I hope the ending doesn’t sound too much like “Oh shit I’m rapidly approaching 20 pages and we aren’t supposed to turn in stuff that is more than 15…”

We grow up hearing all these stupid love songs about a boy and a girl. We are read stories like “Cinderella” and our mothers promise us that one day our prince will come. But what if I don’t want the prince? What if I want the duke, the marquis, the earl, and the princess? Can I have them instead?
My average Friday night begins with me bustling around the kitchen getting dinner ready. Creative and interesting dinners are a stretch when cooking for one picky eater, one lactose intolerant person, and a vegetarian. However, given that I’m the picky eater, I always like what I select; Dillon and Trista can pick around. Thank God Vincent will eat anything I put in front of him. That’s probably part of the reason his belly is getting bigger; I should probably push him to come to the gym with me more. After dinner we will spread out to our various evening activities.
Tonight Trista and I have a date planned for a women’s party up in the city. Our second anniversary occurs in the middle of next week and as her present she requested a black and blue ass. I think I can handle that.
She is hotter than hell tonight in her skin-tight latex dress; the black rubber framers her ass in such a delicious way. I like watching her swing her hips when she walks up the stairs in front of me into the club. Of course I’m more practically dressed in skintight pvc pants and engineer boots. Swinging a flogger in a dainty skirt and high heels is just not practical no matter what the pro dommes do.
As is so often the case it is sexier to not be totally naked, so I tell her to pull her skirt up to her waist and pull the bodice down. She hates it when I leave her clothes kind of on. She feels that it lowers her sophistication level. She is so very into how she looks that it is fun to fuck with her head.
I tell her to face the cross and spread her legs. I like picking the cross in the very center of the room, that way everyone will stare at her when she screams. She claims that she hates being stared at, but I know it gets her pussy all wet. Exhibitionists are fun that way. I start off with a flogger—a nice gentle suede one to give her a chance to warm up. When I feel my arm getting sore from the weight of the leather I put it back in the bag. She’s all wiggly at this point, but not from pain. A nice light flogging feels almost like a deep tissue massage. It wakes up your body and helps a proper masochist start getting used to the impact.
“How are you doing there, pretty lady?”
“I’m doing great Ma’am! How are you doing?”
“I’m starting to feel like I am having to exert too much effort. I don’t want to get worn out before you do.”
“I wouldn’t want you to get too worn out either Ma’am. What would you like to do now then?”
“Well, I was thinking about making you scream,” and with that I pulled my arm back and brought down a full force open handed slap across her back. Her full-throated scream of agony brought a smile to my face. I had to laugh. I have been told that I have a truly evil laugh. “Thank you Trista! We will now go back to warming you up slowly and nicely.”
“Thank you Ma’am,” she said in a very sniffly sort of voice, “warm ups are my friend, Ma’am.”
“Yes yes, I know. I’ll be nicer for a little while.” I go back to the toybag and grab the cane case. A half inch dowel that has been sanded and laminated is a very good next step for her. I build up slowly, tapping lightly and continually for several minutes on her ass. If someone hits one spot for long enough, even if they aren’t hitting hard, it will hurt after a while. When she started wiggling and dancing I knew it was time to step up the pace. So I grabbed a thin, whippy rattan cane.
“Alright Trista, are you ready for this?”
“Yes Ma’am.”
I pull back my arm and let fly a full throttle English style can stroke. She doesn’t scream though. It hurts too much and she can’t catch her breath enough to scream. I hold her body as she cries and shakes. I stroke her head and whisper soft words of encouragement in her ear, “There there my pretty Trista. You are doing such a good job for me pretty girl. Thank you.”
After stroking her hair for a few minutes I gently push her back into position. I start giving her medium strength strokes with pauses in between for her to breath and process the pain. Slowly I build up the intensity.
Stroke.
Pause.
Stroke.
She has managed to slow down her breathing. She is processing all of the pain; endorphins have carried her down to a mellow and happy place. I put the canes away and pick up my single tail: a four-foot signal whip that can rip into her flesh exactly how I want it to. I practiced with this whip for six months before I was willing to hit my beloved girl with it. I start slowly with the whip.
She knows how painful this whip can be so she straightens up and grabs the cross tightly so that she can pull on it and hold position no matter how hard I hit her. If she moves and I am not prepared for it, a nice gentle stroke can cut deeply into her flesh and cause somewhat substantial bleeding.
The key to pleasing Trista, my very favorite masochist, is to beat her at a level she can barely handle until she manages to control herself and then quickly step up the pace until she completely loses it. The catharsis of slumping into a sobbing ball of flesh on the floor is entirely what she is going for. Endorphins are a powerful drug that the human body can produce loads of just at the cost of getting bruises and welts. Marathon runners generally get the same kind of effect, but not many people are willing to go through as much training as it takes to do a Marathon just to get the endorphins. I’m certainly not willing to. I’ll take a beating any day, thanks.
I’m never very good at the drive home because I am tired and I am a horrible driver when I’m tired. When we get to the house I pull Trista out of the car and propel her into the house. Piles of fucked over girly goo are hard to steer. When we get to Dillon’s room I push her to the bed and encourage her to strip and climb in. I wake him up kissing him and stroking his cock. It is his favorite way to be woken up. He has such a smile on his face.
“I brought you a present.”
“Oh really. How wet is she?”
“Dripping.” He smiles more and starts moving towards Trista, who is groggily looking towards the two of us. I leave them to their fun. I warm Trista up and Dillon fucks her silly. This is part of our Friday night routine. I like making girls come, and I like being dominant with women so Trista is absolutely perfect for me to play with. Unfortunately being dominant isn’t what works for me in a sexual sense so I hand off to Dillon when I’m read to go get my cookies. He and Trista have very compatible libidos and they will be happily busy until dawn. I duck out of the room and head down the hallway to where my delightful husband is waiting on me.
He is a total night owl, much to my chagrin. I feel like I never get enough sleep because he wants to keep me up all night long. Nights when I go out with Trista and I top he always feels the need to put me back in my place. I’m not sure if it is insecurity or just generic ego that he wants to have me on my knees begging him for permission to orgasm within five minutes of me getting out of top space. I am more than willing to go along with this scenario because it makes me happiest when he won’t give me permission. He knows this and uses it against me on a regular basis. What a delightful, wicked man. Eventually though he always relents and lets me orgasm because he is just that kind of guy. I think the anticipation makes it sweeter.
In the morning I wake up long before anyone else because I can’t sleep during the daytime. No matter how little sleep I’m functioning on, no matter if I’m about ready to fall over—I just can’t sleep when it is bright outside. I generally putter for a few hours doing chores and housework until around 11:30. Then I make breakfast for the crew. My role in our household is basically a service role and I’m very content with it. I like knowing that my actions are making someone else’s life easier.
This was not how I believed my life would end up. I started dating Dillon when I was 18 and newly into all things kinky. He was my first long-term relationship period actually. He taught me about bondage and sm and how to do many things from both sides of the power spectrum. For the first several years of our relationship he tried to be my dominant, we even tried a Master/slave set-up. It didn’t work though. He never felt comfortable with the paradigm. It was too much of an effort for him and he wasn’t getting the intense fulfillment of self that I was getting. I hate it when I don’t get what I want in a nice neat little package. All of this experimentation between us was carried out within the framework of monogamy. Eventually we decided to end our Dominant/submissive relationship and I knew that I wasn’t going to be happy anymore. I need to feel submissive to someone. I need it quite badly.
There was also the issue of his job. I played second fiddle to Dillon’s job for four years before I finally cracked under the strain of being lonely and depressed. I couldn’t handle living my life with the small amount of attention he was able to give me. I couldn’t handle waiting dinner for hours until I gave up out of starvation and went to bed alone. Add to the loneliness and general depression the fact that he just wasn’t able to give me any kind of commitment that might alleviate some of my insecurities and you have a very unhappy girl. I finally told him that I have two general needs: attention and security. Neither of those needs was being met. I can handle only getting one or the other, but getting neither meant I wasn’t satisfied.
Enter the discussion of poly. We had many friends who were polyamorous and we had always been peripherally aware of the paradigm but we were trying like mad to fit into the more conventional definitions. Well, somewhat conventional. I asked him for permission to date other people in order to get more of the attention I so desperately need. He acquiesced to this idea with good grace. He could hardly have pretended to not know how much time I spent alone. A succession of partners came into my life. Some I dated for a few weeks, others a few months, one hardy soul made it through two years with me of being rather casual. I learned to manage my time. It is amazing how well scheduling can be done if everyone is willing to explicitly state exactly what kind and amount of attention they want to get. I learned to ask very specifically and schedule out my life a month or more in advance. This kind of scheduling eliminates a lot of spontaneity, but it also eliminates nights spent at home alone.
Dillon and I had a really great relationship through all of this. We went through seven years together being playful and affectionate and loving. We went on fabulous vacations together: Paris, London, Tokyo, Ireland, Rome, Hawaii, not to mention the more mundane domestic travel. He was always kind and supportive, but two weeks before our seventh anniversary I somewhat broke down. I realized that I was 25 years old. That I had spent the entirety of my adult life with someone who was still telling me that he wasn’t sure he would ever want to marry me and he didn’t want to make that sort of permanent decision. The concept of marriage has always been important to me. I want to know that there is someone who loves me and wants to spend his life with me come hell or high water. Dillon did not want to give me this commitment. I had been putting off thinking about this for a long time. Our needs simply weren’t meshing on this huge issue. I was very upset and the two weeks before our anniversary were awful. The anniversary itself wasn’t something to write home about either.
Our anniversaries never seem to work out right. Somehow despite meticulous planning and negotiation something always falls through. There is some miscommunication somewhere that leads to either he or I being upset. This time it was a whole series of bigger mistakes than usual. We had decided to go down to Carmel for the weekend. We love Carmel. We like to walk along the beach there and browse through the ridiculously over-priced shops. We love the food. I always need to let my belt out a notch after a weekend in Carmel. I come home with five new types of cheeses to gorge on for a few weeks. The drive down was smooth and easy with no traffic it seemed like maybe we were going to have a romantic weekend after all. Oh, but then we got to the hotel.
“Pardon me, what do you mean you don’t have a reservation for us?”
“I’m sorry Ma’am but there is no reservation for this weekend.”
“I made this reservation four weeks ago. I called to confirm it yesterday. How is it possible that it doesn’t exist?” This continued on for a while. Eventually it became apparent that when I called to confirm a brand new employee was working. In trying to confirm my reservation the person had cancelled it. Fabulous. Especially because there was a large conference in town for the weekend and the room was requested within five minutes of it being available again. The hotel was completely booked. We drove around and heard the same story from five other hotels. We decided to walk around a little and grab some cheese and just go home. I’m not very good at settling into having fun after having my plans derailed. We got home at about 9 the evening before our actual anniversary. We still hadn’t actually had dinner. Upon arriving into the house he followed his usual pattern and walked straight into the living room and turned on the TV. I was dumbfounded. Our plans had to drastically change, ok, does that mean that we are just going to drop the whole idea of spending the weekend together? I stood in the doorway and watched him watch TV for about 15 minutes. He finally noticed me staring and had the audacity to ask:
“So, what are you going to make for dinner?”
Clueless man. I couldn’t believe it. Wow. I blinked a few times before turning around and picking up my keys and wallet before walking out the door. I could hear him calling my name behind me. I drove a few blocks away to where my best friend lives and cried on her shoulder for a while. Dillon called her house looking for me but we ignored the phone.
I went home the next morning not sure how to deal with the situation. He really is a good person despite being a clueless, self-absorbed, immature pain in the ass. He doesn’t behave these ways out of malice, but rather he just doesn’t think about how his actions might affect other people. He was asleep when I got home. I sat down next to him on the bed and watched him sleep for a while. Eventually he opened his eyes.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Dillon, I can’t do this anymore. I don’t know what needs to change, but something has to. I don’t know if it is time for us to go our separate ways or if we can figure something out but I’m not going to be ignored and taken for granted anymore. I’m done.” As was par for the course he didn’t say anything. He pulled me towards him and curled up around me. We lay there for a few hours without talking. Eventually I got up and made lunch. Something had to give—I just didn’t know what.
Now you are wondering about Vincent. Where did he come into this mess? I met Vincent three months after the disastrous anniversary. I went to a party by myself. I was hoping for lots of flirting and maybe even some ego-boosting casual sex. I saw Vincent and was very interested in him straight away. He is so incredibly good looking, even with the facial hair. It is a good thing that shallow first impressions do not mean that I am incapable of looking for more. Although much to my dismay, he and I didn’t quite meet up that evening. I spent some time watching him from my circle of friends—I fancied that he was watching me at least occasionally as well. Later I asked him if he was and he told me, “Wasn’t everyone in the room watching you at some point or another?” Maybe I should tone down the exhibitionism.
I started running into him more and more at parties and social events. I discovered that even though I felt like I had already explored all of the strange twisted avenues my social group takes, no! There are more left to discover! He was smart, and funny, and very emotional. I had to take a step back at that one. Emotional? From a man? I’m not trying to be sexist; it was just entirely out of my sphere of experience. Dillon simply wasn’t like that; he kept his emotions so completely repressed that it was like he didn’t have them at all. Well, except when watching sappy moves. Dillon can always be counted on to cry at sappy movies. Vincent liked me a great deal from early on, which was delightful because I was head over heels in love with him from the first date. It was so horrible of me. I had dated many people in the preceding years and never fallen in love. Why him? Why now? It just seemed to be time. Although of course I didn’t tell him right off the bat that I was in love with him. Nothing scares a man off faster than that terrifying word. I didn’t want him to be scared off.
Within three months I knew that I wanted more from him. I wanted more than somewhat casual dating. I didn’t want him to be yet another secondary partner for me. Things were still swimming along with Dillon in the same way things always had. All of the impetuous for change had to come solely from me. He did notice that for once I wasn’t being quite as fair in my scheduling. He saw me once a week or less because I was spending so much time with Vincent. This also irritated my other secondary partner, but in the scheme of things he fell by the wayside without fanfare. I’m grateful to his understanding though because he could have ended up hating me for being such a bitch. Two weeks without a date night with Dillon prompted quite a conversation. He managed to get home before I left to head over to Vincent’s house.
“So, is this your way of breaking up with me?”
“You know me better than that.”
“What is going on?”
“I don’t know. I like him Dillon; I feel really happy when I am with him. I like you; I feel really happy when I am with you. Right now he is giving me lots of attention and affection. I need it so much. Do you even miss me?”
“Yes I miss you. That isn’t fair to ask.”
“I’m sorry. I know it isn’t fair. I’m going to figure something out. I really will.”
When I got to Vincent’s house, I decided that I needed to bite the bullet and bring up just how serious I have been feeling. Nothing ventured, nothing gained after all.
“There is something I really ought to tell you Vincent.”
“That doesn’t sound promising.”
“Well, it could be depending on what you want to be promised. I’m madly passionately head over heels in love with you and I don’t know what to do about it.”
“Oh my. This might be sticky.”
“Yes it might be.”
“Have you talked to Dillon about it?”
“Somewhat. Not as much as I should of course, but I’ve been here. I haven’t been talking to him as much as I should in general in the past month or so.”
“Right. What do you see happening between us?”
“In real life or in my fantasy ideal life?”
“Lets start with real life.”
“In real life I haven’t a clue how to deal with this situation. I live with him and don’t want to leave him. I’m madly in love with you, but I don’t think I’m willing to move into a monogamous relationship with you—if that is even something you want. Reality is that I don’t know where you want your life to go and I don’t know how or if I can or will fit into it.”
“Now tell me about your fantasy life.”
“That is a longer story. It involves ropes and candle wax and…”
“Hey. I’m serious.”
“Sorry, I got side-tracked. In my most ideal world I want to live with you. And I want to live with Dillon. So I suppose ideally I would like the three of us to buy a big house together. Oh how convenient! This would solve my big house fantasy in a nice neat little package! I would like to figure out some way of dividing my nights between you and Dillon or maybe even the three of us sleeping in the same bed sometimes. I would like to still occasionally get my dosage of ego-boosting casual sex. I would like to continue to date a few girls here and there because they are such fun play toys. I want to marry you. I want to serve you. I want lots and lots of sex until I can’t handle it all anymore. I told you I don’t want reality.”
“Wait. You want to marry me?”
“Oh. Well, yes. I probably shouldn’t have dropped that one in the long stream of things. I didn’t warm you up properly to the idea.”
“Is that a proposal?”
“A proposal? Do you want it to be?”
“I said: is that a proposal?”
“Sure. Yes. Do you want to marry me?”
“Yes. But I want a long engagement so we can figure things out with Dillon.”
My jaw hit the floor. He isn’t actually going to make things this easy on me is he? He isn’t actually going to embrace my fantasies for my life? Or maybe he is.
The conversation with Dillon was almost as simple. He agreed to try the situation and see how it worked out. We would give ourselves a year to figure things out. It is a pain in the ass to buy a house not knowing if you are going to be in it for more than a year, but we did it anyway.
The first year went by in this blissful haze for me. I almost managed to not be aware of the impending important date. Trista had come into our lives during this year as well. She and Dillon were really hot and heavy. Vincent and I were smoothing out some of the details in our Dominant/submissive relationship and discussing wedding plans. We agreed not to set a date for the wedding until after the year had gone by though. Through this entire year Dillon and Vincent never slept in the same bed together. This was the only aspect of my fantasy life left unfulfilled. Trista and Vincent didn’t quite click, so she had never been involved with him at all. If there were more than two people in a bed it was Trista, Dillon, and I. Even that was only occasional. I slept at Trista’s, or Dillon and Trista kept one another occupied while I slept with Vincent, or I slept with Dillon. Not that Vincent got the short end of the stick. He has a few occasional playmates of his own. Things can be very complicated at our house. We have a huge whiteboard calendar in the kitchen that is color coded with all of our various party desires and work obligations and social plans. Everything is scheduled two to four weeks in advance so no one has to spend a night alone unless they want to. There is always time to find an additional date if one is desired.
The night of our anniversary of living together we decided to invite Trista to spend the night. At this point Dillon and I had eight and a half years of history together, Vincent and I had just a bit more than a year, and Trista had seven months with us. We debated inviting a few other casual playmates but we decided that no one else was significantly enough involved in our lives.
The four of sat down to dinner: Bastilla, and apple-baked game hens, and wild rice mixed with veggies, and an alternative steamed veggie type of salad, and pineapple upside down cake. Pineapples/pineapple juice makes bodily fluids taste better.
I, of course, was walking around smiling like an idiot. I had been a very good girl and not pressured either Dillon or Vincent for weeks with questions about how they thought the situation was going. I was pretty certain that we were all ready to commit to a longer-term situation, but there is always the possibility of doubt. I bought out www.candles.com and had the dining room glowing fairly brightly. I wanted the lighting to be diffuse and sexy. I also wanted to be able to see my food and not make a total mess of myself. Bastilla is good for being messy.
I dressed up for the evening, albeit in something pretty tame by my standards. Skimpy, tight, black cloth dresses aren’t terribly racy by my standards, but I hoped I wouldn’t be wearing it long enough to care very much. I allowed my modesty to get the better of me and donned underwear though. I was quite certain I was going to be mocked. I put my hair up in one of my fancy coifs and applied some light make-up. I was hoping that by morning the make-up would be smeared beyond recognition.
Trista was stunning, as she is usually. She likes wearing form fitting white shirts that manage to look almost nude, only better. A very short black suede skirt showed off her delightful legs. She likes leaving her long hair down. She thinks it is more of an enticement for people to pull it that way.
The boys, being boys, wore pants and a button down shirt. I wasn’t really expecting too much more. Although at least one of them could have worn a kilt! Give me some chance for lewd comments! How ridiculous.
After I brought in all the food and sat at the table I couldn’t help wiggling in place. I was so excited! I was almost certain that the boys wouldn’t bother to bring up the topic till after the meal, but that didn’t make my difficulty with sitting down any easier. Then Dillon decided to be ever so kind to me.
“If you don’t stop twitching I won’t fuck you later.” I never knew how still it was possible for me to sit. Laughter abounded. At least the laughter was good-natured. I am not terribly fond of being laughed at, but when the people are laughing because they love me and appreciate my voracious sex drive… I suppose I can cope. Dinner progressed in a more calm and sedate manner. We got to hear all about the project Trista is finishing for work. She is a research scientist. This means that I smile and nod when she talks about her job. Great honey! I’m so glad things are going well for you!
When all of us had eaten enough to be pleasantly full but not leave us sluggish, I cleaned up the dishes and hid in the kitchen for a few minutes. I was so nervous I was about to cry. I was on the verge of having everything I could ever dream of having. Was it going to work out?
I walked back into the dining room, but they had all left the room. Great, now I have to hunt for them. I’m not sure my nervous stomach is going to take any more of these cat and mouse games! I found them in our playroom. We have a section of flooring that is essentially a huge nest. It is large enough for a good 16 people to be fucking and rolling around and touching all at the same time. We have proved it. There are lots of beanbags and feather mattresses and big cozy comforters. Not to mention the large stack of trick towels just to the side. It is important to always have towels handy. Never go anywhere without your towel.
They were all sitting very close to one another talking in low voices. From the doorway I could only catch snippets. “…touch me…” “…for tonight it is ok…” “…she likes…” “…double penetration?” Wow. I almost wanted to interrupt, but then again I almost wanted to turn and run in the other direction. I couldn’t believe what they were saying! Oh wait, I want them to talk this way. When I walked in to join them they all smiled at me in a very friendly sort of way.
“Hello gorgeous girl.”
“Hi! What’s going on?”
“We are just plotting things to do to you.”
“Oh. That sounds nice.”
“I rather thought you might like it.” They apparently had decided that all four of us were going to have sex together! I honestly hadn’t thought it would happen quite like that. Usually they were all very certain of their personal boundaries with regard to one another. I know it hasn’t been easy for Dillon to go from being my monogamous partner to being one of my primaries. A V-triad was not what he had been looking for. He adapted quite nicely I believe.
I wanted to have the conversation first! How dare they distract me with sex! Fine… if you all really have to touch me, I suppose I’ll cope. Every filthy, fun, graphic fantasy I have ever had came true. I choose to classify my experience as triple penetration. Go me. The boys even touched one another in vague ways. Neither of them are bi, but I think they wanted to feel a connection with one another that had never existed before. They were getting ready to commit to spending the next chunk of their lives very much together with one another. Trista is amazingly good at oral sex and I’m sure that Vincent now has some memories that can keep him warm for many a winter to come. It was amazing to me to be kissed and touched by all the people I love. Why did God decide to smile on me and give me the love of so many wonderful people?
In the morning I woke up first, small wonder. I sat in a chair in the corner and looked at the tangled up limbs of three people who love me. I thought about how very unconventional my life has become. What about having kids? Do I want to have kids? I don’t know. My family is so very broken that I’m not sure I want to curse a child with my gene pool. I think Dillon and Vincent would both be good fathers though. I wouldn’t be able to pick which of them would be better. At 26 I still have a little time to put off the decision and I will just try to allow life to happen as it wants to happen. I don’t think I will go off birth control and play Russian roulette with my men though. That wouldn’t make anyone happy. It is amazing how this delightful group of perverts can look so peaceful when they sleep.
Trista woke up first and we decided to go make some crepes for breakfast. In the kitchen we talked about incredibly mundane things. I still occasionally feel surprised that my life doesn’t have to revolve entirely around sex. The crepes looked excellent so it was time to go jump on the boys. Neither was thrilled with my abruptly waking them up, but crepes go a long way to assuage irritation.
“Boys, you managed to still my impatience for one night but I think I’m going to crack under the strain of being patient. I have been such a good girl! Please talk to me.” Subtlety has never been one of my strong suits.
“Well, I’m pretty happy. At least as happy as I can be after being woken up long before it is civil to be awake.” Dillon is entirely spoiled by his flexible work hours.
“I’m delighted and secure and things are great for me. Want to set a date?” Wow. I thought the conversation would be more difficult than that! I look for ways to make things more difficult. This was too easy though!
“Is everything really just this simple?”
“Yes it is.”
“Well it seems that way to me.” Trista was grinning like the cat that got the canary in the background. She was aware of just how much freaking out I had been doing. I could tell she was barely restraining her giggling at my astonishment. I sent her a mini-glare just to acknowledge her silliness. I sat back to process all of the crazy stuff going through my head. My mother always told me that I over-think everything and I need to learn to just accept life instead of analyzing it to death.
“I have always liked the idea of an October wedding. How does that work for everyone’s schedule?” And it was just that easy. The wedding was gorgeous. Dillon was the best man and Trista was the maid of honor. We didn’t want a larger wedding party than that. Our families were all somewhat confused, but that isn’t the important part. We were happy on the day. We were happy in all the time leading up to the wedding. We have been very happy since then.
So tonight I celebrated two years of loving a very wonderful woman. I have loved a very wonderful man for ten years. I have loved an additional wonderful man for almost three years. My life could not be happier.