I was fast realizing I wasn’t the orgasm-denial type. Now, this wasn’t a decision I had come to lightly. If the first night had been difficult, and the morning after set me up for a day of distraction, then that night – a lengthy blow job with me knelt on the floor between his legs while he watched the news and played with my hair like I was his pet, followed by him coming across my naked breasts, leaving me to go to sleep unfulfilled again – made me sure.
Don’t get me wrong, I am definitely not averse to some anticipation. But two days of abstinence – made worse by the fact Tom was still taking his pleasure in lots of different tempting ways – was making me seriously grumpy.
I lay in bed waiting for sleep to claim me, which – let me assure you – is actually quite difficult when, barring the odd night in a room share, I have tended to fall asleep following an orgasm either at my own hand or someone else’s every night of my adult life. I was a little sticky and so frustrated I was trembling, and pondering physical violence against Tom, who had tucked himself up happily and was laid on his side smiling widely at me.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked, knowing full well I wasn’t.
‘I’m fine,’ I said. Usually when I say I am fine it means I am about as unfine as it is possible for me to be without me either bursting into tears or going postal with a cricket bat.
‘So this whole orgasm denial thing isn’t bothering you at all?’ He knows it’s bothering me. But he also knows I will chew through my tongue before I admit that.
‘Nah.’ I am a crap liar, and I’m hoping keeping my responses short will at least make it less obvious I am lying.
‘Oh good. Because I thought it would be fun to explore this a bit while you’re staying. I’ve decided, you can’t come until the new year.’
As he turned over and went to sleep I felt my jaw drop open like a cartoon character. When I worked out how many days that was – four more days of torture and unreciprocated play, assuming he let me come on New Year’s Day – I wanted to despair.
‘If it’s not bothering you so far then I’m sure you’ll be fine.’
He had his back to me but I could imagine his smile anyway and it made me want to push him on to the floor. I didn’t though. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t trust myself. And as I – finally – fell asleep my last thought was, He’s joking. He’s got to be joking.
He wasn’t joking. By the time I had spent two days trying not to think about not orgasming I was pretty much climbing the walls. I had never really understood how fundamentally important I held being able to come whenever I wanted to and, alas, to paraphrase the song, I really didn’t know what I’d got till it was gone. Every casual touch felt torturous. Tom brushing my elbow with his arm as he walked past me made me wet. Showering was a kind of torment with the pressure of the individual droplets of water feeling both amazing and yet, well, frankly not quite amazing enough, thus ultimately just adding to the frustration.
Over the next days Tom came up with ever more exotic ways to orgasm. The amusement he derived from me giving him blow jobs while trembling in frustration seemed to pall a little after the first half a dozen times, so he moved on to different, more fiendish, plans. I was lying on my back on the bed, gagged with knickers wet because I’d been wearing them all day, glaring up at the sexy yet irritating view of him wanking in my face when I realized: I am not a naturally abstemious type. While I wouldn’t call it a hard limit – mainly because I wouldn’t give Tom the satisfaction – orgasm denial was not something that I was going to be encouraging as an ongoing part of our sexual repertoire. As he came across my face and in my hair, stroking my cheek in a gesture that would have felt tender at any other time but actually made me clamp my teeth down on the damp fabric in my mouth to try and restrain my inner fury, I made a decision that one way or another I was not waiting much longer to come.
I was also realizing that the thing about Thomas that made him simultaneously fun and irritating to play with was that he knew me so well, sometimes even better than I knew myself. He knew how far to push – usually just further than I would have been comfortable going – and he watched intently as I did every sexy, demeaning thing he demanded I do, to see the feelings playing across my face as I battled with whether to submit or not, secure in the knowledge that eventually I would. He could also read me better than most people I know. In part because I’m fairly forthright, although the fact I’m a terrible liar and find it difficult to hide my feelings at the best of times probably helped. So I should have known really that he was pushing me, raising the stakes. If I’d thought about it logically it made perfect sense. However, after four days without orgasm I was so distracted I had regressed to a sometimes-weepy, sometimes-furious bundle of nerve endings. Stringing a sentence together was difficult, something particularly embarrassing for someone whose job relied on just that. I was blunt to the point of rudeness, grumpy, and probably rotten to be around, but for all that Thomas kept smiling – and was blatantly enjoying having such power to mess with my equilibrium, which just made me more cross again.
Enough was enough. By the time we’d gone to bed after another perfectly civilized evening, spent eating a leisurely supper followed by me curling up to read with the dog sat on my feet while Tom pottered on the internet and MSN, I was ready to pretty much spontaneously combust. We lay in bed together, on our backs with Tom’s arm around my shoulder and his finger tracing along the curve of my neck. Despite my best efforts even this most innocuous of touches was making my breathing ragged, a fact that – of course – he was more than aware of.
‘You seem a little shivery there,’ he said as one particular movement strayed close to the point on my neck where – if stroked – I purr embarrassingly like a rather contented kitten. ‘Are you OK?’
I’m not an idiot. I knew that he wanted to hear exactly how he was affecting me, knew that the whole pretending-everything-was-fine thing was not going to cut the mustard and that, if I wanted to come before next year, I had to explain precisely how frustrated and desperate to orgasm I was before I had any hope at all of being able to do just that. I knew that. But it still chafed. Yes, I know, I had given him that power over me. Yes, I know he knew everything I was going to say. But even so. I swallowed hard.
‘I’m fine. Just a bit sensitive.’
His teeth flashed in the dim light of the room. ‘Really? How come?’
Huh. It’d be so much easier to say this stuff if he wasn’t so irritating in victory. And yes, I appreciate effectively this is a victory I give him, but honestly, he was three steps away from a dance of joy.
My teeth were gritted. ‘You know why.’ Damn. I was going for suppliant, respectful and desperate. How had two sentences made me suddenly revert to grumpy, stubborn type?
‘Humour me.’
This would be why I end up reverting to type. I closed my eyes, knowing I had to do this. That this was the least that I would have to do. Suck it up. Get it over with. I sighed.
‘OK. You win. You know I’ve been desperate to come for days, right? All I can think about is you fucking me, your teeth nipping at my clit, your finger exploring my arse …’ I tailed off, losing my train of thought as my throat went suddenly dry at the thought of everything we could do, my body aching with the need for release. Suddenly aware I’d stopped talking, I cleared my throat and tried again. ‘I’ve been trying to hide it, but we both know that I’m desperate to come, that it is all I’ve been thinking about for days, that my body is crying out for it.’ He trailed a finger along my collarbone and a deep and involuntary shudder of need passed through my body in a way that made my cheeks heat. My voice was tremulous as I continued. ‘So, yes. I know we’re still days away from your deadline, but I thought you should know that I’m pretty much begging you. I’m sure you must realize that I’d do pretty much anything right now if you let me come.’
He chuckled. ‘Anything encompasses a lot of things, Sophie. And while that makes me tempted to play with you tonight and explore exactly wha
t that means –’ at this my internal monologue started singing the ‘Hallelujah’ chorus ‘– you realize that you’re agreeing to let me push you completely out of your comfort zone? How desperate are you to come? Do you really mean anything?’
The small voice in the back of my head was counselling caution but frankly the rest of my body was desperate enough to agree to anything, although I still had to swallow my nerves before I could speak. I moved my hand down to begin stroking his already semi-hard cock. ‘Within the things we’ve agreed previously, yes, I’m agreeing to anything.’
If my life had a soundtrack, there would have been a dramatic sinister chord there, but instead ‘Song 2’ by Blur began to play, which was a bit disconcerting until through my lust-addled mind I realized it was Tom’s mobile phone ringtone.
And then I felt a surge of fury as he picked it up.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m one of those irritating people surgically attached to their mobile, too. I like to pretend it’s because I’m often on-call for work, but actually it’s not. I like to be in contact with people; in control, if you like. My phone charges in the room where I sleep, is on my person when I’m awake, it comes on holiday with me, all that stuff. But I like to think if I had my arm round a semi-naked woman trembling with need who had her hand on my cock and had just told me she would do anything I wanted her to as long as I let her orgasm, and my phone rang, I’d let it go to voicemail. No. Not Tom. As he picked up and started chatting to whoever it was – the Charlie Brown-style murmuring emerging sounded female, but that was all I could tell – I felt a surge of fury and another of frustration. Tears filled my eyes in overwrought, desperate annoyance as I lay against him, his free hand still tracing along the line of my shoulder even as he continued making small talk. Not only had I just begged him, something which – let’s face it – still wasn’t getting easier for me despite the fact he enjoyed it so much he was constantly making me do it, I had also just told him I would do anything he wanted, any bloody thing. The voice in my head told me to shove his arm off, get up, get my clothes on and get out, that this was not playing, this was disrespect pure and simple and a step too far, but I couldn’t bring myself to move, which just made me feel weaker and more pathetic and even closer to tears.
And then he said, ‘Yes, she’s here right now, lying next to me, shuddering with need. As you rang she told me she’d do anything if I let her come this evening. Yep, anything. I know. Luckily I have some ideas for what anything could mean if you’re interested in hearing them.’
I turned to try and look at him in the darkness. As I thought, he wasn’t talking to me. At the realization of exactly what might happen next my stomach started to lurch. Playing with other people was something we’d said we would only do after extensive prior discussion, but this, this was within the limits. Just. Although, god, the idea of anyone else hearing how desperate I was right now made me flush with shame and horror.
Yup. I’d been well and truly stitched up.
Charlotte was someone Thomas had been talking to for a while. She was funny, sarcastic and exactly the kind of person you could imagine having a laugh with over a few drinks in real life. While they hadn’t played together in person yet, I knew Thomas had been chatting to her a lot both online and on the phone, with a view to possibly meeting up to play and maybe even dating. This didn’t bother me – we’d decided long ago we were never going to date each other, and that our arrangement was something that would come to an end when one or other of us met someone special. And to be honest, I had seen Tom date some truly rotten people in the past, so the idea that he could end up with someone who was his equal and who was also submissive was one I welcomed. Plus, I had chatted to her a fair bit myself and she seemed lovely, something he definitely deserved.
But none of this was particularly helping with my equilibrium as Thomas explained to her in explicit details exactly what had been happening over the last few days. Listening to him explain made me feel furious and embarrassed and then – worst of all and yet so inevitably – aroused.
‘… Oh yes, she was sopping, she was so wet. No, I didn’t touch her, I just made her take her knickers off so I could gag her with them …’
I could get up and walk out.
‘… It was so cute, we were in the queue at the cash-point and I brushed a finger along the side of her breast. Yeah, accidentally on purpose.’ I gritted my teeth. I knew it. ‘You could see her nipples through her top within a second, and her eyes were all wistful. Yeah, she looks amazing – it’s like she’s glaring at me because she wants to murder me, but there’s an undertone of lust that she can’t shake that means she’ll endure the rest in the hope I’ll let her come …’
Actually I could just kill him now with a shoe. That worked too.
‘… Yeah and she bites her lip. It’s like she’s trying to stop herself from speaking or whimpering or giving herself away. She doesn’t realize the little half sighs she can’t suppress, or the little tremors of her body. It’s amazing. Right now, I control every aspect of her. Even that …’
I was furious. But I stayed. Because even while I was embarrassed and shy and unsure about what was going to happen next, even as my mind rebelled against the idea of having given him such control, let alone him bragging about it to someone else, I began to realize he was right; I knew this could be something fun, something challenging, something amazing. He was listening to her intently. And then he chuckled and I zoned back into the conversation. ‘That’s a pretty evil idea, you know.’ My stomach dropped and I huddled closer into him to try and hear what she was saying. I realised as I moved forward that I was also rubbing myself against him desperately, my hand still on his cock, albeit shaking slightly now.
He knew what I was doing, and his hand in my hair pulled me away, making it clear it wasn’t going to wash. His hand tightened into a fist and I began twisting my body to move the way he was urging me to, to minimize the pain in my stinging scalp. He pulled me until my head was level with his crotch and then pushed me down. He let go of my hair only to put a hand over the phone’s mouthpiece to say, ‘Come on. Suck me. I’m discussing with Charlotte how – or if – I’m going to let you come. Doing a good job is only going to work in your favour.’
As I obeyed and began sliding my lips up and down, enjoying the texture of him on my tongue, he moaned slightly. Charlotte said something and he replied, ‘Yes, she’s got her mouth round me now. It feels amazing. She’s good, very enthusiastic.’
I blushed in the darkness, but irritatingly felt a surge of pride in spite of myself. I tried to brush it off by focusing on the task at hand, only half listening to his conversation until I heard him say, ‘So, you’re touching yourself now listening to this? That’s very rude indeed. I don’t know that you should get to come this evening either.’
I heard a plaintive tone from the other end of the phone and then – I swear – the sound of Thomas’s brain ticking.
‘In fact, I think maybe we should make it a bit of a challenge. Maybe I’ll let one of you come. Just one of you. You can each try and persuade me as best you can and the winner gets to come.’
I could hear loud disagreement from the other end of the phone, although frankly I already felt a sense of injustice and fear – I knew if there was a choice between the two of us he would be more likely to let Charlotte come than me, and after all these days and the humiliation of this phone conversation, the prospect of spending another night unsatisfied was too much to bear. I began sucking him deeper into my mouth.
He laughed. ‘Oh, Sophie’s pulling out all the stops. I’m practically ball-deep now.’ He murmured in pleasure and stroked my hair. ‘Oh, that is very good indeed. You’d have to go some to beat that.’
My heart began to beat faster at his words, and at the feeling of his hand touching the curve of my arse, moving ever closer to where I was desperate for him to be. And then I felt him harden even further in my mouth. ‘Oh Charlotte, I do love to hear you beg.’ Shit. Beggi
ng? I had no hope. While his amusement at hearing me beg meant I spent way more time doing it than I ever anticipated, the fact remained I was not a natural beggar. In fact, if anything, I was a grudging and slightly grumpy one. Shit.
I began gently stroking Thomas’s balls with my fingers while taking him further into my mouth. I’m always a keen giver of blow jobs, but even for me this was unprecedented. I could hardly breathe I was taking him so deep. His hand on my arse, stroking me gently, was both soothing and distracting. I could feel my juices pooling between my legs, hating to think what sort of picture I must have made.
He explained to Charlotte exactly what I was doing to him. At one point he interrupted his conversation to tap me on the arse and urge me to take him further into my mouth. I was so focused on doing the best I could that it was only when I heard him say, ‘She is especially submissive tonight, actually. Normally I’d have expected her to disagree with some of this or at least glare as she obeyed me, but she’s so desperate to come she really does seem happy to do anything,’ that I zoned back into the conversation.
That’s when he said again that Charlotte was evil. I soon found out why. And he was right, she was.
My jaw was aching by the time he’d been on the phone for half an hour. I could hear him teasing Charlotte, taunting her, making her beg, and in spite of myself it made me wet, made me wish I could hear the proof of her submission somehow in the same way she could hear mine. And boy could she hear mine.
Once Thomas had finished telling her how submissive I was being he held the phone out and had me tell her. I had to explain exactly why I was so wet, what a slut I was to enjoy being treated this way. And I did it all, with a throat clogged with tears of humiliation, although I didn’t think to disobey. He made me tell her that I would do anything to get to come this evening and then, once I had and he had gone back to having the phone against his ear, he clarified it further.
The Diary Of A Submissive: A True Story Page 10
