Nightmares are also dreams Part 25

Tara is padding around, fox ears on her head and fox tail sprouting from her butt plug. She is snuffling and sticking her nose into things and generally having a good time. Her small smile says that she loves the game and wants to play.

Sara is staring in unconscious horror at the elaborate off-white dress. One of those flouncy meringue wedding dresses that shops try to sell to the happy and unsuspecting. She looks at me as if I’d lost my mind. I smile back angelically. Fallen angels count, right?

“You can’t be serious,” she states. Her voice empty with shock. Ah, horrible dress therapy, why did I never think of this before?

“Do you not like it? I had it special ordered just for you. I have it on good authority that your father’s second wife wore the exact same dress.”

“His SECOND wife?! You mean the tramp he left my mother for,” her voice rising in incredulity and anger.

“It could have been his third. To be honest, I’ve lost count. I’m sure it’s in a file somewhere. Would you like me to check,” I reply calmly.

Letting out a low groan, Sara turns to me and whines, “Why are you doing this?”

I look at her for a beat. Letting the silence stretch. Then reply, “Your parents deserve to know that you are happy and married. Just like you wanted. If you are wondering why that photo will include Tara nude and being a little fox…then ask yourself this: would you ask her and me to hide who we are? Is that who you want to be be?”

She looks at me and sees the disappointment lurking, waiting for her answer.

I know that she loves us and accepts us. But to expose these kinds of things to her parents is a completely different proposition.

She knows this is a punishment. She knows that I will not harm her. But still, she’s human. And exposure of secrets is one of the hardest things we do. Especially to people whose image of us is in contrast to the truth.

She turns away, eyes cast down. Almost inaudible, I hear her say, “Ok.”

Then she whips back around to me glaring fiercely and proclaims “But I won’t be doing this in that monstrosity. I have my own clothes and I will pick something I deem appropriate.”

I smile, wryly, and say, “Well, it is your day. You have 30 minutes to find a dress and get into it. The makeup artist will be done with us by then.”

I watch the triumph fade to panic then into something like horror. What am planning flies across her face?! Then she’s off like a shot into her closet.

I turn away and go to the hall closet where my tux is kept.

Moments later I hear a shriek and a cry of “Don’t lick that!” coming from Sara’s direction. Then out pranced Tara looking impish and smug.

This is going to be fun.

Nightmares are also dreams Part 24

Tara’s lips linger over her wife’s. Their breath mingling for the barest moments. Pushing away slowly she stands. Sauntering over like the fox that ate the hen.

I can’t help but smile when I see her confidence restored. And I seeing my approval, Tara lights up in response. She grabs Mr. Fox and sits. Rather primly for one clad only in a stuffed fox.

“Well,” I ask, “what are we to do about this breach of protocol?” I cast a glance at Tara and, as her smile fades, I shake my head. No. Not meant for you.

“Sara dear. You seem to have forgotten that today was to be a slow day of agony. And instead partook of pleasure. Now, she is a sweet succulent peach, to be sure, but that does not excuse the breach of protocol. Whatever am I to do with you?

I suppose, technically, I should punish you in some way. I had planned on hot stones, just a scoach under the temperature at which flesh burns as our next step. Not enough to do harm but enough to think that harm would be done. It’s a shame really.”

The disappointment and fear in Sara’s trembling flesh makes me smile. If only with my eyes.

I wonder if she knows what punishment I had waiting in the wings….

I go to our closet. The walk-in cedar lined walls reflecting the subdued lighting and almost making the wedding dress shine as if in a spotlight.

“Come, dear Sara. Release your bonds and stand, do. I have a present for you.”

I grab the dress by the hangar and sweep around into the bedroom proper. Sara has released the wrist restraints and is bent over working on the ankle ones.

I move to stand in front of her. Knowing that in doing so, the hem is likely to be visible from her position. But she takes her time, almost defiantly, and releases the second cuff before looking up.
Seeing the dress, she looks puzzled. In response, I pull out my cell phone and call for our detail.

“Honey, it’s been more than ten years since we were marries. I think it’s time your family knows. So we are going to take wedding photos. And send them off to your parents. I’m sure they will be ecstatic knowing that their precious jewel is so well loved.”

As I speak, I see the puzzlement fade and be replaced by outright horror. Her parents are a particular kind of monster. And I know she has never confronted them with the truth of her life and lifestyle. Nor will she be doing so now. But I’m not going to let that drop until we have our photos in hand. Let her fret a bit. We’ll talk about it in aftercare.

“And here, my dear. Don’t forget to bring our darling pet along. She’s going to be so beautiful collared and playing, nude at our feet. Aren’t you dear Tara?”

Tara smiles at us shyly and nods eagerly.

Now Sara will have to try and pretend that this is all a happy and good thing. It’ll eat her up.

My little pain slut…did you think that you would get what you wanted so easily?

Nightmares are also dreams Part 23

Some heavens are found when we give in to our desires.

I’ve tried to make this day about control and the measured step by step of needs building until the pressure itself became an agony. It would have been a masterwork. But watching my Tara play with my Sara…the gentle torture of pleasures inflicted.

The soft kisses and gentle caress of fingertips. The sounds of bodies moving against each other and soft silk. The smell of sweat. Musk saturating the cool afternoon. Faint but detectable, for one whose smelled this heady mixture before.

I sit saddle style against the chair I brought for Tara. Arms resting on the chair back. Soft smile tugging mouth upward.

I don’t know if I’m the one who is changing or we are all growing together. I wonder if my current line of work, taking me away from cold planning and corporate maneuvering, and back into the field…if somehow with my blood lust sated, I want only gentle things.

I look up from my minds wander to see Sara looking at me, her blindfold discarded in the tumult. I see her. And know that pleasure is never enough for her. And seeing her see me, my fire wakes from dormancy. She kindles my flame as she ever has. And in our shared fire, my mind tracks to the sound of ragged gasping.

While others might take the sight of two beautiful women making love to be enough for desire…I know something so simple and without that black edge of control and pain, will never be enough. Not for me. Not for Sara.

And while Tara is made of gentler things, still, her joy on my leash…she has a place with us. Her fox to our wolves.

“Tara,” I say, “get up please. It is time for me to play.”

Nightmares are also dreams Part 20-Sara

I hear that tiny sound of giggle that only comes from Tara’s throat when she’s both happy and nervous. It sounds like hesitant bells. Like fear wrapped in brightness. I wish I could get up and go to our wounded bird, our limping fox girl.

I hear her light steps move into the bedroom. I hear Pel’s heart cave as he sees us together. That palpable tension of fear and frission. Of a Masters next steps, dissipates.

The sounds of whispers sounds like offers phrased as instruction. What comes next a mystery, but as much as the fear of the unknown grips my heart. The fear of what might be, I think I’m safe. I flashback to another night that I was given and…but no. This is not that.

The soft fur caresses my calf. Trailing comfort and warmth up my body.

The sound of a murmur that is just audible reaches me.

“And this, Mr. Fox is the leg of our Sara. It is soft but firm. She can wrap it around and also leap up with them. After her shower, her legs taste like cinnamon….it’s probably her soap, but I like to think it’s just her.”

The soft fur cups my ass, squeezing and pulling apart cheeks. Exposing the one spot of warm on the back of my body to the coolness of the room.

“Do you see this Mr. Fox? This is Sara’s butt. Pel likes to put things in it to make Sara squeal but she doesn’t have a tail….. YES. I have a tail, I am a good fox girl. My master tells me so.”

The fur works its way up my back, trailing the lines of the scars and scar work. Whip lines and the raven. The marks of this life and Pel’s claims.

Hair trails across my face, and I soft breathes warm against my lips.

Whispered, “And this, Mr. Fox, is my Sara. She’s sometimes my mistress but mostly my lover and friend. She’s mine, Mr. Fox. And you can’t have her.
But now you’ll always long for the touch of her body. Aren’t I nice!”

It’s impossible to laugh tied face down like this but oh, how I want to. It escapes like a a hiccup and is swallowed by the devouring lips of Tara. Making her claim. Our little fox girl. She’s growing up.

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 13-Interlude

The soft drip of water sounds distant and hollow. The room I’m in looks to be some kind of warehouse space. I can see a drain on the floor and…what looks like hair spotted with scalp. I can feel my heart pounding like some crazed dubstep song. I know what this is. I can hear the part of me that isn’t floating in this pleasant haze of what I can only imagine to be really good shit gibbering and wailing in some small corner of my mind.

This is a kill room. Maybe a torture room or enhanced interrogation techniques, as I’ve heard the more cold blooded mercenaries we work with. I think they are going to kill me. And I know that I should care but I seem to only be able to work myself up to mildly bemused.

Oh look it’s the peach dress lady and she has some kind of cattle prod. Hullo peach dress lady!

She shoves it into my bare stomach and the prongs are cold. So amateur, everyone knows you keep them warm.

My veins pulse fire and every muscle in me contracts including my poor heart and for a brief eternity all I can do is scream. And in those seconds, I can see clearly across the room. The whole capture team has been rolled up.

The drugs recede a bit when the bitch in peach is done and she walks over to one of the blank faced sociopaths we use as muscle. Oooh right in the testicles….better them than me.

They still haven’t asked any questions. The keening in my mind gets higher and I can hear the whimpers escape. They aren’t going to ask anything…they are just going to torture us until we die.

There has to be something I can give them. Some link that will get me free. But I don’t know anything, I don’t know, I don’t know…

“Wait, please,” I scream. I swear I screamed. My throat feels raw from screaming. They had to have heard. They must. I thrash against the bonds in the chair I’m in and catch a glimpse of the redhead…that bitch the opposition use for a chief. She’s rolling some kind of cart to the one team member I know. He’s a guy I grab beers with after the job, maybe we go back to his place and fuck.
He’s slumped down and doesn’t seem to be breathing…the sound of pleading comes louder now. I wish it would shut up. I’m trying to hear what’s happening.

They used paddles and revived him. I feel cold right to the center of me. How many times have we died? How many times?

*** *** ***

Tara is looking ill, Jen thinks. It’s time to get her out of here. She wanted to see justice done but I don’t think she can handle this. I’m sending her back to Pel with a note that she may need emotional support. In any case, it’s been several hours. He has to be almost done by now.

Nightmares are also dreams – part 11 – interlude

“Team A, you are a go. Decoy b is in the net,” squawks the walkie.

The men in the van and other vehicles look like unassuming middle aged nobodies. They blend in to most crowds in the western world like water slipping into a lake. Who notices a few more white guys?

They wear a variety of sweaters and cardigans, khakis and coats. Armed with silenced pistols and stun guns, they get out of their nondescript sedans. So disparate that they are almost identical. Someone watching would describe them moving in sync. Professionals.

By different routes, they filter into the mall. Their quarry will believe that the squad has been neutralized. They still believe that this group is run by a lone group of weirdos. And, to be fair, the breakers are monsters to a man. It’s unfortunate, but a necessary part of the network.

“They are heading to the second level. Eyes up, it looks like they have outrunners.”

The men act as if they are browsing. Asking clerks for sizing options. For color options. Arriving to the designated area before the target.

If their security is pointed outward, it should afford our ambush a few vital seconds of surprise.

The underboss should never have been seen by the girl. But, he was the only available agent in place when it all started going south. This is a fuck up and normally we would have cut him away but This group… This Darkling Spire has raided a couple of our lower lever houses. If we let them, they will burn down all we have built.

“Check-in.”

“1, 2, 5, 7, 4, 8,….”

“Does anyone have eyes on 3 or 6?”

“kshhhh”

“I see 3 sitting in the food court…”, the sound of suppressed gunfire cuts the walkie off.

Fuck. “Abort, Abort, abort.”

The sound of the lock on the van breaking spins me around. The splash of peach leaves me speechless as the voice of the target says, “Pel said I was going shopping. He always gets me the nicest things.”

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, part 7

I emerge from the steam of the bathroom and see Tara moving under the covers. It seems that my girls are happy and who doesn’t like that. But Tara has a appointment to keep, so much as I would like to let this continue, I’ll likely need to cut it short. However, I can give them a few minutes.

I walk around the bed, past the side table, and into the walk in closet. The gunmetal tie, the black jacket and black pants are quickly selected and placed on the dressing rack. Now for what Tara will wear…a harder choice. I want her to look fierce yet sexy, to really show her how far I think she has come. I stand looking over the choices. I’m unsure of how best to demonstrate her progress. Then it hits me, something that is in counterpoint to what Jen and the other guards will wear. I find the pale peach jacket with matching peach pinstriped pants. Both cut to fit and with plenty of pocket space. She needs the room to be able to store her blade AND have her hands free should she need to use it. For the shirt, a plain white silk, and a peach pocket square….and suspenders with little pictures of mice and bowls of milk. For shoes…I think the dyed to match suede low heeled boots. Peach is such a hard color to match but it’s Tara’s favorite. But if one piece is peach, generally all have to be.

I can hear the moans drifting in from the bedroom. It sounds like Sara is minutes away from orgasm. And that just won’t do.

I pop out of the closet and say, “Tara, dear, it’s time for your shower…Jen will be by in an hour to take you shopping and you must be ready.”

I hear a muffled response and walk to see what is happening. “Sara, release Tara… Please.”

Sara let’s go of the double handful of Tara’s locks and cranes her own head back to look at me. I can read the frustration on her face telling me that I stopped this just in time. Hell, astronauts on the ISS can probably read that expression. I just beam a smile at my very frustrated wife and waggle my fingers at her.

Tara slides off the bed and walks into the bathroom. She knows better than to step into the middle of this.

“Pel, what the fuck,” Sara asks, exasperation and frustration dripping off her tongue.

I let my face go cold and look her in eyes that have deepened to the color of a sea in storm. Her eyes telling me just how pissed she is.

I watch as the color bleeds out from storm to pale sky. She sees my normally active face go cold and still.

I walk to the bed and grab her arm, pulling her out of the illusion of safety and let her drop onto the hardwood. Stalking around her shocked body, I lean down and say, “Listen, little whore. You are mine to do with as I please. You don’t get a orgasm until I say you do.”

Sara shivers then goes still, sensing the direction Pel is taking her. Her soft reply of, “Yes, Sir,” is all but lost under the sound of the belt snapping sharp against her exposed buttocks.

It begins.

Nightmares are also dreams, part 6: Tara

The heat void left by Pel getting up rouses me from my barely remembered dream of laying next to a fire. I snuggle into his spot. Still warm from him and close to Sara. I feel the soft muscle of Sara’s arm pull me to her, sliding me across silk to nestle close enough to feel her warm breathing tickle my still closed eyelids. I feel her feather touch. Soft fingers spread like a fan, drawing circles around my breast. My eyes open, awake now, and find the deep green of shaded forest staring into mine. I’ve seen this look before, her eyes flashing so deeply with desire they are practically black.

I lean in and devour her soft lips with mine, head tilted to the left. Pressure building to take more of her into my mouth. Tongue sliding over tongue, soft and fierce, fighting for more and more until I feel her hand squeezing and pulling my tit. I break awake, gasping for air. Gobbling breath. Her hand pulses like a heartbeat. I find myself on my back gasping, not sure how I changed positions.

Her nails graze against me sending shivers down spine and her mouth closes over my throat. Lightly biting down, claiming me as hers, her kill. I shudder needing more but she moves so slowly. Lips press their need against my chest and I gasp in surprise when her teeth close over my nipple right as her hand flicks my clit.

I fade out, almost to float, but her fingers plunging inside me shakes me loose. I panic, starting to struggle against her and my eyes fly open.

From the doorway, Pel is watching us. He’s holding two mugs in his hands, not drinking from either. He seems content to watch us forever.

I relax shocked back to reality. My girlfriend and my Sir. I’m safe and that thought gets blasted out of my head. Sara is biting and nibbling and her hand pulses inside me fingers splayed and caressing inside finding spots I never knew were there.

I fall into sensation, eyes closed against any distraction. Each time I feel teeth I whimper as a thumb drags slowly against my clit.

My lungs expand and contract, rough breathe spilling into the air, my body starts shuddering, and then soft waves of gold hammer through and out of me, again and again riding the edge of orgasm.

It’s too much and I can’t think. Lost in the float…

Some minutes later I hear water turning off, when did that happen? Sara is drinking from a cup and offers one to me.

I take the proffered gift and find it contains drinking chocolate. Pel made this…there is cayenne in it. Sara prefers to mix it with cream.

It is delicious but not what I want. I put the mug down on the nightstand with a metallic click.

I burrow beneath the covers and find the prize I’m looking for. The soft blonde sweetness of Sara. It smells of musk and vanilla with a hint of Pel from last night. I play the game Pel taught me. I lick a long slow A against the pussy lips of my…wife.

I’ll say yes. The last time they asked, I wasn’t ready. But yes, they are mine. I won’t give them up. But… Later. Now I need more and the soft moans of Sara whisper our rightness.