Luke is tied up, locked in a closet and has to guess who of his three trans-polyamorous friends is controlling the vibrator. How well does he really know his closest circle?

This story is from the Remotyca collaboration of SATISFYER & BERLINABLE

The Wardrobe

By Kelvin Sparks

Luke’s bedroom door doesn’t have a lock, but his wardrobe does. He knows from the moment that April lays her eyes on the keyhole in the wooden door—a smile that’s cruel and lovely in equal measure spreading across her face—that it’s something she’s going to take advantage of.

To her credit, it’s a while before April acts on whatever it was that passed through her head in that moment. She asks about it the next morning over a bowl of cornflakes and oat milk, and Luke knows that she’s plotting something from the way she says the words, slow and cautious, like she’s testing the ice on a frozen lake. But he sees no reason to lie—especially not given how fun the games the two of them play are—so he answers. No, he did not install the locked wardrobe, the last tenant did. Yes, he does still have the key, next to the soy candle on his bedside table. April looks at him intently— skin slightly flushed pink—and Luke’s heart beats a little faster, because it’s the kind of expression that she only wears when she’s thought of some unique or wicked punishment for him, some new way to toy with him.

Then it never comes. April returns to her breakfast and Luke is left with an ache in his cunt and a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Or at least, it doesn’t come for a while, until enough time has passed that Luke has almost forgotten. The keyhole is still there—next to the torn out page of Original Plumbing that he’s stuck to the front of the wardrobe with poster strips—and the key is still collecting dust on his bedside table, but he doesn’t think of them. April does though, or at least in hindsight Luke is pretty sure she’s thorough about it, planning or plotting all the ways she can hold it over him. The way she chooses is to wait until it’s not just the two of them in Luke’s room.

Luke and April have played with others before, both together and separately, and none of the hands or lips on Luke’s body belong to new partners. There’s Max, vest top low cut enough at the arms that the edges of his top surgery scars show, tongue in Luke’s mouth. And there’s Emily, her hands buried in the short brown mess of his hair, tugging on it by the roots as she presses her body tight against Luke’s back. When she kisses his neck, soft and fleeting, Luke can’t help but moan into Max’s open mouth, his cheeks warm and flushed. All he can think about is how good it feels to be pressed between the two of them, about the pressure and the heat and the sweat, about the sandalwood smell of Emily’s perfume, clean and intoxicating. Max works his thigh between Luke’s legs and pushes, the pressure on his pecker firm enough that Luke can feel it against his cunt, and he’s certain he’s about to be undone.

Except that’s when April chooses to interfere. Emily’s cock is hard in her shorts and pressed up against Luke’s ass, and he is so, so ready to be fucked when April speaks, her voice loud and sharp over the soft synth music playing on the Bluetooth speaker next to the bed. They turn—all three of them—, Max pulling away from the kiss and Emily dropping her hand from where it gripped Luke’s hair. It takes Luke a moment to realise what April is holding, but when he recognises it he inhales, sharply.

“Wait,” she says, holding up the wardrobe keys between two perfectly manicured fingers. They’re deep red acrylics, long and filed to a point, and for a moment Luke wonders what they would feel like on his back, if the marks they leave would be red enough to match. “I have an idea.”

The idea—it turns out—involves five minutes, a locked wardrobe, and a vibrator. The rope is Max’s idea—one he proposes with a smile that flashes the bright bone white of his teeth—and when Luke makes the slightest movement, he feels the way it pulls and compresses at his body. It’s coarse and undyed—nothing like the soft red cotton rope that April uses to bind his wrists to her headboard—, tied around both ankles and coiled tightly around Luke’s thighs and calves. His hands are left free, a pair of sheers placed into one palm—just in case—, and he grips them tightly. The vibrator in his boxers isn’t on yet, but he can feel the cool silicone—not yet warmed to his body temperature—against him, and he shudders.

The ropes may be harsh—Luke is very grateful that the three of them decided they wanted him fully clothed so the hemp isn’t lying directly on his soft naked skin—but the pile of clothes he lies upon into at the floor of the wardrobe cushion it, at least a little. Emily props a small pillow under his head, unbidden, leaning over him and filling his nose with the scent of her perfume. Luke swallows, hard. He shouldn’t be so surprised that there’s gentleness along with the cruelty—because with the three of them there always is—but it’s always still a little unexpected. Unexpected, but not unwanted—he likes how it makes him feel, cherished with every scratch or bite or slap.

“So, the rules. You happy with them?” April’s voice is sharp but warm, and Luke nods. The rules are easy to remember—lie in the wardrobe, out of sight, and guess which of the three of them it is who’s controlling the vibrator against his clit. If he gets it correct, they’ll let him come. If he fails, whoever it was will be able to choose his punishment.

“And if you need an out,” Max says from somewhere behind her. “You remember what to do?”

Luke nods again, because he knows that if it’s too much he can tap twice on the door and they’ll let him out, no shame. April nods, something that looks suspiciously like approval in her eyes before she closes the door.

It’s dark in the wardrobe. That’s something that’s obvious in hindsight—so obvious that Luke can feel heat rise to his cheeks at not having thought of it before—but he still underestimated the impact of. Even though April has just closed the door, the endless dark makes him feel so much more alone and helpless than he expected. For a moment, Luke wonders if he’s made a mistake. He feels small, and not small in the way that he likes to feel when he’s dominated, but actually helpless. The rope sheers are still in his palm and he grips them a little harder.

Then the vibrator starts, low and rumbly against him, and he forgets the fear. It’s on full strength and when Luke tries to move—towards it or away from it? He’s not quite sure—the ropes around his legs keep him in place, unable to do anything except writhe against his bonds.

Is it Max? Max who’s controlling the vibrator?

This feels like something Max would do, go straight in, full throttle, make sure Luke is disoriented before he brings him back down to earth. One time—the first time they fucked actually—he did something similar, blindfolded Luke, made him kneel over a wand vibrator, and suspended his arms above his head. Part of Luke hopes it’s Max, because that means this is likely to end the same way as that first time did. When he was nearly at his limit, Max had brought his arms down, freed him from the rope, and fucked him. He’d been so gentle—calling Luke a good boy the whole time—that it had made Luke feel like he was breaking.

The vibrator stops, abruptly. Completely. All the muscles in Luke’s body freeze with it, and in the long moment before it starts again, he decides he must be wrong. The bottom of a coat—or at least Luke thinks it’s a coat—brushes his face, and between that and the way the hard floor is starting to make his back ache, it’s hard to think about anything except what’s happening to him right this moment. It’s cruel, making him lie in the darkness alone, binding his legs so he can’t move, teasing him with the vibrator and then taking away all of its stimulation. Maybe it’s April. April is good at cruelties, the small, mundane little cruelties that Luke loves. And this whole game was her idea, after all. The vibrator is something they bought together, and given they haven’t used it for its intended purpose—him wearing it to dinner, giving her the controls, and letting her make him squirm—he’s every reason to think she’s thought of this use for it instead.

Except it starts up again. Slowly this time, so gentle to begin with that Luke wonders if he’s imagining it out of his desire for touch. He twitches, and finds he’s been still so long that he’s forgotten the way the light tension of the ropes feels, how it constricts and limits his movements. The vibrator builds in speed—Luke wishes he could push it harder against him, angle the pinpoint end so that it rests just under his clit, where he needs it to be able to come—and maybe, just maybe, this means it’s Emily controlling it. She’s always kind to him, but kind in the way that never lets him forget she’s the one in control, that the gentleness of her touch is because she likes it that way. He can imagine her holding the vibrator against him herself, one hand softly stroking his thigh as she makes him come for her…

Luke has gotten so used to darkness that when the wardrobe door creaks open, he has to shield his eyes for a moment. Emily is the one who speaks—before he’s had time to adjust—and Luke has no idea whether that means anything.

“So. Which of us do you think was controlling it?”

Luke’s eyes have adjusted now, and he can see all three partners lean over him with expectant expressions. He thinks for a moment. And then he answers.

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