by Sabrina York
Another guy owned a hearse and three caskets. I enjoy the Goths, but…
Someone else flat-out lied about his relationship status. Dishonesty is even less acceptable than rudeness.
I had been thinking deeply about polyamory, wondering if a couple of guys could fulfill my requirements rather than tossing the task onto the shoulders of just one man. So I attended meetings, talked to numerous people, and read about the experiences of others online to expand my knowledge base before I ventured again into this complicated world.
After months of study, I wrote and posted the following:
Managing Multiple Relationships
I read numerous unhappy posts from people (mostly women) in poly relationships who are not getting what they need. I don’t understand why they’re with guys who don’t know how to handle multiple relationships. It’s not rocket science or brain surgery.
Here’s the basic principle, people:
Never underestimate the value of a “good morning, gorgeous!” text.
Ooooo-kay. What’s she talking about?
What I’m saying is: communicate often and lovingly. Let each and every one of your partners know you esteem and love them. OFTEN. Maybe not every day, but 2-3-4 times weekly and just when you feel like it.
And if you don’t esteem and love each of your partners—why is s/he your partner?
JMO.
I got a number of supportive comments, so I figured I was on the right track and maybe—just maybe—I could handle a couple of lovers at one time again, the way I had done previously. Still, finding those magic men wasn’t easy.
That changed on November 2.
Tobias, like many, had broken the ice by sending me a message on Fetlife. Unlike most, he did not hit on me, instead stating he was interested in friendship. I appreciated that, and also appreciated his approach, which was tailored to my interests and featured excellent grammar. I have an issue with men who contact me with what’s obviously a generic message sent to who-knows-how-many women on FL. And worse—most often that message is misspelled and lacks correct grammar. On top of that, nine times out of ten, that guy’s profile pic will be a cock-shot. I realize that men are obsessed by their parts, but that they expect the rest of us to share their interest takes a special sort of stupid.
Tobias was conspicuously different. He struck me as intelligent immediately, but I think his best quality is that he exhibits a high level of awareness. He identifies as a “primal,” and for him, that means he’s greatly in touch with his animalistic side, which contributes to that awareness.
After corresponding in depth for a couple of weeks, we met on November 2. The first thing I noticed about Tobias is that he’s hot. And totally my type—long dark hair, built, smart, and soulful.
We ate a meal together, took a walk, shared a few wonderful kisses. By the end of that walk, we’d tentatively committed to being with each other, though not as each other’s primary.
Definitions of a “primary” vary—as I’ve mentioned, the kink community has a few hurdles to jump before we’re communicating clearly. One man I dated thought of his primary as his best friend, his go-to person. However, the term is most often used by those with more than one relationship and generally means a primary partner.
Tobias was very candid while remaining kind, which is the approach I crave and the one I strive to take. At age twenty-five, he explained that he could not take me on as a primary as he planned to have children. He also was pretty certain he’d not stay in the bay area for long—he said that his Romani blood made him a wanderer. His childhood had been spent in various parts of the western USA. He’d most recently resided in Lincoln, Nebraska, where he’d lived with a girlfriend in his first home, which he’d bought at age twenty-three. When they’d broken up, he sold the house and hit the road. He was currently learning as much as he could from the local kink community while planning to take advantage of an opportunity to rehab and flip homes in Florida. However, he thought he’d be around over the winter, which suited me fine.
We shared stories, and I talked with him about my past experiences, the kind of relationship I wanted and what I planned to avoid. He did the same, and I was left with a sense that I could depend upon his affection forever, even if our lives pulled us apart.
He was perfect for me. He’d send me texts like, “Good morning, beautiful…I’d like to tie you up and do terrible things to you.” He’s a thoroughgoing sexual sadist, but the joy of Tobias was that he didn’t mind-fuck or play silly games. And the carelessness that had characterized Trapper’s conduct toward me was completely absent.
His maturity at such a young age was impressive. He radiated calmness, a great counterpoint to my often unruly emotions. Just being with Tobias was a centering experience. When I looked at him or even thought about him, I became serene and happy.
That evening, I went to Lafayette to visit my new friend Mark for the first time. We’d dated for a few weeks, and I’d started to feel guilty about never seeing him in his town—it didn’t seem fair even though there’s far more to do in Berkeley. We ate dinner and enjoyed a few cuddles. I had doubted that Mark was right for me, but the romantic setting he created showed me he’d gone to a lot of trouble. Plus, I discovered his cuddles are first rate. I figured that between the two of them—Mark and Tobias—I’d be set for awhile.
Hooray! Mission accomplished!
Mark, in his late thirties, was a lineman (cue Glen Campbell’s Wichita Lineman). He liked to bring me red roses and take me dancing at Goth clubs, dressed in appropriate garb, of course. In many ways, Mark was the opposite of Tobias. More outwardly emotional, he’s happily immersed in family and friends. He’s not a sadist but, like Tobias, enjoyed bondage, rope, and photography.
I discovered the latter info a week later, when the three of us attended the same event, a swap meet at a local dungeon. Tobias found a kind of leather whip called a “dragon-tail,” while Mark examined metal shackles a friend of his fashioned. I bought a pair of leather cuffs, a paddle, and then lunch for my men at a local Mexican restaurant. I was extremely nervous. I wasn’t experienced in managing polyamorous relationships, and was unsure about how the guys would react to each other. Tobias, especially, caused me concern. Though quite courteous, he had expressed he could become possessive.
I shouldn’t have worried, because I had already seen that these two were gentlemen. After Trapper, I have emphasized courtesy as important to me, rejecting suitors who do not treat me and others politely and kindly. The guys quickly found a mutual interest other than messing with my body—they’re both into photography to the extent that they were discussing Canon cameras with reference to specific model numbers while I quietly munched my burrito and contemplated the vagaries of life.
As I said, I was playing a dangerous game. And what was that game?
I had been employing my favorite tactic: fond and loving text messages delivered often. But I was also dating a vanilla guy as well as another kinkster, a man in San Francisco I’d met at a dungeon there. Thus, the number of texts, phone calls and emails I had to send on a regular basis was becoming oppressive. In fact, one afternoon while hanging out with one of my girlfriends, my cell phone started ringing at the same time texts started coming in.
All four had gotten off work at the same time.
Frantic, I started copying texts and sending them to each, occasionally personalizing them with names. Though we weren’t having sex yet, I honestly cared about each of them, but had to admit that when I stayed over in San Francisco with Liam, I was a tad relieved to find that his connection with me wasn’t physical but intellectual. Whew—that way, he wouldn’t expect the level of attention that the others would. I was sorta pleased even though Liam is a treat—my type, with long dark hair, beautiful features, a slender body and yes, an excellent mind.
But I knew if Tobias and Mark discovered I was sending them the same text I was going to be in trouble. Big trouble. The kind of trouble that comes with a severe whipping.
As I said, Mark wasn’t a sadist, unlike Tobias. Tobias liked to bite, to mark his prey, to enjoy the moans of pleasure and yelps of pain he elicited. He had also found a new interest—the singletail whip.
Worse, poking around Fetlife revealed that they’d become online friends.
The danger increased even more when Tobias and I became lovers. I had to handle him very, very carefully. He was young, but knew exactly what he was about, more so than I did. He’d never hurt me (emotionally at least) but I sensed he’d test my boundaries in other ways.
The first time we were together was a revelation. The lovemaking was almost entirely vanilla, which told me that Tobias had been listening. He understood that I hadn’t been dominated or even made love for some time, so I needed cuddles and affection along with a good, hard fucking. After several releases, I came for what seemed like a rapturous eternity, but I guess was probably about twenty seconds or so. When he took me for the final time, he was so good I cried.
The next time, I came six times in an hour. Or maybe it was five. I’m not sure and don’t care. I’m not going to quibble over an orgasm every ten minutes or one every twelve. Either way he was over the top fabulous for me. Best sixty-nine ever.
But his primal, dominating self had to come out, and it did. He liked to immobilize me, promptly using me as his rope bottom for practice tying elaborate knots and decorative harnesses. I should mention that some are deeply, deeply into rope. Shibari, the Japanese art of bondage, is extremely popular and Tobias was a practitioner.
I wasn’t too worried about Mark—I’d have to deal with a slightly bruised ego, but he was so easygoing and tolerant I knew we’d be okay. Tobias was definitely another matter. He never needed an excuse to torture me—he never thought of sexual sadism as punishment but just something he enjoyed—but I intuitively understood that treating a primal Dominant carelessly would be a huge error that would carry consequences.
Matters came to a head during Thanksgiving weekend—a busy time in my family, as in many. Also, Mark’s birthday was on the Saturday of Thanksgiving weekend.
So neither man should really have been surprised to receive generic texts from me on Thanksgiving morning. Maybe they weren’t, but as events showed, they weren’t too happy about it either.
Thanksgiving went okay, despite the presence of my nephew, his wife, their six kids and his mother-in-law. My memory holds only a blur of turkey, mash, pumpkin pie and candles. Friday provided a wondrous respite from the madness for which I was more grateful than Thanksgiving.
On Saturday, I obsessed over what I’d wear. I finally settled on a staid black dress worn over outrageously naughty underthings, including sequined, crotchless panties, a garter belt and stockings, plus a really cute bra.
I drove to Lafayette feeling hot and ready. I thought I’d be able to persuade Mark to allow me to top him again, which really excited me. That emotion quickly changed to deliciously terrified seconds after I rang his doorbell.
Because Tobias opened the door.
Mark stood behind him, arms folded over his torso. Both looked grim, which surprised me. Wasn’t Mark’s birthday a joyous occasion? Squelching nerves, I entered, handed Mark his gift and hugged him. “Happy birthday, sweetie.”
“Sweetie,” he said, contempt infusing his voice. “Is that right?”
“Well, yeah, honey, of course.” I still had no idea what was going on. Tobias had stated quite firmly when we’d met that he wasn’t interested in a threesome with another man, so why was he here? He certainly didn’t look as though he was in a celebratory mood. Though mystified, I had no course of action other than to wait until the men told me what was up.
I set down my toy bag and handed Mark his gift. Without opening it, he tossed it onto the kitchen counter, reached into his pocket and took out his cell phone. So did Tobias. After brief finger-tapping, they held out the phones so I could read the screens. On each, I saw:
Good morning and Happy Thanksgiving! I hope today is everything you want it to be, sweetie!
I was fucked. Or going to be fucked. “Uh, guys,” I started, backing away and holding out my hands in entreaty. “Uh, I know this looks bad, but—”
Tobias reached around me and shoved the door closed so hard it slammed. His other arm caged me between his solid body and the door.
I wasn’t going anywhere Tobias didn’t want me to go.
I stared into his dark eyes, trying to read his expression, divine his thoughts. The only conclusion that I could reasonably reach is that I had insulted my Dom.
“You know what you’ve done,” he said.
I nodded.
“You know it wasn’t appropriate.” His mouth twitched and I realized he was trying not to grin.
I nodded again, squelching my answering smile, playing the game. Why not? It was fun.
His eyes twinkled. “You’ve been a very, very bad girl.” He ran a finger along my jawline.
Shivering, I closed my eyes, allowing myself to get into role, immerse myself in the scene. Was I safe?
Oh, yes. I’d been with both men before. They knew my limits and were entirely trustworthy.
“Do you accept your punishment?”
Excitement zipped through me as though I’d dared to touch a live Taser. “Yes, sir,” I said sweetly, batting my eyelashes.
I peeked around Tobias. Though our relationship was more equal—in fact, Mark enjoyed me topping him—he didn’t look pleased. He picked up a couple of dark-gray objects that lay on his kitchen counter.
They clanked.
Shackles.
I remembered that a friend of Mark’s made metal shackles.
Dropping his arms, Tobias wrapped me in a harsh embrace, one that trapped my arms by my sides. Mark slipped around the two of us, grabbed my wrists, and shackled them behind my back.
I opened my mouth to say something and Tobias put his hand over my lips. “Don’t start with me.”
He was completely in role. I felt my eyes widen. Sweat moistened my armpits and dripped down my sides. I started to shake.
Tobias smiled. He picked up a roll of what I recognized as my own purple vet wrap. I must have left it at Mark’s place when I’d topped him. “Ironic,” I muttered.
The hand returned to my mouth. “Back talk or sarcasm will only make this worse for you.” Tobias was calm, as always.
I pressed my lips together.
“Good,” he said, and smiled once more.
Tobias’s smile was the last thing I saw for several hours, because he blindfolded me with the vet wrap. He gagged me, too, encasing most of my head with it as though I were a mummy. He was smart enough to leave my nostrils open, but the rest of my face and head were covered.
A hand slid down over my front, pinching my nipples through my clothes slowly, thoroughly and hard. Mark. He had a fetish for my nipples. Sometimes I liked that. Often I didn’t.
My dress’s zipper purred and cool air washed my back. Tobias.
“How do we get all these clothes off her, man?” Mark asked Tobias. He fiddled with my dress, which snagged at my wrists, then snapped a bra strap against my skin. Again, hard. “She’s shackled.”
Mouth gagged, I couldn’t protest the way they were talking about me—as though I wasn’t there.
“Cut them off,” Tobias said.
No! But all that I could get out from behind the gag was an impotent sort of squeal.
“Great idea,” Mark said. “You should have thought about that before,” he told me.
Damn. I liked that dress and the lingerie was Victoria’s Secret—fairly expensive even though I’d bought a lot of stuff on sale.
Steps retreated in the direction of the kitchen then returned. Was Mark getting a knife?
I tensed. They both knew that breaking my skin was a hard boundary for me, but I couldn’t do anything if they decided that my transgression was bad enough to warrant extra punishment. And what if the knife slipped?
Something pointy touched the bump at the top of my spine
. I jerked involuntarily then tried to control myself, tried to stay absolutely still. The knife slid to the right before I heard a ripping noise. The side of my dress fell away. I guessed that Mark had slit my fave LBD at the shoulder seam. Shit.
The point traveled across my back to the left shoulder, raising more shivers. Something moist traveled down my skin.
I didn’t know if it was sweat or blood.
Another tearing sound and the left shoulder seam opened. The dress fell, caught at my back at my shackled wrists. Someone lifted my hands, allowing the dress to drop to the floor.
A tap on my ankle. “Lift your foot,” Tobias said.
I obeyed and sensed that he pulled the dress away. Than another tap, this time on the other ankle. I picked up that foot and the dress was gone, or so I guessed. I stood before them clad only in underclothing.
I breathed deeply, knowing that, at least, I was undressed to impress. And being the total focus of both men’s attention was incredibly arousing. Still, I felt shaky and quivery, aware that this moment was different from all the other times I’d been topped. Now, Tobias and Mark were intent upon punishment. I wasn’t afraid of either man’s anger—Mark was a pretty mellow guy and Tobias almost icily calm. Tobias was also an extremely astute Dominant who would never allow himself to lose control.
But he did love to discipline me and I had provided the perfect excuse.
Hands caressed me. Behind me, someone—Tobias?—ran his hands down my back and palmed my asscheeks. He squeezed hard and dug in his nails. I squirmed, trying to get away and he smacked my butt. “Behave.”
I stopped. Mark plucked my nipples, lifting my breasts out of the lacy, demi-cup bra I wore. He wasn’t gentle, rolling and pinching the tips while Tobias spanked me hard enough to get my attention.
I was rapidly losing it—it being the ability to stand due to sheer arousal. The other bright spot in the situation was that they hadn’t found it necessary to cut off my bra. Yet. I liked that bra and had high hopes for its survival.
