The Diary Of A Submissive: A True Story (15 page)

The first thing of note was that, well, most people weren’t really of note. Now, I don’t mean that it in a rude or disparaging way, but more that if I’d seen them walking down the street I would never have pegged them as being
smutty types. They were all casually dressed (no gimp masks or PVC to be found), intelligent, articulate, warm people just having a chat and getting to know each other.

Being a people watcher, I enjoyed guessing where things would develop. Carol and Neil, a couple from up north who had moved down when Neil got a good job as a deputy head in a school just outside the city, were chatting animatedly and with a fair amount of dirty-sounding laughter with Bev and Ian, who owned a business importing sustainable furniture from China. Meanwhile Ciara, who had been single for a while and had spent months merrily telling everyone that, actually, she preferred it that way until she found someone special to play with, was fiddling with her glass and smiling widely while chatting to Jo in a way that made me hope she might have actually found what she’d been looking for. Thomas meanwhile was moving from group to group, chatting comfortably with loads of different people in the way he often does. I’m a little envious of his ability to chat engagingly with almost anyone; despite being able to hold up my end of polite conversations in work situations, I’m not naturally chatty and given half a chance would be sitting in the corner with a couple of people I know rather than, to use the vernacular, working the room.

Not that I was given half a chance to be anything even remotely resembling a wallflower. Charlotte made a beeline for us when she entered the beer garden, and when she came over, took my hand and pulled me up and into a hug, my fingers tingled. Her touch was cool and firm. Her grip was stronger than I’d anticipated and she held my
hand longer than expected as she looked into my eyes. Suddenly I was buzzing – and it wasn’t from the glass of Shiraz I’d been nursing for most of the afternoon.

The spark surprised me. I’d had a bit of a bisexual phase at university and had slept with a few women since, but it was rare for me to feel such an intense attraction to someone I’d just met. I could see why Thomas was attracted to her. She was stunning. Elfin features, green eyes, a short haircut which showed off the nape of her neck.

I’m a sucker for the nape of the neck. There are other places you could stroke which would make me squirm faster and harder, but for my money the neck is an overlooked erogenous zone. I wanted to stroke her there and see if it made her squirm. I wanted to kiss my way down to her shoulders, pull open her shirt and work my way further down until I was in a position to find out whether her hair colour was natural.

As we sat making small talk I learned little things about her that made me like her more. She was intelligent and quick-witted and we had similar taste in everything from a love of cheesy popcorn flicks to a shared loathing of Dan Brown. She had a dirty laugh and the way she licked her lips every time she took a sip from her vodka and Coke made me think very rude things indeed. I had to restrain the urge to forget our surroundings and lean over to run my own tongue over her mouth.

By the time we’d eaten lunch we were firm friends, although I still hadn’t forgiven her for the humping, much to her amusement. Thomas stopped mingling and came to sit with us in time for some dessert and a fair amount
of smutty flirtation and mocking. The dynamic was fun, comfortable and – barring the teasing that saw me nicknamed Humpy for part of the afternoon and blushing accordingly – rather sexy.

Charlotte was unconsciously, unfussily, attractive, with the kind of carefree doesn’t-give-a-shit attitude that was both refreshing and made her beauty all the more natural and appealing. Whether she was absent-mindedly playing with her hair as she talked or gesticulating wildly while doing an impression of her boss, everything she did was honest and raw and emotive – and, frankly, sexy as hell. As the wine flowed more freely, she told me exactly how things had felt from her end of the phone conversation, gnawing slightly on her full lower lip as she told me how hot I had sounded begging Thomas to firstly let me kiss his feet and then let me come.

I flushed as the memories of what I had said, how desperate I had felt, flooded through my mind, and suddenly the atmosphere round our table shifted imperceptibly. I felt my nipples harden, but seeing Charlotte’s had done the same beneath her pale blouse made me feel slightly less self-conscious. We looked at each other, recognized our mirrored predicament, both moved to put our arms across our chests, and giggled, embarrassed co-conspirators. I shifted slightly in my seat, my hair falling in front of my face as I moved, hiding the worst of my blush, but she moved forward to tuck a strand behind my ear. She stroked my hair and I blushed harder, resisting the sudden urge to turn my head and kiss her fingers. Thomas watched our exchange intently, but said nothing.

Of course, Thomas not expressing an opinion on something is pretty much a sign of impending apocalypse and only lasts for a finite period of time. After we’d dropped Charlotte off at the station and were in the car heading back to his house he was more relentless than Jeremy Paxman after a bag of Haribo.

‘You seemed to get on really well. Did you like her?’

‘Did you find her attractive?’

‘Did her touching your face and stroking your hair like that make you wet?’

‘Did you want to kiss her?’

By the time we’d got back to his house I was ready to burst.

‘Yes! I liked her. She was sexy and lovely and fun. Happy? Now will you shut up?’

I know. It was an uncharacteristically pissy response. The thing is, I bet you’re thinking it’s because I was jealous of Thomas turning his attention to someone else. In a way, that would make sense. But I wasn’t jealous about Charlotte potentially getting to play with my dom-with-benefits; actually, I was a little grumpy about the idea of him getting to play with her. I liked her.

In the weeks that followed, Thomas continued chatting to Charlotte, and they met a couple of times. It gave me some pause for thought. Their relationship wasn’t developing into a monogamous dating-type arrangement yet – the first giveaway was Thomas happily tying me down with a plug in my arse, caning me and fucking me a couple of days after he told me they had first slept
together – but somehow the dynamic between us was changing a little and I began to think about the fact that there might come a time when we had to stop playing together. While I know lots of people who are happy with more casual relationships, polyamory and the like, I just didn’t think that was me, or Thomas for that matter. At the same time a job came up nearer home, and I applied for and got it, much to both mine and my family’s glee. Suddenly I wasn’t going to be living near enough to Tom to pop over of a weekend, even if he was free enough to host. The times they were a-changin’.

Every time I submitted to him in that period between handing in my notice and making the big move it felt more intense – with a small voice whispering that it might be the last time he clamped my nipples, or the last time he used his belt on me, the last time he fucked my arse. Meanwhile we talked about Charlotte often – both in the bedroom, when he would whisper filthy comments that made me wet about what it would be like if she was in the room with us, and outside it. I talked to her directly a fair bit too, but apart from a flirty evening where we went out for drinks it was all fairly innocent.

Until the bank holiday weekend, the last weekend before I moved back to the city.

We’d made plans to get together for a barbecue at Thomas’s house. The weather was gorgeous, and Charlotte and I had both brought stuff to stay over so we could have a drink without worrying about having to get home.

The afternoon was lazy. Charlotte and I lay in the garden, enjoying the warmth of the sun on our skin and
trying for a bit of a tan, while Thomas threw a Frisbee for the dog, fired up the barbecue and pottered about, seemingly incapable of staying still. We ate a leisurely meal and then lingered at the table talking about nothing in particular, taking advantage of the good weather.

As the light changed and the shadows lengthened, the talk turned flirtier. Charlotte told me she loved my breasts in the vest top I’d been wearing to tan my shoulders. I leant over to wipe some stray potato salad from her mouth. Meanwhile Thomas sat, watching steadily, his gaze assessing us in a way that normally meant only one thing.

In typical fashion he took the initiative, although I wondered if in part that was because he’d had similar conversations with Charlotte to the ones he’d had with me. In further typical fashion, he was characteristically blunt. Really blunt. In an ‘I wish I could make this sound more alluring than it was’ sort of way.

‘Shall we all go upstairs and fuck?’

Charlotte and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. She pulled my hand into hers and smiling at me said, ‘I think I’d quite like that.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘Well with an offer like that, who could say no?’ But inside I was giddy.

Thomas sprang into action with all the energy of a natural planner – he’d definitely given this some thought. Stacking up the plates to take indoors, he told me to go upstairs and strip and wait for them on my hands and knees on the bed facing away from the door. While the idea of being the first one naked made me feel rather embarrassed, I knew that disobeying at this juncture
would stall things before they started, as well as – let’s face it – potentially store up trouble for myself later on in the process.

I nodded and went upstairs to his bedroom.

I’m not a patient person. Kneeling there, obediently waiting for the bedroom door to open, my stomach filled with butterflies and my nipples already erect at the prospect of what was to come, took all my self-control. There was no clock to look at, I wasn’t wearing a watch, and it felt like ages. How long did it take to load a dishwasher anyway?

By the time I heard movement I was half convinced they had started downstairs without me and was pondering whether I could tiptoe downstairs quietly enough to not disturb them and see. Thankfully I didn’t as then, finally, the door opened. It took all my self-control not to look round, but I knew I did so at my peril. Instead I stared intently at the pattern on the bedcover in front of me, while listening for any noise which might give a hint of what would happen.

The only thing I heard was … a quiet creaking?

As Charlotte walked to stand beside me, I realized why. She’d changed into a gorgeous leather corset, which she was wearing with knickers and stockings only. My throat felt dry. She was stunning and her elaborate outfit made me feel even more self-conscious in my nakedness.

Thomas walked round to the other side of the bed, pausing to stand opposite her, leaving me in the middle, not sure where to look first, or even if I should be looking anywhere other than down at the fixed point on the
coverlet of the bed. Finally, when it felt like the silence would never end, Thomas broke it.

‘Are you ready?’

I opened my mouth to reply, but before I could Charlotte did. ‘Yes.’

‘Good girl. Just remember what we discussed.’

Before I could even begin to unravel what that meant, Thomas was moving to the foot of the bed. Standing directly in front of me, he took my chin in his hand, pushing my face up to look into his eyes. ‘You want to please me, don’t you? Obey me?’

My usual feelings of wanting to please and yearning for a challenge to overcome were still there, but overshadowed by a fear in the pit of my stomach that I was about to be asked to do something more intense than I could imagine. My voice was quiet, betraying my confusion. ‘Yes.’

He stroked my hair and for a second the affection of the movement soothed me. Until his words sank in. ‘Good. Because right now I am going to sit down and leave you in Charlotte’s capable hands. She’s always wanted to try her hand at being dominant but lacked the confidence to do so. I told her she could play with you. Try some things out. You should obey her as you would obey me. I’m watching.’

And with that he moved to sit on the comfy chair in the corner of the room which was normally covered with clothes but had, I now noticed, been cleared off for the occasion.

As Charlotte moved towards me I felt a surge of fury
and confusion. What the fuck was he playing at? Did she really think I’d submit to her? And since when did she want to dominate anyone anyway? It would seem I didn’t know Charlotte as well as I’d thought.

She crouched down a little to meet my eyes. ‘You’re going to hump my leg tonight, Sophie,’ she told me.

Mentally I rolled my eyes. It would seem Charlotte didn’t know me as well as she thought either. My tone was mocking. ‘You think so? That’s sweet. Wrong, but very sweet.’

There is a whole subculture of submissive women that focus on being contrary, disobedient, brattish. Women who enjoy acting out of line, so they can be pulled back into it, punished into submission. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m as fond of being overpowered by someone stronger than me as the next woman, but generally where I can obey I will do. There are things I baulk at and will do grudgingly and with embarrassment, but for the most part my submission is more about doing something to please the person I am playing with. I’m not, generally, a brat.

But looking up at Charlotte, even dressed in that gorgeous corset which did such amazing things to her body, something clicked in my mind. I can be pretty stubborn at the best of times, but this was different, stronger than that. I was adamant. I was not going to submit to her just because Thomas said I should.

Does that make me a bad sub? A disobedient one? Probably, yes. But let’s face it, it’s not as if through the entire process I’d been the Stepford Sub and this was
suddenly a break away from the norm. In my mind my submission is a gift, something to be earned, and while I gave it freely to Thomas, the idea of giving it to Charlotte, even at his behest, brought me up short.

I stared back at her steadily, not exactly glaring, but not looking in any way submissive. It was a look I knew I would never get away with in front of Thomas, but frankly I didn’t give a toss.