No Ordinary Love Story: Sequel to The Diary of a Submissive

by Morgan, Sophie

  Adam says: Sophie?

  I cast my laptop aside to grab a drink from the kitchen, not sure what, if anything, I should say in reply. When I got back the screen was filled with text.

  Adam says:I’ve not made you uncomfortable mentioning it have I? I promise it’s not a thing. Charlie just mentioned in passing that we both met her at the same place independent of each other. She didn’t tell me anything else about you, but I figured that she’d only set us up if you were submissive or at least switch. Apologies if I’ve stepped out of line.

  Thomas and I had met Charlotte at a munch – a kind of social get-together for kinky folk (rest assured, there was no leather and chains, it was just a meeting in a pub). If he’d met her in the same place … Oh.

  Suddenly my brain was whirring with questions – I was curious, having never thought of Adam in those kind of terms. I guess you really should be careful about making assumptions about people. I knew he must be dominant, given he’d assumed I was submissive or switch (someone who both dominates and submits).

  Sophie says: It’s OK, I’m not uncomfortable. Surprised you knew. I didn’t know that about you. It just put me on the back foot a bit. It’s fine.

  I wondered if I’d over-egged it. Even to my ears it didn’t sound ‘fine’. Sod it. Bloody Charlotte. Also, damn my curiosity because now more than anything I wanted to know about him.

  Sophie says: So do you go to munches a lot?

  I know. I’m incredibly nosey. But I was also curious – not least because I’d not pegged him as especially dominant. Definitely no kinky radar (should we call it kaydar?) here, although admittedly when I met him I wasn’t looking at him in any sexual terms at all, soulful eyes or not.

  Adam says: I did for a while. It’s where I met Kathryn, my ex. She was a sub. Haven’t been to one for a while though. Despite what you might now worry, to the contrary I’m really not angling to start dating again. Sorry I brought this up though if it feels awkward.

  I had a moment of realisation. Now I knew that Charlotte hadn’t been telling him the intimate details of what we’d got up to together it actually felt OK.

  Sophie says: It’s not awkward. It’s fine. I was just surprised, that’s all. Charlotte didn’t mention it.

  His reply was quick.

  Adam says: She’s terrible that one. She means well though.

  I knew he was right, but I still felt inclined to give her a stern talking to at a later date. Before I could reply, another message pinged through.

  Adam says: One last question before we move back to non D/s stuff if that’s OK?

  Sophie says: I’m not sure I should answer this, but go on …

  Adam says: So which are you? Sub or switch? Curious minds need to know ;)

  Somewhat inevitably, it wasn’t the last time we talked about D/s. Slowly, over a period of weeks and for the first time in ages, I chatted to someone about kink without there being any underlying subtext to it. Neither of us had any expectations. We were both adamant we didn’t want to date. There was no hint that this would become anything, or that we’d get together. It was just nice to chat about life with someone for whom the kink side of things wasn’t unusual – it could be mentioned in passing without it being a big or defining thing.

  He told me how he’d had lots of kinky fun with his girlfriend, but their relationship had floundered because they didn’t have much in common bar their interest in sex. I told him a little about what had happened with James and his insight and kindness was a balm to my emotional bruises.

  In flirtier chats – admittedly often late at night – we discussed some of our experiences. Not in explicit terms, but more generally and in enough depth that I was intrigued as to what kind of a dominant he would be. It was apparent he’d had a lot more D/s experience than me and that his interest was as much about the mental aspect of domination as physically inflicting pain. I found it intriguing. I found him intriguing. But he was also incredibly gentlemanly. He was respectful and thoughtful when we spoke – whether about general day-to-day stuff or in-depth emotional things.

  Every so often one or other of us would make a passing comment about how we should meet for a drink, but we never got round to sorting it out, initially using the busy New Year period as an excuse, although by that time we were well into January. I took his lack of initiative as a sign he wasn’t interested in me that way, which of course should have been a relief. At points, though, it didn’t feel that way. I wasn’t sure I should feel insulted, but, in typically contrary terms, I most definitely did.

  Why wasn’t he interested in me romantically? What was I, chopped liver?

  I know, I’m a lunatic. But it was just a thought. I kept it to myself. Then one day we were discussing Charlotte’s latest attempts to get him to go to a munch with her and Tom. What was it with her trying to hook him up anyway?

  Adam says: I told her I wasn’t interested and she tried to convince me that it was worth going just to find someone to let off some steam with.

  Sophie says: ‘Let off some steam with’? Sounds a bit clinical.

  Adam says: I know. Don’t get me wrong, sometimes I like the idea of some no-strings fun, but I want it to be with someone I have at least some connection with and know is going to be laid-back about it. I don’t want to end up with someone feeling like I’m just using them for sex.

  Sophie says: You want to have fun with someone who isn’t up for a relationship either and thus you’re not leading on?

  Adam says: Exactly.

  Sophie says: Someone whose feelings you aren’t inadvertently going to hurt because they end up wanting more?

  Adam says: Yes.

  Sophie says: Someone into the same things you’re into, who is up for experimenting and having some fun but will still be doing their own thing?

  Adam says: Yes, that’s it.

  I bet you can see where this is going. I didn’t; I wasn’t even conscious of my fingers moving until I’d tapped out the message and hit send.

  Sophie says: Someone like me?

  Fuck. As soon as I said it I wished I could take it back. What was I thinking? I know I hadn’t had any kind of sex with anyone in months, much less had any D/s-ish fun, but he wasn’t interested in me that way. Shit. Now this was awkward. I began trying to type something, anything, that would make it sound like what I’d written was a joke, but before I could finish the sentence his reply flashed up.

  Adam says: Yes, someone exactly like you.

  Oh.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The thing is, saying something in the heat of the moment and then having the courage or inclination to actually do it are two slightly different things. I’ll admit it, reading Adam’s reply made me smile to myself and feel a little bit giddy, not least because it proved the growing text-based attraction between us wasn’t (all) one way. But it didn’t mean we shut down our laptops and he came flying round so we could fuck fifteen ways to Sunday. It’s not that I have any moral issue with that – hell, we’d chatted enough that we knew each other better than the average couple hooking up in a club on a Saturday night. But I was cautious. And, I was realising, so was he. And maybe it’s a bit crazy, but that knowledge actually made me feel reassured, especially after falling so far so fast for James.

  I honestly didn’t know how to reply to his message. Feeling lost for words was very uncharacteristic for me, but in the days that followed it became a recurring theme of my chats with Adam.

  Adam says: I’m sorry if you think this is maybe a bit forward (ha, how BBC period drama of me) but I really do like you, I think you’re sparky and interesting and as we’ve chatted I’ve come to the realisation I would like to do rude things with you. And to you.

  Sophie says: That probably is a bit forward, but I’ll let you off. Although best you didn’t say that to me in person. At least this way you can’t see me blush.

  Adam says: I want to see you blush.

  I was torn. My head still said I wasn’t ready to try any kind of relat
ionship again, much less in the market for a ‘with benefits’ arrangement. But my heart (and, OK, places a fair bit lower) found Adam fun and sexy and, as his messages got flirtier as the days passed, I increasingly thought, ‘Well why not’?

  He didn’t push for an answer about us meeting, but we ended up having increasingly rude chats. In hindsight it felt like it was a mixture of him giving me an insight into the fun we could have together and intriguing me enough to want to try. What helped was, as a copywriter, he was incredibly creative when he chatted about things we could do (somewhere along the way our chats had moved from things we had done or might like to do to things we might like to do together) and I increasingly found myself lying in bed at night thinking of the scenarios he had woven. They were definitely hot thoughts.

  The conversation still ebbed and flowed between kink and real life. One week I had two busy days complete with evening jobs and our email exchanges were brief and purely about news stories developing through the day. But then on the third day I opened an email from him and found lengthy paragraphs – he’d turned a casual comment I’d made about fantasising about having sex outside into a full-length story with us as the protagonists.

  It took a couple of seconds for me to realise that, though. I was sitting at my desk at work, and as I scanned down the message I found myself beginning to flush bright red. I closed the email in case anyone in our open-plan office could read it over my shoulder.

  He then sent me a separate message, asking me if I’d liked the story. I told him that I hadn’t read it properly yet, but had been given a bit of a shock getting it out of the blue while in the office. His response suggested I should potentially be worried about his interest in embarrassing me.

  Adam says: Did it make you blush?

  I felt my lips twitch into a smile even while I still felt the warmth on my cheeks. As if I was going to tell him that.

  Sophie says: Knob.

  OK, maybe in hindsight I actually had just told him that …

  After what felt like the longest afternoon in the world I finally got home from work and read his story. It was incredible. The scenario was hot and it was really well written (I know that shouldn’t be a major factor, but trust me, for me it was). By the time I got to the end my hand had slipped inside my knickers.

  Interestingly, he’d focused a lot on the female sub’s point of view, exploring her thoughts. Mostly that was the kind of erotica I enjoyed anyway, but over and above that I found his choice of style interesting – his insights into the shifts of fear and excitement, and his understanding and explanation of her mindset showed he was clearly very perceptive, and that made me more intrigued at the kind of dominant he might be, how he would control me. It also, of course, made me think about how easily he might be able to understand and respond to my own reactions if we did anything together. He was definitely clever.

  After I’d finished reading I logged in to Messenger and sent him a message.

  Sophie says: I’ve finally had some privacy to read it, and just wanted to say thanks so much for the story. It was amazing. No one’s ever written anything like that for me before (possibly the occupational hazard of being a writer by trade).

  Adam says: You’re very welcome. I’m glad you enjoyed it. Did it make you wet?

  My fingers stilled over the keys. Of course it had made me wet. We both knew that. Why was typing out that it had so difficult? This really didn’t bode well for challenges in person.

  Sophie says: Yes it did.

  Adam says: Good.

  From that point our chats on Messenger shifted a little further along the axis of smut. He didn’t make demands or act like some kind of überdom, but he made oh-so-polite requests that I found increasingly difficult to turn down – and while I mentally cursed the need to please so inherent in my personality, I knew it was more than that. Increasingly, I wanted to please him.

  I wrote him a story too, channelling a lot of the thoughts I had lying in bed at night about the kind of things we could get up to together. He sent me a message saying how much he enjoyed it and how hard it had made him, both of which made me feel butterflies. Then he suggested some things we could also do in the scenario I’d sketched out and suddenly we were having creative, filthy chat.

  It was huge amounts of fun. Nothing was off limits, and – in part because of Adam’s easy-going openness and in part because our friendship was relatively new and thus it didn’t feel like a huge risk to say something rude that might disturb him forever – we could talk about anything: fantasies, limits and the like. It was a new level of communication for me and it was really lovely and liberating. It was often illuminating too, for example when it became apparent that we were both quite laid-back in our attitudes about D/s.

  Adam says: I find this whole rigmarole of being called Master or Sir a bit embarrassing really. You shouldn’t need to call me a special name to show me respect in that context.

  Before I’d even begun typing a reply, a second comment pinged in.

  Adam says: I love D/s and the whole dynamic, but I’m not the sort of guy that wants to live it all the time. I know some people love the idea of a completely obedient and subservient submissive, but to be honest I find that a bit boring. For me submissive can’t mean passive. There needs to be some spark. Partly it’s about the challenge – how do I get you to do what I want you to? What will you respond to? But partly it’s also because I want to enjoy being with someone – arguing about politics or doing something (other than sex) we’re both passionate about. The challenge is where it gets fun, in whatever context that is.

  His messages made me smile. They also eased my mind a bit – his motivations chimed very much with my own, and his ideas on the kind of sub he liked fitted well with me. I liked him but I knew I wasn’t going to be the ‘eyes permanently downcast, referring to herself in the third person’ kind of submissive that some dominants liked. He wasn’t interested in that either. Phew. I was already pretty sure he didn’t have a problem with being disagreed with and mocked, but it’s always good to know for sure.

  Sophie says: Ironically enough, I enjoy the challenge of submission. I can’t decide if this means we’re really compatible or at odds.

  Adam says: Can’t it be both? It could definitely be an interesting experience.

  We discussed my limits (and his – another comfort; I’d never been with a dominant who’d talked much about his own limits, the implications being that it didn’t matter). He asked how I would feel about breath play and face slapping – I had limited experience of the latter and was intrigued by the former, but explained that while I was curious about both and found them hot in the abstract they were things I was concerned about trying for the first time.

  Adam says: Don’t worry. We won’t leap into lots of new things. If we do this we’ll take things slow and steady.

  I felt reassured.

  We chatted like this every night for a few weeks, driving each other a bit loopy with lust, although it wasn’t all sex talk – sometimes we just exchanged thoughts while watching the same TV show in our respective flats. Then one day he said he had a big night out the next evening with his friends and wouldn’t be around to chat.

  I admit it, the thought of not speaking to him felt weird, but I told him to have a good time and that I’d speak to him the following day. Not talking to him made me feel strangely out of sorts, though, and my resolution to leave him in peace and not text and email (no, not even the link to that hilarious cartoon that I’d just read but which could keep until the morning) was tough to stick to.

  But at about 7.30 p.m. my phone pinged and I realised it wasn’t just me finding it difficult. It was a text from Adam:

  Hey gorgeous. How’re you

  doing? Did you get back

  from your meeting ok? X

  I practically hugged myself with the knowledge that he was thinking of me. Lame? Yes. But I did.

  I’m good. Got back a while

  ago, now just watching TV
and

  having dinner. X

  I know it wasn’t the most riveting of texts, but it was true, plus I wasn’t trying to pull him into a long conversation while he was out with his friends, remember?

  In the next hour he texted a few times. As time passed, his messages became more frequent.

  I know you might think it’s the

  beer talking, but I’m missing

  talking to you tonight. Filth

  and otherwise. X

  I replied (secretly thinking it probably was the beer talking, but if there was one thing my university years taught me it was never argue with a drunk person when you’re sober), saying that I felt the same way but that he should concentrate on socialising with his friends. He replied quickly, pointing out it was a big group and there was lots of chat going on so it wasn’t especially rude. I wasn’t convinced (but I’m the sort of person that bristles if someone gets their phone out while at a restaurant unless they’re an on-call doctor, leader of the free world or some such) but at the same time I was chuffed that he still wanted to chat. And he really did. His spelling got a bit worse the more he drank and his language got dirtier, but by the end he was most definitely, in newspaper parlance, sexting.

  It was hot, made oddly hotter by the fact he was sat in a group in the pub unable to do anything while I was comfortably curled up on the sofa in a convenient place to deal with any lustful urges. He’d just sent me a message detailing pinching my nipples when I had a surge of inspiration on how to take advantage of that difference in social setting. I used my camera phone to take a picture of my breasts, showing how hard my nipples were.

  Now, I’m not (too) foolish. I deleted the picture afterwards and my face wasn’t in it – not, I hasten to add, because I had any particular concerns about trusting Adam, but more because if either one of us lost our phones I didn’t want pictures of me grinning with my baps out available to any random person who found the handset.