The Tied Man

There was a sharp crack as the tip of my pencil snapped and splintered across the page.  Neither Laura nor Finn heard, but Blaine glanced up to my hiding place before returning to her guest.  ‘So, what do you think?’ she asked.

Laura had not let go of Finn.  ‘He’s absolutely divine.’

*****

Blaine and I stood outside a doorway more suited to Alice in Wonderland than a stately home.

‘You’ll be the first person to use this that didn’t have to bend double.’ Blaine  opened the door to the chamber.  A musky sweet smell rushed out to envelop us, and we stepped inside a room that belonged to an upmarket Victorian opium den, with its chaise longue, thickly flocked wallpaper and yards of crimson velvet drapes.

The opposite wall held a gold-framed window that looked out onto a vile rococo guestroom complete with an intricately carved four-poster bed whose mahogany cherubs stared down with disdain.

‘Hardly subtle, but it’s what most of my guests expect,’ Blaine explained, as if reading my thoughts.  ‘I’ll leave you on trust, but remember, I expect to see the work based on tonight’s show.’

I sat on the chaise longue, pulled my knees to my chest and thought back to Spain and long, sun-drenched afternoons spent filled with wine and laughter, relaxing  Rosario and her confident, beautiful girlfriend and knowing that every brushstroke would be done with their blessing. A concept beyond the understanding of a woman for whom ‘permission’ simply meant the shaky signature of a desperate young junkie.

My heart leapt into my throat as Finn walked into the room with his arm around Laura’s shoulders.  Although my window would appear as an ornately framed mirror to them, Finn still seemed to stare straight at me.

I picked up my sketchpad and pencil and prepared to become the unwilling voyeur.

*****

I had never thought about what made someone a good whore – too close to home, perhaps – but I only needed to watch Finn for moments to see he was skilled at his trade.

He could have been her attentive, infatuated toyboy as he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her until she slid her arms around his neck and pulled him to her.  I recalled one of my mother’s favourite rants, about how she had never let punters kiss her because of the filth they left behind, and how my father was the first and that was how she had known he was the one.

I guessed Finn was past the stage where he gave a shit.

Candlelight granted Laura a hard beauty that would not exist outside this room, and as she threw her head back in pleasure, artfully streaked blonde curls began to escape from her chignon.  Finn unclipped the silver clasp that held it in place so that the rest of her hair fell loose around her shoulders.

In the time it would have taken me to fuck, shower and consider round two, he drew a path of gentle kisses down Laura’s neck before leading her to the bed, all the while caressing her face and arms and finally letting the tips of his fingers brush her nipples through the velvet of her dress.  From a distance, you could believe this was his chosen life.  From a distance, he made it look like love.

Now it was Laura’s turn.  She undid the buttons on Finn’s shirt and tugged it down his arms like a child unwrapping the first present of Christmas.  She ran her hands across his exposed chest, then she must have asked – ordered – him to undress because he suddenly stepped away from the bed and unfastened his trousers so that they fell to the floor and he stood, lean, smooth-limbed and  naked, before her.  The same candlelight that had given such softness to Laura’s pinched face hid his scars and bathed him in a gentle radiance, and I began to draw.

Finn became my unwitting mannequin, and every pencil-stroke felt like an intrusion as I captured his image: the long fringe of hair that fell and veiled his face, the concave curve of his belly and soft, golden curls of pubic hair that reached from his navel to his stiffening cock.

Laura let her dress fall to the floor, kissed him hungrily and entwined her thin hands behind her new lover’s head, holding him close as if he might vanish without her selfish grasp.  I kept drawing as Finn laid her tenderly on the bed and slipped two dampened fingers inside her, gently rubbing her clit with his thumb as she arched her back in pleasure.

Finally he parted her legs and slid his erection easily into her, moving in long, languorous strokes until she came, greedily pulling him further in with each thrust, and then the performance was over.  Laura released her grip on Finn and he rolled away from her, already reaching for his clothes.

I dropped the closed sketchpad onto the velvet seat and let my tensed breath out in a long, weary sigh.