Valentine’s day 27

I’m completely done in. I drop so far into my need for connection to these women, to satisfy their needs and desires, that my frenzy controls me. But, my cock is raw and bleeding from chafing. Lube is great but I’ve had too many frictional encounters today. And yet, I want more. The pain is like scratching, it only hurts after. During, the added pain makes it amazing. But we are getting into seeing a doctor territory and I hate that.

Sara is applying liquid skin and patching me up and I am trying very hard to not get hard from her touch. I can’t think of another time when I allowed myself to get this close to danger. And still I feel a greed for more growing and I wish we could invite another man over. Because, I could watch him take Sara. Or he could take me. However, that’s just fantasy.

Tara is in no kind of shape to have strange men come over and start fucking her Owner. That would fuck up the dynamics and hinder our integration of her pet into her individual self. If we can get her there, she should be able to fully integrate and that will be better for her.

I notice Sara watching me and startle. I guess I was pretty deep in my head.

Standing and wincing, I take Sara’s hand.
Sara slips close in and asks, “Where did all that need come from?” Her voice a soft whisper that tugs me deeper into need.

I hold her eyes for a long second and feel the storm of desire rage inside me. Some reserve, some dam has broken and all my restraint feels frayed.
I feel like I’m choking on air.

My voice a harsh whisper, “I was suddenly overcome by the need to obliterate my mind and just give in to every desire. I want to hurt you. I want you to scream and beg for me to stop. I want Tara to run from me in fear. I want to catch her and ravish her. I want to see you both fucked by a parade of men and covered in cum. All at my demand. At my control. Some beast has loosed itself from its shackles inside me and I don’t know what to do.” I look at Sara imploring for understanding.

Sara nods, her dark soprano sends shivers into my fraying control, “This has been a long time coming. I’ve expected this for a while but wasn’t sure if it would ever happen. There is always a limit to control. And even masters of it can get fatigued and need to recover. You’ve been running on all cylinders for months now, juggling both I and Tara. It’s a wonder your control hasn’t snapped before now.”

“Not snapped,” I say, “Frayed.”

Raising an eyebrow, body pressed to mine, the feel of her skin to mine a state I’ll never get used to or relinquish, she says, “Really,” her voice heavy with something I can’t tell in my distraction.

“Yes,” I growl. “I haven’t done some of the more brutal things I’ve been thinking.”

The sudden image of her moaning while I fist fuck her, bleeding from a dozen small cuts. Tara suspended. The lips of Tara’s pussy just above her mouth dripping onto Sara’s face. The stream of slut and cunt dropping from my mouth scaring Tara and forcing her to get even more wet and dripping onto Sara. It all flashes through my head. And a part of me packs it away for later.

Shaking the image clear from my mind, I say
“We should check on Tara. She’s been strangely silent.”

We wake to the pleasure of our hearts-1

There are times where I must consider myself a beast
To desire to obliterate your self to satisfy my need for your pleasure
That you desire this as well gives me pause
Because I must consider myself your champion
A dark soul, a brightly burning messenger of the night
But yours
Not as a blade because this is not your necessity
But your tormentor
Your jailer
Your lover
Your protector
I must consider the line to walk between the obliteration of the self into a object of control and service and lust
And my ability to bring you back from that brink
And whispers sweet somethings
Engage in passion behind mere pleasure
And sit reading a book aloud for storytime
You are a joy I never thought would be

Just…what…uh…no idea

I’m in a position now where I want so much to be holding in my arms the ones that I love. But I know that is either a distant future or a impossibility and I have to deal with that.

In a way it’s like a breakup but without the constant questioning and self recriminations. In this case I know the reasons. I just lament them.

Right now, I’m sad often and I don’t want to be but I also don’t know how to stop it my self.

I’ve been incredibly lucky to meet extraordinary people through my blog and though some hurt me, I still feel incredibly fortunate to have the chance to be with people who meet my mind first rather than the crucible of a dating site or a munch or something. Because, I’m not great at those.

Let’s be clear. I’m weird. I have odd notions and hobbies. I have strange views and see things differently. What the majority find interesting, I find mostly a nuisance. I point this out, not to set myself apart, but to demonstrate that I feel as if I’m a outsider.

When you add in BDSM and a preference for strong submissives, I find I’ve narrowed my interests perhaps too narrowly.

I’d love to say that such a narrow focus means that I find my way clear but really I’m all a muddle.

I scare people away because I’m intense and always seek clarity. Not because I am meek but because I can have a effect where I bowl someone over.
But then I just melt if someone says, “Yes, Sir,” and means it.

I don’t know where forward is. Or if I need to heal first. Or if I just need someone I love to look me in the eyes and say “Yes, I choose you” and mean it down to their bones.

Valentine’s day 25

I watch the swaying roll of hips. My wife crawling to the first soft puddle. The sheen of wet on hard wood. Her mouth dips down and red full lips part. Soft pink tongue presses against the wood. She plants her knees far apart, leverage so that she can lick the wood clean. The soft hidden rose if her sex opens like the flower I have cherished and punished.

I fight myself. My cock is raw and pushes against the underwear and pants. Pain flares. There is always too much of a good thing. Still, the thought of my hardness pushing into her. Melding us together. The feel of her warmth around me. Almost, almost I give in. Though, I know it would be more pain than pleasure. Though I know, I risk damage. I still feel myself tightening. Pain and heat spreading.

I push that down. If I am not in control, this could go very badly. There is a part of me that wants to take her and hurt her and see the fear and desire war in her eyes. It’s that part that I dare not show. If we were alone, then breaking her would be a good thing. Something we both want, both need. As long as we put each other back together afterwards, as such a thing takes a toll on us both. But if Tara sees the monster…It’s too soon. Too much like her old master. It would undo everything.

It is this realization that hits me like a pitcher of ice water. It’s why it’s too soon for the handfasting. Why Tara knew that she couldn’t yet. She senses I’m holding the darkest parts of my desire back from her. She is correct. I’m an idiot. I rushed, thinking she’s seen everything that is important. But this, this part that so rarely shows. This part that wants the screams and the pain more than it wants control and pleasure. The part my Sara sees, and knows, and lusts for.

Very well. For Sara, a bit of both. But quietly. I slip out of my dress shoes and pad on naked feet to where my Sara is licking up the juices of Tara. The largest puddle before the toy chest. I kneel next to Sara. Brushing against her. Feeling the softness of her thigh, up her back to my raven, flechted into her skin. A testament to our desires.

“Make no sound,” I whisper.

She turns and looks at me, nodding her head. My good girl.

I run my fingers down her, pinching and playing. I twist her nipple until tears and the soft choke of a whimper. I pull her arm up, pushing her face against the top of the toy chest. Pulling her hand to rest on the fabric over my stiff cock. Her shoulder is at an angle that I know hurts. I unzip and put myself into her hand. I release her. From past games she knows not to let go or squirm. I slide my index finger inside her. Feeling the slick warmth suck me in.

“Only if you can make me cum do you get to orgasm,” I say, pushing another finger inside.

She grips me, trying to jack me off at this angle, but she’s unable to do much more than run her fingers over me.

I spread my fingers apart, making room for a third finger. The sounds of her whimpers making me clamp down hard. The sound of her panting and mewling. I can’t stand it. I’m weak.

I pull my fingers out of her. Reach over and pull her other arm up. I could dislocate her shoulders like this, arms held behind her wrenched back, neck muscles holding her up. Trying to maintain a balance that gives her some control. No. That won’t do. Control is mine. I pull her arms up. She’s crying and pant screaming softly but audibly. I push my cock inside of her. The rawness making me want more. I slam myself into her. The slap of flesh against flesh and her screams pulling my cum out of me. Spilling my seed into her. I keep slamming into her hoping I’ll break her. Hoping for a red. But it doesn’t come. And I’m completely spent and consumed with shame.

I let her go. I pull in great lungfuls of air. Almost hyperventilating with the violence. I see blood on my cock. Mine or hers, I can’t tell. She turns around and sucks the blood and cum and honey juices off of me. Cleaning me up, unbidden. I’m definitely the one bleeding. Her tongue probes the cut and I gasp. Her eyes meet mine. And like a jolt, the last cum in my body spills slow into her mouth. She sucks me down, her eyes never leaving mine.
Just us connected. Just us. And our foxy girl in the next room

Valentine’s day 24-Sara

Movement hints through the gauzy curtains. Sometimes the fans swirl and I can see Pel moving in the back yard. The silver in his hair glinting in the afternoon light. My back is starting to ache and my thighs are starting to burn. Not unpleasant really but right on the edge of being too much. I close my eyes and give over to the pain. The quiet isolation and the sure knowledge that Pel will be back and he will have ideas and desires. It’s been a tough day for my Pel. He doesn’t adapt as well as he wants people to think. He just has multiple contingencies and so it seems like improvisation. The burn works its way to my back and I can feel the hint of a possible cramp wanting to form.

The patio door opens. The sound of flesh padding on tile, along with the steady beat of dress shoes, heralds the return of my pet and my Pel. I open my eyes to see the blue eyes of Tara looking into mine. She rubs her side against me then licks my left nipple sending shivers deep. She prances away, deep in her pet persona. She is a wanton thing when she is this far into subspace but Pel still holds her leash.

Pel’s voice, soft like sweet honey, rolls out, “Go play Tara.”

Tara perks up and heads to her toy chest. Her mouth closes over the large latch and pushes the lid open. She stands over the chest selecting her toy while the fox tail waves seductively and soft patters mark the path of her arousal. She comes up with a ball gag that has drool holes in it. It is pink with a soft black leather strap and silver colored buckle. Proud as a show pony she takes her selection back to Pel.

Pel let’s the ball gag drop into his hand. He reaches into Tara’s panting mouth and runs his fingers around her gums and cheeks. Pushing his fingers into her warm wet mouth.

“Open your mouth, Tara,” Pel purrs.

Tara goes still and holds her mouth open to receive her gift. Pel settles the ball against her tongue and pulls the strap tight, running the leather softly against the buckle. Tight but loose enough to cut it off.

I watch as he reaches between Tara’s legs. Rubbing his hand against the source of her honey. She stretches back into his touch. It feels like he’s there for minutes but it must only be seconds. He pats her with his other hand and say, “Off you go.”

Tara trots off into the living room and it sounds like she is climbing into her pen.

Pel turns to me, his hand slick with the juices of our pet.

“Open your mouth.” His soft command shivering through me.

Calves, ass, back burning from holding first position so long I, nevertheless, comply opening my mouth.

Pel runs his slick hand over my tongue. The musk and spice of our Tara bursting on my tastebuds.

“Clean my hand,” Pels voice rolls out from his position above me. So close I can feel the remnant heat from his sun kissed pants.

I press my lips down, hold his fingers and his hand in my mouth, fighting for breath through my nose. I run my tongue against his fingers, between, seeking every last drop of Tara. Each finger pressed, tasting him and her. Feeling the jumping veins of his heart beat. When last drops yield to swallow, I find myself almost unconscious from lack of oxygen.

Pel watches the rising panic in my eyes. Waiting for me to make him stop. No. I’d rather pass out than fail. But I’m rigid with panic now.

Pel pops his hand out of my mouth and runs it down my back. Coating me in quickly drying saliva.

“Now that you know the taste, clean up the rest of Tara’s mess. Be sure to lick it all up,” Pel orders. He crosses to the bed and sits on the firm edge.

Finally allowed to move, I crawl slowly, rolling each muscle so as to stretch. I find myself unsteady. My arms shaking from what Pel almost did. A few more seconds and I would have been unconscious. I inhale great lung full of air and crawl to the first puddle.

Valentine’s day 23

The soft leather is held in my two hands, held so as to take up the slack. The soft sound of flesh and bone moving over hard wood accompanies our walk. The patio doors open onto a concrete path colored as brick and molded in the likeness. This leads to a small table and awning where we take leasurely breakfasts or hold high protocol tea in the winter months. But our path takes us right, over the beaten dirt path leading to a small area fenced with decorative knee high lattice. Here is a soft well maintained grass lawn. Strewn about are large toys. A beach ball, a small water bowl, a bone and chewed on teddy bear. These are arranged carelessly and carefully. Staging the scene for my girl-fox.

I reach down and unclip the leash. I run my hand down and scritch her head. She looks up at me with eager happy eyes. Completely lost in the float. In being my good fox girl. I feel myself tighten and suppress a shudder of partial orgasm. Seeing her in total eager submission, completely free and joyous…I wouldn’t trade it for all the gold in the sea.

“Go play, my fox.” I smile the order.

She looks back at me once and prances away to her water dish. She leans her delicate face to the calm reflection and laps up the cool water.

I look back and see, just barely, the head of my Sara. Positioned so that she can can catch glimpses of movement through the half closed curtains of the bedroom window. Just enough to tease at things happening beyond her knowing. I know that her hips will just be starting to burn. I know because one of our exercises is for her to hold that position and, as the minutes pass, describe to me every physical sensation she is experiencing. It allows me to gauge timing for these activities and allows her to completely occupy her body on a immediate intimate level. People mostly ignore the millions of sensations they are experiencing, but it’s in the simple shifts that we can truly feel.

My fox girl, lithe nakedness and swaying fox tail is worrying her bear. It’s arm held in her mouth, she shakes her head and paws at it. She looks to back to me, her master, and I beam at her. She turns back to her bear. I watch as she rolls on her back, rubbing her back against the grass to reach a itch. Her tits jiggling and taught against her, nipples erect. The flashes of soft blonde bush through her legs. The tightness of her stomach and ass as she unconsciously maintains the tension to hold her tail in place. She’s magnificent and I’m so grateful for her.

Valentine’s day 22

You know, what seems simple as you drift off to sleep is never quite the same as dreams fade. I know I had a great idea that put me at my ease but now I just can’t recall it.

My eyes drift across the softly snoring form of my Sara. I could have Tara wield the whip, but no she’s not ready for that. Leashes and walkies? No, Sara dislikes humiliation and she’s done nothing to deserve a punishment. Simple may be best.

I slip out of bed and pad to the closet. Simple slacks and a buttondown worn untucked. The grey slacks and cream shirt with the herringbone buttons. Clothing is a form of armor but in this case merely a canvas for later ventures.

I walk the five feet back to the bedroom and see Sara watching me. My smile pours out; matched by her grin until, like a candle, it’s snuffed out. I school my face to impassivity. A cool mask belied by wicked eyes.

“First position,” I purr.

Languid, almost boneless, Sara falls graceful as a cat to her knees. She leans back. Sitting on her legs folded underneath, shoulders thrown back, eyes cast down.

“Wait here, in position, until I return.”

“Yes Sir,” her voice a deep pool of acceptance.

I walk to Tara and gently shake her awake. Her eyes slowly open, telling me that her sleep is feigned. Never in the time I’ve known her has she ever woken so easily to a interrupted sleep.

“Put on your collar, my little fox. Let us go for a walk in the garden.”

Walking in the garden is something we do when dear Tara is feeling a bit more animal than human.

Proudly, Tara places her new collar around her neck, pulling the clasp closed but not tightly. I reach down and cinch it down. Close enough to not chafe but not so tight so as to choke. Tara reaches into my pants for her lead and pulling the soft leather leash snaps it into place. Shyly looking at me, she places the lead into my hand. I beam at my dear pet. I know she’s seen Sara do this but I didn’t expect her to be so equally bold.

I lead her to the black oak toy chest and pull the chrome butt plug with fox tail from its position. She shifts and smiles up at me, skipping my heart a beat. With thoroughness, her eyes a heady weight on my motions, I slather the plug in velvety lube.

“Present, please,” my voice soft but full of command and desire.

Tara turns and leans against the hardwood floor, cheek pressed flush, head turned, presenting the soft pink pucker for her present.

I run my fingers around, exploring the edges. Soft, pleasant loam drifting from her. I work the remaining lube over her. Into her, probing with wet fingers, the slight hitch in her breathing my reward. I press the point of the bulb in. Meeting with resistance then relaxation sucks it in as I press, inexorably, in.

And voila, my foxy girl has her tail. And a gentleman has his pet.

What lays within

Some like to think that there is a demon inside. A darkness that desires wicked things. That wants things. Craves things.
But, oh, I know the truth. It is nothing so easy. So…simple. No demon would want the things I desire sometimes. That outer edge of behavior beyond the outposts of commonly accepted and slipping into the beautiful nightmares of the darkest recesses of my too human, too jaded mind. The things I keep hidden. The scenes that I play out only in the playground of my mind. Because to realize them would take a partner who wanted that darkness. Who was unafraid of both the desires and the dark romance of my heart. Of rose pedals and paddles. Hoods and control. My heart and mind is a labyrinth of doors. What is seen is only what I have judged is acceptable and I will live with that half loaf or crumbs. Rather than break and take all without permission. I know the depths of the monster within. But I have no illusions that it is a demon. No. It is merely my self. Without leash. Without doors. Without mercy. Only tempered by control. And love.

Regarding the Valentine’s Day story

Regarding the Valentine’s Day story

I think it is pretty common in stories of an erotic nature to present as if all parties are mind readers. And there is a bit of that in this one, mostly between a couple who have been married for years.

But I think that there is also a assumption beyond the story that a master or top just somehow knows what to do. And really what is involved is planning, forethought, and really a lot of work.

Gear, specialty clothing, and other accessories don’t just appear. Spacial planning, especially when juggling two submissives is key. In general, a submissive will see the outlines and will know, basically, what’s going on. A master will plan it all out. And will walk down a list of if/then to keep things flowing. But even a master can fool themselves. We are human and we make mistakes. And when that happens, even someone like me who likes improvisation, will be thrown for a loop.

That means we end up taking time. A submissive might then experience a extended scene where the master is not present. A game or thought experiment or deprivation. Something that gives us space to reconsider and plan.

In the story, Pel has a partner who understands his mindset and she helps him to work through the process of finding a suitable solution. Just by being there and suggesting something.

I’ve never punished a sub for a good idea. Even if that idea is we halt play for a time to refocus. And halting play when you are on tilt is smart. Especially, when considering edge play. Which is what the character, Sara, desires.

So, we see uncertainty and a master who has been on tilt and struggling to catch up for the last few installments. Because we are human, and these stories are about more than just sex or play.

Valentine’s Day 21

It’s easiest to say that we fell to a comfortable sleep. But it’s just the barest hint of the truth.

The truth is, tired as I was, I spent a good long while thinking before I slipped into the vale of sleep. Sara was facing away, buttocks pressed against me. Her soft blonde hair a bit frizzy and stirring in the eddies of the air conditioner. The muscled form of her all safe and safety. And snoring like a baby bear, soft and rumbely.

Sara would never come out and say it but she is giving me time to sort my feelings. Of the two of us she is the more practical whereas I am the more ruthless. She would say that I should just give it time. That if we push, we’ll cause problems. She’s not wrong. But I am almost constitutionally incapable of not pushing, so she gives me the gift of time.

I had planned this whole elaborate honeymoon scene. Rose petals and whips, sensation play and edge. And I just can’t work my head around it not being a true honeymoon. But laying here, with Tara curled into me, I can’t help but admit the truth. I could adapt the scene, more black leather than the specially bought white, cinnamon instead of vanilla. But I can’t seem to let it go. I had my heart set, I believed that Tara would say yes and, I’m not a fool, I can see that she’d run or break and undo everything we’ve done if I push. And I don’t know how to not push.

The fear says let it slide. Get up. Make dinner. Do some chores. Watch a movie. Just be for awhile. And it’s terribly tempting. But I’ve neglected Sara trying to be primal for Tara. She deserves better from me. And how do I reinforce that we value Tara without ignoring her while I serve Sara’s needs. This is the dilemma. If it were just Sara and I, I would tie her up and use gentle touches coupled with slaps of the riding crop as foreplay. And so an idea forms. Of how to incorporate all of us together into the scene. All serving our individual purposes.

A slow smile breaks across my face. Tension pours out of me and I cuddle down next to Tara. And reaching my right arm behind me, cup my hand on the smooth soft of my wife’s thigh. Somehow, this always soothes me and I drop off to sleep.