Bob’s alarm went off at its usual time that Tuesday morning. He lay there for a moment, staring up at the bedroom ceiling and wishing he was in “his” room at Tilly’s. They’d even stopped calling it the “guest” room.
It was now collectively referred to as “Bob’s Room.”
Being here in his condo now didn’t feel the same as it did before the triad changed their dynamic with him a couple of months ago from only play to something more, collaring him to them as a house, and specifically to Landry.
Something nebulous and uncertain in some ways, but in other ways he considered it perfection. Then three weeks ago, Landry had introduced him to prostate milking and chastity.
Just thinking about that weekend always gave him a woody. Exactly what the sadist had intended.
He sat up, yawning before making his way to the bathroom. In passing, in the mirror he caught sight of the leather collar buckled around his throat. He always wore it when home, dressed or not.
It was Landry’s collar, though, not Tilly’s. The collar she’d given him lay on his dresser, and he still picked it up every day and kissed it.
In some ways, this was even better. Her husband’s collar, but representing all three of them. More permanence, that Landry took an ownership interest in him, too.
So did Cris.
It didn’t matter there was no sex between him and the triad, at least of a reciprocating kind. He needed the service. To be of service.
He needed to be of use.
To feel helpful and appreciated.
Taking Landry’s sadism and pleasing him was part of that whole package, and Bob felt completely at peace with that.
He texted Landry good-morning as he always did now, then Tilly, followed by Cris. She responded almost immediately with a smiley face. Landry and Cris might or might not respond, depending on how busy they were. It didn’t matter if they responded. Landry had warned him ahead of time all that mattered was that Bob text them.
He also texted them good night, too. The only exception to either was if he was in the same house with them.
Then he had a morning and nighttime ritual with them, which included Cris as well, if he was home.
Because he didn’t live with them, some rituals weren’t practical. Landry had wanted him to have this, at least, as a way to feel connected to the triad even when they weren’t in the same house.
After he started the coffee, he grabbed his shower, dressed, ate a quick breakfast, and headed to work.
This was starting to feel like a true grind.
In the beginning, he had reasonably enjoyed his work. Neat and tidy columns of numbers, researching options for clients, trying to get them the best deal. He’d started out working for a different firm before striking out on his own when that office had closed upon the owner retiring.
Of course it wasn’t exciting, like what Tilly did. It wasn’t even full of variety like Landry and Cris running a software business.
It was…a necessity, in some ways. People needed mortgages.
And he had employees who depended on him to keep the office open. Could he just close down? Well, sure he could, but that would mean putting people out of work and he’d rather avoid that. He also didn’t want the hassle of “retiring” and keeping it open and having to depend on someone else to run it for him.
He wanted out. In the past, he’d had a couple of offers to buy him out.
It might not be a bad idea to look into those now.
More every day he dreamed of retiring and starting a new career. Not even sure what, just…something different.
Something that would emotionally fulfill him.
His first clients of the day were a young married couple, only six months into their vows after dating seven months, and only three months after having earned their college degrees.
Her parents were giving them twenty thousand to put toward a down payment, in addition to some money they’d saved up. Both of them brilliant, full academic scholarships, now they were ready for “life,” or so they claimed.
And lucky them, they weren’t saddled with crippling student loan debt.
As he worked with them, he tried to silence the nagging voice in his brain, the one that told him they’d likely be divorced in a few years.
The one that wanted to lecture them to look deep inside, shed all the bullshit, and be totally honest and truthful with each other about the shadowy parts of themselves that yearned to be acknowledged and appreciated. Freed.
So much would happen to them.
They were too damn young.
They were too damn stupid.
They were too…coupley.
His cynicism wrestled into submission, he managed to smile and keep up the charade and make it through the appointment, showing them out and then retreating to his office, behind a closed door, to decompress.
Willingly caught in a Purgatory of his own design, unable to make himself date, unwilling to compromise, needing what he got from the triad.
Desperate for it.
Hungry for it.
When with them, perfection reigned. His life and brain felt at peace.
He felt peace.
Is this all there is to life now? I’m stuck sucking up crumbs where I can because I’m not strong enough to make myself look anymore?
That’s what it boiled down to.
He absolutely had permission to date. He could even tell during some of his talks with Tilly in the past that she seemed to hope he was dating.
What was the point of that? Seriously? If he looked on kinky sites, he was finding women who wanted to be paid or otherwise receive “tribute” from him for their “attention.”
A way to skirt the law and basically advertise pro-Domme services.
Vanilla dating sites either couldn’t provide him with women who got what he wanted, or they paired him with women who were, in essence, not Dominants. Like Melissa. Maybe not submissives themselves, but definitely not looking to be some knight’s Lady.
What’s it say about me that a guy I’m not even having sex with can satisfy me better than any woman I’ve dated since college?
As he’d told Landry, even before this new iteration of their dynamic, he hadn’t felt like dating when he could play with them.
Much as he hadn’t dated while he’d been seeing Tilly professionally before Cris and Landry arrived.
Landry had ordered him not to masturbate or orgasm during play the past couple of days, teasing him during their time together, promising Bob if he held it that he’d have something special for him over the weekend.
Of course Bob obeyed, despite needing to start his days with cold showers to get his morning wood to soften.
Landry finished the call. Bob felt him lean, heard him lay the cell phone on the counter before he straightened and let out a sigh.
“Ah, my adorable little plaything,” Landry said. “You are such a very good boy for me.”
A shiver rushed through Bob. “Thank you, Sir. I want to be your good boy.”
Under Bob, he felt Landry’s toes playing with his sac, the underside of his cock.
“How much is there?”
“Probably a lot, Sir.”
An amused chuckle. “Excellent. Stay.” Landry’s feet disappeared, and he heard Landry head out of the kitchen.
A few minutes later, Bob heard him return.
He was still in position two, back deeply rounded, forehead touching the floor, arms outstretched in front of him with his thumbs touching.
Bob rose to his knees to assume the position, thighs spread almost painfully wide, hands laced behind his head, shoulders back, spine ramrod straight.
His hard cock rigid and twitching in front of him.
Landry wore that smile, the one Bob knew meant he’d be begging for release as well as swearing at Landry by the end of the night.
“Yes, quite a puddle.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Excellent.” He reached in and ruffled Bob’s hair. “You really are a very good boy for me, to put up with me torturing you so.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
Their play had a few limits, all of them from the triad’s end of things. If it was up to Bob, he’d totally turn control of his body over to them and let them use him however they saw fit.
For now, no oral sex in the strictest sense of the word, meaning no mouth-to-penis or pussy. Deep kissing on the lips had been okayed by Tilly, although the triad hadn’t done that with him yet. Landry frequently gave him a kiss on the forehead or cheek, and sometimes Cris did, too, during a scene. Tilly frequently kissed him on the cheek, or forehead, or a quick brush of lips on lips. No intercourse, although the men frequently used butt plugs and other toys on him during scenes. They would also jerk him off, although he had not yet been allowed to reciprocate. He wasn’t sure if that was a triad rule or a Tilly rule, but he wouldn’t push if it wasn’t offered.
Biting was definitely allowed. There’d been plenty of mornings he’d smiled in the mirror over the tooth impressions in his ass and thighs from Landry and Cris, who both enjoyed feral play.
Even though Bob had permission to date since they’d shifted to this dynamic, he hadn’t. He had no desire to. Because of the intimate level of play they engaged in, they were fluid-bonded and he wasn’t going to do anything to disrupt what they had. And if he was going to date, he’d have to get permission before having sex with her and, honestly? He really didn’t want to go through all of that trouble.
Besides, what woman would be okay with him doing this with people? That’d be like trying to find a bisexual double-dicked unicorn that could perform quantum physics calculations in its brain.
It wouldn’t happen.
He saw Landry had brought a few items and set them on the kitchen table.
Lube, nitrile gloves, a butt plug, a rather small dildo, and something he didn’t know what it was because he hadn’t gotten a good enough look at it.
“You are not the only one who has gone a few days without relief, my dear boy,” Landry said. “We have another week together before Cris returns, which means you are now my sole source of amusement.” His smile widened. “You lucky boy.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Anything you wish to add to tonight’s hard limit list before we get started in earnest?”
Landry asked him this every time they played.
Bob’s answer always remained the same.
His hard limits were that they couldn’t interfere with his work, do anything to permanently scar, mark, or harm him, allow others to play with him…
And that was pretty much it. While Landry didn’t play with a safeword with him, Bob was allowed to speak during scenes to say if it was getting too intense. Landry was a heavy sadist, but he’d never taken Bob too far or ignored him when he needed Landry to give him a minute. Landry always paused and waited, rubbed in especially hard hits.
Now Bob’s cock twitched whenever Landry’s hands touched his flesh. Even over something as innocuous as stroking his arm when they were both fully dressed.
Something the sadist relished reinforcing.
“This weekend,” Landry said, “you will be starting a new level of training than before. I’ve discussed this with Cris and Tilly, and they’ve signed off on it. If you wish to call them now to discuss it, we can pause while you do that.”
“No, Sir. I trust you.”
And Bob did. Not once had the trio ever lied to him. If anything, they always erred on the side of caution. If one of them said something, it meant all of them stood behind it.
And he never tried to play one of them against the others. There was no reason to stoop to childish games like that.