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

and try not to tremble. I didn’t have long to go.
    The first strike didn’t hurt that much; the noise was more of a shock than the impact itself. I felt a moment of relief that actually the pain was bearable, and then he hit me twice more in quick succession and I yelped loudly – it would appear he’d not got the aim or the strength of his swing right with the first hit as it was hurting a damn sight more now.
    He told me the more I yelped the harder he would hit me, so I bit my lip to try and silence myself, until I was convinced I could taste blood in my mouth. The crack of each impact on my arse sounded like a gunshot and the pain after the impact was a wave of agony. If it wasn’t for the arm of the sofa under my abdomen holding me in place my legs would have buckled till I was lying on thefloor in front of him. As it was, when the flick of the end of the belt curved round to catch one of my arse cheeks in a place it had hit several times before the white hot pain caused me to wobble, sliding halfway to the floor anyway, until he grabbed a handful of my hair to encourage me – in unrelenting and rather painful fashion – to scrabble back into position.
    My tiny gasps were almost sobs by the time he asked me to count the blows. The pain was so much more than I could ever have imagined, but it didn’t occur to me to ask him to stop. Instead, my mental focus was on withstanding the impact, stifling the moans and whimpers bubbling up into my throat with every lash, although trying to control my breathing to work through the pain must have given away how much he was hurting me even if the angry red stripes on my arse, the tears streaming down my face and my shaking legs didn’t.
    After ten strokes he put his hand on my clit, frigged me hard and then pushed his fingers up inside me, laughing softly at how obviously, audibly, aroused I was.
    ‘Oh yes. You are quite the little pain slut, aren’t you, Sophie?’
    I shut my eyes, even as the noise of his fingers moving between my legs proved his point.
    As he rubbed me and I began to moan in pleasure, he explained to me the concept of the carrot and the stick – and how I wasn’t in line for the orgasmic carrot just yet. He pushed me back up into position for punishment without removing his hand from inside me and I felt a moment of fury at being treated like afucking hand puppet. I could almost see his smile as I strained on tiptoe across the arm of the sofa, his fingers pushing cruelly up inside me. I counted another ten hits with the belt through my dry throat – plus ‘one for luck’, which I’m sure he inflicted just to amuse himself at seeing my visible relief at the end of the punishment be replaced with shuddering nerves as I waited for the final – and hardest – blow.
    Before I could even gather my wits his fingers were back on my clit. He was frenetic, rubbing me so hard that even with the lubricant it was bittersweet pleasure. I came hard, and my legs gave out from under me, leaving me slumped across the end of the sofa.
    After I’d recovered sufficiently, I knelt at his feet, sucking him until he spurted in my mouth and then slept the sleep of the exhausted, on my side because my arse had taken such a battering that even the whispering movement of a duvet on it made me wake in pain. It took days for the welts to go down and every morning, after my shower, I checked the changing colours of the bruises in the full length mirror, prodding to see how much it hurt and smiling to myself at the same time.
    Yup, I was beginning to understand the full extent of my masochistic tendencies. And in Thomas I seemed to have found someone who not only recognized them too but enjoyed giving them a good workout, although I was soon to realize that it wasn’t necessarily the pain that was the most challenging element of playing with my incongruous dom.

5
    The day after my intimate introduction to his belt Tom and I headed into town for a spot of lunch and a trip to