No Ordinary Love Story: Sequel to The Diary of a Submissive (22 page)

Once I was naked he turned to me, holding a couple of lengths of rope. He pushed me onto the bed and tied my wrists together and then tied them to the headboard. He then spread my legs open and tied each ankle to a corner of the bed, leaving me spread wide open.

Before Adam, I was relatively unused to being tied up. My exes had often used cuffs and on the rare occasions
they did use rope it was in a perfunctory fashion. Adam was a rope aficionado. He loved shibari, and his ties were often elaborate, meticulous, with him occasionally loosening something that didn’t sit right to then pull it back in place perfectly. He became completely focused on the job at hand when he tied me up and I loved to watch the look of concentration on his face. But even on that basis he was more disconnected from me now than usual. He moved my arms and legs as he wanted to, but his movements were businesslike, I was another plaything. It was an oddly hot thought. I suppose I should be grateful he didn’t keep
me
in the blanket box.

He left the room briefly, and returned trailing wires. I was confused and a little nervous – my first thought was, ‘Does whatever that is plug in at the mains?’ Then he moved closer, lifting his arms to show me what he’d got.

Everyone’s seen those machines. They’re the kind of things they advertise on late-night TV aimed at people desperate to get fit but lacking the time or motivation to get to the gym. I’ve read the hyperbole, seen the Sunday supplement brochures, but always been a bit suspicious if I’m honest. Frankly, I have lard-arse tendencies brought about by a lifetime’s love of cheese. I don’t see how four sticky pads attached to my stomach are going to be able to work any ‘muscles’ hiding under the legacy of Cheddar.

When I’d first seen the TENS machine amid his stuff when we were unpacking I’d mocked Adam a little, but he told me it was good for treating muscle pain he got as a result of a recurring rugby injury. I was suddenly aware he had potentially left out a secondary use that might have been of interest to me. Git.

He placed a small circular pad on my breast, just beside my nipple. It was cold and sticky and I shivered slightly as he adjusted it. Then he added a second one to the other side of my already-erect nipple (let’s say it was part nerves, part arousal). He moved to the other breast and did the same.

I was wary as he leaned down towards me, his breath tickling against my ear.

‘Do you remember your safe word?’

My throat was dry and I wasn’t sure I trusted myself to speak, so I nodded.

‘Say it out loud.’ I hesitated. He took my silence for stubbornness. ‘Come on, there’s no shame in saying it. Say it for me.’ My jaw was clenched, and my nerves increased in the way they always did when he performed this almost ritualistic check. The word I had chosen – courtesy of an in-joke from a comedy show – was deliberately unalluring and faintly ridiculous. But it wasn’t that I was worried about killing the moment or whatever, it was that this check inevitably pinpointed that whatever was about to happen was going to be a serious challenge for me. After a week of wondering about what he had in mind, all my wild theories had been blown out of the water with his first move. I couldn’t second-guess him and had no idea what was coming next. This was a real step into the unknown, where I had to trust him and let him be my guide. I mentally cursed him for making the build-up even worse, then took a steadying breath, trying to calm myself down.

Then, through gritted teeth: ‘Flugelhorn.’ I told you it was unalluring.

Half a second after I’d spoken, I cried out loud. I couldn’t help it. A sudden sharp pain ran across my nipples. I had a split second to think, ‘He was right, this isn’t a conventional pain, it feels different,’ and then it hit me again. I don’t cry out a lot – I’m usually a whimperer, and even then a grudging one, but every burst of pain that flashed across my skin wrenched a loud cry from my throat.

Fuck.

In the kind of random thought that flashes through my mind in these kinds of moments I suddenly thought, ‘
He uses this to feel better?
’

Over the next minute or so the pain came and went every few seconds. The relentless pulse made my nipples prickle and the soft flesh of my breasts sting.

He moved closer, and I glared at him, standing there with his little white plastic box, the black and red wires attached to my body. I noticed as well that there were a worrying number of knobs and buttons on the box. I could see where this was going.

He definitely wanted to play. He twisted a dial and suddenly my back was arching with the increased intensity and length of the pulse. Fuck. I let out a noise that can only be described as a mournful wail. He changed the programme, possibly to minimise any disruption to our neighbours.

After a moment of blessed relief, the pain began to build again. It started as a minor prickle, but as the seconds lengthened I began to bite my lip to try and stop the cry forming in my throat.

Adam watched me struggle against the rope, and grinned at me – the same kind of look he’d had when I
gave him the remote-controlled egg. I had a flash of what he’d have looked like as a kid when he was given a Scalextric or some such. Hell, he was still a gadget fiend now, it’s just his favourite toys included semi-naked women.

His fingers moved again on the box and I steeled myself for what was coming next. It was as though he wanted to see what reactions and noises he could elicit from me – what was hardest for me to handle.

More quickly than I expected he switched the machine off, pulling the sticky pads off my breasts and giving my nipples a quick kiss as he did so.

His smile was getting wider with every passing minute and it made me feel an odd mix of affection at how much fun he was having and nerves at what exactly he was up to. I was right to be suspicious.

‘Right. Let’s get started shall we?’

What? I thought we were finished. Shit.

He placed the four pads in two sets of two at the very top of my inner thigh, tantalisingly (and, admittedly, a little worryingly) close to my cunt. Control box in hand, he sat himself down on the bed next to my prone body. He had the look in his eyes that simultaneously makes me wet and nervous. His thumb flicked a couple of switches and then the movement started.

The initial shock (if you’ll forgive the pun) of the feeling tickling my thighs made me jump, even though I’d just felt the same sensations in my breasts. I squirmed a little in the rope, and got a smirk. But then I had time to adjust to the sensation.

At the lowest setting the tingling felt not dissimilar to
my rabbit vibrator being run along my inner thigh. It was pleasant, tickling, soothing almost. I even began to relax into it, enjoying being teased within my bonds.

I don’t know how long we lay there that way, but I was blissed out by the time the sensation changed. The strength of the vibration increased – a quick look at Adam’s smile made me realise I wasn’t imagining it – and suddenly it didn’t feel like a vibrator running across my skin, but as if my skin itself was properly vibrating – which of course it was as the current ran through it. The feeling wasn’t unpleasant, but was certainly a step up from before. I started to move more in the ropes in spite of my attempts to stay still, squirming against the sensation.

The next half an hour or so was ridiculously intense. I had seriously underestimated that little machine. It had more pulsing patterns than the highest-spec rabbit I’d ever owned (and that one had thirty-one speeds – I’m a gadget geek, I can’t help it). Some of the patterns were teasing, taking me almost there; some were full-on, leaving me writhing and whimpering a little to myself, although if you’d asked me I’d have been hard pressed to tell you if it was in pleasure or pain. And then of course there was the power dial. Initially we were using the different pulse pattern programmes at lower intensity – as, frankly, you should when you’re trying anything new and feeling a little nervous. However, by the time a sheen of sweat had started forming between my shoulder blades and my thighs were damp with proof that, actually, any nerves I did have about trying this had dissipated, Adam was happy to ramp things up a little higher.

It was a surprisingly innocuous setting, used at evilly high levels, that was the most painful and shocking. Adam nearly had to prise me off the ceiling afterwards. One burst on and then a few moments’ respite. You’d think it would be easy to withstand, one quick burst and then relief. Yes? No. At higher levels the feeling of the electricity running through my body felt like tiny needle pin pricks. The feeling was a different kind of pain to the catharsis of a caning or a good session with the belt, and afterwards the memory of it faded quickly, but in that moment as it assaulted my thighs and the edge of my cunt it felt excruciating, like the most difficult thing I had ever experienced. The moments of rest just made my heart beat faster and my hands tremble more, as I knew the relief would be punctured quickly and my cries would start again. If he’d been torturing me for information, he would have got everything he needed and more. He told me afterwards – with a kind of smug pride – that he had seen my fingers clench into fists and my toes curl as I processed the pain. It didn’t surprise me.

Thankfully he wasn’t a sadist at heart, so eventually he tired of watching my lip wobble as I tried to work through the pain, my inner monologue urging me on, telling me that I need only last a few more seconds until it stopped. And then started again. By the time he’d finished with me, my mouth was dry and my throat was a little hoarse. And I hadn’t even had an orgasm yet.

The orgasm was an interesting one (as I suppose all orgasms are). I’d always assumed electrosex was a form of D/s edgeplay, and certainly in the right context and with the right person at the controls it gives the opportun
ity to inflict sensation so intense it can be painful yet not leave any marks, in a way that Jack Bauer himself would be proud of. That said, at the lower levels the sensation is much more about pleasure – in fact if we’re talking about ‘edgeplay’ as a concept then that moment where the pleasure becomes so intense as to be painful can be hugely fun to play with. After a lot of fiddling, Adam found the optimum setting to push my buttons. It was an intense, regular pulsing that increased in strength, and was set at a level that meant that when it reached the strongest part of the cycle there was a couple of seconds of agonising pain before the soothing bliss of the lower levels returned. My inner masochist was in heaven, while the constant shifts in sensation meant I was squirming against the bed in a desperate way, which made him happy too.

I don’t think I’d have come from the sensation of the TENS pads alone, at least not placed where they were. While the focal point of the electricity zinging through me was close to my cunt, it wasn’t intense or focused enough to bring me off. But when Adam slipped a glass dildo embarrassingly easily inside me and then leaned round to play with my clit while he fucked me with it, it took just a few seconds to push me over the edge, and when I fell it was loud, long and intense. I like to think I’m comfortable with my own body and know how to bring myself off, but even on my best day, at my horniest, and with the best my toy drawer has to offer, I’ve not ever felt an orgasm quite like that. The leg-wobbling aftermath continued as he pulled out the dildo, wiped his sticky fingers on my arse, unstuck the pads, and then began the arduous task of undoing all the rope securing my arms
and legs. For a long while afterwards I was a ball of nerve endings, incapable of moving, although eventually I did because, frankly, after all that it felt a bit rude not to thank Adam somehow.

We lay cuddled together for long enough that my breathing had returned to normal, his hands stroking my back almost hypnotically. Finally, I crawled down his body and took him in my mouth – an obvious but fairly effective way of saying thank you for something so fiendish and so fun. If the size of his erection was anything to go by, I wasn’t the only one who had enjoyed it, a thought that made me smile as I urged him deeper into my mouth, running my tongue along him and enjoying the sense of regaining a little control of things.

I took my time, enjoying the feeling of him in my mouth, loving his reactions and feeling like he deserved a little spoiling of his own (although my form of spoiling didn’t have the frisson of delicious meanness that his did).

‘Oh, Sophie,’ he whispered as he tangled his hands in my hair, holding me still as he came. My heart swelled, and my ego felt a little smug. I figured it was OK because Adam was smug 85 per cent of the time when we did anything sexual (and that’s being conservative). Hell, maybe it was catching.

I crawled back up the bed and tucked myself into the curve of his arm. He kissed the top of my head.

‘You OK?’

I smiled. These quiet moments were something I had come to love – they were a sign of Adam’s concern for me, and also functioned, in the nicest possible way, as a
kind of post-coital post-mortem where he learned about the things I enjoyed the most, and the things I found most difficult to cope with. He was always loving and kind, even at his meanest, but no more so than in these moments when we talked frankly and happily about what had happened.

Of course, when we’d just done something filthy I could barely look at him without blushing, so a lot of the time I was whispering my responses into his chest.

‘I’m great thank you. That was amazing. Really intense.’

‘Not too much?’

‘No, just right. Bearable. Well, not bearable. At points it was unbearable.’ I broke off and sighed as I tried to pull together my thoughts, which is difficult at the best of times but even more so when I’m returning from my submissive headspace. It’s like part of my brain is still trying to process how I feel about what happened, so explaining it to anyone else is like trying to nail custard to the wall. ‘It’s a weird one. I want to be pushed to the point where I don’t think I can take any more, and then pushed a little bit further to prove that I can, even though I think I can’t. You do that. You know what I can take.’

He chuckled. ‘I think I’m beginning to know that, yes.’ He kissed me again. ‘You were so brave. I love it when you’re all stoic and trying to withstand the pain. Also, watching you struggle when I’ve got you tied up? That’s not getting old.’