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

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 meharrumph 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