Never Enough

Prologue

This is the story of my life so far as a submissive woman, and the men who shaped me. The men who dominated me and enjoyed making me their toy, their object of pleasure, and sometimes, but not always, the object of their love.

It starts with the man who most publicly dominated me, who brought me fame and ultimately meant I had to change my name and find a different path.

It tells how I went on to find a true love and nearly lost it at the hands of another man.

And it tells of my deep desire - my need - to be dominated, and the exquisite highs and lows which that has brought me. The understanding I now have of who I am. An attractive intelligent strong woman, a feminist, a lover, one day I hope a mother, and throughout it all, always, a submissive.

I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter One: Jack

My friends all said that he was bad news. That he was trouble. And they were so right.

He didn't treat me right. I knew that. The photos in the papers were enough to tell you that - to tell everyone. It was right there - public for all to see.

But even now, with the benefit of hindsight, my friends and family relieved that I saw the light and moved on with my life... even now... I would do it all again.

It wasn't enough for Jack, that bad boy of rock n roll who I fancied beyond belief like every other young woman everywhere... it wasn't enough that I was an insatiable, kinky, sexual being in the bedroom, fulfilling his every desire and loving it. Oh no. It had to move outside the bedroom too. He had no boundaries. And it excited the hell out of me to be made to go down on him, right there in a club. To be kissing him up against the wall in a restaurant while he slid his hands under my skirt. To wear ever smaller dresses for him, at his request.

I loved it. Every single second of being with him, I felt alive and aroused like never before in my life. Or perhaps since. I loved being his fantasy. That was my fantasy.

It wasn't enough that I wore these skimpy dresses, there in the tabloids almost every day looking (if I may say so) fucking sexy, hanging off my man, submissive to him in a sultry sassy way, with all my eyeliner, and my cheekbones, and whatever outrageous hairstyle I had at the time.

No it wasn't enough, that I wore the tiniest, sexiest little knickers - and never ever wore a bra.

Not enough for Jack, oh no.

And so came that now infamous movie premiere where he stripped me naked right there on the red carpet surrounded by a hundred flashing cameras - pulled against him urgently as we kissed erotically like we always did.

There I was in that silver minidress. I remember, he grabbed my hair and firmly pulled my head back so he could look into my eyes. Groping my body as if we were in bed about to have sex, rather than stood in Leicester Square being watched by an enormous crowd. Rubbing his finger against my bottom lip before sliding his hands down the sides of my neck and over my bare shoulders to the thin straps of my dress, and then... just slipping them off my shoulders and letting gravity do the rest.

I will never forget that moment. The ultimate dominance. The photo on the front of every paper everywhere - the ultimate symbol of my submission to him: Me completely naked except for my stilettos, melting my body against his sharp black suit, as he snogged me, still wearing the sunglasses he rarely took off in public.

In some of the photos he has his hand on my lower back. In some, it's on my bottom.

And what the tabloids didn't know - what no one knew except me - was what he said into my ear as he groped my bottom shamelessly in front of the paparazzi.

He said: "I'm going to fuck you up the arse later."

Maybe you're reading this horrified. Disgusted.

I mean, there's no doubt that he was egotistical, selfish, reckless, hedonistic, arrogant, shocking, anarchic, and a sexual deviant.

But it was - and still is - what I craved. Sex with Jack was unbelievably exciting. And every moment with him was just foreplay to the next time we would have sex.

Those words, in that moment, made me so wet. And of course, when you're totally naked in public, your arse stuck out a bit and your knees together in the classic stance of feminine acquiescence which was just instinctive for me, being photographed by national newspapers... well, being wet just added to the humiliation. I had no idea what the cameras could see, but I did know that Jack wanted me, and that he demanded that I submit to this sexual desires, and so my whole world was him - I focused only on him as I pressed my bare pussy against his thigh and in a moment's breath when we didn't have each other's tongues in our mouths, I said "Oh yes please."

But for Jack, even this iconic unforgettable moment of outrageous humiliation wasn't enough. He took my hand, and without the slightest concern about my dress, led me along the red carpet, his sunglasses sparkling with the camera flashes, my dress lying back where it had fallen.

I can't quite describe how I felt, walking that long stretch of carpet with everyone looking at me, the wetness of my pussy feeling so cool in the evening air. Cameras were everywhere, capturing me from every angle - some of the cameramen, getting down to the ground to try to get the most revealing shot possible - and I could feel myself blushing. But in the photos, it doesn't show - I look fabulous. Every paper chose the best shot, some of them superimposing cartoon fig leaves or blurring things out, but right there outside that cinema in central London there must have been a hundred men looking hungrily at my body.

And the thing I loved about that - the thing that made it exhilarating and powerfully arousing - was Jack's hand holding mine. I was his. And I found myself wanting him to do literally whatever he wanted with me.

And then - one final photo for the papers just before we disappeared inside - he lets go of my hand and grabs my bottom.

Oh my god. We are then in the foyer, staff offering us drinks and ushering us where to go - everyone looking me up and down in astonishment. Celebrities everywhere, delighted or shocked or amused or lecherously ogling me - or all of those at the same time. And Jack, actually now pushes his finger up my bum even as we start to go up the shallow stairs of the enormous sweeping staircase. It's an obscene thing to do, his hand hard against my bottom - but he does it for only a few seconds and then he pulls his finger out, gives my bottom a slap, and then slips his arm round my waist instead. All of this done without the slightest attempt at being covert, his usual confident self as he nods and greets people.

"Jack," I say to him as we reach a bit of a gap in the crowd. "When do I get my dress back?"

He stops and turns to me and actually takes off his sunglasses, looking at me with a mixture of appraisal and amusement as he hooks them into the pocket of his suit jacket.

"You don't babe," he tells me. Not unkindly. "No dress for you tonight. I'll buy you another one if you liked it that much."

I give him a little grin - incredibly nervous, but massively turned on. I'm standing right up against him, partially to hide my naked body a bit, and partially because I'm horny as hell. "I did like it," I say. And I tell him what designer it was and the eye-watering sum it had cost.

"I'll buy you a couple then," he replies in his cheeky London accent. "In case you lose another one of them."

We just look into each other's eyes for a moment, both of us laughing.

"I want my whole cock in your mouth during the movie," he says, still smiling - watching to see how I react.

I come closer to his face, running my tongue over my lower lip, and just before I kiss him I say: "So do I."

I suppose that evening was a turning point. What he did to me with the dress. After that came months of partying and clubbing where I would just be naked when we actually arrived. I wouldn't even have put on a dress to go out.

The first time we went out again after that night at the cinema was one of those beautiful moments in our relationship when I got to surprise him a little instead.

"You ready?" he'd kept asking as he lounged on the sofa drinking a beer and watching TV. "I want to get there some fucking time tonight!"

But there was never any malice in what he said. He had zero airs or graces, but he was never mean. In fact I don't remember him ever being actually cross with me.

"Yeah, I'm ready," I remember saying finally, once I'd done my make up, and strolled through into the room. "What do you think?"

He didn't turn round immediately, distracted by some footage of his band on stage, but after a second he did and his face was a picture. Only I could ever break through that implacable swagger and front.

"Holy fucking shit," he said, his eyebrows raised in a way I'd never seen before.

I was stood there in front of him wearing nothing whatsoever except the silver high heels he loved me in, and a blingy silver diamond necklace. And then, as an extra surprise, I turned round, and, looking over my shoulder at him to see his expression, I bent over a little so that he could see the silver jewelled butt plug.

"What the fuck!!" he exclaimed. "That is insanely fucking sexy!!"

He nodded his head in a sort of stupor, his mouth open. But then, shaking his head now, and laughing in disbelief, he put down his beer and beckoned me with one finger.

Well in the paparazzi shots of us arriving at the club that evening, if you thought I looked a little flushed, there's a good reason for that. If you thought my hair was a little messier than I'd intended, or that my lips looked a little sore then there's a good reason for that too.

I think that having rough sex with your boyfriend, and then being denied an orgasm in favour of him having one instead while he fucks your mouth, is something every girl should try.

And then leaving the flat immediately afterwards, wearing nothing except a fur stole, your pussy throbbing with desire as you climb into the limousine, the driver holding the door for you - that's another experience you'll never forget.

Oh, and then arriving to find that the press somehow knew you were coming, and escaping from that into a packed nightclub, your heart thumping, sexually frustrated, excited and breathless, and desperate to be fucked again. Your pussy wet and ready, in a public place.

It was such a night. Being naked in this setting was liberating. I danced and danced, and drank and drank. And when I wasn't dancing, I was sat on Jack's knee kissing him.

We had our own VIP chill out room, with Jack's band members and their girlfriends, and some other friends and hangers on. And I was the star of the evening - the girls all saying how amazing I looked and how brave I was, and the boys - well you can imagine.

And half way through the evening, in some kind of drinking game involving a crazy amount of tequila, two of the boys' girlfriends were persuaded to be relieved of their dresses, and so there were three of us now feeling wild and free and screaming with laughter along with everyone else.

They wore knickers though. Only tiny little G-strings - but knickers nonetheless. Only I was completely naked - and to be honest I had no idea where my fur had gone.

And only I was wearing a butt plug - something which no one noticed for ages, until I was bending over to pour tequila in one of the girls' mouths.

And then came another turning point. An even more profound one for me.

Jack, delighted at everyone's reaction to the buttplug, decided to give them a better look. He pulled me over his knee - my bottom presented for all to see - and not just my bottom either.

Yes, he pulled me over his knee in one swift movement, pinning my arm behind my back, and spanked me. He actually spanked me. Three times - I remember it vividly. The first time in my life that anyone had ever spanked me, and after he'd done it I remember one thought was very clear in my mind: I wanted him to do it again. And again. Harder.

Looking back, I don't know which is more unbelievable. The fact that he would do that, or the fact that I had never before realised that this is what I wanted and needed in my life. It was my epiphany. My awakening. I think I knew in that moment, or if not very soon after, that I needed to be spanked like that often - preferably every day.

So there you have it. Jack.

It wasn't enough that I was naked, and horny. That I eagerly swallowed his come while my fucked pussy was left denied - and that I loved it.

It wasn't enough that I went to the club with him, with a metal butt plug filling my arse, rubbing my perfect body against him and kissing him with the same full sexy lips which had been around his cock only a short while before.

No... not enough for Jack. He wanted to throw me over his knee and spank me right there in the club. And god I wanted it. I wanted him. I felt completely his, and I wanted more.

So actually, perhaps it was never enough for me either. I always wanted more of what he did to me.

---

Jack and I got married exactly one year after we met. God knows why - it should have been obvious that we weren't remotely ready for marriage. Jack still isn't, all these years later. But that hasn't stopped him getting married twice more.

His proposal to me was the best though - another media moment when the internet exploded. On stage at Glastonbury, his band headlining, and me joining them to duet on vocals with him as a surprise for the crowd.

I was very used to being in front of cameras and people, but stepping out onto that stage with an ocean of people stretching off into the distance, all looking at me, was the scariest thing I've ever done.

I remember everything about it. I was wearing a shimmery green dress that was far too short - in fact, as someone in the Daily Star uncovered, it was in fact a top; I just decided to wear it by itself with literally nothing else except some matching heels.

Actually that's not true at all - it was Jack who decided he wanted me to wear it by itself. I'd come into the room wearing the top and some crazily tight lycra jeans, and he'd said: "You're fucking joking aren't you. That top makes your tits look amazing, but it nearly covers your arse. What's the point in wearing tight trousers if no one can see your arse?"

"You're so right," I'd laughed. "I'll go and put on a little tank top instead."

"Wait," he'd replied, looking at me appraisingly. "Come here."

And when I did, biting my lip, getting wet already in anticipation of him deciding to take me there and then, he simply looked into my eyes, running his fingers through my hair, and then looked down at my cleavage, running his hands up my sides and then caressing my breasts, his thumbs expertly finding my nipples through the thin material and playing with them until they obediently hardened for him.

"Actually I like you in this top," he told me. "Just lose the trousers."

"Lose the trousers?" I repeated, amazed, but smiling. "You want me to walk out on stage at Glastonbury in just a top?"

"That's right. Smart girl," he grinned, bringing his mouth close to mine as we both looked at each other's mouths, grinning. "You've understood perfectly. Just a top. No knickers. Nothing else."

"Now," he went on, in between kisses. "Take... " he said, groping my bottom. "Them..." he said, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of the lycra jeans. "Off!" And he yanked them down.

The sex that followed was urgent and animalistic, my trousers still half way down as he smacked my arse, flipped me round, and fucked me over the back of the sofa. I didn't usually come like that, but this time I did, especially as he wrapped his arm round my waist and fingered my clitoris as he finished us both off with just small but powerful movements deep inside me. His cock felt utterly amazing as he came inside me, and I came hard and loud, pushing my bottom back against him, his other hand on the back of my head pushing my face into the sofa cushion.

Gradually, we recovered, staying that position for a few moments, before he withdrew from me and helped me stand up. I turned round, feeling flushed and horny and still unsatisfied despite my orgasm, and we kissed and kissed. I dropped to my knees, and licked his cock clean, hoping he might fully harden again and fuck me again, but to my disappointment he pulled up his boxer shorts and tucked himself away, semi-erect. I liked how it looked, filling his underwear like that, and I rubbed it with my hand through the material making a noise of plaintive disappointment until he laughed and pulled me to my feet.

"Come on," he'd said. "We've got a show to do."

He looked down, and then back up to my face with his eyebrows raised. "And get those trousers off like I told you!"

So it was that half away through the show, I walked on stage in just that top that stopped short of fully covering my pussy. It was cut on the diagonal, shorter on the right hand side than the left, and it just so happened that my right buttock was the one that Jack had slapped hard, leaving, as it turned out, a visible hand print that one photo of the evening managed to capture.

Again, I was pleased with the photos - I looked amazing though I say so myself. But I did blush when I saw them. I hadn't realised that that hand print was on show.

When I remarked that to Jack later on in bed he said: "It shows that you're mine. And you looked fucking incredible."

"Why thank you," I said, cuddling closer into him and smiling. "I hope I didn't offend anyone watching at home on the TV!"

"Your body couldn't offend anyone," he said. And I liked that.

I felt he was right. I had a perfect body - even though I know that sounds arrogant, it's true. I was blessed. And I have always kept it in shape, and kept it completely hairless everywhere. I've always disliked even the slightest hint of hair on my body, which always goes down well with boys.

"Now go and get me a beer," Jack said. "And hurry up about it or I won't let you suck my cock."

Jack and I were together for two rollercoaster years. But sadly he loved himself and his band more than he loved me. I was third on the list.

And Jack felt that he should be allowed to get his kicks wherever he wanted, and from whoever he wanted.

At first I didn't really mind the other girls he did stuff with, because I was the one who he loved. The one who lived with him. His girl.

But I had thought that when we got married, it would change a bit. God knows why I thought that, but there you go.

If anything, once we were married, he got worse.

I loved to be sexually submissive to him. But I needed trust. And love. And I needed to be his world.

And so that's why I called it. It was time to focus on me for a while.

And that's when I met Stephen...