Becoming His Slave (25 page)

The walls of the gallery were carved in relief scroll work that framed colorful mosaics of lovers around the world from a variety of cultures. Babylonians, Minoans, Persians and Samarians, there was even a Native American scene where two lovers knelt in each other’s embrace amid a pile of buffalo robes

Eighteen statues in all. Each one a new set of lovers in their own unique pose and carved from its own stone. The entire gallery when completed would contain the love making sculptures of renowned artists Cardiff Matisse, who was also the architect designer for the gallery room itself. All leading to the artist’s climatic finish—as number nineteen of the full collection, Cardiff saved the best for last. Using what Katianna was sure to be the world’s largest quarried piece of Saint Laurent black marble sat at the head of the bath backed by a wall of cascading water and flora.

A larger than life sculpture of two men in a sexual embrace. The one stretched out on his back receiving, was none other than the self portrayed artist Cardiff while his lover who was propped over him on strong arms, his groin bearing down between Cardiff’s legs holding one hitched up over his arm was in the form of an angel. The angel’s massive muscular body shadowed by large wings held up high from his back.

Katianna sank down in one of the nearby benches and just stared at the carving of the man in the angel’s embrace. The black marble only adding to its beautifully dark taboo appeal. She could not recall seeing one so beautiful as this.

Trenton stared at her as she seemed in awe of the huge sculpture. She perplexed him. How did she see such beauty in one and fear in another? Was it because this was not in the flesh? That as long as it was art she was safe?

“Katianna? About the club we went to Saturday night—”

She snapped her gaze at him, her expression quickly tightening in a self-defense as he feared she would, but he had no intention of actually touching on the subject of what he had done to offender her. He would wait till she wasn’t feeling the bruises so freshly. “What makes this place easy to accept when La Rouge Nuit was not?”

“There were no face there.” Her answer came swiftly like the axe from an executioner. “No intimacy—just people fucking.”

“Not much different from the Roman bath houses in ancient times.”

She shrugged, “I don’t suppose I would have liked them back then either.” Her gaze moving back to the large black sculpture.

This had faces—and expressions. The Angel’s grinding hips pushing Cardiff towards orgasmic release. The man was overwhelmed by the hunger from the Angel just as she had been overwhelmed by Trenton’s kiss. But now he was sober and he wasn’t looking to kiss her anymore.

“What do you see when you look at it?” Trenton asked next.

Katianna rolled her head to the side contemplating for a moment then looked at him even longer still before answering, as if something inside her was just coming into light as she thought about his question. “
This
is his Cellar Door.”

Trenton shook his head with a puzzled glance. “Cellar door? What is that?”

“
Cellar Door
has become an example of a word or phrase which is beautiful in terms of
phonaesthetics
with no regard for
semantics
. It has been variously presented either as merely one beautiful instance of many, or as the most beautiful in the
English language
. It’s been debated by many writers and often used as a term or analogy for a moment or act when an artist succumbs to their most beautiful expression.”

“While
succumbing
to one’s most beautiful expression, definitely appeals to me—” he sparked a deeper meaning in his eyes as he winked at her, “but there must be some kind of meaning—in the sculpture that is.”

She glanced over it again, to her it was pure fantasy, that which was only a word—an idea, but she didn’t know Cardiff as Trenton apparently did, “What makes you think that?”

“Cardiff doesn’t sleep with men.”

“Something has changed for him then—” she glanced at Trenton.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because he’s the one in the sculpture being overwhelmed by the other man and that only confirms what I said. He may not know the meaning of it, but it is the most beautiful combination for him and he wants it back.”

Trenton looked at her, seeing her ability to delve deeply for perhaps the first time since he’d met her. And it was obviously this ability to see into a person and see the fantasies and desires of a person that enabled her to create the stories she did. Now his mouse was out of her hole. Just as he was at home with talking about the philosophical meanings behind Slave and Master relations, so was she when it came to words and the profound meaning they had on us. As a writer she had a way with them, even though she rarely spoke with them.

“And what about you? Do you have a cellar door?”

Katianna glanced away as her face turned a shy shade of pink. She was blushing. Whatever her word was she kept it to herself.

Trenton said goodbye to his friend Cardiff noting that he would see him again soon at the auction and asked him to give his greetings to Fambleush and sorry he had missed him. Then they left to return to the hotel and to the others.

Taking the elevator to their room Katianna stirred then popped the question that was plaguing her curiosity, “Back at the museum you mentioned an auction to Cardiff—what auction?”

“Wanna tell me your cellar door?”

Her face immediately blushing red again and she shook her head.

“Then I’m not telling you about the auction just yet either.” He grinned at her.

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CHAPTER TEN

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HOME OF PIERRE FAMBLEUSH BOISMIER; PARIS FRANCE

The large door swung open and Trenton was surprised to be greeted by Fambleush himself.

“Trenton!
Mon vieil ami
. Come, come.” The husky large man stepped back not withholding the friendly gleam in his eyes. “You’ve come—it will be a good night.” He kissed one cheek then the other then his eyes fell on Katianna and they smiled.

Trenton’s arm pressed gently at her back “
M’sieur
Fambleush Boismier meet
Mlle
. Katianna Dumas.”

Fambleush was taken back quiet suddenly his eyes flickering at Trenton, “You introduce yours so soon?” He stammered.

“I have not had my
wine
in bed yet.” Trenton replied.

Katianna gave Trenton a glance. That hadn’t made any sense at all and her brow furrowed, but whatever he meant, it was clear that his friend did and looked at her with new eyes. “Come, come. Join me, we’ll catch up some before we dine and you can see how my slaves are doing.” He beamed. As he stepped back to usher them in, but Katianna didn’t miss the key word here.

“Slave?” She stared blankly at the man.

Fambleush’s smile warmed and she could have sworn she heard a slight chuckle in there, “Oh—
Elle est mignonne
.”

“What did he just say?” Deciding for once she wanted a translation. The topic of slaves had her off balance instantly, and for the man to be chuckling at her made it all the worse.

“He said you’re cute.” Trenton smiled at her with agreement. As they followed the man through his home. The two men chatting further in French and not once did Trenton offer any excuses or explanation to Katianna about anything else that was said.

They gathered in a large and rather opulent sitting room, in fact every part of the house she saw along the way was decadent with fine marble made into nude maidens and heroes. Fine art of naked maidens playing in gardens or in simple posses for the artist dotted the walls. His home being the over spill or the crème de la crème of the museum Trenton had taken her to the other day. No surprise but no less dazzling that Fambleush owned the gallery.

Tapestries as old as the sceneries they portrayed hung on the walls and Persian rugs adorned the floors along the hallway.

Katianna thought she saw movement out the corner of her eye, but as soon as she looked the heads popped away to hide behind the wall followed by giggling and her fingers tightened in Trenton’s shirt. He had warned her before they came that what she saw would not be the same as at Club Pain. Here the Subs did not go home at the end of the night with their clothes and wallets returned and the collars removed. Rather they stayed under the power of their Masters—went to bed when told, woke when told, ate when told and had sex when told. And disciplined when the misbehaved.

Fambleush had brought them to his smoking room where he made himself comfortable in the leather, wing back chair. He snapped his fingers and a girl hurried in almost too quickly and knelt down next to him, dark doe eyes blinking up at him eagerly.

“My pipe dear please.” And as quickly as she had entered, she disappeared in fetch of her master’s pipe.

Katianna fought to close her gaping mouth. She had almost missed it as she was twisting around on the Victorian sofa next to Trenton musing over the room and its many details.

Wall to wall—ceiling to floor mahogany shelves filled with books. New and old. A wheel footed ladder hung on a brass runner that circled the room to lend easy access to the books placed on the upper shelves. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath noting the smell of old books, bound in leather. She could almost convince herself she could smell the aged paper inside them. The way an antique book store should smell, right along with the faint aromatic lingering of pipe smoke. There was something old and timeless about the smell that made it seem rather welcoming. It wasn’t until she heard Fambleush ask someone for his pipe that she turned back around only to see a dark hard beauty dashing out of the room.

“A toddy before dinner?”

“None for me thank you Fam.” Trenton sat back relaxing easily into the environment and watched Katianna. He loved how she never hid her curiosity, though it would irritate most Doms and usually him as well, but she was different for him and he liked that she didn’t try to over compose herself, never to cool or unaffected by what she saw. It was the playfulness in it that he liked so much he supposed. She lightened his life when he was with her and he did love watching her.

The girl Katianna had only caught a glimpse of earlier returned with a small silver tray carrying a heavy bulbous pipe and a carved wooden box placed on it. The girl knelt at Fambleush’s feet setting the tray next to her and began to pack his pipe with tobacco from the box.

Katianna watched—okay no, she was staring. The girl was curvy and very mature in the face, drawing close to her thirties, but still a youthful approach and how exquisite her hair was. A soft sable color with undertones of red and sun drenched brassy highlights that hung in gentle ringlets to her shoulder blades. She was wearing one of those multi tiered boho skirts dazzled with a kaleidoscope of color with lots of over flow that draped across the floor at the moment and secured very low on her hips with a silver hip belt heavy with fringes of large silver disks and jingles, like something you would see from India or worn by a belly dancer. On her upper arms she wore matching bangles and a necklace that went right along with the belt and hung low over her bare chest, deliberately drawing your eyes to her medium sized breasts and the perk nipples that peeked through the bangles.

The woman passed the prepared pipe up to Fambleush, waited as he tamped it down some more. She even lit it for him and he let out a stream of smoke just over her head and the room instantly filled with a sweet woody fragrance. Her duty completed for the moment the woman curled up between his legs and rested her head on his knee. Kat thought she saw some soft expression of sorrow and wondered what it came from when she had seemed so eager and delighted to be called to his side at first.

“You remember Rachel here don’t you?” Fambleush began, letting out another long stream of smoke from his lips. He patted her gently, some deep rooted nurturing touch as if offering the girl some reassurance. “
Ahh
my beloved Rachel is still with me, but she is my personal assistant now. You see I even let her wear clothes—” he chuckled, but the admission of her new position in his life was sincere. “She does so well and that she was a servant before prepared her for my life style.” He shook his head then scratched at the back of it for a moment. “Should of thought about that a long time ago. I would have saved myself some heart aches over the tabloid stories of violating women’s rights and one tried to get me for sexual harassment, when I refused to make my servants wear clothing. It’s not like I asked her to bounce around naked. Though I did tell her she was free to do so herself if it pleased her.” He paused a moment and chuckled to himself at the notion before finishing the statement. “Rachel is perfect for the job.”

“Why does she look sad?” Katianna’s curiosity spilled out before she could stop herself.

“
Mmmm
—” he hummed with deep concern for the girl, “You notice do you?
Ma chèrie
, Rachel is trying to heal from a broken heart. She started dating a young gentleman from Milan, who comes to the Gallery often to purchase artworks and resells worldwide, but when the young man was ready to have more with her she naturally—how you Americans’ say—out of the closet—she offer herself in every way to him. Poor soul could not handle having a woman submit herself so completely and he run away.” He ran his fingers over her hair then down her cheek and she glanced up at him, his fingers caressing the side of her face and tapped her lips. Her expression warmed and she kissed his fingers before lowering her head back to his lap.

“She was so hurt by it I suggested she come back to the mansion for as long as she needed and I would remind her how beautiful her service is.”