by Julia Kent
At least she had not had sex for money with anyone but Mia. Somehow this made her feel better. She waved to the attendant and scurried back to the dressing room to catch up with her friend and escape.
3: Doubt
Syria sat on the bed the next day with her coils of rope, trying to tie her own legs with a more elaborate knot than the double column. She wasn’t flexible enough, or something. The loops wouldn’t lie flat. She needed something to practice on.
A Santa doll her father had mailed to her from India when she was eight, his first and last time to recognize she was his daughter, sat on the bedside table. She picked the doll up and laid it in front her, quickly making a coin knot on his chest. That was always easy.
She undid the tie and began a chest bind. When Syria brought the rope down to his groin, the purple cord cutting into the white fur, she flung the doll across the bed. This was her father’s only gift, and she was doing bondage with it!
She tried to picture this man, who had loved her mother only a few days, and lied about his marriage and other children. Maybe she shouldn’t be sentimental. She didn’t even know him, and yet, something inside her insisted she find him.
Syria lay back on the pillows, staring at the ceiling. If her father knew what she’d been doing at that exhibition, what would he think? Would she be the sort of daughter he’d want to have?
The tears flowed out then, hot and unexpected. Syria wasn’t one for crying, hardly ever, but now they came, fast and unstoppable.
She’d chosen boudoir photography as a profession because she was good at it. Anthony, who’d taught her, told her she had an eye for lighting women. She’d felt until now that she’d made the perfect choice.
But even if she did contact her father, how could she show him her work? Her mother had simply nodded at the sample Syria had shown her, neutral about the whole thing. Of course, she’d only revealed the glamorous head shots, but still.
“What am I doing?” she shouted at the ceiling. Would she still be Photoshopping flabby arms and nipple slips when she was fifty? Seventy?
The sights and sounds of the exhibition came back to her, distorted like a dying carnival ride, skin slapping, men grunting, women kneeling before cock after cock.
Syria rolled on her stomach and tugged at an envelope on the side table, spilling the photographs across the bed. Her mother, glowing and happy, tight against her father. He’d lied! Why did she want him in her life at all? He let her go to save his own skin after getting caught, the eight-year-old secret busted wide open.
The pictures slid toward her into the valley of the bed created by her elbows. Her father looked at her earnestly, his dark eyes a match for hers. Did he have many affairs? Was her mother a one-time thing or a regular habit? She tried to picture him in the chairs before the stage, a girl on his lap, watching a sex show, watching her. Hell, she didn’t know who he was. Who’s to say he might not show up at something like that?
God, this was fucked up.
She had normal friends, people she hung out with before meeting Tyson and Mia, people she’d photographed and liked. She should call them up, do normal things, like go to movies and eat pizza and sit around coffee shops.
Except she didn’t want that, not any of that.
She snatched up her phone, sending a video chat request to Tyson. It wasn’t quite noon. He shouldn’t be working.
Request failed.
The phone automatically connected with a regular phone call. Instead of Tyson’s chipper voice, she got a generic message that the user was not in a coverage area. Weird.
Syria face-planted into the pillow. Buck up, bimbo. Her life was great, really. She felt so much more alive than before. Sure, she was probably going to run into a hairy situation now and again, like at the exhibition. Her face bloomed hot just thinking about it. Tyson and Mia were used to this sort of public attention. She thought of the gold coins sitting on her dresser. For money!
“Arrrghh!” She shouted into the pillow. She needed to work out or something. Take a walk. Actually, she knew just the thing.
4: Surprise Visit
“Bend your knees, tuck the pelvis in, chest up, arms in second position.”
Syria tried to follow the video, but her body had a mind of its own. The woman snapped her hip in one direction with a sharp pop. The bells around her waist jingled merrily.
Syria tried again. Snap. Pop. Her bells sounded like crushed metal.
“Squeeze right. Squeeze left.” The instructor showed the move from the back. Syria felt sure they’d removed frames or something. A hip just didn’t DO that. Be in one place one second and further to the side in the same second.
She tried a few more pops and burst into giggles. Maybe she should take a live class, let someone diagnose her faulty hips. She spun in circles, trying to make the bells tinkle as fetchingly as the girl on the screen.
“Now that is a tempting beck and call.”
Syria dropped her arms. Was she hallucinating?
Tyson leaned against the doorframe to the living room. Syria wanted to scream, laugh, cry. He was here!
“Don’t you ever knock?” she asked.
“Don’t you ever lock your front door?”
In two steps they were in a tight embrace, no kissing, no sex, just a hard-core hug, like they were the only two people left in the world.
“You said mid-December.”
He pulled back to look at her. “I like surprising you.”
“But how—”
“Mia called me. Said if I could come, I should come.”
Syria stepped away and sat on the sofa. “Did she tell you about the exhibition?”
“Not really. But I got the feeling something happened. I only had to cancel two gigs, and they weren’t good ones. Worth it.”
“But the ticket must have cost you a fortune, last minute, the weekend after Thanksgiving.”
“Nah, mom works for an airline. I can go non rev as long as I’m willing to get bumped. It wasn’t too bad. Most people are home.” He sat next to her and pulled her close. “You want to tell me what happened?”
She leaned into his shoulder. For once he wasn’t wearing workout clothes, but a crisp white shirt and khakis. He smelled heavenly, like detergent and a masculine soap. “I had sex with Mia on a stage while she got gangbanged.”
He sucked in a breath. “Now, that’s something.”
She felt the tension in his arms and chest. Maybe she’d gone too far, beyond even his open mindedness.
“Did any of them hurt you?”
He thought she’d had sex with them too? She pulled away to look up into those gray eyes, noticing for the first time little creases around his eyes. He was tired.
“None of them laid a hand on me, well, one dripped wax on me, but Mia had to be hurting. She was tied up, twice, and then the men came…” She didn’t want to talk about it anymore. The visual was both exciting and upsetting. All those men watching. Mia nodding to one, then another, then the one who came for Syria.
“Shhhhh.” He stroked her hair. “You’re all right. It’s fine. New things are frightening.” The tension moved out of him, and Syria felt certain it was because she hadn’t actually had sex with anyone else, and that he cared. He wanted her for himself.
She reached for his jaw and ran a finger along the stubble. Never clean shaven, this boy. “You’ve done something to me. I just want you. What have you done to me?”
He jingled some of the bells on her wrap. “I don’t know, but you’ve done it to me too. Damn nuisance, only wanting one girl in an occupation like mine.” He slid their bodies sideways so that they were lying on the sofa. “I think about you all the time.”
“I do too.” Her heart was hammering. All these new experiences, so many opportunities, and now she would fall in freaking love, now she would crave monogamy? “Why is that? When we have so many choices?”
“I don’t know. Let’s see if we can remember.” He untied the jingling belt and laid it on the f
loor. Syria wore only a work out bra and spandex shorts. He teased the heavy elastic band over her breasts. “I think I found two reasons right here.” He mouthed a nipple, suckling, his hand already moving to the waist of her shorts.
She tugged at his buttons, dying to feel his skin against hers, to see those incredible abdominals and the heat of his belly.
“I can’t take this.” He stood up and took off his clothes so fast they were just a blur of color. When his erection popped from his boxers, she reached for it, pulling him close, and enclosed her mouth over it, licking the precum from the tip, rolling her hands under his balls.
This felt right. All the things she’d done and felt in the last weeks were fun, but this was different. Sex with Tyson engaged so much more than her clit and her desire, but a need that rocked her even before they touched. Something opened inside her, making the pleasure penetrate more deeply than just her body.
He tugged the workout bra the rest of the way over her head. Now they were free to explore everything, and he shifted neatly around to lie over her. He pressed his face between her legs while she still worked him from below.
Syria pushed on his rib cage to keep him at just the right distance, matching the rhythm he was setting against her folds. She was tightening against him already, so alive and alert and feeling everything. His muscles twitched in her mouth and now she knew he really was saving himself for her, having so much less control than that first time, now that his partners weren’t regular, just when he came to her.
This thrilled her and she wanted to cry again — so much emotion lately — but he sensed something had shifted and pulled away, turning around to a more traditional position, pulling her knees up. “You’ve caught me, Syria,” he said. He rubbed his thumb along her face, tracing a tear that had managed to escape. “I’m not even sure how to go without you.”
“We’ll figure something out,” she said. “We’ll find a way.”
He slid inside her then, the whole length, and she cried out immediately. He filled her completely, and everything about it felt exactly right, his elbows braced by her head, the pressure and weight of him over her. And the long, slow strokes, so vanilla, and still, just the right thing. There would be time for more bondage, and crazy play, and toys, and maybe even extra partners, like Mia or Sam. But for now, she had him, just him, and it was perfect.
He sped up, his eyes squeezed closed. Syria felt him coming close and let herself go, opening wide, the orgasm blossoming low and spiraling higher. He groaned and let loose in her and she’d been wound so tight that the release was like coming free of the bindings, the spreader bar hitting the floor, the ropes in coils around you, blissful and light. The emotion rushed through her so damn hard that she burst into heavy sobs. Tyson pulled her in close and yet the weeping went on, coming not from her eyes, but deep inside.
He rocked her, smoothing her hair. “We’re here baby, we’re here.”
Syria quieted in degrees. Nothing she’d ever experienced came close to that. A cry-gasm? She thought it was a myth, a joke, a punch line. But it was real, this expulsion of emotion along with release.
Tyson pulled her up on his lap, still inside her, strong arms encircling her completely.
This journey had only begun. They’d figure things out. And maybe she’d even take Tyson to India. Find her dad and figure things out. This is what she’d been waiting for all along. Someone to shake her up, make her move. This was going to work.
5: Santa on Screen
A few days later Syria pushed away from her desk, only to bump her chair against a stack of boxes holding images and photo books ready to be packaged to deliver to her clients.
She needed an assistant, but really, only the busy season right before Christmas required help. The other eleven months of the year, she didn’t have enough work to pay someone else.
She’d muddle through.
Her back muscles protested as she stretched her arms toward the ceiling, trying to work out a kink from sitting too long at her computer as she airbrushed women to perfection. Tyson’s unexpected visit seemed like a dream now, but they had spent all their time in bed and she’d gotten way behind on her work.
Syria moved aside the boxes and padded through the house to the bedroom. She could not get further behind. For one, these were gifts. But Tyson was due back the week before Christmas and she couldn’t let her work interfere with the little time they carved out together when he was in town.
She sighed at the clock. Midmorning and she still wore her clothes from yesterday. She really needed a schedule now that the actual photo shoots were done and only the retouching work remained. Without the ballast of a work routine, her days and nights were becoming a blur.
Her phone chimed, and she picked it up absently. “Coming over!” chirped a perky message from her friend Mia, surrounded by text hearts and smilies.
Mia never actually asked if she could visit. She just announced it. Syria headed for the shower. Inside the spray, Syria debated between hurrying up to finish before Mia arrived, or slowing down for a repeat performance of their last shower together, which had ended in Syria’s introduction to fisting. But Mia had her moods, so Syria rushed, wrapping a towel around herself just as she heard Mia opening the front door.
“Are you naked?” Mia burst into the bedroom. “I like you best naked!”
Syria stepped out the bathroom and stopped short at Mia’s outfit, a perfectly sheer body suit that hid nothing, but instead drew attention to her nipples and bare, waxed crease with sparkling red swirls that encircled key areas.
“Oh, don’t miss this part.” Mia whirled around, and dual red spirals accentuated each of her butt cheeks, leaving the crack wide and exposed.
“AND, there’s a bonus feature.” Mia bent over, hands to the ground. As her ass rose in the air, she fingered a perfect hole, well fortified to avoid tearing, that enabled easy access. “So I can wear this during the act.”
Syria’s blood started beating just seeing Mia in this position. She stepped forward and pressed her hand against the opening, slipping her finger into the warm, waiting flesh. Mia dropped her head. “See, that’s exactly why I wanted this one.”
“Where did you get it?”
“I know a girl.” Mia bent further down, walking her head back between her ankles and reaching for the bottom edge of Syria’s towel. “I think this needs to go,” she said and tugged it off.
“You contortionists are a tricky lot,” Syria said.
“I can reach all the right places.” She backed up through her legs again and slowly rose up.
Syria kept her fingers in place as Mia stood, feeling the adjustment of her body around their connection, and the shift of the fabric as it stretched and moved.
“So you just came over here to show me this?” Syria asked, slipping her finger more deeply inside.
Mia faced away still, but moved with Syria’s fingers. “I knew you couldn’t resist.” She exhaled and bent forward, bracing her hands on her knees. “You’re too easy.”
Syria withdrew her fingers and spanked Mia lightly on her red sparkled butt. “I don’t like being predictable.”
Mia whirled around. “Oh no, I could never call you that.”
Syria’s phone lit up and started the opening chords to “Santa Baby.”
Mia hopped onto the bed. “That must be sweetcheeks!” She picked up the phone. “It’s requesting a video chat.”
Syria reached for the phone, but Mia pushed it away. “Let’s see how well Tyson knows you.” She got up on her knees and slid the phone between her legs.
“It’s going to be blurry!”
“All the better to challenge him with!” Mia said. “Now shhh!” She hit the “accept chat” button.
“That’s not Syria!” Tyson said immediately. “Whose lovely pussy is in my baby’s bed?” He laughed. “Must be Mia!”
Mia slid the phone along the bedspread. “Tyson, you are the only boy I know who can identify a girl by her blowhole.�
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Syria peeked over her shoulder. Tyson was shirtless, his broad chest and strong arms filling the screen. She couldn’t see the rest. “It was Mia’s idea.”
“I can guess,” Tyson said. “Mia is always crazy.”
“Crazy?” Mia picked up the phone again, pressing it against her folds. “Lick this!”
Tyson’s laugh was deep. “You’re going to smudge Syria’s screen!”
Mia yanked the phone away. “Okay, yeah. Sorry.” She tried wiping the screen on her outfit, but it was the wrong sort of material.
“Are you girls naked?” Tyson asked. “Not that I’m complaining.”
Syria glanced down. She’d forgotten Mia had stolen her towel. “No. Mia’s wearing some bizarre contortionist outfit with a conveniently placed opening.”
“Pull back, let me see.”
Syria took the phone, cleaning it off with her towel, and angled it at Mia.
“That’s nice,” Tyson said. “Now do I get to see my love?”
“Give me that,” Mia said, and took the phone. “I’ll narrate.”
She pointed the phone at Syria’s feet. “First, her sweet toes. Too bad you can’t be sucking them.” She angled the screen up a bit. “Then those ankles that could make a nun look sexy.”
She sat down, aiming the screen at Syria’s legs. “Then those great gams. Shapely calves, cute knees, perfect thighs.”
“Up a little,” Tyson said. “I can’t take it.”
“Hold your horses,” Mia said.
Syria tried not to blush. In the weeks she’d known Tyson and Mia, she’d gone way beyond something as simple as getting naked on the phone.
“Turn around, Syria. Can’t make it too easy on him.”
Syria spun to face away.
“Now there is that sweet ass,” Mia said. “Don’t you want to spread those cheeks? I know I do.”
Syria felt her face burn. Crazy, feeling shy at THIS late date. But she was never on display. Even when she and Mia had been on stage, taking off their clothes, there had been so much else going on, other places to look.