cute

The night before Halloween, Pup and I awkwardly scheduled me going over to his place to fuck him. The afternoon leading up to it, I was stupidly nervous. I felt like I was losing my virginity all over again – having sex with a non-primary partner without my primary partner being present. I was worried that somehow both relationships would be weirdly affected and was swilling around a thousand stupid anxieties while I got dressed and did my hair.

“Wish you could hold my hand while he fucks me,” I texted Sir, which was only half true. Part of me really wanted to go this alone. Call it an opportunity to grow and whatnot.

I ended up texting Heart while I did my makeup, going through lingerie options with her and getting playfully badgered about how late I was running. We came up with the idea of just wearing my black lace onesie, a pair of black thigh highs and a pair of black heels with just my coat on top, which ended up proving to be only semi-adequate in keeping me warm as I walked to Pup’s place.

He ended up not getting my text that I was coming over, and when I arrived he was in the middle of trying on his Halloween costume. So, yeah, I show up with my hair looking cute and in a long coat and a sexy pair of heels and then Pup is standing there in a costume. Because I cannot begin to describe to you guys that for however much you all insist my sex life is hot, it’s usually 500% awkward.

When we got to his bedroom, he gently pushed me down onto his bed and unzipped my coat. “Look at you,” he murmured against my clavicle. At that point, I was just a person-shaped cluster of butterflies and raw nerves.

That said, there isn’t much to say about the sex. That’s the thing about sex. We build up a lot around it, puff it up like cotton candy, and when you actually get down to it the real substance is just as gossamer. It was fun and good, but it didn’t change much of anything. It wasn’t revelatory. It didn’t break down my relationship with Sir. It didn’t suddenly bump up my relationship with Pup.

Except, afterwards, we ended up doing a really intense scene. Maybe I’ll tell you about that. It’s one of the darker thoughts I linger on when I’m in a certain mood.

In late October, I called up Sir and asked him if I could have sex with Pup. We’d had a few difficult conversations about it, and I was a little nervous to be sleeping with somebody who wasn’t him without him around. Previously, in our non-monogamous arrangement, the sex I’d had with other partners was right in front of him. This was going to be different and strange and maybe awesome but definitely a big leap of faith on both of our parts into a new area of our poly.

We had a lot of talks that made me feel like I was running into a wall, then ones that felt like progress but quickly petered off into difficulty. I often felt guilty asking for this when Sir and I had our own issues to deal with regarding his move and how that would affect our relationship. He was dealing with his own associated problems with the move independent of our relationship, and so I felt impossibly greedy asking to take this step.

But, when the conversation of “hey, can I do this with Pup on this very specific date?” came up, Sir was surprisingly receptive. Maybe it was the fact that he had started to express an interest in getting more physical with some of his partners – we often are most lenient with each other when we’re both having our needs met – or maybe I had managed to successfully convince him that I was sure that this was what I wanted.

“Are you asking me for permission to fuck that boy, sweetheart?” He asked me on the phone. He was using that tone of voice he uses when he plays Daddy.

I blushed and even though he wasn’t in front of me, I looked at my feet. “Uh huh.”

“Are you going to use a condom?” He asked.

“Uh huh.”

“Well, you’d better be a good girl and show him that I taught you well,” he said. “You’d better be a good little fuck.”