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.