The Diary Of A Submissive: A True Story

by Sophie Morgan

  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 fo
ot 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.

  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 ca
ne 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.