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Sara emerges from her closet carrying a black garment bag. She is trying to look dignified while Tara dances around her. Tara slipping in and licking a shoulder or arm before being swatted away. It’s clear that Tara is loving her game of Lick the Sara but it’s time to get this show on the road.
“Tara, it’s time to get into your outfit.”
I watch the surprise and relief flood into Sara. I can almost hear her thinking that at least with clothes on she might explain her lifestyle to her parents.
“The body artist is waiting for you in your room. They will be painting you up to look just like a fox.”
Sara’s eyes whip to mine, shock and the smallest bit of a smile washes over her face, and she says, “You…hmmf.” She flounces into the bathroom to get changed.
It’s funny. I’ve seen her cow Fortune 500 CEO’s. I’ve seen her lose a large fortune of someone else’s money and gain it back in the same day. I’ve seen her shoot a full magazine and hit her target every time. She is amazing and every time I think I’ve seen it all, there is a surprise. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her flounce before.
The alarm on my phone starts beeping. It is time for her makeup.
I knock on the door to the bathroom.
“Do you need help with anything,” I ask through the door.
“I’ve got it. Five more minutes,” she replies back.
“The alarm says now. How will you be paying for these 5 minutes?”
“How about a night of PDA(public display of affection) at the next office party,” she replies all too readily.
“That’s fine. As long as it’s your office.”
At my office we could fuck on the centerpiece and my people would just take bets on who cums first. Or take it as cue to start an orgy. When your life is regularly on the line, you generally are a bit libertine. Or, perhaps, it’s just in my recruiting methods. Maybe a bit of both.
There is a few minutes of silence and the door opens. She is wearing a black bustier with red panels. Her skirt is floor length, slit to reveal her upper thigh which is partially obscured by the holster of her very functional 10mm Glock. She looks fierce and fiery. The look only slightly marred by her bed head hair.
“You can stop ogling me. And help me lace up the bustier. I couldn’t reach the laces.”
I snap out of my surprise and lace up the back. Pulling them a little tighter than she might prefer just to remind her that she should have asked and not commanded.
As soon as I finish she strides forward, casting her voice back, “Of course my office party. Yours would just start an orgy and it takes forever to get the food out of…everything.”
One touch is never enough
Whether of the mind or flesh
You’ll dwell in me forever
And forever I’ll crave in quiet moments
In solace and solitude
For your sighs and taste and screams
sweet memories of gentle caress
Transform into deep desire and unsated float
Mark with teeth
But I know
It’s not true
And instead I write
With unquenchable need
You kindled a spark in heart and mind
Now desire burns in bonfire blaze
Slow eyes and wicked smile
Say yes, that we may begin
I have this dream. Again and again. Where we are entwined naked. We are looking into each other’s eyes and you reach your hand between us and take my cock in your hand. I feel myself harden and grow with your simple touch. You guide my cock slowly into your soft wetness. Slowly, I disappear agonizing and slow. I feel you around me. I dip my head down and press my lips to yours. The touch wakes our need and we devour each other. Tongues sliding over and tasting each other. We exist in these slow agonizing moments of pleasure. My heart, my love, my girl. Until I wake, warm bed. Lost and alone. There is only memories and hopes. Adrift in the world. Looking for that perfect moment of connection. When we are fierce and unafraid. When our only thought is each other. When we belong in the moment. To each other.
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Tara is padding around, fox ears on her head and fox tail sprouting from her butt plug. She is snuffling and sticking her nose into things and generally having a good time. Her small smile says that she loves the game and wants to play.
Sara is staring in unconscious horror at the elaborate off-white dress. One of those flouncy meringue wedding dresses that shops try to sell to the happy and unsuspecting. She looks at me as if I’d lost my mind. I smile back angelically. Fallen angels count, right?
“You can’t be serious,” she states. Her voice empty with shock. Ah, horrible dress therapy, why did I never think of this before?
“Do you not like it? I had it special ordered just for you. I have it on good authority that your father’s second wife wore the exact same dress.”
“His SECOND wife?! You mean the tramp he left my mother for,” her voice rising in incredulity and anger.
“It could have been his third. To be honest, I’ve lost count. I’m sure it’s in a file somewhere. Would you like me to check,” I reply calmly.
Letting out a low groan, Sara turns to me and whines, “Why are you doing this?”
I look at her for a beat. Letting the silence stretch. Then reply, “Your parents deserve to know that you are happy and married. Just like you wanted. If you are wondering why that photo will include Tara nude and being a little fox…then ask yourself this: would you ask her and me to hide who we are? Is that who you want to be be?”
She looks at me and sees the disappointment lurking, waiting for her answer.
I know that she loves us and accepts us. But to expose these kinds of things to her parents is a completely different proposition.
She knows this is a punishment. She knows that I will not harm her. But still, she’s human. And exposure of secrets is one of the hardest things we do. Especially to people whose image of us is in contrast to the truth.
She turns away, eyes cast down. Almost inaudible, I hear her say, “Ok.”
Then she whips back around to me glaring fiercely and proclaims “But I won’t be doing this in that monstrosity. I have my own clothes and I will pick something I deem appropriate.”
I smile, wryly, and say, “Well, it is your day. You have 30 minutes to find a dress and get into it. The makeup artist will be done with us by then.”
I watch the triumph fade to panic then into something like horror. What am planning flies across her face?! Then she’s off like a shot into her closet.
I turn away and go to the hall closet where my tux is kept.
Moments later I hear a shriek and a cry of “Don’t lick that!” coming from Sara’s direction. Then out pranced Tara looking impish and smug.
This is going to be fun.