by Ines Johnson
Sister Mychelle extended a canvas she carried in her hands. Alyss could only nod as she looked at Sister Mychelle’s sketches of a butterfly emerging from its cocoon.
“Are you finally ready to cross the hall to the side where you belong?”
Alyss ducked her head as Eryka always did. “I was just holding the door open.” Alyss indicated the closed door behind her.
“Your welcome any time. Though today might not be the best day. We’ve come into possession of several erotic artworks. The work is banned outside of these walls.”
Alyss didn’t answer. Her gaze fixed on a canvas depicting a man kneeling before a woman. The woman’s breasts and thighs were bare. A dark triangle of hair was exposed between her thighs. The man’s pink tongue extended towards that dark area. Alyss knew she should look away, but her eyes held fast to the lines of the brushwork, all drawing attention to that focal point between the woman’s open thighs.
“In ancient times, Neanderthals drew the human form on the walls of caves to communicate with one another and relate their history. But today, in a civilized society we can’t show any of these historical artifacts because the women depicted are naked.” Sister Mychelle shook her head, her eyes bright and open as she regarded the painting. Not half closed in shameful curiosity, like Alyss’.
“We can show the pottery of ancient Greeks upon which the sex acts of male love is depicted. We can show the phallic sculptures of art from the Africas. But this society deems obscene anything that depicts the female form nude or in a sexual situation.” Sister Mychelle turned back to Alyss. “Its a crime, isn’t it?”
Alyss didn’t answer. She didn’t know how to answer. She shouldn’t even be in this room right now.
“Art is the expression of someone’s soul. You can’t just silence someone’s soul.” Sister Mychelle looked to Alyss for confirmation, but Alyss kept her mouth closed. She’d never considered erotic art. She’d never seen any. Her fingers itched to hold a brush and paint out loud.
Sister Mychelle’s eyes peered into Alyss as though she saw her personal confinement, but the older woman said nothing. She gave Alyss one last smile that rang somewhere between sympathy and pity. Then she flitted away with her drawings pressed to her chest. Sister Mychelle aimed her artwork outward so that every one would see. In fact, she stopped to talk with another lady whose eyes were riveted to the canvass. Sister Mychelle presented the canvas for the lady’s closer inspection with pride and excitement.
Alyss scratched at her chest. She took one more glance around the room. Then she turned away from the sun, turned her back on all the art, and reached for the door.
“Allow me, my lady.” A dark, masculine hand reached in front of her. “You can’t open the door with your fingers in knots.”
Alyss started at his words. Why would he use that particular word? Knots?
He nodded his head downward.
Alyss looked down at her clasped fingers. She wrenched them apart, then stepped aside.
“There’s paint under your finger nails.” he stated matter-of-factly. “Is that some new feminine fashion I’m not aware of?”
Alyss held her nails up. There was the tiniest speck of purple beneath her right index finger. She looked up into the face of her adversary and felt naked under his gaze. His eyes moved from her nails to her wrists. She felt like he knew. Like he knew where each marking, not just the rope impressions but the paint, came from. She felt like he knew how desperate she was to keep each.
But that was impossible, her wild imagination at play. She tried to wrangle it in, yank the idea out before it could root. Her Mother had always warned her of the dangers of an active imagination. Methodical, peer-reviewed contemplations was the only lane to allow the mind to travel.
Alyss ducked out of the door. She heard the door click closed behind her.
“Lady Alyss?” His voice was soft, but it carried to her. “Let’s keep the fighting inside the chambers, shall we?”
Alyss turned. He was right there in front of her.
“My husband is off limits,” his soft voice was firm.
“Your husband?”
“Adom.”
Alyss blinked. Adom? Her Adom? She didn’t even know that Adom was bonded.
“Use whatever tactics you want against me,” he continued. “Bat your eyelashes, flip your hair, show off your breasts. But don’t use him.”
“Tactics? You think I’m using Adom-“
“Stay away from him or I’ll tell everyone you’ve been posing for his artwork.”
The threat didn’t have the bite Alyss expected it to. She merely blinked. She saw the dawning on his face when he realized her lack of fear at the prospect. He changed his tactic.
“I’ll tell them how you’ve been posing. That you were…roped into it.”
Alyss ran her fingers protectively over her wrists. “What Adom does…”
She couldn’t finish the sentence. She knew little about love, but from what she witnessed of her sister and her cousin, she knew when you loved someone you helped them achieve their dreams. Not dash them away.
“Why would you want him to stop?” she asked. “Why wouldn’t you want him to share his talent with the world? I’ve never seen a male who could do what he does.”
Alyss would never have that opportunity to even try to achieve what Adom could do with a brush. Her artwork would never see the light of day. But Adom’s work, it had to. It was important. She didn’t know why, but she knew it was the truth. When people saw what he could do with color and lines…
“He has a chance to change the world,” Alyss continued. “The way we all see the world, and you would stop him?”
The male looked at her, dumbfounded. “Tomorrow you will go into a chamber and try to take away one of his basic rights; a basic right of all males to determine their own destiny. Yet you want to lecture me on my relationship?”
They stood outside of the door of the Chamber of Health and Sciences. If someone heard their conversation she could be thrown out of the Sisterhood. Her spot as an apprentice, her future forfeited. That thought didn’t terrify her as much as the thought of not returning to Adom’s studio. The idea of not returning to Adom this afternoon was unbearable.
“Stay away from my husband.” He walked away.
She didn’t know his name, so she couldn’t call out to him. She scurried after him and grabbed his arm. The corded muscles of the strong bicep pulsated under her fingers. He stopped, stiffened, at her touch.
“I’ll make a deal with you.” She heard the desperation in her own voice, felt her body being shoved back into the cocoon, felt her fingers suffocating.
He yanked his arm away from her.
Alyss reached into her bag. She pulled out the printed report from her Mother. His eyes widened seeing the title of the document. She knew he didn’t have access to this information. “It’s yours…”
He reached his hand towards it.
She withdrew the document at the last second. “As long as you let me see Adom.”
He put his hand away.
She placed the document between them like an offering. “If this bill is as important to you as you say it is, then the information in this report will be of great value to you. The price is a few more hours with Adom. A few colors on a canvas.”
He studied her. “Why? Why do you want to sit for my husband?”
How could she explain how Adom’s art made her feel alive? How his ropes took all the pressure away? Alyss needed it, or she would suffocate. All around her her skin was cracking and something was trying to break free from her soul. She couldn’t stop it.
“Do we have a deal?”
12
Adom put the final brush stroke on the painting and sat back. Though white washed of its erotic foundations, the piece was marvelous: the Goddess giving birth to the sun. Adom felt the need to bow down to the canvas.
There was no evidence of the suspension rig used to capture his muse in the perfect pose. In
stead of beige twine wrapped at her wrists, green vines ensnared the arms of the woman in the painting. The woman in the painting had a different skin hue than his muse. Her breasts were smaller than what Adom could spy beneath Alyss’ clothing. Her waist was narrower and her hips were drawn with more flare. But it was the expression on her face that relayed the truth of her identity.
Alyss had been enraptured when he’d roped and suspended her. Adom had known she would be, likely from the first day he’d seen her at Jian’s home when she’d instructed him on the colors of his paintings. In his experience, bossy women craved domination. Not to put them down or make them feel weak. Bondage and suspension worked to free the individual at their deepest level. Back then, at Jian’s, it was as though Alyss’ soul had called to him and begged him to free her from her stifling cage, from the burdens laid on her shoulders.
For months, the only release Adom could give her was in the way he painted her. But the other night, with each loop he made around her wrists, with every tug of the rope, he’d freed her. If only for a short time.
He knew she needed more, craved it. He’d seen it in her eyes. He’d captured it in his work. Her face was at the same time slack and firm. Her head tilted to reveal her soul-centeredness. Her eyes closed to reveal her spirit’s openness. Sensations bubbled in Adom’s chest at the memory of the feel of her hands as he released her, the disappointment in her eyes when her weight returned to her, the eagerness beneath her lashes, the hope that came out on her breath. She needed more and Adom wanted to give it to her.
His eyes rose to her hands in the painting. They were suspended above her head, wrists constricted, fingers falling free from the tension. The sight of Alyss’ suspended hands even now made his dick hard. Adom looked away from the painting. Even if he were ever allowed to paint her, or bind her again, sex could never be a part of the equation. Not with his proclivities.
His hands itched, his heart ached that he couldn’t give her what she needed. But it was now impossible. He would not betray Emet. Emet, who Adom loved with every bit of his heart, was his world.
Adom stood and prepared to move the painting aside. His memory and imagination would have to serve him from here on out. A sound at the door to his studio had him turning.
In the door stood Emet. Before Emet stood Alyss. Her eyes were rapt to the painting in his hands. She stepped forward, arms stretching out. Her breaths were heavy. Moisture pricked the edges of her eyes. She reached her hand out but pulled away before her fingertips met the canvas. She looked up at Adom. Her mouth worked, but no words escaped. They didn’t need to. Adom felt the same way about their work. And it was their work. He could not have done this without her.
But why was she here now? With Emet?
Adom had barred the storefront door and hid in his studio like a coward, uncertain if he could turn her away when she came to him. It could only have been Emet who let her in.
But why?
Behind Alyss, Emet cleared his throat. Adom tore his eyes away from his muse and focused on his bondmate. There was censure written across his features.
“Lady Alyss and I have come to an agreement.”
Adom’s heartbeat picked up, keeping a steady rhythm so that his ears missed none of Emet’s words.
“She may sit for you again.”
Adom looked down to Alyss who beamed with pure joy. Her eyes looked around the room, hungry. They touched on the blank canvases, the paint, the pencils. The rig.
Adom wasn’t beaming, not yet. He knew his mate. That wasn’t the end of his statement on this arrangement. There would be a condition, and Adom suspected that neither he nor Alyss would like it.
“If she is to sit for you,” Emet continued. “I insist on being in the room.”
That caught Alyss’ attention. She turned back to him. “You didn’t say that before.”
“I’m saying it now.”
“But why?”
Emet’s eyes went to Adom. Emet wasn’t about to tell Lady Alyss why. Emet and Adom never spoke of the reason Adom kept his distance from women.
“I’m not only his mate, I’m his advocate. If he displeased you, you could take your complaint to the Peace Keepers, and he’d be thrown in jail.”
Adom looked away from the memories playing across Emet’s brown gaze, memories of Adom at the mercy of a panicked young woman and her shrewd Mother.
“I would never do such a thing,” Alyss insisted. “I would never do anything to hurt Adom or his work.”
“Yet, tomorrow afternoon you’ll be fighting to end one of his basic rights.”
Alyss ground her teeth.
Emet closed the door and took a seat beside the door frame. He made a motion to Adom to proceed. Lady Alyss turned her back on Emet, shutting him out of her vision. Anger still crinkled the edges of her eyes and pinched her heart-shaped mouth. She took a deep breath and released it. When she opened her eyes, the golden-brown was already churning bright.
“How do you want me?” she said to Adom.
With one final look of gratitude at Emet, Adom turned to his muse. He looked her up and down. There were so many ideas and visions vying for his attention.
Her dress today was a movement of orange, black and white. It fluttered around her like a bird, or a butterfly. Her body sat in the center as though she were a flower, a lotus. The lotus blossom was a sexual image; a representation of a woman’s sacred flower. Adom had a vision of Lady Alyss awakening in the petals of a blossom.
He pulled a chair before his easel. “Will you have a seat, my lady?”
Alyss sent a disappointed glance towards the rig before trudging to the proffered seat.
Adom’s mouth quirked. He knew he hadn’t imagined that she wanted the bindings. That look just then was proof positive. He sent his smile over his shoulder, but Adom was met with a frown from his bondmate. But Emet refused to acknowledge the unspoken message.
Adom sighed and put his back to his lover. He knelt down before Lady Alyss. Her breath caught when their gazes met. Adom sat back on his haunches placing his face in alignment with her core. He held her gaze for a moment, searching her depths, trying to see how far he could take her today. He saw a clear path to the destination he wanted in her golden eyes, but he reached for her foot instead.
He undid the ties on her boot, frowning at the lack of symmetry between the laces. He slid the boot free and positioned her leg on the outside of the chair leg. Then he did the same with the other boot, foot, and leg. When he was done, Lady Alyss sat spread eagle in the chair. Her dress obstructed his view of her blossom, but Adom was a patient man. When he made love to Emet, and in the past the women under his tutelage, orgasm was only a destination. Adom most enjoyed the journey and the explorations of the path. He liked to venture both high and low, taking his companion along for a long ride.
Adom rose and went to his rope collection. He selected a hemp rope. The material was a bit coarser than the one he’d used on Lady Alyss the previous night. He wanted her to feel the bite today.
Adom returned to Lady Alyss. Standing over top of her from behind the chair, he looked down and saw her breasts heaving in pants. She was both excited and aroused. She sucked in a shuddery breath when Adom gathered her forearms behind her back.
He draped her arms over the chair’s back and bound her. Before he finished, Alyss’ head was already dropping back in rope ecstasy. Adom chanced a glance at Emet. The male was leaning forward in his chair, his eyes rapt on Alyss.
When Emet caught Adom staring, he sat back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest and looked into the corner.
Adom walked the short path back to his easel, eager for this journey to get underway, in no hurry to get to the end.
13
Emet gathered his papers and slapped the edges of the stack down onto the desk until they all aligned into a neat square bundle. After the morning session of watching Adom sketch the beginning of a painting of Lady Alyss, Emet had returned to work. He would not allow the sight
of her painted toes and delicate ankles to deter him from his mission to right the scales of justice for all man-kind.
They were adversaries, he and Lady Alyss, and he would be mindful to remember that. Not the look of ecstasy on her face from the sound of Adom’s pencil scratches. Not the flush on her breasts from the rope bliss. He now admitted she wasn’t playing a game. At least not with Adom. Emet saw, that like him, the ropes called to Alyss.
The three of them had braked for a few hours so that Alyss could rest from the pull of the ropes and Emet could work. They’d agreed to meet back in the studio at day’s end.
“Headed out?”
The Male Voice poked his head inside Emet’s cubicle. The offices were empty of all other males. All the advocates were older males, second sons from prominent families. Emet was the youngest advocate and the only one who had worked another occupation. It had taken awhile for the other males to warm up to him. In time they saw that Emet was both knowledgeable and dedicated to the work. Trust bloomed easily afterwards and Emet counted many of the males in the office as friends.
“You have a big day tomorrow,” said the Voice. “Is there anything you want to discuss?”
“No, I have everything I need.”
“We’re a team here, Emet. No one’s expecting you to shoulder all the burden. Ask for help if you need it.”
Emet saw a hint of worry in the Male Voice’s eyes. He hated the idea of being doubted. Couldn’t stand that someone whom he respected would question his abilities. He hesitated a brief second before extending the packet of papers he’d received from Lady Alyss as part of their negotiations.
The Male Voice took the papers. His eyes widened as he read the parchment. “Where did you get these?”
Most documents were digital, which also meant traceable. You couldn’t trace printed paper. If he named Lady Alyss the Male Voice would naturally wonder why his opponent would give Emet such a powerful weapon against her case.