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Nightmares are Also Dreams part 8-Tara

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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?

Brief announcement about the Split Sky Trilogy

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The Split Sky Trilogy will be unavailable for listening starting Monday August 27th.

I will be republishing it on its schedule of Monday – Wednesday-Friday

I do this because it’s been more than a year since it’s completion and I feel that the time between releases is very much a hidden character. The pacing itself can be seen as contributing to the story.

So, if anyone wants to binge it, they have until Sunday night, August 26th to do so.

Thank you all for reading and listening

*Note: This will not displace normal posts.

Nightmares are also dreams, part 7

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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

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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

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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

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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.

Nightmares are also dreams, pivot

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It is with a sad heart that I post this
I started Nightmares are also dreams with the intention that I would write a different kind of Pel and Sara story. But what I’ve found is something I knew from before but didn’t want to believe. I don’t know how to write a detective story. And this story is very much a detective story. Tracking down clues and hunting down leads and putting the pieces together. That’s not how Pel thinks. Not how I think.

Pel would have his people do the piecing. In full acknowledgement that he isn’t good at that kind of thing. Understanding how the pieces fit together, yes. Finding those pieces, no.

So. This story is going to pivot. Away from the detective plot, and more towards the romance between our 3 main characters. The progress on the detective work will intrude as the timeline will be extended past the single day I’ve written prior.
But it won’t be the focus. I have ideas and plans that come to mind even as I write about this pivot. That’s a good thing.

I hope you all will bear with me as I pivot.

Nightmares are also dreams, A Pel and Sara story: part 4

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The reality is, this ring is hidden. They’ve existed in a city where I have been hunting. Existed and thrived. They’ve raped, broken, and sold people. We have no evidence that their depravity extends to women alone. There could be men or others.

The hell of it is, nothing they’ve done is outside of what some consider play. Edge play to be sure, but still play. And, if I’m being honest, the monster in me saw the videos and was excited. Aroused even. Ideas I’d normally take home and propose to my Sara as a good time.

Of course, if it was just play, I wouldn’t be doing this. But they take without consent, they push past the red line and past safe words and break their toys. They Enslave them for real. And something dark in me smiles at the thought. And perhaps this is part of why I loathe them. My life is made up of trying to control the darker desires. Channel them into acceptable ways, if just barely. And these people are breaking these women. Girls, just discovering who they are, and taking away their choices. Without consent.

And that alone condemns them to death. But as I said, they have operated under my nose for years. Maybe I just didn’t want to see. Maybe I was too consumed by my small group of curated friends. Maybe I don’t seem like enough of a misogynistic bastard to fit in with their crowd.

I contemplate all of this as Jen drives me home. Outside the cool black leather the harsh desert air shimmers the asphalt. I go home to my girls. No progress made. Not really. We are still trying to find a way in.

And I’m feeling frustrated in more than one way. After these days, I won’t say we haven’t played but it’s all been so relatively tender. Paddles and clips as far as we go. I know Sara is feeling it too. Tomorrow, I will have Jen escort Tara shopping. Tomorrow, Sara and I will unleash. It’s been too long. I ache for her screaming. For her tears. I need to see her fear and lust.

Make no mistake, I love Tara. I love the tenderness and the gentleness of having a pet. Taking care of her is a pleasure and a joy. But, I also love my wife. And we are compatible beyond the bedroom and beyond the rules. But…she needs play time, too. And her play is pain. And as much humiliation and depravity as I can muster.

I have so many ideas. We’ll see how many we make it through before our Tara returns.

Nightmares are also dreams: A Pel and Sara story: Part 3

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The day ticks away. Scanning documents, looking for connections, waiting for the phone to ring. I was never happy with the waiting. It’s always easier when you aren’t personally invested in the outcome. I know that if I allow it, this will eat away at me. Poison me. I can’t allow myself to descend into the rush of taking. Making no mistake, monstrous as it is, the feeling of self righteous fury made manifest and acted upon, safeguarding my people and my girls, is addictive.

That rush as you pound after your prey, making the target, and standing over this person. The sound of the gun, the silence as their body bleeds out. The light fading. The flight to safety. All floated on a endorphin and adrenalin high.

It’s not until after that you start crashing. Sometimes you are in first stage adrenal failure. Your body gives so much for those moments. And the memories…the chase comes in fragments, the planning sticks with you. But it’s those last minutes that haunt. You run through the catalog of the targets misdeeds, hoping to talk yourself into calm. Hoping that what you did was justified. Sometimes it is. Sometimes, you just can’t convince yourself. And those are the sleepless nights. Holding your girls. Trying to keep yourself from flying apart.

This time there is none of that ambiguity. But their faces will still haunt me. Still look back, glassy eyed, pleading for one more second of life. And I will smile, grim and frightening. Dark fire dancing.

Maybe that makes me a monster.
So be it.

Nightmares are also dreams: A Pel and Sara story, Interlude 1

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The harsh heat pounds down. The light reflects against the sun baked earth and shimmering waves obscure the lines between unreal and reality. The shush of metal sliding into earth and the patter of dirt wars with pants and grunts. The medium build man wearing an undershirt stained with sweat and splotches that looks like crusted blood pauses in his exertion. He looks out across the desert. Here and there can be seen the other holes dug in the earth. The man takes a long drink of water and soon the harsh sounds of metal and dirt again fills the morning air.

The desert wind almost snatches the muttered words of the man, “Fucking Michael, I can’t believe he just up and left without a word.”

No one is there to hear but the coyotes and the crows feasting on treasures pulled from the loose earth.