No Ordinary Love Story: Sequel to The Diary of a Submissive (7 page)

He reached down again. I considered taking a peek to see exactly what he’d put on the floor by my bed. I was agog at how long he must have been here while I slept. So much for me being a pretty light sleeper. Was I in a really deep sleep or did he have more experience of creeping into women’s houses in the early hours of the morning than I first anticipated? I didn’t dare move to look, though – he already seemed to be in a fiendish mood and even I have a basic instinct for self-preservation in such situations. Mostly.

This time it was a short length of rope. He grabbed my wrists and quickly wrapped them with the soft cotton. It wasn’t his prettiest rope tie, but it was secure and tight. He attached the end to the headboard and suddenly I was extremely exposed in my little lace knickers. He was looking down at me and smiling, but his smile was wolfish, a ‘now I have you where I want you’ look. I was nervous, although I felt myself getting wetter; the knowledge it wouldn’t be too long before he realised that too made me blush.

He leaned down again and picked something up, then was back at the headboard. He pressed a small bell into my hand, the kind you might have on a cat’s collar or something similar. This was my safety net; if I dropped it, he would stop, taking it in lieu of a safe word since I was unable to speak. I clasped my hand around it tightly, clinging on for dear life, although I don’t know if that was
because I wanted to be ready to drop it – or was afraid that I might do so accidentally. Ah, the paradoxes of submission – and my contrary mind.

Adam climbed onto the bed, straddling my body. He unzipped and pulled out his hard cock, resting it between my breasts, just inches from my mouth (although that was somewhat academic with the gag wedged tightly between my lips).

I realised a second too late that he’d picked something else up. There was no time to struggle, nowhere to go even if I could. The sunlight glinted on the chain as it dropped from his hand. It was a set of nipple clamps. He took his time attaching them to my breasts, enjoying my wary expression, my attempts to swallow nervously round the gag as my eyes looked anxiously at the fierce-looking metal clasps. He took the opportunity to grope my breasts, pinching my nipples, rolling them between his fingers, laughing softly at my flush of shame at how erect they were from the twisted scenario playing out between us. When he finally attached the clamps, the pain was less than I feared, but the whole experience of having had them put on had been intense. It was an odd feeling – he wasn’t into inflicting pain in the sadistic way that James had been, but he seemed to get off on the embarrassment I experienced at how aroused the pain made me. It was a whole different kind of head fuck and I couldn’t process it – although, let’s face it, it’s a miracle any of this made sense before my first cup of coffee of the day.

Once he had attached the clamps – and given one a firm tug to be sure they were secure (he got a glare then) – he lay down next to me on the bed. We must have made
an odd picture, him dressed in jeans and a dark woollen jumper looking for the most part like he was about ready for a trip out for morning Starbucks, lying on his side with his head resting on one hand, staring at me. Next to him I was mostly naked, blushing, with bed head, a little drool round the mouth and incredibly erect nipples. The ridiculousness of it made me smile, even while I was warily watching him to see what happened next.

Slowly, languidly, he started playing with my body. He wasn’t as rough as before, more teasing and meandering with his touch, enjoying watching me shiver at the feeling of his leather-covered fingertips moving along my skin, watching the goosebumps rise on my body, smiling when I sucked air in deeply through my nose and tried to regulate my breathing as he wrung those little reactions from me. He grazed my thighs, ran a finger along the chain between my breasts, laughing softly at my look of nervousness before just gently tugging it. He stroked my hair off my face, chuckling softly as I blushed when he noticed the drool pooling in the corner of my mouth because of the gag. He was like a child with a new toy, and all I could do was lie there and take it, clutching the bell and waiting for what he would do next.

After several stray strokes of my thighs, my hips and the scalloped edge of my knickers, finally he put a hand between my legs, over the lace. I knew I was going to be wet and warm; despite the chill in the room this whole experience had left me flushed and hot. He pressed his palm against my cunt, his eyes looking into mine as he did so, and his smile – bordering on the smug – and his obvious amusement at how embarrassed I was made me
harrumph behind my gag. In a surge of annoyance I closed my legs and tried to shuffle my lower body away, glaring at him as I lifted my hips for purchase. He slapped my thigh – hard enough that I noticed a red hand imprint for a second afterwards. His voice sounded unreal, far away. It was the first thing he’d said since I woke up.

‘Behave.’

I looked at him, feeling my nostrils flare, feeling the fury and rebellion rise, knowing that I was fighting not just him but the part of me that was clearly aroused by this, enjoying every kinky minute of it.

He pinched my inner thigh, a hard, painful pinch of warning. I whimpered quietly. He looked at me, not quite sure yet what my reaction would be, seemingly ready to decide his course of action depending on what happened next. Annoyingly, I knew exactly what my reaction would be, it was inevitable, even while part of me baulked against it. I glared at him, trying to swallow some of the drool pooling behind my gag. And then I looked away, unwilling to see his look of victory up close – he really could be so fucking smug – as slowly I opened my legs.

His hand went back to my knickers, stroking up and down, making the material wetter. He was still playing. There was no time limit to this, and he enjoyed teasing. Sometimes he placed a little pressure on my clit and I moaned through the gag. The intensity of this all paired with the lack of orgasm before bed the previous night had left me a ball of desperate nerve endings. I was impatient but nervous, desperate to continue but worried about what that meant. I wanted to make him proud, make him happy, kick him off the bed, come.

After a while he seemed to decide that he’d made my knickers wet enough. He moved from his position next to me on the bed, kneeling instead between my legs where – I knew – he had a great view of the shiny dampness of my once-posh and now incredibly slutty-looking undies. I closed my eyes again. It just made it a little less embarrassing.

He lifted my knees and pushed them back to my chest. Even with my underwear on I felt incredibly exposed; even with my eyes closed I could sense his gaze looking between my legs. I felt him move on the bed, his hands still holding me up and open, his fingers pinching a little as I lay immobilised. He licked my thigh just at the edge of my knickers. I shivered. He moved to the other thigh and did the same thing again, and this time I fought to control my reactions. I was swimming against the tide of sensation, though. He moved and rested his mouth just centimetres from my cunt, his breath warm and steady – much steadier than mine, I realised with frustration – against me.

At last. One long lick, from the bottom to the top of my cunt. Over the knickers, so it shouldn’t have felt as intense as it did, but fuck it really did. It made my thighs shake with the sensation of it. Too much teasing makes for an overwrought Sophie it would seem. He was back to playing, licking me over and over again, but still over the sodding (and sopping) knickers. It took all my self-control (and not a little bit of self-preservation) to resist the urge to kick him in the shoulder, so desperate was I to feel his tongue directly on me. I raised my hips in eager invitation, silently – but admittedly unsubtly – imploring him to take
more of me in his mouth. All to no avail. He looked up at me, the gleam in his eye showing as much as the bulge at his groin that he was enjoying himself. Git.

I lost track of how long I had been on the edge of desperation. He placed his hands on the waistband of my knickers and I gratefully, hastily, lifted myself up so he could pull them down my legs and off. He chucked them aside and his mouth was back on me, no teasing now, he was practically drinking me as he pushed his tongue inside me, moving his face from side to side so his nose pushed against my clit until I whimpered desperately behind the gag. Then he took my clit in his mouth directly and began sucking on it, closing his lips tightly around it, flicking his tongue over it, again and again and again until my long-awaited orgasm consumed me, lifting me off the bed in convulsions, my cries muffled by the gag in a way that probably worked out for the best where my neighbours were concerned.

It was intense. The whole experience had been intense. There wasn’t time to recover yet, though. As my breathing began to slow he stood up and stripped, grabbing a condom from the pocket of his jeans before throwing them, along with the gloves and his clothes, on the floor. Stopping briefly to put it on, he came back to the bed and pushed himself deeply inside me, even as I was still throbbing with the aftermath of my orgasm.

He lay down so most of his weight was on top of me, his face close to mine, smiling, even while he took his pleasure from my body, moving his full length in and out of me slowly, pushing himself deep enough that his pelvis hit my clit, making me whimper again. Every movement brushed against the nipple clamps, and the constant
movement made my nipples ache in a way that I found distracting – the mixture of pain and pleasure and being tied down somehow tamped down my occasional rebellions, leaving me feeling a desperate yearning to please him, to give him – admittedly in a very different way – the kind of pleasure he had just given me. In that moment I would have done or endured anything he wanted me to, and the best way of showing him that felt like bucking my hips in inviting fashion.

We kept the rhythm moving, as he reached behind my head to remove the gag. I desperately swallowed the worst of my drool as he pulled it out, laughing as he apologised at accidentally pulling my hair as he undid the buckle. He raised an eyebrow and I instantly felt a bit chagrined.

‘Sorry, I just found it a bit funny. Torturing my nipples is fine, but accidental hair-pulling needs an apology.’

‘There’s no excuse for impoliteness,’ he said, grabbing a handful of hair and pulling it much harder than he’d done by accident a moment before. I laughed again, but it was swallowed into a kiss as he moved his mouth over mine. I smiled against his mouth and began reciprocating eagerly, although the taste of myself on his lips made me blush again – it was as if his aim in life was to leave me constantly embarrassed and wet.

As we kissed he fucked me harder, pulling out slowly but pushing back in with a force that left me gasping into his mouth. After a few moments he lifted his head away from me and looked straight into my eyes, his expression suddenly sombre. Keeping most of his weight on one hand, he placed the other around my throat.

It was an entirely involuntary reaction, but my entire
body went stiff. Just having his fingers resting there made me nervous. I closed my eyes, trying to hide my nerves, but his voice was firm.

‘Look at me.’

It took a couple of deep, steadying breaths before I could open my eyes and meet his gaze. When I did his look was serious, but calm.

‘Do you trust me?’

I’d repeatedly let him tie me up and given him the key to my flat and an open invitation to come round and assault me in my sleep. If the answer was ‘no’ I was clearly an idiot, but even so, saying it aloud felt like a big step.

‘Yes, I trust you,’ I said, my voice quiet and a little shy, because I did, and part of me was wondering how the fuck that could be when I had only met him so relatively recently.

He nodded, and put pressure on my throat, making it hard for me to breathe. I gasped, my breathing rasping as I tried to drag air into my lungs, watching him watching me, making sure that I was OK. As he let go, again after a couple of seconds, I felt a surge of adrenaline, and surprise at how this turned me on, and it really had, if my involuntary hip bucking underneath him as he choked me was anything to go by.

We kept fucking, alternating between leisurely bucking and moments when he grabbed me by the throat. He held my neck for longer as I began to get used to it, but still never for more than a few seconds at a time. I loved the feeling of it – the powerlessness, the restriction, paired with the lustful, greedy look he would get on his face and the way he would fuck me harder, pounding me till it was
almost hurting but at the same time getting me closer to a second orgasm. Finally he choked me one last time – with the most pressure and for the longest period so far – as my orgasm hit again. My back arched with the force of it and he released his grip round my throat, so I could take in a deep, dizzying lungful of air as I came. My frenzied movements seemed to push him over the edge, with him coming inside me a few short seconds afterwards, moaning out his own pleasure. Thankfully he didn’t collapse onto the clamps afterwards, instead lying down carefully next to me again, looking slightly more mussed himself now.

We were both still breathing heavily as he untied my hands and carefully removed the nipple clamps, rubbing feeling gently back into my aching nipples as they began to tingle painfully back into life.

Finally, he leaned down the bed and grabbed the duvet, covering us both up and enveloping me in a cuddle. We chatted about how things had gone and how I had found being choked, and then I dozed off, waking only to the smell of bacon and freshly brewed coffee – to top it all off Adam had brought breakfast in his bag of supplies.

As fantasies go the reality was pretty bloody amazing. It made me suddenly desperate to think about all the other things I wanted to try, happy I had a partner in crime I could do them with. Although not
that
way, because obviously we weren’t going to be dating. We’d decided. Obviously.

Fuck. Who was I kidding?