No Ordinary Love Story: Sequel to The Diary of a Submissive (25 page)

He caught me looking and smiled, asking me if I wanted his cock. I nodded without daring to look at him and he unfastened the buttons on his jeans, pulling himself out. He gave the lead a little tug but I didn’t need the invitation, I moved forward and opened my mouth to take him in. But he stopped me.

‘Not like that. You need to lick it.’

I blushed. Don’t get me wrong, my blow-job repertoire involved a fair amount of licking. But not like this. Never like this. Still, who was I to argue? Not that I could, anyway, what with the whole not-talking thing. Fine.

I blushed as I ran my tongue up and down his shaft, swirling around the top to get his pre-cum. I lapped just below the head of his cock, making him stiffen and gasp. Then I moved lower, licking his balls, loving the sound of him moaning.

I figured eventually he would put his cock in my mouth and I was sure he wasn’t too far from orgasm, but after a long time he stopped me and told me to turn round. I did and he made me crawl a few paces away from him while he kept hold of the lead.

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.

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 that,’ 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.