I grinned, as Amanda pouted and exhaled long and slow.
"The roses are beautiful, Gil. Thank you," Amanda halfheartedly thanked me.
Amanda is forty years old. She had quit her job, three years ago, as a senior partner in a prestigious law firm, to pursue a career as an artist. We met by chance at the Art Gallery of Ontario, last year. Her work was part of the, Women In Art, exhibit. The attraction to each other was immediate. She stayed with me for three days. Three, very dirty, filthy days. She had never experienced being bound by rope. She fell in love with being bound and used, immediately.
I had purchased two dozen, Juliet Roses for her. A very prestigious gallery had her art on display and for sale. Amanda's paintings and photography had become the talk of New York City. She had incredible talent for painting with strong colors and bold strokes. The guest list for the exclusive viewing was international. Potential buyers flew in from all over the world for the opportunity to view and bid on the art pieces.
"Genevieve, could you please put these flowers with the rest? I want to give Gil a personal tour of my latest paintings, before the show begins," Amanda politely asked one of her assistants.
Genevieve looked to be in her late twenties. Slim, curvy in all the right places, and she was killing the, little black dress and Christian Louboutin's stilettos she was wearing.
Amanda wrapped both her arms around one of mine and squeezed her breasts against my arm as she led me to her paintings.
"You didn't like the Juliet Roses, Amanda?" I asked as we walked to the viewing room.
"I love them, Gil. I am not being ungrateful. I was hoping for a less traditional congratulatory gift. Something more," she giggled and squeezed my arm tighter, "you."
I chuckled and replied, "I would never have gotten passed the armed security guards with that kind of gift."
She stopped and grinned, "I would hope not!" Then coyly asked me, "I thought all Canadians were extremely proper and polite? Why are you so different?"
I laughed, "I am always gentleman, when I am in the presence of a lovely lady, in public."
"In public, you are the perfect gentleman, Gil. I was referring to your lack of politeness in the bedroom," she replied with a smirk.
"Ahh, that. As I recall, you didn't complain about my ungentlemanly behavior in my bedroom," I grinned.
Amanda lifted her head and whispered, "You were fucking unbelievable. I get soaked, just thinking about all the nasty, depraved, filthy things you did to me, and made me do."
"Dirty girl," I growled into her ear and kissed her cheek.
"Fuck," she panted and shivered. "You should fuck me right now, Gil. There are dozens of empty rooms in this building we could sneak off to."
"Your exhibit is set to start in a few minutes. Show me your new works. We can discuss fucking, after."
Amanda huffed and replied, "I should have worn panties. If I stand next to you any longer, I am going to leave a puddle on the floor."
I laughed and followed her to the new paintings. They were her trademark offerings. Vivid colors that screamed out at you. The strokes were bold, deliberate, and took on a life of their own. As if they were trying to break free of the invisible force that was holding them to the canvas. There was nothing subtle in any of her creations. There is nothing subtle about Amanda. She is strong, independent and has a brilliant mind. My cock began to stiffen, as I watched the wiggle in her hips as she walked away from me.
Amanda walked to the last painting that was hung on the wall and stood next to it. She placed her left hand on the top of the frame, smiled and asked, "Do you know what this is, Gil?"
I studied the painting for a moment. It was slightly different in color than her usual works. The tones weren't as bright or as bold as the others. She had exclusively used flesh tones for a singular purpose.
"It looks like a close up of something pressing into flesh, Amanda. The pattern closely resembles a twisted, not braided, rope pattern on skin," I replied with a smirk.
"Do you like it?" she coyly asked as she walked to me.
"I do, Amanda. Very much," I replied. "What inspired you to paint that?"
"It came to me as I was masturbating one morning. Months after our first time together. I was imagining you tying me up, and it hit me. What does flesh look like, when it's bound, through the rope? What if rope was transparent, like glass? I came hard, recovered, and started painting this. I am very pleased with it. It's not for sale, I'm holding on to it for a while," she explained to me as she placed her hands on my chest and rubbed her body against mine. "Move to New York, Gil. Be my muse. Move in with me. You may come and go as you please."
"Your muse?" I chuckled.
She winked at me and replied, "Forget being my muse. Move in with me, tie me up, and fuck me senseless, morning, noon and night."
I laughed and replied, "That's all I am to you, Amanda, a piece of meat? I thought we were friends. A lesser man might be crushed."
"I love your meat, you bad, bad man," she snickered.
A tinny voice came over the PA and announced that the show was about to start.
Amanda huffed, kissed me and said, "I have to go. After the show I have to catch a flight to, Hawaii. You should have fucked me, Gil. I don't know when I'll see you again."
She winked at me as she walked away.
I made small talk with some of the guests, as Amanda made her rounds and socialized with her potential customers. I excused myself from the small group I was chatting with, and went out to the courtyard for a cigarette. I spotted Genevieve in the courtyard, smoking, and sipping on a flute of champagne. She was standing with her back to me. My lighter died on me. I walked to Genevieve in hopes that I might bum a light off of her.
"Excuse me," I called out to her as I approached her.
Genevieve turned around and half snarled, "I'm a lesbian, I'm married with seven children, I hate all men. So don't waste your time. And if you put your hands on me, I'll bite your face off."
I chuckled and replied, "I'm very happy for you. I was going to ask you for a light, but I can see that you want to be left alone. Forgive the intrusion. I rather like my face the way it is."
She stared at me for a moment and chuckled as she reached into her purse and took out her lighter. "I'm sorry. I've been hit on all night, and some guy keeps grabbing my ass every chance he gets."
"No need for an explanation. That's a very privileged and powerful crowd in there. It doesn't excuse that kind rude and inappropriate behavior. I'm Gil. You work with Amanda, Genevieve, right?" I smiled at her.
"I do, and I am. You're the guy that brought her the two dozen, Juliet Roses. They are very beautiful. You have great taste in flowers," she replied.
I lit up my cigarette and handed the lighter back to Genevieve, and said, "Thank you. I'll leave you alone. It sounds like you're having a rough night."
"No, please. Stay and talk with me. You're the first man that treated me like a person, and not like something for sale. And thank you for not saying that I work 'for' Amanda," she smiled and held on to my extended hand.
"At your service, Lady Genevieve. I will stay and chat, but be warned, I have pepper spray and will use it, if you try to grab my ass," I chuckled and winked at her.
She laughed and replied, "Your ass is safe, you have my word, Gil," she crossed her heart and laughed again. "You're from, Toronto. Amanda mentioned that you would be attending the exhibit. She speaks very highly of you."
