No Ordinary Love Story: Sequel to The Diary of a Submissive by Sophie Morgan Page A

brought up a ball gag and pressed the large red bulb of it to my mouth. I swallowed, trying to minimise the saliva that I knew the gag would end up collecting, but then opened my mouth compliantly as he pushed it inside. I don’t think I even glared at him, such was the level of my obedience. It would appear breath play and sleepiness made for an especially submissive Soph. He lifted my head up gently so he could fasten the leather straps of thegag without pulling my hair too much, and I smiled to myself at the paradox of a man who enjoyed being able to hurt me – but only wanted to do so by design rather than accident.
    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 wasbecause 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 madean 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