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.

Nightmares are also dreams Part 16-Pel

When I proposed this day of play to Sara, I posed it as stretching of pleasure and boundaries. We have taken our play to extremes before so I knew that this proposal would be one she was interested in.

But, when I said it would be an exploration of sensuality, I could see the disappointment hiding in her smile. Sensual play has always been my foreplay and her aftercare. So to her it wasn’t the high she was looking for.

In times past we’d gone fairly deeply down the roads of pain. Whips with leather covered ball bearings is a favorite of hers. Blade play, including cutting is more my comfort level. Even taking it so far as to create a scar through scarification on the canvas of her milky skin.

I’ve gone fairly close to the edge of life and death with her. Even going so far that we would keep a medical team in the wings in case we needed them to pull her back from over that edge.

We’ve employed some psychological components but nothing in the fear area. Nothing that delved deeply into those zones. So today, I wanted to try that.

I started by taking away her physical liberty. Something comfortable that I’ve done before. Then escalated to removing her sight and her speach with blindfolds and gags. Again, something we’ve done, though with less frequency.

Then I isolated her. No talking, no certainty of presence. Sounds of movement, of leather on hardwood. But allowing the time to stretch out. Until, at last the tension was broken by sensation. But not welcome sensation. Using a Wartenberg pinwheel with carefully removed spokes, I took her down the road of bugs crawling on her. It is an unpleasantness we’ve talked about that I know unnerves her. And once I had her truly frightened, I reminded her of my presence but in the darkness of the room and the harshness of my voice pitch low and the brevity of the exposure to sight, I knew that her mind would start to manufacture and question.

Then electricity play, hard and harsh. Pain like she’s never known, throwing her out of comfort and into panic. (Administered by a friend of ours, one we’ve played with before. I don’t feel comfortable with my ability in this area yet, so I am observing.)

When he called her a slut, I knew it hit home. She flinched as if struck and thrashed. And the scent of her fear filled the room.

This is the edge we will ride in this scene. Abject fear, coupled with pain and pleasure and the unknown.

We’ve been together for a long while. You have to try new things to keep it fresh.

Nightmares are Also Dreams part 8-Tara

It’s a thin fiction that I can’t hear the snap of the belt through the bathroom door but I know Pel needs that. He is trying to keep me safe and I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m better now. I was lost in subspace and had a bad flashback. I wish he’d stop acting like I’m about to break.

The hot water pounds against my shoulders, easing tensions I didn’t know I was carrying. Soaping up and sluicing off quickly, still I stand in the heat and spray. The air grows thick and hard to breathe. And almost, it feels easier to keep going and allow the wet and heat to drown me in the air. It’s not that I want to die or that I’m not happy. It’s that sometimes the pain of remembering is so heavy. I know that I need to get out and get going. But I just can’t.

The sounds in the shower change. The pressure in the room lightens and the air cools. I hear from the doorway, “Tara? Are you ok?”
Pel’s sweet voice fills me with shame and rage and just for a split second resentment.
I turn off the water jets, feeling a sullen bleakness settle down, and step out.

He’s waiting with a big towel. Arms stretched wide to envelope me. And shame overwrites the bleakness. Seeing him, trying to take care of me. I step into his arms and he rubs me down with the towel. Hands soft and firm. Businesslike and still I feel them linger over me. Never where you’d think. On my calves, down my side, along my spine. All dry.

The wet warmth vanishes and I stumble briefly, I’d leaned too far into him. But just as quick, warm robes encircle me. His arms pull me close. I feel his heart beat, that steady thump, for me. For me.

My body leaned back against his. His mouth against my ear. He whispers, “It’s time to get ready my Tara dove. Your clothes are laid out in the guest bedroom. Please get dressed in there.”

The guest bedroom? Why there?
Am I being punished…
Despair drifts back in, unbidden, as if through an open window

“Sara is taking up the whole bed, I’m afraid and we can’t have your dress getting dirty.”

I feel like I just slumped in relief…
Maybe he’s not completely wrong. It’s hard to admit. That I’m not just ok. It’s hard but I know…He does whatever he can to make me safe which is sometimes exhausting for me. But he’s not wrong either. I’m a grown ass woman and it’s hard to be taken care of like I’m not.

“Tara,” he asks quietly.

I shake out of a reverie that I guess dragged on and say, “Ok,” as brightly as I can. I brush past Pel and see Sara is splayed out on the bed. Wrists and ankles bound to the four corners. The bed top has been replaced by a white shiny leather one. A blindfold and ball-gag covers her eyes and mouth. I briefly feel something like lust and jealousy all rolled together. But I go to the guest room and find the outfit picked out for me.

Its peach! From the lace underwear and bra all the way to the two knives I’ll conceal on me, peach.
Where did he get blades that are peach colored?

Nightmares are also dreams: A Pel and Sara story: Part 3

The day ticks away. Scanning documents, looking for connections, waiting for the phone to ring. I was never happy with the waiting. It’s always easier when you aren’t personally invested in the outcome. I know that if I allow it, this will eat away at me. Poison me. I can’t allow myself to descend into the rush of taking. Making no mistake, monstrous as it is, the feeling of self righteous fury made manifest and acted upon, safeguarding my people and my girls, is addictive.

That rush as you pound after your prey, making the target, and standing over this person. The sound of the gun, the silence as their body bleeds out. The light fading. The flight to safety. All floated on a endorphin and adrenalin high.

It’s not until after that you start crashing. Sometimes you are in first stage adrenal failure. Your body gives so much for those moments. And the memories…the chase comes in fragments, the planning sticks with you. But it’s those last minutes that haunt. You run through the catalog of the targets misdeeds, hoping to talk yourself into calm. Hoping that what you did was justified. Sometimes it is. Sometimes, you just can’t convince yourself. And those are the sleepless nights. Holding your girls. Trying to keep yourself from flying apart.

This time there is none of that ambiguity. But their faces will still haunt me. Still look back, glassy eyed, pleading for one more second of life. And I will smile, grim and frightening. Dark fire dancing.

Maybe that makes me a monster.
So be it.