“I’m poundin’ that prostate good, aren’t I?”

  Oh, yeah, you are. Fuck it harder. Tear that sexy ass up.

  “Yes!”

  “You wanna come with my dick up your pretty pussy?”

  “Please… I.”

  Rob scowls, wrenching our masochist’s head back another centimeter, forcing his spine to bow. “No!”

  A steady stream of pleasure-induced tears fall.

  “Mistress!” Tyler begs, and that’s all it takes. My own back bowing, eyes locked on my delicious men in action, I come, and I come, and I come in a torrent of white-hot ecstasy, calling out their names.

  The world fades to black for half a second before refocusing on Rob, who has paused mid-fuck to watch me ride the wave of toe-curling bliss that they created with their dirty mouths.

  “That was hot, babe.” He smirks, then resumes his potent onslaught.

  “You’re both hot,” I pant, drawing lazy circles around my clit. She’s already primed for round two, so it doesn’t take long for a second orgasm to take hold. Followed by a third, and a fourth, leaving me a trembling mess of boneless goo.

  Yet, they carry on.

  Fucking.

  Connecting.

  Sweat coating their bodies.

  Muscles tensing with each thrust.

  Hoarse moans pour like golden spun honey from Tyler’s soul as Rob owns his pleasure.

  Hooded eyes, floating in a sea of endless lust, beg me to put him out of his misery, to give in and let him finish. But I can’t. It’s not time. I’ll know when it is, and we’re not quite there.

  “Mistress,” he breathes.

  “She’s not gonna save you, boy. Your slutty pussy is mine right now.”

  “I… I can’t.” Tyler’s teetering on the edge. So close, yet so far.

  “You will. Or we won’t do this again. You readin’ my lips? I won’t wreck your boy pussy again if you come before me. And you want that, don’t you?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “Good.”

  Satisfied by Tyler’s admission, Rob releases his hair and repositions himself—chest to back, both knees perched on the ottoman, pelvis cradling ass. Stuffing his face into our artist’s neck, he runs his hands along Tyler’s arms until he reaches his fingers and slots his own through. Then he places them above their heads, pressing them into the ottoman as he draws back his hips, leaving just the tip of his cock inside. Unleashing a wild grunt, Rob punctuates his full-body thrust with a burst of strength that forces both of their asses to jiggle on impact and the leather to groan.

  Face down, our masochist cries out for more.

  Heeding his call, Rob does it again and again, thighs contracting, shoulders flexing as he jackhammers our partner’s hole into submission.

  “Fuck! I’m gonna come.” He stills halfway out. Then it happens. One final plunge, burying himself to the hilt, and his face contorts as he fills our masochist with jets of warm, salty cum. Knowing what’s happening, Tyler’s own dick explodes without permission, spraying my rug in ropes of semen. Screaming against the leather, he shatters into a million pieces.

  They did it.

  My men… they freaking did it!

  I’m not sure how to feel right now. My heart’s beyond full, it could burst.

  Swallowing thickly, I try my darndest to keep the welling tears at bay. One sneaks through, and I swipe it away with the back of my hand before they notice. It’s not often I cry from sex. And I’ve never gotten this choked up from watching a scene. I’m just so proud of both of them. They did it. This changes everything.

  Not wanting to interrupt their post-coital glow, I stay quiet in my chair, and return my dress to its ladylike station.

  Ousting a sated groan, Rob rolls off Tyler and deposits himself on the floor, face up, between the ottoman and my chair. His dick still hasn’t softened. The remnants of cum slide down his shaft, pooling in the sparse hair at the base. I wanna lick it up, but think better of it. We don’t know where his head’s at right now. It could be playing catch-up, on the verge of purging.

  He tucks an arm behind his head, showing off that massive bicep without even trying. “Damn. That was…”

  When he doesn’t finish his sentence, fear begins to creep in.

  Please don’t say this was too good to be true. That he’s going to relapse. It wouldn’t be the first or tenth time. I shouldn’t expect this to be any different. If anything, I should expect it to be far worse. It’s not every day you experiment with a man. I… I should probably go get a trash can just to be safe.

  Scooting to the edge of the seat, Rob reaches up and cuffs a hand around my calf on its descent to the floor. Our eyes collide. I lick my lips. He repeats the action. Tyler rolls onto his side, remaining on the ottoman. Nobody says a word. And it’s strange because we don’t need to. The warmth that radiates through our connection chases my woes away. It’s odd, really. I’ve never felt anything like it.

  With the simple lift of his chin to me, then Tyler, our Big Guy calls to us, and we follow. I’m the first to stretch out on the floor beside him, laying my cheek on his pec. Rob’s arm surrounds me, tucking me to his side. I throw a leg over his and trace designs down his abs, to the drips of cum, that I massage in with my fingertips. On the opposite side, Tyler mimics my pose, palm lying on Rob’s sternum close to where his heart resides. We stare at each other for a long beat, across the short distance, then lean in. Lips brushing at first before our tongues join in on the sweet, soul-tethering caress. Soft and slow we kiss, savoring the quiet moment when everything is right in our world.

  “That’s it,” Rob softly rumbles his encouragement. “We should’ve been doin’ this for fuckin’ years. I wish I would’ve known it could’ve been like this. We’ve wasted so much time.”

  Yes. We have.

  I can’t believe this is real.

  A tear I can no longer hold captive falls to our Big Guy’s chest.

  He combs his fingers through my hair as Tyler deepens our kiss which speaks of love and commitment, of truth and purity.

  “We’re going to move in together. You’re it for me.”

  That we are.

  The three of us against the world. Forever.

  This is the happiest moment of my life.

  The end…

  Not quite…

  EPILOGUE

  ________

  FOREVER IS WHAT YOU MAKE IT

  One year later

  Sitting on my couch, feet propped up on the leather ottoman, ankles crossed, wearing cotton shorts and a tank top, I give Michael, The Naked Submissive, my undivided attention. We’re finishing an interview with Tyler and me for his wildly popular vlog that focuses on facets of BDSM lifestyles. Staying true to his brand, he is naked, mostly, aside from a plastic cock cage. Seated beside him, operating the camera is his Master. Who Rob and everyone else, besides Michael, calls Judge. Evidently, he’s an unofficial brother of Rob’s motorcycle club.

  “Ronan, do you need anything?” The Big Man calls from the kitchen where he’s putting away dishes. He’s the reluctant one of the bunch, who’s avoiding vlog airtime at all costs. Tyler, on the other hand, is used to the public eye and welcomes it with open arms. That’s why he’s sitting beside me, interacting with our guests and the potential viewers.

  Digging into the mindset of a ProDomme who’s in an exclusive polyamorous relationship seems to fascinate Michael. That’s one of the many reasons I agreed to this interview in the first place. We also have a few mutual connections, and I happen to be a fan of Michael’s vlog and website. They’re informative in a risqué yet intuitive in a way that most sites don’t offer. The majority of BDSM vlogs I’ve seen are either clinically drab or pornographic. I appreciate that The Naked Submissive tightrope walks between both, which makes for great entertainment.

  I fold my fingers through Tyler’s that rest atop my thigh, as Michael shoots off another rapid-fire question. “You were saying earlier that last year your relationship took a positive turn you didn’t see coming. Are you referring to the bisexual status of your men?”

  Uncrossing my ankles to scratch my shin with a foot, I nod the affirmative. “I was. But we aren’t fond of labels. Is anyone?”

  “I’m not. Can you please elaborate for us?”

  I can, but… Let’s pray I don’t go off on another tangent. I’ve done that twice already. Hopefully, he can edit part of my craziness out. The last thing I want is his viewers thinking I’m a know-it-all-nelly with less charisma than a tadpole.

  Smiling despite my nerves, I keep my voice light and airy. “To some, you’d be considered a gay sex slave with a cage and plug fetish. That isn’t who you are, though. You’re a vlogger, a loving husband, a partner, friend, stepfather.” Speaking passionately, my hand gets animated following along with my speech.

  “People often get caught up in the labels that they forget those who practice any facet of the BDSM lifestyle are normal people, too, with a taste for the spicier side of life. We aren’t the kink. It doesn’t define us. It rounds us out. Drives us. And there’s something freeing about that.”

  “So what you’re saying is your men don’t consider themselves bisexual?” Michael already knows this. We’ve discussed it before. I’m merely reiterating it for the masses.

  I shrug, playing along. “We are what we are. We enjoy what we enjoy. Tyler derives mental and physical pleasure from submitting to both Rob and me in very different ways. If that makes him bisexual, then he’s bi by society standards. But, by definition, bisexual means you’re attracted to both sexes. When in Rob and Tyler’s case, they’re not attracted to other men.”

  “Only each other,” Michael illuminates for his viewers, who’ll eat this shit up. It’s a common misconception in life that you’re born straight, bisexual, transgender, or gay. As if those are the only options. People believe that, because it fits inside their little box of media-influenced understanding. They don’t believe that you can one day wake up and find someone of the same sex attractive. They’ll label it latent homosexuality, or whatever mumbo-jumbo bullshit that makes them sleep better at night. As you can tell I’m rather passionate about this particular topic. What can I say? When it comes to my men, there’s nothing I care more about.

  Tyler’s the perfect person to add his insight. “Yes. You could say that. But it wasn’t like that at first. I was the last resort for an issue that might’ve ruined our relationships, had it not been fixed. It wasn’t until months later when I started to realize that I found Rob just as attractive as I do Ronan. By then we were already sharing a bed, a closet, bathroom, meals, date nights, sex… you get the picture.”

  “That was an emotional day for all of us,” I add, reliving the moment in my head like it was yesterday.

  “How so?” Michael asks, genuinely interested.

  It’s my turn to shed some light. “Tyler’s always been open-minded. He claims it’s due to his parents and artist mindset that gives him the edge. Maybe it is. But Rob’s a different story. He’s a tough nut to crack. So when Tyler revealed what he felt, I was thrilled for not only him, but for us. To celebrate, I made dinner that night. Let’s just say—”

  “Long story short,” Rob interrupts from the other room, gruff and unenthused. “I was an asshole when they told me. Ended up goin’ on a run with my club brothers for a week. Froze everyone out. It took some soul searchin’ and a certain brother’s ass kickin’, before I could face my own truth.”

  “That you were attracted to Tyler, also?” Michael’s giddy with glee. He’s practically vibrating in his chair. Any second now he’s gonna start clapping his hands and bouncing up and down. If that happens, his dick, trapped in that cage, will start flopping around. Which I’m sure his master would not appreciate. He’s already tried to convince Michael to cover up a dozen times since the camera never shows that part of his anatomy. You think he cares? Nope. He’s all about being authentic—true to his brand and lifestyle. I’m sure Judge has his hands full with that one. He’s quite the firecracker.

  “Somethin’ like that. Yeah,” Rob grumbles belatedly, hating this. If I hadn’t put my foot down, this interview would’ve never happened to begin with, thanks to the Big Guy’s disapproval, who said the internet didn’t need to know our motherfucking business. Tyler and I convinced him that maybe someone might watch us, and realize there’s nothing wrong with them and what they want. That maybe the same person would embrace their desires, not shun them like Rob’s mom had. Bringing his mother into the mix was our saving grace.

  Michael thumb points toward the kitchen where the chicken is hiding. “He’s difficult to handle, isn’t he?”

  “Very,” Tyler and I reply in unison, as we glance at each other, grinning from ear to ear.

  Michael outright laughs, and we join in on the belly-rumbling merriment.

  Judge smothers his own chuckle, ever the serious fella, as Rob curses up a storm from his hiding spot.

  “That’s a wrap,” Michael announces once we’ve calmed. He dashes a finger beneath each eye and Judge cuts the feed.

  “Thank you all for doing this. I’ll make sure I send you the edited version for your approval before I publish,” he adds.

  Have I said how much I adore this man? He reminds me of Tyler in a lot of ways. Judge is a lucky Dom.

  I grin, curling my legs onto the couch to drape partway over my man’s lap. He cuffs both hands in the crook of my knees. “Sounds perfect. I enjoyed myself.”

  “I did too. My followers can learn a lot from you. You don’t get to hear a ProDomme’s point of view all that often.”

  “Most people think we’re prostitutes,” I half chuckle, turning in to cuddle my artist, cheek rubbing against his arm like an attention-starved kitten. We haven’t had sex since early yesterday. The nympho in me is about to rip his clothes off and get down to business. Between the three of us, we never go a day without sex. Not one. If I’m tired, the guys make it a point to fuck while someone licks me to climax. If Rob’s too worn out, we take turns giving him a blowjob. Then I top him to completion. If Tyler’s busy working, we often invade his space to steal what we want, aka bow-chicka-wow-wow, when he’s otherwise too occupied to think about sex.

  “And most people think I’m forced into slavery with Master. Apparently, I have Stockholm syndrome.” Michael rolls his eyes as his partner in question drapes a t-shirt over his sub’s privates.

  “You’ve been naked long enough,” Judge scolds, giving Michael what could only be described as the eye.

  Slipping into his role with ease, Michael drops his head forward, chin to chest, in absolute obedience. It warms my heart to witness in person. It’s not often you get to experience the nuances of a relationship similar to yours up close and personal.

  “If you don’t mind me saying, I think you make an amazing couple,” I compliment. They do. I could tell from the moment they walked in the door that they’re well matched.

  Michael blushes as Judge, the other silver fox present, bows his head out of respect. “I should say the same to you. I don’t have the experience of a well-trained Dom, as you do. It’s remarkable what you’ve created here, while still keeping your day job as a professional Mistress. It’s impressive.”

  “Well, if you ever need any tips or help, call or email anytime.”

  “I’ll have to take you up on that.”

  “May I ask a question?” Tyler inquires, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

  “Yes,” Judge answers, sitting up straight, hand perched on his husband’s thigh.

  Tyler points his chin to Michael’s lap. “How does one get into cages? Is there training involved? How did—”

  “You’re not wearing a cage,” Rob interjects hostilely, sauntering into the living room pissed off, needing an outlet for that rage. He stops beside the couch closest to Tyler and repeats himself for our masochist’s benefit.

  “That’s not up to you. That’s Mistress’s, choice. Not yours.” Tyler’s lips press into a thin line of displeasure.

  “Boy—”

  “Enough!” I clip.

  Rob glares at our partner and then softens his expression when he addresses me. “He’s not wearing a cage.”

  “Oh, really? And why is that?” He better have a damn good explanation for acting out in front of guests.

  “Because I fuckin’ said so.”

  Guess not.

  He’s marking his territory. At this rate, he might as well whip his dick out and piss on us.

  You’d think after a year this macho man would have his shit together. He doesn’t. It’s better than it used to be. The sinner issues rarely emerge. But we put Rob in an uncomfortable situation today with this interview, and I knew he would lash out. It happens when he doesn’t know how to express his feelings constructively. However, him asserting dominance over Tyler outside of the bedroom is one thing I cannot condone. We established our relationship hierarchy from the beginning. I’m their Mistress. I rule the roost. Tyler always prefers that. Rob has a habit of battling me for supremacy. I always win, of course, and this time will be no different.

  Keeping calm, I turn my attention to our guests, ignoring the pink elephant in the room that has steam billowing from his ears. “Thank you so much for coming today. We should all go out sometime. But I have some—”

  “I understand completely. You do what you need to do.” Judge waves me off, winks knowingly, and gathers their belongings as Michael dresses. I unfold myself from the couch and stand to shake their hands before they depart with a promise to talk soon. Tyler walks them out without my delegation. I turn to Rob, clasp my hands behind my back, breasts heaving upward, and stare down my silver fox who’s way out of line. If it were Tyler who acted up, I’d spank him with a paddle until he sobbed his need for release. Sadly, I can’t resort to the same punishments. It’d be nice if I could.

  “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “Nothing. Tyler doesn’t need to be discussing cages with another submissive.”

  “Is that for you to decide?”