Her Two Johns: A Polyamorous Romance

By Phyllis O Scott

Now that life-long friends John Bishop and John Marshall-Bey have successfully seduced lovely brown Zayd MacBryan into a polyamorous relationship, the lovers couldnt be happier or more in love.
And the sex? Combustible!
However, their idyllic threesome becomes vulnerable when another Marshall-Bey heir arrives on the scene. Kevvin the III is instantly attracted to Zayd and will stop at nothing to have herincluding rape and pregnancy!
How far will the Johns go to keep Zayd?
How far will Zayd go to stay?
What secret weapon does Kevvin possess in his quiver that threatens to splinter this blissful mnage trois?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: May 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781491797662

Phyllis O Scott

Phyllis Oneida Scott has been writing since fourth grade and has won several writing competitions along the way. After teaching high school English, she ventured into higher education. The Marine Corps, the Police Force, Corrections are other places she spent time. She enjoys sewing and lives in Chattanooga, Tennessee.

Book preview

PRELUDE

The Johns have a plan and they are determined to carry it through to the bitter end.

Perhaps this tall tale should be called Her Two Johns (and a Kevvin) because there is a Kevvin—interloping gnat that he is—a minor player yet in a major way that should not have had a role in this story at all. But he did, by happenstance, and therefore cannot be, nor would he care to be, trivialized.

For now, as in Hamlet, let’s leave him to heaven.

This novella is written for the purpose of entertainment. So if you get off on conflict and conflict resolution, mood and atmosphere, dramatic or situational irony, morality or a message of some kind, or any lesson to be learned—readers, put your literary libido away—you will not find it in these pages. (Then again, should you…oh well, please know it was unintended.) What you will find is an ordinary female transitioning from novice to nymph via the cocks of two sexually incautious males living a three-way with her that in theory and practice is perfect.

[Caveat: If the term cock offends you, stop! The indelicate parlance ratchets up going forward. If not, please continue.]

But perfection carries a mean stinger.

The stinger is its own antidote and it is worse than any fly in any ointment as the Johns will tell you today.

Consequently, if you get off on sexual speculation, you’re in the right place. Readers, unzip! (Your minds.) There will be sex. Titillating sex. Gourmet sex.

Here are the key players:

Zayd D. MacBryan

John Howard Bishop

John Raymond Marshall-Bey

Oh, yes, and:

Kevvin Leon Marshall-Bey III

This salacious polyamorous love story is a tall tale not because it is a lie but an improbable truth that causes people’s minds to writhe in abject disbelief. Because you think: Well, I would never do that. What was she thinking?

We know what the two Johns were thinking and what they were thinking with.

Was their desire for Zayd powered by obsession, lust, or true love? Or none of the above. But in fact was a multi-million-dollar con game perpetrated on our lovely heroine.

What is true the Johns’ personalities were sex-obsessed and compulsive though not clinical, nor subclinical; that is to say, they were not crazy. They were of one mind. They had a plan and they were determined to carry it through. Did it play out the way they envisioned? Were their dreams exceeded? Well, we shall see.

And thus, Zayd, a woman with book smarts and common sense, and little in the way of street savvy, fell unvictim to a master scheme executed by the Johns, self-described tacticians of the diabolic. And while we may judge her for not walking away when she certainly had that choice, we must understand it simply never occurred to her to leave John Howard Bishop and John Marshall-Bey. Not even in her most exacting hour.

Zayd would be the first to admit she was not one vested in farsighted aspirations or grand works. She had no ambition to set the world on fire. She had found a comfortable niche in the Pilates business co-owned with close friend Janae Ware. Should that arrangement run its course, she had no problem going it alone. Accordingly, how did our girl Zayd D. MacBryan find herself in this love crisscross in the first place?

She received a job offer via an old acquaintance. Or what do you call a guy who took your innocence and married another? Ratfink? Either way, she had no contact with John Howard Bishop in nearly nine years!

ONE

A hard cock trumps a soft heart. You, my friend, have work to do. –John Marshall-Bey

Houston, Texas, Marshall-Bey Foundation Mansion

Friday, September 12, 2014

I’m here…but I’m headed downtown to corporate. What’s the crisis?

Summoned via an alert text to the recreation room by John Marshall-Bey, John Howard Bishop found him in the pinball alcove playing with his coveted Funhouse video machine, joystick in hand, skillfully flipping balls into open mouths, diverting stand-up targets, and evading trapdoors and cellar holes.

Have you heard back from her yet?

Zayd?

Who the hell else?

She’s thinking it over.

She needs to think faster.

John Bishop arched his brow at his life-long friend. Rushing her would be counterproductive. Give her time.

Rush her? Our plan has been in effect for almost five years.

Not this new, improved plan of yours. And Zayd was not the objective.

You crushed her sweet cherry and introduced her to orgasms, John Marshall reminded him. You never forget your first. Why wasn’t she top of the list?

John Bishop sighed. I couldn’t find her, remember?

You should have tried harder. Your mistake was letting her get away in the first place.

"Hell, I’ve kicked myself in the ass a hundred times. A coddling vise of Langeskov cherries, that woman. Once you’ve been there, you’re spoiled rotten for anything else. Believe me, man—I have mourned her loss."

"No doubt you know your cherries. I hope the feeling is mutual on her part and that she’s gotten over the broken heart you handed her eight years ago. I envision you two will recreate those passionate yearnings that will transmigrate in the future to me."

"You’re a heartless son-of-a-bitch, you know that?

A hard cock trumps a soft heart. John Marshall looked up from his all-engrossing Funhouse to spare John Bishop a glare. And mine is so hard, it’s about to break off. And so is yours. You know what that means. What you must do. The Board reconvenes in two weeks. Give her another call. A little pressure won’t hurt. You have my permission to meet any salary haggle, any conditions she may demand.

It won’t be salary in question, John Bishop sighed, it will be me.

Then do something about it. Hell, go to Atlanta, make love to her, beguile her, promise her the moon. You can make good on it.

No qualms about exploiting an innocent? John Bishop challenged.

Don’t stand there and tell me you can actually view her as innocent after the lust-wringer you put her through?

Small theatre in a small environ. Everything went down in her twin bed or the confines of my two-seater. Her sexual experiences are sure to have broadened in the eight years since. The same tactics won’t work with her. She’s not the same susceptible kid.

Keep in mind, Bishop, you were the one who turned her out. That works in our favor. You, my friend, have some revamping to do. He nodded his head to a manila envelope on the glass top of the video machine.

What’s that?

I unearthed it. Required reading to keep us mindful and on track.

The Johns’ College Manifesto 2003

"Any brainless redneck hillbilly can kidnap a woman, imprison her in a basement or cage, drug her, rape and beat her into submission. Then land in prison. No. We’re smarter than that. We are not about entrapment, but free will, artfully and lovingly nudged. Our plan must be victimless. Ideally, we would recruit a nymphomaniac whose sex drive would match ours. But she could not be trusted to be faithful. We need a decent, highly principled woman to share our beds, to share our home, to love, and love both of us, be faithful, and stay. And when she gets pregnant, one of us will marry her no matter the biological father, no matter the DNA. Such a woman will not be readily available. She must be lured and persuaded. We must use guile, deceit, deception, lies, manipulation, vows of love and sex ploys to ensnare her. Indelicately put, she must be delicately brainwashed. Therefore, only one of us will initiate the female, train her body to obey, and her mind to follow."

Thus begins, John Marshall-Bey’s set-forth treatise.

The Johns’ master plan started when they were frat brothers at UT Austin and dusted off over time. They had much in common: their first names, their good looks, their sports interests, their ambitions, and a secret disorder between them—an insatiable sexual appetite. John Marshall was oversexed. John Bishop was hyper-sexed. Not exactly the same thing—one was physical, one was mental—but the same permanent remedy was required: chemical castration. (No thanks!)

And saltpeter in their food was ineffective and made them sick to their stomachs. Taking part in a Clinical Study did not help at all.

For them it was a vicious cycle of necessary evils: pornography, masturbation, sexual high jinx with hookers, sluts, and one-night-stands. None of it emotionally satisfying. They soon tired of that onerous lifestyle.

One other salient fact must be mentioned. When they were sixteen, they faced a near-death experience, almost drowning together. And from that day on, they were never apart as individuals.

What they needed in their lives as adults was stability. But they could never keep girlfriends. Or wives. Or fiancées. The wear and tear on the female psyche was too much, not to mention her genitalia. A woman would have to have a cast-iron vagina to withstand such penile punishment.

By the time the Johns were closing in on thirty, they agreed it was past time to act on the plan they had considered since college, but never summoned the nerve to implement.

So they did.

And failed.

How many times…is not the point.

The important thing is they are willing to give it one more college try. (Without the college.)

The unvictim must fall madly in love with one and give herself to the other because her lover requests it. And requests it so often that it becomes routine and she cannot separate the two. Her love then encompasses the two because she cannot divide them in her mind and her body cannot discern who is who because the orgasms dovetail wondrously. It is all the same to her. And when she is co-joined by both men, her pleasure is doubled beyond what her body and mind can process, she will accept it as a natural progression of their love. Her body learns by rote to crave the Johns. This then becomes her addiction. The two feed her addiction, separately and together, also feeding their white liver, thus creating an unending codependency that’s self-perpetuating and self-satisfying. Moreover, because the Johns love each other and love her…and because their relationship is symbiotic, there is never jealousy or ‘ownership’. No alpha male.

However, an alpha female is core to the plan.

Who would be this unsoiled woman?

Separately, the men listed her physical attributes, her character, and intellectual traits; then compared them and made their choice.

The best John for the job of seducer-in-chief is John Bishop, who was born with not only a silver spoon in his mouth but a silver tongue.

Now all that was left to do was find her—the perfect paragon!

Lost and Found

Tuesday, September 9, 2014

John Bishop has found lost love Zayd MacBryan. No way would he lose her again.

Zayd D. MacBryan fit their dream female in almost every aspect: 5'8", 118 lithe pounds. Satin-brown skin with lovely even features. Spirited brown eyes. A hint of exotic. A lush kissable mouth. Dimples in all four cheeks. A thick disarray of curls framing her oval face. Long legs. Sweet Jesus breasts. Smart. Intuitive. Lovable. Talented. Her laugh a sweet sound. And a personality on steroids (though she tested negative for drugs.)

Of course, her most utilitarian attribute is her malleability.

Sexually, she will be re-educated Two-John-style.

TWO

I want to give you orgasms, Zayd. Lots and lots of orgasms. –John Howard Bishop

Atlanta Suburb, Marietta

September 12, 2014

I can do my own thinking, Zayd D. MacBryan grumbled to herself as she went about closing the slats to her Pilates ZaydEast Studio, signaling the last of the classes for the day.

In fact, she had been doing her own thinking since she was seventeen when her mother was sent off to Peachwood Valley Hospital. Before that time, the case could be made that her mother did the thinking for the both of them. But she did not want to cloud her mind with memories of that injurious time in her life.

The suffocating mother-daughter chain was snapped; and Zayd discovered she was quite self-reliant and independent of the super-ego that stalled most individuals like her mother, making them second-guess their choices.

Indeed, Zayd could skirt the rules that governed polite society quite freely, thank you. Furthermore, she was proud that she was capable of rebelling against staid and restricting ideas of the puritanical twenty-first century!

I can make this decision quite logically, she carried on in her head as if there was a fuss to be made by an opposing opinion. But there was none! No one to stop her! No one to stop her from packing up and moving to Houston.

No one to stop her associating once again with John Bishop.

Zayd continued to think her own thoughts as she locked up her studio and strode the several steps to her apartment she shared with friend and business partner, Janae Ware.

She double-timed the stairs, showered quickly, and redressed for her next two activities of the day—leading an exercise class for county employees as a volunteer; and an hour afterward, heading out to a paying job, teaching swimming at the community center.

She dragged out her motor scooter from its storage under the stairs, strapped on her helmet, and was on her way, taking the bicycle lanes to her destinations. She had time to think in between. Think about the tough decisions she had made in her life.

The Peace Corps had been a good decision.

Starting her own business was a good decision.

However, deciding to trust John Howard Bishop still roiled her stomach thinking about it. Zayd had forgiven herself for such a dumb move, blaming naiveté and ignorance. But she had not forgiven John Bishop for deceiving her. Going on nine years later, she still held a bit of a grudge; though ultimately, it had been her choice to leave him.

Bishop Estate, Harris County, Texas, Summer, 2006

Summer of 2006, Zayd took a temporary position at The Bishop Estates in Houston as a companion to Emma Bishop, John’s mother, who was recuperating from her third heart surgery. Water exercise was part of Emma’s rehabilitation. Zayd, who had recently received her lifeguard certification, was recommended by her swim team coach. Her friendly nature and solemn composure made her ideal for the job.

John lived in the city but was often at the manor. He was friendly to her but nothing out-of-the-way to make her think he was ‘after her’ or anything.

Like Zayd, he attended UT Austin; though, their paths had not transected on campus yet, probably because he was a graduating senior and she was beginning her sophomore year in the fall.

Oh, yeah, he was pretty damn cute. Like effeminate gorgeousness. Blond, with blue-green eyes. Tall and athletic with a slow, sexy Texas brogue. And such a dandy about his appearance down to his manicured nails. Zayd knew little about gay men and had no label to attach to him; though her roommates would probably dub him a metrosexual.

His mother Emma was quick to validate his sexuality, advising Zayd that John was all set to marry a lovely young oil heiress next summer by the name of Pamela Sue Woodstock.

Zayd had no idea John Howard Bishop fancied her. To say the least, she was shocked when he cornered her in the laundry room several weeks after she was employed, inquired as to a boyfriend, and when she shook her head no, thumbed down her lower lip, ran his tongue over it, then kissed her senseless!

He murmured in her ear that she was in his head 24/7 and that he had the biggest fuckin’ hard-on for her, please say ‘yes’; let him fuck her just one time—she told him she was a virgin, saving herself for marriage.

Surprised but accepting, he said: What a waste. Zayd, look at me. We can make this work for us.

Zayd raised her brown eyes up into his sea-green ones, blushed, and dropped her eyes again. She swallowed some hazy laundry room air and asked what she knew was a preposterous question in light of the fact they hardly knew each other—but what other thing could he mean?

Are you proposing to me?

Uh, no…not that I wouldn’t, you understand, but I’m already engaged. She’s a virgin like you.

Then why did you kiss me like that?

The blue-green eyes twinkled. Zayd…never mind. But then: "Zayd, Zayd, Zayd…I kissed you because…you made me kiss you."

I did? How could I?

You’re irresistible. Do you understand what I mean?

Certainly. She was very book smart. You couldn’t help yourself. Like the sailors lured to their deaths by the beautiful sirens in Greek mythology.

"Precisely. Precisely like that. You are such an innocent. Who would have thought it with a body like yours? Zayd, you don’t have to be married to have sex. I do have a proposal for you in a manner of speaking, though. We don’t have to fuck. There are other ways to satisfy ourselves. Let me show you the joy, the ecstasy you are created for. Let me show you what you’ve been missing. I want to give you orgasms, Zayd. Lots and lots of orgasms."

Orgasms.

Zayd repeated it louder in her head: ORGASMS.

I know what those are, she announced, and he responded, looking at her intently: Good. That’s very good.

Zayd had heard of them, of course. Though she’d been brought up by a strict, god-fearing para-zealot, she was not totally oblivious to pleasures of the flesh. Besides which, sex dominated her roommates’ conversations.

And Zayd was teased by them mercilessly for being a virgin, threatening to set her up for a gang-bang!

She did not have to be sexually active to surmise that orgasms must be a really good thing.

Even the word, the way he said it, made her tremble inside. Her mother would never dare say such a word as orgasms. Nor would she talk about the beauty of sex. Bonnie MacBryan only drummed into her daughter’s head to keep her legs closed. Boys were bad news. They will get you with child and leave you, she preached.

Zayd sometimes felt like Carrie—without the telekinetic powers.

You’re too cute for your own good and boys will come after you to destroy your innocence and wreck your life. See what your no-good father did to me! To us! That’s what I’m talking about! I know you didn’t receive the attention a young daughter should from her father. But don’t fall into that trap of doing anything to get a man to love you. You must stay a virgin for the right man. A man who respects you. The man you marry. Promise me, Zayd. Promise God.

I’ll do what the brothers won’t do, John Bishop was making his case.

Zayd was intrigued. What won’t the brothers do?

I’ll be your candy licker. I’ll lick you all over and make you come. Know what I’m saying?

Black guys don’t, uh, lick candy?

Not the ones I know.

Why not?

Don’t know, he shrugged. A cultural thing, I suppose.

Oh.

Boggles my mind that guys don’t try to hit on you, Zayd.

"Oh, they do. But I ignore them. I know they only want one thing."

"Now there, you see—I don’t want that."

She gave him a shy smile. Because you’re different.

"Yes, baby, I’m different. I eat pussy, and make sweet girls like you come. You ever come before? You ever get so excited you get wet and sticky between your legs?"

Goodness gracious! His words were truly scandalous! They delighted her to no end! Zayd could not believe he was saying these naughty, forbidden things to her. Just the word ‘fuck’ shook up her insides! No boy, no man before him ever talked to her like that.

No, she had not come before but she was curious, listening to other co-eds who had experienced penises inside them speak in blithesome terms about sex; and in as much as he was willing, nay, eager to give her that pleasure and still preserve her virginity—why would a girl in her right mind say no to John Howard Bishop?

Zayd shook her head no and he continued to say, "I love the taste of pussy in my mouth. I’d rather eat it than bang it. Women would rather I eat it than bang it."

Because you have a great tongue?

Because I have a great dick.

A great tongue versus a great dick? And they went for the tongue? That was illogical to her.

Here, I’ll show you what I mean.

Before she could object, he unfastened his fly and exposed himself. And exposed himself some more.

Zayd shrieked. But she couldn’t shut her eyes against such a phenomenal sight!

She had never seen a real flesh and blood PENIS before. And any comparison to the illustrations in her sex-education classes were grossly dissimilar.

Are you deformed? she asked with all due sympathy.

John laughed. "No. I’m what they call well-hung."

Well-hung, she repeated thoughtfully. Her roommates blathered on and on about guys that were hung-like-a-horse.

That’s not always a good thing. Women cringe when they see it.

Lithe, gnarled, and unwieldy, it was certainly cringe-worthy.

Well, I think it’s beautiful, she said honestly. What are those? she pointed.

John laughed. Veins.

They’re huge.

They’re useful to a female’s pleasure.

They look painful.

They’re not. Go on, touch one.

Zayd reached out cautiously and laid a finger on the largest purplish bulge.

She yelped and stumbled back when he groaned in agonizing