The Diary Of A Submissive: A True Story

by Sophie Morgan

  ‘Surely me telling you to bring condoms was a giveaway that presumption wasn’t unreasonable?’ he asked grumpily as I started getting my things together, but the idea of doing the walk of shame back into the office in yesterday’s clothes didn’t appeal. He walked me down to my car at 2am, and after thoroughly kissing me goodnight, again, told me I should text him when I got home. I demurred, pointing out he should probably get some sleep before he started work at eight (ooops) but he high-handedly demanded that I text him.

  I sighed. ‘Fine. But when you’re feeling knackered later don’t blame me.’

  He leaned into my open window as I pulled my seat belt on. ‘I absolutely will blame you and your tempting ways,’ he said, leaning in for one last kiss. I gestured for him to move back, fairly sure that reversing over his foot was going to put a downer on the evening.

  ‘You started it.’

  He was smiling in my rear view mirror as I drove away, but he looked thoughtful and way less carefree than he had when he was asleep.

  The next time we met was for lunch. I was on lates for the week, and as such it was completely pointless trying to make any kinds of plans to do anything in the evening because by the time I’d got out of work most normal folk – especially working the early morning starts James had – were thinking about heading to bed. Part of me was tempted to suggest just coming round for bed, but frankly, while we’d clearly both enjoyed what had happened after my long-awaited dinner at his, he hadn’t suggested a repeat yet, and I wasn’t going to give away too much myself – although it’s fair to say if he had suggested it I’d have been round there like a shot, presumptuous overnight bag and all.

  Lunch was fun though. He picked a lovely pub by the river and – taking advantage of some unseasonably good weather – we braved sitting outside, even while most of the tourists in the pub on a weekday afternoon stayed indoors, gravitating towards an open fire. We chatted about work. I told him about a recent phone row between Ian and an affronted reader, an argument so epic that everyone had stopped for a few minutes to shamelessly earwig Ian’s side of things at the increasingly surreal accusations being thrown his way, before applauding when after two minutes of repeating ‘if you continue swearing at me in this manner I will have to hang up the phone and end this conversation’ he finally did just that, before turning, bemused, to tell us his adversary had been elderly Mrs Vickers, a parish councillor who had been complaining about a less than effusive review of the village’s am dram production of An Inspector Calls.

  James told me more about the plans to celebrate his parents’ anniversary, which he was organizing around a work trip to Geneva. He and his sister were booking a cottage in Cornwall for a long weekend for everyone to amass to congratulate the happy couple, before a big dinner at a seafood restaurant. Talking about his family made him much more animated than talking about his job did, and it was lovely to get a feel for the man whose nephew’s attempts to speak caused him such mirth.

  ‘My sister is a brilliant mum, and Joseph is a lovely kid,’ he said. ‘But he’s at that stage where he’ll make a kind of burbling noise and I’ll nod and then Emily will solemnly tell me that actually he’s just asked me to pass him his yoghurt spoon. I try and keep a straight face, but it’s the human equivalent of “what’s that Lassie? Little Timmy’s stuck down a well?” ’

  I laughed. ‘I bet he’s good value though when it comes to running round the garden.’

  James swallowed a gulp of his drink and nodded. ‘Too right. I’ll be making sure we’ve got a football to run around after while we’re down there. Who needs words anyway? Words are overrated.’

  I know I’m terrible, but I blushed quite a lot, suddenly mindful of another opportunity when they were entirely superfluous. I stared down at my plate for a moment, willing the flush to dissipate, and suddenly his hand was in mine and, as I looked up, he was smiling at me.

  I wasn’t sure if it was reassuring or annoying that he seemed to read me so well.

  We finished up, and I finally managed to nab a waiter and pay a bill before James could, which left me feeling triumphant, although also amused that he thought it was such an unusual thing. He tried, unsuccessfully, to flag back the waiter, who clearly had no time for such nonsense, then ran a hand through his hair.

  ‘Thank you for lunch, it’s a wonderful gesture, but normally on a lunch date I’d pay the bill.’

  I stuck my tongue out at him. ‘Who said this was a date?’

  There was a split second where his face flashed, first embarrassed, and then confused, before finally breaking into a smile of recognition of the words he’d said to me the first time we’d met. ‘Ouch. Touché, Ms Morgan.’ Then a self-conscious chuckle. ‘In hindsight I fear I came across as a bit of an arse the first time we met.’

  I nodded. ‘A little bit. But you’ve made up for it since. And you can make up for it some more by letting me pay for lunch.’

  He shook his head in exasperation. ‘Normally women don’t have a problem with me paying.’

  I ignored the unexpected sting at the idea there was a plethora of women in his lunch list and instead started putting my scarf on. ‘Maybe you just hang out with the wrong kind of woman.’

  He gave me a measured look, which eventually broke into a grin. ‘Maybe I do.’

  By the time I’d got to the office I had decided it was time to be slightly more forthright. Our lingering kiss before we went our separate ways at the restaurant seemed to indicate that James was still interested in something more than friendship. However, he seemed to have taken a slight step back since we’d first slept together. I was fairly sure he wasn’t a player of any kind – to put it crudely, he’d already had his chance to get in my pants and was still in contact – so that didn’t worry me. But as broaching it in person felt rather tough, I figured discussing the sex virtually was less embarrassing – at least then I didn’t have to look him in the eye. I booted up Messenger.

  SOPHIE SAYS: Just wanted to say thanks for a lovely lunch. Was good to see you, we should do it again when you’re back from Geneva.

  Give me a break, I’m building up to it. It’s not like I can just launch into the sex chat. I’d scare him. A reply dropped in a minute later.

  JAMES SAYS: Surely since you paid I should be thanking you? It was great to see you too. Definitely do it again soon.

  JAMES SAYS: PS Thank you.

  JAMES SAYS: PPS You looked amazing in that top.

  I grinned. OK, this kind of flirty banter I could cope with. It was fun even.

  SOPHIE SAYS: You have to get over the paying thing. It doesn’t mean you have to put out.

  His reply was quick, brief and made me grin like a loon.

  JAMES SAYS: But what if I WANT to put out?

  SOPHIE SAYS: The easiest way would be for you to, yannow, actually make a move. Seize the moment!

  JAMES SAYS: I thought nice guys didn’t do that …

  I grimaced, suddenly reminded that for all the ways we were compatible and I really liked him, on one level James and I were fundamentally different. Don’t get me wrong, I have neither the time nor the inclination to be messed around by bastards, but if he wasn’t aware that you could be something in between then he really wasn’t my sort. Balls. I replied, but some of the fun had been sucked out of the banter.

  SOPHIE SAYS: I think it’s possible to be a nice guy without being a boring one. As long as you’re fairly sure the move would be welcomed, I think you’re OK.

  SOPHIE SAYS: PS For the avoidance of doubt, it would be.

  JAMES SAYS: Ah, but you haven’t seen my best moves yet. They might scare you off …

  This sounded promising, although I rolled my eyes at the idea that he could scare me.

  SOPHIE SAYS: I’m sure I can cope with whatever you come up with.

  JAMES SAYS: Oh really? The knicker thing gave you pause though, didn’t it?

  I was genuinely nonplussed, and not a little grumpy. I didn’t pause at all, cheeky git. I’m not s
ure how much of my outrage showed in my response.

  SOPHIE SAYS: I don’t think I paused at all!

  SOPHIE SAYS: Also, you owe me a pair of knickers.

  It took a few minutes for a response to come through and when it did the short sentence sounded much less playful than anything that had come before.

  JAMES SAYS: You were fine caught up in the moment, but when you cancelled dinner I worried in all seriousness it was because I’d pushed you too far.

  I was bemused, and a bit annoyed that he didn’t trust me to be honest. Hell, my honesty – my occasional bluntness - was probably the thing that got me into most trouble in life.

  SOPHIE SAYS: No, I really had to work. It wasn’t an excuse, it was work. If I’d decided I didn’t want to see you, I’d have just said I didn’t want to see you.

  He didn’t reply for a good few minutes, long enough for me to finish a piece I was writing, pick it up off the printer and return with a cup of tea. I felt like I needed to say more, but didn’t really have a clue what could make it better, if indeed anything could.

  SOPHIE SAYS: The knicker thing was fine. Hot even. Certainly nothing I couldn’t handle.

  Then a thought occurred to me.

  SOPHIE SAYS: Anyway, if I’d felt embarrassed, or awkward or concerned or any of those things, why would I have happily come round to dinner later?

  My phone vibrated on the edge of my desk.

  JAMES SAYS: Good steak and kitten fussing?

  I grinned. Before I could formulate a reply, he messaged again

  JAMES SAYS: The knicker thing was ‘hot’ eh? Hot as in arousing? Or hot as in ‘your face was pink to your ears’?

  I flushed just thinking about it.

  SOPHIE SAYS: Can’t it be both?

  JAMES SAYS: I think it can be, but lots of people would disagree.

  SOPHIE SAYS: I think I might be in your camp on that front.

  JAMES SAYS: Interestingly, I think you might be in my camp on several fronts. Off into a meeting now. More later. X

  Talk about leaving me on a cliffhanger. I knew what I hoped that meant, was feeling a slight blossoming in my chest that somehow the signs I’d been subconsciously picking up on were right, and James was dominant sexually. But I was too cynical to do anything other than compile a list of things that he could have meant that didn’t involve rocking my world in all the filthy and non-filthy ways that I hoped he could. Plan for the worst and hope for the best and all that.

  He definitely kept me waiting, though.

  Finally, around 9pm that night, as I was just packing up for the evening, I got the familiar instant message ping on my phone.

  JAMES SAYS: … So apart from the knickers thing was there anything specific from our dinner out that you found hot?

  I grinned a little, hopeful about what he was trying to get at, but still disinclined to help until he showed his hand a bit more. I know, I sound like I was game playing, and I promise I wasn’t, but until I knew exactly how far he felt he was I wasn’t risking scaring him off.

  SOPHIE SAYS: This sounds like fishing for compliments … Did you have anything specific to ask about?

  I imagined his look of outrage at being accused of fishing for compliments. It amused me quite a lot.

  JAMES SAYS: How about when I spanked you?

  At this point I was properly grinning. OK, I think I was safe in assuming what he was into. Although I couldn’t resist making the look of outrage worse.

  SOPHIE SAYS: I did like that, although you didn’t hurt me really.

  Wilful? Me? OK, maybe a bit. It was fun though.

  JAMES SAYS: Who says I was properly trying to hurt you?

  OK, that made my throat go dry. I honestly didn’t know how to respond. Before I could drag my thoughts together to come up with something, my phone vibrated in my hands.

  JAMES SAYS: Would you like me to hurt you more?

  I knew the answer. I was fairly sure he knew the answer. But typing those three little letters felt like a massive step into the unknown. I wasn’t sure I dared. I hedged instead.

  SOPHIE SAYS: I thought you said nice guys didn’t do that sort of thing?

  JAMES SAYS: I thought you said boring guys didn’t do that sort of thing but nice guys could?

  Hmmm. Hoist by own petard.

  SOPHIE SAYS: Yes.

  JAMES SAYS: Yes to what? Nice guys can or you want me to hurt you?

  The butterflies in my stomach were fluttering like I’d never felt them before. This was either going to be amazing or it was going to be a hideous misunderstanding, where I made a complete arse of myself. I screwed up my courage.

  SOPHIE SAYS: Both.

  I stared at the phone, unsure what I wanted the next message to say, half exhilarated, half terrified at where this could go if things were as I hoped. I should have let the moment pass, just in case it was banter, but I couldn’t. Curious minds needed to know.

  SOPHIE SAYS: Do you WANT to make me cry?

  I didn’t realize it until my phone vibrated, but I was holding my breath waiting for his response. I’m not sure that I even knew what I wanted the answer to my question to be.

  JAMES SAYS: If you’re asking if I’m a sadist, I don’t think so, not really. Not usually. Causing pain doesn’t get me off, but challenging a submissive who gets off on pain does, if that makes sense. I love the idea of pushing her to her limits, breaking through that barrier to open sobbing.

  SOPHIE SAYS: I understand.

  I think I do at least. This use of the term ‘submissive’ fills me with hope. I have no idea what on earth else to say though.

  JAMES SAYS: I think this is the least wordy I’ve ever known you …

  I rolled my eyes. I knew he was right, but talking about this with him felt awkward in a way talking to Thomas about it never had, and while I knew it was because I was less concerned with Thomas judging me because I didn’t intend to date him, frankly that didn’t help.

  SOPHIE SAYS: I feel uncharacteristically tongue tied.

  JAMES SAYS: I suppose it’s bad form to admit I like knowing I discombobulate you?

  I grinned, feeling more myself.

  SOPHIE SAYS: Yes, it is bad form. But you do get brownie points for use of the word discombobulate.

  We spent the entire evening tapping messages back and forth. It sounds daft – I could have nipped round to his straight from work to have the conversations we had, but I think both of us felt that talking in person would be too awkward to start with, make it harder to admit those whispered desires that others could so easily judge. I finally realized though that, while I had figured it was pretty difficult explaining to a potential boyfriend that I might like him to dominate me in lots of filthy and mutually pleasurable ways, the other way round was even tougher – as James explained his fears of being seen as a misogynist, an abuser or worse.

  Talking about it with him was fascinating. I’d talked to Thomas about his motivations in dominating someone, but getting to know this whole other facet of James, slotting it in with the hard-working, clever, family-oriented man I had already gotten to know was intriguing. I had so many questions, and he answered them all. From how long he’d known he was interested in such things – hilariously, he’d been entranced by reruns of the perils of cartoon character Penelope Pitstop from a young age, enjoying seeing her captured and tied up even while I’d been pondering the difficulties of Maid Marion – to how he came up with ideas on what to do with his submissives:

  JAMES SAYS: Obviously a lot of the time sex, even D/s sex, is spontaneous. Sex can even start as being fairly vanilla but then a quick slap or a certain look can change the dynamic, even if there is little else beyond that. But for me the best D/s sex comes from a decent amount of planning. Sometimes I’m indulging a fantasy and sometimes I’m just experimenting, but I’ll usually have some sort of goal that I want to achieve. If a sub is particularly bratty and is doing what she can to push my buttons, get attention and be ‘punished’ then I will make sure that she does
n’t get her own way. Chances are I’ll tie her up and put her in a corner, ignoring her until she realizes that I cannot be manipulated into giving her what she wants.

  JAMES SAYS: Alternatively a sub might find it difficult to be vocal during a D/s scene because she is embarrassed or just in that space that makes it difficult to communicate. In that case I will make sure that I create a situation where she is punished for not speaking when I want her to and rewarded for responding quickly.

  JAMES SAYS: I like to have a plan and I’ll stick to it if I can but I also need to be flexible sometimes depending on the situation. If I know that something is proving to be a real challenge for my sub I need to make the decision as to whether she will benefit from being pushed through it or if I need to back off. It’s very rare for me to push a sub through something that it later turns out they are not ready for but I sometimes look back and think that perhaps I backed off too quickly – not that I ever let them off easily. I think I know if my sub wants to be challenged and wants me to make her do these things.

  He had more experience than me, with a few long-term, albeit vanilla, relationships and some D/s-tinged flings under his belt. He too was trying to strike the balance between someone to play with and someone to be with. And he answered all my many questions reasonably and rationally, even the ones that made my breath hitch as I read them.

  JAMES SAYS: I got into it pretty much as soon as sex became more regular for me. One day I was in bed with a girl who mentioned spanking. It was something I’d thought about before, but I didn’t really jump at the chance like you might expect. I became Mr Rational and had a conversation with her about how the idea of that and other, similar things turned me on but I wouldn’t do it unless she was sure. She said that she was and so, when we had sex and she was on top I gave her a light spanking. She said it felt good but that I could do it harder, so I did. By the time we both came her arse was red and my hand stung. Initially I found it awkward – my parents really did raise me not to lift a hand to anyone – but her reaction was very positive and I soon realized that the difference between this and any form of abuse lay in consent. She gave me permission to spank her, tie her up, etc. The level to which I could hurt her and the things I could do to her were up to her, not me. If she ever said stop (or used her safety word, I always use them) then everything stopped immediately. I enjoy the power, and the control and the game of it. I find the psychology fascinating – what’s the best way to get you to do what I want you to do? I could keep you guessing, confuse you, have you on the back foot at every turn, only able to react to the next thing I bring in. Or I could have given you a week’s notice of exactly what I’m going to do and let you think it over and over in your mind, teasing and tormenting yourself, testing yourself before I even have to. Both work in different contexts to get you to do what I want you to do.