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 26-Tara(possible trigger) 

I can hear Pel and sexy Sara in the next room. They are trying to be quiet, so I am quiet to. A fox is a sly creature. I slink low to the ground. The brush of my tail sending pleasure through me. Tightness inside filling me. I peek around the open doorway, watching as my Master looks entranced by Sara. He watches her pale skin move and flex. The peach of her presented to me. I know it tastes so good. I love peaches and this one is particularly delicious but I’m afraid. Master said to play in the other room. But I want to watch. If he catches me, he will beat me. And I will moan and cry and beg…for him to take me. For her to devour me. I am just a little fox and they are tigers who will eat me all up. I feel myself clench. Tightening and pushing for release.

But I like to scream when I cum and if I scream they will hear me. And I want to watch.

She’s licking up my excitement juices. And I half moan then go still waiting to see if they heard me. She could lick it straight from me. It would be so much easier. I shudder and clench the orgasm building wave on wave as I watch my two people play.

He’s hurting her and I whimper. I don’t want to be hurt just because. A part of me starts chanting ‘I’ll be good, I’ll be good, I’ll be good’. Over and over.

I close my eyes and push against the memory of my old master hurting me. I was good and he still hurt me. I begged him and he hurt me. I cried our safe word and he hurt me.

I crawl away from the doorway. Into my pen. I curl myself tightly in a ball and feel the tears coursing down my throat and the soft sounds pulling from my throat. I hug the huge stuffed animal fox to my chest and try to hide.

I don’t know how long it’s been. I feel a shadow over me and I see my old master and I cringe back. But then I hear the soft honey voice of Pel, “Tara, come back to us. You’re home. You’re safe.”

I burst out sobbing and I hear the pen door open.
Pel pulls me into his lap and strokes my hair.

He starts humming a little song and then sings, “Tara, my little fox, she’s safe, from all harm.
She lives, with a wolf, who’ll eat the bad men.”

He sings the little song over and over and I feel soft hands hold me and a warm body press against me.
Sara whispers in my ear, “Our little fox. We will protect you. The bad man is gone. You are safe.”

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

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.

Valentine’s Day 20

The steam billows out the open door, swirling and concealing. I wait, holding a towel open for Sara. She steps into my arms and I work the towel over her wet skin. I savor these two minutes where she is trapped against me. She could say no at any time; she could call red and we would just relax for the rest of the evening.
“Your clothes are on the bed. Put them on then make me a Mojito,” I say.
Sara leans against me, the curvature of her body pressing in. The hot smell of lemon and basil drifts up from her hair. Her lips press against my ear and she whispers, “Yes, Sir.”
She pulls away, her hand trailing against my arm, soft fingertips playing against my arm.

I catch her hand in mine and pull her back in.

I whisper in her ear, “Bring me the leather clad wooden paddle, the one I like.”

I dismiss her with a flick of my eyes and turn my attention to the wet and shivering Tara.
I swaddle Tara in the still damp towel and pull her to me. I find myself thinking about spanking Sara while I take my pleasure with Tara. It’s impossible but I grow painfully hard with the thought.
I thought I would need longer to recover and, truthfully, there is no chance at a orgasm from me but I still need this. I look into Tara’s eyes and she looks eager. Like a puppy about to be given a treat. I guess she can feel me through the towel.
I catch her wrists and push her to the bed, nearly throwing her down. She looks up with her scared doe eyes. Her mouth parts and I have this flash of pushing my cock against those lips, feeling her tongue work against me. But she will fail. I won’t put her in a position where she might feel like she failed me.
Instead, I command, “Turn over and spread your ass to receive me.”
I see the look of reluctance steal across her expressive face and I feel triumphant. The mask she would have worn has fallen away and she gives me the truth of her. But still she lays face down against the bed, legs spread wide and hands pushed into her ass. Pulling her soft cheeks apart and revealing the clean pink pucker of a just cleaned anus.
I unzip my pants and run the slick lube over my pulsing flesh. I kneel on the bed and push myself into the tightness of her. The sound of her whimper pulls a growl from my throat. I pull back and slam back into her. Feeling the resistance, feeling her heat.

I slam into her again and again. I just need to feel this connection to her. Just need her to know that I need her. Need her always.
I pull out of her with a soft slorp and pull her around to face me. She is smiling. Teeth just exposed in a soft expression. Like she knows. Like she knows that, had I the ability, I’d always be touching her.
“Put on your collar and write in your journal. Then join us in the living room,”  I order.
I walk into the bathroom to clean up. The steam still stains the large mirrors. Heat slowly escaping out the open door. I let out a long shuddering breathe. I’d meant to bring us back to zero. Back to service and sensuality but splitting my attention seems to make me feel inadequate. Forcing me to prove that I’m enough for both my girls. I raise my eyes to the fogged in mirror. The blurring softens the minute lines at my eyes and mouth. I let the wet hot air stream into my lungs. I need to talk to them about it.
But first, I soap up and wash up.

Stepping out, I see Tara wearing her pink collar with the hearts on it and writing in her journal. She melts my heart. As if it weren’t already melty. Leaning over, I plant a kiss on her forehead.

“I love you, my kitten.” I say.
She smiles and says, “I love you too, Pel.”

I force myself to walk into the kitchen. My Sara is standing with a pitcher full of Mojitos on the counter. More than enough for all three of us.
I walk over, slipping my hand around her waist and pulling her to me.
She leans back to me.
“Everything all right,” she asks.

“Just tired my lovely. I can’t seem to keep my hands off of Tara,” I reply.
“There’s a reason we chose her Pel. And a reason she’s worked out for so long. She’s just about perfect. And you know, I love her too.”
“I know, my dear. I just don’t want to short you,” I reply.
Sara turns and puts the pitcher in the refrigerator. “Hon, why don’t we take a nap? We can talk about it after we’re rested.”
I sigh. “Sounds great.” I take my loves soft hand in mine. “Let’s tell Tara together.”
Impishly, Sara smiles up at me.
“Let’s.”

Valentine’s day 19

The problem with planning a day like this is there are always surprises. I completely missed that Tara was not ready to marry us. I didn’t anticipate that she would need comfort for saying no. And I didn’t anticipate having a scene in the car on the drive home. I’m completely exhausted. I don’t think I have another scene in me. At least not for a few hours. But how do I stall is the question.

The ladies are using the bathroom before we start again while I wait. I’ve dragged a stool to the center of the room and sit here pondering the next step. It’s not about sex. Though, for us, that’s a part of it. Maybe I need to bring us back to focus.

I walk into the bedroom. The sounds of our shower drift through the open door. A clear invitation but not what I think is needful, though it makes me smile. My girls are always very happy and considerate. Except when they are angry or sad or upset. They are by no means dolls.

But it’s my job to get them to here, where the world can’t touch us. And they make it so that my anxiety doesn’t spill out and sink me into depression. Because, I can’t think about my darkness when they are in need and by the time they are taken care of and I get a ‘Yes, Sir’ confirmation, all that inner turmoil has gone. Replaced by the deep glow of Dominance float.

For me that means a deep well of calm and light settled below the absolute certainty of control and love. It’s the best feeling in the world. I highly recommend it.

I am browsing through the closet for an outfit for my girls. Something matching perhaps? Or no, something suited to the next task. And despite my current inability to perform, I find myself excited to run my hands across the sweet flesh of Sara and Tara, after all I’m not a robot.

The black silk dress pants and cream blouse for Sara. No panties. I want her to feel the brush of silk over sensitive places.
For Tara, a walking harness made of white soft lace and the pink leash with the silver hearts.

I carry my selections out to the bedroom and lay each item out. Pants first, then blouse, then harness then leash. The anticipation builds in me. Pressure welling in my pelvis. A tightening that strums me like a violin string. Right! Music…

John Coltrane, “A Love Supreme” in its entirety. Perfect. The first strains spill out into the room calling like a siren. Luring my intrepid sailors to shore.

Valentine’s day 18-Sara

Spent and more than a little sore, I wake from my drowse. The car has stopped and through the windows our house sits invitingly.

We are tangled together in a sweaty sleepy pile. Pel has snuggled his face into my hair and is cupping my right breast. His breathe lifts his chest in long slow draughts. Craning my neck and peering behind, I see Tara is entwined with Pel. Holding him as close to her, skin to skin, as much as possible. Outside, Jen waits patiently in the afternoons soft heat.

I shift my weight to grab a moist towlette and feel Pel go rigid. He has long since become something of a manager but in his business it pays to be alert even in sleep. I wish sometimes he had stayed in the safe corporate job he took early in our relationship but, after that night, he just couldn’t keep up the facade.

“It looks like we are home,” Pel murmurs sleepily. He scoots over and softly kisses Tara until her eyes flutter open. For a split second you can see the panic in her eyes, then they close half lidded as she sinks into the kiss.

Pel. He’s been with us multiple times today but still his ardor is not dimmed. Instead, it seems to be stoked to full flame. A small smile grows on my face and I quickly clean up.

I slip back into my dress and am just replacing holster and jacket when I hear them break apart, gasping for air. I roll my eyes a bit but the truth is I’ve been on the receiving end of one of those kisses and they are worth a bit of gasping.

Looking over I see Pel zipping his pants and slipping on his shoes, his socks lost somewhere in the back of the limo. Tara has already wiggled back into her dress. And we’re ready to go. I’m fairly sure that the neighbors know something of what goes on but there is no need to throw it in their faces, as two naked women and a half dressed man would definitely do.

I rap on the window and Jen pulls open the door. Jen is the head of Pel’s security detail and his driver. I have no doubt she saw more than a little of what we were doing. Something that adds a exhibitionist spice to it all. But she is quite happy with her wife Elizabeth and, despite an open offer, has never been less than professional.

She offers a hand, which I’m happy to accept, and she helps me out. These heels make it hard to get out on my own. Meeting her eyes a little wickedly, I know that I’ve flashed her a bit. Her slight upturn smile tells me that. But if this kind of thing upsets her, she never would have lasted as Pel’s driver for long.

Valentine’s day 17

The press of our bodies heats the air. Musk and sex fill the back seat. I bury my face into the crook of her neck, pressing the muscle of tongue against the flutter of her beating veins. We push up together and I pull down, as she crests down. Like a wave that moves her onto me over and over. Parted for less than a second, but starved for each other.

I hear a soft sound to my left and see Sara watching us, drinking us in, memorizing us. Like a movie she’ll play back later. I reach down and rub my thumb against hood, grazing clit in time to our thrusts. I feel Tara tighten like a fist around me each time I brush clit. I know she’s right on the verge. I slow down, watching pulse slow then quickly build our momentum again. I feel myself start to lose control. Any second I’ll be past the point of no return.

That won’t do.

I slow again but quicken my thumb and make sure the slower thrusts run over and over the rough gspot. I watch as Tara clenches over me, pulse against pulse as she goes boneless. I almost lost control.

The pains of having two lovers’ needs to take care of. I move Tara to the seat across from me and she sprawls languid in afterglow. I turn to Sara to see her sliding to her knees and bends face first in Tara’s still tender pussy. I watch as my wife runs her tongue in long slow circles. Little minx.

Punishment for not waking her up I suppose. Brat. Well, surprises all around then. But I will admit that watching my love cause our pet, our girl, to writhe and moan just destroys me. I could watch them for hours. Just because I know they enjoy it and enjoy me watching them. And they are mine. If I were any happier it would be illegal.

But, Sara knows that she should have asked permission first so, let the punishment fit the crime. I pour the lube from the warming tray down into Sara’s soft pink pucker. I hear the intake of surprise but she keeps to her slurping task. I work in the lube into her. Then pour more onto my cock. I’d normally have opened her up a bit with a plug first but she’s no stranger to my cock in anywhere I desire. I’m just normally more deliberate and orderly.

But today, I press in against her, pushing until I feel resistance then holding, then pushing deeper until I hear her softly whimpering and pushing back against me. I know that without the preliminary she has to be in pain even if she is also in pleasure. Gods, I love my little pain slut. Always give them what they need.

I pull out leaving only the head and slam back in, eliciting a scroam. Half scream half moan. And quickly pound into her. No thought to what else she may need. This is a punishment. I ram my body against her slapping into her as hard and fast as I can until, overwhelmed by her undulating the inner walls of her anus, effectively sucking my cock with her ass. Minx. I blow into her. I feel myself empty into her ass and I pull out with a soft pop. I look over at her and she is smiling, radiant in pain and pleasure.

“Tara, dear, please clean out Sara’s ass. She’s made a mess,” I order.

Tara has been watching for a minute while I worked over Sara.

Sara angles her muscular ass to Tara and winks at her. Brat.

I catch the wink in the tinted windows. Shaking my head, I say “Sara, clean your stink from my cock. You have made a mess.”

Knowing how much Sara hates humiliation, not a hard limit but she loathes it, she knows she took it too far. She bends her head to my sloppy cock dripping cum, lube and ass juices. She begins to lick me clean. Our eyes holding each other, she licks right up the center vein. I feel myself growing hard. I’m not made of stone.

Sometimes I wonder who’s really in charge.

Valentine’s day 16

It’s been a day of surprises I think. I was so sure Tara would say Yes. I suppose I was lost in the romantic idea that a collar and a wedding on the same day would be a great story. I catch a glimpse of Tara on my left.
She’s curled up, held in my wife’s arms.

Sara sleeps with the sunlight streaming into the back seat of the car. The heat lulling her to drowsiness. Softly snoring in the way I find so cute. Though, in all honesty, I find most everything about her cute. Gods, I love her. I sometimes have this conflict because of that. She desires pain and in the throws of it she is glorious. And I enjoy her pleasure. But it’s so hard to start hurting her. To think up these scenes and walking the edge that she needs. I suppose I’m more D/s than S/M. But I’ll keep her happy. She really has me wrapped around her finger. Even if I’m the one laying down rules and behaviors. Punishment and play. She would never top from the bottom, but through our love she has mastered me. I can’t conceive of a situation where I’d will it otherwise.

I grab Tara’s leg and pull her towards me.
She starts awake in fear. Her eyes going wide. I place my finger to her lips. She stills.

“We should finish what you started in the Garden,” I whisper.

Her smile spreads lighting up a face which moments before was a mask of fear. She crawls over to me and unzips the soft cotton pants. Her slight rough calloused hand pulls me free. The feeling of her clutching my cock is delicious. I want to see what she will choose. I give no direction or order. Just revel in the warmth of her touch, eyes half lidded.

I feel her locks cascade down the length of me. A waterfall of individual strands moving over sensitive nerves. Her lips press down over the head of my cock. Lips just parted enough to provide pressure. She works her way down me. Savoring the softness of flesh over steel. Her teeth scrape against bulbous head, sending a tidal wave of shivers down my spine. But still, I am quiet.

I guide her mouth off of me. Hands brushing her cheek. My girl. Mine.

“Face me. And wear me.” I state.

She straddles me. Her dress riding up revealing the pale curve of her ass. Crisscrossed pale lines of scarring from previous canings stand out. Her lower lips suck me in as eagerly as her mouth did. Pressing over the hard/soft button of her pleasure.

I lift my eyes to hers, slowly drinking her in. The feeling of fabric and the heat of our joining blurring the lines of beginning and ending. I press my lips to hers. Softly at first. Just pressing in, smelling the wafting musk of heat and bodies. I fall on her like a beast. Pressing into her mouth, our tongues fighting to taste and press against each other. Holding us tightly together. Trying to merge as completely as possible. Needing her. This animal connection.