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It took her those two years to wear me down before I gave in and asked her on a date, but I’ve never looked back since then.
She’s my everything.
“You know nothing about her,” I say, shaking my head.
Her little harrumph almost has me smiling, but I squash the inclination quickly. Otherwise, she’ll be off like a road runner.
“I know she’s friends with Selene and she’s adventurous enough to join in on pickup play,” she reasons. “And hot as fuck.”
“And what? That means you’re going to jump into bed with her?”
“I mean, kinda. Yeah.”
I sigh and turn to straighten my tools, trying to think of how I can reason with her, save her from heartbreak.
But I come up empty-handed.
“There’s no stopping you, is there?”
“Alvie.” She sighs. “Just because it happened once, doesn’t mean it’s going to happen again. History doesn’t repeat itself if we don’t let it.”
My brows furrow at the reminder of the last woman we got involved with.
“This looks like an episode on the goddamned History Channel if I’ve ever seen one, Bex.”
It’s been several years since everything happened with her, but the pain of the woman’s betrayal still stings.
“You’re not pulling a veto, are you?” she asks, genuine curiosity in her voice.
I sigh. “No, Bex. We don’t do that. I’m just trying to get you to proceed with a little caution.”
“I’ll take that under advisement.”
“Then throw it to the wind, right?”
“Yup,” she says, popping the P before bouncing off in Naomi’s direction.
Bex has free rein to pursue relationships outside of our marriage, but I’ve never had interest in pursuing other partners outside of pickup play and demonstrations.
For me, kink is only sexual with my wife. We started as just a Dominant and submissive dynamic, but that quickly changed once I started actively pursuing a relationship with her.
However, with everyone else I play with, it’s purely about the artistry and skill of each type of play. There’s a beauty to the way you swing a flogger or paddle and the redness that blooms under someone’s skin. Binding or suspending someone with something as simple as rope is a feat of engineering that itches the part of my brain that desires to puzzle out problems. There’s a connection between the physicality and almost spirituality of BDSM that feels like an extension of myself, one that I will happily engage in with others.
Which is why having Naomi up on the cross was such a surprise.
For the second time in my life, there was a small inkling of something more underneath the usual hum of adrenaline that a scene brings.
My hands on her weren’t there just to keep her steady and check in on her body’s fatigue. There was a part of me that desired to touch her.
I shake off the thoughts of Naomi and focus on the instruments on my table and the crowd of people who begin clamoring for my attention now that the cross is empty.
Time blurs as each person gets up on the cross to take the impact of one of my toys. I lose myself in the rhythm of swinging floggers, paddles, fire hoses, Hot Wheels tracks, and more with each different partner. I like to pay close attention to the bodies of anyone who gets up onto the cross with me. I want to make sure they feel comfortable and that I don’t push them too far. With my experience level, it’s easy for me to tell the difference between a shiver of pleasure and anticipation versus a tremor of fatigue or fear. It’s easy enough that I keep finding my eyes sneaking over in between partners to where Selene and Bex are sitting on the couch with Naomi between them.
I don’t know how much time goes by before I realize that fatigue has taken over and my full attention is no longer on the scene and partner before me. My focus has strayed, my energy fled after such a long time topping for others.
After letting the last person off the cross, I grab a water bottle and let the cool water rush down my throat.
A soft hand on my bicep makes me stop in my tracks.
