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

by Morgan, Sophie

  I smiled, understanding completely her wonder at the intensity of it, and relieved at her obvious affection for Thomas having organised it. I did have one question, though. ‘So, I’m intrigued.’

  She laughed. ‘Ask away, Soph, I think we’re past the polite chit-chat.’

  I grinned. ‘For the record, this is much more fun than polite chit-chat. But I’m curious. Did you feel jealous or weird watching Tom fuck her?’

  Charlotte didn’t hesitate before she replied. ‘Not at all. Let’s face it, Tom and I aren’t dating. We’re not into each other that way. We have an arrangement similar to the one you had with him. It’s a lot of fun. He’s not my boyfriend. I don’t want him to be. And he doesn’t want a girlfriend.’

  I feigned a sudden, in-depth interest in the drinks menu. Ouch. Poor Tom. I thought it was time to change the subject, mostly by getting more drinks.

  The rest of the evening passed quickly. Charlotte and I nattered about work, she told me once more she had never seen Adam so smitten (which still made me grin), we bickered about what to see at the cinema the following Saturday when we’d all agreed to go out. It was fun, exactly the kind of Friday night you needed after a long week at work.

  It had seemed a waste leaving James’s flowers at work but I didn’t want to bring them home either – I’m no etiquette expert but it seemed like that would be pretty bad form, potentially made worse by the fact they looked incredibly expensive and Adam was still worried about his finances. Instead I gave them to Charlotte when we staggered our separate ways. As far as I was concerned things were done with James. I thought of mentioning to Adam that he’d been in touch, but I wasn’t sure how he’d feel about me getting bouquets of flowers from someone else, so I just kept quiet, and eventually it slipped from my mind.

  In hindsight I realise this was a mistake – it was like I was lying to him by omission. But at the time I headed home in a really good mood, feeling very lucky for the straightforward and loving relationship I had with Adam, and looking forward to what the rest of the weekend had to offer.

  I know, I was an idiot.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Slowly things began to head back to normal. Well, as normal as things got for Adam and me. With a little distance, the horror of Weegate began to ease and I began to realise my response hadn’t been a sign of me somehow falling over the precipice. My limits remained as they were, and Adam – as he had then – continued to respect them. Even the weird feeling that I had somehow disappointed him or let him down by not being able to cope with his head fuckery began to ease. I began to feel on a more even keel emotionally. James moved to the back of my mind, too. It was a relief.

  Adam was brilliant through it all – loving, filthy and undoubtedly the reason I was able to regain my equilibrium over time, although I no longer mentally rolled my eyes when he asked me if I knew what my safe word was before we started doing something intense.

  The thing was, we hadn’t done anything massively intense since that weekend. I couldn’t decide if I was relieved or a little disappointed. We’d had sex most nights (barring one late shift when I’d got home too exhausted to move) and our filthy late-night chats continued, but we were definitely talking about D/s more than actually doing it. I don’t think it was deliberate on either of our parts, but it was the way things had settled – not least because day-to-day life was as busy as ever, with visits to our families, keeping up with work (me) and building a business (him). But even the most ordinary life experiences can be a little more fun with the addition of some kink – and I decided I should take the initiative to help show him I was ready for another new experience (albeit one less likely to break my brain).

  It was his birthday. I know what you’re thinking, but this was not going to entail me booking a kink cottage or finding some kind of way to hang from the chandeliers; my plans, for the most part, were pretty sedate. Adam had been working really hard so, a few weeks before, I told him to keep the weekend just after his birthday free so I could take him away somewhere to spoil him. And that’s what I did.

  After much internet-searching and cross-referencing hotel reviews I found somewhere reasonably priced which looked suitably romantic and ideal for a cosy weekend away. Admittedly, with my sense of direction being a bit ropey and my estimation of travelling time being a little on the optimistic side, it took us seven hours to drive there. We stopped for dinner along the way, but the time in the car – reminiscing over the music I was choosing from his iPod, chatting about everything from the kind of teenagers we’d been through to the last albums we’d bought – reminded me just how much I enjoyed being around Adam. Even when the conversation went silent as the towns and cities gave way to countryside, it was the kind of comfortable silence of two people enjoying each other’s company but equally happy with their own thoughts and the views. We checked in late – very late! – and disappeared off to bed quickly, happy to begin exploring the following morning.

  After a hearty cooked breakfast, we took the opportunity to go for a walk into the nearby village, getting directions (Adam kept track of them – it was for the best) and then crunching our way down the driveway and paths around the fields. When we got to the village we found it was one tiny shop and a pub/hotel. We nipped into the shop and I bought a pile of newspapers, and then we went into the pub. It felt a bit awkward, as it was only around 11 a.m. or so, but we were hopeful that we might be able to get some tea. Little did we know. The landlady, it appeared, took tea very seriously and soon had us ensconced in the otherwise empty back room with cups and saucers in front of us and a pot big enough for half a dozen.

  We sat chatting and warming our hands on the cups as we drank for a little while, until I noticed Adam increasingly looking up at the TV, which was positioned in one corner of the room. I wasn’t offended, more intrigued. I knew him well enough by now to know there was something specific going on.

  ‘Do you think they have the sports channels? The second day of the test will be starting soon.’

  Before we’d started dating I wouldn’t even have known what that meant. Now not only did I know my way around cricketing terminology, but I knew just how much he loved it. He was sheepish, but I just laughed and so we asked. And that’s how Adam’s romantic birthday weekend of hill walking and generally getting away from it all ended up with us spending six hours of the first day drinking cups of tea from a never-ending pot (it turned out the landlady’s late husband had liked cricket – this seemed to make her predisposed to like Adam) while I read the papers from cover to cover and he enjoyed watching the match. As he said with some glee when we began the walk back to the hotel after a large, late lunch (it seemed rude not to eat since we’d nursed our tea for so long), ‘England are even ahead. What a brilliant day.’

  Of course there had to be some smutty fun in there too.

  We got drenched walking back to the hotel so took refuge in the bar area where there was a nice open fire. The drinks were alcoholic this time. I finished mine first, part from nerves and part because I knew I had some organising to do. Adam gestured to ask if I wanted another, but I declined before turning slightly pink – I couldn’t help it – and telling him I had a surprise for him and he should give me ten minutes or so and then come back to the room.

  The look on his face was a picture. We did a lot of filthy things together, but he really loved it when I planned secret things for him. He raised his pint glass in mock toast. ‘This really is the best birthday ever.’

  I smiled back at him. ‘Ha, don’t speak too soon. You don’t know what I’m up to yet. See you in ten minutes.’

  Then I headed upstairs.

  I’ve never been a fan of outfits. Not even for fancy-dress parties, much less where sex is concerned. It’s always made me feel a bit ridiculous, and very self-conscious. It’s a long time since I was a schoolgirl, I’ve never been a beer wench, I’m definitely not cheerleader material, and while I wanted to be Wonder Woman, aged eleven, I’m not inclined to dress like
her either. That said, Adam was a fan. He’d told me from the start that he loved underwear, outfits, uniforms and different materials like leather and latex.

  I’d mocked him for it. Rolled my eyes at him when I’d seen his eyes linger on my over-the-knee stripey socks. But I knew he was into all this stuff. And it soon became apparent that he genuinely loved the effort, the colour and the fantasy of it all. It wasn’t a deal-breaker – it wasn’t that he could only enjoy sex that way – and he didn’t pressure me to wear things for him, but as I began to realise exactly how much he loved it, it became something I enjoyed doing sometimes to please him and make his eyes light up.

  That didn’t mean I didn’t find the idea a bit silly, not to mention a bit nerve-wracking. The first time I’d dressed up for him, I’d created a little makeshift schoolgirl uniform out of a knee-length grey skirt, white blouse, long socks and an old tie I bought in a charity shop for about 50p. He’d come to visit me and found me on my knees, blindfolded (as much for my benefit as his – I blame the nerves). When he finally took the blindfold off and I got to see how much he adored looking at me in what I considered fancy dress, I became a bit of a convert. It was like he couldn’t take his eyes off me and he stared with such hunger and lust that it made me feel a bit more confident, although admittedly still somewhat blushy. He always made me feel good about myself, even when doing degrading things to me, but the way he stared when I tried on a new outfit for the first time gave me goosebumps.

  When I wore a corset in front of him for the first time he practically tackled me to the bed and spent an age kissing my breasts as they swelled over the constricting garment. And it wasn’t all about the sex outfits. At a friend’s wedding I dressed in a demure retro-style fifties dress with a print of tiny cherries on it. At odd moments throughout the day I would catch him staring at me in it, with a look in his eyes that I had come to know and love but which, alas, heralded something we most definitely couldn’t do in polite company. When we got back to the hotel we’d booked into overnight we were grabbing at each other, kissing hungrily as soon as we’d closed the door. Of course, he somewhat negated the demureness of the dress by having me undo the halter neck and reveal my breasts before lifting the multi-layered skirt to touch myself for him. But it seemed rude to quibble.

  I knew, from the quiet chats we had lying in bed in the dark, that he was a big fan of latex. I had no experience of latex and thus no real opinion either way. But suffice to say, I was a fan of him. And it was his birthday.

  I ordered the dress online. It was reasonably well priced and when I tried it on I was surprised not just at how it fitted, accentuating all the right curves but not making me feel self-conscious about the bumpier bits, but at how it felt. It felt lovely against my skin and I found myself stroking it, running my hand along my thigh, enjoying the feeling on my fingertips. It had a zip that ran from the very bottom of the dress – around mid-thigh – right the way up to the neck. Having tested it, I decided that positioning the zipper a little lower, so he could see a hint of cleavage, was the way forward. The zip was incredibly useful as it minimised the inevitable struggle of trying to wrestle yourself into the tight latex. There was still a bit of tussling, though.

  I quickly changed; there was a fair amount of arm flailing but I managed to get dressed within the time limit we’d agreed. By the time I heard his card in the door fifteen minutes later – he was clearly making sure I had time to get ready – I’d even stopped heavy breathing at the exertion. I was hoping the flush in my cheeks looked alluring rather than harassed.

  When he saw me he actually gasped, which I was hoping was a good sign. I was on my knees, my hands behind my back and crossed at the wrists (it meant I didn’t have to worry about nervously twitching my fingers, plus it pushed my breasts out nicely), waiting for him. I still felt shy – I’d deliberately left the light in the room low, although I realised belatedly that I hadn’t taken the moonlight from the window into account – but the look in his eyes gave me confidence. Lustful. His whole expression screamed, ‘This is amazing, it’s like it’s my birthday’. And, of course, it was.

  He walked over to me and crouched down so he was almost at eye level. His hands reached out and touched the material, stroking up and down my body, then grasping, as if he wanted to get as much of my latex-covered breasts in his hands as possible.

  ‘Oh my fucking God.’

  This is not the kind of reaction I am used to getting for my outfit choices. I say this with no sense of self-pity, just the realism of a woman who wears minimal make-up, owns more geeky T-shirts that she does dresses and never learned to wear heels. I smiled up at him. His reaction was exactly what I had hoped for. More, actually. It definitely made the self-consciousness worthwhile.

  He leaned down to kiss me, and I arched up to him eagerly. As our tongues moved he continued to run his hands over me. After a long time – not that I was complaining – he stood up in front of me. He started to unbutton his jeans but I reached out and put my hand over his to stop him. He looked down at me with a raised eyebrow. I could tell he was deliberating over whether to grab my wrists and take control or see what I had planned. My throat was a little clogged as I prepared to speak up, but I’d thought about this over and over in my head, running through it.

  ‘Let me,’ I whispered.

  He returned my smile and, as I started to move, helped me to my feet. As soon as I was upright I wrapped my arms round his neck and started to kiss him eagerly. I pushed my body against him and my tongue into his mouth, controlling the kiss, teasing him and making him groan as his hands found my arse. I smiled as I continued to massage his tongue with mine, shifting us round slightly so that his back was to the bed. I pulled away from him and gently pushed him down onto the mattress, immediately following and crawling up his body, remaining on all fours as I kissed him again. His hands returned to stroking and groping me through the dress.

  I wouldn’t have described Adam as a switch. By his own admission, he was a big wuss when it came to pain and he didn’t like being humiliated or embarrassed. However, from time to time he did love just lying back and enjoying me teasing the life out of him. His tolerance for teasing was actually far higher than mine (and he certainly didn’t harrumph if I slowed down as he got close to orgasm as I sometimes did when the tables were turned).

  I would kiss him or lick him or suck him, rub his shoulders or scratch between his shoulder blades. It tended to be something I did when I could see he was stressed or tired. He told me it made a nice change to just switch off his brain. He said that he loved the mental challenge of dominating me but it meant he always had to be paying very close attention and planning his next move. This way he felt like he was being spoiled without having to think: he just got to relax instead. It was rare that he craved this, but I could tell when he did and – let’s face it – I could relate to enjoying those feelings more than most. I loved fussing over him that way; it was an intimate way for me to show him how much I loved him.

  So, when I took hold of his wrists and firmly pulled his hands away from my body, pinning them above his head on the pillow, he didn’t complain. He actually smiled eagerly. I reached for the bedside table and took a short length of rope that I’d packed for just this purpose, wrapping his wrists together and tying them to the headboard. It was a fairly crude piece of bondage and one he could have got out of quite easily I’m sure (I didn’t have Adam’s shibari rope bondage skills – in fact, I’d been rubbish doing knots at Brownies), but he clearly didn’t want to wriggle free so I didn’t waste too much time worrying about it.

  After he was bound I sat up, straddling his waist and feeling his erection pressing against my arse through his jeans. I moved my hips just a little, making him gasp again. I winked at him.

  I reached down and slowly unbuttoned his shirt, gently touching and stroking his skin as it came into view. As I reached the last button I pulled the shirt open and dived down to kiss him once more, this time making sure to rub the lat
ex up and down against his bare chest and stomach in a way that made him shiver. I moved from his mouth, kissing down his chin and neck and then round to his ear. I nibbled on his earlobe and whispered, telling him to make himself comfortable because he was going to be here a while. He pushed his pelvis up at these words and let out a low growl – arousal and frustration mixed together, a noise I’d made enough times myself.

  I let my lips and tongue explore his shoulder and then moved down his body. I stroked and sucked on his nipples, baring my teeth a little just to remind him of all the times he had bitten mine, making him laugh. I made sure that he still felt the latex on him wherever possible, too, so that by the time my mouth had reached his belly button he was squirming and moaning almost constantly. I loved watching him pull against his bindings as he arched his back. He was starting to look desperate, which is exactly what I wanted. Also, it was rather a novelty for me. I smiled at him. I couldn’t help myself. I wondered if this kind of smugness was catching.

  I got to the waistband of his jeans and slowly unfastened the buttons. He eagerly lifted his hips so I could pull his trousers down his legs. I also took the opportunity to remove his socks at the same time – they’re never a sexy look.

  His erection was straining against his boxer shorts. I couldn’t resist and moved quickly, giving the material a quick lick, causing his whole body to shudder. I loved that he became so sensitive when teased like this.

  I pulled his boxer shorts down and watched as his swollen cock sprang free, looking thicker than usual. It was tempting to put it in my mouth straight away but I had a plan to stick to.

  I put my knees either side of his and smiled down at him once again. He actually looked almost sleepy as he stared back. His lips were dry and he kept licking them. If it were me in his position, I might have been begging him to touch me by now. He always did have more self-control. Of course, the difference was I didn’t mind if he didn’t beg.