No Ordinary Love Story: Sequel to The Diary of a Submissive (26 page)

Even with the moments of bickering and the strain of Adam’s job situation, we continued to have a lot of sex.
Maybe it was our matching (and rather enthusiastic) libidos, but the fact that most days ended with a cuddle and some kind of rude fun meant we stayed emotionally close even with the day-to-day difficulties. It’s really hard to be pissed off with someone if you’re falling asleep with your legs tangled together and his arms round you – although his occasional duvet hogging remained a hard limit.

That said, there came a point where suddenly things didn’t feel so solid any more. And it came, much to my surprise, from the sexual, and even submissive, side of things rather than any awkwardness about money or any real-life concerns. It was also, mostly, all in my head.

The thing about boundaries shifting is that sometimes you don’t feel you’ve gone too far until it’s too late to come back. I know it sounds a bit fortune-cookie-wisdom-ish, but it is definitely true. Unfortunately, and somewhat inevitably, it was a conclusion I came to after the event.

Adam had pushed my boundaries and buttons in dozens, if not hundreds, of different ways in the time we had been together. He’d hurt me, embarrassed me, aroused me, in ways I’d never have dreamed of, and in some cases not even have considered erotic until he did them. I was in his thrall. It was as exciting as it was surprising, and for someone who enjoys being on the back foot as a fundamental part of her submission, it was a very heady thing. I loved it. Loved the psychology of the things we got up to. Loved how, when it was over, we’d make dinner together or watch telly or hang the washing – quiet moments that were such a mundane and steady contrast to the filth that had gone before.

Over time I began to get used to his mind fuckery, his
ability to keep me on the back foot by laying the ground work for an experience we would have together long before we did it. Sometimes (but, to my frustration, still only sometimes) I would be able to silence the curiosity and the nerves that he tried to build. OK, who am I kidding? I couldn’t silence them, but I could certainly quieten them. But then sometimes he could see me becoming blasé, and that’s when he upped the stakes more, the clash of our dominance and submission suddenly becoming more competitive than our computer gaming (which once got so bad Adam chucked his controller on the floor in frustration – I laughed, he kissed me, we got distracted).

To start with I didn’t realise what a challenge he had in store for me. He had decided, after some soul-searching, that perhaps the best way to guarantee work was to set up as a freelance copywriter from home. He’d begun scouting for clients for his fledgling agency and when he was recommended to a large company in York by an ex-colleague, he was invited up to pitch some ideas for a brochure and advertising campaign. He asked if I fancied making the trip up with him. Never averse to some time meandering the snickelways, I agreed, and the next thing I knew he’d thrown caution to the wind and booked a posh hotel suite for the weekend, happy that he could claim it back on expenses, and I was Googling nice places to have dinner once he’d completed his meetings.

He’d warned me the week before that he was going to push my boundaries further than ever before while we were away. I felt the prickle of nerves, of course – I’m not daft – but I have to admit that I was feeling a little complacent. Everything he had pushed me with before I had
coped with (for the most part), so while I had a flutter of nerves, it was mostly in fear of letting him down rather than worrying what he was up to. Stupid Sophie.

The suite was gorgeous, with views of the river from every window, a massive claw-footed bath and a bed big enough for six (or at least for me, doing my very best starfish, and Adam, which was quite enough). Adam went off for his meeting while I wandered around the shops and had a leisurely lunch. We agreed we would meet back at the hotel in the late afternoon for, I assumed, some kind of sexual shenanigans before we went for dinner.

That was the first time I underestimated him that afternoon. Unfortunately it wasn’t the last.

No one can see me this far up.
That’s what I kept telling myself as the sun warmed my bare skin. Even if someone on one of the tourist charters puttering past far below caught a glimpse of me, they’d probably just think I was admiring the view of the river. Unmoving. For half an hour. And they were moving. They wouldn’t be able to tell.
Unless they came back. What if they came back?

Adam had been subtle, after all; the rope securing my wrists to the top of the balcony was as long as it needed to be and no more, stretching my arms wide and allowing me to lean down and hide my predicament by pressing my bare breasts against what had started as cool metal, but which had warmed up the longer I stayed out there. I suppose I should have been grateful that the balcony was child-proof and as such there were few gaps for any passers-by to see how little I was wearing. He was definitely testing my patience. He’d warned me not to look, no
matter how big the temptation or how bored I was, and while the sound of him moving around the suite, doors opening and closing, even the TV channel changing, gave me some idea of what was going on, the temptation to turn my head was high. I ‘casually’ flicked my hair off my shoulder, risking a glance only to find that the depth of the balcony meant I could see very little; I was unable to turn with my wrists immobilised.

And it wasn’t just my arms he’d secured. My ankles were anchored to the struts that held the balcony in place. He’d spread my legs just a little further than was comfortable, leaving me with a twinge in my thigh muscles. Adam enjoyed that, enjoyed my reaction as I realised I would effectively be trapped here until he decided otherwise. My foot flexed even as he knelt down to tie it, betraying the nerves that made me want to bolt, to kick away, before the feel of his hand, gently stroking my thigh, calmed me as though I were a spooked animal.

I tried desperately to be rational. I trusted him. I knew he had no more interest in doing anything public than I did, that we enjoyed our shared secret. Suddenly all the research into hotels he’d done made sense. Even while I was nervous and awkward, I knew it must be safe and discreet, even if it felt like he was displaying me to anyone who happened past.

Adam ran his hands over me possessively, pushing back a strand of hair, brushing a bit of fluff from my arse. The nerves came back a little when, having ensured I wasn’t going anywhere, he disappeared off, returning with one of his favourite combinations: the glass butt plug and that bloody inflatable plug. As he pushed the glass inside me I
whimpered a bit, forgetting myself and where I was. I flushed red and ducked my head into my shoulder for a moment – daft, really, as if there
were
anyone in eyeshot it would hardly stop them seeing me. When he slid the inflatable plug into my cunt, he chuckled to himself at how wet I already was. I steeled myself, biting my lip to silence the moans as he pressed the bulb and inflated the plug, filling me. He moved beside me, leaning casually with his back against the balcony railing, looking at my face, watching my teeth press harder against my lip, seeing my nostrils flare every time he pressed the button and filled me further. He kept pressing, smiling at me for a second, until he saw real grumpiness on my face.

‘No,
no
. You don’t give me that look if I want to do this to you.’

His tone was sharp. I had, as ever, no clue what
that look
was or how I could stop it, but his displeasure made me regretful. I felt a little worried, too, but I was mainly upset at disappointing him, displeasing him. I tripped over my words as I replied.

‘I’m sorry, there’s no look, I’m not
looking
, I just …’ I tailed off in uncertainty, frustrated as ever at how, despite words being my thing, he could leave me so inarticulate. So unsure. My voice was small. ‘I want to be good.’

His smile made my stomach flip. He leaned down and kissed my shoulder. ‘I know you do. And mostly you’re a
very
good girl. You do please me.’ As the words filtered into my brain they were punctuated with three more hisses of that bloody plug. ‘Best make sure that’s nice and tight.’ He grinned at me. Even though my cunt was already so full – it felt like his fist was in there – even though I was
aching already, I smiled back, enjoying the giddy look he gets sometimes when we play, like a little kid let lose in a sweet shop. A smutty, evil kid, admittedly.

He really was adamant that everything stay nice and tight. His final piece of rope tied both plugs tightly in place, leaving a jaunty bow on my hip. As he stood up, brushing dust from his trousers, he picked up the little box which made the plug vibrate. I moaned quietly in the back of my throat, a plea almost. He kissed my side.

‘Don’t worry. I’m not going to put it on high. I know it’ll be hard to be quiet coming out here. I just want to have it working enough to keep you ticking over.’

I snorted at his wording as well as the sentiment. Tied, naked, plugged and awaiting his pleasure? As if keeping me aroused was going to be a problem. The vibrations burst into life inside me and the trembling in my legs began. He kissed my shoulder.

‘Do you trust me my Sophie?’ His expression was searching. I nodded, certain.

‘Yes. I do.’ He looked at me for a couple more seconds before nodding his approval.

‘Good. Just remember, if you trust me no real harm will come to you.’ I tried not to shiver at the warning in his words. ‘Now remember, keep looking straight ahead and be a good girl for me.’

I smiled. ‘I promise.’

He went inside again. I watched the boats far below, a man walking his dog on the riverbank. There was nothing else to do, just stand, wait, and enjoy the view and the unseasonably warm weather. As I stood there, that feeling of submissive simplicity kicked in. I trusted him. Loved
him. I wanted to please him. I knew he wouldn’t do anything to harm me. He was clearly inside plotting something, but it didn’t matter what. I could cope with whatever he threw at me. I was already wet in anticipation. My eyes grew a little sleepy, enjoying the warmth of the sunshine.

In hindsight, I realise he’d lulled me into a false sense of security.

I don’t know how long I’d been out there before he came out to untie me. His voice was low as he began undoing the knots, telling me to stay looking ahead, not to move even when I could do so. I flexed my wrists a little once he had undone them, but otherwise stayed in position as he reached down to my ankles.

He tutted loudly, running his fingers along my sticky inner thighs as he went. I restrained the urge to point out that when you’re left standing upright with something vibrating between your legs for a significant length of time it’s unreasonable not to expect gravity to work its magic. He was in a stern-looking mood and even I’m not that foolhardy.

Once he’d untied me he put his hands over my eyes.

‘I’m going to lead you inside now, but I want you to keep your eyes shut. Do you understand?’

I said yes. Suddenly I didn’t feel quite as confident as I had before.

‘Good girl.’ It was one of his favoured terms of affection, and made me feel a little comforted. Not much, but a bit. And every little helps, right?

As he led me back inside, he put a blindfold over my eyes. His hands held my wrists behind my back and suddenly he was pushing me to the floor.

‘Kneel.’

I knelt, slowly, unsure of where in the room I was. My knees made contact with a fluffy rug which I knew was in the centre of the room. I sank into it, taking a crumb of comfort from the warmth and the softness of it, even as Adam began to tie my wrists behind me. His silence was making me nervous, as was the blindfold, which he pulled slightly lower on my nose.

‘Can you see anything?’

I opened my mouth to speak but before I could do so he slapped me hard across my face. The surprise of it (and the not-inconsiderable force) made me gasp. He laughed quietly, and the sound made me feel nervous. ‘I guess not.’

I sat very still, half expecting him to hit me again, wondering where the blow would come from. But then he was gone.

I could hear him moving around. Sometimes he was nearby, sometimes in the bedroom. At one point it even sounded like he was in the en suite. I had no idea what he was doing, and not being on home turf meant it was much harder to mentally picture where he was, let alone know what he was up to. The carpet that flowed through great parts of the apartment masked the sound of his movement. I was constantly jumping, wondering if every slight creak and change in the air was him coming closer.

Finally he stroked my face. I flinched, half expecting him to slap me again, but his hand was warm and soothing. It was comforting, a return of
my
Adam, and that connection made me feel a little calmer for a moment. Until he spoke, at least.

‘Do you remember your safe word?’

For fuck’s sake. I sighed, in nervousness I think, my tone brusque. ‘Yes.’

He leaned in and his voice was steely enough to make me shiver. ‘Don’t take that tone. Just remember it in case you need to use it.’

I felt a surge of fury. I opened my mouth to retort, thought better of it and harrumphed to myself instead (that’s a bit better, right?). At that point I don’t think it mattered. He was gone. I think.

I don’t know how long I knelt there. It was long enough to begin to feel a little uncomfortable. I wanted to shuffle a little on the floor, but had no way of knowing whether he was watching me or not, and no intention of showing him I was uncomfortable if he was in the room.

Suddenly I heard a whoosh and felt a sting on my breast. The cane. Fuck.

I hate the cane. It hurts more than anything else he uses on me – there’s little room for tone with it. With a flogger, if you use it gently, it can be really sensual, little more than a tickle. Even at its lightest, the cane makes me shiver. This wasn’t anywhere near its lightest.

He hit my breast twice and then seemed to move behind me – it was hard to tell because of the rug. He hit my arse. The noise of the cane slicing through the air made me wince, but there was never time to prepare for it even if I knew where it was going to land. Suddenly there were lines of fire all over my body. He was relentless. I tried not to cry out, but the pain felt intense, and not being able to see him made me feel oddly bereft.