’m talking about. Stop thinking with your head, think a little more with this.’ His fingers move inside me. ‘It always knows what you want to do, what you enjoy, even when your stubborn brain hasn’t caught up yet. That’s why this cunt belongs to me.’
I moan in spite of myself.
‘That’s it, let go, just be a good girl for me. You clearly want to, don’t you?’
My blood begins to sing, my body reacts to his. I feel my submission wash over me and as I offer it to him, I become pliant beneath him.
It’s a game we’ve played so often before, that we’ll undoubtedly play over and over again, hopefully for the rest of our lives. It is intense, fun, arousing, amazing.
His fingers move between my legs, punctuating his whispered lecture about how much I enjoy this, how we both know that I love this, live for it at times, especially when he’s got his hand between my legs.
It makes me blush, but we both know that it’s the truth. My hips are arching as I press my swollen clit into his hand – it’s something of a giveaway.
As I get close to coming he slows his movements. I bite back a moan, knowing that it will get me into trouble, instead leaving myself in his hands, on his timescale. He nods in approval behind me.
‘Good girl. Trust me to look after you. Be patient.’
I feel a flush of warmth at the praise, and a flash of affection for him. He does look after me, sexually and otherwise. Suddenly I feel the proper rush of the apology I had given grudgingly before.
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said you were smug.’
He chuckles behind me. ‘Oh, sweetheart, I am smug.’
I restrain the urge to nod, not sure if I’m safe doing that yet and not willing to risk it.
‘But the thing is, even though I am smug, sometimes I like having a reason to punish you, and your outburst gives me that reason.’
My heart begins to beat even faster. It’s not fear, though, it’s anticipation. I am smiling as I speak. ‘As long as you’re not ever hoping I’m going to be the kind of submissive who stops mocking you and obeys your every whim.’
He shifts me onto my front for a moment, running his hand along the curve of my arse. I am smiling in the darkness as he begins to spank the place where my arse meets the top of my thighs, the sweet spot that makes me squirm.
‘I’m very happy with the mocking. And let’s face it, we both know I don’t need a reason to punish you, that’s not how this works.’ He is warming my cheek, his spanking gentle as he allows me to get used to the feeling of his hand connecting with my arse. Even after all this time it is one of the most intimate things we do, and the feeling of his palm connecting, the intimacy of his touch, makes me sigh. It’s a happy sound.
The warmth on my cheek at the sting of his slaps is beginning to build as I adjust to the pain. I nod my agreement, taking deep breaths through my nose, trying to conquer the pain, ride the endorphin rush. He hits me harder, and I squirm, urging my arse up to meet his hand. Eager.
By the time he moves me back against him, I can feel his erection pressing into me and he can feel the heat of my punished cheek against his thigh. He sighs in satisfaction and nips my shoulder with his teeth, before he moves his hand between my legs and begins spanking there. I push my hips upwards, meeting him eagerly, so eagerly he chuckles.
I love this. We both do. I’m past the point of feeling like I need to apologise for it. We’re not hurting anyone else, we’re doing it safely. It’s all consensual. He knows me well, sometimes it feels he knows me better than I know myself – although, yes, I’m better at using my safe word nowadays.
This makes my nipples hard, it makes me wet. The challenge, the fight, being overpowered, being tied up, being hurt. Yielding to him, pleasing him, loving him. It all meshes together in my brain – the pain with the pleasure, the adrenaline with the endorphins. Most times the fight isn’t literal, but we are vying for power and I love the intimacy of it, the control he has. Sometimes I give him that control willingly, sometimes he takes it, albeit still with my permission. Either way I enjoy it, enjoy him, enjoy being on the back foot, not knowing what is going to happen next.
Reacting. Enduring. Enjoying.
I love him. I love it.
THE BEGINNING
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PENGUIN BOOKS
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First published in Great Britain in Penguin Books 2013
Copyright © Sophie Morgan 2013
Photography by Omer Knaz
Jewellery by Coco de Mer
All rights reserved
The moral right of the author has been asserted
ISBN: 978-1-40-591283-9
No Ordinary Love Story: Sequel to The Diary of a Submissive Page 27