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.

Valentine’s day 11

Standing in front of my fierce lioness and my rescue kitten, I drink in their stances. A smile grows on my lips, turning to a grin. Sara returns it, all feral and wild. This love that gives more and more.
Tara ducks her head but not before I see her shy smile.

“Tara,” I say softly, “Look up.”

Uncertain, she looks up. Her eyes meeting mine, waiting for the blow to come. I hold her eyes and say, “You are to meet my gaze. It’s OK to be emberassed. It is OK to smile at me. You hold your head up and meet my eyes head on.”

I make no mention of the master who told her to never meet his eyes. Who kept her deliberately lower than himself. Out of insecurity I’m guessing. Old habits linger and we work on them as they come up.

I expect obedience because they desire to be obedient. Not because I broke their will and this is the only choice they see. It is in that choice to follow that I find my greatest joy. I want them to consciously choose so often that the choice is immediate, but present. My style does not mesh well with brats but then I’ve never been a brat tamer

Turning my attention outward, I see Sara grinning. She knows that I just paused in my head to explain something. I do it quite often. She thinks it’s hilarious that I treat my own mind like it’s a Submissive to be trained. Returning her grin, I think well, she’s not wrong.

Tara is fidgeting. It fills me with a sunburst of joy. When she came to us, she would never fidget. That she does now is a great sign.

Letting the grin slowly die, I hold gaze until we are all serious again.

“Girls, The rules of the Day are as follows:
1. Be polite. Say Please, Thank you, May I. If you have a doubt ere on the side of politeness.
2. There will be other tops at this luncheon. They have no claim on your time or your self. Refer them to me. Be polite but firm.
3. If they cross the line, then defend yourself but try to keep it nonlethal.
4. We are declining all offers of additional submissives. Don’t lead them on.
5. You are my queens. Conduct yourself as proper ladies unless I direct you otherwise.

Lastly, Tara. Keep yourself to Sara or my side.

Now for the surprise. Tara. I will be declaring you as my collared pet. There will be a small ceremony and I will present you with my collar.”

Tara looks stunned. Her eyes shine with unshed tears and her mouth hangs a bit open. Like she was opening her mouth to protest, then thought better of it.

“You have worked very hard and you deserve to be publicly acknowledged for it.”

I look at my wife and nod my head to indicate to take care of her.

Sara walks over and gathers Tara into her arms. Tara starts crying in earnest. She never would have been confident enough to show emotion other than fear six months ago. She really has worked hard. I’m so proud of her. Now she will have a physical, tangible reminder of that pride.

Valentine’s day 10

It’s these moments when we are just people in love that are the most important to me. All of the sexual gymnastics doesn’t compare to the simple pleasure of hearing my girls talk over my choices for them. Of course, helping Tara to heal after the ordeals she endured is important. And getting Sara to stop apologizing has been a long road. I suppose it’s the kind of dominant I am. There are all kinds and flavors. I need to help my girls feel safe and give them a safe place to grow. And we’re all very sexually adventurous people so this lifestyle with its infinite possibilities works well. But enough.

Sara stalks into the living room and stands waiting for inspection. The clacking of heels against tile end, somehow leaving the space empty.

Tara walks, shyly to stand next to Sara. She holds her right arm behind her back with her left. And she is hunched. I’m not sure where she was taught to crunch down and be less of a target but seeing it does not make me happy.

“Tara,” I say, “Stand up straight. Arms at your sides.”

Tara flinches at the reminder. I always allow for one with her. Immediate punishment for disobedience is not productive.

Tara straightens up and holds herself more loosely, though her tension is evident.

I can’t tell what choices they’ve made.

“Arms out, legs spread, be ready for a pat down.”

Starting with Sara, I run my hands over her. Businesslike, making sure her weapons are in place. We have a rule that no one leaves the house unarmed.

Stopping in front of her, I lean over and growl in her ear, “No underwear? Interesting choice.”

Her slow wicked smile tells me exactly where her heads at.

Tara’s arm are trembling trying to hold them up while I thoroughly fondle…I mean inspect, my lovely wife. When Sara is leaning into me, trying to get more than my hands attention, I kiss her noise and pull away.

I look over Tara and see that there is really no good place for her blades. Her arms are trembling and she is sweating from holding her arms out for the last few minutes.
I circle behind her running my hands over her. Repeating the thorough search for underwear and weapons.

My hands up under her dress, I pull it up to reveal the softness of her. A matched set then. Nude all around. Her dress rises as I glide my hands up over her soft breasts. She shivers. From the draft? The position?
I plant soft kisses up her neck, her hair upswept and held in place by…clever.
I smile. She’s worked handled needles into her hair. Nice!

“You can put your arms down.”

I drop her dress down and step back. The peach fabric settles against her curves. Eating away at my control. The sensuality of the fabric pulled sliding over her by gravity.

Valentine’s day 9

The sound of water hitting tile and flesh rolls out through the open bathroom door.

I stand in the walk-in closet, the faint smells of summer air and cedar serve a fine counterpoint to the giggles coming from the shower. The smile grows of its own volition, a thief stealing my heart. It’s these moments when they aren’t paying me the least bit of attention, when I know that they are happy that moves me. A pawn to their desires.

I’m the Master but they control me as thoroughly as I control them.

“Never more than their needs or desires. Never farther than they can go. Always with care. Always with love.”

This litany rings in my mind. It’s something I repeat to myself every day. Because rituals aren’t just for them.

I look at my options. I think the blue pinstripes for Sara, soft silk shirt, Italian wool pants. Hmm… Heels or Flats?
Heels. That will let her match heights with Tara. The crimson with the little bells, I think.

Sara will like the reminder to this morning. She may even blush. After all this time, she still does. It is blindingly cute.

Tara…I think the soft cream dress with the softly pink hyacinths on it. I have these tailored to give pockets. And to swing correctly if they have items in them or not.

Initially this was so that Tara could have the switchblade on her person without looking through a purse. A nice little blade but she’s been working with Jen. Now she has thigh sheaths and a wrist sheath when it’s cold enough for a jacket. Deadly with a blade is my Tara. I couldn’t be more proud.

Sara insists on wearing her Glock 10mm. So her outfits always include a jacket. She hates thigh holsters and I can’t really blame her. She does these wrist exercises to let her fire that gun. Always the overachiever, is my Sara.

I think the white patent leather sandal for Tara. It will contrast nicely with the heels.

I gather my choices and lay them out bottoms to top in ascending order.

I have the girls, I know they are women but they are my girls. I have the girls pick out their own underwear. I know Sara thinks that I am reluctant to do so, but I just prefer them to have their own choices. And these choices help me to know where their mind is at. I must use every tool available to keep up with them. So worth it though.

I don’t think I could be any happier.

A darkling spire

His darkness spilled out and stained the sky around him. It burned and shone brightly, somehow a star and its antithesis. This dark brilliance illuminated a path few could follow but at the end all desires would be granted. Out of such things are legends made.

A man, black skin reflecting the moonlit night, stalks through the grass. He moves quietly, the soft wind hushing across the plain. The journey is one of moments but has the ponderous feel of eternity or perhaps it is fear that strums the man’s heart.

The carved head of a wild beast rises above the sea of blowing grass, emerging from the horizon. The man stands at the edge of a deep bowl. The edges are sharp and clear. Steps are carved into the vitrified stone, worn down by the endless procession of practices and madmen.

There is power here, like a beating heart, slow and steady, calling out to the night sky. It curls round, enticing. The man steps into the bowl. The air shifts around. A living thing whispers over cool skin, spirits or something greater almost… The murmur of words spoken here echo down the skein of time. Until, lost, they find their way to the mind of a seeker.

The man stands before the basalt pillar. Carved from the wind alone it rises the length of ten men standing tall. The figures carved there seem to dance. Each shift of the everpresent wind reveals the verge of a revelation.

The man is desperate. His tribe dwindles as the foul darkness consumes mother and child. Each night bringing a new chance to breathe one last breath. Before the ancestors are cast adrift and the people are no more.

The spirits speak of this place where the sky burned and the earth was shattered. This place where the sky wars with the earth. Where all that is known is made hollow and only the birds who circle here, are fed.

This is the last chance. The last hope of a dying people.

The man picks up a piece of the sky stone. Made jagged from the ever moving wind. Dragging the surface across left palm, the stone parts flesh. The blood pool and the man calms his heart. There is no other choice.

The man places his hand against the stone.

A voice young and deep reverberates through the man.

Valentine’s Day 8

Sara uncuffs our pet from the saw horse and rubs her wrists to make sure there is no circulation problems there. The dildo comes out with a wet slurp.

Tara sighs her disappointment but brightens when she is given the dildo to suck clean. Such a greedy little pig, our Tara.
My wife leads Tara to the bedroom by the hand. Tara is still a bit lost in the float and is sucking every bit off the latex. Such a good girl.

I watch my loves walk to the bedroom. I could watch them forever.

But…time for something delayed.

Tara lays curled, sleeping, on her side of the orgy sized bed. We had to special order it but it is very useful. We generally sleep in the middle but sometimes we want a bit more room.

I have not given my Sara the attention she deserves. Not that she’s complaining. I think that the bells were a hit. But, I like to start the day a certain way and in service to our pet we’ve deviated from that.

I kneel before Sara’s side of the bed. She scoots across the silk. Sitting with legs parted and arms behind her arching her back. On some days, I’ll cuff her ankles to opposite legs of the bed. Today I want her free.

Her soft skin glows with an inner light or perhaps merely our desire for each other. I plant kisses and nibbles along her right inner thigh. Stopping to look into her eyes, seeing her looking at me, intent, on what I do. I press my teeth into her, mouth closing around her. Tasting the sweetness of her rose. Running my tongue as if discovering the pleasure of her for the first time. Finding each gasp and pulling each sound from her. I nuzzle against her. My lips capturing and holding. I scrape teeth against her, flicking tip of tongue against my captive. I love this. Giving her pleasure without cease. Watching her shudder with small earthquakes, pleasure tightening and bursting out of her. Seeing her face lose control, wracked in the edge as pleasure becomes too much and edges along pain.

“Second position,” I order.

Sara instantly moves. She lays on her back, legs spread, her knees bent and her feet, sole down against the mattress.

Tara is awake and watching us. I nod my permission. She straddles Sara. Kissing her. Stroking her. And I have the sweet honey and spicy earth of my two loves. A break fast worthy of any price.

I move my fingers into my girls. Caressing and probing, fingers blossoming like petals. Seeking a quiver or gasp. Learning everything anew. Noting each slight shift. Tasting and biting.

Now the day can truly begin.