I couldn’t tell him that I had played with someone else – I didn’t want him to hurt.

Because of the drama it was causing, I suggested we take the play out of our relationship. Friendship only for the time being. I also told him that I had plans to play with someone else.

I could hear in his voice that he did not like that. He didn’t try to hide it and he had no reason to.

He said he knew he couldn’t hold onto me forever, which was not fair since he hadn’t expressed any interest in playing with me.

We’d spoken three times last week, but it was me initiating and now I’ve stopped and he hasn’t called.

How was I supposed to feel?

someone else

New Dom, new club.

I had never met him before, but I trusted Miriam – a British Domme that I’d met through my ex.

When she had heard that he and I were no longer exclusive, she approached me about being like a “big sister” who would negotiate with Doms on my behalf. Her accent and pale skin had had me smitten for some time.

Her Dom friend was handsome and very tall. Before playing, he gave me a deep hug and a brief massage in order to assess my body – the where and the how of my thick and thin.

For his part, there was an appealing heft to his build that somehow assured me, like he could fold me into him and I would be safe.

But I was wrong.

This was no tender thing. No sensuality. I screamed louder and harder than I ever had in my life.

I was bound to a horse, in a private room, just the three of us. His primary tool was a cane. Until later when he used a wooden paddle, my ass wet after Miriam had poured water on me to cool me down.

No one had ever talked to me that way before. He called me a pissy, growling, snarling, filthy slut.

He was right and I wanted to fuck him up for it, but all I could do was growl through gritted teeth, hair, and tears. I wanted to slap him, punch him, bite him, claw his face. He knew it. And he just grinned.

His assessment of me only made it worse:

You don’t let go easily, do you?
You think too much.
It must be really hard for you to accept all this attention.

A fucking stranger.

4 a.m.

I did not see him again for the rest of the night.


At home, I kept trying to assure myself that it was good I went because now I knew the relationship was over and I could mourn.

I swore he’d never have access to my body again. I was close to him in ways that I’ve never been close to anyone and was now afraid to ever be again.

I couldn’t take it anymore so I messaged him, saying that our arrangement of me consulting him before I play with anyone else appeared to be over and that I was making it official.

Instead of replying, he called.

He said that he had stayed away because he was not sure he could handle me playing with others like he’d thought. And he couldn’t do everything he wanted to with me.

We’d talked about all of this before. I had thought he was fine with it, that the arrangement was working.

I was crying, he was trying to stay focused.

Yes, I think about you all the time. Yes, I wonder what it would be like to be with you. Yes, last summer, you could’ve had me, but you didn’t want me then and now you do, but I’m not sure it has anything to do with me and more to do with you maybe needing somebody and finding no luck among the women you’re attracted to.

He couldn’t stay on the phone.

I wanted to throw myself into his lap and sob.


After finally seeing him on Saturday night, I had to keep steadying my hands. The anger was unexpected and difficult to control.

Apparently, he had decided that we should take some time away from each other, but did not inform me of this decision.

First, no one was allowed into the playroom without a VIP wristband because of a private party. To make matters worse, I ran into several people who asked, “Why aren’t you inside?” and when I replied with a blank look or vague excuse, I was met with knowing Oh’s and even frowns.

I didn’t know why I had even come. The taste of humiliation swelled in my mouth and my chest was hot.

My friend saw him getting paid at the bar so I sought out the anonymity of the dance floor.

But I was not gone long enough. When I returned to my seat, he was talking to someone near us. After that, he said hello to my friends and his hand found my knee. I glared at him when he finally looked at me – I couldn’t help it.

He nodded to my friends and left.

I did not see him again for the rest of the night.