Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
For quite some time, I’d felt there was a rift between the various communities at Mclean. Or perhaps rift was a strong word—rather, divide? We had the founding members and their circle of friends with diverse kinks, which included Ash these days. They were Sadists, primal players, Daddy Doms, switches, Masters, Littles, and brats. We had the bondage community, where we rarely ventured outside Room 8, our rope dojo on the second floor. We had the tight-knit leather community that booked one of the orgy rooms on the third floor for their get-togethers. Every now and then, they shared the puppy-play course down by the forest line with our approximately five or six active members of the puppy-play community. Other smaller groups included our foot fetishists, watersports players, and degradation sluts.
I didn’t know if that divide was simply natural and preferred among the members, though. The founders invited everyone when they arranged events, so it wasn’t as if anyone was ever excluded. But sure, sometimes it felt like we closed ourselves in too much.
“I’ve tied him up a few times,” I mentioned. “Timothy, I mean. He’s a Little too, I hear.”
Ash chuckled wryly. “No one could ever accuse you of being subtle.”
I looked over at him and gave his thigh a squeeze. “I’m not trying to be subtle.” Much, anyway. “If you’d like to test the waters and play with him, we could set up some boundaries…?”
He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “You know, I’m getting kinda tired of you pushing me to play with others.”
I frowned, wondering where the fuck that had come from. “Excuse me? When did I push you toward anyone?”
He rolled his eyes and switched lanes again. Our exit was coming up. “I’m not stupid, Nate. Every step on this kink trail is leading somewhere. You keep focusing on those baby steps, but I see the end goal. I’ll be sharing a dynamic with someone who isn’t you. Are you lookin’ forward to that? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Whoa. That one caught me off guard. And he got it all fucking wrong. “You’re missing a key component of that end goal—that we’re supposed to be in this together. I don’t want you to have a relationship with someone else if I’m not a part of it.”
He took a deep breath and furrowed his brow. “We decided that rule was for playtime. We’ve never actually discussed what would happen if a Little entered our lives. So what, you wanna become a triad?”
“Of course not.” I wasn’t cut out for that. And our family was sacred, with room for only two parents. End of. “It doesn’t have to be all-or-nothing, does it? We could have a playtime dynamic with someone.”
“In what universe would a guy—a Little, no less—be comfortable sharing a playtime dynamic with a married couple and allow just enough feelings to get involved for the Daddy Dom to be satisfied, but every other aspect of their lives were closed off to him because the Daddy and the Sir or whatever are exclusive in terms of family and everyday life?”
I opened my mouth to respond, only to snap it shut and frown to myself. My brain came to a screeching halt when I thought of the subs in my own circle of friends. The vulnerability they felt sometimes, how unpredictable life was, how impossible it was to foresee the needs someone might have before or after playtime.
Setting up a structure for playtime was easy. You could say, between noon and four PM on Sunday, life was about dominance and submission. About Daddy and Little. It could be sexual or nonsexual, include other kinks or not. We’d negotiate and reach an understanding.
We’d experienced a pinch of that back in Boston.
After our night with our fellow American, the Marine—Kyle—the floodgates had opened. At least for a while. We’d played with others at kink parties, subs, switches, a few brats… But they had always been involved with primary partners, who’d engaged in the playtime too, and so we hadn’t had any play partners freaking out in the middle of the night because they were dropping or feeling out of sorts. We’d obviously reached out to make sure everything was okay, but they’d had their primary Owners who felt protective of their own aftercare routines.
There was immediate aftercare, and there was the follow-up. I’d witnessed firsthand how natural Ash was at the former. After takedowns and beatings, he’d focused solely on the sub, and he hadn’t been satisfied with the aftercare until the sub was laughing again. And then our work had been done. We’d gone home. The Owner had taken over.
“Say we meet someone,” Ash continued. “It’s great. We grow to care for him. We get together a couple times a month. Then one Tuesday, he calls and says he’s developed stronger feelings—for both of us, maybe just one of us. Or he calls and tells us he’s not feeling okay. Or he calls and wants to renegotiate. Or he calls to let us know he’s sick. What then? How do I switch on and off my need to care for someone? Do I run over to him quick to kiss him on the forehead and tuck him in between Hallie’s soccer practice and Dylan’s baseball? Do you run over because you have a break in between patients? Do we say, buck up, champ, we’ll see you on Friday?”