Oh, to have her camera. Syria glanced back at the attendant’s stand, where a line of coats were hanging. Her bag was lying on the counter. The boy who had taken it from Kana was not there.
Syria stood slowly, back against the wall, easing toward the stand. The bag was in a good position. All she needed was to press the proper spot, and she could capture this amazing scene, three women in suspension, Mia in the middle.
She’d reached the counter when Madam herself glanced out and saw her. Something in her expression made the men turn around. Syria tried to lean nonchalantly on the counter but it was not fixed to the floor and shifted backward with a squeal.
Everyone was watching. A coil of rope sat on the end of the counter, and not knowing anything else to try, she picked it up and began tying a coin knot. The men turned back around, and Madam bowed to show her work was complete. The men began to stand and approach the women, keeping a respectful distance to admire the displays.#p#分页标题#e#
Syria set the coin knot down, still considering bumping the bag to take a shot. But one of the men walked back to her rather than to the stage. “Are you studying the art?”
He wore a black suit, no tie. His dark hair was impeccably trimmed above a classically handsome face.
Syria remembered the instruction not to speak and simply nodded.
The man fingered the coin knot. “Will you make another?”
Syria untied the ropes and began again. The knot was both intricate and simple. Only four steps, but every loop had to be in place and each movement needed its specific order, angle and tension, or the two overlapping coins would not appear. She held up the finished work and he nodded appreciatively.
Syria’s anxiety increased as they stood together. She had no way to explain her position there without speaking, and no telling what he might be assuming about her.
“I can only assume you came with Madam’s new submissive,” he continued. “Forgive me for not introducing myself. I am Erik Andrada. I am visiting from the Philippines.” He held out his arm. “Might I escort you to the stage to admire the art?”
She nodded and took his arm. From the corner of her eye, she saw Kana rush into the back of the room, see her, and stop. Whatever Syria was doing, it was probably the wrong thing.
The Madam bowed as they approached but her lips were a thin line of displeasure. Mia hung only a few feet away. Syria wanted to ask her if she was comfortable, but didn’t want to make matters worse by speaking. Several of the men had returned to their chairs and now spoke amiably to each other, smoking and drinking.
Syria longed to touch Mia, make some small contact to reassure her. But her eyes were closed, perhaps in concentration, maybe to manage her position.
Erik pressed lightly on Mia’s thigh, continuing the slow turn. Mia flinched lightly, but Syria knew that movement, not of pain, but a state of high sensitivity, the one that makes every touch feel like a jolt. Syria throbbed again. She’d never felt so much like an arrow in a bow, stretched taut and ready to spring. Tyson had encouraged her to be Mia’s lover too, and seeing her vulnerable like this was more stirring than anything they had done together.
The man who had tied the blond woman brought over a lit candle, running it along Mia’s calf. Now Mia moaned and the sexual tension in the room ratcheted up a notch.
The girls from the makeup room came out, wearing sheer gauze that hid little of their tight, lithe bodies. A few of the men tapped on their tables and the girls scattered among them. The music bled through it all, lyrical and melancholy, beautiful and haunting. The candle man dripped the scarlet wax along Mia’s leg and now Syria could barely stand it so she reached out to touch her, smoothing the still-soft color along her skin.
A gong sounded from somewhere, and the man with the candle returned to his submissive. All three girls were lowered, and Erik returned to the audience. Syria stayed near, not caring anymore if she was breaking tradition, wanting to be close to her friend. Madam removed the rope carefully, letting Mia down slowly. All the submissives groaned in their exhales, relief from the bindings.
The room gradually grew in sound as the girls sat among the men in the audience, and the music swelled. Syria rubbed her own hands along the red marks on Mia, who shuddered again and again, but still kept her eyes closed. Syria remembered how limp and groggy Mia had been after Madam had come to her house, and wondered how to handle her here on the hard stage. The gold robe still lay on the floor and Syria snatched at it, prepared to cover her friend. But Mia opened her eyes, piercing Syria with need, and this brought Syria over the edge, forgetting she was on a stage, that strange men sat only a few feet away, and that the Madam presided over them like a statue, disapproving and stern.