It’s these moments when we are just people in love that are the most important to me. All of the sexual gymnastics doesn’t compare to the simple pleasure of hearing my girls talk over my choices for them. Of course, helping Tara to heal after the ordeals she endured is important. And getting Sara to stop apologizing has been a long road. I suppose it’s the kind of dominant I am. There are all kinds and flavors. I need to help my girls feel safe and give them a safe place to grow. And we’re all very sexually adventurous people so this lifestyle with its infinite possibilities works well. But enough.
Sara stalks into the living room and stands waiting for inspection. The clacking of heels against tile end, somehow leaving the space empty.
Tara walks, shyly to stand next to Sara. She holds her right arm behind her back with her left. And she is hunched. I’m not sure where she was taught to crunch down and be less of a target but seeing it does not make me happy.
“Tara,” I say, “Stand up straight. Arms at your sides.”
Tara flinches at the reminder. I always allow for one with her. Immediate punishment for disobedience is not productive.
Tara straightens up and holds herself more loosely, though her tension is evident.
I can’t tell what choices they’ve made.
“Arms out, legs spread, be ready for a pat down.”
Starting with Sara, I run my hands over her. Businesslike, making sure her weapons are in place. We have a rule that no one leaves the house unarmed.
Stopping in front of her, I lean over and growl in her ear, “No underwear? Interesting choice.”
Her slow wicked smile tells me exactly where her heads at.
Tara’s arm are trembling trying to hold them up while I thoroughly fondle…I mean inspect, my lovely wife. When Sara is leaning into me, trying to get more than my hands attention, I kiss her noise and pull away.
I look over Tara and see that there is really no good place for her blades. Her arms are trembling and she is sweating from holding her arms out for the last few minutes.
I circle behind her running my hands over her. Repeating the thorough search for underwear and weapons.
My hands up under her dress, I pull it up to reveal the softness of her. A matched set then. Nude all around. Her dress rises as I glide my hands up over her soft breasts. She shivers. From the draft? The position?
I plant soft kisses up her neck, her hair upswept and held in place by…clever.
I smile. She’s worked handled needles into her hair. Nice!
“You can put your arms down.”
I drop her dress down and step back. The peach fabric settles against her curves. Eating away at my control. The sensuality of the fabric pulled sliding over her by gravity.