No Ordinary Love Story: Sequel to The Diary of a Submissive (16 page)

He was a man that loved me in uniforms, underwear and all sorts of outfits, but I couldn’t get enough of him in a suit. I know it’s a whopping great cliché, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true. The sight of him in something sharp left my throat dry. I swallowed as I watched him pull out his cock, leaving his jacket and tie on. He was good to me.

He let me lean forward and take him in my mouth, sucking him in and flicking my tongue over him.

It wasn’t long before he was fully hard and, as soon as he was, I pushed myself forward, taking him down my throat and pressing my nose into his body. He groaned as I held myself in place as long as I could, eventually pulling back when I was starting to struggle for air. I watched one of his knees buckle and smiled as I suggested he sit down on the sofa.

He did so but I quickly got my mouth back around him, alternating between deep-throating him and licking the tip while using my hand on his shaft. I stared up at him, feeling myself getting wet as I looked at the pure pleasure on his face.

His quick breathing and the way he started to tense told me it wouldn’t be long and I moved quickly as he curled his fingers in my hair. He let out a cry of relief as he filled my mouth. Once he was finished I put his cock away, stood up and started telling him what was in the oven for
dinner as I walked into the bedroom to put some clothes on. Fear not, I got my orgasm later, but taking pleasure purely in pleasing him built the anticipation. And the one thing living together meant was that there was always time for some naughty fun.

The bigger flat and additional privacy also made for some lazy days of shenanigans with no fear of being interrupted or one of us having to go home at some point. It also meant, by dint perhaps of the amount of sex we were having and the new experiences we were sharing, that our boundaries – and my limits – began to shift.

It all started when we were curled up on the sofa on a Saturday morning watching TV together. Neither of us are morning people, and we didn’t have any immediate plans so we were sat, drinking tea and watching cookery programmes and enjoying not having to be anywhere or do anything.

When he got up after his third cup of tea, I assumed he was going to the loo. At least, that was until he came back with what by now was a pretty familiar length of soft cotton rope.

Silently he took my wrists and tied them together in front of me. My heartbeat was already increasing, wondering what he had in store, but once my wrists were secure he went back to watching TV, his arm once again going over my shoulders and pulling me into him.

He stroked my hair and scratched behind my ear in a way that almost made me purr. Soon I was lying on the sofa with my head in his lap as he continued to almost
absent-mindedly stroke me while we watched, somewhat surreally, a demonstration on making omelettes.

Sometimes the submissive mindset is something that comes with time, the voice in my head having to be silenced by the pleasure I feel at the things we do, but other times I can slip into it easily and deeply. Being tied up is one of the things – along with having my face slapped – that can put me into a submissive frame of mind really quickly. I was already drifting, and all he had done was stroke my ear.

We stayed like that for a long time, with him even engaging me in conversation as if this was the most normal thing in the world. I felt a little out of sorts, definitely on the back foot, but was still able to converse with him. I was even able to pick up my tea mug and drink with my hands tied in front of me. It was just like a perfectly ordinary Saturday morning, except for the fact I was conscious of how increasingly wet I was getting.

After a while he took hold of my bound wrists and lifted them over my head, leaving me feeling very vulnerable. His touch started to become more sexual as he moved his fingers up and down my body over my clothes. He gently caressed my breasts until my nipples hardened. Then he leaned down and kissed me softly on the lips and I felt like I was melting.

As the kiss deepened, his touch became rougher, mauling my breasts with one hand while holding my wrists in place easily with the other. Stretched out and held down, I had nowhere to go, and the incongruity of it –
we were watching omelettes!
– made it feel surreal. I moaned in pain and excitement.

His hand left my breast and went between my legs. He scratched along the seam of my jeans, making me shudder. He began to apply pressure, making my knickers even wetter as they were pushed against me, my clit becoming more swollen as the material was forced against it.

He rubbed firmly between my legs, through my clothes. I felt my skin get hot as he stopped kissing me and sat up, looking down at me with what seemed to be amusement. I hated it when he did that; the embarrassment felt prickly. It was as if he was mocking me. I struggled against my bindings but it was pointless, except that I felt him harden as he watched me squirm ineffectually. Git.

I thought he was going to bring me to orgasm but, when I felt myself getting close, he stopped. As I looked up at him through unfocused, confused eyes, he lifted my head, stood up and walked out of the room. I didn’t really know what to do so I just stayed where I was, wondering where he had gone, what he was up to now.

Then I heard running water. Was he going to leave me in this state while he had a bath?

It must have been another ten minutes before he reappeared. He pulled me to my feet by my bindings and then untied me, telling me to quickly undress and join him in the bathroom.

I shed my clothes, leaving them on the sofa, before following him, intrigued and a little nervous, into the bathroom.

He was perched on the edge of the filled bath, still holding the rope in his hand. He told me to get in and I did as I was told, eyeing him carefully as I did so.

The water was lovely and warm and I sank into it,
thinking that I could handle most things if I got to be this comfortable. In hindsight, that was stupid and proof that I had no idea what was going on. I had underestimated him fulsomely. Still, you live and learn.

As soon as I was settled he told me to raise my hands up and he tied them again, at the wrist just as he had before.

Then he looked straight into my eyes and asked if I trusted him.

This was when the nerves set in. I’d noticed a theme with Adam, where he tended to ask this most often before he was about to do something new or fiendish to me, and wanted to be sure I was OK with it. After a moment I nodded. I did trust him, after all. I trusted him with everything.

It was just as bloody well.

Before I knew what was happening he’d placed his hand on my forehead and pushed me below the surface of the water. Our bath was one of the things I loved best about our new flat; when we’d walked round with the estate agent I had fallen in love with it – it was deep, long and claw-footed. Not that the latter mattered at this particular point, although the other two factors did. When I’d seen that bath I’d imagined us lying in it together, which we had done. I had never in a million years imagined this, though.

The splash as he pushed me under felt oddly loud to my ears, and then everything was silent except for the sound of my heart beating, the panicked thud of which filled my ears. I felt my nostrils fill with water as he held me under by the shoulders, felt my feet kick out as my
instincts flared, trying to get myself up, out. After a few seconds – that felt like a fucking eternity – he pulled me back up by my tied wrists. I took in a deep lungful of air, feeling like I’d been down there for half a minute.

My long hair was soaked and stuck to my face. He brushed it away for me as I stared up at him in a mixture of awe and fear, blinking water from my eyelashes.

‘Are you OK?’ he asked.

My eyes held his, needing the connection, the kindness I saw there. I had never felt so powerless, so much like he had control of every aspect of me. My nose stung from inhaling the water in shock as he’d pushed me under. My breathing was ragged. But I knew I could trust him. Knew, in spite of everything, that this was something I wanted to continue. I nodded.

‘Take a deep breath,’ he said. I nodded again, and suddenly the world was sliding and he was pushing me under once more. This time it was for longer, maybe ten seconds or so. Maybe more. By the time he dragged me up my heart was racing and my lungs felt on fire.

He carried on for a while, alternating between pushing me under the water and leaving me to catch my breath. At one point he dunked me up and down a number of times in quick succession, leaving me gasping and water splashed across the tiled floor and his jeans. He didn’t seem to mind. I couldn’t help but notice that his jeans were tight across his crotch. It would seem I wasn’t the only one enjoying this, despite the unusual situation.

When he was finished he told me to stand up and face the wall. With my hands bound it was surprisingly difficult to get up, and I struggled to push myself up, but he helped
me. The last thing I noticed before I turned away from him was that his shirt was wet now too.

‘Stick out your arse and spread your legs.’

Normally such an order would leave me feeling exposed and embarrassed –
was there a point when I’d get used to it?
– but actually I was pleased to have a moment looking away from him to regain some composure. I didn’t have long to do that, though – my mistake was in assuming that he had done the most intense element of what he had planned. Definitely wishful thinking.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw him pick up a bottle of shower gel from the side of the tub and I wondered for a minute if he was going to fuck me with the curved top of it. In hindsight that might have been less humiliating than what he did do.

He washed me. He filled his hands with gel and began to rub it into my back, arse cheeks and legs. Then he rubbed his soapy hand between my legs, chuckling slightly as my legs wobbled at his intimate touch and I clutched the wall. But then came the part that made me whimper aloud in embarrassment. He rubbed up and down the crack of my arse and slid a soapy finger inside me there, half cleaning me and half finger-fucking. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the embarrassment of the assault, trying to fight the inevitable, irritating arousal it was inspiring.

When he deemed me clean he had me sit back down and washed my front, doing a very thorough job of cleaning my breasts. I’d have rolled my eyes at him for being so obvious, if I’d felt capable of looking him in the face, but by that point I couldn’t quite do it.

He put some shampoo in his palm and began to wash my hair, the feeling of his fingers on my scalp making me pliant, almost sleepy under his attention. He rinsed the suds from my hair carefully, being sure to angle the shower head in such a way that he didn’t get any water in my eyes and the soap ran down my back rather than into my face. His solicitousness felt surreal. He was gentle, his touch light as he helped me to my feet to rinse me down with the shower attachment until I was ready to get out (he apparently felt the need to rinse my clit for twice as long as any other part of my body). Then I did roll my eyes, but he just smiled at me, giving me his arm so I could step out of the bath.

He undid the now-wet rope from my wrists once again and wrapped me up in a fluffy, warm towel to dry me off. I curled into him as he did it and he kissed my forehead. I kissed his neck and he shivered, which made me smile against him.

When he was done towel drying my hair he told me to go back into the bedroom and lie on the bed. I did as I was told and when he entered the room he was naked, his cock hard. He climbed onto the bed and kneeled between my legs, lifting and spreading them. I blushed again as he inspected me.

He reached for the lube on the bedside table and squeezed some onto his finger, leaning forward to anoint around my arse and slowly push inside, making me gasp. Quickly he grabbed the tube again, squeezing some onto his cock, using his hand to slide it along his length.

Then he grabbed my ankles with his hands, holding my
legs upright and spread, and placed the tip of his cock against my arse. I’d had anal sex before but I’d always been bent over. Now I was looking into his eyes as he slowly inched his cock inside me.

It was humiliating, embarrassing, and insanely erotic. My previous experiences of anal sex hadn’t always been positive – my tightness paired with my panic at the pain (I know, it’s ironic) meant often it didn’t work easily. But Adam had prepared me well: my body was ready to accept him. I put my arms round his neck as he started to fuck me – slowly sliding in and out.

I pushed my arse against him as he fucked me, urging him silently to go on, to go deeper. He whispered in my ear, telling me that I was going to come from him fucking my arse because I was a dirty little whore and it was obvious I was turned on by it. I’d had orgasms through anal play before, even anal sex, but not without an additional stimulus of some sort. That said, even as I opened my mouth to tell him I wasn’t going to come that way, the orgasm hit me.

When my breathing stilled he was smiling at me with that smug look he often had. I didn’t know whether to kiss him or slap him – a frequent conundrum in our sex life. Before I made my mind up he was fucking me again, a little faster and harder than before, telling me how tight I was and how much fucking my arse made him want to come too. Even before he finished the sentence he did.

Living together was brilliant. I’d been a bit concerned it was going to be strange sharing my space with someone
after so long alone, but it was lovely. Adam was better than most housemates I’d ever lived with – he put stuff in the dishwasher of his own volition and was a neat freak in a way that actually worked very well for me. The one thing that took some adjusting too was, ironically, sex.

I know, it’s ridiculous.

The thing is, we had a lot of sex. Lots and lots of sex. In those first heady weeks we were having sex up to two or three times a day. Before work. After work. Whole weekends. It was brilliant, exhausting, fun. We were in a cocoon of blissed-out, loved-up, sexy fun. It was ace.