Spin bled
Round read
Eyes turn again
Next fled
Choice bends
And back to you again
Learn blood
Sup FUD
And swirl into arms
Roll dice
Found slice
Made nice
Though pain paints its own picture
Hearts race
Lost face
Soundly laced
Choices back to her again
Quiet beat
Soundly sleep
Pain creeps
Eyes possess her all
BDSM
Nightmares are also dreams Part 35(possible trigger warning)-Tara
I’ve been waiting in the bathroom for a long time. The shower pounds against the tiles in staccato bursts. The air is heavy with steam and the floor length mirror is completely obscured. This room has become its own pocket world. The world outside falls away and I am alone. I haven’t felt like this in a long time. Alone, quiet, and safe.
My mind plays back the parade of boyfriends who hurt me. Who raped me in the guise of being a good slave. Who hurt me over and over again until they left. And I went looking for a new master.
I can feel myself shaking and shivering. Sometimes, when I remember, I feel as lost and alone as when I was with them. And sometimes I feel like that’s what I want. That pain and the total loss of control. To know that the man standing over you could rip into your flesh and you would beg and scream and he would smile.
Sometimes I wish Pel would destroy me. Would leave me a bloody sobbing mess. He refuses. Says I’m not ready. Says he won’t be lumped in with my abusers. It’s only in the quiet that I can admit that I’m waiting for him to turn. To prove that this is all just one long setup, that he only builds me up to later break me.
When Sara is around or Pel is in the room, I can never see that happening. But I’ve admitted it to our therapist, in a one on one session. She says it’s normal. Normal to expect the behavior of people who have hurt us in the past, to be the same behavior that we’ll always get. But that doing so, when all evidence to the contrary is presented, is self destructive. And it’s gotten better.
I think that as awful as the morning was. As monstrous as killing and torturing one of the Circles breakers was…it was the right thing. It has separated the past from the present. Put a period to the life I lived before and showed me who I am. Strong. Capable.
I turn to the sudden cold rush of air and see Pel standing there. Nude but never naked. Sara is peaking out from behind him, mouth open, showing the reason he was delayed. The white foam of saliva and seed disappears as she swallows it all.
My eyes wander to Pels cock. The shaft erect and pulsing.
Sara’s dark voice purrs out, “I’ve saved some for you my love.”
I look between Sara and Pel. Sara, mischievous and indulgent. Pel, calm and waiting, but a dark eagerness sitting just inside his eys.
I sink to my knees, the soft bath mat cushioning. I slide my mouth down the hard length of him, tongue pushing against his pulse. My eyes cast upward, asking for permission. Pel nods.
I pull my mouth away. Hesitant. I ask, “Sir, will you please fuck my mouth.”
Pel looks a bit surprised. It’s the first time I’ve asked for brutal treatment. He pauses long enough that I’m sure I’ll be denied.
Then, his cock is pushing its way back into my mouth. Slamming against the back of my throat and I hear the tiger growl of “Yes. Mine.”
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Nightmares are also dreams Part 25
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.
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My hope for the future
For me, my day to day application of being a Sir is to aid those in my care. They aren’t my claimed submissive. It’s been a long time since I’ve had someone who was that. And I do miss it.
But, still, the people in my care receive the watered down version. The guide instead of the commander. While both have their place, I only display the guide without prior explicit consent.
Sometimes that is enough. It has to be enough. Because there is no one clambering at my gates demanding to submit to me. And I’m without romantic relationship right now. I no longer play just to play. I find it empty. I need the care and connection to care. To take care of my submissives needs, even in play. Otherwise it’s just robotic going through the motions, push this button, get this response.
I have no use for that. I don’t feel connected when it’s just sex. For me, that’s not a thing. I am way too far into my head for that to matter. But seeing the delight, the fear, the pain, the pleasure of a partner? Of my good girl or boy? That is worth something. That has meaning. Everything else is just mechanics. And that is ever what I look for. Not just a play partner but a real partner. Nothing less is worth the pain.
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Nightmares are also dreams Part 24
Tara’s lips linger over her wife’s. Their breath mingling for the barest moments. Pushing away slowly she stands. Sauntering over like the fox that ate the hen.
I can’t help but smile when I see her confidence restored. And I seeing my approval, Tara lights up in response. She grabs Mr. Fox and sits. Rather primly for one clad only in a stuffed fox.
“Well,” I ask, “what are we to do about this breach of protocol?” I cast a glance at Tara and, as her smile fades, I shake my head. No. Not meant for you.
“Sara dear. You seem to have forgotten that today was to be a slow day of agony. And instead partook of pleasure. Now, she is a sweet succulent peach, to be sure, but that does not excuse the breach of protocol. Whatever am I to do with you?
I suppose, technically, I should punish you in some way. I had planned on hot stones, just a scoach under the temperature at which flesh burns as our next step. Not enough to do harm but enough to think that harm would be done. It’s a shame really.”
The disappointment and fear in Sara’s trembling flesh makes me smile. If only with my eyes.
I wonder if she knows what punishment I had waiting in the wings….
I go to our closet. The walk-in cedar lined walls reflecting the subdued lighting and almost making the wedding dress shine as if in a spotlight.
“Come, dear Sara. Release your bonds and stand, do. I have a present for you.”
I grab the dress by the hangar and sweep around into the bedroom proper. Sara has released the wrist restraints and is bent over working on the ankle ones.
I move to stand in front of her. Knowing that in doing so, the hem is likely to be visible from her position. But she takes her time, almost defiantly, and releases the second cuff before looking up.
Seeing the dress, she looks puzzled. In response, I pull out my cell phone and call for our detail.
“Honey, it’s been more than ten years since we were marries. I think it’s time your family knows. So we are going to take wedding photos. And send them off to your parents. I’m sure they will be ecstatic knowing that their precious jewel is so well loved.”
As I speak, I see the puzzlement fade and be replaced by outright horror. Her parents are a particular kind of monster. And I know she has never confronted them with the truth of her life and lifestyle. Nor will she be doing so now. But I’m not going to let that drop until we have our photos in hand. Let her fret a bit. We’ll talk about it in aftercare.
“And here, my dear. Don’t forget to bring our darling pet along. She’s going to be so beautiful collared and playing, nude at our feet. Aren’t you dear Tara?”
Tara smiles at us shyly and nods eagerly.
Now Sara will have to try and pretend that this is all a happy and good thing. It’ll eat her up.
My little pain slut…did you think that you would get what you wanted so easily?
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Explaining an explanation
Give me those moments where certainty is clear
Where all the shadows and scales fall from the eyes
Where paths are unshrouded and truths are spoken
This fulfillment of purpose
Of seeking
Of the situation broken and bloody
Looking at me
My arms are open
Mind focused
Seeing you
I’ll guide you should you allow it
You are mine
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What twists, what turns, what burns, what knows
I want you filled with me, consumed by my will, by your shame and pleasure. Knowing that I will take care of you in all the ways you dream about in your dark heart. Knowing that at times I will break you with kindness and love even as I bruise you and blood you as your deep desires twist and beg for. You are mine. Wake every day knowing that you are owned. That you are desired. That there is someone who is willing to burn and be burned in the pyre of you. Do not despair of my kindness. Of my deep well of love. Think not of only the soft and light that I speak of. That of my actions to care for you. Remember, that until you give explicit consent, the beast of me is shackled. But know, it waits, it sees you and we hunger.
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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.
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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
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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.
Pelgris 