Nightmares are also dreams-Part 41

Bruised, bloodied, and satiated, we settled into our soft but firm bed. For the first time, I’d allowed myself to be goaded by my wife into losing control. To experience the almost fugue state of the total abandonment of control and just did whatever I desired without construct, form, or limits.

I can remember it all but it’s at a remove. Except for brief instances where I felt myself tipping into monstrosity. Knife poised to cut off her nipple as I rode her. The fear in her eyes flooding me with desire and making me painfully hard. I know I stopped after pressing the dull side of the blade in, as if to beginning sawing. I can see the relief flood her body and I remember slapping her tit so hard it left a red hand shaped print against her bone white skin.

I remember the feel of holding onto the dangling ceiling spreader bar while Seth impaled me on his throbbing cock. Filling me up with the war of pain and pleasure. Legs hugging him to push deeper into me. Kissing his mouth like I was searching for a way to feel more. Biting his lip and tasting blood and that flash of regret that I had sent the others away. Wanting more inside me. Seeing Sara approach wearing a small strapon. Her reading that burning desire to lose myself. The thrusting pulse of a slick and thrumming dildo, joining Seth. The feeling of hot wet splashing inside me. The vibration too much for him to endure. The brief moment of respite before some monstrous cock, easily triple what I’d just taken started thrusting in. Turning, I see one of the men I’d dismissed, Jake, and the triumphant smirk of Sara. Jake opened me up. His cock slamming into me while he held me up from behind.
My last coherent memory is Seth sucking my cock slowly into his mouth. Like my dick was water and he was savoring every touch of it.

I remember whipping Sara with her favorite single tail. Each lash showing an angry red line across her ghostly skin. Pulling her off the Saint Andrews cross and giving her to Seth and Jake. I watched her body racked in pain be whipsawed into pleasure at the hands of those men. Her eyes staring into me, mouth open. Deep into subspace. They took her. She laying sideways on the padded bar. Front and back, thrusting her between them. I recall pushing my cock into her open mouth. The feel of her mouth sealing around me and the slow sucking as she pulled one last hard cum from my aching over used cock. Tensing each time she spasmed in orgasm. One hand holding her head in place and the other cupping her bruised breast. Pushing and kneading on the bruises.

I know we took a shower but can’t remember it. I pull Sara’s battered body closer to me. These recollections making me hard. But I’m too tired to do anything. Nevertheless, I push into the pleasant familiar warm of her pussy. Just leaving myself inside of her. With Tara pressing herself against me. Tits pushing into my back. Awkwardly, I reach back and cup her mons in my hand. She murmurs in a half asleep haze, “Thank you, Master.”

Some tension in me breaks at her words, and I drop deep into sleep. The most content person on the face of the Earth.

Nightmares are also dreams Part 40-Interlude

The room looks like any other office meeting room. Faux wood table, large monitor on the wall for presentation or telepresence, an untouched carafe of water in the center.

Perfectly normal except for the men who sit around the table. They discuss the business human trafficking without remorse or emotion. Its just units acquired. Where they are trained, quality of product, profits from sales and new markets.

It is the economics of evil. Discussed as calmly as and quarterly earnings meeting is.

A chiseled jaw classically good looking man looks up and interrupts the well-worn flow of figures and growth.

“If I may interject?” He asks.

A salt and pepper faded copy of the man looks up and states, “The chair acknowledges the Head of Procurement.”

The young looking man pulls out a sheet of paper from the stack next to him. A prop really as he’s memorized what he needs to say.

“The central hub of procurement for the southwest sector has gone dark. We heard an initial report that there was trouble but the window for the follow on report is late. We sent a team to investigate and have heard from a few of the procurers through that channel that there was a possible takeover initiated. They think that we will have to negotiate with a new consortium shortly.”

The board members look nonplussed until the Head of Finance grins and says, “Maybe this is a opportunity to argue more favorable terms. This outfit sounds professional, which is a good thing. The southwest team was always so vulgar.”

The rest of the board smiles and shakes their heads. Business as usual then.

There is a sharp knock on the conference room door and a scared dough faced young man enters, “Sirs, there is a package here. It is in a cold box and marked perishable.”

The businessmen get up and file out, ready to take a look at this gift. Maybe it’s lobster. Or caviar, the Russian consortium has been trying to make nice….

The box is a 5 ft cubed metal box with a handprint reader on the side.

The young man nervously says to the elder gentleman, “Sir, it says that your handprint will open it.”

The man looks around, clearly suspecting one of them of currying favor. Smiling he places his hand on the panel. There is a brief moment then lid lifts with a soft hiss of escaping air and chill.

The lid is mounted on an arm and it slides easily to the side leaving the interior of frost and 1 ft^3 wooden boxes which fills the it. 80 boxes in total with the remainder of the space taken up by frost and electronics. On top sits a bulging stuffed manilla envelope. The procurement head grabs the envelope and opens it. One of the other men takes the included pry bar and swearing about the cold, opens one of the boxes.

The young man says “Listen to this. It says that this is a order of evacuation. That we are to cease and desist all activity within the southwest area and that we have 48 hours to wrap up all non trafficking related business before other sanctions will be met out.” The young man is smiling at the audacity and looks up, wondering what has the board so silent.

The men are clustered around the crate and are peering inside.

The procurement head looks over and sees what’s inside….it’s heads. The chopped off stumps of the consortium…some of them show signs of torture.

The elder statesmen of the group looks up. The shock bleeds to cold rage. He says, “Gentlemen, it would seem we are at war.”

Nightmares are also dreams Part 39-Sara

“I just thought of a third option,” Pel says, his eyes
swimming in darkness.

I see in Pel a deep hurt. Like a stab wound so sharp you don’t realize its killing you until its too late.

I’m his. His slave. His. And yet, always he stops. Always, just short of his full desires. And I know that I will always want to go deeper than he is comfortable with. He’ll pass it off as protection. As if this scenario isn’t something we have worked out and so is off the table. I suspect he’s been watching the footage they took off the Circle. And that there is a dark part of him that desires what they did. And really, everything they do is within scope. It’s the human trafficking, nonconsent, and the permanent breaking of the people that is at issue. Not the activities, not really. But he sees them as monsters. And since he desires what they do, he seems himself as monstrous. And he is anything but that.

My only limit I have for him is that he is comfortable with what we do. So, I’ll let this slide for tonight. But…I would have taken those three men. Would have put on a show and begged and pleaded. Would have thrown myself completely into it. It’s something I fantasize about. Something I know Pel thinks about. Something we both wanted. But here we are. Back in safety with only one other partner and one which is mostly for Pel. It’s incredibly frustrating and completely Pel. For every four steps deeper we go, there is always this moment where he walks us three steps back. He’s so deep in his own head that he fakes himself out. That deep thinking also leads to some epic sessions and surprises. Like the raven scar he created for our anniversary. Like vetting Tara and surprising me with her inclusion at work.

After this, we’ll need to have a talk. Not about what he can do, but about how disappointed I was that he chose just one. Plant the idea that it will be acceptable for more. And reinforce the idea that he can’t break me. That I’m already his. Body, mind, and soul. And we’ll dance forward again, and we’ll get closer to the edge that I know he wants.

I hip sway over to Pel and reach out. At the last minute, I grab our new friend and push Pel away. I growl, “Me first.” Then shove my hand down the mans pants and grab his cock.

I know I need to push Pel to get what I need tonight. All so that when I am hurting with the delicious ache of his righteous wrath, and he is beginning to feel guilty, I can act contritely. And he will know that he did right. And maybe that he could have pushed much further.

Nightmares are also dreams Part 38

“Sir, Please pick for me.” She says.

And I, who was so carried away by the fantasy of watching these men, pause. These men not of her choosing. She looks at me calm veneer covering fright and I know that this fantasy is too far.

That if we were to make it happen something in us might break and while we would weather the storm, we would always be altered.

I’ve been watching the desecration of the videos that we have gathered from the Circle. Identifying peripheral members if our community, but at the same time…
Those images were seeping into me. And I allowed them to progress this far. It awakened in me a fantasy to watch my wife be taken by these men. Not as a cuckold but at my direction, at my behest.

And I see her now, in her submission, filled with fear and excitement. And I know she would dive into this scene but….it is my equal responsibility to call red when things have gone too far. And that is what I’ve done. Perhaps if we had selected and courted these men this would be different. Perhaps if we were at a sex club and not our home that would change the temper. But here and now, I can’t. At the core, I must safeguard those that are mine. Even if the person I must make them safe from is myself.

I point to two if the well muscled men and dismiss them with a wave of my hand. The third is the one that I wanted for myself. The one who smiles at me shyly from behind brown bangs and soft lips.

I stride across the living room, sliding my hand across his hip. Pulling him too me, the hard length of him pressing into my thigh. I press my lips to his. Seeking entrance with my tongue into him. The first penetration of his body. The first yielding of him to my will.

I break off our kiss by turn my head, his breathe heavy and warm against my cheek. I look at my Sara, her eyes alight with lust, and say, “I just thought of a third option.”

Pawns of a waking dream

There was a time when I thought I could teach the world what it could be
Thought that shaping words and connecting thoughtss
Invoking emotions and making manifest not just desire but forming reality to will
Would somehow resonate and works its way beyond my borders
Would transform those it touched and somehow reshape a world dying

As days and years passed
I gave up on those thoughts that bloomed as a redolent flower which strutted and strived
Glitzy and hollow
Grip slowly relinquished as new life broke the mold of what was making me into what would be
And in the chrysalis of new beginning
A blow to the heart set me spinning away from one path as time and history rewrote itself
And I
At junction
At crux
Was cast out
Flotsam on the river of causality
Chrysalis hardens to shell
And denied outward growth
The only way out became down
Deep through pain and loathing
Into depression which had always nibbled at the edges
And now gloried in being centerpiece for a captive audience
Deeper
Core out each piece
And discern crystal or flaw
Raw and wriggling
Pink remora leaving behind fresh wounds but dying alone on the cold pavement
Each passing year a broken memory until tattered cataclysm in shredded throat torn again and again
feeling as blood and pressured release
Scream frequency finding harmonic resonance
In shell long past useful
And burst outward infecting
Killing what it touched
And still a bit remained
A blade sheathed beneath bone
A weapon of times long gone
Master no more and wielded wild-eyed
Agony as all walls fall and what was out caresses newly formed akin
Until pleasure and pain are just two ways of speaking and both hold no discernable sway over the other
Instead, both in their firmament
Gods bestride a world of flesh
And I mistress and master
Betrayed broken and each broken rib pierced breath
Imperceptibly easier

Until anew
A person looks out
Wondering at a world they didn’t live through
A time traveler taking the longest route through blindness to arrive in a fight that cannot be one
With coping skills that say to take a simple action
One that heart and eyes know will be unforgivable but effective
Begging anyone willing to give permission for the monster inside
Blade buried in bone
To be let free
Afraid to be allowed to be
And watching as it all burns
Silence let’s go its grip
A wave forms seeking cross and disruption
Seeking amplitude match
And growth
Seeking
Voice to voice
Until all of us
Throats raw and bleeding
In notes crystalline from cores of reflected shatters
Speak
Sleepers
Wake!

Nightmares are also dreams Part 37

I pull myself away feeling the rushing of the warm air to fill the gap between us. Still holding Tara’s hand, I guide her to the still steaming shower. A brief thought of the water bill and the chain to water conservation flashes through my mind. Considering the water table cistern proposal the Spire has considered building. All thought of such flees as the heavy spray pounds and splashes against Tara’s upturned breast.

She exults in the tumult and I slide closed the shower door. Her humming hushed by the glass.

I stand on the outside, looking through the glass as if watching a movie, then pivot on my heel and look over the beautiful pale skin of my Sara. The streaked red blonde hair giving testament to the ministrations of our love who frolics alone in the shower.

I hold out my hand and Sara rises to her feet. The soft creak of joints held in pose too long and the flush of embarrassment of this proof of age.

I pull her to me. Her nude body small against me. Her presence towers in the my mind but here, against me, I look down and see the top of her head.
I lean down and kiss her forehead.

“Come, my love, I have a treat for you.”

We walk into the bedroom. Her hand clasped in mine. I stop us by her dressing mirror and pull her collar off the hook and hold it out to her.

Sara takes it from me and, holding my eyes, cinches it around her neck. That soft thrill as she affirms my ownership of her thrums through me. Taking a ragged breath, heavy with desire, I reach over to her lead. I attach it and ball the leather around my fist. Then tug and half drag my slave-wife to the living room. The Saint Andrews cross is set up but what draws the eye is the row of leather clad heavily muscled young men.

Addressing Sara, “I give you the choice of instrument. Either these young men or the cross.”

She looks at me. The war of desire for the certainty of the cross vs the unknown of the men fights in her. I can read her thoughts of the discussion we had concerning multiple partners and the fear as she again realizes that I remember every discussion we have. And that any of it, given the framework of our agreement, would constitute an informed discussion.

With a shiver she replies, “Sir, please pick for me.”

Nightmares are also dreams Part 36

Her eyes tunnel into mine. A look of concentration and adoration pouring out coupled with a growing desperation. The soft flesh over iron meeting the eager pressure of softly parted lip. Shaft pushing into the warm and wet of an increasingly slobbery mouth. Her tongue pressed and exploring the pulsing quiver. The panic creeping in as each second passes with less air than she needs.

I pull her off my cock and allow the ragged gasps. Drool pooling on breasts and body paint runneled, ruined. Once I’m sure she can breathe, I gather a fistful of silken hair and force my way back into her mouth. Pushing myself and her until I feel the resistance at the back of her throat. She’s sucking hard and tongue is beating frantic like a hummingbird against me.

Something about using her mouth like a cock sleeve and her eagerness and obvious need for this rough treatment, makes me jump and quiver. Until, at last, holding her, cum shoots out, coating her tongue and mouth in the fruits of our desires. I pull her off and she collapses. I watch as she swallow and gasps for air.

“Sara,” I say, “clean me up.”

Sara sinks down beside our messy gasping fox and begins slowly lapping at my cock and balls. Sucking and licking every inch until all of the slobber and cum are gone.
Leaving me glistening and erect.

Sara waits patiently and Tara composes herself. Arraigning her posture to match Sara’s contemplative waiting.

Eyes forward, kneeling, buttocks resting and folded against thighs.

I reach out for Tara’s hand. She hesitates for the barest second and reaches up. Roughly grasping her hand I pull her to her feet and bend her back over the sink. Pressing my erectness into the soft flesh of her pelvis. I grasp her throat in my hand, pressing lightly against arteries, lightly cutting off oxygen.

I lean down and whisper against her ear, in a fierce growl, half mad from need and pride, “Mine.”
Ready for our shower.

Nightmares are also dreams Part 35(possible trigger warning)-Tara

I’ve been waiting in the bathroom for a long time. The shower pounds against the tiles in staccato bursts. The air is heavy with steam and the floor length mirror is completely obscured. This room has become its own pocket world. The world outside falls away and I am alone. I haven’t felt like this in a long time. Alone, quiet, and safe.

My mind plays back the parade of boyfriends who hurt me. Who raped me in the guise of being a good slave. Who hurt me over and over again until they left. And I went looking for a new master.

I can feel myself shaking and shivering. Sometimes, when I remember, I feel as lost and alone as when I was with them. And sometimes I feel like that’s what I want. That pain and the total loss of control. To know that the man standing over you could rip into your flesh and you would beg and scream and he would smile.

Sometimes I wish Pel would destroy me. Would leave me a bloody sobbing mess. He refuses. Says I’m not ready. Says he won’t be lumped in with my abusers. It’s only in the quiet that I can admit that I’m waiting for him to turn. To prove that this is all just one long setup, that he only builds me up to later break me.

When Sara is around or Pel is in the room, I can never see that happening. But I’ve admitted it to our therapist, in a one on one session. She says it’s normal. Normal to expect the behavior of people who have hurt us in the past, to be the same behavior that we’ll always get. But that doing so, when all evidence to the contrary is presented, is self destructive. And it’s gotten better.

I think that as awful as the morning was. As monstrous as killing and torturing one of the Circles breakers was…it was the right thing. It has separated the past from the present. Put a period to the life I lived before and showed me who I am. Strong. Capable.

I turn to the sudden cold rush of air and see Pel standing there. Nude but never naked. Sara is peaking out from behind him, mouth open, showing the reason he was delayed. The white foam of saliva and seed disappears as she swallows it all.

My eyes wander to Pels cock. The shaft erect and pulsing.

Sara’s dark voice purrs out, “I’ve saved some for you my love.”

I look between Sara and Pel. Sara, mischievous and indulgent. Pel, calm and waiting, but a dark eagerness sitting just inside his eys.

I sink to my knees, the soft bath mat cushioning. I slide my mouth down the hard length of him, tongue pushing against his pulse. My eyes cast upward, asking for permission. Pel nods.

I pull my mouth away. Hesitant. I ask, “Sir, will you please fuck my mouth.”

Pel looks a bit surprised. It’s the first time I’ve asked for brutal treatment. He pauses long enough that I’m sure I’ll be denied.

Then, his cock is pushing its way back into my mouth. Slamming against the back of my throat and I hear the tiger growl of “Yes. Mine.”

Nightmares are also dreams Part 34

The photographer walked in rumpled and a bit worse for wear.

“He must have given the guards a hard time,” I murmured to Sara.

“Just as long as he’s professional, this should be fine,” replied Sara.

I watch his eyes wander the decor. Lingering over the more functional and esoteric pieces of furniture. Eyes finally centering on Sara, Tara, and I.

His breath hitches a bit when he realizes Tara is wearing only body painy but he then ignores us and sets up his gear.

This whole process is like getting a tattoo. Cool in concept, awesome when it’s finished but mostly dull with some moments of excruciating pain thrown in just to keep it interesting.

He moves us around like marionettes. Positioning us to catch the light of the fading sun. Moving Tara so that she’s between us or at our feet. Calm and efficient.

And finally he packs up and promises to have the pictures ready soon for us to look at and pick through.

Sara looks exhausted and Tara seems like she’s ready to get out of the body paint.

“Sara, if you would be so kind as to call the guard station and tell them to start phase 3, we can go and rest for a bit.”

“Tara, get your cute butt to the shower. I’ll be in shortly to wash you.”

Tara minces her way past, each step a study in sleepy seduction. She looks back over her shoulder and smiles that knowing smile. The soft flash, there and gone as she disappears around the corner.

Sara looks at me and asks, “What’s phase 3?”

“Just a private meal and some alone time. I thought we’d cater in. I presumed we’d be too tired to cook much of anything.”

Sara smiles up, eyes flashing through half lidded eyes, “But what if I’m hungry now?”

I smile, “Well, presumably, you will find something to eat that is to your liking.”

Her hands reach to my waist and the sounds of metal against leather unclasping hiss through the room.

Nightmares are also dreams Part 33-The Photographer

I pull onto a private road that goes back into one of those McMansion neighborhoods. All clean lines and faux luxury finishes. Lush parks only seen by toddlers and nannies and midrange luxury vehicles when little Ethan and Tad play soccer.

The house is at the end of a long street ending in a cul-de-sac and only has one neighbor. The lot to the right appears to be some kind of guard house. Figures that this neighborhood would have its own private security.

To the left the house is a standard two story with windows streaming in light. Hell, even the door has windows. It’s the ultimate show piece. Look at my glass house and all the fabulous toys.

The house to the right has the same arrangement but all the windows are silvered and reflective.
And there is something off that I can’t put my finger on. These are supposed to be wedding photos…so where are all the cars?

Anyway, the jobs the job. I park on the street and get out my camera bags. Time to schlep like a sherpa. I really need an assistant. But assistants cost money…maybe an intern…

There isn’t a doorbell so I put down my bag, gently, and reach for the door knocker when a voice from a hidden intercom says, “Look up, into the camera.”

Startled, I look around until I see the camera perched in the upper right.

The feminine voice demands, “State your name and business.”

“Jonathan Franks. No relation,” I say with a smile. “Wedding Photographer.”

“Hold out your arms, perpendicular to your legs,” the voice states.

Rolling my eyes, I set down my other bag and hold out my arms. What are they going to do laserscan me?! This is such bullshit. I’m adding an asshole surcharge to the bill.

I jump when hands start running along my arms and back.
“What the fuck?!,” I demand.

“Sir, just hold still and this will be over soon.” That same feminine voice from behind me this time.

Mentally adding 5% to the surcharge, I hold still. Every nook and cranny is poked and prodded.

These rich bitches. Security as status symbol. Like it wouldn’t be in the camera cases if I was smuggling a weapon.

“Ok sir. Walk with me to the security building and we will get you processed and x-ray your gear.”

Fuck this. I’m hitting them with my 50% crazy bastards surcharge. Even with that, I know this is gonna be a shit gig.