I bit my lip and moved away from the easel with my large draft book and pencil case. Taking a seat on a conveniently provided stool, I began to loosely sketch vignettes of Terry’s long face, the deep contours of her collarbones and the vulnerable recess between her breasts.
“Not exactly. I probably sound cliché, but I recently had a pretty torrid affair that opened my eyes to how many indecent things there are to indulge in. Afterwards, I couldn’t help looking at people and wonder at their sexual secrets.” I looked up at her through my eyelashes, feeling strangely coquettish. “What are yours?”
Terry smiled slightly and edged herself slowly to the head of the bed. “I’m so glad you asked.” I watched with lowered lids as she reclined against the heap of silk pillow, legs bent at the knee and braced open to reveal the deep shadows at the apex of her thighs. There was a barely imperceptible rattle as she retrieved something from behind the velvet curtains and produced thick metal and leather cuffs attached to the bed frame. “Would you mind helping me into this?”
I painted the New York socialite like that – bound to the headboard by leather handcuffs, legs spread and torso raised like the Queen Of Sheba languishing on her throne – for nearly four hours. She was a beautiful model, barely a fidget in sight and only one bathroom break. We chatted as I traced her curves across thick paper and then even thicker canvas. Her New Jersey accent was at odds with her elegance and I came to realize that even though her husband ‘Pauly’ had taught her the finer graces of high society, Terry was still proud of her Jersey shore roots. She laughingly relayed that Paulson had suffered from ‘insta-lust’ when they’d locked eyes at a function she was catering.
“He liked my nails and big hair,” she explained, her fingers wriggling. “And I may have unbuttoned my top a teensy bit more than was respectable.”
I found myself infusing the painting with semblances of her humor, the glimmer within the depths of her brown eyes, the tilt to her harlot red lips. My forehead was hot with feverish excitement and even as my hand swirled across the canvas, I was thinking of other poses for her.
“Tell me more about your sex life,” I coaxed. “Obviously, you enjoy restraints.”
“We enjoy a lot of things,” she purred, stretching sinuously as I released her from the cuffs.
Without thinking, I gently rubbed the ache out of her wrists. She ran her tongue along her teeth as she watched, her gaze heated. Despite the fact that she was fifteen years older than me and, of course, a woman, I was inexplicably attracted to her. There was something about her intensity and assuredness that reminded me of Sinclair.
“Why don’t you come with me to get my daily snack?” she asked after studying me for a long moment.
“Okay.”
I let her lead me from the room by the hand after gathering my sketchbook, pencils and camera.
“I’m so happy we did this,” she said, her thumb stroking over my palm. “Your sister called both Pauly and I to discourage us but she was worried for nothing.”
Acid filled my gums. “Excuse me?”
“Hmm? Oh maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I think she was nervous that you would scare us off the deal with Daniel Sinclair. Honestly, I can’t blame her, Pauly comes across as a real stick in the mud and he is always bothering them about getting married.” She looked over her shoulder to roll her eyes at me as we descended the stairs. “I swear that man could have grown up in Victorian England, all stuffy on the outside but a real perv deep down.”
My laugh burst forth before I could help it but Terry just grinned. We arrived at a large wood paneled door and she knocked three times in a strange rhythm.
“She’s a nice woman, your sister, though obviously not very supportive. Do you think it has something to do with that gigantic stick up her ass?” Terry asked me with wide eyes.
I laughed again even though the fact that Elena had once again tried to thwart my project made my belly heat with rage.
A murmur came from inside the room.
“Now, you may come inside and document but try not to get in the way, okay? Pauly and I have a ritual, you see.”
I nodded, my curiosity peaked and my arousal already high.
Paulson was sitting behind a huge mahogany desk, talking on Bluetooth to someone with a southern accent. His helmet of silver hair glinted in the low light emitted from the antique brass fixtures and his stern face was tight with frustration. Still, he didn’t seem surprised when I entered behind his wife. He even gave us a nod of acknowledgement before turning back to his computer screen.
Terry squeezed my hand before dropping it and stepping closer into the room. I watched her approach the desk with her head bowed, her hands clasped demurely in front of her. When she reached his side, she dropped to her knees in a position of subservience as beautiful as origami.
Paulson ignored her, even when her robe pooled in a small puddle of blue silk around her knees.
Silently, I placed my bag of supplies on the ground and brought my camera to my face. I wondered if I should ask Paulson for permission but just as I was opening my mouth to do so, he inclined his head at me.
I raised the camera and framed them in the shot. Paulson reached out idly to pet Terry’s riotous curls. Click. My shutter closed over the sight.
My body digested the image of them like a shot of burning liquor. I placed my hand on an end table to steady myself. This was a real moment in the lifestyle I could have enjoyed with Sinclair. I don’t know how I didn’t see it when I met them; maybe Terry’s bold personality had distracted me. I had always assumed that meekness was at the cornerstone of submissiveness but as I gazed on the couple before me, it occurred to me that personality outside the bedroom had very little to do with it.
&n
bsp; Paulson continued to speak on the phone, jotting down notes on a large legal pad with his free hand while the other pulled viciously, casually, at Terry’s nipples. I moved unobtrusively around the room, close up to record the way her skin pulled and released like taffy, far away to mark the contrast of the power dynamic.
Finally, he gave Terry some kind of hand signal and she quickly crawled beneath the desk. From my vantage point, I could only see her bare ass perched almost daintily on her crossed high-heeled feet. There was the soft clack of a belt being undone and the sexual gasp of a zipper.