The Diary Of A Submissive: A True Story (16 page)

Neither of us spoke. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Thomas smiling slightly. I was fearful he would intervene, and not entirely sure how I would respond if he pushed this whole ‘submitting to her is submitting to him’ line. But he seemed amused more than anything else and keen to see how things would play out.

Slowly, deliberately, Charlotte moved closer. And then she slapped my face. Hard. It stung and I felt myself going red – not just where she’d struck me but across my entire face and neck – in fury and embarrassment at the slight. For a split second I thought about slapping her back, but before the germ of the thought could flourish she’d grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked me towards her to kiss me.

I had spent a long time wondering what kissing Charlotte would be like, but I had never expected it to be like this. She tasted of mint and smelled of flowers, but while her lips were as soft as I had fantasized they would be, her hand in my hair and the way she kissed me made me whimper a little as she took control of the kiss, and of me. Her tongue pushed inside me, her teeth nipped at my mouth, her hand pulled my hair, bending me to her will until I was compliant underneath her.

She pulled away and the spell was broken. I knew I was gaping at her a little, my mouth swollen from her kisses, and her teeth. As she moved her hand back to my face it took all my self-control not to flinch, betraying my nerves. But I had nothing to fear; instead of slapping me again, she stroked my face gently.

‘We’ll see, shall we?’

In all honestly, at that moment I had no recollection at all of what she was talking about. Instead my mind was reeling at this gorgeous woman who I was beginning to think I might have underestimated.

As she stroked my hair her voice had taken on a different timbre too. It wasn’t a dom voice – or I suppose technically a domme voice – in Thomas’s style, but she was assured and unwavering. She had no doubts that whatever she was going to do would make me submit, and that made me nervous. What the fuck had the two of them been discussing over the same weeks Thomas was asking me whether thoughts of her breasts made me wet?

‘We’ve been talking about you, Sophie. About how stubborn you can be. How disobedient.’

I bloody knew it.

‘The thing is, Sophie, I don’t intend to have you disobey me. I think you want to obey me, deep down. And I’m going to make sure that you do.’

I closed my eyes for a few seconds so she didn’t see me rolling them.

‘We talked about what to do when you don’t obey.’

Eyes opened now, I kept looking ahead, trying to zone out a little. I wasn’t expecting her to be able to push my
emotional buttons quite this easily, and had no intention of rising to her bait.

‘So tell me. What does Thomas do when you do things you’re not supposed to?’

In spite of myself I began to feel myself blush. I knew what I was supposed to say and I was a little concerned now at the prospect of disobeying her. But I hated admitting this stuff aloud at the best of times. Saying it to her then, like that? The dual submission – not just to her but to the part of me that wanted this, needed this, gets turned on by the humiliation of it – stuck in my throat.

As I tried to gather my thoughts she slapped me again. In my peripheral vision I saw Thomas move forward to better watch my reaction.

‘Answer me. What happens?’

I cleared my throat, wondering why this felt so humiliating, trying hard to soften my tone in a way that didn’t betray my emotions.

‘He punishes me.’

Her hand twisted in my hair, a tug of warning. ‘I didn’t hear you.’ Fuck, Thomas had told her all his best moves. This woman was dangerous. Part of me loathed her and the other part of me was getting more aroused by the minute.

Louder: ‘He punishes me.’

‘Better. How does he punish you?’

My temper was rising – she knew how he punished me because he’d told her, no doubt gloating about the things he could get me to do, the things he could do to me. She
knew, he knew and I knew and yet she was making me say it out loud because she knew it made me embarrassed. I was angry and I was wet and that I could feel myself getting wetter as I knelt on the bed in front of them only made me more angry.

I tried to hide my annoyance but I could hear the sharpness in my voice. ‘It depends. Whip. Belt. Cane. Crop. Hand. Whatever he wants.’

As she moved away from me and the link between us was broken for a moment, I expelled the breath I hadn’t even realized I was holding. For a second the relief was palpable, until she returned, holding something that made my stomach fall.

As she tapped me gently on the shoulder with the cane I began trembling uncontrollably. Surely he wasn’t going to let her …

‘I’ve always wondered what it feels like to cane someone.’

Shit.

After the first six hits Thomas took pity on me and moved closer to coach her. I’d have been grateful, but I was already weeping and frankly not sure he could do much to help. My mind was reeling at the agony she was inflicting, and I was trying to work out whether she’d either never been on the receiving end of the cane before or had been but hated it so much she wanted to share the misery.

The strikes kept going as Tom coached her on the best way to hit me, when to flick from the wrist, when to use
the full arm. The angle to take. How to mix between hitting places you’ve hit before and hitting new places so you can watch the varying reactions to the different kinds of pain. When to hold back. When to push harder.

The pauses meant it was difficult to process the pain, as there was no rhythm to it, no way of riding the peaks and troughs. Instead I retreated into it, only half aware of their discussion about the welts on my arse and how long they would take to go down. I listened intently for the swish of the cane through the air, trying to prepare myself for the next wave of agony.

I don’t know how long it went on but finally there was respite. Four hands ran over the marks, her fingernails tracing the lines of the hot welts, his fingers brutally squeezing the most punished part until I whimpered. Then, for the most fleeting moment, so gently that I wondered whether I was imagining it, a finger ran up my slit. I moaned in frustration as it moved away.

Her voice was filled with a quiet wonder. ‘This is making her wet.’

She sighed in pleasure behind me and Thomas chuckled. ‘It’s making you wet too.’ His voice was pleased. She laughed and I felt a surprising pang of jealousy. Thomas moved to me, running his finger briefly along the ridge between my top lip and my nose, before turning away. My frustration at this briefest of touches burned into an aroused fury a second later when her scent filled my nostrils. Listening to the sound of them kissing, touching, fucking even, inches away from me, knowing the wetness drying on my face was her juice, was erotic torture. But I
didn’t dare sneak a glance. I waited, docile, for them to turn their attentions back to me.

I can’t tell you exactly when my mindset changed. It snuck up on me. One minute I was furious and embarrassed and a bit concerned at having submitted to Charlotte, and the next I was completely in the moment and none of that mattered any more.

After she’d finished with the cane, and Thomas had finished with her – for the moment at least – she moved back into my field of vision and picked up the accursed paddle. As my inner monologue wondered for the thousandth time why the fuck I’d thought buying it was a good idea, she stared at the lettering cut into it and smiled.

‘So this is the famous slut paddle.’

I looked up to answer as Thomas replied. This keeping silent thing was not a natural state for me.

‘This is the one. She hates it. Always concerned I’m going to mark her with it and she’s going to end up caught out at the gym.’

Charlotte smiled and I felt a little cramp of fear in my stomach. Had I not noticed the slightly sadistic curve of her lips before? Or had I inspired this? It made me wet and fearful at the same time, even as I knelt there, my arse in the air, waiting for what happened next.

‘So it does work then? You can end up effectively branding her with “slut”?’

Thomas laughed. ‘Well, I can. Just about. It takes a lot of effort and some big swings though. In a lot of ways it’s even more precise than the cane. It only works if you hit her in the right spot, really, really hard.’

As she moved behind me, for a split second I hated him. And then all thoughts except enduring this faded from my mind.

Well, you had to give her marks for trying. She hit me really hard, many times. I couldn’t tell you how many, as all I was doing was trying to withstand the blows, to minimize my sobs and contain the worst of my shaking as the loud cracks rained down on my already burning arse. I don’t know how effective I was at either if I’m honest.

There was no rhythm to her movements as, when she connected with a crack which she thought had made the mark, she stopped to check her handiwork. I would kneel there, hoping to hell that actually she
had
marked me, just because then at least she would stop. But then she would pick up the paddle and continue and the agony would start again. Suddenly any mental debate about whether I should or could or would submit to her was academic. Somehow, with that punishment, in that room, I was hers. It didn’t occur to me to disobey her, although I wished she’d get the mark she wanted so she would stop hitting me.

After a while – a long while – she seemed to get bored trying. She dropped the paddle on the bed and, over my head, told Thomas she’d be back in a moment.

As she left the room he moved closer and crouched down level to my face. As he brushed tears from my cheeks with his thumbs his voice was soothing.

‘How are you doing? Are you OK? Are you enjoying this?’

I nodded, pressing my lips together to stop them trembling, unable to even begin explaining in words exactly how I felt, knowing I might be able to after the event but that right now it was simply beyond me.

He smiled at me. ‘Good. Because seeing you submit to her for me is so fucking hot. I love that you’ll do anything for her because I tell you to.’

The usual running narrator of submission was there, protesting that actually I wouldn’t do ‘anything’, but it was fogged out, pushed away by the sensations, the myriad of tides of pain and the ebbing warmth of the pleasure between my legs. As the door reopened he leaned forward and kissed me, briefly and brutally, and then moved away.

The action surprised me, as did the tenderness of his mouth on mine. But in that moment, that kiss was a reminder of his dominance and it warmed me. Reassured me. Which was particularly good as suddenly he and Charlotte were behind me, as she said: ‘I didn’t think it could happen, but I got bored of hitting her. Well, actually, I’m not bored, my arm got tired.’

Thomas laughed at the audible pout in her voice. I saw the humour, but didn’t even smile as I wanted to know what was coming next.

‘I had another idea.’

Shit. This would be what was coming next.

There was a tickling feeling on my arse. After all the punishment I had taken that evening, it should have felt like a welcome change, but actually it was just a different kind of pain. My legs wobbled as it traced across the lines of the cane, the red fire of the paddling. It wasn’t hard,
but it was focused, like she was tracing her finger along my flesh.

Except I soon realized that it wasn’t her finger. Thomas’s murmur of appreciation was the first giveaway.

‘I like that. Give me a go.’

More pressure, this time on the other arse cheek. A giggle from Charlotte. I tried to turn my head subtly to catch even the briefest glimpse of what they were doing, but my movement caught Thomas’s attention and a twist of my nipple made it clear he wasn’t allowing any such thing.

He tutted, and then said, ‘It would appear Sophie wants to see what we’re doing. Should we show her?’

Charlotte giggled again. ‘I think we should turn her over and then she can see.’

Between them they manoeuvred me on to my back on the bed, Charlotte making a little ‘awwww’ of sympathy at my gasp of pain as I first landed on my arse.

She leaned forward to brush some hair out of my eyes, and I was reminded for a second of the smiling girl drinking wine and blushing as we sat in the beer garden.

‘I decided that rather than making my arm any more tired than it already was, I would write on you. The effect’s the same and it’s much simpler, don’t you think?’

And then the girl from the beer garden was gone.

By the time they were finished my body was covered in insults, all in a rich, deep red lipstick. My arse marked me ‘slut’, obviously, but elsewhere I was ‘whore’, ‘bitch’, ‘slave’. And once they had finished writing on me they mauled me with their hands, amusing themselves by trying to make the lipstick smudge – ‘Well, all true sluts have
smudged lipstick’ – their touch making me writhe in pleasure, in spite of myself.

After a little while Charlotte tired of the game and urged me forward so she could paint my mouth with the sticky, blood-red lipstick. As Thomas stood beside her, I felt a pang at what a stunning couple they made – still dressed (well, she was still in her corset at least), pristine, sexy. I in comparison was a dishevelled mess – naked, covered in lipstick insults and marks from my punishment. The heavily painted red staining on my mouth just finished it off.

As they kissed in front of me, Charlotte urged me forward, gesturing at Thomas.

‘On to your knees. I want you to show us how much of him you can take in your mouth. I’ll check his cock for how high the mark of your slutty lipstick comes, and if it isn’t far enough I’m sure I can force myself to punish you a little more.’

On an ordinary day my inner monologue would have been screaming, but I didn’t give a toss. I moved from the bed eagerly, the pain of my arse ignored in my haste to sink to my knees in front of them both. I unzipped his trousers, pulled him out and put my mouth around him, enjoying the taste of him, feeling him grow as I angled my head to suck him deeper. I felt Charlotte move around me and suddenly I could hear the two of them kissing above me, as I kept sucking him. Charlotte’s hand slid to my head and she stroked my hair. It was one of the most incongruously arousing things I have ever experienced. Well, at least until they started fucking and I crawled up between them to fasten my mouth round Charlotte’s clit.