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

Author:Morgan, Sophie [Morgan, Sophie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781405912839
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2013-03-28T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINE

I am not a bratty sort, although I suppose bratty sorts would probably say that too. At times, though, I can be somewhat … exuberant, shall we say. Cheeky even. With Adam it was fine, for the most part, because our relationship was based on a D/s dynamic that wasn’t po-faced. He was secure in his dominance of me without me having to call him Lord Farquhar Master of All, curtsey or refer to myself in the third person. The dynamic between us ebbed and flowed depending on what we were doing, where we were and who was around. Sometimes the banter between us got very impudent, and even silly. In the right mood, if he remembered, later he might exercise mock retribution for my ‘misdemeanour’, but as he loved to tell me, he didn’t need a reason to ‘punish’ me: when the time came and if he felt the urge he would just hurt me because we both enjoyed it. That was all the justification he needed.

He wasn’t wrong.

There was no sense of me being ‘punished’ for being me. Mostly he let me get away with any minor mocking, seeing it as a sign of affection, which is what it was, and was generally tolerant of my smart mouth, which even my submissive tendencies can’t keep in line.

Well, mostly tolerant.

I will admit I’d been mocking him more than usual, although if you asked me I’d be hard-pressed to tell you why. I was in an especially good mood, which probably exacerbated it as when I’m happy I tend to be quite irreverent. It was in the aftermath of a particularly heavy scene we had done a few days before, which was playing on my mind – in the positive, flashbacks-popping-in-your-head-to-make-you-flush-with-arousal-and-shame-while-waiting-for-the-kettle-to-boil sort of way. Perhaps it subconsciously inspired me to rebel a little more than usual as a way of reasserting my equilibrium in the face of my memories of lying on the kitchen floor naked, bruised and covered in his spunk. Mostly, though, it was because we had company in the form of some old university friends of mine who came to visit for the weekend and who were blissfully ignorant of what we got up to in the bedroom.

So I pushed. Whenever my university friends get together the mocking and sarcasm flows, and it was easy to get caught up in it. And it was funny to see his eyes narrow as he looked at me as everyone laughed, his eyes saying, ‘If they weren’t here you’d be bent over the sofa right now being made to feel very sorry for what you just said,’ as mine sparkled back at him pretty much saying, ‘I know, but they are. Ha!’

In hindsight, I pushed too far. It didn’t feel it at the time, though. As we made dinner – dim sum from the Chinese supermarket, followed by stir-fried beef with ginger and spring onions, washed down with cold beer – the banter continued. I saw his eyes narrow at the cheekiest of my comments, but knew that he could do nothing about it.

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