“Good morning, Pets,” Beatrix says as Gabi and I take our seats to either side of her at our customary VU table.  No punishment for being a couple minutes late, I muse.

“Good morning, Mistress,” I reply as Gabi sticks her tongue out at her.

“Careful,” Bea warns Gabi, though of what, I’m not sure.  Whatever it is, Gabi flushes furiously.  Bea turns to me.  “How was it?”  Her tone is excited, but something feels off; I can’t place why.

“Incredible!” I say, matching her enthusiasm.  “Thank you for your part in it.”

“My pleasure,” she says, beaming.

Is her smile … exaggerated?  I know that I’m hypersensitive to the emotions of other people—a trauma response—and try to convince myself that’s all it is.  I fail.

Ding.  It’s my text message sound—the default iPhone one—but I realize my phone’s on silent.  Bea’s phone is face up on the table and displaying a new background image behind the text message alert.  It’s of Gabi, and she….

“Hey, may I see that?” I ask Bea.  Gabi glances at the phone, likely curious why I would ask to read Bea’s text, then maladroitly scrambles to pull the phone from Bea’s hands before she can hand it over.  Surprisingly, Beatrix relents and gives it to Gabi, who sighs in relief.

“Gabi, walk over to Sarah and show her the treat you gave me last night.”

Gabi shrieks as she obediently stands and walks ever so slowly around the hexagonal table the long way ’round.  “How dare you?”  I think her anger is feigned or at least exaggerated.  I can tell she’s trying to resist the compulsion from her leaden pace and the route she chose, but walk to me she does.  Her expression quickly shifts from spite to disbelief to panic.  “Please don’t make me show her,” she begs.  “It’s embarrassing!”  So genuine does her plea sound that I am surprised the command is working on her.  Then again, maybe I shouldn’t be surprised, considering what Bea has made me do against my will and my earnest, if ambivalent, desire not to.  Some part of Gabi must want to do this, I decide.  Besides, she knows our safeword.

“It is,” Beatrix confirms dispassionately.  Then, a hint more playful, “You could stop if you really wanted to.”

Oh, that is cruel.  Not only is she implying that Gabi does want to be compelled, but it tosses a dollop of shame into the mix, forcing Gabi to recognize the humiliating fact that she enjoys this treatment.  Beatrix is a domme through and through.

“What was it you said last night?  ‘This means war’?” she mocks.  “I’m giving you the perfect opportunity to strike back.  Stop walking and my command will backfire and hurt me.

“I know you don’t want to show Sarah how much of a silly bimbo you are, Gabs, so it should be easy to resist, right?  I can’t compel you to do something if you don’t want to do it.”

Gabi scowls at her, then trembles as she hands the phone out to me.  The screen is off, and I make a split second decision to play my part in this game.  I look up at her expectantly, one eyebrow raised, and wait.  At last, with a humiliated whimper, she taps the screen to light it up again.  The photo is … I don’t even know what quality to ascribe to it, but I understand why Gabi is blushing.  I take it from her hands, and her shoulders slump in defeat.  “It’s really cute,” I tell her earnestly as I examine the photo of a cross-eyed, blushing young woman sticking her tongue out in a vapid expression.

I look up and there’s a tear running down Gabi’s face.  “Oh, hey, Babe.  It’s just me.  Remember who you’re talking to.  You know that I, of all people, understand the love/hate relationship with this flavor of shame.”  She won’t meet my eyes.  I reach out and lift her chin.  “Just remember how thoroughly you dominated me this morning, ’kay?”

At this, Babs’s demeanor perks back up.  “I really did, didn’t I?”  She shoots me a coy, satisfied grin.  I give her an appreciative nod, eyebrows raised and slightly furrowed as I recall the experience.  “Thanks, Babes.”  I nod again.

Turning to Bea, she says tersely, “I didn’t give you my consent.”  Her back straight, she returns to her chair taking the short route and sits back down.  I pass the phone back to Beatrix.  “Or did I and you made me forget?”

“No, you never gave me your consent,” Beatrix says.  “I don’t get it.  All of my previous experiments and all of my reading on the forum say the same thing: I shouldn’t be able to compel you without your expressed consent.”  She shakes her head, ruefully.

“Just now,” I ask Gabi, a thought occurring to me, “how did you feel?”

“Embarrassed!”

I snort.  “Yes, I got that much.  Was it too much, though?  Do you feel that Beatrix violated you or violated your trust?”

She thinks for a second, then shakes her head.  “No.  When Trixy told me to show you the pic, I was feeling pretty subby,”—Beatrix nods at this, and I remember that she has a D/s monitor in place in Gabi’s mind—“and as much as I hated being forced, I also enjoyed myself.”  She pauses.  “I think.”

“So could that be the rule?” I ask, turning to Beatrix.  “Maybe it’s not consent, but an inability to violate someone.  Expressed consent would always satisfy that rule, as would withdrawn consent.”

“Perhaps,” she says, mulling it over.  “But why only me?  Why hasn’t anyone else figured this out?”

“Are you certain they’ve tried?”

“They must have, right?” she says.  “I have no idea how long this ability has existed in the world, but even just the thirty-odd people on the forum….  You’d think at least one of us would have tested this by now.”

“Okay, so maybe it’s not only an inability to violate someone.  Maybe it’s that in combination with something else.”

“Ergh!” she grunts, throwing up her hands.  “It’s just so frustrating!  Last night, I Spoke in my head and targeted Gabi, and it worked.  Why?  And why am I the only one able to Speak in my head at all?”  She looks to be on the verge of tears.

“Hey, Babe, I get that not knowing all of this is frustrating, but are you alright?”

“Yes,” she says curtly.  I wait for a follow-up sentence, but she remains silent.  Her face is uncharacteristically expressive, and she doesn’t seem fine despite her words.  Or, word, really.

I glance at Gabi to get her read on the situation, but she appears lost in thought as she takes a bite of her waffle.

I lower my voice.  “Bea, I can tell something is bothering you, something more than not being able to figure this out.”

“Drop it.”  The rebuke feels like a slap, and I recoil at the unexpected tone.

“I’m … sorry,” I whisper at last.  I don’t know what else there is to say.  I don’t know what I did wrong.

Her face slackens.  “No, I’m sorry, Sarah.  I didn’t mean to snap at you.  I don’t know why this is bothering me so much.  I promise once I figure that out….  Can we please just talk about it later?”  She side-glances to her left toward Gabi.  “Alone?” she mouths.

“Of course,” I say, though I find the fact that she’s uncomfortable discussing whatever it is in front of Gabi more than a little unsettling.  “I love you.”  I give Bea a weak smile.

“I love you, too.”  Her smile is warmer.  “Really.  I promise I’m not mad at you, okay?”  I nod, relieved, but hoping that doesn’t mean she’s mad at Gabi.

There’s another ding from her phone, and she looks at it.  “Oh!  I completely forgot to read the text message from earlier.”  She takes a couple seconds to read it, knitting her brow.  “My parents want to have dinner with me tonight.  Do you two want to come?”

“Really?” Gabi says, rejoining the conversation.  “I’d be happy to, but do your parents know you’re in a polyamorous relationship?”

“They don’t,” Bea concedes, “but I think it’s time they find out.  What about you, Sarah?”

“I’d love to.”  I hope I kept the apprehension out of my tone.

On our way from the VU to Nash Hall, I say to Bea, “I noticed you said ‘please’ when you asked if we could talk about it later, and I didn’t feel compelled.  Did you undo the trigger?”

“No, I altered it.  Compelling you by accident is fun, but not always appropriate when we’re having a heartfelt moment, so I made it and the ‘thank y-o-u’ trigger automatically disable themselves when things are serious—as determined by my state of mind—then re-enable themselves afterward.”

“Good thinking.”

“Thanks.  I did it a while ago.  I’m surprised you didn’t notice until now.”

“Well, you know me, the least observant person in the world.”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short, Hon.”

“I was making a jo–”

“You’re the least observant person in the galaxy!” she interrupts.

“Good joke,” I say with the intonation of a gymnastics commentator.  “Both funny and well executed.  I give it a hip-check out of ten.”

“A what?”

I hip check her.  Our arms are linked, so she doesn’t go far, however, it causes her to trip on a brick, nearly toppling all three of us to the ground.

“I just can’t bring you two anywhere,” Gabi says.

“Shotgun!” Gabi shouts, as we leave FX four hours later.

Beatrix had been more reserved than normal during the two hours we spent playing Nintendo after our showers and walking back to Fairhaven.  Competitive Monster didn’t come out to play, and the fact that Gabi won both games of Mario Party proved Bea’s heart wasn’t in it.  That said, it was a subtle difference—I know Gabi didn’t notice—and I only noticed because of how well I’ve gotten to know Bea over the last six-and-a-half weeks.  I may have been intuitive to her from the start, but she’s become equally intuitive to me.

Still, I don’t make an issue of it.  I don’t press her.  Bea promised that she’d talk to me when she was ready, and so I rein in my fix-it nature.  Plus, we haven’t been alone, so even if she were ready to talk it through with me, we wouldn't have had the opportunity.  I still find it troubling.  I know that polyamorous relationships are tricky to navigate.  What the three of us have is a good thing, my home.  I hope it’s not in jeopardy.

I’m making far too big a deal out of this with far too little information, I decide, and try my best to shove my worry to the back of my mind.

Roll an amygdala check, Sarah Prime says from behind her GM screen.

14!

She checks her notes and purses her lips.

Plus my wisdom modifier… 16!

You succeed.

Gabi plugs her phone into the car’s stereo.  “Carry on my wayward son. / There’ll be peace when you are done. / Lay your weary head to rest. / Don’t you cry no more,” Kansas shouts out the speakers in iconic harmonized acapella.  Gabi starts drumming on the dashboard in front of her as the guitar solo starts, and a few minutes later, Beatrix is singing along.  The change puts me at ease.

An hour or so into the two-hour drive, Gabi turns down the volume.  “Is there anything we should know?” she asks.

“About what?” Beatrix asks.

“About your parents.  Any topics we should avoid?  Anything you’re nervous about that maybe Sarah or I can help with?”

Bea thinks for a second.  “I really don’t know.  They’ll have no problem with me dating a girl—like I said before, they knew I was a lesbian well before I came out to them—but we’ve never discussed polyamory before.  I hope it’s not an issue, but….”  She trails off.

“Would you rather one of us pretends to just be a friend?” I offer.

“No, no,” she assures me.  “Whatever they think, they’ll be cordial, and it will be good to show them this side of me.  They will love both of you, so don’t worry about that.”  She makes eye-contact with me in the rearview mirror and smiles.  Then she winces.  “I should,” she says, “hide that collar, though.”

I chuckle.  “Yeahhh, probably a good idea.”

“Wait,” Gabi says, “so you’re saying Sarah shouldn’t call you ‘Mistress’ in front of your family?”

“Only if she wants to lose her ability to speak for the rest of the trip.”  I know it’s a joke, but the suggestion turns me on.  I make a mental note to discuss that particular fantasy with Bea later.  “You’d like that, would you?” Bea teases.

Startled, I glance up to find she’s once again looking at me in the mirror, an impish expression in her eyes.  I blush.  “Oh, umm, yes.  Yes, I would.  Though not in front of your parents.”

“Noted.”

Gabi pointedly turns the music back up.

Upon arriving, we pile out of Bea’s car, and I examine our surroundings.  I’d never seen Beatrix’s house from the outside before.  It’s huge.  The house itself is trimmed with riverrock.  The patio is made of sturdy logs of dark hardwood.  On the left is a triple-wide garage.  A neatly trimmed lawn wraps the two-story building, and I see a hammock hanging between two trees in the distance.

We walk up the two steps of the patio, and Beatrix opens the door without knocking.  “Mum, Dad, we’re here!” she announces.

“Ah!  Beatrix!” a kindly-looking Englishman in his mid-fifties says, walking from the living room.  “So good to see you.”  His accent is thicker than Bea’s.  His wife enters from the kitchen coming to our left, and hugs Bea.

“Mum, Dad, these are Gabi and Sarah,” Bea says, gesturing to each of us in turn.  “Gabi, Sarah, meet my dad, Alfred, and my mum, Susan.”  Alfred?  But he looks nothing like Michael Caine, I think, naming the actor who played the Waynes’ butler in The Dark Knight trilogy.  “And of course, you’ve already met Claire,” Bea adds as Claire walks down from the second floor.

“It’s so good to meet you,” Alfred says, shaking my hand then Gabi’s.  “So you are … both dating Beatrix?  Is that right?”  Aside from hesitance, I don’t get a read on what he thinks of it.

Beatrix shoots Claire an accusatory look, who mouths, “Sorry,” in turn.

“Yes,” Bea confirms.  “I met Sarah first, and we dated for about a week.  Then Gabi came out to us as bi, one thing led to another, and the three of us decided to be together.”

“Wonderful!” he says.  “Lovely to meet you, girls.”

“Likewise,” I say.

“Please, please, come in!”

“Dinner will be ready in a few minutes,” Bea’s mum informs us.  Marie was it?  Maeve?  I’m so terrible with names.  Something with an M.

“Excellent,” Alfred says.  “Would you like help setting the table, Susie?”  Susie? I think.  Susan!  Right.  I was close.  They’re all five letters.

“That would be great,” Susan says.  Alfred voluntells Bea for the task, so she bustles off, while Gabi and I stand awkwardly.

“How go your studies?” Alfred asks, eying the two of us.

“Good!” Gabi says, eager for something familiar to talk about.  “I’m majoring in Spanish and Linguistics.”

“Both?”

“Yep!  With minors in French and Italian.  I hafta know all the love languages if I’m going to be a foreign diplomat someday,” she says by rote.

“And you, Sarah?”

“I’m studying computer science.”  And your daughter, I add in my head.  “I’ll likely end up minoring in math because it’s only one or two extra classes on top of the major’s requirements.  Plus I enjoy it.”

“Good to hear.  Know where you want to work, yet?  In software development, I assume.”

“That’s the plan, but no, I don’t have any ins anywhere.”

“Susan and I work at Microsoft.  We’d be happy to put your resume in front of our bosses, if you’re interested.”

“Oh!  I’d really appreciate that.”

“Oh, it’s not that altruistic.  If you get the job, we get a thousand dollar bonus!” he says with a wink.  “Which we’d be happy to pass onto you.”  While Alfred and I discuss what Microsoft is like, Gabi gets bored and goes to help Beatrix, and shortly, we all take our seats at the table.

Dinner—spaghetti with meatballs, salad, and garlic bread—is great, but the conversation is significantly more reserved than our meal with Gabi’s parents had been.  Where Gabi’s moms were warm, inviting, and interested, Bea’s are reserved and proper.  The conversation never touches on anything especially personal.  That’s not to say they are cold or disinterested, more like they don’t want to push for details and are having trouble coming up with things to say.  Much like I’m feeling, I suppose.

“Would you ladies be up for some Apples to Apples?” Susan asks once our plates are empty.

“Yes!” Gabi says at the same time Beatrix says, “Sorry, we can’t tonight.”  They lock gazes, and I imagine a tumbleweed rolls by.  “I have some homework,” Beatrix says, breaking eye contact with Gabi to address her mom, “that I need to finish before class tomorrow.  Next time, though.  Just give me more warning.”  Usually I can read Bea, but I can’t tell whether she has homework or not.  Either way, she does not want to stay much longer.  That much is clear.

“Yeah, I hate to dine and dash, but I need to get back before too long, as well,” I say.  Bea gives my thigh a grateful squeeze under the table.

“Okay,” Susan says.  “Next time, then.  Claire, will you help clear the table?”

We part the table and I head to the restroom.  On my way back, I hear the hushed tones of Beatrix and Alfred.  There’s no way to get from where I am to where Gabi is without intruding, so I wait for them to finish their conversation.

“… won’t work,” Alfred says.  “Young people always want to experiment and try new things, and I’m all for that, but dating two people who are also dating each other?  Darling, it’s a recipe for disaster!”

“We’re making do so far,” Bea says.  “We’re happy.”

“It’s only been, what, a month?”  A pause while I assume Bea nods.  “That’s hardly any time at all.  The longer this goes, the more it will hurt when it inevitably ends.  I don’t want you to get hurt, Pumpkin.  And I don’t want your girlfriends to get hurt, either.

“I’ve never seen you look at anybody like you look at Sarah.  And she clearly feels the same way about you.  Why risk that?”

“Because I like both of them.  A lot.  I think we can make this work.  We are making this work.  The three of us together feel like home.  It feels right.  It’s worth the risk.”  Her tone sounds almost pleading, like maybe she’s trying to convince herself as much as her father.  It’s very different from the commanding, self-confident tone I’m used to.  Even when she opens up with me about her insecurities, she doesn’t sound as small as she does right now.  The way Alfred is talking to Bea starts to heat my blood, but I doubt Bea would appreciate it if I barge in on them.

The best part of college for me, aside from my girlfriends, has been reinventing myself—going someplace very few people know me so there are no expectations for how I am supposed to act.  I’m free to be someone I like.  When I’m back home around my family, however, I revert a bit back to the person I was for the first eighteen years of my life.  I suspect that’s what’s happening to Beatrix now.

“But what does Gabi bring to the table that Sarah doesn’t, Love?”

“I don’t know that I can explain it, Dad.”  She sounds more troubled now.  “It just feels complete when it’s the three of us.”

Her resolve firms as she continues, “You’re right that I love Sarah.  I want to spend the rest of my life with her.”  My heart skips a beat, my face heats, and even Miss Prime looks elated.

That’s the Future Missus Prime, thankyouverymuch, she preens.

“I probably would be happy,” Bea says, “in a monogamous relationship with Sarah, but I’m happier having Gabi in my life, too.  The three of us feel like a unit.

“It probably seems like I don’t love Gabs as much as Sarah, but that’s because I don’t know her as well.  Not yet.  I am falling for her, just at a slower pace.  She’s so much fun and I know she adores me as much as I do her.  We’ll get there, I’m sure of it.”

A long pause.  “Alright.  Well, just be careful, I guess,” Alfred says at last.  “I love you, Pumpkin.”

“Love you, too, Dad.  We will.”  The two of them return to the entryway where Gabi is talking to Claire and Susan, and I follow a few seconds behind.

“Ready to go?” Bea asks.

Around mile 230 on I-5—about twenty-five minutes from Western—Gabi turns down the music.  I expect her to say something, but she just doesn’t.  I glance at her from my back seat, and can tell she’s anxious.  After a minute or two, she whispers, “It was too much.”

“What was too much?  Meeting Bea’s parents?” I ask.

“No.  This morning.”  She looks at Beatrix.  “At first, when you made me get up and show Sarah the photo, I was enjoying myself.  But the way you taunted me, it made me feel degraded.  I didn’t like it.”

This is just not Bea’s day, is it? I think.

Beatrix is silent for a long moment.  “I know,” she whispers.  “I’m really sorry, Gabi.  I should have apologized right after it happened, but I was embarrassed and really frustrated.”

“You were frustrated with me?”  It’s an accusation.

“No!” Bea says quickly, then calmer, “No, I was– I was frustrated with myself.  And I was in pain.  I knew I had gone too far, because half a second before you stopped in front of Sarah, my command broke, and the backlash was like a punch to the gut.  You two were focused on each other, so you must not have seen me wince.  I was actually surprised you went through with showing Sarah the pic since you weren’t being compelled anymore.”

“I wasn’t sure what to do,” Gabi says.  “Sarah would see it eventually, and I was already moving to hand her the phone.  I’d have felt awkward if I had just turned around, I guess.”

“Then,” I say, “when I waited for you to touch the screen….  That just added to it, huh?  I’m sorry, too.  I didn’t know.”

“It’s alright,” she says, giving me a reassuring smile.  “I actually think that bit would have been fun for me if I hadn’t already felt upset.”

“Still, I’m sorry I made you cry,” I say.  “I thought you must be enjoying yourself if you were still compelled, so I wanted to play my part.”

“I understand.  I accept your apology, Babes.”

“Thanks.”

“And yours, Beatrix.  I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.  Just, next time, ya know?”

Bea nods but doesn’t say anything.  Gabi turns the music back up.

“Would you mind walking me back to my dorm, Sarah?” Bea asks after the three of us reach Gabi’s and my room.  “I’ll teleport you back afterward.”

“Oh!  Sure, I’d be happy to,” I say.

“Oooh, are you two planning a surprise for me?”  Gabi has returned to her normal bubbly joviality.

“Er, no,” Bea says, “sorry.  We’re going to discuss some kinky stuff, and I know you don’t want to hear it.”

“I was teasing, Babes.  Go.  Have fun.  And text me before you send Sarah back so I don’t have a heart attack.”

“And miss out on free entertainment?” I tease.  She sticks her tongue out at me.

Once we’re out of the stack with room to walk side-by-side, Beatrix grabs my hand, and we head north.  “What did you want to talk about?” I ask.  “You stealing my ability to speak in a party setting?”

“Actually, no.  I kind of lied to Gabi.  I need to–”  She hesitates, and I give her time to collect herself.  “I think I did it on purpose.”

“Did what on purpose?” I ask, confused.

“I–”  She sighs.  “I was trying to, umm, punish Gabi, I think.  It was wrong, and I didn’t do it consciously, but….  You were right this morning; something was bothering me, and I took it out on Gabi.  I feel horrible about it.  That’s not what a domme is supposed to do.  It’s supposed to be a game.  It’s supposed to be loving.  I’m supposed to keep her safe.”

“I… see.”  When she doesn’t continue, I prompt, “What were you upset about?”

“I was jealous.  What Gabi did with you before we met up….  I was jealous.”  I don’t know what to say to that, so remain silent.  “Last night, at dinner, she asked if I could help her.  She even said she only wanted my help if it wouldn’t cross a boundary for me.  I wanted to make you happy—make you both happy—so I agreed.  I thought I’d be okay with it, but then I wasn’t, and I didn’t tell her.  And then I hurt her, even though it was all my fault.  I’m a terrible person.”

“Woah, woah, slow down, Babe.”  I pull us to a stop just outside The Atrium so I can look her in the eyes.  “Beatrix, you are not a terrible person.  You are wonderful.  You just made a mistake, one that anyone in your position could make.

“Sure, you could have been more up front about it, either last night when Gabi was texting you, or this morning, but I don’t know that I would have done anything different in your shoes.  I certainly won’t judge you for making that mistake.”

Her eyes start to water.  “But I betrayed her!  I was angry at myself and I took it out on her in the worst possible way!”

I can’t help but huff a laugh at that despite it being inappropriate for the situation.  “That was not the worst possible way.  You could have thrown a fit and broken up with her.  You could have let it fester until it poisoned all three of our relationships.  You didn’t.  You made one mildly passive aggressive mistake while playing a game that Gabi mostly enjoyed despite your subconscious intentions.

“You’re going to have this conversation with Gabi, soon, right?  Clear the air?”

She nods and sighs.  “I know I need to—and I will.  I’m just dreading it.  The three of us have only been dating a month, and already, Gabi and I are having our second fight.  Maybe my dad was right.  Maybe polyamory doesn’t work.  Maybe jealousy will always win in the end.”

“We can have that conversation if you need to, but I think your dad is wrong, at least in general.  Polyamory can and does work for polyamorous people—which isn’t everyone.  But open communication is required, especially regarding jealousy when it inevitably crops up.  The fact that we’re having this conversation means we’re doing it right.  You are communicating, Bea.”

“But I should have had this conversation this morning instead of punishing Gabi!”

“Yes, you should have.  You made a mistake.  You were human.  You were frustrated with yourself.  It happens, Babe.  Next time you’ll do something different.  You apologized to Gabi already, at least in part, and she forgave you.  When you have the second half of that conversation tonight or tomorrow, you’ll apologize again, and I know she will forgive you again.

“I understand beating yourself up for things like this—I do it all the time, myself, and it sucks—but this isn’t the end of the world.  It won’t even be the end of our throuple.  You’re not a monster, okay?  You’re a wonderful person, a fantastic domme, and a loving girlfriend.  I love you.  Gabi–”  I hesitate.  “Well, I don’t know if Gabi loves you, but she adores you.  She’ll understand why what happened happened.”

“Are you sure?”

“Ninety-eight percent confidence level, and further research will confirm this finding.”

This, at last, makes her smile.  “Thanks, Love.  You–  You get me, don’t you?”

“Yes.  I do.”  We start walking again.  “There’s another part to this conversation, though.  Why were you jealous?  You’ve never been jealous of the two of us before, have you?”

“The ropes,” she says immediately.  “Ropes are–  Well, they seem like a rite of passage between domme and sub, one I’ve dreamed about since I first discovered kink.  Gabi’s not even a domme, yet she got to tie you up first.”

I think for a moment.  “That makes sense.  I also think that this morning didn’t really count.”

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“I woke up bound.  I wasn’t present while I was being tied up.  It’s not the state of being bound, itself, that is intimate; it’s the act of binding the sub and of being bound by the domme, of losing mobility—losing agency—piece-by-willing-piece.  It’s a slow process of falling further and further under the domme’s control, and that’s what makes it intimate.  Considering how expertly this morning’s knots were done and that the ropes vanished after Gabi snapped her fingers, I’m guessing she didn’t even do the tying.  You magicked them in place instantly, right?”  She nods.

“Now, I won’t lie to you: Gabi did a great job breaking my resolve layer-by-layer, but she did it with a vibrator and her body, not with knots.  Honestly, I didn’t know she had it in her.”

“I, umm, may have loosened her inhibitions a bit,” Bea admits, a soft blush gracing her features in the twilight.

“Well, you have my thanks for that.

“Anyway,” I continue, “after we met, I was really excited about the prospect of having a domme, and I looked into shibari a little bit.”

“You did?” she says with a short, amused giggle.

“Mmhmm.  One article said that in the first session, you shouldn’t even tie knots; the domme should just run the rope across the sub’s body to get her used to the sensation.  I think it’s a kind of trust-building exercise.  It seemed a little weird to me, if I’m honest, but I don’t think either of us have missed out on what makes ropes a rite of passage.  Okay?”

“Okay.  Yes.  That makes me feel better.”  Bea smiles at me.  “Thank you, Sarah.  You always know exactly what to say.”

I belt out a laugh.  “I am glad you think so.”

We walk for a couple more minutes.  “So,” she says, “you overheard my dad and me?”

“Yeah, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.  I just really wanted to.”  She whacks me affectionately on the arm.

“I guess I’ll have to think up a suitable punishment.”

“Yes, Mistress.”  Pause.  “I was proud of you, you know—the way you stood your ground.  Can’t have been easy.”

“Thanks.”  I can tell she means more than just the word.