Multitudes

I'm in my 40s now and a lot has changed in the 10 years since I met Kira, but it was the two and half years that we were together that taught me a truth about myself; I am a deeply kinky person who is incapable of a relationship with a partner who isn't also. Kink helped bring Kira and I together in the beginning, but she found her limit miles and miles before I did.

Kira was visiting the city that I lived in with Evangeline (a mutual friend) who asked me to help convince her that she should leave New York behind and give New Orleans a try.

The day that Kira and I met, she sat across from me in a cafe, moving and speaking with such purpose, such vibrant energy. I was taken with her beauty from the first moment that I saw her. Her skin was pale, her eyes were dark and a little bit wild, her lips painted red to match the bow she used to pull back and to the side her long, raven hair. She was eight years younger than I was, but it didn't feel like it; she felt like someone that could keep pace, keep tempo.

Kira was a ballerina and she grew up a performer, so she knew how to command attention; she wanted mine and she had it. She described to me a Hamlet themed photoshoot she'd done recently, just for the hell of it, and I knew that she was going to be hard to get out of my head even after she'd gone back to New York.

Evangeline sat nearby, smiling knowingly as she watched us inch closer to one another. She gave us moments alone often enough and filled in the gaps in conversation, few and far between as they were. Eva mentioned to me privately while Kira was away from the table that she had recently ended a long relationship, was still living with her ex and was looking to move out and move on, possibly to another city.

The three of us walked through the streets together and Evangeline brought up that I work in adult entertainment, which is one of two major hurdles I find myself faced with when contemplating the possibility of a new romantic relationship. I was already so taken with Kira and it was a relief that she took the news with interest and curiosity that thankfully didn't feel morbid.

The second hurdle I face with new romantic partners is how kink is so important to me. I'm not capable of sustaining a relationship that doesn't include it in some way, but that was a conversation for another time. Instead, we talked about the city and Evangeline's reasons why she felt that Kira belonged in it.

When we arrived at their hotel at the end of the evening, Evangeline left us alone in front of it to let us say goodbye. I hugged Kira and we parted briefly to make way for people coming through the doors and then we were back together again, having the kiss that we'd been building up to all night.

The doormen at the front laughed and yelled at us to get a room, but we kissed again despite them, before finally saying goodnight. I looked back through the closing doors to watch her go, watch her slip away gracefully through the lobby of the beautiful old New Orleans hotel.

I stepped out into the night air and walked down Bourbon Street. The things that I usually find so obnoxious couldn't affect my mood. The rowdy crowd, the loud music, the flashing lights; none of it could wipe the happiness off my face or make me stop thinking of her lips, her eyes, her smile.

**

We'd been messaging and texting nonstop since the night that we met, with one week-long period of losing contact when her ex went through her phone and found the conversation we'd had about dominance and submission. He'd blocked my number from their shared cell account, logged into her social media accounts and blocked me there too.

I was saddened about the abrupt cut ties and thought perhaps Kira had second thoughts about my BDSM interests until Evangeline called me and worked out with me what happened. When we put it all together, I wiped my old phone and turned on the service again with a new number. Evangeline got me the address of one of Kira's friends and I shipped it there and waited. She rang me a few days later and we planned her return trip to my city before the call ended.

***

She was light and graceful in all the ways you might expect; she'd been a ballerina for almost her entire life when we met. She moved swiftly and with enthusiasm, doing what she was told and wanting so much to be her best at everything. If I corrected her for something, she was as hard on herself for not doing it right the first time as I am. Pain is a way of life as a dancer and she was able to endure more than you would expect of her petite frame. Her dark eyes would occasionally narrow or she would spit something petulant in response, but in the end, she bent when she was told to and rose to meet the challenges, the punishments, and wanted to earn the rewards.

I took the rope from its drawer and bound her breasts tightly. I tied her wrists together and placed the blindfold over her eyes. I ran my fingertips across her body and reveled in the the way she shivered; I loved every little reaction and seeing what made her writhe or knit her eyebrows together. She was nervous and excited by the sound of my sorting through the trunk to see what I'd use on her next.

I fitted her with different gags, restraints, blindfolds and used on her the impact tools I like, testing her, looking for the noises I really enjoyed. She shined in this attention, this focus on her; she was a performer, and my kink put her into a new sort of spotlight. She was a living doll that day, a toy, something to be played with: I brought her to orgasm with my fingers in each situation and took note of what she responded to the best, settling on a course for the rest of the day and devising plans for future games.

I slid her onto the bed by the jacket's straps, moving her light body easily until she lay in the middle of it, her stockinged feet hanging just over the edge.

I ran my fingertips up the length of her legs, across her hips, grabbed her piercings, and tugged just a little. She was already wet when I slid myself inside of her, and she moaned dreamily as I inched deeper. I buried my face in her hair, kissed her neck lightly, and rocked my hips. It takes very little effort to move her when she's tightly bound, and I can do so while I'm still inside of her. Lost in the bondage and the helpless feeling of being turned and moved and fucked in any way that I saw fit, she came easily and often. I turned her on her stomach and slid my arms around her, bringing my hands to her throat. I squeezed ever so slightly and could feel the instant response in her body, heard the welcoming of it in her muffled moan. When she came the last time, so did I.

Afterward, I laid on top of her, holding her to me while I was still inside of her. The rise and fall of our breathing were synchronous, our bodies sticking together in the New Orleans heat, and all the waiting and wondering and wanting were finally, finally, finally laid to rest.

***

Outside, the sun was still shining brightly; we'd gone back to the hotel room to change so we could go out for the night. This was our first trip together and we were having a hard time leaving the room.

I pulled her panties down, balled them up, and shoved them into her mouth as soon as she started to undress in the hotel room. She looked at me with a wild look in her eyes. Her ass was red from the spanking; I could see it when she lifted herself off of the stark white linens, and I loved the contrast and the handprints and the way one moment poured into the next with her.

Her skin was dark from days in the sun, and I could smell the suntan lotion on her skin. I turned her over in the bed roughly and she gripped my shoulders, clinging to me as we fucked the afternoon away.

Afterward, we showered together, watching the steam obscure the distant outline of the mountains as the glass fogged. I committed the taste of her skin to memory as I kissed her wet shoulders and if I close my eyes, I can taste it still.

At the end of the trip, we decided to drive home together, opting for an impromptu road trip rather than flying back. I rested my hand on her knee as we left the city, squeezing just a little as we drove toward east toward a violently pink sunset. I kissed the top of her forehead; she smelled of the cold air from the mountains and the warm smell of sleepiness. She smelled of adventure and exhaustion. She smelled of wanting and expectation and the fulfilment of both. She smelled like today and tomorrow and yesterday.

****

Taking a seat next to her, I told her to lay facing the foot of the bed, and when she did as she was told, I leaned over her, scanning the page of the book she held while I gagged her with the silk scarf. I told her to keep reading as my hands skimmed her outstretched legs.

My fingers wandered upward, over her calves, between her thighs, and she spread her legs just a little wider for me as I turned my hand over and continued up toward the small of her back. I knew what she was hoping for, what she really wanted me to do, but I made her wait for it because I wanted her to keep reading while I touched her.

She flipped through the pages, occasionally looking back at me, and when she did I moved my hands further away from where she wanted to be touched, showing her what I wanted without actually saying it out loud. When she figured it out, she went back to reading, and I slid my hand between her legs again. She tilted her hips as she struggled just a little to make herself more available to my touch, and I enjoyed that admission of want. I listened for the sound of flipping pages, ready to stop if I couldn't hear it anymore, but they kept turning. Touching her while she read was something that I knew she would appreciate, but I did it for myself as much as I did for her. I wanted that image in mind; Kira writhing as she turned pages. This was for both of us.

I brought my hand down on her ass and the pink color where it had fallen made me smile. It made perfect sense to me that someone who has the dedication and discipline to study ballet professionally would also have something of a masochistic side to them, but it was rare to me then to have a partner able to endure even a small amount of the darkness that lives in me.

Bracing herself for the spanking meant giving up the position that she was in when she was so close to orgasm. She moaned into the silk scarf every time my hand landed and pressed herself back down against my fingers ravenously after. Her skin was the color of sunset, and it radiated warmth as I rubbed the imprint I'd left. Her hips rocked back and forth, between pain and pleasure, as she grew closer and closer to coming.

*****

I sat at my desk while Kira got ready for work, watching fat drops of rain hit the glass and listening to the creaking of the shutters as the wind moved them, banging them against the house.

We slept late that day, as we had been often. A bout of insomnia had been keeping me up until the sun rises most days. Most nights Kira stayed up with me for as long as she could, often offering the sort of distractions from my thoughts that would send most men to sleep straight away, and sometimes it did. She would sleep next to me after we fucked, one bare foot always against the cool wall.

The longest of these sleepless nights were often ones where there was nothing kinky about the way we'd fucked, and I had this feeling of something that hadn't been resolved in me. I'd fallen in love with Kira already, found myself wanting to fuck her all the time, and we did; four or five times a day some days, but it wasn't enough and that was troubling me.

We'd spoken more about how I liked the idea of a more full-fledged BDSM relationship, but her comfort level was more 'just in the bedroom' and even then, only when in the mood. Knowing that I wanted something deeper and darker worried her, so we talked for a long time that night and had fucked more for reassurance than the joy of it. She fell asleep curled up next to me after, and I stared at the ceiling, restless, wanting.

I woke in the morning from a dream in which Kira had been bound. She stood, wearing a wooden yoke that kept her hands level with her face. Her hands were red and balled into fists; the first sign of her frustration. The tears in her eyes were the second. She was trying to look down at the metal restraints that were around her thighs and hinged together, but she couldn't see around the wood, and it kept her from lowering her chin. She was naked, and as I approached her, I knew that I'd done this to her; bound her this way. The rounded hinge pointed up and would rub between her legs faintly if she moved, the cold metal sending a shock that she both loved and hated, and she couldn't figure out how to make it happen more or make it stop. I woke from the dream, wanting her, but she'd already left for work, and I was alone in the bed after only a few hours of restless sleep.

******

Kira had told me recently that she'd told her brother that I worked in adult entertainment, and when pressed for how he took it, she told me that her father had finally asked as well. I didn't know if it would change things; Kira said it wouldn't, but when it does, it's not always instant. The pain of wondering when he would find out was gone, replaced by the waiting to see if his approval of our dating remained and if not, how Kira would handle it.

I was the first of Kira's boyfriends to get his approval and it happened because I made an effort to travel to meet him; when I did, he said that he could see that she and I looked at each other the same way that he looked at his wife and it made him happy. I'd wondered then if he would feel the same once he knew about my work. I was also starting to wonder for the first time if it was worth the pain it would cause her if he didn't.

I don't typically worry over the opinions of others regarding my work, but I do worry about how it affects people I'm romantically involved with. I wanted Kira to rest assured that her father was okay with it, and she said that he was, but every time I told her I'd scheduled a shoot after he had, it felt like I'd started asking her for something like forgiveness for having to work, and it felt less certain that I was getting it.

*******

The loft was filled with objects, nearly every inch of wall covered in their artwork. We'd been invited there because Amanda was in New York: It'd been a year since I'd seen her, but I'd recently done some photo work for a suggestive track on her latest album.

The invitation was playful; it included offers of absinthe and a call for champagne (though we wouldn't be turned away if we showed up without bubbles). Kira and I stopped at a wine store along the way and picked up a bottle, which was opened as soon as we arrived. We hovered in the main room of an impressive artist loft, sipping champagne as we waited for the results of an unexplained wager between Portia (the host) and Amanda to be settled. When it had been, Amanda was to play a new song for the host and we'd arrived just in time to hear it performed for the first time.

I'd never met Portia before: She was small with dark, round eyes, long dark hair, and slightly pouty lips. She was well-dressed and prone to moments of animation as often as she was to moments of silent observation. She's very pretty, and she's also very talented. I'd seen photos of her, and I'd seen her work before, so it was just a little odd, as it always is, to get acquainted with someone who is already faintly, distantly familiar to you and for who you already have some appreciation of before you've ever met. When I complimented her on the vintage wheelchair she was in, she said that I was welcome to shoot in her loft whenever I'd like. I wished that I had my camera just then to snap a photo of her; bare legs beneath a billowy dress, holding a glass of champagne as she sat in the well-worn wheelchair.

We sat on the floor in the foyer, behind Lee (who was drawing diligently on a deadline) and listened to the composition of a song about New York that Amanda had pledged to Portia if Portia helped her find new followers. With the goal reached, Amanda performed a few verses for the crowd of three at her feet and we clapped with enthusiasm, polishing the bottle off and warming up slowly to the conversation. Lee put in a word here and there until he finished his work and joined the party.

Amanda is every bit of what you'd expect from a rock star. Her hair is different every time that I see it. She wore a dress with a vintage print and shoes that were a beautiful caramel color. Her eyes were beautifully painted and they fell upon people most often when they didn't notice. You could tell she was comfortable in the room, that she'd been there before, spent time in it. She didn't look around very often at the walls, at the artwork hung shoulder-to-shoulder on them or the many artist inspiring objects that the room was crammed with. She looked mostly at the people or at her own dress, which she lost herself in the pattern of when she was thinking.

When the champagne was gone, we were offered absinthe and when we accepted, we moved into the tiny kitchen to pour it for everybody into mason jars. I watched Amanda light the absinthe-soaked sugar on fire, slowly seeing the sugar melt through the absinthe-spoon and one by one people slipped off to do other things until only Amanda and I were in the kitchen, having the first moment alone together since we'd parted paths with a kiss almost a year ago. We talked slowly, quietly about life, where it'd taken us since the last time we'd seen each other and where it was going next. I was trying to persuade her to come to New Orleans before I left it with Kira so we could work on a project together when everyone seemed to rejoin us at once.

Portia had been perilously close to calling it a night before the absinthe came out but had rallied and with new life in her, she and Amanda danced in the hall while Lee and I talked in the kitchen; Kira stood to watch someplace in between, seeming a little unsure of what to do with herself. Portia and Amanda traded clothes in front of us, putting on a little fashion show for us, before deciding their party was meant to be pant-less.

More absinthe was had, and bartering took place that resulted in a moment where Kira would have to pay up with the removing of her own pants, and I saw her look at me with uncertainty. I don't think that she really believed it would come to that, and she looked at me to see if I was going to object, but I didn't. I believe in keeping your word, in saying what you mean, and I never wager anything that I'm not willing to lose. I don't expect her to live up to my standards, but I also won't save someone from the consequences of their impulsive bargaining, particularly when the cost of which is just pants.

She removed them and was talked into doing fouettés in the middle of the living room in just her panties, as Portia, Amanda, Lee, and I clapped at their execution. We'd heard Amanda sing, seen Lee draw, watched Kira dance, and Portia plant a kiss on Kira for being a good sport about it all. The night had worn on longer than we'd expected, but we were having fun and so we'd let it. It was time, though, to return to our hotel and pack, so we took our leave. I have sort of a personal rule about leaving before the party is over; I like the feeling that accompanies wishing you'd have stayed for just a little while longer and the wondering of what might have happened if you had. We left before the party was over, and as we waited for the car, I wanted to go back.

"She smelled really nice..." Kira said, breaking the silence.

Kira and I were both open about our sexuality, but we had defaulted to monogamous and hadn't discussed what could happen in circumstances like that. I wanted her to have been able to enjoy that kiss more in the moment, but she had been too far out of her element to be able to.