"If?"
"If he stepped out of the picture. "
"Nicely said. "
"You still haven't told me what you're looking at. "
"Marilyn Monroe's breasts. "
"Excuse me?"
"It's a molding. Not from the real ones, because the artist unfortunately was just a boy when that wonderful lady passed out of our lives but he studied her movies, photographs. Interviewed two privileged gentlemen who had the honor of seeing them uncovered. He chose to mold them as they would have been toward the latter end of her life, when they were fuller, heavier, ripe. " Tyler paused, searching for the right words. "When I saw it, I saw what he intended. The breasts of a woman. . . They're her life, her vulnerability, one of the most powerful of her allures. Have you ever noticed when a woman touches herself for pleasure at The Zone, she often starts with her breasts, almost as fascinated with their perfection as men are? But while our interest is often atavistic, hers is more reverent, as if thanking Mother Goddess for a gift that ties the woman to Her. And I suppose that's why he also sculpted her hands beneath them, cupping them. The vulgar would say that it represents what she offered to the world. They'd mean it in a crass way that denied her value, the fact that she captured our hearts as much as our sexual fantasies.
She was a woman in every sense of the word. Every man wishes he could have saved her, helped her see the world was a far better place than she knew and that she was stronger than she realized. "
"I think you're idealizing her. She likely was as difficult and mundane as any of us. "
"I reserve the right to make up my own story behind the art. " Switching gears on her, he curled his forefinger and thumb around one wrist.
"You're fine-boned for your height. No jewelry, though. You don't wear it much but when you do. . . That was some show of ice at The Zone. If that robber had known you were carrying those on you, he would have fought a lot harder. Probably cut your throat. "
When his grip tightened on her, just thinking about it, her fingers touched his, a reassurance that stilled him, made him loosen a bit. He cleared his throat. "Tell me your favorite piece of all of those you see in front of you. Don't think about it, just say it. " His sudden possessive protectiveness was almost more unsettling than his moments of physical seduction. Marguerite struggled to stay up with him. "They're all beautiful. You've got exquisite taste, Tyler. "
"I certainly do. " He pinched her knuckle and she wiggled her finger free.
"Now you're flirting. "
"A Master? We never flirt. We merely wave our hand and command our sub to fall to her knees in slavish devotion. We never cajole, coax, flirt, seduce. . . " He tilted his head, this time toward her other side. Catching her braid in his teeth, he gave it a tug and succeeded in catching the band holding it. When she jerked her head away, he was able to pull it down six or seven inches, off the base, so that the braided strands started to loosen.
"Tyler Winterman - "
"Tell me your favorite. Stop being a polite guest, trying to say all the right things. "
"The statue in the left corner. I like the statue. And the chair near it. Though it's not part of the artwork. "
"Describe the statue. "
"It's a man and a woman. It's done in brown clay and she's. . . He's behind her, his arms outside her arms, both in a vee, pointing down the front of her body, all four hands clasped just at her vagina. They're bent over. His legs are spread, hers together, and it's obvious he's inside of her. Her head is back on his shoulder, his is tilted forward, his lips on her opposite shoulder. They're perfectly meshed, unified. I like the lines of it. "
"Get past the artistry. What does it say, what does your heart say when you look at it?"
I wish I was her. The thought came to her mind uncensored but she couldn't say it.
"The look on her face. . . moves me. She's not thinking of anything but this, doesn't have to. Nothing is touching her, filling her but him. She's an empty vessel, filled by him. "
He was silent. She knew he knew there was more. "And you like the chair," he said at last.
She let out the tense breath she was holding, relieved he hadn't pressed. "Yes. What do you call it?"
"A tete-a-tete. " The design was like two chairs facing in opposite directions, side by side but curved as one pair, so the two backs formed an intimate S-shape that would allow a man to reach over and lay an arm around the waist of his lover. However, separated by the opposite arm, they had to maintain a seductive distance. "There were many subtly suggestive items in the Victorian era," he noted. "During sexually repressed times, I think people just get more creative. "
"That chair seems to be more romantic than sexual. "
"You think so?" He shifted to consider it, which rubbed his shoulder against hers again. He was so much broader there, reminding her how infrequently she allowed her subs to get close enough to her to compare the differences in their body types. "If you and I were sitting there, side by side, you know what I'd do?"
"I'm not going to encourage you. "
&nbs