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.

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.