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.”

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

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.

A soft life

I forget sometimes. I live in my little corporate world. In my little comfortable life. I forget that there are places not too far from me that are closer to the margins. That there are people living closer to the edge. That really. This corporate bullshit is meaningless.

I know better. There is a edge to the world. And I once danced on it. Not because I had to. But because I wanted to. I traded that life. I’d do it again. I’d trade the life I have for the right reasons.

But I need to remember. There are dark places in the world. I’ve seen a few. Caused a few.

This soft life. It’s just not that important. A means to an end.

I’d trade it in a heartbeat for one more chance.

But that old me, he’s gone too. Who I am now will have to be enough.

Refuge for the darkness

If I could be your monster
I’d dance you to the river
that we may both drown
or cadence test and timing bound
slip skin and become one
bound round and round
let devour your mind
slip into dark places
touch the deepest, most lurid desires
I guarantee, I won’t be shocked
keep your course by my side
be us monsters together
dance the moonlight
in blood and abandon