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 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 part 1

Tara

There are those that hold the opinion that raw animalistic rut is the ideal. To lose yourself so thouroughly in your own pleasure, that brutal pain becomes a pleasure of its own. Pel doesn’t see the sense in this. It’s a different approach than I am used to. To Pel, to be without control, to lose your self so thoroughly, is anathema. Or perhaps it is that this animalism is an excuse. A reason to feel like it wasn’t my self begging. That I was yielding to the force of my partner and that I was making pleasure from necessity.

I’ve begged Pel to take me this way, pleaded with Sara to give me this relief and been refused each time. With Pel, sex is a dance. Building piece by piece, order by order, until I’m quivering and quaking. Lost in pleasure as unrelenting as any pain.

Pel

I watch Tara write her morning journal. She sits, nude before her knee high writing desk, concentrating only on the words. The sound of the pencil across the page, soft scritching. This is a part of her standing rules. She is to wake and rise before I do. She must write in her journal each morning for no less than thirty minutes.

When we first started this it was filled with things that she believed I wanted to hear. Over effusive praise and nothing of her self. It took her months before she wrote a honest opinion. I never punished for the former. I just accepted the journal without passing judgment. The dam finally broke and she wrote how sad she was that I gave all my attention to Sara and never spent time with her. This wasn’t entirely true. I made sure that Tara received one orgasm per day, but she was right. In our household, that is almost neglect.

That was what I was waiting for. I need to know what she needs. What she wants. I refuse to guess and she has been less than forthcoming otherwise. I think she is doing that thing where she expects me to read her mind, like I seem to do with Sara.

After more than 13 years of being together, I should bloody well know what she needs and wants. Plus we sit down weekly and review our desires and wishes. To make sure that we are on the same page and to work towards goals. You have to put in the work if you want the reward.

When Tara finally wrote something honest, I and Sara rewarded her. We dedicated ourselves to her desire, her pleasure for the day. I try very hard not to use pain and neglect as punishment. I could have punished her for not being honest but positive reinforcement works better. Punishment is for deliberate disobedience. Positive to reinforce the good behavior, no or negligible attention for incorrect behavior and negative reinforcement for deliberate rule breaking.

Of course, Sara knows this. She will often demand a punishment when she knows she has gone off course. It is cathartic for her and for me. It resets us both back to zero.

Tara has yet to learn that lesson. And perhaps she doesn’t work that way. I know she is used to a good deal more brutality than I dish out. If it were just pain or just humiliation I would work with her. But, there is a good deal of trauma to work with. I won’t, I refuse to be, a source of fear and uncertainty.

Sara

Pel is watching Tara write in her journal. Such careful deliberation in that man. He thinks he’s being so subtle. Pshh. What Tara wants is a thorough rough fuck. Which she won’t get from Pel. Pel is too in control for that. Something I enjoy, I need. He controls me. *shudder* Utterly.

She needs to just ask for what she wants. Pel won’t do it but he won’t deny her either. I know Pel is working on something special for her today. He’s been calling around to some of the other people in our world. Perhaps today we’ll have surprise guests. He’s always planning something. He says that to do something well you must do it thoroughly. Only with a person like that is a single orgasm, a single joy, considered a punishment.

I don’t know if it is his desire to control or something else but he says “Do things for three reasons. If you have one reason then you can think of three. And if you have 3 reasons then make sure each is serviced when achieving your goal.” I touch the small of his back and he starts, so engrossed in watching Tara. He turns over, facing me. He captures my hand and lifts it to his mouth. His soft lips press a kiss into the palm of my hand, tightening something deep within me. “Good morning, my morrigan,” he rasps out, his voice deep from sleep.

Valentine’s day-Prologue

This story will be told every other Sunday.¬† It is a continuation of the stories in Life’s Sensual Journeys, so if you have any interest I recommend you pick it up.

Pel

I questioned the idea of living with two women. My Sara is almost more than any person can handle. Adding Tara to the mix seemed like it would be exhausting, good exhausting, but still. It hasn’t turned out that way. Tara is the most submissive person I have ever had the privilege of being Master to. She delights in service and has set our whole household in order. When I am unable to provide enough entertainment for my deliciously demanding wife, Tara takes to the task with verve and enthusiasm.

This all rushes through my head with the rapid fire vignettes of experience. As I’m waking, culminating in the realization of just how lucky I am.

I’m in bed, sleeping on top of the covers sandwiched between the two loves of my life. Sara sleeps at my back. Arms thrown every which way, softly snoring. She puts off the body heat of a furnace. Odd for someone her size but she is a bit hyper kinetic. Just thinking of her makes me smile. Hearing her soft snorts makes me want to wake her with a kiss. If I get her going this early, I’ll need to take care of her and I’m too tired for that.

Tara is the little spoon to my big spoon. When we went to sleep she was stretched out and relaxed. Now, she is curled into a defensive ball.

My mind flashes to the mewling crying form of the complete waste of carbon who hurt her. The floor of his house slick with blood from the gut shot. The fear and hope in his eyes before I snuffed out his life.

I see my Tara curled like this and I know I did the correct thing. Some monsters must be slain. Regardless of what that makes me, at least she is free.

I reach over her still form and hit the remote to lower the temperature in the room. Sleeping between them is hot but I would want nothing else. When I brush my arm, inadvertently, against Tara she latches on to it. She snuggles back against me holding on to me like a talisman against the darkness. The flash of fierce pride washes over me. Six months ago she would have shied away.

The soft heat, vanilla, and berry scent of my wife and lover brings its own comfort.

It’s going to be a good Valentine’s day.