The Soft Sciences


It started with a fantasy that became a running joke. 

There’s another way I imagine a threesome. I imagine being treated like a science experiment. Two people trying things on me, talking about me but not to me. Taking notes on my responsiveness. Watching me intently without really seeing me.  

“I want to be a scientist!” she said. Followed by a dozen nerdy, adorable emojis.

She messaged me hypotheticals—ones she so wanted to test. “For science,” she’d say. The threesome piece of it quickly fell by the wayside. She wanted to kiss me, touch me, taste me. I wanted it, too. And somehow this silly flirtation between two little girls became more. I looked forward to her good morning messages. When I touched myself, I began to imagine her lips and the curve of her breasts. I wondered what she tasted like. How her hair smelled.

Then her hypotheticals took on a different flavor. “I wonder how you’d respond to having your pussy cropped. What if I restrained you? I wonder what would drive you out of your mind…” This little submissive wanted to top me. It was curious. I wondered if she assumed I wanted it that way. If she felt a pressure to take control. But her excitement felt genuine. I wanted to know where it would take us.

Still, she was new at this—new to women and new to topping. And so the science experiment took on a new meaning. We talked about the 1-10 scale for impact. We talked about the willingness to try. “If something doesn’t work out, that’s fine,” I assured her. “If it turns out you don’t like it, that’s fine, too. It’s just science. You can try anything with me.” 

By the time Saturday came around, I knew she would top me. She talked about restraints and impact. She talked about pulling my hair. With advice from her Daddy and mine, she had a plan. “She’s ready,” my Daddy said as I drove to her house.

And she was. She opened the door, dressed to Domme but giggling like a little. She tried so hard to keep a straight face. Then I stepped forward to kiss her. On my tiptoes, I explored her for the first time. I felt her settle. Yes, love. I am with you. It’s just you and me and the wonders of science. You can do this. Then she began.

“Go into my room. Get out whichever of your toys you want me to use, and put them on the bed. Set aside any of mine you don’t want to use. Then strip and get on my bed in humble pose.”

When I went in her room, restraints and implements were carefully displayed at the foot of the bed. I did as instructed, then got in position—my body on display, like the other toys. Then I waited. And waited. And waited. Finally, footsteps at the door. She was quiet. Noting the toys I added and subtracted, or noting me? Then she began setting the conditions. Ankles in cuffs, fastened to the posts of the bed. Clamps on my nipples. Now we were both ready.

For the next hour, she studied my responses. She experimented with each implement and figured out how hard to swing it. And after a while, she didn’t need them anymore. I knew she’d hit her stride when my cheeky “three” turned into a yelp and a “SEVEN!” with the next hit. The connection was electric. Energy flowed freely between us. Tingling from the impact and the orgasm, I knew who was in control by the time we finished. I felt it even more when she wrapped me in a blanket and held my head to her chest. My whole body hummed for her.

With a new Dom(me), sometimes it’s clear they are following a borrowed script. A video they saw, a story they read, an experience they had on the other end of the leash. This is totally normal. Every new thing begins with what came before it. When she began, I felt her borrowed script. The toys meticulously laid out. The way she fastened the restraints. But then, something happened. She no longer followed a script; she created one. 

The first time I felt it, she asked if I was thirsty. Then she took a drink of water, pressed her lips to mine, and spit it into my mouth. She knew she could take me there, and I was so grateful for it. The second time, I was giggling from the way she lightly tapped all over with the implement. “Do I hear laughing?” she said. She hit me HARD before I even had the chance to respond. In that moment, it was no longer role playing. It was just her and me. I felt comfortable enough to giggle, and she felt comfortable enough to playfully correct me for it. In moments like these, we found something new and deep and real.

But it was the science that got us there—the safe space to explore. The willingness to take a risk, see where it goes, and maybe get it wrong sometimes. But this time, it was so beautifully right. And next time? My girl could fill a notebook with the experiments she has planned for us. And I may have a few of my own to add to the list…

There’s another way I imagine a threesome. I imagine being treated like a science experiment. Two people trying things on me, talking about me but not to me. – @tangledupheart

Oooh!  Love the whole story, it’s very sexy, especially play between Littles!  But the original fantasy?  Working with another partner, experimenting on you together to see what reduces you to a complete, crooning puddle? Oh my yes!

I don’t usually think about threesomes, but when I do you’re always in the middle, pumpkin.  And always the bottom.