'Real-Life Fifty Shades' Diary of a Submissive Book of the Month - Free Spanking Scene Extract
The Diary of a Submissive is a true story. Names have been changed and situations and people tweaked a little bit, but the emotional heart of the book, how submission feels for me, the paradox of your brain sometimes baulking at something that your body is undeniably enjoying, is the truth. My truth. Honest in a way that might feel harsh at times - and certainly honest enough that proof editing the book made me blush in places, crazy as that sounds.
When I was first getting into BDSM, I found myself thinking a lot about what I’d done in the day or two after each new experience - usually in that dead time when your mind wanders while waiting for the coffee machine at work to do its thing. In a lot of ways my earliest writing was about trying to explain to myself exactly what I got out of submission and how my mind took a while to catch up with what my body was incontrovertibly telling me was hot.
Guest post by Sophie Morgan
This excerpt is about one of my first experiences with D/s. There’s more intense and ruder (oh so much ruder) in the book, but I really like this section because it is the start of everything. Before my first spanking I’d read a lot of Black Lace novels (last month’s Book of the Month author Portia Da Costa was and remains a firm favourite) and surfed enough smutty corners of the internet to know that I found dominance and submission erotic. But the idea of doing that in practice - finding someone who I enjoyed going to the cinema with or chatting about life who would also spank me or tie me up - felt like an impossibility. Then an impromptu spanking at the hands of Ryan, a post-grad student at my university armed with my wooden hair brush, suddenly opened up a whole new world…
Extract from The Diary of a Submissive
I had often wondered what a good hard spanking would feel like. But in a million years I would never have expected it to feel like this.
It was painful, obviously. A lot more than I was expecting - you can tell I’m of the generation that didn’t get corporal punishment in school. The air whooshed from my lungs with each impact for the first few hits, and all I could think of was how much it hurt - definitely not the sexy paddling of my secret fantasies. In a panicked inner monologue I was trying to decide whether to put a stop to it proactively or just try and withstand it until he moved on when, suddenly, the sensation changed, blossomed almost. It still hurt, but the sting of my arse melted to a pleasurable ache in the seconds after the impact and, as the adrenaline pumped through me, suddenly even the pain of the initial hits was blurring with the warmth of the pleasure I was getting out of it.
He’d started on my left cheek, hitting me in a regular rhythm until my heart was practically beating in time with his tempo, my body responding to the beats of him beating me. He varied where the brush landed until the whole of my arse cheek was warm and I was squirming across his lap in an incoherent bundle of nerve endings. In that moment my world was him and me, the stinging warmth of my arse, the wetness between my legs and the feeling of his cock hard against my thigh as I squirmed against him. If he’d asked me what I wanted him to do, if I was capable of forming words, I’d have been begging him to stop as the pain was on the edge of being too much. But at the same time the warmth between my legs meant I knew with utter certainty that if he had stopped within a few seconds I’d have been bereft and pleading for him to continue. I didn’t actually get the choice, which to be honest is just as well as by that point there was no way in hell I was capable of speech anyway.
He switched cheeks, and the process began again. But as I tried to temper my reaction to the pain, I felt a finger slide between my legs, and easily - so easily that I was glad I was facing away so he couldn’t see the sudden blush on my face - he pushed inside me. By this time I was practically writhing on his lap, my breathing heavy, tears behind my closed eyes. He didn’t hold back on hitting my arse with the brush, and as I turned to look up at him, I saw the flush of exertion and excitement on his cheeks, and an expression that made me whimper.
He looked so sexy. The look in his eyes, the way he held his head, had changed from the Ryan I had previously known. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He was power. Control. He made me feel warm and cold and excited and nervous and like the whole world was being turned upside down and all I could do was hold on for the ride and trust him to lead me through it.
About Sophie Morgan
Sophie Morgan is a journalist and author. When she's not writing (about things ranging from council meetings to why Judge Dredd was brilliant, to the best household items to utilise in filthy yet ultimately satisfying ways) she enjoys reading and going to the cinema (hence the 'why Dredd is amazing' rhapsodising). She really does, as referenced in the book, love baking and as such is currently completely captivated by The Great British Bake Off (and Paul Hollywood - it's something about his stern look paired with the twinkle in his eyes).
Her book The Diary of a Submissive is published by Penguin and is a Sunday Times bestseller. It has been described as‘the real life Fifty Shades of Grey’, although Sophie would like to point out she doesn’t bite her lip and would get Silence of the Lambs flashbacks if a strange man offered to show her his red room of pain.