Art Critic
11
Dinner Party
“I STOLE ONE of your paintings, Artie,” confessed Mavis as she looped a hand through my arm. We’d started the day with her as my model for a new composition. I guess I had ulterior motives. I wanted Morgan to experience prolonged eye contact with Mavis. The two had been getting along incredibly well, but both Annette and I had held Mavis’s eyes for an hour or more and the effect had been profound. I’d done the same with both Annette and with Morgan, but I wanted this last loop closed.
I’d set up a whole new scene. Two girls faced off over a chess board. Only Kendra had supplied the chess pieces and they were all a little bizarre. Some of them bore a striking resemblance to people we knew. Others were abstractions or mythical beasts. These weren’t pieces she planned to cast. They’d been fired just enough to preserve as models for a larger work she planned. There wasn’t even a whole set, but that wouldn’t make a difference for what I wanted.
And, of course, both girls were nude. I’d created a tornado swirl of parachute silk around them, so the viewer looked through the fabric into the eye of the storm. None of the silk touched them, so they could get in and out of the pose without disturbing the props. We’d worked three hours with them posed and then the three of us collapsed in bed for some intense loving on my sister.
Mavis and I still hadn’t crossed the final line sexually, but we had been thoroughly exploring each other’s bodies with our hands and fingers. Watching her with Morgan as they held eye contact over the chessboard illuminated the entire scene with increasing radiance. When Mavis prepared to leave after our intimate explorations, she asked me to go for a walk with her.
So here we were, out in a park where spring life was vibrant and I could see color all around me, and she tells me she stole a painting. So what?
“I’d give you any painting you want,” I said. “You don’t have to steal them.”
“I know, love. You didn’t have this one to give me. I stole the one you sold to my father,” she laughed. “We’ve all been working crazy hard getting ready for the install tomorrow. I can hardly believe that in two days we’ll have our BFA exhibition and in two weeks we’ll have our degrees. The posing session today was brilliant. I truly love our girlfriends. And you. You bring out the best in me.”
“We love you, Mavis.” I reached over and touched the carnelian stone at her throat. It seemed to pulse beneath my fingertip. She turned toward me and drew me down to her lips for a long kiss. If we hadn’t just left Morgan—so knocked out that she was still in bed—our kiss might have escalated to something even more intense.
“Now, back to the painting I stole.”
“It won’t be in the exhibition?” I asked. When her father bought the painting, he agreed that we could still exhibit it. He’d been a hard negotiator on the price, eventually giving us twice what Morgan had asked.
“Oh, yes. I’m not really a thief. I returned it.”
“Why did you need to steal it?”
“So Kendra could make a mold.”
“It has color. We can’t make prints from the mold.”
“You know one of the aspects that’s been a problem for the printmaking has been the paper,” Mavis said. “You still only have five prints to exhibit, even though Kendra has pulled a dozen molds. The prints are all labeled ‘artist’s proof’. There is no edition yet. I use paper a lot. I wanted a mold that I could experiment with. And I wanted a photo.”
“Did you figure out how to show the depth of the black in a photo?”
“Um… sort of. Let’s go back to the studio. My co-conspirators should be finished.”
“Co-conspirators?”
“You can’t pull off a heist this big without having co-conspirators,” she laughed. I stopped and pulled her in for another kiss. Her partners in crime could wait a few more minutes.
Morgan, Annette, Kendra, Susan, and Les were all in the studio when we got back. Apparently, I was the only one who didn’t know about this top-secret project. We still had hooks for displaying artwork on the walls and my friends parted from in front of a pair of paintings hung for review. It was my painting of Mavis, Annette, and Morgan that Mr. Wells had purchased. Beside it hung an exact duplicate.
While my clear range of vision still only extended a few feet, I’d long been able to see what I’d painted with absolute clarity. Both pieces were so clear to me that I hesitated a moment before identifying which was the painting and which was the print.
“Wow!” I moved up close to the paintings and at this range I could see a few subtle differences, but the print had almost the exact texture of the painting, just like the prints of the all-black pieces. But the black pieces could be covered with a uniform spray coating of black paint from an airbrush. This was a beautiful reproduction of the exact colors in my painting. “How?”
“We changed the mold structure. Since we aren’t using molten bronze to pour the form, we did a second-generation mold that was hard plastic. Then we created a negative so we could press the paper in the new mold,” Kendra said.
“Kendra’s new formula for the paper yields a much less porous substrate when it is pressed,” Mavis continued. “Right now, we’re just using weights for about 250 pounds of pressure on the mold. No danger of cracking the mold that way. The result, though, is a paper that is textured on front and back. The previous pieces were filled solid and flat on the back.”
“All that work that Mavis was doing to create color prints was so she could develop your paintings with the saturation you get from oil paint,” Morgan said.
“You did this for me?” I said turning to Mavis and Kendra.
“We’re not just here for the sex, you know,” Kendra laughed. I kissed her before turning to kiss Mavis. “That part’s not bad, though.”
“Mmm,” Mavis agreed. “I’ve been working with a chemist my father introduced me to. Once we had a suitable substrate, we treated it with photosensitive chemicals and then exposed it to the negative of the painting. I’d already run a dozen flat prints to get the exposure timing right. Now that we’ve done it once, though, we could reproduce it as many times as we can stand being in a darkroom together.” She gave me a little nudge with her hip and I put my arm around her waist. Hmm. Let’s lock ourselves in a dark room and see what develops.
“The film isn’t affected by auras, though, is it? I mean, I can see you perfectly clearly, even when it’s dark.”
“That might be the next phase,” Morgan said. “The chemist Mavis is working with is top-notch. She’s working on different photosensitive materials. Maybe one day, we will actually be able to photograph an aura.”
That would be an interesting day.
The next two days were frantic. We made a few changes in our exhibition, with the approval of Drs. Robinson and Lowenstein.
“Albert does not usually take such a personal interest in student exhibitions,” Dr. Robinson said as we watched him working with Annette on the other side of the gallery. “It’s rare to see him so excited. You’ve exceeded all our expectations, Arthur.”
“Not just me,” I said. “It is a group project.” I looked at the painting and print hanging side-by-side in the gallery. We’d labeled the print AP (Artists’ Proof) 1/1 and all three signed it. It was my painting, Kendra’s technology, and Mavis’s photography.
“I thought you made this discovery when you were a freshman, Arthur,” Dr. Robinson said lightly. “You lead. When people see your vision, they naturally follow you.”
“I think we have the wording right if you approve it, Arthur,” Dr. Lowenstein said as he and Annette approached. “You have an extremely talented girlfriend here—not only with words, but with her understanding of your art. I’ve never seen anyone approach a painting quite the way you do, Annette.” Annette blushed and kind of shrugged her shoulders. I’d seldom seen her at a loss for words.
I read the two-page notice they handed me. It was well within my sphere of clear visibility and I could read without too much difficulty. My vision had not expanded permanently beyond the few feet around me and those living things that emitted their own aura. The explanation was good. Not too technical, but still showing that the process was a combination of arts.
Near the painting and print were the molds that Kendra had created and a photograph of Mavis’s lab. Morgan had worked tirelessly with Kendra and a patent attorney to file the necessary papers so she could disclose the ‘invention’ to the public. Of course, all they saw was the result and a few of the pieces. They didn’t really see how everything worked together. Dr. Lowenstein assured us that it would take a person with the combined talents of the three of us to come close to the process within the next five years. By then we would have moved to a new level.
There was a small stage at one end of the gallery, almost entirely taken up by the grand piano Leonard would play. There was enough room for Annette and Susan to do their readings. A table next to the door contained Leonard’s CDs, Susan’s books, and Annette’s pre-order forms with a poster behind her.
Over the performance area, long and wide strips of silk in different colors hung. It was attached to a small hula hoop near the ceiling. The installers knew how to hang mobiles in the gallery, so this was just an everyday thing for them. I wondered if Susan had a portable version for her book tour.
My paintings were interspersed with Mavis’s photos on the walls. Kendra’s sculptures were on stands in the middle of the room. The centerpiece was the aura casting of Mavis and me. When I was close to the bronze and glass fusion, I could see the connection between us. One of the photos nearby was of Kendra, topless, working on the clay model with Annette kneading her shoulders. Mavis really captured that moment.
I was gradually becoming overwhelmed by all the bustle and the people approaching me to get directions on how something should be displayed or what the schedule would be for tomorrow’s opening. I had to wear my dark glasses because it was all a riotous confusion of sound and color. It wouldn’t let up, either. In the evening, Mom and Dad were hosting all of us with our parents for dinner. At least we didn’t have to cook today, too.
But I needed to get out. I needed to breathe. I needed to get hold of my heart and slow it down. Or maybe I could just run away. The art was all on display. No one would miss me.
I slipped out of the gallery and wandered across campus. Even though the school was only about seventy years old and the buildings all had a gauche modernism that belied the art that was created in them, the campus had been laid out in a traditional pattern. The academic buildings and art studios were arranged around a large open mall with paths wandering among the scattered trees. A fountain dedicated to the founder occupied the center. The school’s administration building dominated one end of the mall with the massive structure of the library/theater at the other.
I made my way to the fountain in the center and sat on one of the benches. It was Friday afternoon, so many of the students were already out of class and had left for their weekend activities. I sank into myself as I breathed deeply and watched the world turn black.
The trees winked out, the flowers receded. Even the colors near me that Gramma said were illuminated by my own aura faded into black.
It was peaceful.
I was detached from the world around me, safely within the fortress of my mind where the chaos couldn’t touch me.
Over the past several months, I had been unwillingly plunged into the darkness. I struggled against it, fighting for color to come back to my life. Sex had been a trigger, Mavis, Kendra, and Susan had been catalysts, my loving sister and girlfriend had struggled through the darkness with me. And as a result, my art had taken a turn into new light, texture, and expression.
Through all of this, the darkness had been the enemy that I fought.
As I sat at the fountain, caught again in the darkness, it felt like a friend—a comforter to my overloaded mind. I understood why Mom and Gramma and even Morgan wore dark glasses. The vivid color of the world was overwhelming to our senses. They sought the darkness that I peacefully absorbed.
I controlled it. It was mine.
As I realized this, I lifted my sunglasses and let the living things in my world return to their glorious colors. The area around me was illuminated and I rejoined my cohort.
It looked like a repeat of the dinner we held just a few months ago except Mom, Lily Wells, and Laura Sample had done all the cooking. The table had seven additional place settings. My grandparents would be there as well as Annette’s grandparents. Kendra’s parents and sister, Tricia, had flown in for the exhibition and graduation. When I saw Mom moving things around on the table for another place, I hurried to help.
“Who’s this for?” I asked.
“I’m not sure,” Mom said. “Adam Dorn called and asked if he could bring a date. Her name is Rebecca Reynolds. Of course, I said yes. What’s one more at a table this size? We haven’t had all the leaves in the table in ten years. Even then, we were spread out all around it. I thought Momma was simply crazy when she bought it for us as a house-warming gift when we moved in here. I guess she was just planning ahead.” She set a place name in front of the new setting. That was something else we hadn’t bothered with for our first large meal.
I’d seldom heard my mother so talkative. She didn’t struggle for words, but she never said much more than I do. Dad was the gregarious and talkative one.
“Will you be okay, Mom?” I asked. Mom had difficulty with crowds because of the confusion and brightness she saw in their auras. She pulled her dark glasses off the top of her head and placed them on her nose, then looked at me over the top.
“I’m not the only one in dark glasses these days,” she said, tapping the lenses that sat on my own face. I’d started wearing them in the early days of my darkness to hide my eyes so people wouldn’t know they were closed. It had somehow made it psychologically more acceptable to see everything in black on black. But when color began returning to my world, especially with so many living things awakening in the spring, I found my eyes were sometimes overwhelmed by the brightness. Mostly, I only took them off to paint. Or make love. Morgan had also begun wearing dark glasses as her sensitivity became more pronounced. And, of course, Gramma had worn dark lenses for more than fifty years.
I wanted to tell my mother about learning to accept the darkness when I needed it, but her experience with auras and her own darkness had been so different than mine that we found only hints of what I needed to know in our conversations with Gramma. I still didn’t think it was my aura that lit up inanimate objects that I could see all the way across a room.
“We’re a pretty strange family, aren’t we?” was all I managed to get out. She laughed.
I gave my mom a hug and left to join the others in our suite upstairs to get ready for dinner.
They’d begun arriving early to dress. Or undress. We all came over directly from the gallery. We’d become so accustomed to posing nude and simply dressing in the studio that even Les was free to join us. And Kendra’s little sister Tricia was almost as much of an exhibitionist as Susan. She stood in the middle of the room and stripped, then talked for five minutes before she started getting her clothes on. Kendra rolled her eyes and asked me to refasten her jasper necklace.
“When are you going to give Susan hers?” she whispered.
“Soon,” I said. “But Annette’s driving.” Kendra nodded. Annette was fussing with Susan’s long blonde hair. As soon as she was finished, she sat on a stool and Susan began brushing Annette’s hair.
“Hey, Les. How long has your dad been dating?” I asked. Les looked up at me with his brow furrowed. He was in the middle of tying his shoes.
“Dating? My dad? Never. He doesn’t have time for a relationship. He’s told me that frequently.”
“Oh. Sorry. I just assumed the woman he’s bringing was his girlfriend.”
“What woman he’s bringing?” squeaked Les. His voice went up an octave and he sounded near panic. Apparently, his father hadn’t been keeping Les informed.
“Uh… Sorry. I just figured you knew. Mom says her name is… um… Rebecca. Rebecca Reynolds.”
“Shit!” Les’s comment as he turned and headed out the door was accompanied by an almost identical comment from the corner where Annette’s hairbrush hit the floor. Susan stood frozen in place.
“Susan, that’s my hairbrush you dropped on the floor. Don’t be careless, dear,” Annette said.
“I’m sor… No! Why?” Susan’s unintelligible gabbling continued as she ran out of the studio and threw herself on our bed in the next room. Annette stood to follow her.
“Come with me, Arthur,” she said. “Please.” I paused only long enough to confirm that Morgan would get the rest of the party downstairs and then I joined Annette. “What is it, precious? Why are you suddenly upset?” Susan rolled back to look at Annette. Tears streamed down her face.
“My mother! Why is my mother here? She hasn’t spoken to me since I started dating Zen four years ago. She threw me out of her house. Why is she here now? And what is she doing with Mr. Dorn? I can’t go down there. I can’t.” Susan’s emotional state was sending her into a near-hysteric spiral. She stiffened and rolled to face Annette and me, streaks of her mascara running down her cheeks. “Sir! Please take care of me! My Lady, please!”
Annette looked up at me and mouthed the word ‘blindfold’. I nodded and went back to the studio to retrieve one of the several blindfolds we used when posing Susan. There was a blue one that I thought matched her dress nicely.
“Come here, baby,” Annette cooed to Susan. “You’ve mussed your makeup. Let’s wash your face and get things freshened.”
“But… my mother!” the distraught girl repeated.
“I understand,” Annette said. “Arthur and I will fix it so you don’t have to face her tonight. It was terrible that they did this without your knowledge. My poor girl. Don’t worry. We’ll protect you. Your Sir and your Lady will take care of their little Dolly.”
That was like a code phrase that we often used when playing with Susan. I quickly slipped the blindfold over her eyes and pulled it tight behind her head.
“But… Sir?” she gasped.
“Now you won’t have to see her at all, little Dolly. You look so lovely. Let me move this little wisp of hair that escaped while your Sir gave you the gift of darkness. This is good practice for your reading tomorrow night.” Annette busied herself with arranging Susan’s hair and making sure the blindfold was securely over her eyes. I opened the box that held a choker with a teardrop lapis that I placed around her neck.
“Yes, my Lady,” Susan whispered. She felt the choker around her neck. “You… you’re… giving me a c- c- collar?” she gasped.
“Shh. You know we’ll tell you when to speak. Your Sir has placed a lovely necklace like mine around your neck. Give me your hand. Now touch the stone. Here.” Annette positioned Susan’s finger on the stone so she could feel the engraving. Susan gasped. She started to speak but Annette laid a finger against her lips. “Hush now. We know what you are thinking. It matches your pretty blue dress. We’ll take care of you, little Dolly.” Susan nodded her head. I took her hand and placed it on my arm.
“Now follow closely, my little Dolly,” I whispered. “I have your hand and I will lead you to the dinner table. Head up. You are my proud Dolly and I am pleased to show you off to my friends. I will show them how fortunate we are to have you and how much we love you. At the table, you need only think of me and our Lady. No one else is important to you. We will take care of you.”
Susan held her head up proudly and accompanied me to the head of the stairs. Annette slipped in front of us and took her other hand, speaking softly to guide her down the stairs. We could hear the voices of all our guests as they scraped their chairs and settled at the table. The moms had done a great job of having everything needed for the meal on the table so no one would have to get up to serve.
There was sudden silence and one small gasp as we entered the room and moved to the three open chairs at the foot of the table. Originally, Morgan and I were to sit at the foot of the table opposite Mom and Dad. Morgan had quickly switched places with Annette on my other side and managed to get Susan next to her. Annette ignored the name placards and seated Susan on my right at the foot. Annette sat next to her, opposite Morgan.
Dad stepped into the silence and said this was the graduation festivity for six fine students and he proposed a toast to success and happiness. We all had champagne glasses filled—even Tricia, who was the only one under age—and we lifted our glasses. Of course, Susan couldn’t even see her glass and sat demurely at my side. Before I took a sip, I turned and placed my glass against her lips. She took a sip and smiled. Annette smiled at me and between the two of us we made sure that Susan had food on her plate. We didn’t risk making a spectacle—or any more of a spectacle than we already had—by letting her try to feed herself. We took turns giving her bites between our own. The roast was delectable. Everything was perfect. The guests took their cue from Dad and refrained from commenting on Susan’s blindfold. Instead, we were asked about how we felt about the exhibition opening the next night. We each spoke and Annette whispered to Susan that she could also answer the question.
“I’m very excited,” she said. “I’ve never really performed my poetry in public. I mean, we have done class readings and critiques, but this is the first time that there will be outsiders present. I get kind of shaky when I think of it.”
“Don’t worry, little Dolly,” I said softly. “My Lady and I will take care of you.”
“Yes, sir,” she whispered. I know all our close friends had heard the exchange. Most had witnessed Susan being posed. I wasn’t sure how many of the parents and grandparents understood, but there were quite a number of whispers at the other end of the table that we couldn’t understand.
“Mr. Dorn,” Morgan said. “I don’t want to devolve into a business discussion, but we are talking about the art and future of several of us at the table. It’s on shaky footing, you know.”
“No, I did not know that. I have only my son’s income statements to go by, but it seems to be profitable if his is any indication,” Mr. Dorn said. He was obviously a little concerned. I just let my sister handle this. I caught a tiny bit of gravy at the corner of Susan’s mouth and let her suck it from my finger. She was trembling with excitement as around her everything seemed to be normal except her inability to see anything.
“You don’t know who is here or what they are thinking, little Dolly,” I whispered in her ear. “You don’t know if they are looking at you or ignoring you. You don’t even know if they are dressed, whose fingers are feeding you, or who may next touch your precious lips. All you know is that we will take care of you.”
“Yes, sir,” she gasped. She might be leaving a wet spot on the chair.
Annette and I were taking a big risk. We didn’t know her mother. They had been estranged before I got to know Susan. I tried not to stare at her, but kept glancing her direction to see how she was taking it. Annette and I had made a public statement. We owned her daughter.
Mrs. Reynolds had no compunction about staring at us. She sometimes got so lost in watching one of us feed her daughter that her own fork stopped someplace between her plate and mouth. When this occurred, Mr. Dorn would gently reach over and take the fork, moving it to her lips. She opened her mouth and took the bite. More and more, she forgot to feed herself and Mr. Dorn assisted her. It was almost like she was mirroring her daughter.
Still, Les’s dad stayed focused on the conversation with Morgan, even as he used Mrs. Reynolds’ napkin to dab at her lips.
“Our profits have been acceptable for a bunch of college students just getting started in our careers,” Morgan continued to Mr. Dorn. “And the additional clients we have attracted outside our little group may become profitable in the near future. But as of graduation, we will have a change in facilities and expenses. Our little studio upstairs is home to three visual artists and two writers, as well as two people who manage the business side of our artists. Sadly, over half of what Kendra creates can’t be done in what used to be my bedroom. She needs welding torches and power sanders and grinders. Even if she ships the castings to a foundry, which of course she will, she still needs to assemble them, apply patinas, and work with viscous glass. It just can’t be done upstairs.”
“Mmm. I can certainly see that,” Mr. Dorn said. “Kendra needs a machine shop or some such.”
“Kendra isn’t the only artist that is cramped. I believe Arthur’s art has been affected by the space we are in. You will notice in the exhibition how… intimate most of his paintings are. And Kendra certainly does non-shop studio work as well. But one of our group has been isolated in her own lab, though she uses our studio space as effectively as possible. You will absolutely love the work she did on Susan’s poetry book. Mavis is outgrowing her home lab and will need much more space if she continues with the new work she is now doing.”
“What kind of new work are you doing, dear?” Mrs. Wells asked.
“Some color processing and large format photography, Mom,” Mavis said. “There are a few examples in the exhibition.”
“So, an art studio, photography studio, photo lab, and metal shop,” Mr. Dorn continued. There was a note of humor in his voice. “Anything else?”
“I have to admit that with so many activities taking place in one space, it is sometimes distracting to those of us with quieter professions. Susan, of course, will be on tour much of this summer and Annette has already been promised a book tour by her publisher in the fall. But creative writing is a quiet and focused activity. I’m afraid that the business end often disrupts things as well. We have phone calls to make, contracts to print, and I’m embarrassed to admit that a lot of galleries require faxes. You can imagine the clatter of a fax when someone is trying to focus—either on writing or with a model.”
“Business space. Writing space,” Mr. Dorn repeated as if he were taking notes. I looked, but didn’t see a notepad.
“What about living space?” Dad asked. “If the studio was moved, of course, you could probably all fit in the two rooms upstairs, but one bath for seven people seems a little strained. Not to mention the fact that your mother and I occasionally enjoy cooking just for ourselves.”
“That’s true, Dad,” Morgan continued. “It would be better if we each had our own bath, or at least each family unit. That would be a minimum of four, preferably seven baths. Of course, the studio would need a bath and changing room for models and I think both Mavis and Kendra should have complete clean-up facilities in their workshops.”
“I think we can get together to spec out exactly what you need, want, and would like,” Mr. Dorn said. “I know of several possible locations nearby, unless you are thinking that you need to move to a different geographical location like California. What about budget? I’m familiar with my son’s cut of the action, but do you have a revenue stream that will enable you to maintain this operation?”
“If I may,” Mr. Wells said. “Artists often function on patronage. I’m informed that this group has acquired patrons who have granted seed money and a guaranteed $5,000 per month over five years for rent and living expenses.”
“Really?” Mavis squeaked. “Daddy!”
“Oh, it’s not me,” he smiled at his daughter. “At least not just me. A certain corporation I know has thoroughly investigated this group and has set up the grant, should you choose to accept it.”
“Wow!” I said. Morgan seemed to be the only one at the table who wasn’t startled. She must have already spoken to Mr. Wells. This was a setup to let us all know. I turned to see Annette grinning as she whispered in Susan’s ear. I leaned in and kissed Susan softly on the cheek.
“Why are there so many people in sunglasses and my daughter blindfolded?” Mrs. Reynolds finally burst out. Susan gasped. Up to this point in the meal it was almost as if her mother didn’t exist. She started shaking and I could feel the tension in each tremor.
“We will take care of you,” Annette and I both whispered from either side.
Mrs. Reynolds was shaking, too. All through the meal she’d seen her daughter being fed, conversations going on around her, and everyone acting like this was just a normal family meal. Well, if she’d been involved in her daughter’s life for the past four years, she’d understand. I had no sympathy for her. I took Susan’s hand and kissed her fingertips.
“Pet, be quiet and observe,” Mr. Dorn spoke firmly to Mrs. Reynolds. “I had to learn what a unique association of artists this is and you need to learn it, too. It may not be an easy lesson, but I will go over it in detail with you when we leave. Your discipline is failing. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Mrs. Reynolds responded quickly. She cast her eyes down at her plate and toyed a bit with her food.
“Good girl,” Mr. Dorn said.
Susan gasped. Her mouth hung open as she stared ahead into the darkness of the blindfold. We’d all known Mr. Dorn was a dominant man. When applied to an unwilling Les, he came off as overbearing and intolerant. But he was showing a different kind of dominance this evening. I could well imagine that at a dinner party in the future, Susan’s mother would arrive blindfolded as well.
“I understand that the exhibition will include both art and performance,” Annette’s father, Lee, said as if nothing unusual had occurred between Mr. Dorn and Mrs. Reynolds. I saw a sly grin pass between our mothers.
“I can’t believe I’ll actually have to read some of what I wrote in public,” Annette answered. “I’m sorry, Daddy, but you’ll discover what a dark and twisted daughter you’ve raised.”
“Laura told me years ago that we shouldn’t have kept you locked in the basement so long,” he laughed. “Ah, well. At least you are over twenty-one and we won’t have to worry about sharing a jail cell with you.”
“There will be other performances, too,” Mavis said. “He’s not part of our Association, but Leonard Jacobitz is a good friend and will be playing background music during the exhibition. His BFA recital is Sunday afternoon in the auditorium and he said he needed to practice Saturday night. He asked if he could practice in our gallery.” That got another round of laughter. And, of course, if Leonard was playing, Casey would be close by all evening. She was sporting a rather large diamond on her left hand these days.
“And our favorite model,” I said. It was all I could manage as Susan dug her fingers into my thigh. “Kendra?” I pled. I turned my attention back to Susan and gently removed her hand to hold in my own. “Such a good little Dolly,” I whispered. “Good little Dollys get big rewards when they finish their work.”
“I’m not the model Arthur was referring to,” Kendra laughed. “Though my naked body shows up frequently in Arthur’s and Mavis’s work. The first time I visited this wonderful house, we sat at the kitchen table and talked about how Morgan might help me sculpt auras by describing what she sees and correcting the shapes that I created until they matched what she described. Professor Dad down there at the end of the table described what I was going to do as being like a police artist.” Kendra was in her element. My motormouth friend had become my certified interpreter years ago and she loved to talk.
“We started off by just looking at Arthur and Annette together, but over the holiday we acquired another model that we all wanted to work with. She was brash and bold and sensual. Over the course of a few weeks, she began working with Arthur in such a way that Morgan and I could make real progress in sculpting the auras and the interaction of them. But we also discovered, kind of by accident, that Susan was a great performer. We’re still receiving royalties on copies of the video that are being sold. Don’t go looking for it. It’s rated PF for Parents Forbidden. But it showed all of us how involved Susan got in the art that she further translated into poetry. Susan?” Kendra said.
“Go ahead and answer, little Dolly,” I whispered. I lifted her hand to my lips and kissed her fingertips again.
“My Lady convinced me that the poetry and the performance belonged together,” Susan said. She took a deep breath as Annette and I each ran a hand up her thighs beneath the table. “We had a little more difficulty convincing Dr. Granger, my advisor, that they belonged together, but when we staged a reading for him, he finally agreed. I’ll be performing selections from my book, Bound for Freedom, at the exhibition tomorrow evening.”
Dinner concluded with a spectacular German chocolate cake provided by Annette’s grandmother. It was one of her specialties and something I always looked forward to on holidays. We had coffee and tea with the cake and Dad invited everyone into the living room for cognac. Susan sat between Annette and me on the small loveseat that barely contained the three of us. I handed Susan a small snifter of the aromatic liqueur and she smiled her thanks.
“Sip slowly, little Dolly,” I said. “We don’t want you to spill on your pretty dress.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, not realizing how closely her words and demeanor resembled her mother’s. Instead of sitting, Morgan stood close beside Annette. Beside her, ranged behind the loveseat, were Mavis, Kendra, and Les.
“May I have your attention, please?” Les called out to the room. I don’t think I’d ever heard Les raise his voice to be heard. I looked over my left shoulder at him.
“I was talking to Mr. Sample and he mentioned how much this was like a rehearsal dinner before a wedding.” People began to chuckle. “We have the relatives and the wedding party all together. We’re getting to know each other and are dealing with how to make a blended family out of all of us. In this, I’d have to say that Morgan and I feel like the best man and maid of honor. Morgan graduated last year and even though I’m graduating with the other five, like her I’m a business major. Between us are five remarkable artists. At the wedding tomorrow—what the university calls an exhibition—you will witness the depth of love and commitment these five have to their art and to each other. And to us. I am happy and proud to stand beside them. Here’s to our artists.” He raised his glass as did everyone else there. I touched mine to Susan’s from one side and Annette did from the other.
“I think,” Annette whispered, “that we should consummate our love with this little Dolly tonight, my Sir. Don’t you?”
“Did you notice the back of her skirt was damp, my Lady?” I asked in return. Susan gasped. “I did my best to stay behind her so it wouldn’t be noticed, but I believe we might have to clean her dining chair tomorrow.”
“Mmm. We might need to clean mine as well,” Annette giggled. I think between the champagne and the cognac, she might have been a little tipsy. “Just sitting beside our little Dolly made my juices flow—thinking about all those people watching her and wondering what she’ll look like when we begin removing her dress. Do you think they’ll all want to watch?”
“We can invite them,” I said. “Would you liked to be watched by all our friends and family while we undress you and make love to you, little Dolly?” I asked. Susan shook so much I took her glass from her hand rather than have her spill it as she clamped her legs together and silently climaxed.
Of course, we didn’t invite anyone to stay. The parents and grandparents finally went home. Les and Kendra kissed us all good night and told us to have fun. Mavis and Morgan cuddled together on the daybed with its new foam mattress pad in a corner of the studio. Annette and I continued to whisper sexy words to Susan as we undressed her and each other.
“May we touch you, little Dolly?” I asked. I had made it a rule that whenever she was blindfolded, I asked permission to touch her. There had been a few soft caresses, even trailing a hand across her breasts, but we were naked now and each touch would become more intimate.
“Yes, sir. Yes, my Lady. Please, touch me,” panted our Dolly. “Please, let me touch you. Please, make love to me.”
“Such a good little Dolly,” Annette said as she closed to kiss Susan. “How could we refuse such a polite request?”
We kissed and caressed Susan as we moved to the bed, allowing her to touch and explore our bodies as well. Annette and I were in love and knew each other’s responses well, but we’d decided that this would be about Susan and what she needed. I kissed an enthusiastic Susan while Annette knelt between her legs and drove her to her first orgasm of the evening—in bed. Susan tugged at my cock and I settled in over her pussy as Annette moved to her head. My cock sank into Susan as her tongue penetrated Annette.
We made no attempt to silence our passion, and neither did Mavis and Morgan in the next room. Since they had posed together with eyes locked, they had been looking for the opportunity to reprise their performance as well. I could see the glow coming from the studio as if it were sunrise.
That glow, however, was eclipsed by the flare of Susan. I pressed between the wet folds of her pussy for the first time and she grasped at me with her inner muscles. I’d been pretty turned on all evening, too, and was thankful that I wore dark slacks and boxers so the leakage from my cock wasn’t too obvious. Now, buried in her sex for the first time, I was quickly losing my ability for rational thought or any semblance of control. Susan seemed to be on an unending rollercoaster of rising anticipation and thrilling dips to another climb. I kissed Annette as she, too, found release on the tip of Susan’s tongue and then abandoned my attempts at self-control and slammed into Susan, letting loose with a flood in her pussy.
“I love you I love you I love you,” she chanted. Eventually, Annette and I stretched out on either side of the beautiful girl. I removed the blindfold and Susan’s eyes blinked open. Annette and I were cheek to cheek, looking down at her face from a foot or so away.
“Look at us,” Annette said, commanding Susan to focus. “Look into our eyes and see the truth, little Dolly. We. Will. Always. Take care of you.” Susan sobbed between us until she finally passed out from the overload of emotion and slept.
As soon as things were quiet, Mavis slipped into bed behind me and cuddled her naked body close. I saw Morgan closing the distance to Annette on the other side. I wished Kendra was with us, and even considered that Les would be welcome.
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