Valentine’s day 18-Sara

Spent and more than a little sore, I wake from my drowse. The car has stopped and through the windows our house sits invitingly.

We are tangled together in a sweaty sleepy pile. Pel has snuggled his face into my hair and is cupping my right breast. His breathe lifts his chest in long slow draughts. Craning my neck and peering behind, I see Tara is entwined with Pel. Holding him as close to her, skin to skin, as much as possible. Outside, Jen waits patiently in the afternoons soft heat.

I shift my weight to grab a moist towlette and feel Pel go rigid. He has long since become something of a manager but in his business it pays to be alert even in sleep. I wish sometimes he had stayed in the safe corporate job he took early in our relationship but, after that night, he just couldn’t keep up the facade.

“It looks like we are home,” Pel murmurs sleepily. He scoots over and softly kisses Tara until her eyes flutter open. For a split second you can see the panic in her eyes, then they close half lidded as she sinks into the kiss.

Pel. He’s been with us multiple times today but still his ardor is not dimmed. Instead, it seems to be stoked to full flame. A small smile grows on my face and I quickly clean up.

I slip back into my dress and am just replacing holster and jacket when I hear them break apart, gasping for air. I roll my eyes a bit but the truth is I’ve been on the receiving end of one of those kisses and they are worth a bit of gasping.

Looking over I see Pel zipping his pants and slipping on his shoes, his socks lost somewhere in the back of the limo. Tara has already wiggled back into her dress. And we’re ready to go. I’m fairly sure that the neighbors know something of what goes on but there is no need to throw it in their faces, as two naked women and a half dressed man would definitely do.

I rap on the window and Jen pulls open the door. Jen is the head of Pel’s security detail and his driver. I have no doubt she saw more than a little of what we were doing. Something that adds a exhibitionist spice to it all. But she is quite happy with her wife Elizabeth and, despite an open offer, has never been less than professional.

She offers a hand, which I’m happy to accept, and she helps me out. These heels make it hard to get out on my own. Meeting her eyes a little wickedly, I know that I’ve flashed her a bit. Her slight upturn smile tells me that. But if this kind of thing upsets her, she never would have lasted as Pel’s driver for long.

Valentine’s day 17

The press of our bodies heats the air. Musk and sex fill the back seat. I bury my face into the crook of her neck, pressing the muscle of tongue against the flutter of her beating veins. We push up together and I pull down, as she crests down. Like a wave that moves her onto me over and over. Parted for less than a second, but starved for each other.

I hear a soft sound to my left and see Sara watching us, drinking us in, memorizing us. Like a movie she’ll play back later. I reach down and rub my thumb against hood, grazing clit in time to our thrusts. I feel Tara tighten like a fist around me each time I brush clit. I know she’s right on the verge. I slow down, watching pulse slow then quickly build our momentum again. I feel myself start to lose control. Any second I’ll be past the point of no return.

That won’t do.

I slow again but quicken my thumb and make sure the slower thrusts run over and over the rough gspot. I watch as Tara clenches over me, pulse against pulse as she goes boneless. I almost lost control.

The pains of having two lovers’ needs to take care of. I move Tara to the seat across from me and she sprawls languid in afterglow. I turn to Sara to see her sliding to her knees and bends face first in Tara’s still tender pussy. I watch as my wife runs her tongue in long slow circles. Little minx.

Punishment for not waking her up I suppose. Brat. Well, surprises all around then. But I will admit that watching my love cause our pet, our girl, to writhe and moan just destroys me. I could watch them for hours. Just because I know they enjoy it and enjoy me watching them. And they are mine. If I were any happier it would be illegal.

But, Sara knows that she should have asked permission first so, let the punishment fit the crime. I pour the lube from the warming tray down into Sara’s soft pink pucker. I hear the intake of surprise but she keeps to her slurping task. I work in the lube into her. Then pour more onto my cock. I’d normally have opened her up a bit with a plug first but she’s no stranger to my cock in anywhere I desire. I’m just normally more deliberate and orderly.

But today, I press in against her, pushing until I feel resistance then holding, then pushing deeper until I hear her softly whimpering and pushing back against me. I know that without the preliminary she has to be in pain even if she is also in pleasure. Gods, I love my little pain slut. Always give them what they need.

I pull out leaving only the head and slam back in, eliciting a scroam. Half scream half moan. And quickly pound into her. No thought to what else she may need. This is a punishment. I ram my body against her slapping into her as hard and fast as I can until, overwhelmed by her undulating the inner walls of her anus, effectively sucking my cock with her ass. Minx. I blow into her. I feel myself empty into her ass and I pull out with a soft pop. I look over at her and she is smiling, radiant in pain and pleasure.

“Tara, dear, please clean out Sara’s ass. She’s made a mess,” I order.

Tara has been watching for a minute while I worked over Sara.

Sara angles her muscular ass to Tara and winks at her. Brat.

I catch the wink in the tinted windows. Shaking my head, I say “Sara, clean your stink from my cock. You have made a mess.”

Knowing how much Sara hates humiliation, not a hard limit but she loathes it, she knows she took it too far. She bends her head to my sloppy cock dripping cum, lube and ass juices. She begins to lick me clean. Our eyes holding each other, she licks right up the center vein. I feel myself growing hard. I’m not made of stone.

Sometimes I wonder who’s really in charge.

Valentine’s day 16

It’s been a day of surprises I think. I was so sure Tara would say Yes. I suppose I was lost in the romantic idea that a collar and a wedding on the same day would be a great story. I catch a glimpse of Tara on my left.
She’s curled up, held in my wife’s arms.

Sara sleeps with the sunlight streaming into the back seat of the car. The heat lulling her to drowsiness. Softly snoring in the way I find so cute. Though, in all honesty, I find most everything about her cute. Gods, I love her. I sometimes have this conflict because of that. She desires pain and in the throws of it she is glorious. And I enjoy her pleasure. But it’s so hard to start hurting her. To think up these scenes and walking the edge that she needs. I suppose I’m more D/s than S/M. But I’ll keep her happy. She really has me wrapped around her finger. Even if I’m the one laying down rules and behaviors. Punishment and play. She would never top from the bottom, but through our love she has mastered me. I can’t conceive of a situation where I’d will it otherwise.

I grab Tara’s leg and pull her towards me.
She starts awake in fear. Her eyes going wide. I place my finger to her lips. She stills.

“We should finish what you started in the Garden,” I whisper.

Her smile spreads lighting up a face which moments before was a mask of fear. She crawls over to me and unzips the soft cotton pants. Her slight rough calloused hand pulls me free. The feeling of her clutching my cock is delicious. I want to see what she will choose. I give no direction or order. Just revel in the warmth of her touch, eyes half lidded.

I feel her locks cascade down the length of me. A waterfall of individual strands moving over sensitive nerves. Her lips press down over the head of my cock. Lips just parted enough to provide pressure. She works her way down me. Savoring the softness of flesh over steel. Her teeth scrape against bulbous head, sending a tidal wave of shivers down my spine. But still, I am quiet.

I guide her mouth off of me. Hands brushing her cheek. My girl. Mine.

“Face me. And wear me.” I state.

She straddles me. Her dress riding up revealing the pale curve of her ass. Crisscrossed pale lines of scarring from previous canings stand out. Her lower lips suck me in as eagerly as her mouth did. Pressing over the hard/soft button of her pleasure.

I lift my eyes to hers, slowly drinking her in. The feeling of fabric and the heat of our joining blurring the lines of beginning and ending. I press my lips to hers. Softly at first. Just pressing in, smelling the wafting musk of heat and bodies. I fall on her like a beast. Pressing into her mouth, our tongues fighting to taste and press against each other. Holding us tightly together. Trying to merge as completely as possible. Needing her. This animal connection.

Valentine’s day 15

This day has not gone as I planned it. I thought that Tara would marry us. I still hope she will. I feel a bit of a depression spiral coming on. This is mitigated by Tara curling against me. The soft warmth of her pressing through her dress. The subtle scent of peach that is all her and nothing of perfume. We are still at the gathering and there is some guy presenting but I have not a thought for that.

I press my face into the soft curls. The silk strands brushing against my cheek. I press my lips, closed and firm, yielding and gentle against my girls neck. Like a tide, fierce possession rolls in, filling me. Tightening deep inside of me.

I feel Tara’s body shudder against mine. Her heart thumping so hard her entire body rocks. I run hands down her side tracing whorls on skin. I pull her close to me. Wishing only that we were alone. That we could slowly explore each other. Until nature wars with desire and more complex needs break away.

Tara loves me. She’s just overwhelmed. But I know now how to proceed. I just needed her. To know that we belong together. I reach for Sara and her hand finds mine. She scootches close. Like a circuit completing a connection we are whole.

I feel Sara’s nails run down my arm. Starting at the top of my spine, a shudder runs through me. Tara lays against me. Our bodies melding together. Not hearing the zip, I’m so lost, I feel her hand pull my too controlled cock, still flaccid out. She stuffs me into her warmth. I grow inside, filling. She just knew. Or just needed this deeper connection. We are finally found. Accepted. Needed.

I wish this moment to end. That we might begin something more… complex. I wish this moment forever. I am whole in the embrace of my love. And I’m home in a way I’ve never looked for but always felt slightly uncomfortable due to its lack.

Valentine’s day 14 – Sara’s voice

I would have told Pel it was too soon had he bothered to ask me. I don’t disapprove and we had discussed it but I didn’t think he would be this rash. But of course he would.

I don’t know why I thought this time it’d be different. He takes awhile to work himself up to something but once he does, he commits to it fully. And there was never a stupidly romantic gesture that he could ever pass up.

Collared and married on the same day makes for a great story but Tara had to be overwhelmed. After we assured her that we both wanted this, she settled down. However, her nature is skittish as a colt.

Pel doesn’t realize that she is a true submissive. I’m sub behind the bedroom door. I am a proud pain slut but our 24/7 is all scene oriented. Tara needs to please her master and surprises throw her off. She’s thinking, what did she miss, what mistake did I make.

Pel knows about her abuse. He knows how to help her through that. How to treat her but he’s never had a true 24/7 Submissive. He’s lucky I’m here to help him. Cause he’d be at a loss. She’s sitting on his lap listening to him tell her a story. I imagine it’s something lascivious. And I hear the soft tinkle of her giggle.

I look over and see Pel looking at me. Knowingly, like he’s reading a book of my thoughts. He smiles and say “It’ll be OK, my brightest day.”

How does he fucking do that!
I reply, “Yes, my darkest night.” As protocol demands. Damn the man, he’s infuriating.
And he’s mine, mine, mine, I think as the grin breaks across my face.

The speaker is someone new. Tall and swarthy, kinda smarmy. Dark and cute but slimy. I don’t think he belongs here. We are protocol oriented and safety conscious.

Practically speaking, I think Pel uses this group to Vet potential masters before releasing them out into the wild. Tara’s former master is not abnormal. This lifestyle draws predators like flies to watermelon. I don’t think Pel appreciates their “interference” as he calls it.

He’s so feudal minded. He considers his territory to be inviolate and anyone that threatens that he removes. If I didn’t know that he took protecting us so seriously, that he did it from a place of love and trust, I’d think him a specialized serial killer. Looking for prey. But the community IS better for it. In a real way, our community needs policing as much as any society.

Valentine’s day 13-Tara’s voice

Holding my hand to my mouth, I look down at my Master, wide eyed. My sight goes all blurry as tears begin to full and I blink.

“Sir,” I gasp, “I…I d…”
I don’t think I can. How am I deserving of this. He bends his desires to my benefit instead of bending me to his. I don’t understand how he would to do that for the rest of our lives. I can see the pain and disappointment in his eyes as the moment drags on.

“Sir, Are you…are you sure?” I ask, knowing that I am allowed this one clarification by his rules.

He smiles, sadly.

Sometimes his sadness looks like it could drown the world. I’d do anything to keep that expression off his face.

“Yes, my love. I’m sure,” he replies, softly almost too low to hear.

“Yes,” I declare voice still with a conviction I don’t feel. I’m not sure. I don’t know. But I know I don’t want to lose him.

My master stands, placing the engagement ring on my finger. It fits perfectly.
I follow his arm up to his eyes and still see that quiet sadness. He gestures to Peter.

“I think we’ll have a somewhat longer engagement than anticipated,” he says through a lopsided grin.

Even now he is taking care of me. Making positive that I am all the way in. That I am taken care of. He’s not selfless. But I know, he’d sacrifice nearly anything for those he loves.

It breaks my heart to not be able to give him what he needs right now. I just can’t say that I’m worth what he’s offering. Though he’d disagree. I wish I could be as sure of it.

He slips his arm in mine and walks us back our seats. Sara coos over the ring and presses her sweet lips to mine. The soft pleasure of peach wine tingling against my tongue. Tasting…tasting my wife to be.

It bursts in my mind what he said. Marry us. Marry both Sara and Pel. Pel is so generous, I could anticipate he would offer something so romantic at the collaring ceremony. But Sara? She’s so down to earth.

I open my eyes from the kiss and see Sara looking at me. Amusement twinkling in her smile.

Sara says, “Of course you are worth us. You are perfect.” I feel Sara’s hand slip under my dress and Pel’s lips kiss along my spine.

“Perfect,” mutters Pel.

I moan and try to press back into Pel’s caress while straining to arch into Sara’s hand.

Storm unfolds(background for split sky) 

The defining characteristic of any government is how its people function under it. Some would say it’s the ability to defend its borders, but the stories that ring true are the ones told by its citizens. It would be easy to say that Illthorn’s presidency and government were blessed but that is the outside perspective.

From the inside, it was fraught with intrigue and peril. It was a government just getting its feet after fighting a civil war. A war fought over something no one, at least no one sane, thought was real just 5 years earlier. Magic.

Or that’s what the biographies all say. But really it was over something much more fundamental. The right to exist.

The former United States reacted, how shall we say, poorly, to the war. Its right leaning so called moral majority saw the mages and all flavors of practioners as a direct threat to the country. And those that didn’t see them this way approached these people as a resource to be exploited.

The left was no better mind you. They wanted to regulate magics use. Defining where and under what circumstances that magic could be used. But it was the hateful rhetoric of the far right which would inflame the country.

It started with licensing. Similar to a driver’s license there was a magic license. You had to display certain control and abilities to be licensed. Nonlicense bearers could expect fines and even misdemeanor charges for practicing magic.

This presented a number of issues. Not the least being that magic is not a car or gun. It is anything but standard and only the broadest of categories need apply. Even worse, the few practioners who agreed to set up the programs were the most straightforward types and really had no working knowledge of magical theory.

This meant that many practioners could not get a license even if they wanted to. The tests could not measure their abilities. So how could they license them.

This lead to a rise in magic related crime. A majority of which was, you guessed it, practicing magic without a license.

As the crime stats reported this rise in magic related crimes, political speeches and platforms began to pivot to ‘handle this epidemic’. Instead of concentrating on the actual crime, the methodology was called into question. If magic was the problem, then the solution must be to ban or heavily regulate magic.

But magic is both a practice which can be regulated and taught and a integral part of the individual. How does one change what a person is? Psychologists thought they had a solution. They found that a child could be trained to suppress their magical abilities if subjected to enough negative stressors.

Looking at it from the long lens of hindsight we can clearly see the harmful and disastrous consequences of this. But what must be stressed is that people had been whipped into a frenzy by those who sought to profit off of fear.

The group founded by Illthorn, the hero of the war, tried to combat this with education, kindness, and political will. They fought Bill after Bill in both federal and state legislative bodies. Most never passed and a few were struck down in court. But they could not be everywhere. And slowly they began to lose ground.

People began to be incarcerated for magic itself. For some this was the correct thing for the wrong reason.

A man in Connecticut killed children and reanimated them as puppets for use in sex trafficking. A woman in Texas acted as a arsonist for hire and killed people who attempted to escape the blaze. These examples were held up as the reason magic was so dangerous. Not these people in particular but that magic itself was to blame. It became dangerous to be seen to practice magic.

People turned on the heroes of the war. The goodwill earned eroded away and only the differences remained. The liberal press wanted to treat magic as a disease and the conservative movements saw magic as inherently evil. If you had a magical nature or talent you hid it lest you be subjected to psych evaluation and correction or to outright violence and bigotry.

Then the hidden practitioner, driven underground by the society at large, became a bogeyman. They walk among us, report on your neighbors. Fear and thinly veiled hatred for the differences from the median norm became worse and worse

Factions in the Illthorn camp, began to organize for revolution. Centered around veterans of the war, these cadres began to train and weaponize seemingly harmless talents.

Illthorn himself was fighting a last ditch battle to turn back the Magical Crimes and Abuses Act. A bit of legislation that made magic itself illegal.

At the same time, a so called cure for magic was being lauded in secular scientific journals. While the majority of science was still up in the air about magic, these journals were making hay while the sun shined and were legitimizing the cure for magic.

Valentine’s day 12

The girls, they’re women but they are my girls. The girls walk ahead of me smiling and holding hands in the early February sunshine. Ahead of us is the small garden that our friends planted in late fall. The early spring blooms delicate and just waking to a early spring. The harsh cycle of snow and thaw all but unknown in this shady almost desert. The soft rays of sun caress us.

We walk through an archway of delicate looking peach blooms, more greenery than flowers but small buds are showing their first blush of growth.

The small garden has 3 tables with guests already seated. We are all lifestyle partners, but aside from a few collars, my wife included, it is more Sunday sundress than fetish.

The men are all in various spring suits, mostly white or tan. I stand out like a raven amongst doves. Dressed all in black with a black fedora. Death at the ball.

Peter, a friend and officiant of these proceedings approaches. Sara and Tara kiss me on a cheek each, bookends of my love, and stroll off to mingle and find our seats.

Peter says, his voice pitched low, “It’s all arranged. Does she know what we’re doing here?”

“She knows half of it, she’s already ours this just makes it more so. If the laws were different, I would take another course but needs must,” I reply.

“Well, I hope you know what you are doing. This could go awry very easily,” Peter said doubtfully.

“Pete, I know my girl. She’ll be happy and Sara knows. Sara came up with the contract and got one of her managing partners to make it legal. We all do what we can,” I say decisively.

“Well, if you are sure, let’s get you married. Again,” smiled Peter.

I walk to our seats, Sara on my left and Tara on my right. Normally they are seated opposite and I can see Tara is curious but not scared of the change. This was Sara’s idea. To show Tara her importance, that Today is her day. Leaning back in the comfortable chair, Sara hand held in my lap and Tara clutching my other in hers.

Truthfully I’m a bit nervous. I am almost certain that Tara will say yes but I’m not positive. There is always a bit of trepidation with these things and you can rarely tell how it will turn out. All you can do is hope.

Peter stands at ease at the front of our little gathering. He starts.

“Welcome everyone to our Valentine’s day event. We’ll be serving a complete high tea for which we thank Victoria and Kevin for their service to us today. It is through their hard work and dedication that our garden is as beautiful and immaculate as it is. A round of applause for Victoria and Kevin.”

We all clap and smile at Peter’s service submissives. They are in little waitstaff outfits and they are smiling with their heads bowed at the praise of their master and the approval of the gathering. Without these two, these events would need to be catered and less private. Victoria and Kevin are married to each other but are bound in Service to Peter. It works for them and watching how their dynamic worked these past few years is what gave me the courage to seek a third. Sara and I have always been polyamourous, but short term liasons have been…unfulfilling, if not disastrous. With Tara we just clicked.

Peter continues. “Today is a special day for three of our little group. Pel and Sara have been with us for a few years and we’ve all enjoyed their company. Some of us more than others,” Peter smiles.

“They’ve cut a bit of a swath through our ranks, engaging one or another in various fun and hijinks. But today they bring into their family a new love. Tara. Tara comes from outside the group, for which our long term partnerships are grateful.”

The group chuckles lightly.

“I kid, but seriously, the pull of a Dominant switch and a aggressive pain slut is almost too much for some of us to resist. But thankfully, that won’t be much of a problem, because adding Tara to their dynamic is going to leave them completely exhausted. Believe me, I know of which I speak.”

The group grins and laughs.

“Tara, please come up here,” Peter asks.

“Go ahead my dear.” I say, steel in my voice. An order, but she smiles and goes up to the front. Walking like a little girl. Carefree.

Peter looks at Tara and asks, “Tara, are you here of your own volition?”

Tara replies calmly, “I am.”

“Are you being coerced in any way?” Peter continues.

“No, I am not.”

“And last, but not least, Are you being abused emotionally, verbally, or physically?”

There are bruises forming on her arms from this mornings activities. But this is a question of intent. And of her feelings, regardless of the intent of the master. Just because the Dominant does not think something is abuse doesn’t mean it’s not.
The submissive decides for themselves what is too much. We use this ceremony to make sure that the submissive is not so cowed that they cannot choose for themselves. And it allows for Peter, the clinical psychologist, to try and get a read and make sure no one has been broken.

Tara replies, “I’m with Pel and Sara of my own free will and nothing we do is abuse.”

There is a ritual to this and she added the second part. I beam at her, smiling like a wild thing. Improvisation in the face of authority. I am so proud of the progress she is making.

Peter smiles and says, “Well, ok then. Pel come on up here.”

I get up and walk to the front. It’s no more than six steps but it feels like a mile. I have Tara’s collar in my left pants pocket and ring in the right. It’s like walking through lead until I see Tara looking at me. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears but her whole body is relaxed and almost smiling.

I let loose a breathe I didn’t realize I was holding, tension eases out with the last two steps.

Peter moves to the side, leaving Tara and I front and center.

“Tara,” I say, “you have been more of a blessing than either I or Sara could have imagined. You are not only our lover. You have also set our whole household in order. All the little things that seemed to have fallen by the wayside, you found and fixed. And we love you for that. But more than what you do, we value and love you for who you are. Every day is a new journey and a new challenge but every day you seem to make us laugh or comfort us on our bad days. We love you and want to make you ours. I present this collar. The collar of our possession of you.”

I place the white soft leather collar around her neck, snug but not tight. A small gold heart dangles from the little ring on the front.

“This collar marks you as our owned pet. None may touch you without your consent but now, none may touch you without our acquiesce either. Additionally, you are under our protection and a slight against you is a slight against us.”

Tara leans onto me and holds me close, burying her head against my neck.

Then she composes herself and gets ready to head back to her seat.

Normally, that’s the end of the proceedings. And Tara has seen one of these and been coached by Sara.

I let her take a step, then say “Wait, please.”

Tara turns back to me.

“I have one more thing to say. Tara, this collar makes you officially ours. But for us we want to take it a step further. Both Sara and I.” I sink to one knee.
I present her shocked visage with the antique platinum and 4ct. Flawless blue sapphire.

“Both Sara and I want to ask, will you marry us?”

Valentine’s day post 

I apologize, belatedly, about not posting the 12 installment of the Valentine’s day story. Real life put me in a headspace where writing that particular story was not possible. At least not possible and to do it correctly. But tomorrow at 7AM the 12th installment of Valentine’s day will post. If it’s any consolation, it’s three times longer than a normal installment. I hope you enjoy it and if you haven’t been reading it and want to, today is a perfect day to catch up.

A story of four silences

It wraps around me, the soft silence of a morning just waking, of a dawn just breaking, a hopeful silence, a silence of beginnings

But I, foolish creature that I am, break silence and say good morning to people who might be but aren’t quite mine. Not to you, my goddess, you have wandered away and I know not if you will wander back. No, to others who began so promising and are now this silence.

A silence of waiting, waiting for a reply that never comes, for the ease of conversation that began us. The echoing silence of a moment that cannot be recaptured and the tortuous efforts to spark anew.

The third silence is a thing of noise and speech, of nothing, for nothing. The meaningless babble of days passing without meaning, pointless how are you’s and empty Fine’s. A silence that fills the empty spaces and still rings hollow.

And a fourth silence, a silence just for me. A silence of the heart. A silence built of pain, off loss, of need, of dreams. A silence of tears and soundless screams. A deep abiding silence. Whose only cessation would be found on your doorstep.

A knock on your door to break the silence of dawn, holding you close to break the silence of waiting, a whispered “I love you,” to break the meaningless silence, never letting you go again to break the bleak silence of the heart.