Becoming His Slave (24 page)

The second gallery was filled with timeless pieces starting where the first left off and dated as far back as ancient human history. Starting with oil paintings from the Bourgeoisie; original prints of the Fanny Hill and from Edouard-Henri (Paul) Avril; restored prints from the Marque De Sade and Martin Van Maele
;
Lithographs from Archille Deveria
;
woodblock print engravings by
Jacques Joseph Coiny; Chinese watercolors of unabashed depictions of copulating couples; glass cases filled with the relics from Ancient Greece, Rome, Egypt, India and the Orients. In a variety of mediums like potteries, sculptures, tapestries, paintings, tiles and relief works.

All portraying the human body and the act of sex.

Some of the famous Greek homoerotic potteries and the reliefs of the Roman bath houses were displayed. Egyptian tablets of phallic worship. Copies of the sculptures from the Hindu eroticism from the Kandariya Mahadeva Temple. They even had a few of the rare Japanese parchment how-to books on the appropriateness of being a good lover. And there were lots and lots of phalluses—everywhere you looked, on the walls, on podiums, in display cases some even hung from the ceiling with wings. There was even a vast collection of Victorian pornography lockets.

Something Katianna had never heard of, but adored the novelty of it—that once upon a time a gentleman might pull out his pocket watch, but rather than glancing at the time was rather secretly admiring a small image of a couple engaged in sex; or a woman opening the small heart shaped locket around her neck to peer, rather than upon her
love to be,
but what her lover might be hoping to do to her next time he got her away from her escort’s eyes.

It was all here. And Katianna loved every bit of it. Her favorite was the nine foot tall wooden sculpture of a woman’s labia. The smooth oiled wood, carved to mimic the inner and outer folds of the woman’s labia. Katianna recognized it right away having seen it used as a prop in her favorite cult movie
Harold and Maude
. She waltzed around it enjoying the graceful lines of the wood grain and how it rippled perfectly with the contours of its self made subject. A burst of giggles escaped her lips as she thought back at the movie when the leading character Harold attempted to stick his head in it, but Trenton never stopped watching her. Had he turned his back even for a second she might have tried a reenactment herself. Her face felt hot with embarrassment at the temptation and when he laughed at her she knew then she could never tempt it, he obviously knew what it was, but kindly said nothing of it.

Another favorite was the small private room that contained the recent recovered frescos from Pompeii, images that were far more pornographic in nature then most historians of artistic artifacts would care for the public to come to know ever existed. Kat simply found the images humorously risqué—humans even back then were still being human and sex was a center point of everyday life. No matter how hard the controllers of modern day society attempted to hide it.

This was how it was all suppose to look like. Art, not porno—not smut—not cheap girls on the street corners selling five dollar blow jobs, but two—or more if it was the custom, adoring people enjoying each other or just enjoying the curves of the human body. Its perfections and its flaws.

Best of all she got to talk about each piece with endless adoration or contemplation and never once did she feel like Trenton wanted to rush her or steer her away.  She truly felt that if she had wanted to stare at one thing for an hour he would have stood there and stared with her, well maybe he would spend some of that staring at her.

As she talked about the displays, Trenton shared his own thoughts and perceptions with her as they debated about what the artist might have been trying to portray in the images presented, and they even touched a bit on the politics of taboo as they read over a history time line displayed on the walls between the two galleries of the attempts to censor human sexuality.

Trenton’s participation in the conversations deepened in the second galley as they talked in depth about slaves of ancient times and what was truly behind the life of being a concubine or being a courtesan and the differences between the two.

They talked about Geisha’s and how in Japan to be Geisha was the closest thing to freedom a woman could have. So for their culture that was the truest feminist movement.

They talked about the sexual servant slaves of the Romans and Greeks, what it meant to be a Sub-servant how did the two both prosper from the arrangement. How much of it was willingness or how much was forced. And how, if at all it compared to present day sexual play. Trenton was far more philosophical about it then she had ever expected him to be, but they had never talked so deeply on a subject, it even surprised her when he commented that none of it related to modern sexual play, but Sub-servancy was still very much practiced today in close to its original form in the way of Master/Slave relation as it did in ancient times, it just wasn’t the same as the B&D play she was use to seeing at Club Pain.

They worked their way to the back where the new gallery addition was underway partitioned off with a wall of dubitene and settled down on a garden style wicker love seat. Made all the more comfortable with thick billowy seat cushions and talked some more.

“Your feet hurt?” He asked watching her as she slipped her sandals off and curled them up under her in the bench.

“A bit.”

He grinned, reaching for one of her feet and pulled it into his lap his fingers pressing into her soles with circular motions. They’d been walking and standing in the museum for hours now and the sandal flats Payton had grabbed up were not favorable for such an activity. But that’s what life brought her in a storm of a bomb scare, so she didn’t complain.

Trenton was grinning ear to ear at her which set her off balance some. “What?” She questioned him sheepishly.

“
Oh
—nothing.” He shrugged softly, “I was thinking I’ve never heard you speak as many words in the four years I’ve known you as you’ve said in the past few hours today.”

“I’m sorry.” She apologizes softly.

“Don’t be. It was nice. I finally got to see some inside part of you.”

Katianna shimmied deeper into the cushions of the garden seat, relaxing further. “Me too.” She returned with a soft smile and her eyes drifted closed as he continued to message her feet.

She bit back the instant need to moan, Trenton’s tender caress felt so good. She’d had her feet massaged from a message therapist before, but she didn’t recall it feeling as good as it did now. When Trenton did it, it seemed far more intimate, his fingers needing into the soles of her feet then wrapping around the top of her arch and the firm caress around her ankles. It was like he was making love to her feet. Then again she was biased and she often felt like everything he ever did around her was specific towards her needs. Which was simply insane for her to dream up such fantasies. Because he had shown that often it was for his own needs as was the case last Saturday at the club.

She had never fully been able to figure out what she was to him—perhaps
safe
was a good word to start with. She wasn’t the deep meaningful Sub he was looking for therefore he kept her at arm’s length, yet he could flirt with her without it being taken too seriously. A strange limbo really. She was certain he cared about her, though they had never been close enough that she could say she was his friend. In fact this was the first time she’d ever had so much time around him outside a club or talked at such lengths over a subject they obviously shared a passion for, if for differing reasons. Katianna was seeing a much deeper side of him and while she would have willingly been to his avail for anything else he wanted from her right now, she sure as hell was enjoying the foot message.

She was completely relaxed now; her head dropped back on the wicker garden bench overflowing with pillows as if purposely intended for lovers to get too comfortable and forget about the outside world. She let out a pleasant sigh. “So how is it the
Dominus
is rubbing my feet? Since when do you ever let down your title? Not even for me.”

“You think I am anything but who and what I am right now?” The question struck as firm as anything else he might say. Katianna’s head popped up with a start, concerned she might have insulted him.

“No! I’m sorry I didn’t mean—”

“Kat—” She swallowed hard when he stopped rubbing her foot and he looked at her with a tight glance, “—give me your other foot.” Finally revealing a deep expression of his pleasant control.

She slowly shifted her feet allowing him to switch pout her feet and he began rubbing the next just as he had the first. With the same amount of tenderness that comes from strong hands and
yes
that intimacy she liked to pretend was there.

“So you think as Dominus I can’t be doing this?”

“I’m sorry Trenton I didn’t mean for it—”

“Katianna—it’s okay. I didn’t take offense to it. I wouldn’t be Dominus if such a small thing made me feel questioned.” He was so gentle, yet controlled the air around them with kid gloves, “I want you to confess something to me. With such pampering as this, would you submit to me? Would you do nearly anything I asked knowing you might be rewarded with this kind of pampering to your body?”

“Oh god yes.” She didn’t even have to think that one over as she slumped down in the garden bench, but her hand snapped up covering her mouth with an embarrassed yelp as if she might stop the words that cascaded out too quickly.

Trenton let out a soft chuckle, “See than, just because it’s pampering doesn’t mean it’s a job only for the Sub-servant. A Master—a good Master always rewards his Slave for their submission.”

There was a noise from behind the wall of plastic sheeting and then a large man emerged like an aging Viking, broad shoulders cascaded by long silvered blonde hair with a matching beard and mustache kept clean around his chin. His expression was intense with focused emotions as he went past and then quiet suddenly stopped and turned on his heels, “Dominus?”

Trenton turned and smiled at the man, “Dominus. It is you!” He closed in on them and grabbed him up almost faster than Trenton could get to his feet on his own will-power and gave him a hearty hug, then kissed him—first one cheek then the other. “I should have known you’d be in Paris this week.”

“Yes I saw your son Rashawn just this morning. He works for Quinneth Global now.”

“Not just—he is on the Board of Directors. He’s here for the summit. It’s no good what is going on in the world these days, Trenton—” He gave him a deep look of concern, some deep rooted worry—for the world? Perhaps for his son. It was hard to say what Cardiff worried over. The man rarely opened up in such ways—for him, life and the world we lived in was all art. Life was a canvas and each of us our own artist. Cardiff’s canvas was filled to the brim with color and nudity.

“But please none of that—” Cardiff shook his hands out as if to cast away the ill thoughts, “It is good to see you. But how bad of you not to send word of you’re coming. I would have made plans.” His eyes darting beyond Trenton to discover the barefooted nubile sylph on the bench.

“That’s just it—plans are difficult right now.” Trenton excused, but he didn’t miss Cardiff’s wandering eyes.

“
Ayy
, I understand—” Cardiff replied but his eyes were shifting back towards Katianna again. “
Ahh
—Dominus—you always have the best lovelies.”

Trenton gave him a quick warning in French, “Mind your tongue and your hands. She’s not for anyone.”

“
Ayy?
She is for you then?” He responded back also in French, glancing back over his should at Trenton.

“One day.”     

“One day? But not yet?” He moved swiftly to the bench, “
Ma chèrie
—please permit me—” he was requesting, but was already taking her shoulders and moving her to pose, slanting her one way then turning her head another. Tilted her chin up. Kat’s eyes grew wide and she looked to Trenton, only to have her pose corrected by the man. Trenton kept a step back, watching but watching carefully.

Cardiff took her foot, to position it next, but then stopped to caress it. Katianna wasn’t at all comfortable with that and quickly jerked her foot away. Her eyes still on Trenton, pleading he’d call the man off her.

Trenton immediately recognized the plea in her expression, “I’ve never been any good at sharing.” Trenton spoke in French as he moved in on Cardiff.

Cardiff grinned, “I’ve never known you to want to keep one either. She must be very special—” his smiled deepened, “And I never figured you would share when you did find one.” The old man let out a deep hearty laugh that startled Katianna since she had no idea what the two men were saying, but she relaxed when Trenton sat back down next to her and started to return her shoes to her feet.

“Please you must permit me to show you the new gallery. She is not complete but there is enough there for you to enjoy.” Cardiff switched back to English and Katianna brightened. That this prize of a museum still had more to offer.

The third gallery was nearly complete in its development and while it still had some work needed and a good cleaning of its work shop intrusions, it was exquisite. Like a room plucked right out of the Babylonian Hanging Garden with a center bath. Two rows of white columns circled around the gallery holding up a broad aqueduct of foliage that was just beginning to grow sending its flowering vines over the edges that would one day wrap around the columns in a cascade of greenery.

Large cisterns filled with tropical plants broke the path into separate alcoves each one with its own artwork to languish over as its center piece. Life size sculptures of lovers caught in timeless copulating embraces. Each one a beauty not only in its design, but the marble Cardiff had selected for each one.

The light blue color of Azzuro Acquamarina was used for the maiden who leaned back on a bench as her male lover knelt before her to taste her inner nectar and it seemed to glow even in the muted light of the unfinished gallery. Rosso Conchiglia, a sunset pink was used for the Tibetan maiden who embraced another maiden laid back over her lap, a delicate hand seemed to caress more intimate parts. Bianco Carrera Venato was a clean white with thin black veins had been carved into a woman straddled over a man’s lap as they made love in a chair. A woman’s torso bound with rope kneeling at the legs and lower torso of a man was carved from Salome-Leopard marble, a mottled rouge color with splotches of mossy green. A woman’s body held amid strong male shoulders and arms while he ate her was formed from the fossil brown colors of Mondragone marble. A Persian couple stretched out in a spooning position having intercourse were carved from a delightful Amarello orange, while Two men fondling each other in Onice Verde which was an unusual and rare transparent flesh toned stone.