by Talon P. S.
Amelia nodded; she knew what was expected of her. She also knew not to say so. It was part of Trenton’s security to speak the obvious, because you never know when the rules would have to change.
With the go ahead from Trenton, Ramos stepped out from the front seat of the limo and came around the back, opening the door on Diesel’s side.
“Stay in the limo, I’ll be right back out. If anything should happen get down on the floor board. The car has bullet shields but it’s still safer down low.” He glanced at Katianna to make sure she understood his directions. She nodded.
“Good girl.” He kissed her forehead, “Be right back.” He turned to the driver, looking at him through the divider window, “If all hell breaks loose and we’ve already reached the building you get her out of here till I call you back.”
“Oui, Monsieur.”
Diesel was first out then Payton, then Rashawn and Amelia followed by Trenton and the four of them escorted Amelia and her board member inside at a fast pace with little more than some shouting and chants from the protestors.
Just as Trenton had said he was back out in only a few minutes, remaining inside only long enough to see his group safely inside and to check with the building security of any incidences. As he made his way out he stopped to speak with one of the officers securing the line of protestors.
“They have a permit to be here?” He asked in French. The officer hesitated thoughtfully for a moment, a good indication that there wasn’t one. That put the odds in his favor, “Then get them out of here and when they show up tomorrow with their permit put them across the street.”
“But Monsieur, they have the right—”
“Yes they do, but after this morning’s bomb scare I also have the right to dictate how close they get to speak their opinions. So see to it they are across the street tomorrow. Everyone will be safer for it.” And with that Trenton left the officer to return to the limo and Katianna.
Trenton jumped in and instructed the driver to a local restaurant where they could get a late breakfast.
“Feel up to a day at a museum?”
“Are we allowed back to the hotel?”
“Sorry Katianna.” He shook his head at her, “Not for a while at least.” But he saw her eyes moving to the computer he had brought down for her. “If you still need to do some writing I’m sure we can find a nice quiet park nearby.”
“No. A museum sounds good.” She answered back. It did sound good actually. Then for once she could spend some time with him outside of a club. Four years and it seemed like almost every minute she had ever known with him was spent inside a club, most of it anyways.
She shifted in her seat looking at him as he sat across from her, “Why did you stay?”
Trenton cocked his head questioningly at her. He wasn’t sure what she was asking.
“Inside the hotel I mean. Why did you stay inside when you ordered the rest of us out?”
Trenton tried to keep his expression warm, but in truth his job was very serious and it entailed a considerable amount of risk. “It’s my job Katianna. Securing your life isn’t just about shielding your body or shooting at an attacker. Part of it is making sure the location you’re in is safe. While Diesel saw to it you evacuated the building I had to stay behind to tend to the threat there.”
“But what if there had been an actual bomb in the building?” She just couldn’t comprehend why he would stay behind when there was such a danger.
“That’s the risk I take Kat. Now will you do something for me?”
She nodded.
“No matter how upset you are with me—don’t shut me out. Diesel tells me we have to pay to have the door replaced in your room.”
Katianna’s eyes darted away.
“Kat?”
She looked back up surprised to see a warm and friendly smile on his face and she nodded back to him, “Okay.”
“And one other thing so we have a clear understanding between us. What you did, I should put you over my knee and spank you hard for it.”
Kat shifted in the seat and pushed herself away from him a few slow inches. “That’s your job too?” she risked quibbling over the semantics of his authority and directives.
“No as someone who cares about your safety.”
“As Dominus.” She murmured. She felt the disappointment. As Dominus—as her bodyguard he cared about her safety. Just one more fleeting factor that said she was nothing more to him then his charge, except when he was drinking and she was the only one to direct his attention on. But if this was all she was how could he dare say he could spank her. “You’d beat a woman who wasn’t one of your Subs just for locking the door?”
“Spank. Not beat.” He corrected her first, “I most certainly would if I felt you needed one. And I definitely feel you need one for this, but I’m not going to this time, because even though you locked me out you were still safely under my charge.”
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Musée de L'art du Corps was owned and operated by a friend of Trenton’s, once a Professor of Art and Antiquity, now curator of his own museum of erotic art, Fambleush Boismier. It also catered its galleries as home for many of the workings of renowned artist of architecture and sculpture, Cardiff Matisse.
Katianna stood at the front of the building staring at the large stone archway and the letters carved into it.
“L'art est le corps de mon amant.” Trenton read the words out to her.
“What does it mean?”
“Art is my lover’s body.”
“What’s inside?” she looked up at him curiously.
“Erotica. The very visuals that creates your writing.” He wouldn’t dare lie to her and he hoped she would not pull away feeling offended as she had at the club. When she only looked at him, without gesture he twisted, jutting his elbow out offering up his arm for her to take. “Shall we, ma chèrie?”
Katianna hadn’t forgotten the stern warning that Trenton would actually spank her for disobeying him. She didn’t doubt him one bit even if she didn’t think he had that much clearance to do so with her. He seemed to think he did and how was she suppose to argue with that right now? Her face twitched trying to clear it from her mind. Her eyes tilted back up to the archway and she recalled the afternoon he tolerated her unabated curiosity at the expo all those years ago. Now standing at the entrance to a museum dedicated to the art— how could she turn the offer down? She pitched a brightened expression up his way, “We shall.” She smiled coiling her arm into his and allowed him to lead her inside.
Katianna fell in love with the small museum right away; its genre though purposely lacking in candor appealed to her own artistic nature directly. She’s not sure if she ever stopped grinning and near instantly began chattering about everything they saw.
The Musée de L’art du Corps translated to the museum of the body’s art and it did just that—discovered and displayed the erotic beauty of the human body. And why we like our bodies so much.
Two main galleries divide by time periods, part of the first room reserved for present day and recent artists along with works which included: vintage erotica photography, prints specializing in oriental, erotic and homoerotic pictures from the late 1800’s to the middle 1900’s, with inclusions from artists such as Wilhelm Von Gloeden and Leon Roze. Georges Topfer, who turned out to be one of Trenton’s favorites, since most of his work revolved around depictions of sexual spanking and whippings was shared in the collection. A few prints from Louis Malteste, another artist who apparently had a fondness for blushing red bottoms and for those who were into bondage there were works from artist John Willie.
Even some of the world’s most recognizable models were present such as Lina Cavalieri and Betty Page. The remaining space was reserved as a Baroque Boudoir, dedicated to paintings, sculptures and personalities.
Katianna’s favorite from the first gallery was a print of a couple from the early 1930’s on a park curb.
The woman laid back across her
lover’s lap into his arm’s embrace, her own arms holding up the umbrella that attempted to keep the rain at bay, while her gentlemanly handler had pulled her dress well over her hips revealing black knickers and his fingers hidden between her legs, taking and giving great pleasure to his maiden woman.
Katianna must have stared at it for some time feeling the warm blush spread across her body recanting a similar situation for herself. What she would have given to trade a wired jaw for an umbrella. Her pinkish feeling had to of turned deep crimson when she realized Trenton was watching her as he leaned back against one of the columns in the room. The glint in his eyes and the temptuous smile on his face insured her he was also remembering the moment he had given her.
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 t
ime 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.