The Diary Of A Submissive: A True Story by Sophie Morgan Page A

my nipples, which were, inevitably, tight in my top.
    I laughed quietly, with a faint air of desperation I couldn’t disguise. ‘We should stop talking about this now.’
    He smiled. ‘Why? Are you turned on?’ As if he didn’tknow. Except of course he did and was asking because he enjoyed seeing me blush as I answered.
    My ‘yes’ was very quiet.
    ‘Move your arms away from your chest.’
    I muttered his name, the word both a plea and an exclamation of exasperation, my arms still firmly covering the evidence of my arousal.
    Then the tide turned and his dom voice was right there, the bantering gone. ‘It wasn’t a request, Sophie.’
    Slowly I moved my arms away.
    ‘Move back in the seat a little so I can see you properly.’
    My face was hot as I moved back.
    He laughed softly. ‘That really was a little. It’s OK though, it was enough.’
    He stared intently at my breasts, not breaking away when the waitress came to ask if we wanted dessert. He ordered for both of us, and when she’d gone and I pointed out she’d seen him doing it, he replied, ‘Ah, I wasn’t staring at them, I was just thinking what they’d look like naked.’
    I gulped my drink. Oh, that was all right then.
    As we waited for dessert, conversation reverted to the topic of the girl at work who might or might not be interested in me, but any hope I’d be given a chance to recompose myself from the incoherent puddle sitting in front of him was soon extinguished. Having met her briefly he’d decided she was a switch, someone who could be either dominant or submissive, depending on who she was playing with, and began explaining to me exactly how he’d go about showing her how to ‘get the best’ from me.
    As he described tying me down, making me lick her,showing her how to use the cane effectively on my arse and breasts, making me watch them fuck, and so much more, I was beginning to move on the bench for different reasons. My hand was shaking as I tried to eat my dessert.
    All of which he noticed, of course.
    By the time we’d finished and got the bill I had no interest whatsoever in going to the cinema. I wanted to go back to his house for rampant mid-afternoon shagging. When I told him this – OK, maybe not ‘told’, there may have been pleading on my part; I really was very horny by this point – he smiled.
    ‘OK. We can go back. But not yet, I have some things I want to get first.’
    He could see the frustration in my face but I wasn’t going to complain as I knew he’d just spin it out longer. So we paid the bill and started walking. I was wearing jeans and no knickers at Tom’s request, so walking around with a seam pressed along my slit drove me crazy.
    By the time we’d been into a DVD shop, two bookshops and a supermarket, I wanted to scream with frustration. He wasn’t even buying anything. I’d given up even pretending to browse and was just focused on not embarrassing myself in public either by begging him to take me home and fuck me or coming to a seam-related orgasm. Finally he walked up behind me as I stood staring vacantly at a display of magazines and slapped me hard on the arse, making me yelp and dragging me from my reverie.
    ‘OK, I’m done. It’s time to go home.’
    Thank fuck.
    We finally got back to the house and as soon as we got through the door I suggested a blow job. I was desperate and wanting to reassert a little control. Tom’s ability to read me had left me on the back foot and I figured getting my mouth round him would redress the balance – blow jobs didn’t make him any less in charge, but every so often he’d make a tiny noise in the back of his throat or clench and unclench his hand and I’d know that for once he was the one fighting for control and it was all because of me, a very satisfying thought. Almost as satisfying as feeling him respond to my tongue and thickening in my mouth, getting to swallow him, diligently licking him clean afterwards and the orgasm it usually