Nightmares are also dreams: A Pel and Sara story: Part 3

The day ticks away. Scanning documents, looking for connections, waiting for the phone to ring. I was never happy with the waiting. It’s always easier when you aren’t personally invested in the outcome. I know that if I allow it, this will eat away at me. Poison me. I can’t allow myself to descend into the rush of taking. Making no mistake, monstrous as it is, the feeling of self righteous fury made manifest and acted upon, safeguarding my people and my girls, is addictive.

That rush as you pound after your prey, making the target, and standing over this person. The sound of the gun, the silence as their body bleeds out. The light fading. The flight to safety. All floated on a endorphin and adrenalin high.

It’s not until after that you start crashing. Sometimes you are in first stage adrenal failure. Your body gives so much for those moments. And the memories…the chase comes in fragments, the planning sticks with you. But it’s those last minutes that haunt. You run through the catalog of the targets misdeeds, hoping to talk yourself into calm. Hoping that what you did was justified. Sometimes it is. Sometimes, you just can’t convince yourself. And those are the sleepless nights. Holding your girls. Trying to keep yourself from flying apart.

This time there is none of that ambiguity. But their faces will still haunt me. Still look back, glassy eyed, pleading for one more second of life. And I will smile, grim and frightening. Dark fire dancing.

Maybe that makes me a monster.
So be it.

Nightmares are also dreams: A Pel and Sara story, Interlude 1

The harsh heat pounds down. The light reflects against the sun baked earth and shimmering waves obscure the lines between unreal and reality. The shush of metal sliding into earth and the patter of dirt wars with pants and grunts. The medium build man wearing an undershirt stained with sweat and splotches that looks like crusted blood pauses in his exertion. He looks out across the desert and here and there can be seen the other holes dug in the earth. The man takes a long drink of water and soon the harsh sounds of metal and dirt again fills the morning air.

The desert wind almost snatches the muttered words of the man, “Fucking Michael, I can’t believe he just up and left without a word.”

No one is there to hear but the coyotes and the crows feasting on treasures pulled from the loose earth.

Nightmares are also dreams: A Pel and Sara story: Part 2: Sara

The office is warmly lit by recessed lights along the wainscoting. A mosaic of wood tiling depicting a woodland scene, the knots placed around to seem like eyes of a predator looking down, adorns the ceiling. It’s the one concession I made to Pel’s ascetic. The rest is ultra modern chic. Curved lines and bright colors. Chrome fixtures and elaborate chairs. All made to be a bit jarring to the senses. For when a client wants to complain about how their portfolio is doing and I really don’t want to talk for long. This room will make you uneasy. Not uncomfortable, the chairs and lighting is comfortable but everything else just feels subtly off. Pel calls it the paranoia room. Everyone who leaves it has a almost panicked relief when they exit. He says his security team likes to place bets on who looks the most scared. There’s not much sympathy for multimillionaire’s and their stock options.

I’m working at my 6 monitor Bloomberg Station, tracking the trend line on palladium. I hear the doggy door swing open and close. Our little fox turns about her bed three times and lays down, curled up with her little Mr. Fox we got her that she can carry in her mouth.

Our Tara is almost always a Fox at home now. She prefers it and we are indulgent. Plus Pel is wracked with guilt over her break with reality. I and her therapist have both told him that it was inevitable and that it’s lucky we had her when it happened. But all he hears is his failure as her friend, lover and Sir. Pel is amazingly serious about all of this. You should hear him talk about correct and incorrect actions and how honor must be integral to the BDSM experience. For a non-Pro, he does go on.

I have been through some terrible things. Things no one should experience, even nearly dying from one incident. Even so, what happened to Tara gives me the shivers. That monster tortured and killed friends of hers in front of her. He broke her down and built her back to what he wanted. And then set her loose, expecting her to come crawling back in some kind of sick dominance game. I know Pel killed him. But whatever he did, it wasn’t enough. And now there’s some kind of ring of these people who have been doing this for years. I can’t even. A frission of fear runs up my spine. I could have fell prey to one of them. Easily, could have went out with one. We think we’re safe and we just aren’t. Maybe Pel takes our security a bit far, with tail cars and a security station in the house but seeing this…is anything really enough?

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.