Nightmares are also dreams Part 20-Sara

I hear that tiny sound of giggle that only comes from Tara’s throat when she’s both happy and nervous. It sounds like hesitant bells. Like fear wrapped in brightness. I wish I could get up and go to our wounded bird, our limping fox girl.

I hear her light steps move into the bedroom. I hear Pel’s heart cave as he sees us together. That palpable tension of fear and frission. Of a Masters next steps, dissipates.

The sounds of whispers sounds like offers phrased as instruction. What comes next a mystery, but as much as the fear of the unknown grips my heart. The fear of what might be, I think I’m safe. I flashback to another night that I was given and…but no. This is not that.

The soft fur caresses my calf. Trailing comfort and warmth up my body.

The sound of a murmur that is just audible reaches me.

“And this, Mr. Fox is the leg of our Sara. It is soft but firm. She can wrap it around and also leap up with them. After her shower, her legs taste like cinnamon….it’s probably her soap, but I like to think it’s just her.”

The soft fur cups my ass, squeezing and pulling apart cheeks. Exposing the one spot of warm on the back of my body to the coolness of the room.

“Do you see this Mr. Fox? This is Sara’s butt. Pel likes to put things in it to make Sara squeal but she doesn’t have a tail….. YES. I have a tail, I am a good fox girl. My master tells me so.”

The fur works its way up my back, trailing the lines of the scars and scar work. Whip lines and the raven. The marks of this life and Pel’s claims.

Hair trails across my face, and I soft breathes warm against my lips.

Whispered, “And this, Mr. Fox, is my Sara. She’s sometimes my mistress but mostly my lover and friend. She’s mine, Mr. Fox. And you can’t have her.
But now you’ll always long for the touch of her body. Aren’t I nice!”

It’s impossible to laugh tied face down like this but oh, how I want to. It escapes like a a hiccup and is swallowed by the devouring lips of Tara. Making her claim. Our little fox girl. She’s growing up.

Nightmares are also dreams Part 18-Pel

Our friend leads Sara out of the bathroom. His movements are mechanical. Just one more piece in machinery. A cog spinning and giving the result desired.

A fundamental difference in experience and approach. I tend more to the psychological. Into the knowing and intuitive leaps that drive experience forward. The shift from warm and loving to harsh. To complete control. And back to sweet kisses. Back to silly gestures and a kiss to the palm.

Watching him cuff Sara back down and settle her without a caress or lingering touch. Something I’ve never been capable of. Control can be taken too far. Can stifle the spontaneous action that makes one’s heart sing.

He packs up his gear and heads out with a nod. Silence and sensory deprivation are the order of the day.

I hear a murmured conversation at the door and go to look…

Tara is back and she’s covered in grime and blood.
I rush over and take her in my arms.

I ask, “What happened?”
She replies, her voice strong with the soft edge of fatigue, “We found them. Jen is torturing them…

I was torturing them…I thought I needed to. To make me feel safe. To make it better.”

She pulls back, searching my eyes for the loathing she thinks she deserves.

I say, “It never feels the way you think it will. Mostly, when they are dead…All you will feel is safe.”

Smiling lopsidedly, I say, “You had a long day. Do you want to rest?”

She nods.

“Do you want to stay with me or do you want Mr Fox?”

Softly, she whispers, “Both.”

I smile and say, “Well, I am playing with Sara right now but if you can sit very quietly you can watch. Do you think you can sit quietly?”

“If I have Mr Fox, I can,” she smiles.

“Okay. Go cleanup. Then get Mr Fox and come sit in your chair. Remember. Be very quiet,” I command.

Tara walks away, shedding her heels and padding softly into the guest bathroom.

I suppose it’s a good thing we got through the electricity element already. I shudder to think what would have happened if she walked in. As it is, I’ll need to switch a bit and go more sensual. Maybe build up to the harsher things.

Well, whichever. Sara is still getting caned today. That is the midway point and she squirms so much when I do it.

I wonder if Tara will want to try.

Nightmares are also dreams Part 17-Sara

The quiet sets in. Long seconds with only my heartbeat and the rush of blood through my ears to accompany the waiting…the anticipation…but first I tap out a yellow on the wall. Yellow for distress, yellow for, not stop but help.

The gag is unknotted and the soft warm cotton falls away.

Pel…Something in me whimpers with relief, its Pel.
Pel whispers, “Whatever could be wrong, my darkest night?”

Tension eases and the fear of moments…minutes?…before subsides.

“Bathroom please,” I whisper.

With a disappointed sigh Pel unlocks my restraints and stands me up. He does this economically with a minimum amount of touch and briefly I have this flash of what did I do wrong before I’m being marched to the bathroom. The blindfold stays on as he guides me to the toilet and sets me down.

The door closes and I’m alone but I dare not take off the blindfold. Instead I go pee and reach out by memory to get clean. Nothing has been moved thankfully and I am able to wash up without difficulty.

With the water running, I hear voices in the bedroom and I go still. Who is Pel talking to…I strain to hear but the muffled sounds through the door and the rushing water make that too indistinct.

When I shut off the water and knock on the door ready to go back, the voices have stopped. Maybe I was hearing things.

Again the hands that lead me to the bed and place the restraints back on are businesslike and without hesitation. Like I’m just meat. And that more than anything spikes my fear. Pel is constitutionally incapable of not kissing me when he touches me. At least on the palm of my hand or o to my neck, but never like this. Like I don’t matter…

Nightmares are also dreams Part 16-Pel

When I proposed this day of play to Sara, I posed it as stretching of pleasure and boundaries. We have taken our play to extremes before so I knew that this proposal would be one she was interested in.

But, when I said it would be an exploration of sensuality, I could see the disappointment hiding in her smile. Sensual play has always been my foreplay and her aftercare. So to her it wasn’t the high she was looking for.

In times past we’d gone fairly deeply down the roads of pain. Whips with leather covered ball bearings is a favorite of hers. Blade play, including cutting is more my comfort level. Even taking it so far as to create a scar through scarification on the canvas of her milky skin.

I’ve gone fairly close to the edge of life and death with her. Even going so far that we would keep a medical team in the wings in case we needed them to pull her back from over that edge.

We’ve employed some psychological components but nothing in the fear area. Nothing that delved deeply into those zones. So today, I wanted to try that.

I started by taking away her physical liberty. Something comfortable that I’ve done before. Then escalated to removing her sight and her speach with blindfolds and gags. Again, something we’ve done, though with less frequency.

Then I isolated her. No talking, no certainty of presence. Sounds of movement, of leather on hardwood. But allowing the time to stretch out. Until, at last the tension was broken by sensation. But not welcome sensation. Using a Wartenberg pinwheel with carefully removed spokes, I took her down the road of bugs crawling on her. It is an unpleasantness we’ve talked about that I know unnerves her. And once I had her truly frightened, I reminded her of my presence but in the darkness of the room and the harshness of my voice pitch low and the brevity of the exposure to sight, I knew that her mind would start to manufacture and question.

Then electricity play, hard and harsh. Pain like she’s never known, throwing her out of comfort and into panic. (Administered by a friend of ours, one we’ve played with before. I don’t feel comfortable with my ability in this area yet, so I am observing.)

When he called her a slut, I knew it hit home. She flinched as if struck and thrashed. And the scent of her fear filled the room.

This is the edge we will ride in this scene. Abject fear, coupled with pain and pleasure and the unknown.

We’ve been together for a long while. You have to try new things to keep it fresh.

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?