All For Love: The Odyssey of a Submissive

Chapter One-2

“Later, maybe,” I said. “There’s no rush.”

We lay in bed for an hour, talking, caressing. I went and got our wine glasses. When I came back he made me sit naked on the edge of the bed for a moment so that he could look at me. He put his hand over my breasts then let it trail down to my belly.

“It’s an extraordinarily sensual body,” he said. “I can’t remember feeling such desire.”

I blushed, feeling embarrassed at such fulsome praise. Bet you say that to all the girls, I thought. But it was good to hear it, all the same.

After a while we began to make love again. He went down on me which surprised me. My cunt was sticky from his semen. Not a lot of men care for that, in my experience. But he seemed, literally, to lap it up. I couldn’t quite manage to come with just his tongue on me, and he encouraged me to use my fingers, and it felt good that he wanted my pleasure and didn’t mind how I got it. And I wanted his; it surprised me just how much I wanted to please him. After I’d come, I pulled him on top to f**k me again.

We showered together, and I shyly washed his c**k. It was a good size, possibly just a shade above average length and a nice thickness. I rinsed carefully under his foreskin and felt him getting big again, but I wouldn’t let him f**k me again. I don’t know why; I guess I just felt, leave him wanting more. I also thought he’d think less of me somehow if I wanted s*x too much. I was wrong about that, as it turned out.

He took me out to dinner at my local Indian. I saw someone I knew, and I liked the way she looked at Roland with admiration. Afterwards we kissed warmly as I saw him off at the tube station. We both had early meetings in the morning.

We didn’t have s*x again until the following weekend. Roland had to go to Germany on business, so we didn’t meet up until that Friday night. He took me to a swanky restaurant in Knightsbridge then back to his flat in the Barbican. I’d had several glasses of wine by then; and, besides, I’d been thinking about him all week. I was hungry for him.

I could tell he wanted it badly too. Yet instead of plunging in, he held back, teasing me. In bed I took hold of his c**k and tried to draw him on top of me, but he got me in the same grip as last time, pinioning one of my arms underneath him and holding on to the other by the wrist.

“f**k me,” I gasped.

“Greedy!” he said. He twisted my n****e. “Perhaps you should wait a little while.”

“Why?” I protested. “Don’t be so mean.”

He twisted my n****e harder.

“Bastard,” I said.

Suddenly, he reached over to the bedside table, opened a drawer, and pulled out a pair of metal handcuffs.

“What the hell is that?” I asked.

“It’s for restraining little girls who get too greedy,” he replied.

There was a look in his eye which made me a little nervous. “No,” I said. “It’s OK, I won’t be greedy. I promise.”

He’d already got the cuffs locked round one wrist. “I won’t hurt you,” he said. “Trust me.”

Nervously, I let him thread the chain connecting the cuffs through the rail at the top of his brass bedstead then click it shut on my other wrist. Despite my apprehension, I was excited. The danger was intoxicating. Roland knelt over me, his c**k rock-hard. He took hold of it and rubbed it against my face, over my eyes, my nose and cheeks. I tried to take him in my mouth, but he wouldn’t let me.

“You may lick the tip but not suck,” he said, holding it just beyond the reach of my lips. He pulled the foreskin back, and I could smell his male scent. I pushed my tongue into the little slit at the tip.

“You like it?” he demanded.

“Yes,” I said, still trying to take it in my mouth.

“You feel its power?”

I almost laughed, but it was true. I did feel it. “Yes,” I said, “yes.”

“You want it?”

“Yes,” I said.

Suddenly, he pushed it into my mouth, all the way back so that I nearly choked. Then he pulled it out again. He started to rub it with his hand.

“You want it in the face?” he demanded.

“Yes,” I said. “Anything. Any way you like.”

He rubbed his c**k some more, and I saw the hot milky stuff spurt out and splash onto my face. A lot of it went round my mouth, and I stuck out my tongue and licked it up. He put his hand on my face and smeared his semen over me. It began to dry on my skin, feeling stiff. It wasn’t the first time anyone had come on my face, but I’d never previously enjoyed it much. This time was different. I wanted him to mark me with his scent, like an animal. He put his sticky fingers into my mouth, and I licked them clean.

“Dirty little slut,” he said.

I don’t know what shocked me more, the fact that he used such words to me, or that my cunt clenched when he did so.

“f**k me with your hand now,” I begged. “Please?”

He put two fingers in me. It didn’t take him long to find my g-spot. He pressed against it while he licked my clit. I came quite quickly. Afterwards he took the cuffs off.

“Are you afraid of me?” he asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” I said. “Should I be?”

“I want to go to the dark places in your mind,” he said.

I laughed. “How do you know there are any?”

“I’ve got this feeling about you,” he answered.

It was several weeks before I asked him if he’d had a feeling about me right from the start, about what sort of woman I was.

“I’m not sure,” he told me.

“I don’t see how you could have,” I replied. “I didn’t even know it about myself when you met me.”

But that wasn’t exactly true. I had always had my secret life, the thoughts I kept buried even from myself except at night in bed when solitary lust overcame me. I’d never acknowledged them to any man, and I never intended to. I reasoned that if a man knew what I was like, deep down, he’d despise me for a filthy little w***e. I wasn’t looking for a man who’d bring me out, expose my dark and dirty desires. I don’t know how Roland could have known those things about me just from my manner, my way of talking, or the way I looked. I still think that, at the start, he just liked the look of me. But as soon as we began having s*x, he began to get intimations. That much I could see. And being the sort of man he was, he pushed deeper.

It didn’t happen all at once, nor did it happen gradually. Things escalated in an even curve. Instead, there would be a week or two when s*x proceeded pretty much as before, and then there would be a sudden lunge into something we hadn’t done previously, something edgy, even a bit scary, which would excite me so much I sometimes felt giddy with desire. So after he handcuffed me to the bed, we did that once or twice more with not much variation. He didn’t come on my face again, but he did come between my t**s; his c**k spurting into the hollow between them. It excited me to see the stuff coming out of him, see the visible evidence that I excited him. At the same time, I couldn’t help feeling that, while he was doing that, he wasn’t f*****g me, and I’d got to like that very much, the feel of his rock-hard c**k driving into me like a jack-hammer. I guess I was just greedy; I wanted it all ways. I’d never quite known lust like this. I’d always enjoyed s*x a lot, but this was something special. There was so much psychic energy between us, so many sparks flying.

One evening we were sitting in his flat kissing on the sofa; and, suddenly, he grabbed hold of my hair at the back of my head, twisting it hard. He brought his face right up to mine.

“I know what you are,” he hissed. “What are you?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “What am I?”

He twisted my hair harder. “You’re a little slut,” he said. “What are you?”

I looked at him. I couldn’t bring myself to say it. He leaned forward to kiss me then bit me on the lower lip. I yelled out in pain.

“f**k you, you’ve bitten me. I’m bleeding,” I cried.

He looked at my lip carefully. “It’s nothing,” he said.

“Bastard,” I said. I don’t know how seriously angry I was with him.

Still gripping my hair with one hand, he slapped my face with the other. I was too surprised to say anything.

“Now,” he said, “tell me what you are.” He slapped me again.

My face was stinging. One half of my mind was outraged. But below this, I could feel something else. In the pit of my stomach, there was a sensation like an electric current passing through. I could feel my cunt clench.

“I’m a slut,” I said.

“Good girl,” he said. He slapped my face again but not as hard. He let go of my hair and stood up, pulling me to my feet. He put his hand on the back of my neck and steered me to the bedroom. He undressed me carefully and laid me naked on the bed. When he was naked too, he lay beside me, stroking the small of my back. He kissed my bruised lip.

“I get carried away,” he said. “I’ve never known such desire. It’s so intense.”

He slid down the bed and began to kiss my belly, the inside of my thighs, the lips of my cunt. Slowly, tenderly, he licked me until I came shuddering in his face. He turned me round and spooned against me, slipping his c**k into me from behind, f*****g me gently.

There was another period of relative calm after that. I was starting to know him well. We’d swapped life histories. I found out he’d been married once when he very young. He spoke fondly of his ex-wife but said they were children really, not ready for such responsibility. He’d had a lot of affairs since then, even had one or two women move in with him. But he said that none of them was the right one. I wondered if his telling me this meant that I was supposed to think I was the right one at last. Or maybe not. I dare not ask in case I wasn’t.

I was falling for him. It wasn’t just the s*x though that was spectacular and exciting in a way I had never known. I found myself dreaming of Roland; and, in my dreams, I was shameless, flaunting myself before him. But it was more than that. He was kind to me and interested in what I had to say. I know I’m intelligent, and I think I have some ideas and opinions that aren’t entirely banal, but men don’t always want to know about that. Roland let me talk, and his eyes didn’t glaze over.

One evening, we went out to eat. It was a rather expensive restaurant. Roland had quite a lot more money than me. Publishing isn’t well paid whereas he seemed to be forever completing lucrative deals that earned him tidy sums. So usually, when we went out, he insisted on paying. At first I tried to resist, but he argued with me.

“I can’t imagine anything which would give me more pleasure to spend my money on than you,” he said. “Won’t you allow me that indulgence?” And I did because he was so nice about it. He never once threw it in my face that I couldn’t pay my way.

We’d gotten to the end of the first course. He was telling me how much better s*x was with me than with anyone else. I was blushing a little because I thought the people at the next table were listening. But it was good to hear him say such things. The waiter came and cleared away some plates, and then Roland fixed me with one of his ‘looks’, the kind I’d come to recognise. It’s usually the precedent to his making some kind of a s****l move on me. When he looks at me like that, the hairs on the back of my neck start to rise.