Nightmares are also dreams Part 15-Sara

If it weren’t for the sound of creaking leather, I would think that I was alone. Pel hasn’t talked for almost 10 minutes but I can hear him by the toy chest or in the closets. I know that this is all a ploy to keep me guessing as to what what he’s doing, what comes next…

I smell incense burning. Apples and sandalwood drift through the room. The scent enticing and distracting. Pulling me into memories of the last time I smelled this. Years ago on our honeymoon, after an intense session of flogging. Laying with my head on his lap, smelling his unsaited arousal. Knowing that we only rested before something new.

I breath it in then feel a hot burn connect and pool then go cold and pull my skin taught.

Again, it spills across my skin, the burn and surprise pushing me, tumbling into float. It burns its way across my taut flesh until cooling into runnels.

The pain comes. The heat right on the edge of burning. Then cooling and hardening. Some, distant part of me says, wax. “He’s using wax,” but that logic is soft words said from horizons away.

I anticipate the next pour and when it comes I shudder as the pain tips me further. Closer and closer to orgasm. The wax running, still warm against the softness of my damp cunt. I whimper around the gag, as much of a beg I can muster. My thoughts shattered across the feelings of the flame made physical.
So close to tipping over the edge…

The sharp, harsh snap screams me awake. The electric sharpness and the small lightning pounds through nerve endings. No longer floating, I scream against the gag as electricity pours through me, for eternity…for moments.

He loosens my gag. The wet plop comes free, teeth no longer clentched, but the memory of the actinic fire coursing through my nerves…fades into shame…

His words, soft against my ear, almost bring tears. The extent of my failure made known and complete.

The soft growl breathes out, “Did I give you permission to cum, slut?”

The word slut rocks through me, so tame. But it rocks me back. Like I’ve been smacked with a baseball bat. Pel never calls me things other than his Morrigan or his Darkest Night.

I listen closely, hoping to hear more words, as the gag is replaced with a fresh cloth. Then I’m biting into the fabric hard again. The electricity snapping into my skin, right on the verge of damage…

“Who is this?” the fear gibbers in my brain, is it Pel…it was his voice…wasn’t it?

Nightmares are also dreams Part 14-Sara

The cold of the room settles over my body. Coating skin in quivers and goosebumps. The silence marred only by the scuff of shoes against hardwood.

The restraints hold me, light and loose. Seemingly free but growing taut in movement, I wonder what this configuration would be needed for. The feel of the silk felt soft and smooth before, welcoming. But now it’s one more sensation in a catalogue. Deprived of sight and restrained from active touch, each new morsel of information is held and savoured.

I feel a cold prickle, uncomfortable and almost sharp, work it’s way up my leg. The thought that’s it is a bug drifts into my mind and I jerk. The sensation is gone. For a moment I’m relieved, but the soft silence returns. And the prickle begins again against my right hip this time.

I hold myself still. Not daring to breath, and still it wends its slow way up my side and across my breast. Pressing pickles across the top and painfully pressing into my breastbone. Slowly it moves to my bellybutton and I begin to thrash a bit, panicked it will move into me. And it moves down away from there and before I can sigh in relief it presses against my outer labia.

The panic swells in me, almost uncontrollable. I scream into my gag and the sensation goes away.
My heart beats faster and I almost panic.

A warm hand slips into mine and I feel liquid. Pel’s here. The shift from panic to relief whipsaws me around. I feel warm and tingly. And languid.

I feel the soft cotton of his clothes and then his weight settle atop me. Pressing into the soft and yet unyielding grip of the futon style bed.

Swaddled in silk and Pel, the gag comes loose and is quickly replaced by his lips. Pressing light and opening my mouth with a tongue insisting on the taste of me. Dancing and fighting, we plunder each other. Letting it all focus away into this.

And then, I’m cold again. The removal of his heat hits like a slap against my body entire. The gag is back in place and I almost think that I dreamed him. And the room returns to silence.

Nightmares are also dreams Part 12

I stand. Dressed in black broadcloth dress shirt, black cotton pants and black suspenders with a red silk pocket square.

Morgan lays nude. Spread eagle, splayed in presentation with her arms and legs cuffed to the four corners. There is just enough slack that she can squirm. Just enough give that there is the hint that perhaps she could get free.

Reaching over, I grasp her chin and turn her head so that I can look her directly into her sea in storm eyes. Her body is tense but compliant waiting for what comes.

In full lecture mode, I begin, “So. Today I have many things planned for us. But before we begin, my Morrigan, let us establish now that your safe words are Red for stop. And this time it will mean full stop. No more of anything for the entire day. Yellow for slow or that a breather or break is neccesary. And Green for please more.

We have at some point done all of the things we will do today and all have been prior negotiated. There are none on your soft limits that we will be pushing today.

But, as we both know, that encompasses a broad range of potential activities.

If you are gagged or otherwise can’t speak then you will raise your hand if able or shake your head and I will remove the gag and wait for you to be able to speak to indicate red or yellow.

Given that you will be tied up for some or most of the day, hand gestures may not be available so this slow down and wait method will insure safety.

I have a full field kit that my teams use ready should you require it and I have a medical team on standby. While that may seem overkill, I will not risk losing you to shock. And given that I know you rarely call red, I do not want to risk falling into a Sadist headspace and risk you.

Nod your head to indicate compliance with this rule set.”

Her eyes sparking darkness and fire my Morrigan, my darkest night, nods her head.

“Excellent, then let us begin. For our first implement I have a electrified Wartburg pinwheel. Just a buzz to wake the nerves. An aperitif before the appetizer.”

A Sir desires

The touch of your skin is a translation of affection expressed through the medium of nerve endings
Endeavoring to awaken in you a fire which cannot be quenched
To know with a glance
Sure hands over soft skin
Eager lips made slow
Pressing lips like vise over artery
Tasting jumping pulse
Struggling to gasp breathe to synapse
Breathe deeply in ragged flame
Gifts given
Ignite fires
Kindled deep in bones
Leather and pulse pain
Bruises marking mine
Say ready
Say more
Say yes
I would have you in all the ways of imagining
Of experience and of desire
Not once, not twice
Until yield and sleep
But waking
Join in grip of heart
Allow me to wake your fire
Consume me as I consume you
Taking nothing for granted
Allow passion to rewrite your stars

Nightmares are also dreams part 9

I slap the belt down. The clap of leather to flesh and the soft reverberation through the room of Sara biting back a scream, wipes away the solace of sex in the morning.

I lay the belt on the side table where Sara can see it. The tiny pinprick barbs glisten with blood. Fresh juice for beginning.

I walk over to the play linen closet and pick out the white leather bed cover.

“Sara,” I say, “Get up and replace the sheets with the leather cover. For every drop of blood on our sheets, you will get a punishment.”

Sara looks like she wants to argue. Probably because there is already blood from earlier. But that just illustrates the point of this demonstration. She wants to be subjugated but wants it all her way too. She knows that’s not going to work.

Still, she says, “Yes, Sir.” And starts changing the sheets.

I pull out the blindfold, leg and wrist shackles from the play drawer. And stand back to watch the drama as she tries not to get blood on the sheets and fails.
This is hard for me. To sit back and watch her nude and carrying out orders. She flashes me each time she bends, entirety unintentional. And each time I fight to stop myself from pushing her down and taking her.

The feel of her splayed beneath me. Fighting for breathe, taking her, seeing her fight, then gasping for air.

But, not yet. For now, she is spread out, putting the last corner in place.

When I’m sure it’s solid, I grab her ankle and pull her scrambling to the foot of the bed.

“Shackle each leg. Then hook the shackle to its post.”

The first goes on easy but the second is harder and she strains to get her leg to the post hook.

After straining and stretching, throwing her leg to the post, and spread painfully wide, she looks up at me.
Triumphant.

Face blank, I bring my hand up and give her a little golf clap.

“Congratulations, little Slut. You can spread your legs.”

Her face indignant, I lean over and slap her cheek.
“I’m going to make you wish you never said yes to me, you little whore.”

I grab her wrist and drag her so that she’s pulled taught to the edge of the bed. Then shackle her wrist and chain each to their posts.

She’s spread eagle and spots of blood dot the leather. Her green eyes look up at me, filled with need.
I pull out the peeled ginger root I’d been concealing.

Her eyes go wide and she whimpers, “Please, no…”
I feel myself tighten at her fear and lean over her, “What will you do for me if I don’t”

“Anything, anything, ” she pleads.

“Anything…,”I ask.

“Yes, yes, please… please… anything.”

“Well…,” I say, “If it’s anything, then what I want is your pain.”

She bites her lip and nods, clearly thinking she’s getting some other kind of pain.
But no.

I lean down and feel the sloppy wet of her pussy. I push the ginger root in. It’s shape pressing against her lips. The bulb root end is pierced with a brace so that I can’t slip inside all the way.

“There. All good. Happy that you could please me?,” I ask.

The sharp gasps of “Yes, sir.” As the burning begins.

“Good, my little Slut. Now, you don’t need to see what’s happening anymore, tied up like you are.”

I strap the blindfold on. Consigning her to sound and pain. For now.

I need to check on Tara.

Nightmares are Also Dreams part 8-Tara

It’s a thin fiction that I can’t hear the snap of the belt through the bathroom door but I know Pel needs that. He is trying to keep me safe and I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m better now. I was lost in subspace and had a bad flashback. I wish he’d stop acting like I’m about to break.

The hot water pounds against my shoulders, easing tensions I didn’t know I was carrying. Soaping up and sluicing off quickly, still I stand in the heat and spray. The air grows thick and hard to breathe. And almost, it feels easier to keep going and allow the wet and heat to drown me in the air. It’s not that I want to die or that I’m not happy. It’s that sometimes the pain of remembering is so heavy. I know that I need to get out and get going. But I just can’t.

The sounds in the shower change. The pressure in the room lightens and the air cools. I hear from the doorway, “Tara? Are you ok?”
Pel’s sweet voice fills me with shame and rage and just for a split second resentment.
I turn off the water jets, feeling a sullen bleakness settle down, and step out.

He’s waiting with a big towel. Arms stretched wide to envelope me. And shame overwrites the bleakness. Seeing him, trying to take care of me. I step into his arms and he rubs me down with the towel. Hands soft and firm. Businesslike and still I feel them linger over me. Never where you’d think. On my calves, down my side, along my spine. All dry.

The wet warmth vanishes and I stumble briefly, I’d leaned too far into him. But just as quick, warm robes encircle me. His arms pull me close. I feel his heart beat, that steady thump, for me. For me.

My body leaned back against his. His mouth against my ear. He whispers, “It’s time to get ready my Tara dove. Your clothes are laid out in the guest bedroom. Please get dressed in there.”

The guest bedroom? Why there?
Am I being punished…
Despair drifts back in, unbidden, as if through an open window

“Sara is taking up the whole bed, I’m afraid and we can’t have your dress getting dirty.”

I feel like I just slumped in relief…
Maybe he’s not completely wrong. It’s hard to admit. That I’m not just ok. It’s hard but I know…He does whatever he can to make me safe which is sometimes exhausting for me. But he’s not wrong either. I’m a grown ass woman and it’s hard to be taken care of like I’m not.

“Tara,” he asks quietly.

I shake out of a reverie that I guess dragged on and say, “Ok,” as brightly as I can. I brush past Pel and see Sara is splayed out on the bed. Wrists and ankles bound to the four corners. The bed top has been replaced by a white shiny leather one. A blindfold and ball-gag covers her eyes and mouth. I briefly feel something like lust and jealousy all rolled together. But I go to the guest room and find the outfit picked out for me.

Its peach! From the lace underwear and bra all the way to the two knives I’ll conceal on me, peach.
Where did he get blades that are peach colored?

Nightmares are also dreams, part 7

I emerge from the steam of the bathroom and see Tara moving under the covers. It seems that my girls are happy and who doesn’t like that. But Tara has a appointment to keep, so much as I would like to let this continue, I’ll likely need to cut it short. However, I can give them a few minutes.

I walk around the bed, past the side table, and into the walk in closet. The gunmetal tie, the black jacket and black pants are quickly selected and placed on the dressing rack. Now for what Tara will wear…a harder choice. I want her to look fierce yet sexy, to really show her how far I think she has come. I stand looking over the choices. I’m unsure of how best to demonstrate her progress. Then it hits me, something that is in counterpoint to what Jen and the other guards will wear. I find the pale peach jacket with matching peach pinstriped pants. Both cut to fit and with plenty of pocket space. She needs the room to be able to store her blade AND have her hands free should she need to use it. For the shirt, a plain white silk, and a peach pocket square….and suspenders with little pictures of mice and bowls of milk. For shoes…I think the dyed to match suede low heeled boots. Peach is such a hard color to match but it’s Tara’s favorite. But if one piece is peach, generally all have to be.

I can hear the moans drifting in from the bedroom. It sounds like Sara is minutes away from orgasm. And that just won’t do.

I pop out of the closet and say, “Tara, dear, it’s time for your shower…Jen will be by in an hour to take you shopping and you must be ready.”

I hear a muffled response and walk to see what is happening. “Sara, release Tara… Please.”

Sara let’s go of the double handful of Tara’s locks and cranes her own head back to look at me. I can read the frustration on her face telling me that I stopped this just in time. Hell, astronauts on the ISS can probably read that expression. I just beam a smile at my very frustrated wife and waggle my fingers at her.

Tara slides off the bed and walks into the bathroom. She knows better than to step into the middle of this.

“Pel, what the fuck,” Sara asks, exasperation and frustration dripping off her tongue.

I let my face go cold and look her in eyes that have deepened to the color of a sea in storm. Her eyes telling me just how pissed she is.

I watch as the color bleeds out from storm to pale sky. She sees my normally active face go cold and still.

I walk to the bed and grab her arm, pulling her out of the illusion of safety and let her drop onto the hardwood. Stalking around her shocked body, I lean down and say, “Listen, little whore. You are mine to do with as I please. You don’t get a orgasm until I say you do.”

Sara shivers then goes still, sensing the direction Pel is taking her. Her soft reply of, “Yes, Sir,” is all but lost under the sound of the belt snapping sharp against her exposed buttocks.

It begins.

That Texan drawl

Want that slow sensual burn

To crawl inside your mind

Run my skin over your thoughts

Feel your needs and desires

Granting each in turn

Denying each at my whim

There is no rush

Not looking for the sharp pulse of orgasm

Burn me alive in the feel of your skin

Talk to me about telomeres as I taste your sweat

Quench my control and lead me into frenzy

 

Nightmares are also dreams, part 6: Tara

The heat void left by Pel getting up rouses me from my barely remembered dream of laying next to a fire. I snuggle into his spot. Still warm from him and close to Sara. I feel the soft muscle of Sara’s arm pull me to her, sliding me across silk to nestle close enough to feel her warm breathing tickle my still closed eyelids. I feel her feather touch. Soft fingers spread like a fan, drawing circles around my breast. My eyes open, awake now, and find the deep green of shaded forest staring into mine. I’ve seen this look before, her eyes flashing so deeply with desire they are practically black.

I lean in and devour her soft lips with mine, head tilted to the left. Pressure building to take more of her into my mouth. Tongue sliding over tongue, soft and fierce, fighting for more and more until I feel her hand squeezing and pulling my tit. I break awake, gasping for air. Gobbling breath. Her hand pulses like a heartbeat. I find myself on my back gasping, not sure how I changed positions.

Her nails graze against me sending shivers down spine and her mouth closes over my throat. Lightly biting down, claiming me as hers, her kill. I shudder needing more but she moves so slowly. Lips press their need against my chest and I gasp in surprise when her teeth close over my nipple right as her hand flicks my clit.

I fade out, almost to float, but her fingers plunging inside me shakes me loose. I panic, starting to struggle against her and my eyes fly open.

From the doorway, Pel is watching us. He’s holding two mugs in his hands, not drinking from either. He seems content to watch us forever.

I relax shocked back to reality. My girlfriend and my Sir. I’m safe and that thought gets blasted out of my head. Sara is biting and nibbling and her hand pulses inside me fingers splayed and caressing inside finding spots I never knew were there.

I fall into sensation, eyes closed against any distraction. Each time I feel teeth I whimper as a thumb drags slowly against my clit.

My lungs expand and contract, rough breathe spilling into the air, my body starts shuddering, and then soft waves of gold hammer through and out of me, again and again riding the edge of orgasm.

It’s too much and I can’t think. Lost in the float…

Some minutes later I hear water turning off, when did that happen? Sara is drinking from a cup and offers one to me.

I take the proffered gift and find it contains drinking chocolate. Pel made this…there is cayenne in it. Sara prefers to mix it with cream.

It is delicious but not what I want. I put the mug down on the nightstand with a metallic click.

I burrow beneath the covers and find the prize I’m looking for. The soft blonde sweetness of Sara. It smells of musk and vanilla with a hint of Pel from last night. I play the game Pel taught me. I lick a long slow A against the pussy lips of my…wife.

I’ll say yes. The last time they asked, I wasn’t ready. But yes, they are mine. I won’t give them up. But… Later. Now I need more and the soft moans of Sara whisper our rightness.

Nightmares are also dreams, part 5

Waking before the dawn can make the nights feel shorter. But those quiet hours before sunrise always feel like a gift. Getting up and making coffee. Watching Tara snuggle into the warm spot I just vacated. Watching Sara pull Tara to her. These unconscious movements echoed in sleepy waking smiles and soft kisses.

Sara moves her hands under the cover, the arch of Tara’s back showing the results of her touch. I watch their kisses and caresses for a minute. Drinking in their lust and love for each other. It leaps my heart to see my girls happy and safe.

I softly walk to the nightstand and place a insulated mug of coffee for Sara and a twin of that mug with hot cocoa for Tara onto the night stand. I know Sara hears me but her mouth is otherwise occupied with Tara’s. I walk to the shower and close the door softly. The heat of the water slams into me. Sluicing away that gritty tightness of my skin. Feeling the heat soothe away the pains of a hard life gone soft.

I take my time. Lathering with lemon peppermint soap, the smell evoking sun and winter chill. When the heat is almost dizzying, I turn off the water. The steam curls in the eddies of the air conditioner.

Jen texts, All is ready.

So, the project Girls day out is a go. Jen will pick up Tara in 2 hours and they will go shopping. Stereotypes aside, Tara likes spending time with Jen and anytime she can be out in the world and feel safe is to be encouraged. Plus, I need some time with my wife. I never appreciated the freedom we had until it was curtailed.

I have described to Sara the utterly depraved acts of love I was going to visit upon her body today. She is completely psyched up for pain and torture.

So, of course, we’ll be going in a different direction.

I hear through the hot mist, the warbling tea kettle cry of Tara as she screams her orgasms through the bedroom. I smile dark and bright. My girls.

It should be a good day.