Pel and Sara Stories

To those who don’t know, I write a series of Erotic Fiction centered around 2 specific Characters.  Pel and Sara.

The first 3 stories are available on Amazon for free if you have Kindle Unlimited.
Otherwise the cost is 1$

If you would like a preview: the first story is available on audio at the top of the page: under Ballroom

The third is found at the top in it’s own Page: Valentine’s Day

I am starting a New story featuring those characters.  There will be some erotica but it will center around more drama than sex.

I hope you Enjoy the new story: Nightmares are also dreams: A Pel and Sara Story.

Look for it Every other Monday. Starting today.

Nightmares are also dreams: A Pel and Sara story: Part 1

The gold embossed Swiss inspired mini grandfather clock ticks its slow way through the morning. A double insulated steel mug chills to the side fizzing with the just poured in Diet Coke. A wide shouldered, slightly overweight, just over six foot tall man sits. Back hunched over looking at the computer screen.

That’s me. Pel of Darkling Spire Security. It’s ok. I’m sure you’ve never heard of us. We provide discrete services to discerning clients. Discerning mostly meaning willing to pay at least in the low six figures. Don’t let the mahogany desk or wood paneling fool you. This isn’t the office of a country lawyer or a conservative think tank. What we mostly do here is protect people from being killed or very rarely protect someone by killing someone. Though the latter service is not one we generally advertise.

I’ve been doing this for twenty years. An eternity in this kind of business. Especially for a small firm. I am both the most dangerous and least dangerous person I employ. I can put boots on the ground in any country with a name and a few without in 36 hours. Every person here is a heart breaker and life taker. Even my secretary, Janice, has a body count.
I’d put my secretarial pool and the mail room boys and girls against most branches of the armed services worldwide. Where numbers were equal, that is.

I handle the contracts and the glad handing. The political situation and the personnel. And a few special projects.

One such project is sitting on my screen. The remains of a dozen or so men and women. Tortured and murdered over the last 5 years. Not in some battlefield shit hole, but in my city. Among people who should have been treasured and protected.

There’s even a little video. It’s a cross between the Saw films, Hostel, and some fucked up eastern European sex trafficking thing.

Why am I even looking at this kind of thing? Don’t I have analysts for this? Sure I do. And they are combing over this, looking for information. But there are a few rules for this kind of life.

One, Never give an order you know will not be followed.
Followed closely by Two, Never ask your people to do something you are unwilling to do.

As to why am I looking? Other than rule two, my girlfriend Tara almost fell prey to this very thing. The only reason she is alive now is their methodology. It seems that they break their prey. Making them crave what they are doing. Then they release them. Until the person comes crawling back begging to be taken back into their care. It’s a power trip and a way to torment the people they enthrall.

In that brief window, I found Tara. And failed to find even the hint of this in my preliminary background checks. Beautiful, inexperienced, and adventurous, she fell for her Masters Fetlife profile hook, line, and sinker. That’s right, she is a submissive. From what I can gather she was a Pet. Animalistic and fox in her fursona. And he seduced her and damn near broke her.

Beware of people calling themselves Master, at least without contactable references. It’s never a good sign.

I glance over to the picture of Tara cuddled up with my wife Sara. I close my eyes. The horror of these pictures. Against the thought of either of my girls in that situation… Yeah, a little exciting. But only if we talked about it and only with consent. And only Sara. Tara is far too fragile for that kind of game.

And that’s the other shoe, I fucked up pretty badly recently. Sending Tara into a full blown ptsd flashback. Sara is helping as best she can but we’re not equipped for this. And therapist that knows the lifestyle as a positive thing and sees polyamoury in a good light who are equipped to handle Ptsd and other traumas, not as plentiful as you might think.

But this, finding the ring of people doing this and shutting it down, hard? This I can do.

Declarations(NSFW thoughts)

Just because I love you and want all the good things for you doesn’t mean that when you give consent that I won’t brutalize you. That I won’t whip you, hurt you. That I won’t fuck you with my hands, mouth, cock and toys. That I won’t make you scream in pain and pleasure. That after I’m spent and can’t use you anymore, that I won’t tie you up and set toys in you, on you, to keep you cumming because I like to see you this way. That you won’t crawl and obey.

I love you. I see all of you. I know that you crave the darkness. And though it may seem otherwise. That my praise and heart felt love may make you feel like I am not up to your needs, you are wrong. I just choose to be more than one thing.

I can be the kind and loving partner. The stern and commanding caretaker/Daddy. And the hardcore sadist. I have many sides. But I will always be yours. Your Sir. Yours as you are mine.

Valentine’s Day 31

My loves sit at the dining room table talking in low tones and dipping chocolate chip cookies in milk. Tara giggles and loses half her cookie to the glass. Soaked through it breaks. She uses a dry one to fetch the pieces out. Sara brushes a strand of purple hair from Tara’s eyes, tucking it behind her ear. I finish putting the dishes in the washer and start to clean the counter. Making work for myself to allow Sara to work her magic.

After a few minutes the cookies are gone, wife and lover are lounging content as cats, and the dishwasher chugs away.

“My love.” I say, “Let’s get ready for bed. You two can use the shower first.”

Sara looks knowingly at me. Her wise grey eyes carrying a sad smile. She holds her hand out to Tara, who grips her and bounces up out of the chair.

My girls disappear into the bedroom and moments later I hear the shower turn on.

I pad over to the bedroom. Snagging the remote to the house sound system, I put on the soft sounds of summer rain. The hiss and patter fills the room displacing the empty silence.

I remove the sheets and change them for a fresh set. Soft silk replaced with warm cotton.

I retrieve Mr. Fox from Tara’s side of the bed and position the bear to be watching and waiting when the girls emerge.

The girls emerge from the shower in a billow of steam and seeing Mr. Fox, Tara snatches him up and spins around with him in her arms.

Sara smiles, tired eyes lighting with soft joy, for a moment the missteps of the night forgotten.

I can’t see this anymore. Maybe that makes me weak but I can’t take credit for joy when I’ve brought us so close to disaster. I walk into the washroom and start the shower. I carefully peel off the bandage covering my dick and see the blood spots.
This is going to suck. I lather up and gently wash all over. I take extra gentle care of my wounds. This sidelines me from many of our daily routines. My mistakes compound and pay dividends I would have preferred were less.

Sluicing down the suds, I stand for a minute in the pounding streams. I let the jets massage away some of the tension and the air grows thick and hot.
Unable to take more, I step out. The shower jets shutting down ten seconds after no bodies are sensed in the stall. I throw on my robe and stand at the mirror. I force myself to take five deep breathes, holding each for three seconds before I floss and brush my teeth. I reapply a bandage on my cock and pull on underwear to keep it from brushing against anything in its raw state.

I walk into the bedroom and the air is chilly compared to the stifling heat of the bathroom. Tara is curled up against Sara. Already asleep. Sara is in the middle of the bed and I slip in behind her.

Soft moonlight filters through the gauze curtains. The sounds of rain pours through the speakers. The fresh scent of clean hair fills my nostrils. The heat of Sara as little spoon warms me and on any other night, I’d slip deeply into dreams.

But tonight, I fear sleep will be a long time coming.

Valentine’s Day 30-Interlude

“Jen, I hope I’m not interrupting your night off.” I speak into the receiver.

Music pounding, muffled in the background, “Not at all, what can I do for you,” Jen asks, the lie plain.

“Regarding the business of Tara’s master. We seemed to have missed some links. It appears that he may have worked with a group of people. At least to the extent that they worked together in his…business. I also have another name for you. In relation to Tara. Rachel, no last name, may have been a late guest of her master.” I say, attempting to be circumspect. One never knows who might be listening.

“I’ll handle it. When do you need the information,” asks Jen.

“We tried fast. Let’s go for thorough. Let’s meet in a week and see what we have. If in house can’t handle it, farm it out. Pull from the Aleph account,” I command.

“Yes. We’ll do this right. Do you want us to sit on it or do we want to encroach on the subjects?”

“Soft recon only, nothing close in until we have the shape of it,” I reply.

“On it.” The background sounds cut off as the line goes dead.

Emerging from the bedroom, I walk over to the oven and pull out the cookies to cool. The warm richness of melted dark chocolate fills the night air. Placing the dozen chocolate chip cookies on the cooling rack; I turn off the oven. The sound of a wisecracking fox fills the air. Ah, Zootopia.

Time for some actual food. I’m thinking grilled cheese with caramelized onions. A bit of comfort food to go with a comfort dessert.

Valentine’s Day 30

After 2 hours of holding and talking Tara is calm enough for Sara to dress her. I pull on slacks and a plain black t-shirt. Sara guides Tara out of our bedroom, guiding her with a hand on her back. Tara normally looks regal and she just looks sad. Her eyes downcast like she’s done something wrong. Breaking my heart. How deeply I failed her. But I don’t get the luxury of showing her my own weakness. Not yet.

Sara meets my eyes and shakes her head. Telling me that Tara hasn’t told her what happened. I sit Tara next to my wife and take the chair opposite them. I don’t want Tara to feel trapped or pressure.

Tara sits with her hands on her lap, eyes downcast. Her soft peach dress demure and innocent.

“Tara,” I say, pitching my voice soft, “I apologize for leaving you alone. It was wrong and I will try to never let it happen again.”

Tara looks up at me, shock on her face. Tears spring to her eyes and she rocks as if slapped.

She shakes her head and softly, almost inaudible, whispers, “No. It was my fault. I should have been good. I’ll do better.”

I can feel my heart shattering and the tears spring to my eyes blurring my vision.
“Honey, no. You’ve done nothing wrong. You got scared and hid. I’m sure Fineous fox was a good companion and kept you safe…Can you tell us why you hid,” I ask fighting to keep the sob from my voice.

Tara looks over at Sara who nods ok and Tara takes a deep breath. She looks me in the eye and say “I… I saw you hurting Sara. I saw….. And then I saw my friend Rachel. And I saw Him. He was hurting her and he said that he would keep hurting her unless I was good and come over to him. But,” her sobs punctuating each few words, “I couldn’t because I was scared. He’d cut me earlier and if I came to him I knew he’d cut me again and I couldn’t make myself move and he kept hurting her and she was crying and I couldn’t be a good girl and he hurt her and she was bleeding and he dragged me and locked me in the punishment room. And I heard him drag her to the back and a car door slam and I never saw her.”

Tara is crying in jagged gasps and Sara is holding her. I meet Sara’s gaze and shake my head. Rachel didn’t turn up in our sweep. From what I’m hearing, she’s dead. And this makes me think that there must have been others. There’s no way that douchebag got rid of the body so thoroughly. He was a trust fund idiot. Not a contractor. So he had help. I’ll send Jen, my head of security, a note asking her to do a deep dive into this.

“Honey, I’m sorry. Sara is here and mostly unhurt. I’m sorry I didn’t sit you down and go through that scene. I know we didn’t discuss it and I got carried away. This is entirely my fault for not finding out what might trigger you. I won’t ask you to forgive me. I will do better for us all.”

Tara looks up from Sara. She says, “I don’t want to play.”

Those 5 words tell me that she’s not completely lost. She’s asserting her desires and that eases a tiny bit of the tension.

“Of course,” I reply, “It’s your day. What would you like to do?”

She looks up and says “I want to watch Fantastic Mr. Fox, then Zootopia.”

“Of course, I’ll just put it on and start some dinner. Ok?”

She smiles, still clinging to Sara, tears streaming down her face, “OK.”

Valentine’s day 29-Sara

Pel has tripped headlong into wild abandon. The burn as my arms are wrenched almost to the breaking point. The smooth feel of the soft cool wood against my face. The feel of him filling me up. Taking everything that’s his. That I give him freely.

It ends too soon. My body twitches and yearns for one more minute, one more hour of time with him. But we can’t leave Tara alone for too long. When I found Tara, she seemed really decisive and put together. It turns out, that was a well entrenched facade that has crumbled away.

I love her to pieces but I don’t like what her presence is doing to my marriage. We have to be laser focused on her needs most of the time. We chose not to have kids. We don’t even have pets because our lives are normally so busy that we’d hardly see them. But here we are trying to help a emotionally and physically abused young lady.

We need to sit down and have a talk about our goals moving forward. I’m not happy with getting the short end of the stick all the time and I don’t think Tara is getting the help she needs. We’ll talk after tonight.

This is all dancing through my head while my hands gently take care of Pels cuts and abrasions. He’s pushed his body to the limits trying to take care of our physical needs. I can see the Exhaustion in him. I know that he wants nothing more than to call quits and curl up with us both and read a book or watch TV. But he keeps pushing, trying to show no weakness. And I know that’s because of Tara. He’s called halt before with me and we’ve rested.

I’m going to need to call it, I think. He can’t lose face. Which again proves he’s not in the headspace to commit to Tara. If he was he could let his guard down and be less than perfect.

Tara. That poor girl. Pel left the dossier out in plane sight behind the wall painting and in his work safe. Her previous master, and I use the term loosely, beat her, broke her. He would hurt her for compliance, for failure, because it was Tuesday. He’d force her to watch from her cage while he hurt other women. Then beat her for each time she looked away. The only reason she got away is because he broke her completely and, in his words, she wasn’t any fun anymore.

It’s good that Pel murdered him. I’m happy he did. Fuck, it’s too bad you can’t kill someone twice. But that leaves us with sweet Tara. She really is smart and kind. But everything makes her flinch. Makes her spiral. I didn’t know what I was getting us into.
She was my choice. Pel wanted one of the older office managers. He said she reminded him of one of his grade school teachers. One he’d always wanted to do naughty things with. A precocious scamp was young Pel.

Still, he should have shared Tara’s background check before we made the invitation to live with us. That was my fault for letting him get away with that. Plus he sprung it on me in the afterglow of about 50 orgasms, my head wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders. I could have said no later but it seemed like we’d be able to do this.

I glance over to the doorway. Pel has gone stark still. I can’t even see his chest rising with breathe. Then he’s gone. I can hear his heavy footfalls as he runs across the living room. I move to the doorway and see him cradling Tara and singing to her.

Fuck! Something we did or she saw triggered her. I glance at the clock and see that she’s been alone for a little over thirty minutes. Fuck, fuck, fuck! We’ve not left her alone for more than 15 minutes in the last six months and at the beginning not more than 5.

I pad over to where Pel has our Tara cradled in his arms, singing some nonsense verse that I know he invented on the spot. I press myself against Tara, the feel of flesh against flesh. Warmth spreading between us. Her soft cries breaking my heart.

Valentine’s Day – Pel and Sara – 1 thru 28

Valentine’s day Prologue

Valentine’s day 1

Valentine’s day 2

Valentine’s day 3

Valentine’s day 4

Valentine’s day 5

Valentine’s day 6

Valentine’s day 7

Valentine’s day 8

Valentine’s day 9

Valentine’s day 10

Valentine’s day 11

Valentine’s day 12

Valentine’s day 13

Valentine’s day 14

Valentine’s day 15

Valentine’s day 16

Valentine’s day 17

Valentine’s day 18

Valentine’s day 19

Valentine’s day 20

Valentine’s day 21

Valentine’s day 22

Valentine’s day 23

Valentine’s day 24

Valentine’s day 25

Valentine’s day 26

Valentine’s day 27

Valentine’s day 28

 

Valentine’s day 28

The hardwood floor gives slightly as I pad, nude, to the doorway. Sara lingers behind, packing up the first aid kit. My eyes scan the kitchen and living room looking for our pet, Tara. She was so deep in the pet persona she could be anywhere, getting into anything. My grin, at the thought of our girl, fills my face like a cheshire cat.

I spot movement behind the giant red fox we got Tara to mark our one month anniversary. Then I hear it and my breathe catches. My heart shudders to a near stall and my whole body goes still.

Quiet sobs echo off the brick walls.
No…
She must have seen us.
My heart fills with pain and regret. I rush over to her pen, practically running the twenty five feet. She’s crying. Her tears break me. Each one a testament to how badly I’ve failed her. But that doesn’t matter now. My problem, my pain doesn’t matter now.

I open the latch and she looks right at me, her face a mask of fear. She scoots back away and I feel like I’m going to throw up. I can’t stand this wild fear. The face of someone who is lost in the world.

I get on my hands and knees and and crawl to her. The sounds of her whimpers, so like ambrosia earlier are as ashes on my tongue. I’d do anything to take that fear from her. But, you can only kill a man once. Mores the pity.

I gather her in my arms. Holding her to my heartbeat and murmur, “come back to us, little one.” Tears spill down my face, trickle past my chin and down my neck. I’m lost to this moment. In misery. I’m a failure. I can only hold her and hope she forgives me.

Sara pulls up next to me. I didn’t hear her. She nestles against Tara. Comforting her with her presence. Her fingers intertwine with mine. I take hold of myself. Stop the tears and just hold Tara. Our love.

“We’ll fix this. Make this right,” I whisper.
“Tara, love of our life, this is a broken world. But you are not broken.”

Innerspace soldiers (gross, illness)

I do this thing where I anthropomorphise my immune system. It started a few of years ago and I’ll need to explain the circumstances.

So 2 years ago, at about this time, I was dying. I didn’t know that I was dying. I thought I had the flu. And to be fair, I did have the flu. And because of my weakened immune system sometime in the midst of the flu, I think on Sunday, so about 2 days into hardcore symptoms. In that time frame, a old wound that my body had sealed with a hard lump, probably around a object, grew swollen and popped. It was oozing a mix of pus and blood. It was whatever, I have a number of wounds on my legs that will do the same thing from time to time. I wash the wound site and it scabs over, no big deal.

Not this time. I’m so deep in fever that I just wipe the site clear then stumble to my bed and collapse. I feel I should point out that I rarely get sick and when I do it is rarely for more than a couple of days. And it will be something that is harvesting people at work like wheat in a field. They’ll be sick for weeks. Me a handful of days with only 2 or so being rough.

So I have the flu and this wound on my leg. The fever from the flu gets worse. And I start getting fluid buildup in my leg. I call out sick on Monday. It gets worse. While I can walk the 10 feet to the bathroom, I don’t want to. It hurts and takes time because I’m lying down. And when I go vertical I can feel the fluid sloshing down my leg internally and it is about a 7 on my pain scale. Note: I can completely ignore a 4-5 and a 6 I can push down to 2. And if the pain is persistent instead of sharp, I can convince my mind it’s pleasure.

So a 7 on my scale is rough. I once broke my ankle in a fall. I got up, walked into work, worked my shift and went home, using it to drive. I walked on that ankle(I thought it was a sprain) and 6 weeks later rebroke it. I continued to walk on it and it healed and I have the ability to bend my right ankle so that it touches the ground. So, I have a weird scale.

So I’m at a 7. And I don’t want to walk to the bathroom because it will be blinding pain for several minutes cause of my leg and the flu. Now clearly I’m not thinking straight cause who associates fluid in the leg with the flu but I had a high fever so problems. I piss in my trash can. Cause it’s big and right there and fuck it. And now it hurts to pee

Then Tuesday and my flu is better but I still have this fever and leg thing and I think, one more day and I’ll be fine. I stay home. I feel like shit. Repeat of the last night, it still hurts to pee, leg is even harder to stand on and is swollen enough and hot enough that I have trouble putting on pants. Which I do because shorts are for children and the gym.

Wednesday rolls around. I’m not better.
My work has a new policy that if you are sick for a third day, you need a doctor’s note. I call my mom and ask if she’ll take me to urgent care because they can sign off on this. She says OK and after taking 10 minutes to walk from my front door to the curb, we’re off. Yes I can walk on it, yes it hurts but remember pain is something I’m good at. Waiting in urgent care, 2 hours. People who are clearly less sick than I keep going back. They finally see me. Take one look at my leg which is about 2 times it’s normal size, muscular about 20 inches in diameter. So it’s ballooned to 40 inches and sloshing. They take one look and say uh uh, you need the emergency room. So away we go to the emergency room with their initial prognosis.

I choose a hospital based on the emergency room reviews. Because, duh. And we end up at Thunderbird Hospital. I check in and things start to go quickly. They look at the diagnosis and put me in the little area next to doors going back while they set up my area. They weigh me and do the rigamarole and then I walk back to my partition. The doctor takes a look, draws blood and I’m polite and smiling and joking. I point a couple of the nurses to my blog cause I do that all the time. They send me off to pee in a cup and it sucks and takes forever and is really far to the bathroom, it has to be 20 feet.
I take off my clothes and have put on the gown and tied it, and I find I’m not self conscious and I’m joking with the nurses, half hinting at my private life. Nothing crude. Just very comfortable.

They say that they are going to need to get antibiotics into me. And I know that means I’m going to lose a bunch of my immune system because it’s going to kill the good bacteria too. And I set up in my mind shelters in my intestines for the bacteria to retreat to before this happens. I talk to them and appoint one of the ones who has been fighting the infection as leader and general.

They have me on 3 different bagged IV antibiotics. One of which they have to monitor because it is strong enough to potentially collapse my veins.

I’m diagnosed with cellulitis which has not reached the lymph nodes in my thigh, (my immune system rocks) flu, and a urinary track infection. Basically, it took 3 major infections all at once to sideline me.
They tell me once the cellulitis reached the lymph nodes it would have begun reproducing in my bones and that would have been it. Probably a day or two if they hadn’t caught it.

I spend a couple of nights in the hospital. I’m bored out of my skull. Nothing to read, phones dead that first night. Sucks. Plus they are checking on me every 3 hours or so and changing IV bags. They switch arms because after 2 changes with the major one its either switch veins or collapse.
I’m still on antibiotics the next day.

I have to say that my ER doctor was amazing. She was calm, cool, collected. She marshaled that place like a 3 star general. She got me a room in hours while I was waiting for tests. The nurses were in awe of that. She was great. And because I’m me and I like strong women, I noticed a wedding ring. Damn.

Anyway, I anthropomorphise my immune system and it seems to work. After the antibiotics I were done, I let the army and families out of the shelters and they were mostly OK. My immune system is led by the hand picked chosen of the initial General. All honors to him for fighting in the Great cellulitis war of 2015. And I view my immune system as honored soldiers and friends.

You can say it. That’s odd.