No Ordinary Love Story: Sequel to The Diary of a Submissive (14 page)

He paused, seeming to consider something while looking at me. Then his face changed. His face was no longer filled with surprise and concern. Suddenly he was stern and fierce. I knew that look. But what –

In a second he had a handful of my hair and slapped my face. It jolted me. It’s the first slap in the face that usually sinks me under. There’s something primal about it. Something not only physically jarring but also degrading, demeaning. In the immediate seconds after the sound cracked through the room, the silence – or was it the roar in my ears? – felt deafening, even though everything was still. We were just looking at each other, sizing each other up. My mind was still focused on the worries, but they were being pushed back as I felt the surge of adrenaline I always felt when we began this dance.

‘It’s not up to you when you do or don’t come,’ he hissed.

I glared at him. ‘Seriously, you think
this
is the right time for you to become some kind of überdom? After the –’

He silenced me with a kiss, but where before it had
been sensual and passionate, now instead it was forceful, an invasion. His tongue pushed deep into my mouth, making me taste myself on him. It was embarrassing. I felt myself blush.

As he invaded my mouth he forced a hand between my legs. I tried to close my thighs, squashing his hand between them. He let out a growl of annoyance and discomfort. He broke the kiss and slapped my face again.

‘Don’t you fucking dare. Open your legs or I swear you’ll regret it.’

The look on his face actually scared me a bit, not because I thought he would do me genuine harm, I trusted him utterly, but because he seemed genuinely annoyed. In what was surely a first in our relationship, I kept my legs resolutely shut. He gave me a long look.

‘Either use your safe word or do as you are told, but stop wasting my fucking time.’

I hated the thought of disappointing him. I didn’t want to use my safe word. Reluctantly I opened my legs to him and he started rubbing me roughly between my legs.

He lay down next to me and shifted me onto my side, spooning behind me in a position that would have looked innocent and intimate, but for the forearm he pressed against my throat and the barrage of filth and abuse he began whispering into my ear. The gentle kissing had, it seemed, passed.

He said humiliating and degrading things, things he knew made me wet, turned me on. He called me a whore, a slut, told me that he would tell me when I did and didn’t get to come, that I had no fucking right to choose. Then came the words that filled me with terror.

‘I’m going to count down to five and when I do you had better fucking come.’

I was no longer thinking about anything else, all I was focused on was the picture he was painting with his words, his hand between my legs, the numbers ringing in my ears as he counted. For a small, short while everything else buzzing around in my brain was silenced. There was just me, him, this. It consumed me.

As soon as he said ‘one’ it happened. I honestly didn’t expect it to. I was beginning to worry about whether he would punish me for not orgasming, trying to prepare myself, when it hit me like a sledgehammer. I opened my mouth to cry out but made no noise. I went stiff for a few seconds and then started to tremble. The release was incredible. I fleetingly wondered if I might have burst a blood vessel.

I don’t know if I fell asleep or was just unable to concentrate and listen, but the next thing I was aware of was Adam’s voice in my ear again. This time he was soft and soothing, asking if I was OK, telling me how wonderful I was. His hand was now stroking up and down my thigh and the arm that had been round my neck was softly caressing my breast.

I turned round and buried my face in his chest, unable to look at him for a moment, just a bit overcome by it all, the pressure, the release. I thanked him, muffled against his chest, trying to hide the fact I was crying a little in relief.

He laughed softly. ‘Oh, sweetheart, you don’t have to thank me for anything.’ He pulled the covers over us and kissed the top of my head, holding me close. His warmth
felt comforting. For the first time in nearly a fortnight I felt happy and weirdly at peace. Also, bloody exhausted.

When I woke the room was still light – he must have fallen asleep when I did rather than try and disentangle himself from me to switch the light off. I couldn’t tell how long I’d been asleep, but I knew it had been a while. I shifted my weight off his arm, figuring it might drop off soon if it didn’t get some circulation into it.

I looked at him as he slept. He looked younger without his glasses on, oddly innocent, most definitely not the complex, occasionally stern man I had come to know. I’d never noticed how long his eyelashes were before. It made me smile. He made me smile. I felt a bit guilty, though – he’d known how to help me come when I had no idea myself how that would work, and I’d thanked him by falling asleep on him without any attempt at reciprocation. I thought it might be time to redress the balance. We had some catching up to do and, frankly, any lingering concerns about my ability to orgasm or otherwise wouldn’t be an issue for what I had in mind.

Carefully I crawled down the bed. Stopping at his waist I kissed just above his groin, then either side of it. He didn’t stir. I made myself comfortable on my elbows and knees, and took his soft cock between my lips, using my tongue on the underside. It began to grow in my mouth, and he began to stir, moaning softly in his sleep. I moved my mouth up and down, flicking my tongue over the tip, gently stroking his balls with my fingers.

His hand touched my thigh, making me jump a little. Keeping him in my mouth I looked round to see him
smiling sleepily at me. I grinned back as well as I could with my mouth full.

His fingers began to play between my legs, sliding inside me as I took him deep in my throat. I gagged on him and it made me clench around his fingers, a chain reaction which bemused me. I began to move my mouth faster.

‘Wait,’ he said hoarsely.

I looked up, confused and, I’ll be honest, a bit reluctant. I was having fun.

‘Not this way. Fuck me.’

Oh. OK. I smiled again.

I lowered myself down on him, leaning to kiss him as our hips began moving in rhythm. Suddenly he broke the kiss, telling me to sit up. This was nothing new, he loved to watch me, to play with my breasts and see me grind against him.

As I sat up and leaned back a little he reached forward and pressed a finger between our bodies, gently massaging my clit. I moaned and began moving my hips with a little more urgency.

Then he moved his hand away and grabbed my wrist. Not hard but firmly. He moved it until my hand was near to where his had just been. He looked me in the eyes and his meaning was clear. He wanted me to play with myself while he watched.

I’ve done some embarrassing things for and to him, but the intimacy of it, of him watching my face so close up as I touched myself, made me feel reluctant. His gaze was unrelenting, though, his hips still while I made my choice.

It made me slightly self-conscious, but knowing how much he enjoyed watching me this way made it worth the
initial awkwardness and, let’s face it, when you’re doing something so fundamentally fun it’s no big deal really in the grand scheme of things. Also, in light of earlier, it would have been a bit churlish not to.

I started to rub my clit. He moved his hand away. He still wasn’t moving his hips, but he was deep inside me and it felt amazing. I closed my eyes, focusing on how wonderful it felt and not the embarrassment of masturbating while he watched.

Then he started to talk to me. He whispered dirty things. Not humiliating, nasty things like before, but fantasies that we had shared, things that he knew turned me on. I rubbed myself a little harder and I felt another orgasm creeping up on me.

I forced myself to open my eyes and look at him. ‘I’m going to come,’ I said, half in amazement and half in request for permission.

He smiled and nodded at me as he suddenly started to move his pelvis up and down, fucking me hard. I watched his orgasm hit him, feeling him pulsate inside me. The feeling sent me over the edge. My thighs pressed tightly into his side as I cried out again.

After our breathing had stilled I leaned back down and kissed him. He put his arms around my neck and we lay there for a while, neither of us willing to separate just yet. And in that moment I realised what he’d done. I’d struggled to give myself an orgasm, was worried about it. While he’d been able to make me come in D/s ways, he’d wanted to show me I could still do it myself. I pressed a kiss to his collarbone. My complex, clever, lovely man.

The next morning, after the best sleep I’d had for
weeks, I lay in bed listening to his soft breathing and reflected on things a bit. Why hadn’t I used my safe word? In the moment it was a complex mixture of not wanting what was happening to end, not wanting to disappoint him, and a curiosity about what would happen next. I trusted him implicitly, was intrigued (and admittedly by that point a little desperate) to see what he was going to try next. The fact that I had responded to the D/s sex in that situation when nothing else worked surprised me. It would have worried me except for the fact we had proved very quickly afterwards that it wasn’t that I’d reached some kind of tipping point where the only sex I could respond to was D/s tinged – which was just as well, really, as I didn’t want Adam getting flogging-related RSI or some such.

The other thing it made me realise was just how well Adam knew me, how he understood my character and personality in ways I hadn’t fully appreciated until that point. A lot of the reason why he was so challenging as a dominant was, undoubtedly, because he could hazard a pretty accurate guess at any given point as to how I would react, what I would find difficult and annoying and what would come easier. But I hadn’t really appreciated how he could channel that knowledge in a way that would do so much to help my wellbeing.

Since then, I’ve had other occasions where I’ve got stressed about things and found sex difficult. Our dynamic isn’t such that if I feel like I’m not into sex for whatever reason, Adam gets all granite-faced and dominant and pushes his will on me anyway. Make no mistake, that’s not what this was, isn’t what these occasions are. There are
times, when one or other of us is ill or stressed out or whatever, when things will stop for a little while. But there are other times when the world crowds in, when whatever is preying on my mind won’t be shifted easily and it messes with my mojo a little. In those instances, D/s – cathartic, lovely and often vicious – can push through and clear my brain. For a little while I’m not worrying, I’m not thinking about the list of things I have to do, not prioritising whatever has to happen next, I’m just reacting. Enduring.
Enjoying
. And it’s bloody lovely.

The deepening of my feelings for Adam happened quite gradually. I know I have moments when I’m a bit oblivious about emotional things, but even on that basis, I didn’t expect it to be Charlotte who helped me realise the change.

Charlotte and I had met for lunch near my office. She was working nearby for a couple of weeks, and it felt like a good opportunity to catch up, albeit I knew I was going to have to deal with a fair amount of ‘I-told-you-so’ about the wonderousness of Adam.

I was still getting my head round the fact he and Charlotte had slept together. I knew it shouldn’t bother me, knew that it was long over, knew even that he didn’t want to reconnect with her and that she was happy with Tom. But somehow it felt weird. I couldn’t put my finger on why. When Charlotte and Tom started sleeping together it didn’t bother me that way. How could this possibly be different?

I know; even for me this was a new level of obliviousness.

Our sandwiches and coffees had just arrived when Charlotte brought up Adam and I seeing each other and how well it was going. I skirted through the conversation as delicately as I could manage.

‘It’s going really well. We’re having loads of fun.’

Charlotte’s look was all wide eyes and eyebrow waggles. I couldn’t help but break into a smile.

‘Lots and lots of fun,’ I conceded.

She laughed. ‘I knew you two would get on. You have very similar mindsets about things and obviously work together in D/s terms.’ It was my turn to raise an eyebrow: this wasn’t a road I was overly comfortable going down. ‘And you’re both quite laid-back about most things, but filthy with it.’

I nodded (she was right, after all), although it felt more difficult keeping the smile. I tried to push down this weird feeling. Was it annoyance? I didn’t want to say it was jealousy because rationally I knew I had nothing to be jealous about. I guess it was more that I felt like I was still finding out things about Adam – the way he reacted to stuff, the things he enjoyed (not just the rude stuff either – he’d mentioned in passing his love of HP Sauce while we were eating lunch a week or so before, so I’d got some to keep in my kitchen) and I felt weird pangs when I realised that Charlotte might know some or indeed all of these things already. Fuck. It did sound like jealousy.