Pel and Sara Stories

To those who don’t know, I write a series of Erotic Fiction centered around 2 specific Characters.  Pel and Sara.

The first 3 stories are available on Amazon for free if you have Kindle Unlimited.
Otherwise the cost is 1$

If you would like a preview: the first story is available on audio at the top of the page: under Ballroom

The third is found at the top in it’s own Page: Valentine’s Day

I am starting a New story featuring those characters.  There will be some erotica but it will center around more drama than sex.

I hope you Enjoy the new story: Nightmares are also dreams: A Pel and Sara Story.

Look for it Every other Monday. Starting today.

Nightmares are also dreams: A Pel and Sara story: Part 1

The gold embossed Swiss inspired mini grandfather clock ticks its slow way through the morning. A double insulated steel mug chills to the side fizzing with the just poured in Diet Coke. A wide shouldered, slightly overweight, just over six foot tall man sits. Back hunched over looking at the computer screen.

That’s me. Pel of Darkling Spire Security. It’s ok. I’m sure you’ve never heard of us. We provide discrete services to discerning clients. Discerning mostly meaning willing to pay at least in the low six figures. Don’t let the mahogany desk or wood paneling fool you. This isn’t the office of a country lawyer or a conservative think tank. What we mostly do here is protect people from being killed or very rarely protect someone by killing someone. Though the latter service is not one we generally advertise.

I’ve been doing this for twenty years. An eternity in this kind of business. Especially for a small firm. I am both the most dangerous and least dangerous person I employ. I can put boots on the ground in any country with a name and a few without in 36 hours. Every person here is a heart breaker and life taker. Even my secretary, Janice, has a body count.
I’d put my secretarial pool and the mail room boys and girls against most branches of the armed services worldwide. Where numbers were equal, that is.

I handle the contracts and the glad handing. The political situation and the personnel. And a few special projects.

One such project is sitting on my screen. The remains of a dozen or so men and women. Tortured and murdered over the last 5 years. Not in some battlefield shit hole, but in my city. Among people who should have been treasured and protected.

There’s even a little video. It’s a cross between the Saw films, Hostel, and some fucked up eastern European sex trafficking thing.

Why am I even looking at this kind of thing? Don’t I have analysts for this? Sure I do. And they are combing over this, looking for information. But there are a few rules for this kind of life.

One, Never give an order you know will not be followed.
Followed closely by Two, Never ask your people to do something you are unwilling to do.

As to why am I looking? Other than rule two, my girlfriend Tara almost fell prey to this very thing. The only reason she is alive now is their methodology. It seems that they break their prey. Making them crave what they are doing. Then they release them. Until the person comes crawling back begging to be taken back into their care. It’s a power trip and a way to torment the people they enthrall.

In that brief window, I found Tara. And failed to find even the hint of this in my preliminary background checks. Beautiful, inexperienced, and adventurous, she fell for her Masters Fetlife profile hook, line, and sinker. That’s right, she is a submissive. From what I can gather she was a Pet. Animalistic and fox in her fursona. And he seduced her and damn near broke her.

Beware of people calling themselves Master, at least without contactable references. It’s never a good sign.

I glance over to the picture of Tara cuddled up with my wife Sara. I close my eyes. The horror of these pictures. Against the thought of either of my girls in that situation… Yeah, a little exciting. But only if we talked about it and only with consent. And only Sara. Tara is far too fragile for that kind of game.

And that’s the other shoe, I fucked up pretty badly recently. Sending Tara into a full blown ptsd flashback. Sara is helping as best she can but we’re not equipped for this. And therapist that knows the lifestyle as a positive thing and sees polyamoury in a good light who are equipped to handle Ptsd and other traumas, not as plentiful as you might think.

But this, finding the ring of people doing this and shutting it down, hard? This I can do.

Valentine’s Day 31

My loves sit at the dining room table talking in low tones and dipping chocolate chip cookies in milk. Tara giggles and loses half her cookie to the glass. Soaked through it breaks. She uses a dry one to fetch the pieces out. Sara brushes a strand of purple hair from Tara’s eyes, tucking it behind her ear. I finish putting the dishes in the washer and start to clean the counter. Making work for myself to allow Sara to work her magic.

After a few minutes the cookies are gone, wife and lover are lounging content as cats, and the dishwasher chugs away.

“My love.” I say, “Let’s get ready for bed. You two can use the shower first.”

Sara looks knowingly at me. Her wise grey eyes carrying a sad smile. She holds her hand out to Tara, who grips her and bounces up out of the chair.

My girls disappear into the bedroom and moments later I hear the shower turn on.

I pad over to the bedroom. Snagging the remote to the house sound system, I put on the soft sounds of summer rain. The hiss and patter fills the room displacing the empty silence.

I remove the sheets and change them for a fresh set. Soft silk replaced with warm cotton.

I retrieve Mr. Fox from Tara’s side of the bed and position the bear to be watching and waiting when the girls emerge.

The girls emerge from the shower in a billow of steam and seeing Mr. Fox, Tara snatches him up and spins around with him in her arms.

Sara smiles, tired eyes lighting with soft joy, for a moment the missteps of the night forgotten.

I can’t see this anymore. Maybe that makes me weak but I can’t take credit for joy when I’ve brought us so close to disaster. I walk into the washroom and start the shower. I carefully peel off the bandage covering my dick and see the blood spots.
This is going to suck. I lather up and gently wash all over. I take extra gentle care of my wounds. This sidelines me from many of our daily routines. My mistakes compound and pay dividends I would have preferred were less.

Sluicing down the suds, I stand for a minute in the pounding streams. I let the jets massage away some of the tension and the air grows thick and hot.
Unable to take more, I step out. The shower jets shutting down ten seconds after no bodies are sensed in the stall. I throw on my robe and stand at the mirror. I force myself to take five deep breathes, holding each for three seconds before I floss and brush my teeth. I reapply a bandage on my cock and pull on underwear to keep it from brushing against anything in its raw state.

I walk into the bedroom and the air is chilly compared to the stifling heat of the bathroom. Tara is curled up against Sara. Already asleep. Sara is in the middle of the bed and I slip in behind her.

Soft moonlight filters through the gauze curtains. The sounds of rain pours through the speakers. The fresh scent of clean hair fills my nostrils. The heat of Sara as little spoon warms me and on any other night, I’d slip deeply into dreams.

But tonight, I fear sleep will be a long time coming.

Valentine’s Day 30-Interlude

“Jen, I hope I’m not interrupting your night off.” I speak into the receiver.

Music pounding, muffled in the background, “Not at all, what can I do for you,” Jen asks, the lie plain.

“Regarding the business of Tara’s master. We seemed to have missed some links. It appears that he may have worked with a group of people. At least to the extent that they worked together in his…business. I also have another name for you. In relation to Tara. Rachel, no last name, may have been a late guest of her master.” I say, attempting to be circumspect. One never knows who might be listening.

“I’ll handle it. When do you need the information,” asks Jen.

“We tried fast. Let’s go for thorough. Let’s meet in a week and see what we have. If in house can’t handle it, farm it out. Pull from the Aleph account,” I command.

“Yes. We’ll do this right. Do you want us to sit on it or do we want to encroach on the subjects?”

“Soft recon only, nothing close in until we have the shape of it,” I reply.

“On it.” The background sounds cut off as the line goes dead.

Emerging from the bedroom, I walk over to the oven and pull out the cookies to cool. The warm richness of melted dark chocolate fills the night air. Placing the dozen chocolate chip cookies on the cooling rack; I turn off the oven. The sound of a wisecracking fox fills the air. Ah, Zootopia.

Time for some actual food. I’m thinking grilled cheese with caramelized onions. A bit of comfort food to go with a comfort dessert.

Valentine’s Day 30

After 2 hours of holding and talking Tara is calm enough for Sara to dress her. I pull on slacks and a plain black t-shirt. Sara guides Tara out of our bedroom, guiding her with a hand on her back. Tara normally looks regal and she just looks sad. Her eyes downcast like she’s done something wrong. Breaking my heart. How deeply I failed her. But I don’t get the luxury of showing her my own weakness. Not yet.

Sara meets my eyes and shakes her head. Telling me that Tara hasn’t told her what happened. I sit Tara next to my wife and take the chair opposite them. I don’t want Tara to feel trapped or pressure.

Tara sits with her hands on her lap, eyes downcast. Her soft peach dress demure and innocent.

“Tara,” I say, pitching my voice soft, “I apologize for leaving you alone. It was wrong and I will try to never let it happen again.”

Tara looks up at me, shock on her face. Tears spring to her eyes and she rocks as if slapped.

She shakes her head and softly, almost inaudible, whispers, “No. It was my fault. I should have been good. I’ll do better.”

I can feel my heart shattering and the tears spring to my eyes blurring my vision.
“Honey, no. You’ve done nothing wrong. You got scared and hid. I’m sure Fineous fox was a good companion and kept you safe…Can you tell us why you hid,” I ask fighting to keep the sob from my voice.

Tara looks over at Sara who nods ok and Tara takes a deep breath. She looks me in the eye and say “I… I saw you hurting Sara. I saw….. And then I saw my friend Rachel. And I saw Him. He was hurting her and he said that he would keep hurting her unless I was good and come over to him. But,” her sobs punctuating each few words, “I couldn’t because I was scared. He’d cut me earlier and if I came to him I knew he’d cut me again and I couldn’t make myself move and he kept hurting her and she was crying and I couldn’t be a good girl and he hurt her and she was bleeding and he dragged me and locked me in the punishment room. And I heard him drag her to the back and a car door slam and I never saw her.”

Tara is crying in jagged gasps and Sara is holding her. I meet Sara’s gaze and shake my head. Rachel didn’t turn up in our sweep. From what I’m hearing, she’s dead. And this makes me think that there must have been others. There’s no way that douchebag got rid of the body so thoroughly. He was a trust fund idiot. Not a contractor. So he had help. I’ll send Jen, my head of security, a note asking her to do a deep dive into this.

“Honey, I’m sorry. Sara is here and mostly unhurt. I’m sorry I didn’t sit you down and go through that scene. I know we didn’t discuss it and I got carried away. This is entirely my fault for not finding out what might trigger you. I won’t ask you to forgive me. I will do better for us all.”

Tara looks up from Sara. She says, “I don’t want to play.”

Those 5 words tell me that she’s not completely lost. She’s asserting her desires and that eases a tiny bit of the tension.

“Of course,” I reply, “It’s your day. What would you like to do?”

She looks up and says “I want to watch Fantastic Mr. Fox, then Zootopia.”

“Of course, I’ll just put it on and start some dinner. Ok?”

She smiles, still clinging to Sara, tears streaming down her face, “OK.”

Valentine’s day 28

The hardwood floor gives slightly as I pad, nude, to the doorway. Sara lingers behind, packing up the first aid kit. My eyes scan the kitchen and living room looking for our pet, Tara. She was so deep in the pet persona she could be anywhere, getting into anything. My grin, at the thought of our girl, fills my face like a cheshire cat.

I spot movement behind the giant red fox we got Tara to mark our one month anniversary. Then I hear it and my breathe catches. My heart shudders to a near stall and my whole body goes still.

Quiet sobs echo off the brick walls.
No…
She must have seen us.
My heart fills with pain and regret. I rush over to her pen, practically running the twenty five feet. She’s crying. Her tears break me. Each one a testament to how badly I’ve failed her. But that doesn’t matter now. My problem, my pain doesn’t matter now.

I open the latch and she looks right at me, her face a mask of fear. She scoots back away and I feel like I’m going to throw up. I can’t stand this wild fear. The face of someone who is lost in the world.

I get on my hands and knees and and crawl to her. The sounds of her whimpers, so like ambrosia earlier are as ashes on my tongue. I’d do anything to take that fear from her. But, you can only kill a man once. Mores the pity.

I gather her in my arms. Holding her to my heartbeat and murmur, “come back to us, little one.” Tears spill down my face, trickle past my chin and down my neck. I’m lost to this moment. In misery. I’m a failure. I can only hold her and hope she forgives me.

Sara pulls up next to me. I didn’t hear her. She nestles against Tara. Comforting her with her presence. Her fingers intertwine with mine. I take hold of myself. Stop the tears and just hold Tara. Our love.

“We’ll fix this. Make this right,” I whisper.
“Tara, love of our life, this is a broken world. But you are not broken.”

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.