There are some words I’ve heard a thousand times. A million, even. So many repetitions that they lose all meaning, except as signifiers of something else. 

“Things could be worse,” to say, “Stop complaining.” 

“Millennials,” to say, “Anyone younger than me who I disagree with.”

And, “We saw you from across the bar, and we really dig your vibe,” to say, “We’d like to use you as a sexual object, but have no understanding of how to maintain a healthy nonmonogamous relationship.” 

The speaker of that last line was a woman, maybe thirty or a bit older, with a chintzy necklace and long, blonde hair. I could see her partner, a man a few years her senior, sitting at the end of the bar nursing a pale blond beer. Meanwhile, her comment was directed at another girl sitting next to me who was barely old enough to be drinking. From my little chatting with the girl, Katrina, I knew she lacked experience enough to recognize the threat in front of her.

Already, I knew the dynamic. His partner–the woman–would be bait, the friendly face to reel in girls for a one night stand, or perhaps a few flings, before discarding the girl the moment she became too much of a burden. Maybe the girl would need help with something, or just talk about herself too much, or assume that their emotional sharing was a two-way-street. Either way, she’d be dumped like hot garbage, and the couple would be on to a new target in a day.

I didn’t like couples like that. 

“Here, let me get you a drink, have you had a ‘Red Headed Gabriel’?” the woman said to the girl. “Oh, and I’m Esmay, my husband’s name is Louis.”

The girl, flattered by the attention, smiled. “Katrina.”

Names. Useful. I filed those away in my brain and got to my feet, shuffling down the bar. Pulling up next to Louis, I said, “You’re new, aren’t you?” 

He looked me up and down. I could tell he had no interest–he was here to find a pretty young girl, threesomes with another man were off the table. “I saw the event post on Fet,” he replied. “We’ve been poly for about a year now, though.”

I nodded. Another useful detail. Good. “How’s it treating you?” 

“Oh, great,” he replied, grinning as he sipped his beer. I saw the brag coming a mile away. Retellings of his sexual conquest, and he opened his mouth to confirm my assumption. “I’ve had more girls…”

I tuned him out. I didn’t need to hear those details. I looked down the end of the bar, to where Esmay was wooing Katrina, plying her with a cherry-red drink that was far more alcoholic than it tasted. 

“...of course, she does all the work,” Louis continued. “Can’t complain about having twice as many girls in bed.”

I knew the answer, but wanted to hear it from his lips, so I asked, “Always girls?” 

“Absolutely,” he confirmed. “Sorry, buddy–you’re not our type.” 

“Don’t worry,” I replied with a smile, one that I hoped would be interpreted as friendly and innocent. “I wasn’t suggesting that.”

“That’s the rule, anyways,” Louis continued. “Esmay can date any girls she wants, and so can I, but I’m the only man in the relationship. It keeps things simple.” 

I hid my disgust with a sip of my drink. “Well, it’s nice to meet you. I’m one of the event organizers here–if you’ve ever got any issues, you can send me a message. Can I add you as a friend?” 

He nodded, taking out his phone. I got his contact info–his username, ‘SirDominant7’, caused me to hide an eyeroll, but I added him anyway. “I’m Davis,” I added, shaking his hand.

I had his profile, his face, and his name. I didn’t need much else except time, and a bit of effort, but I did need to do one more thing. 

Walking back to my original seat, I planted myself next to the girl, and the woman. “Sorry to interrupt, Katrina,” I said, getting in the way of her flustered conversation with Esmay. “But I do need to leave soon, and we’d talked about getting you vetted for the next dungeon meetup–would you like to do that now?”

“Oh, sure,” Katrina said, glancing back at me. “When did you say the beginner hypno instructional was?”

Esmay’s smile flickered at the change of topic, but she said, “We can talk later, Katie–come down and see us at the end of the bar!” 

I took Katrina to the side, and explained the birds and the unicorns to her. I didn’t tell her not to go with the couple, but I did warn her what to expect–emotional negligence–and ensured that dear god please she had to use a condom and make sure they’d been tested.

Katrina didn’t go home with the couple. She was safe for the night.

Now I just had to handle them so the community would be safe at large.

…

I’d expected things to be simple. With a bit of digging, I could typically find red flags, enough to put out a general warning to the poly community, at least those in my circle. Enough ostracization, and most unicorn hunters got the point.

What I found was far, far worse. 

Louis wasn’t just the head of a crappy one-penis-policy polyamorous relationship, using women as threesome fodder. He was, to put it bluntly, a bastard. 

Through the grapevine, through my relationships, I was able to count the number of people Louis had slept around with on the sly. He wasn’t claiming to be poly with these people, but pretending to be single, cheating on Esmay at every opportunity. He openly bragged about being a dominant, masculine figure, disparaging any man he saw as lesser, while slinking around behind his wife’s back.

Esmay, for her part, just seemed negligent. She didn’t seem to understand their relationship dynamic beyond being something Louis required to keep their marriage together. I couldn’t find a single partner she’d had as part of their ‘polyamorous’ relationship that wasn’t simply threesome fodder. She didn’t even seem particularly interested in girls, which made the, ‘You can’t date any men,’ rule all the more odious. 

Maybe I could have done my usual routine–put out a general warning through my social grapevine, ensure that as many people as possible knew to stay away from this couple, and leave it be.

But then Louis made The Post. 

The Post was six thousand words deriding kink, deriding kinksters, claiming that anyone who enjoyed anything not to his own personal taste was a degenerate–with a particular focus on calling out diaper fetishists and ageplay. 

My usual methods wouldn’t suffice.

I needed to try something stronger. 

So I went back to the bar at the next meetup. I doubted that the couple would be discouraged by one success, and my suspicions were confirmed–the two of them were at the end of the bar once more, eyeing a new girl who wasn’t even there for the poly meetup. 

I waited for Esmay to make her move, then walked down to the end of the bar once again, sitting next to Louis. 

“Hey,” he said, scowling at me. “What did you say to Katie last week?” 

No need to be subtle. Taking a coin from my pocket, I held it up, so he could see the silvery metal shimmer in the barlight. “I showed her this. You know what this is?”

He hesitated. I had his attention. “No.”

“Take a look at the polish,” I said. “It’s…

…and drop.” 

The induction took minutes, but the script was so familiar to me, and his mind so weak, that he folded like a cheap suit. When I said ‘Drop’, his expression fell, and he stared at me without comprehension. 

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” I said. “When Esmay returns, you’re going to tell her you want to try something new. You’re going to invite me home, but when we get there, you’ll be feeling too under the weather–your drink won’t be sitting right with you. You’ll go out and lie on the couch, listening to whatever Esmay and I get up to. You won’t touch yourself.”

His eyes widened, but his mouth couldn’t respond. He stammered. A little beer-spittle dribbled down the edge of his chin.

“You won’t touch yourself, period,” I continued. “You’re going to find yourself flaccid, no matter how much you try, no matter how much you want it. Your dick is closed for business. When Esmay wants sex, you’ll tell her to call me instead, or she can simply please herself. For all I care, she can find another partner–but she won’t get anything from you.” 

He blinked. I could see the fear, even in a face that couldn’t move beneath the layers of hypnotic control.

“And another thing,” I said. “I’ve decided I want control of your dignity–someone as immature as you doesn’t deserve respect. You will forget how to use the potty. You’ll understand what it is, that it’s something most grown ups have control over, but not you. When you ruin your pants, you’ll need my permission to clean yourself. You’ll need to go buy diapers, and when you do, I will control those too–when you change, and when you don’t. If you need a fresh diaper, you will ask me. Only when I respond–and not a second sooner–will you be able to clean yourself up. If I don’t have my phone on me, you may need to wait for a long, long time.”

There was one thing left to do. I thought this might be a bit too much–we were in public, after all–but in the moment I couldn’t resist the temptation.

“When I snap my fingers,” I said, “You’re going to stand up, squat down, and poop your pants. As you do, you’ll feel my control taking over in your head–with every push, you won’t just be loading the last pair of big boy underwear you’ll get to wear, you’ll be pushing out all your potty training, your dignity, your ability to get hard. You’ll know that it’s all gone when your pants begin to sag and you can smell what you’ve done.”

Smiling wickedly, I admired the way his lips trembled–I’d scared him so much his emotions were coming through even beneath the space I’d dropped him into. 

“Are you ready?” I asked.

He tried to shake his head, his eyes darting back and forth.

I snapped my fingers.

Gasping, unable to control himself, Louis got to his feet. He was staring at me all the while–eyes burning with helpless, indignant rage, pleading for me to stop him, wanting any sort of interruption. I offered no such reprieve, and his furious, pouting blush warmed my heart. 

Squatting down, he puffed up his cheeks, stifled a grunt, and began to push.

I saw it leave his face–the knowledge of how to control himself, to be considered an equal amongst adults, to achieve sexual satisfaction–and the stain that bulged out the back of his pants told me when he’d bottomed out. Even a dribble of pee escaped him, though I hadn’t required that, staining the crotch of his jeans a dark, wet blue. 

He stood, eyes darting to the bathroom, but I hadn’t given permission. He could not clean himself up, no matter the stink wafting up from his sagging, stained bluejeans. 

Esmay returned, then. “Hey, babe, who’s…um…” Nose wrinkling, she didn’t disguise her smirk.

“This is Davis,” he said, stiffly. “I want to try something new tonight–why don’t we take him home instead?” 

She seemed uncertain, so I stepped in. “Louis said he was having some stomach troubles–Louis, why don’t you go get cleaned up in the bathroom while your wife and I talk?” 

He nodded, eyes bulging with humiliation and impotent frustration. 

I took his seat, and Esmay sat next to me, while her husband waddled helplessly to the bathroom to clean up his poopy bottom as best he could. 

“So,” I said. “Would you be interested in another man? Louis told me you’ve only had girls over until now.”

Esmay’s expression was confused for a moment, and her face had screwed up from the smell, but at my question her eyes flashed with delight. “If he says it’s okay, absolutely, I just hadn’t expected him to change his mind on that.”

“Good.” I smiled. “I expect Louis is going to be changing a lot in these next few days.”