The Diary Of A Submissive: A True Story (7 page)

It probably sounds naive now, but I didn’t really think about having sex with him. He was a good looking guy, with dirty blond hair, glasses and a laid-back style that I approved of, but as he’d been keen to point out during that first invite, my visits were platonic with no expectations of sex on his side. I was fairly pragmatic about such things and just assumed he didn’t fancy me, and I had no
intention of scuppering our friendship by pushing things, not least because I knew he was still thinking about his ex. It was OK. I enjoyed his friendship without feeling the urge to jump him.

But then one night things changed. It all started pretty innocently. Thomas, Ella and I had booked tickets and hotel rooms to see a band together. But the week before the gig Ella suggested a change of plans. Another friend had got a ticket, so if I moved in with Thomas for the night this fourth person could join Ella, thus reducing all of our hotel costs. Practicality won out and, since we’d been seeing each other alone anyway for months by this point, why did it matter? It didn’t really, and we had a fantastic night, enjoying the gig, giddy and excitable and a little hoarse by the time we got back to the hotel room, on an adrenaline high from the energy of the music.

We took turns in the bathroom, got changed and then climbed into bed. We lay talking in the darkness for a while, still too awake to sleep, talking about the night, the music, our weeks, life in general. And then, quietly in the darkness, he spoke.

‘Sophie, have you ever thought of us sleeping together?’

Taken aback, the silence lengthened as I tried to formulate a reply. I decided to fudge it rather than inadvertently putting my foot in it by saying something that would either hurt his feelings or have him reassess my motivations for our friendship – did he actually
want
me to think that sort of thing? Or would it make him feel awkward knowing I felt that way? Vagueness was the plan.

‘There’s no point really, you don’t fancy me.’

He laughed. ‘What makes you say that?’

I threw a pillow at him. ‘You’ve never tried to make a move. It’s all platonic, remember?’

The silence lasted so long that I thought he’d fallen asleep. When he finally spoke, his voice was little more than a whisper. ‘It doesn’t need to be.’

‘Oh.’ Not my finest response, I’ll grant you, but I honestly didn’t know quite what else to say under the circumstances. Suddenly his hand was stroking my shoulder in the darkness, over the duvet, tentative and a little shy. I let it linger for a second or two, before finally succumbing, grabbing his wrist and pulling him over.

Our hands traced each other’s bodies, firstly over our clothes – he mocked me for my pyjamas, being too cool for anything other than a t-shirt and boxers himself, and got a smack on the arm for his troubles – and then he slowly undid the buttons of my top, sliding his hand in to touch my breasts, moulding them and playing with the nipples. I whimpered quietly, enjoying the sensation, after so long, of someone touching me there, even before he slid his hand further down, into the waistband of my trousers, and under my knickers. As he touched me between my legs I moaned, spreading them wider, encouraging his fingers to continue their playful dance, thrilling at the sensation. Meanwhile I was sliding my hands into his boxers, taking his cock in my hand, echoing his movements with my own, and eliciting a similar moan from him. Our hands moved for a long time, back and forth, as we enjoyed the sensations we were evoking in each other. His hand, assured, pressed firmly against my clit, over and
over again, until I couldn’t restrain myself any more. The orgasm literally made my toes curl. My breathing returned to normal, and as I whispered to him I couldn’t hide the need in my voice. ‘Please, go get a condom.’

There was an abrupt pause. ‘What?’

‘What do you mean, what? A condom. Please. I want you to fuck me.’

‘Fuck!’

‘Yes, fuck.’

‘No, that’s not what I mean. Fuck!’

‘What?’

His voice was so forlorn that in another situation I’d have laughed. ‘I don’t
have
a condom with me. I wasn’t expecting us to do this tonight.’ He paused. ‘I don’t suppose
you
have a—’

I snorted. ‘I haven’t had sex for over a year, and I definitely wasn’t expecting anything to happen tonight.’

Now he sounded
really
forlorn. ‘Oh.’

I definitely couldn’t hide the amusement in my voice – or my urge to make mischief – then. ‘Look, don’t worry about it, let’s just say goodnight …’ His cock twitched in my hand as I spoke, and he made a strangled noise I assumed to be part outrage and part frustration. But then, I gave him a squeeze, and moved myself lower down the bed to take him in my mouth.

His groan as my lips encircled him was rich and made me feel not unlike a goddess. I licked him languorously, taking my time and enjoying the moment his hands clenched to grab the duvet, the way his body arched and stretched as I began to wring the pleasure from him. It
had been a while since I’d had the chance to do this, and while I wasn’t planning on being too mean on the teasing front, I had no intention of ending it too soon either. I took my time and, finally, when he came, stroking my hair and whispering my name, I felt a strange sense of achievement. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t be putting it on my CV or anything, but it felt lovely, and I fell asleep with a smile on my face.

Of course the problem with nights like that is you have to wake up. I came back to consciousness to find myself pretty much nose to nose with him, our legs entwined. I opened my eyes, saw him staring back at me and shut them immediately, feigning sleep.

‘Sophie? Are you awake?’

I stayed quiet. Fuck. What did I do now? ‘Sophie? We need to go to breakfast soon. Are you OK? Talk to me.’

My eyes stayed closed. ‘I’m fine. Great.’ Too effusive? ‘Fine.’

‘Are you going to open your eyes then?’ His voice was certainly starting to sound bemused.

‘Yes, in a minute!’ Mine on the other hand had a bright sing-song quality to it not dissimilar to my mum when she was being faux cheery. Which in hindsight is a mental image that didn’t help.

His hand took mine. ‘It’s OK, you know. It doesn’t mean anything.’

My eyes shot open and stared at his, reassuring, calm, oddly sweet. I couldn’t decide whether I should be offended, but my glare must have given me away, because his hands came up in a gesture of surrender. ‘Sorry, that’s
not what I meant. It was amazing, I enjoyed it, it was brilliant.’

‘Damn right,’ I said grudgingly, although a smile was starting to form at the edges of my mouth.

‘All I’m saying is it doesn’t have to happen again if you don’t want it to, and it hasn’t changed anything about our friendship.’ I stared at him for a long time.

‘You’re sure?’

He nodded. ‘Really.’

At that exact moment my stomach growled and I blushed. ‘Right, time for breakfast then. I get the bathroom first.’ I leapt up, grabbed my clothes from the side and headed for the shower, trying to act vaguely normally. He lay in bed, watching me move, not turning away or moving at all. I got halfway across the room before I couldn’t restrain it any more. ‘Stop checking out my arse!’

‘I’m not, I’m admiring the pyjamas.’

By the time we had both washed and dressed and got ready to meet Ella and the friend who had inadvertently kick-started this turn of events things had returned to a kind of comfortable normality. We were bantering as normal, breakfast was as it would have been if I hadn’t become intimately acquainted with his cock the night before, and no more was said about it, at least until later that night when I got a text.

Glad you got back OK, I’m

back fine now too. PS. Wish

I’d had condoms.

Git.

It is, in hindsight, somewhat inevitable that not long afterwards we ended up sleeping together properly – ironically we both bought condoms that time. My visits were much the same as they’d ever been, it was just that over time I ended up sleeping in his bed rather than the spare room. We’d continued being friends first, talking frankly about everything, and that extended to our sexual relationship. We liked each other – a lot – but I was really not the woman for him, and as for him, he was wonderful, funny, clever, and I found him very attractive, but he didn’t make my stomach flip when he walked into a room. I didn’t put it that way to him – not least because I feared I’d sound like a naive fool – but in long chats walking the dog we came to our shared understanding of what this was, the terms of engagement for our relationship. It was fun, no expectations, no responsibilities. If either of us started seeing anyone else it stopped. Otherwise, as long as we were both having fun and one of us didn’t have deeper feelings than the other, anything went. And, over a period of time, as we got to know each other, it really did.

I can honestly say though that, even bearing in mind our similarities, I never expected to find my wrists tied to Thomas’s headboard with him looming over me with an evil half-smile that made me wonder for a second just what I’d let myself in for. Which goes back to the serendipitous nature of the queue, and – as my mother always said – the need not to judge a book by its cover (although this probably wasn’t exactly what she had in mind).

We’d been fuck buddies for a while by that point, so it was inevitable we would end up having a conversation
about long-term unfulfilled fantasies. But as I knocked back a glass of red, told him a vague summation of what had happened with Ryan and my foray into internet smut before shyly admitting I fancied unleashing – or should that be leashing? – my submissive side properly with some experimentation into BDSM, I really didn’t see him as the guy who would take me there. And I wasn’t even expecting him to become that guy – as far as I was concerned we were having a bit of horny chat as a prelude to a perfect end-of-week pick-me-up fuck. I’d come to appreciate his intelligence and his deliciously dirty mind, but little did I know I had crossed paths with someone who it would turn out was ying to my submissive yang.

Talking to him felt easy. Any worries I’d had about broaching my sexual turn-ons with a partner were negated by the very nature of our relationship. He was my friend, and I trusted him to be respectful and kind while we talked about such deeply personal and potentially embarrassing things, but because we weren’t dating I didn’t feel awkward telling him what turned me on, what I wanted to try. I wasn’t worrying about him as a potential boyfriend who might think I was weird or twisted, or who might be unable to square the vanilla me with the other slightly rude aspects of my personality, because even if he did judge me a bit, it wasn’t going to impact on any boyfriend/girlfriend relationship as a whole. Of course over time I realized he wasn’t going to judge me at all, not least because he too had at least as many filthy thoughts as I did – and his inclinations complemented mine very well indeed.

He was fully clothed, which made me feel even more vulnerable as he knelt over my naked body to reach my nipple. To start with he was just playing, rubbing his fingers over and around it, watching it bud. I started to relax, my eyes drifting shut to enjoy the sensation, when he pinched it. Hard. I gasped at the sudden burst of pain and looked up to see him staring intently at my face. He released his hold for a second, but the respite was brief, as he adjusted his grip for a tighter one before beginning to pull harder, tugging my breast high.

The pain increased and my breath started to shudder. I bit my lip and arched my back to try and ease the tension, but with him kneeling across me and my wrists tied I couldn’t move far, and having watched with amusement at my writhing, a slight move of his hand meant the full bittersweet pleasure of pain was back a second later. My moan filled the room and all that ran through my mind was the thought that it really was as arousing as I remembered, at least until the warmth of the pain in my nipple filled my mind and I wasn’t thinking much else at all.

He turned his attention to my other nipple, licking delicately around it before sucking hard and grazing it with his teeth. I bucked underneath him at the pain. If my hands were free I’d have been running my fingers through his hair, but instead all I could do while he alternated between gentleness and cruelty was clench and unclench my fingers, unsure which it was I was actually craving at that moment.

Actually, I’m lying. The pain was turning me on more than I’d expected. More than my enjoyment at being spanked by Ryan had even hinted at. And as Thomas ran his hands down my body, I shamelessly spread my legs wider so he could see the glistening proof.

He chuckled and gently ran his fingers through my wetness towards my clit. In contrast to the treatment of my nipples, his strokes were light, frustratingly so, and I lifted my hips to encourage him to push his fingers deep inside me. But as I moved, he moved away. I looked up in frustration and he raised his eyebrows at me.

I knew what he wanted; I had spent a good twenty minutes blathering on about how I thought it would be sexy to have to do it. But somehow begging seemed so much easier in fantasy than in real life. What can I say? I guess I’m just contrary, but having spent years dreaming of properly giving up control, when the moment came to do it, in person, with a sexy man whose mind was a mystery to me, it felt like maybe I wasn’t ready to give it up just yet after all.

As the silence lengthened it became a battle of wills, which was stupid since I knew him touching me would be a victory for both of us. His hand rested gently on my mound, one of his fingers tapping gently on my clit – one, two, three times – like he was drumming his fingers on a table while I decided what to do next. His calm infuriated me more. So I stayed silent. I was definitely more stubborn than I realized, a recurring theme that has gotten me into trouble in dozens of ways dozens of times in the years since.

A pause.

Tom moved his hand away and turned to face me, then ran a finger, slick with my juices, around my mouth. I sucked it deep, tasting myself, licking him clean, and trying to somehow reassert some semblance of control. And yes, I know that sounds contrary after having spent so long yearning to give it up, but let’s just note it down as another recurring theme. As I pulled his finger deeper into my mouth, he smiled at my unspoken – and, admittedly, unsubtle – suggestion, pulled down his trousers and pulled his cock out. I strained forward, eager, and he fed himself to me. I sucked him, smiling around him as I heard him sigh his pleasure.