The Rule of Three Pt. 05

THE RULE OF THREE

Please read the Standard Disclaimer on Alextasy's biography page

: : :

Previously, from PART 4 - WATCHING AND WAITING

Still peering up into my eyes with a sweet smile, Anne found my empty hand, and I felt her push something into the palm. I looked at the two long, white plastic sticks. The blue plus signs.

She said, "I was planning a special dinner for tomorrow so we could talk. I figured you should know before you go upstairs."

I gazed at my expectant wife. She had never been more beautiful. I pulled her to me for a long, loving kiss.

"Go on, now," she said. "If I know my sister, she needs your baby juice tonight. I'll sleep in the guest room."

"Hell no, you won't," I told her. "You don't have to touch her, but you're part of this."

"You don't want her to leave, do you?"

"Would that be a problem? I'm not sending her back to that arrogant shit."

Anne didn't hesitate. "Not a problem for me. It'll make things a lot simpler for Mom."

* * *

PART 5 - EPILOG - WHEN THE DUST SETTLES

Katherine's friend Becky got her fantasy.

She had fondled me at the restaurant during the dinner celebrating my second wedding to Anne, and I made her a promise. If she would stop, I would treat her to a night to remember.

Some months later, Katherine went to a book club luncheon at Becky's house, where she touched off a conversation among the small group of women about some of their wilder sexual experiences. She used that to bring up the Rule of Three, which got all the women interested in where she learned it, and did it have anything to do with that attractive and polite young son-in-law she and both her pregnant daughters were living with?

While she was there, she used a potty break to sneak into Becky's garage and unlock a rarely used side door. Late that night, I tiptoed through the house and tied Becky to the bed, stuffed a ball gag in her mouth, and cut off her clothes.

Once Becky was secured, Katherine brought in four of their mutual friends and my two wives--the three of us and our children were bound in a legal partnership, so privately, we all referred to them both as my wives. The women sat around Becky's bedroom, nibbling hors d'oeuvres and drinking Dom Perignon and Martinelli's, while Becky got a hand spanking, a paddling, three lashes with my crop and one with a cane, along with verbal abuse and sharp slaps, pinches, and bites all over.

I stuffed her with a vibrating butt plug and fucked her through a handful of orgasms. After I let myself go, I visited with our audience, letting them examine my toys and play with my soft, sticky penis. Oral sex with a mouthful of champagne bubbles was a new and startling experience. Once they got me erect again, I turned the anal vibe on free-run and replaced Becky's ball gag with my cock. She came while I used her mouth and played rough with her breasts. When I was almost ready to blow. I pulled out and spurted all over her face, hair, and chest. When I set her free, she was giddy, hugging me and wanting to know when we could do it again. So did all the other women, except they wanted to switch places with her.

Becky never invoked the Rule of Three, even though I whispered a reminder into her ear before I began, and she nodded her understanding, three times.

In fact, since that chilly night when Rachel showed up at my door, the rule had come into our play at home far less than during my first marriage, and only in the most dire circumstances, like morning sickness. When I mentioned that curiosity to my three sluts--Katherine was a permanent fixture now--they all swore a little too earnestly that it wasn't because they were trying to one-up each other on how much they could take. Right...

On the other hand, I found myself snapping my fingers in triplicate nearly every day. It seemed their sole intent was to irritate me to the point where someone got a hiding. They were well organized, and democratic about it. Between them, they worked it out so each of them got fairly equal time. Pleasure denial was my most effective weapon, with the threat of outside partners running a close second--sometimes those partners were harsh Doms or Dommes for them. Other times, I chose irritatingly cute subbies for me, usually while the guilty party was placed facing a corner, clad in some form of restrictive apparatus, and forced to listen.

Katherine took on her matronly role of second-in-command. She handled the family's finances, coordinated everyone's schedules, and resolved any serious sibling rivalries that popped up. She made the point to me that even if one of her daughters were to go stupid again, I would still have two ready-and-willing sluts to keep me busy, and neither of them would give me time to lament the loss. The unspoken threat that anyone who broke ranks would be ostracized, not just from me, but from her whole family, kept everyone in line. Behind her back, her daughters called their mother my "enforcer."

On her birthday, I satisfied her wish. I bought cowboy boots and a pair of twenty-point star spurs. Lying on my back, I used a tight grip on her hair to yank her face onto my erection while I hooked my legs over her back and ran the spurs up and down her freshly-paddled butt, a cowboy version of a Wartenburg. Then I rolled her over and crouched above her hips to fuck down into her with my boots angled inward, so the spurs bit into her thighs as she wriggled around under me. The others wanted the same thing, but I reserved that particular treat for their mom's special birthday tradition.

Her submissive background was old-school. She told me her husband collared her, but she stopped wearing it when Anne turned three and started asking about it. She liked the collar, and since she didn't have a gold ring like her daughters, she wanted something to bind her to me, even if it was only around the house. We all agreed the rings weren't enough to express our unconventional relationship, and discussed alternatives, settling on tattoos, but when Katherine mentioned branding, everyone's eyes lit up.

We agreed on a design, a variation on the BDSM triskelion in the center of a yin/yang, about two inches across. Katherine arranged with a metal sculpture friend to create a stainless branding iron. The two of us flew out to meet an old lover of hers in Oklahoma, who let us practice on real cattle. He was much older, not a Dom, but he picked up a few pointers, and we got along well. Katherine came home all-smiles. I branded the women's butt cheeks, and my wives had decided their mother should brand my upper right arm. The event was preceded by substantial self-medication and followed by days of carnal and loving attentions.

* * *

Though I didn't make the connection until I met Brian, I had been managing investments for his mother's family since shortly after I went into business for myself. At the wedding, I had spoken briefly with his parents, Geoff and Celine, but at the time, there was no conflict of interest.

The divorce was ongoing in mid-November when it came time for the semi-annual review of the Cleland account, as I did with each of my clients. I met them at the door of my uptown office and welcomed them, asking Sally, my secretary, to get them a drink, as usual.

Brian's mother Celine, a prim, businesslike woman in her forties, held up her hand.

"Water will do, thank you. The only alcohol we allow is a glass of port after dinner."

Her husband Geoff pinched his lips, a nearly imperceptible tic. At previous meetings, he had enjoyed my rare Scotches. Under the circumstances, I wasn't going to take sides. Between the two of them, Celine was the clear dominant force in the family, at least in public. I assumed that was due to her grip on the spigot of the family money, a gift from her father.

As soon as we were seated, I felt compelled to reveal my marriage to Rachel's sister, without mentioning the rest of my unconventional family. I expected they would ask me to transfer their account to another manager after this meeting.

Brian's mother barely hid the smirk.

"Thank you for your honesty, Mr. Garmin. We are quite aware of your situation. During the course of the engagement and short marriage, your mother-in-law and I became quite friendly. It seems we share certain interests regarding our private pastimes."

"Oh?"

I looked back and forth between the two of them. I shouldn't have been surprised. The family was wealthy, though not uber-rich, more on a par with Katherine. They were well-known among the movers and shakers of Richmond's old-money society. Celine had a proud bearing and a pushy manner. Her gray, contoured jacked and skirt combination softened the bold color of the burnt orange silk blouse. She made a statement wherever she went, both in her words and her style.

Their son more closely resembled his dashing father. Geoff was the Chief Financial Officer of a regional automotive parts manufacturer, and he looked the part--clean-shaven, angular jaw, roman nose, wide, deep-set blue eyes, clad in a tailored three-piece suit and polished loafers, probably Italian. He certainly had the knowledge to manage their money, but strangely, he usually yielded to his wife's decisions at our meetings. Her comment about their private lives made me wonder if their relationship might bear some similarity to ours.

She said, "Frankly, I don't see how you do it, Mr. Garmin. Contending with three such fractious sluts under your thumb must be quite exasperating."

Her brutal frankness was typical, but the choice of topic and her words shocked me and stimulated me. I wasn't pleased that Katherine had kept me in the dark about her relationship with Celine and whatever they discussed. My blabbermouth mother-in-law was going to get her mouth stuffed with something she didn't like. If I could only figure out what that was.

Celene said, "It's all I can do to keep one pathetic slut in his place." She glanced over toward her husband, who blushed, not in anger, but clear humiliation. "He can be quite the chore, as I'm quite sure you can imagine. Now and then, I would treasure a chance to simply relax and put myself in the hands of a strong, confident man, someone I could trust to take care of me. A cruel man who isn't mean or arrogant. A man with real balls, and a real cock, who knows how to use them without letting his pesky ego get in the way. A man who truly understands the unique needs of a powerful woman."

They were both staring at me.

Powerful woman, eh? Pesky ego? I had come into the meeting prepared to lose this client. That may yet happen. I had little to lose. If this wasn't some cruel joke cooked up by Katherine, I sensed a bigger opportunity. The situation was tricky. I would have to go slow, one step at a time.

I looked straight at her. "Stand up."

She straightened in her chair and sniffed sharply, glaring at me as if preparing to eviscerate this puny, insolent male.

"Not here. Not with... him." She nodded toward her husband.

A flicker of a smile pinched his lips.

I said, "Yes, here. Stand up, Celine. Now." Until that moment, I had always referred to her respectfully as Mrs. Cleland.

She looked over at Geoff. "Please wait for me in the--"

"Stay where you are, Mr. Cleland," I said. "Celine? I'm giving you one last chance. Stand up. Three... two..."

She shot up out of her chair. That was all I needed. She was mine. From here on, it was simply a matter of working out the details.

Pressing on the desk phone's green intercom button, I told Sally she could leave early if she wished, so she could spend some time with her husband and kids. That was our code. She thanked me and said she appreciated my offer, and she would leave right after she finished with the McMaster's file.

I rocked back in my padded, leather swivel-chair, fingers steepled underneath my chin.

Celine's assertive left shoulder was cocked forward, her face turned toward me, jaw clenched, and her haughty chin poised over her left nipple, as if she were standing for a corporate portrait.

"This is quite unconscionable."

Despite her huffy challenge and obstinate stance, I didn't miss that her hands were crossed demurely at her navel instead of arms locked defiantly underneath that hefty chest. Slapping those puppies was going to be pure delight, for both of us.

"Push your pantyhose down to your knees, along with your panties and any other armor you're wearing underneath that dress."

She sniffed at the mention of "armor" and made a last-ditch stance.

"I'll do no such thing. You are stepping over the line, Mr. Garmin."

I leaned forward and pretended to press the green intercom button again.

"Sally, please prepare a transfer form for the Cleland account, and I'll let you know where to--"

"No, wait!" Celine said.

I sat back, tilting my chair again and looked at her, waiting silently. Her hands were fidgeting.

I raised a brow. "Well?"

"Can we do this... somewhere else, Mr. Garmin? Just the two of us?"

Humiliation was the key with this one.

I lowered my voice to a level so faint they both had to lean forward to hear.

"You will call me Jesse. Or sir. And you will do as you are told, or the punishments I choose for you to receive in front of your husband will be degrading than you ever imagined. Now, unless you choose to walk out that door, I expect your underwear at your knees. Ten seconds. Nine..."

She hesitated and looked to her husband again as I counted the seconds away. She scowled at his calm demeanor.

"Aren't you going to say something?"

This was my biggest concern. I would go no further than he allowed. The difficulty in that was determining how much control his wife held over him, and whatever he held over her. Was he the strong one, the subbie? What would it take for him to rebel against her?

As expected, she needed to know that I'm a man of my word. When I got to zero, I sweetened the pot.

"Your delay just cost you a hand spanking in front of your husband. Ten hits."

"Geoffrey...?" It came out as a whine.

I said, "That is now a paddling instead of a spanking."

He spoke calmly, with a hint of humor. "I suggest you should do as he says, dear."

Her face turned red, and she stared at him hatefully, but she hiked up her dress and quickly pushed her sheer black pantyhose and black satin bikinis to her knees.

"Look at me, Celine" I said, and she did. "Spread your legs as wide as necessary to keep your undies from falling below your knees, like a proper fuck-toy."

That got me a more intense glower from her, and bit more of a smile from him. But she did as she was told, shuffling her feet apart and glaring at me while she spoke to her husband,

"I hope you understand, Geoffrey. We will discuss this at home. The discussion will be quite long, and quite harsh."

"I would expect nothing less, my love."

That opened the gate. I had no more concerns about his thoughts on the matter. Only one crucial subject remained.

"I have rules you will need to learn. One is important for your safety and--"

"Yes, yes, Katherine told me all about your little 'three-alarm' rule."

My jaw clenched at the interruption. Soon, I would have my own "long and harsh discussion" with my chief slut-in-law about the importance of privacy, and the escalating price of forgiveness.

I said, "That rule applies to both of you. Geoff, don't be afraid to let me know if I--"

"Don't worry about him." Celine interrupted again. "Just get on with it."

That sharp tongue of hers needed a gag, but this first time, it was more important to settle the pecking order.

Calmly, I said, "I have many other rules you will learn, Celine. Condescending sluts who interrupt me get special attention. Your ten paddles are now fifteen. It's an exponential scale. You want to go for twenty-five?"

She gulped. Her face reddened, but not with anger this time. She looked at the floor. She sounded weak.

"No, sir."

Perfect.

"Lift your skirt and show me that dirty, old, dried-out pussy you're so proud of."

She whimpered quietly. The choice insults I'd picked up from Myra were going to come in handy.

I turned to Geoff.

"She is proud of it, isn't she? I'll bet she keeps tighter controls on her worn-out cunt than she does with her money."

Geoff snorted. She gave him a dirty look.

"Celine!" I said.

Her attention snapped back to me. I lowered a threatening brow.

"At all times, your eyes will point one of three places--the floor, my face, or my cock. Nothing else matters. Tell me you understand."

"I understand, sir."

Somewhere along the way, someone had trained her well. If she ever returned, we would delve deeper into that part of her.

Looking at Geoff, I gestured toward the small wet bar near the far end of the conference table.

"I have several bourbons and Scotches you may be interested in. If I remember, you like the 18-year Macallan. Help yourself."

He glanced up at his wife with a smirk. "I'll take you up on that. I haven't enjoyed a relaxing afternoon drink for a while."

Celine warned him. "I shall not forget this."

"Neither will I." It was spoken gleefully.

Apparently, she had an iron grip on everything in their life. With today's revelations, I wouldn't be surprised to see a cage on his penis. I was pleased with his insolence.

While he helped himself, I made an urgent video call.

Katherine picked up with, "Where am I meeting you, and what time do I need to be there?"

I rarely called from work, unless it was time sensitive. Texting was our go-to. A video call was even more rare, and probably urgent.

She was holding the phone in her lap. Behind and above her, I saw the unmistakable chandeliers at Le Maison and heard a woman's laughter and the clatter of dishes. I recalled her afternoon meeting with Alma Reid.

I said, "Someone is in my office."

Turning the phone around, I let her see Celine standing there, holding the hem of her dress at her waist, her underwear around her wide-spread knees.

Celine flushed at the sight of her. No doubt, she recognized the iconic restaurant, too.

She whispered. "Oh, fuck." Then, weakly, "Hi, Katherine."

Katherine said, "Do as he says. Or don't. You won't regret it. I'll be in touch."

I turned the phone back to myself, wondering how Councilwoman Reid would view this conversation.

"I need a decision," I said.

"I can tell you right now it's a go," Katherine said. "I'll get a vote."

I hung up the call, just as Jeff returned to his seat with a tumbler.

Professor Pop once explained to me that each of us was three people--one person in public, a different person to family and friends we cared about, and then there was the private "me", who might offer a glimpse of ourselves only to those closest to us, if at all. Each of those personalities embodied both dominant and submissive alter egos, in greater or lesser proportions. The obedient, reserved worker-bee might be funny and gregarious around his friends and fiercely assertive with his family. The confident, VP-level executive might balance his daily stress by handing personal decisions off to his bold and influential wife. It was a different take on the flip side of my arrangement with my family.

How did the ratios line up between Celine and Geoff so they balanced out? Did he ever take charge? Was he like most men, who viewed their skin as an enclosure? Or was he among the small percentage who used their skin like their eyes and their noses, to draw in more information about the world around him, especially the torturous part of it?

And where was their son Brian while all this was going on? What secrets had he been keeping in the "me" part of his psyche?

: : :

With a sneer, Celine said, "Did I actually hear you ask Katherine's permission? I assumed you were the Master."

Apparently, Katherine hadn't told her everything. Good girl.

I opened the top right drawer on my desk and withdrew the foot-long ruler lying along the right side of the drawer. I pushed my chair back and stood.

"They each get one vote. I have four."

Walking toward her, our eyes latched onto each other's. I slapped my left palm with the ruler four times, one with each step. This ruler was a parting gift from Professor Pop--one inch wide and a quarter-inch thick, maple, inflexible. It made a delightfully crisp snap when it landed on bare skin.

She stared at the ruler, flinching with each smack. Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips.

"Celine!"

She jerked her focus back up to me. We were now standing within arm's length of each other.

I said, "What three places are you allowed to look?"

Her face colored, and her eyes dropped. "The floor, your face, or your... cock, sir."

"You disobeyed. That means we're at twenty-five. You want to try for forty?"

She gaped at me. I slapped the ruler on my palm again. She jumped and glanced once more at the ruler, then immediately back at me. She gulped.

"No, sir."

But the brief hesitation left me to think she had considered the alternative.

My phone dinged three times. Three messages, each with a single exclamation character or clapping emoji. Two characters would be a cautious maybe. Three would have been a hard no, of course. I could veto them all, which I rarely did, or split my votes among the different opinions if someone objected, which also rarely happened.

But this time, that wasn't a concern. They were all-in.

The phone dinged a fourth time with a message from Katherine--"Don't tire yourself out. Alma wants to come for dinner?"

Councilwoman Reid was older, maybe in her sixties, and twice divorced. I replied with two periods. I didn't like her making offers of my time without conferring with me first. Katherine had been pushing the envelope on my patience for a while, obviously testing me. A reckoning was coming due.

Still, I expected tonight's meeting should be informative, and very possibly entertaining. Alma had been one of the four women present at Becky's assault.

Slowly, I lifted my hand behind Celine's head to firmly grasp the hair at her nape. I didn't pull too hard, only enough to incite a few chills.

"There is another critical rule you should know. You are not allowed to touch me anywhere without my permission. Don't forget that rule. It will get you in serious trouble."

"Yes, sir--oh!"

She squeaked when I swung the ruler up between her spread legs, popping it against her clit.

"That's one," I said. "Count each strike."

By the time she got to eight, her voice was shaky, and she shivered, her face red, and her hefty chest rising and falling quickly.

I paused the pussy paddling.

"Please, sir..."

"You want more?"

"Yes, please sir."

"Your pussy wants to come, doesn't she?"

She nodded rapidly. "Yes, sir. Please, sir? Make her... come?"

"Your pussy is the one who makes you such an unholy bitch. It's her fault, isn't it?"

If a spark of dominant feminine persona was still in control, that would have probably set her off. I was gratified and proud to see her accept her nature.

"Yes, sir." She looked up, pleading. "Fuck me, sir? Please?"

"You've used up eight of your twenty-five smacks. Are you sure you don't want forty?"

Her eyes brightened, and she grinned.

With a lowered brow, I warned her. "Remember what I said. No touching without permission."

Her hand swung forward and grabbed my erection through my slacks, squeezing and tugging on it.

I didn't react to her fondling. Instead, I turned my attention to Geoff, who seemed riveted by the activities at my crotch. His escalated breaths invited other questions about his thoughts on this matter.

"She ever done anything like this before?"

"Not where I was allowed to watch."

Hmmm... Interesting reply.

I told him, "Remember, if you want me to stop, do anything, three times. Nod, clear your throat, or anything. That's all it takes."

"Thank you, sir."

Another interesting reply. I had almost no practical experience with male subbies. I would have to wing-it.

Celine spoke, keeping her eyes on my face.

"Geoffrey, don't you have something for Master Jesse?"

"Oh, yes." He pulled two folded sheets from his inside jacket pocket.

No shock, they were fresh STI forms for both of them, which begged the unpleasant question with the self-evident answer--why would I need one from him?

I'd met a few Domme acquaintances at play parties accompanied by their sissy boi's, and with my consent, the mistresses directed their slaves to tend to my penis. While they were skilled, it was an awkward experience for me, not altogether uncomfortable, but with a sense that something wasn't right. I wasn't homophobic, but in the same way I had no appreciation for the cardboard coffee most people drank, sex with a man held little interest for me.

Still, I felt a responsibility to entertain Geoff. He'd been good through all this, and I admired his willful disobedience.

I said to him, "I want her naked, except for what's at her knees." I deliberately left the expectation open-ended, to see who responded, and how.

"Yes, sir." He set his drink down, stood, and removed her jacket, folded it, and laid it over the back of her chair. When she had to drop one hand to pull it through the sleeves, he held the hem of her dress at her waist, so Celine could keep one hand fondling my penis at all times.

Once her orange blouse and her black lace bra were off, I popped and pinched her heavy tits, to her breathless delight. When her unzipped skirt dropped around her knees, I gave her clit another five whacks with the ruler. Abruptly, I spun her around and shoved down between her shoulders to bend her forward. She automatically grabbed the back of her chair. The majority of the remaining forty hits were to her broad bottom, making her howl and cry. Now and then, I added a quick series of taps to one of her breasts or to her clit, to remind her pussy I hadn't forgotten about her.

Gradually, her frantic motions calmed as she slipped into the blissful fog. On a hunch, I told Geoff I needed to be naked so I could fuck his wife. He was on his knees in a second, removing my shoes and socks while I continued torturing his wife, then the rest of my clothing, carefully folding everything as he went. When my penis was free, he grasped and tugged on it.

Gruffly, I said, "You realize that's a punishable offense."

He looked up with a smirk. "Yes, sir." Then he took it in his mouth and grazed his fingers over my balls.

After only a few bobs of his head, Geoff guided my penis to Celine's vagina. I shoved in hard, and her shriek climbed into the stratosphere before she froze in ecstasy. I fucked her forcefully, pulled her hair, abused her breasts, and pinched her clit while Geoff knelt at our feet, his pants pulled down enough so he could fondle his balls and rub the brushed steel assembly enclosing his penis.

I wasn't done humiliating Celine. When I pulled out, her husband went straight for my erection, sucking it and licking my balls. I pushed his head away and dropped into the chair to make Celine finish me off with her mouth while berating her cocksucking, telling her she wasn't nearly as good as her husband. That sparked her enthusiasm, and she took everything I gave her, sucking me fast, wet, and sloppy, like a lioness on a fresh kill. When her cheeks were bulging with my semen, she turned to her husband for a long kiss. It was the first inkling I'd seen of actual warmth between them.

Still naked, we sat at the conference table and negotiated a new wealth management contract to include certain unspecified "special services" to be provided at our semi-annual reviews. I agreed to stipulations that applied to Geoff's particular needs. He admitted Celine's whips and strap-on kept him in his place, but it wasn't the same as the touch and the taste of a man.

It wasn't an ideal situation for me. The thought of intentionally abusing another man, especially punishing his gonads, simply went against my grain. Part of that was sympathetic pain, but the real reason was my conviction that the bottom was stronger than the top, and ultimately dictated the relationship, whatever that might be. My ego could handle a lot from a woman, but it couldn't deal with the same willful disobedience from a male subbie asserting his own control.

The income from the Cleland's account wouldn't be more than a blip to my bottom line if I were to lose them as a client, but I decided I would consent to this one case of male domination, because I genuinely liked Geoff, because I got an extra thrill from letting him watch me put his spiteful switch of a wife in her place, and because of what happened with Brian.

Celine and Geoff told me Rachel had taken a chunk of their son's wealth--she was generous in the divorce at my request--and the woman he got pregnant would be getting a portion of his income from his trust for the next eighteen years. From Rachel, I'd learned the woman was the same buxom young blonde I first hear of from Robert--the former valet, and now my mechanic, as well as a promising Dom-in-training. The woman also threatened tight control over visitation once the child was born. The Cleland's were not happy with their golden boy's decline over the last year, and especially the possibility of limited access to their only grandchild. Since Brian's problems were present long before I met him, I didn't reveal my role in the divorce. From a couple of comments, I suspected they knew I had some direct involvement.

When we were done, and everyone had straightened themselves in my private bath, I opened the door to the outer office, and waved them through first. They both blushed when Sally promised, ever-so-politely, to call them next April for an appointment in May, at the same time that she reached up to disconnect the brightly lit green button on the intercom from my office.

Sally was the subbie wife of a long-time Dom friend, and they had three adorable children. From the scent floating in the outer office, I had little doubt she'd diddled and abused herself during the whole meeting. I hoped, for her sake, she didn't come without permission.

When Celine and Geoff walked out the door, they were holding hands.

: : :

That evening, Councilwoman Alma Reid wanted nothing more than a hand spanking and a long, slow anal fuck. I was glad to oblige, and Katherine joined us. I learned that years before, while Katherine's husband was overseas, they had been in threesomes with Alma's late second husband, a much older man, along with others. It was all done in the open, with permission, and Katherine's husband was grandly rewarded with a variety of eager partners when he returned home.

When Alma left, I filled everyone in on the afternoon's festivities with the Clelands. Rachel knew the mother of their future grandchild, and she and Anne agreed to talk with her. They had a guilt card to play and were sure they could get her to ease up--the woman had attended Rachel's wedding with the groom's baby already growing inside her.

I called Alma the next day and squeezed more info from her about Katherine's past. After making arrangements with a friend who owns a remote cabin north of the city on the James River, I took Katherine out alone for a light sushi dinner the following Friday night, quiet, one-on-one time as I did with each of the women at least once or twice a month. Afterward, we drove to the cabin, where my friend waited with three other men. Twelve hours, no mercy. She never even hinted at calling for a halt.

The next day, she slept until late afternoon. On the drive home, she was battered and bruised, exhausted and pensive. She set her hand on my knee, an acceptable affectionate gesture.

"I love you, Jesse. I hope that's okay. I've spoken those words to only one other man."

I laid my hand on top of hers.

"I love you, Katherine. Probably longer than I should say."

"I knew you did. I keep trying to find ways to show you how much we all appreciate you, then you do something like last night. It's going to be difficult to top that."

"I don't want you to go any further." I couldn't stop the irritation. "I don't share details about the situation with our family unless necessary. If you want to show you appreciate me, then please respect my privacy."

"It's a delicate balance," she said. "I could tell you felt responsible for the way things turned out between Brian and Rachel. You shouldn't. It was doomed before it started. Celine was a way to help you understand it wasn't all you. Apparently, Brian dropped a few comments that made her ask me about you. Would you have ever guessed she needed someone to take her for an occasional off-road excursion?"

I couldn't lie. "That was a surprise."

"I'll bet," she chuckled. "And Alma's a swing vote on the women's shelter budget. She saw what you did with Becky, and your name popped up when she dropped in for a look at what the shelter was doing. That's why she asked me to lunch. I knew she would understand, or I wouldn't have said anything. Partially thanks to you, the budget is almost certain to go up significantly."

"So, you were whoring me out."

She smirked. "That's one way to think of it. That's not all bad. I did a bit of whoring back in college. A dick that's hard for me always makes me feel good about myself, but few things are a bigger boost to my vanity than for a man to express his desire for me in hundred-dollar bills."

I snorted.

"So, I should have made those men pay cash last night?"

She sucked in a sharp breath, and her face went red. I couldn't recall that I'd ever seen Katherine blush.

I said, "Next time, I'll charge admission."

"Next time?" Her eyes brightened. She grabbed my erection through my pants. "Pull over, Jesse. Now."

Staring straight ahead, I lowered my voice to a growl.

"If you don't remove your hand immediately, I will refuse to set up cameras and broadcast the event to a select audience on pay-per-view. Will you be wearing a mask?"

"Ohmigod..." She jerked her arm back. "A mask? I don't know... I think... Ohmigod."

I caught her wide grin from the corner of my eye.

After that weekend, her demeanor calmed, and we didn't have any more lapses of personal privacy. Eventually, I expected she'd need another special session. I knew the signs to look for. I already had the limited-access streaming ready to go on a day's notice.

* * *

One evening around six months later, it was May of the following year, our family, plus one, were enjoying a blessedly quiet dinner, a hard feat in those days. At the far end of the table, Isaac, my month-old son with Anne, slept in the crook of Katherine's left arm. On my left, Rachel was suckling our daughter, Ivy, born thirty-two minutes after her half-brother. Katherine and I got loads of funny looks that day, bouncing back and forth between the two delivery rooms.

The plus-one at the table was Myra. Since the weekend years ago when I gave Anne to her as her first slave, her dominant nature had blossomed. I introduced her to my favorite Domme, who was training her in Professor Pop's methods. After we ran into her again at a party last fall, Myra had been visiting with us occasionally for practical experience and advice, and sometimes a few hours alone with me, to keep her in touch with her subbie side. All three of my women enjoyed her abuse, as well as her tasty, vegetarian pussy that wasn't family. They all vied for the chance to lick her after I fucked her.

She was seated to my right, next to Anne, enjoying her dinner while happily watching Isaac sleeping. In the weeks since the babies came, she'd become a regular fixture every few days, occasionally spending the night either with me, or sleeping in the room with the wee ones to give my women a break. That's what she said.

Two evenings before, around sundown, she was rocking slowly in a chair on the patio of our new farmhouse, feeding Isaac from a bottle. I was about twenty feet away, watering the ground around Anne's roses, not coincidentally where I could watch the idyllic scene.

Katherine sidled up next to me in and laid her arm around my waist. A few months before, that would have been a clear violation, but they all begged for more touching, so I'd revised the rule to limit anything above my shoulders, or between my navel and my knees. I toughened the penalty to a time-out in their room with the door closed for some period, usually overnight, so they were excluded from playtime. They all called it juvenile and inhumane treatment, but strangely, it worked.

There, watching Myra in the garden, Katherine spoke to me quietly.

"Wouldn't she look even more lovely with a bump on her belly?"

I looked at Myra. The implication was clear. Katherine was only the messenger. I certainly wasn't opposed to the idea. We had plenty of room, a ten-bedroom farmhouse with five fenced acres bordering the river southeast of Richmond. Myra was a tall woman, just under six feet, an Amazon with a lean, powerful build. Rachel had mentioned she could almost be my sister. Her small, conical breasts were capped with easily excitable, puffy red teats. I imagined her joy as my child suckled at her.

"You're devious," I told Katherine.

"I'm a woman. So is she."

Two days later, and the thought had taken root. Sitting there at the table with my big family while the women chatted, I argued with myself whether I should simply tell Myra it was going to happen, or wait for her to ask me--or better yet, beg me.

But she wasn't like Anne or Rachel, or even Katherine. Although Myra took a submissive role with me, there was a kindred spirit of dominance between us I didn't have with the other women. Strangely, her understanding of what I did, and why, had made her more actively submissive. She sometimes resisted and made me work for it, occasionally physically, though we hadn't yet advanced to the sort of wrestling I did with Anne and Rachel. Not surprisingly, I still always won. I couldn't be sure of that with Myra.

Something she said snapped me back into the conversation.

"Hold on. Did you say you've been talking to Brian Cleland?"

Myra said, "Yeah. I've seen him a few times recently, and I remembered Rachel had been married to him for a while."

We gave her the bare bones of what happened, how we tried to mold him into a responsible Dom for her, but he was arrogant, lacked self-control, and couldn't keep it in his pants.

She smirked. "That's not the Brian I know."

I said, "Where did you run across him?"

"You know I prefer torturing women--"

"Yeah, we know." Rachel gave her the evil eye, but Myra returned a narrow-eyed sneer that made her look away with a tiny grin. A month after the births, we were slowly getting my wives back under strict control.

Myra said, "Mistress Julie has had me working recently with some of her male clients." Julie was Myra's dominatrix tutor, another student of Professor Pop. "It's a different set of rules, more fun in some ways, but I have to be more nuanced around their balls. They can't take it like a woman. Brian is one of the guys, though I didn't make the connection until yesterday."

Stunned, I said, "He's letting you whip him?" I recalled his assertion that he would never let a woman hit him.

"Let me? You-name-it, he loves it. Whipping, caning, cock-and-ball torture, pegging, forced orgasms, spoilers, edging--"

"What are spoilers?" I said

"Ruined orgasms. That's when you--"

"Yeah, I know what it is."

Even twelve years later, I could still recall the overwhelming frustration from the one time Professor Pop did it to me. When I had asked her if there was a female equivalent, she laughed, and said, "For women with typical arrogant and ignorant men for lovers, that's what it's like nearly every time they have sex."

Myra said, "Brian can't get enough. There's nothing that pathetic twink won't do."

"Did you say, 'twink'?"

"He's deep in the lifestyle. Tattoos and piercings all over. He usually shows up to a session wearing a pink, plastic cock cage with a matching butt plug. He told me he spends most nights trolling Hard Tails and Dirty Angels, and sometimes the biker bars out near the airport, searching for a 'daddy'. A few weeks ago, he came in with a studded, black leather collar. I insisted on calling his new daddy to make sure I wasn't violating protocol. The guy had a deep voice and said Brian told him he wasn't mean enough, and he needed a woman to put him in his place."

The room went silent. We were all staring at her. Could this really be the same Brian?

Ivy's mouth made a popping sound when it came off Rachel's nipple, and she giggled. In seconds, we were all laughing and shouting out one-liners about Brian. It was infectious, and we couldn't stop for a while.

He needed a woman to put him in his place... Myra's words touched a memory of Geoff saying something similar about Celine.

One of Professor Pop's cardinal principles was "the path to domination is through submission." The inverse was true, as well. Brian had started his journey as an atrocious Dom, but ultimately, he found his true calling on the bottom end of the spectrum.

In retrospect, I shouldn't have been surprised. The signs were there. Rachel's first complaints to me were about his too-gentle "China teacup" touch. He had that carefree, little-boy look, and a deep aversion to the smell and taste of pussy. When he told me there was no way he would let a woman hit him. I should have asked if he would take it from a man.

Then there were his parents. Growing up with his demanding mother undoubtedly contributed to his emasculation and conflicted feelings of tenderness and anger towards women, as well as his desire to be dominated by a strong female figure. Adding to that, Geoff's submissiveness to his wife at home would certainly have been absorbed into Brian's young mind as his model for the way a man should act. For all I knew, his father's comfort in his skin--and his preferences for painful tactile stimulation--might have been passed down as a genetic trait. It would have been tough for Brian once he reached puberty and figured out he was different from the other guys. He'd probably spent years fighting against nature and nurture.

Myra laid a cloth diaper over her shoulder and took Ivy from Rachel, patting her on the back to burp her. She seemed so contented.

I said, "You should have one of those of your own."

She aimed an unusually saucy look at me.

"A man would have to overpower me, chain me to a bed, brand me, and keep me prisoner for days to make that happen."

Scanning around the table, I saw nothing but poorly hidden grins.

And that was that. The confederacy of women had won again. All I needed were the dates. No doubt, those would fall into my lap from somewhere.

Rachel couldn't seem to make the connections with Brian's behavior between then and now, even though she was aware of what happened with Celine and Geoff.

"Are you sure it's the same Brian Cleland? I can't see him giving up his dream to impregnate every girl he meets."

Myra said, "He's not the same cocky braggart I met at your wedding. He's a lot more slender, especially in his face, and he's lost the swagger. He looks... pretty. Well, except for all the metal and tats. He's got a crude tattoo of a June bug on the back of his right hand."

"What does that mean?"

"That's the mark of a jailhouse slut."

Rachel's mouth dropped open. "You mean...?"

Myra nodded. "It wasn't until yesterday that I realized who he was. I had him in chains on his back after a flogging, squeezing his balls while I stuffed my fattest strap-on into his ass, and I reminded him of the Rule of Three. He'd been in a pissy mood for the whole session, and he smarted off at me that he knew the guy who invented the rule, and he'd fucked his wife and her sister. That's when I figured it out."

The air pressure in the room increased with the tension around the table.

She said, "I slapped the fuck out of him, shoved my cock deeper and crushed his nuts to make him squeal like a piglet."

That got snorts and laughter around the table.

"He hates the smell of pussy, so I made him press the tip of his nose between my labia and apologize to my ass, then lick it. He said he wished they'd taught the Rule of Three to the inmates at county lockup."

Anne said, "Why did he go to jail?"

Myra chuckled, and looked straight at me.

"He told me the same guy who taught him the rule got him started as a Dom. Brian got deeper into the online stuff, the stupid stories and fake videos, and he imitated what he learned. After the second time he sent a woman to the hospital, he was arrested, and she sued him for her hospital bills. Brian's parents gave up and told him he could deal with it on his own. Unfortunately, the girl's uncle worked for the DA's office, and he made sure Brian got the maximum sentence, ninety days."

"Oh, geez," Rachel said. "He's such a sweet boy. I can't imagine how he survived."

Chuckling, Myra said, "He told me it was a wake-up call. He didn't get along well with the other inmates at first. After a week or so of abuse, he had a mystical, out-of-body experience, and he found himself."

Anne snickered. "Out of body experience, huh? Wonder what that was like?"

We laughed.

So, he finally got the meaning of subspace.

Myra said, "He made a lot of friends in jail, and they took good care of him. He's a righteous pain slut, and he says he's never felt stronger."

I was proud of him.

She said, "I should have figured it out weeks ago when I first saw him naked. He has another big tattoo in bold, pink Gothic letters on his lower back, right above his butt crack. That one says 'Cupid Stunt'."

: : :

THE END