AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Trite though it may sound, I can’t get you out of my mind,” Tessa replied. “The little chains you attached to the labia rings tickle my thighs constantly, and the ring on the hood of my clitoris hangs there heavily.”
“Goading you?” he asked.
“That’s a good way to put it.”
She could almost hear a chuckle issue from him. “Then my purpose is fulfilled. You can test yourself in public—something we can both look forward to.”
“What kind of gathering did you say this was?”
“Something casual, a new exhibit opening. Lots of notable people who like to be seen with artists, no matter how obscene we are.”
“I heard one patron of the museum describe your nudes as filth,” Tessa said.
“Really?” he replied, “That’s good. “I wouldn’t want to slander my reputation with anything wholesome.”
“Then I suppose that my wearing gold, leather and silk will maintain your notoriety.”
“I’m glad you think the way I do. I’m sure you’ll have quite a time this afternoon.”
By the time they arrived at the luncheon, there were already at least a hundred people in the room, milling about, drinking cocktails before the sit-down luncheon. Tessa’s expectations of the event were quickly shattered, as she looked about the crowd of people chattering gaily.
“I think I’m under dressed,” she whispered in Miles’ ear, as she peered at dozens of women in pastel business suits with long skirts and baggy slacks and high collared blouses, dripping gold, their noses high in the air, ready to look down in well-practiced amazement at any slut like her.
“You look ravishing,” Miles whispered back, “that scarf’s worth a few hundred dollars, you’re hardly dressing down to anyone. Besides, if you looked like one of the bitches here, I wouldn’t have you.” He eyed the prudish matrons around him with contempt.
“Then why are we here?” Tessa asked.
“Politics, good politics.”
“Politics?” That was a word she hadn’t expected to hear from his lips.
“Sometimes I have to make an appearance, especially if it’s my own opening.”
“Your own opening? You didn’t tell me that.”
“It’s not all that important, but I do have to be here; there’s positioning in the art world, you have to be in the right place at the right time.”
“I didn’t think that things like that would influence you,” Tessa commented. It seemed odd to her that Miles would let anyone dictate what he should or shouldn’t do.
“I may not like this kind of event, but I do want to sell my work. If nothing else, it’s a necessity from a financial perspective.” The two were strolling about, Miles nodding to acquaintances, while he whispered to Tessa. “Besides, we’ll have some fun with this,” he added looking delightfully devilish.
Tessa hated this kind of ostentatious show. Fully resolved that she wouldn’t put herself in this kind of milieu for any reason, after many such occasions for the museum, she was displeased to find herself in the middle of another congregation of arrogance. The only thing that didn’t displease her was the infrequent glances at her bosom. Men, mostly men, noticed the bumps about her breasts where the jewelry pierced her. The silk did little to hide the obvious. The women were especially interesting, the way they gave her sidelong glances, and whispered to each other like Siamese cats while staring at her chest.
It didn’t take long before Tessa felt like little more than a trinket for Miles to show off—she was as much a part of the exhibit as his paintings on the wall. To her surprise, there was even one painting of her, one she wasn’t aware that Miles had done. It shocked her to see the image of her rounded buttocks, asshole included, shimmering in oils. The blond mop of hair was a dead giveaway, though there was likely not enough of her own physique to make the identity of the model obvious to anyone but Tessa and Miles. Still, she moved away from it quickly, not sure how she’d handle curious comparisons.
Miles came and left her side several times, while the two drank iced tea laced with some liquor. It was delicious, and made her head just fuzzy enough to appreciate the finer points of sticking out so blatantly in the crowd. Usually, she did her exhibiting among friends with sentiments and tastes in clothes similar to her own. With just a little help from the potion in her hand, this exhibition was becoming most intriguing.
It was clearly fascinating to Miles, too.
When he went off to chat with some notable person, he’d gaze back at her, and draw the patron’s attention her way. She was greeted with appreciative smiles and waves several times. She wondered why he didn’t just put her on a pedestal for all to see, a living model. Take the clothes from her body and let everyone see what was underneath them, what lovely gold dripped from her pierced places.
“Tessa, I want you to meet Damien,” Miles said, escorting a gentleman and lady to her side. “This is Adelle, his wife.”
She shook their hands graciously. Was this the Damien, of Damien’s Ball? she wondered to herself.
“This is the girl you told me about?” Damien was a graying man, likely in his early sixties, though his robust manner suggested a virile “Cary Grant.” His charm glimmered in his eyes; and there was a genuine kindness that Tessa hadn’t seen yet that day.
“Yes, she’s the one,” Miles said.
