Rob: Fuck.

  Rob: I dunno what to say, Mistress.

  Rob: I drank tonight with Prez. Some punk at work today decided he wanted to run his smart mouth and get in my face. I roughed him up when he wouldn’t back down. Put him in the infirmary. Needed to let off some steam after so I went to Nowhere.

  Nowhere is his club’s bar.

  Rob’s guilt is starting to sneak in. I can feel it. This is normal for us. We have the most functional dysfunctional relationship. It’s better that I let him pour his guts out before responding.

  Rob: Fuck. Okay. Okay. I’m sorry. I. Fuck. You know this is hard for me to say. But I… ya know. Tomorrow is gonna be a good day. I’m comin’ by after work.

  Tyler: Hey, Mistress, Big Rob. Give me a sec to catch up on the thread.

  I heave a sigh of relief that Tyler’s on. That means he hasn’t gone cross-eyed from painting all day, or died from dehydration.

  Tyler: What the fuck, Rob? Apologize better than that. Mistress, I’m sorry for Rob the Knob’s behavior. We do want to know how your day went and if Kendra got you off. But you don’t have to tell us. How’s the pain? Mine is fucking amazing. I’ve been hard as stone all day. My ass is as purple as an eggplant. Back looks like a tiger clawed it. Damn. We need to do that more often. I finished three paintings today besides yours.

  Rob: Don’t be a dick, boy. I said I was sorry.

  Tyler: Don’t call me boy. We’ve talked about this.

  Rob: You’re two years older than my own son. You’re still a boy in my eyes.

  Tyler: You do know I make more money than you.

  Rob: And I have a bigger dick.

  Tyler: So? Mine’s pierced. #Winner

  Rob: I can hear.

  Tyler: Wow. Bravo. Good one, Rob the Knob. Teasing the deaf man. Haven’t heard that one before. ::eye roll emoji:: #IStillMakeMoreMoneyThanYou

  I roll my eyes, too. This is getting ridiculous. Funny, yet stupid. Now can you see why Kendra hates Rob? He can be intense if you don’t know how to handle him. Tyler does. That’s why I’m not interfering. Plus, this is the best kind of free entertainment.

  Rob: Is your ass really the color of an eggplant?

  Tyler: Not gonna apologize for being an asshole once again?

  Rob: It’s part of my charm.

  Tyler: What charm? Nobody likes an asshole.

  Rob: Mistress does.

  Tyler: No. I’m pretty sure she likes it when she can sneak beneath that protective shell. You’re a big ole teddy bear at your squishy center.

  Rob: Now you’re talking like a girl. What are you, my therapist?

  Tyler: Mistress, are you seeing this? I think Rob deserves the anal-destroyer plug tomorrow for his childish behavior. Your call, though, beautiful.

  I snicker.

  God, I love these men.

  Rob: Suck-up. And no to the anal destroyer. I don’t like to be fucked like a bitch, like you do.

  Tyler: Riiiiggghhhttt. Let’s add liar to your ever-growing list of traits.

  Rob: I don’t.

  Tyler: Uh huh. Suuure, I’m the only one who likes Mistress’s big pink cock up my ass. At least I’m man enough to admit it. You are either drunk tonight, Rob the Knob, or you banged some club whore and are feeling guilty about it.

  Bingo.

  I adore this man so much.

  Rob: Shut it, boy.

  Tyler: Yes, Daddy.

  Rob: Fuck.

  Tyler: #DeafManForTheWin

  Rob: I can’t believe I… your eggplant-colored ass.

  Tyler: Awe. How sweet. I love you too.

  Rob: That’s not what I was gonna say.

  Tyler: Yes, you were. Don’t lie. It’ll make your dick smaller.

  Rob: LOL. You’re such a pain. Seriously, is your ass the color of an eggplant?

  Tyler: (image: taut, insanely wrecked butt cheeks)

  Yep. That is the hottest thing ever. I scissor my thighs together at the gorgeous sight, wanting to finger myself. I did that. All of it. Gorgeous.

  Me: Your ass is always so sexy. Seeing my marks on it turns me on.

  Rob: Damn. That’s a beautiful ass. Mistress worked you over good.

  Tyler: I’ve wanted to jack off about three dozen times today. But I won’t. I’ll probably have a wet dream tonight. Wouldn’t be the first time after a session.

  I hope he does. That’s sexy as hell. He always sends us a picture of the mess if he does. Sheets covered in goo because he sleeps in the buff.

  Me: Did you wear a plug today?

  Tyler: Did you want me to?

  Me: I always want you in a plug. Put a medium size in to sleep with tonight. In the morning go larger. I want a picture. And to answer your question, yes, Kendra and I had sex today.

  Rob: Fuck. I’m hard again. Put the plug in, Tyler. Listen to Mistress.

  Me: I like it when you’re hard for me. Both of you.

  Rob: I’m always hard for you.

  Tyler: (image: legs up, cheeks spread with one hand, the jeweled tip of a plug staring back at us.)

  Rob: Does it feel good, boy?

  Tyler: I need to come. It’s hitting my prostate. Mistress, this is pure torture.

  Smiling wickedly, I push the edge of my panties to the side and run the tip of my finger through my silky wetness. I’m not gonna come tonight, but I love the thought of being extra worked up alongside my men. Even if they’re not here, we can share in this together.

  Me: No jacking off, Tyler. You know better. Rob, the same goes for you. Keep your hands off that dick.

  Rob: (Image: the crown of cock poking out of the top of boxer briefs, glistening pre-cum.)

  Tyler: #IStillMakeMoreMoneyThanYou

  Rob: Shut it, boy.

  Tyler: Sorry, you two, but I gotta shower. I’m covered in paint. Prints for your new painting will be up on my site tomorrow, Mistress. Thought you might want to know. I hate to cut this short, but talking to you both is messing with my head on both ends. Love you both.

  Rob: Night. Lookin’ forward to seeing the painting tomorrow. Listen to Mistress, no jacking off. Enjoy the plug. It looks good in you.

  Tyler: Stop with the compliments, Big Rob, or you’ll lose that asshole rep.

  Rob: Fuck off.

  Tyler: And he’s back.

  Another smile pulls from my lips at their banter. They do love each other in their own way. They have a different kind of bond I’ve never seen before. Tyler takes Rob’s assholish ways in stride, just as I do. That’s why we work.

  Me: I’m gonna sign off, too. Be good. I’ll see you tomorrow, Rob. Love you both. Always.

  Rob: I… you. You know what. Later.

  Chest full of hope and love, I return my attention to the TV.

  Rewinding Grey’s, I get through the episode and one more before I turn in for the night. Tomorrow’s going to be a short day. I’m looking forward to it. Seeing Rob again can’t come soon enough. I miss the giant dickhead like crazy.

  6

  ________

  DEMONS & DOMINATION

  Seated on my velvet throne in the corner of the dungeon bedroom, legs crossed, wearing a black lace teddy, I patiently await Rob’s arrival. It should be soon. Unlike with Tyler, I’m always the first to enter and set up the scene before the Big Man’s appointment. Due to his past, it’s not healthy for him to wait on me. His mind has a tendency to overthink, to worry about what’s going to take place. I learned that the hard way when we first met, and he up and left before I got to the room. You see, Rob, my super sexy, macho man has childhood driven issues with sex. You can thank his Bible-thumping bigot of a mother for that. From an early age, he was taught that the simple act of kissing or hugging someone you’re not related to is a mortal sin. Considering those warped beliefs, can you imagine her views on sex and masturbation? They were cruel to the nth degree. Rob still has switch scars on his backside for getting caught taking part in pleasures of the flesh. In other words, he kissed a girl at school in the fourth grade and ended up mutilated for it. All of this coming from a woman who screwed his father out of wedlock. The same father who cheated on his mother shortly after he found out she was pregnant. This, I believe, is what set her on the path of misguided faith and man-hatred. Rob never even jacked off until he left home at eighteen to join the military. Why would he when his wet dreams were also punished? Self-preservation has its merits.

  As a result of his upbringing, Rob harbors an abyss of repressed anger, and struggles to enjoy sex because his subconscious still believes it’s a sin. The faceless-club-girl fucking is an odd coping mechanism. He does it to release the anger, to show he’s in control, that he can do it. The guilt of his actions sets in afterward. Sick, ready-to-puke, all-consuming guilt. The kind you can’t wash off. The kind that makes him even angrier at himself. You can blame his mother, the evil spawn of Satan, for all of it. He tries to cope. He does. Although, he blames himself for not being strong enough to slay the demons his mother birthed. Those same demons cost him two marriages and numerous other relationships, and prevented him from having sex in any position other than doggy style. Why? Because he couldn’t look at the women he penetrated. Aside from me, he still can’t.

  Readjusting myself in the chair, I grin impishly at the extra-large dildo suction cupped to the floor in the middle of the room, underneath a spotlight. Tyler suggested the addition last night through text, and I like the idea. It’ll test Rob’s limits for sure. Ones we’ve navigated around from the very beginning.

  Five years ago, when Rob came to me looking for a Domme, the cocky asshole demanded pain. Lots and lots of pain, thinking it would solve his afflictions, which I didn’t know about at the time. I obliged him because I assumed he was honest during the initial interview, most submissives are. They know what they crave. That’s why they seek a Domme in the first place. After three less-than-enthusiastic sessions of medium flogging, I learned real quickly that Rob was repressing some deep, ugly shit. That was the moment I made the conscious decision to truly help him tear down his outer walls, so he could heal from the inside out. Every session, even now, is emotionally exhausting. You should know, just so you’re prepared, at first Rob fights me tooth and nail. It’s that survival instinct kicking in. Fight, not flight. He can be belligerent and oftentimes scary when he wants to be.

  Tucking my braid over my shoulder, the door opens and in thuds my hunk in his well-worn motorcycle boots, holey jeans, a plain black t-shirt that’s stretched to the max across his bulging muscles, and a black bandana tied around his forehead. He winks at me like the flirt he is and swipes the bandana off his forehead. It’s the first thing to hit the floor. The rest will soon come.

  He kicks the door shut with the heel of his boot, takes three steps closer, and pauses when he notices the blue dildo waiting for him.

  “Fuck!” He retreats a step, his iron-forged walls bracing for impact.

  Rob’s thick fists flex down at his sides. Scruffy jaw clenches. Nostrils flare.

  Expelling a heavy breath, he scrubs a palm over his short mohawk. I know it’s a bit strange that both my men have mohawks. Tyler’s is a messier faux hawk, whereas Rob’s is clipped on either side of a strip that runs through the center. Both are equally panty melting.

  Knowing he has to be the one to come to terms with our play, I wait for him to address me. The ball’s in his court.

  A groan disperses, full lips purse, and forehead crinkles as he glares at the phallic toy.

  A hardy erection is outlined down his pant leg.

  Rob’s shirt expands as he takes in a deep breath, punishing the cotton fibers.

  The thick ropes of his tattooed forearms contract and release as he fights his inner struggle. He doesn’t have full-sleeve tats, only forearm ones, and a large eagle spanning his shoulders—a homage to his twenty years in the service.

  I scratch my nail along the armrest, waiting, observing… soaking up his presence like an addict.

  “Fuck!” Another step back.

  His cock flexes the tiniest of movements as a small stain of pre-cum bleeds through the denim, turning it darker in that single spot.

  I lick my lips at the hotness of it all, my own heart rate rising, clit aching.

  Rob places both of his hands behind his neck, fingers interlacing, his biceps bulging. “I dunno if I can do this, baby. I just… fuck!”

  “We’ve got all night,” I reassure, knowing that Tyler won’t contact us unless we reach out to him first. He respects our time together.

  “You listened to him. You’re gonna make me ride that.” He juts his chin toward the dildo.

  “I never make you do anything.”

  “Bullshit,” he snarls.

  See what I said about his walls? This is when things get real interesting.

  “It is true that I wanna see your sweet, sweet, hole riding that cock for me. That I want you to let your guard down so I can spend time with my Big Guy.”

  “I’m not a fag,” an echoing bark.

  “Never said you were.” My tone’s serene. As I said, I’m a Rob expert. I expect this resistance every session.

  “Why do you do this to me?” he accuses.

  “I’m not doing anything. Don’t lie to yourself, Rob, you like to play with me.” I exude the utmost patience. Even if his words sometimes hurt, I don’t let it show… Can’t. He doesn’t want to be this way. It’s not his fault he bears deep seeded emotional scars.

  Rob shakes his head defiantly, neck cracking through the violent back and forth. “It’s a sin, Ronan. A sin.”

  “What is?”

  “All of it.” As a mask of agony wrinkles his handsome face, he waves his hand, gesturing to me, to the room, himself, his boner. The mature lines around his eyes accentuate more than before, adding to his struggle. If I could make it all go away, I would. But this is a process.

  “We waited too long between sessions again, didn’t we?” I ask.

  “We always do. I don’t fuckin’ like her in my head. Her voice. Her… fuck! You fix it. You always do. I don’t wanna be fucked up.” Self-hatred, agony, and bone-deep resentment wafts off him in potent waves.

  “I know you don’t, so say it. Say what you need to say. Let it out.” I brace myself for the word vomit that’s to come. It will sting like a bullwhip lancing my heart. It usually does. However, I can take it. I’m a strong woman, and this isn’t about me. This is about Rob and his demons.

  “I fucked five women since our last session. Five. I ripped open their cunts with my cock, and they begged me for it. They cried out my name. They wanted me, Ronan, they wanted this.” To cement his statement, Rob grips his hard-on like he’s disgusted with its presence.

  Swallowing down the bile that burns my throat, I gather my inner strength, expression impassive. I can’t lie and say our arrangement doesn’t sometimes make me jealous, or break my heart, because it does. But, what kind of hypocrite would I be if I forbade him from fulfilling his needs, when I always fulfill mine? Rob can’t get the ruthless fucking out of his system by using me as his outlet. Our relationship doesn’t function on that level. I wish it did. Trust me, we tried and failed time and time again. He still resorts to club chicks. Still has to have some degree of control. Our level of intimacy prevents him from reaching that mindless pleasure, where he can go blank for a while—unfeeling. Once we breach that intimate threshold he can’t switch it off. And if I submit to him, to let him screw me like all the other women, he literally vomits from guilt. Multiple times. At one point, after a particularly emotionless session, he was ill for a week. It took us another ten days to get our relationship back on track. Since then, we’ve given up meeting all of his needs in our unique partnership.

  “You’re mad. Fuck. I… You know I don’t want to be like this, baby. I… shit.” Overcome with emotion, Rob stares at the ceiling and blinks slowly, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. The glassiness of his eyes catches the overhead lights.

  “I’m not mad. I promise.” I do the little criss-cross thing atop my heart and pretend to stick a needle in my eye.

  He sighs.

  I sigh.

  A pregnant silence descends as Rob collects his waning composure.

  I let it be. No need to rush it.

  Does the thought of him screwing five different women make me want to bash my head into the nearest wall? Yeppers, it sure does. Can I get over it? Yes, I can. I’ve been doing this for half a decade. If we can overcome that, we can certainly navigate this.

  I re-cross my legs in the opposite direction, the crease behind my knee damp from sitting so long.

  Rob turns around, his back to me, then reaches over his shoulder, fists a section of the shirt, and tears it over his head in one sexy tug. I have to bite my lip to keep from groaning when he exposes all that thick ruggedness. Rob isn’t like those young, super-cut gym rats. He’s tall, tattooed, tanned, and rocks the silver fox vibe to a nipple-hardening T. All of his muscles are defined under a thin layer of I-still-like-to-eat-pizza-pasta-and-pussy.

  To lighten the atmosphere, I catcall like a naughty construction worker.

  Rob chuckles and faces me again, grinning at my silliness. He runs a hand down his pecs and abs. “Does somebody like?” He winks, crimson dabbing his cheeks.

  “Oh, I likey. I likey a lot.” Adding to the charade, I rub my palms together like a greedy housewife wanting some tube steak for dinner and crack a devious, half-cocked smile.

  The stain on Rob’s jeans grows.

  I must be getting to him. Chipping away little by little.

  Because he can’t help himself, Rob rolls a nipple between his fingers. That’s one way to get his motor running on all cylinders.

  “I am sorry, Ronan, about all of it. I wish I could be different.”

  “I know ya do. That’s why I always say there’s no room for guilt in our playroom. Now tell me what you want me to do to you tonight without backing down. How does it make you feel that I wanna see you fall apart on that cock?” It makes me hot thinking about it. I’m kind of addicted to the whole femdom aspect of my life. There’s a heady power behind it.