Read Online Saving My Submission BN by Jenna Jacob - Free Book Online
Authors: Jenna Jacob
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breath-taking harem girl.
Wrapped in scarves that appeared to flow on an invisible wind, she stood poised
on tiptoe as if in mid dance. A mischievous glint seemed to reflect in her
eyes, leaving the impression that a seductive smile lay hidden beneath the veil
draped over the lower half of her face. The piece was so stunning it nearly
took my breath away.
Abbas would kill for
this piece.
Turning, I locked gazes with Christian who’d been
watching me with a boyish grin, and I gave him a slight nod. Laughing, he
scurried away, returning moments later with a black leather folio tucked under
his arm. Over the next hour and a half, I procured eight exquisite pieces for
Abbas.
Christian disappeared to process the financial
transaction, and I wandered the gallery one last time eyeing the pieces I’d
chosen for Abbas. I lifted a flute of champagne from the tray of a passing
waiter and stepped to the back of the gallery, indulging myself with a private
toast for a job well done. Raising my glass, I spied a piece of art tucked away
in the corner that I’d somehow missed. Stepping closer, I stopped. Frozen in
shock, I stared at the piece, totally mesmerized.
Situated on a tall pedestal was the tiny figure of a
naked woman, kneeling. Her face was upturned toward the heavens and her long
slender neck banded in a wide metal collar. My breath caught in my lungs as I
stared at her hands resting on her splayed thighs—palms up—her pose undeniably
submissive.
Tears burned the back of my eyes and my heartbeat
quickened. The statue called to me in a way so powerful and primitive, I
couldn’t stop staring. How had the man managed to transform a lump of clay into
such a powerful reflection of submission? The enthralling piece of art seemed
to have been crafted as a tribute from the heart.
The intricate details were so painstakingly exact that
meticulous tears clung to slivers of her eye lashes. So realistic, I could
clearly see the lines on her palms and whorls carved into each fingertip. Even
the pads of her heels had been etched like the living. Long hair fell in soft
curls over her slender shoulders and cascaded down her back, kissing the apex
of her ass.
Studying her oval face, her prominent cheekbones,
narrow nose, and full lips bore a disturbing resemblance to my own. A shiver
slithered up my spine. The longer I studied the piece, the more convinced I
became; she wasn’t gazing toward the sky. No, the girl was focused on the face
of some unseen Master—seeking approval, pleading for Dominance, or begging his
mercy.
Entranced by the lifelike figure, memories bubbled to
the surface, igniting a blistering fire of longing and neglect. Seduced by the
smoky images filling my mind, I could see myself—through the eyes of an unknown
voyeur—kneeling before the man who once held my heart, mind, and soul. Lost in
reminiscence, the ghostly sound of my own submissive voice resonated in my
ears, while sheltered surrender warmed my empty soul. My days had been bound to
unfulfilling duties and tasks, but my nights… oh, my
nights had been spent liberated in the bliss of submission. Every cell in my
body ached to re-live that glorious feeling…for one more night.
The sensation of hot tears sliding down my cheeks
brought me back to the present. Quickly brushing them away, I lifted the
champagne to my lips with a trembling hand. The bubbly liquid fizzed over my
tongue and I swallowed tightly, unable to look away from the work of art.
“She’s quite beautiful, isn’t she?” A deep voice asked
in a smooth, velvet whisper.
Even the stranger’s question didn’t lure my gaze away.
I absently nodded. “Yes,” I murmured.
“She speaks a language you seem to understand. I’ve
watched you stare at her for over half an hour,” the whisky-voiced man noted.
“Tell me, why the tears?”
His question finally broke the statue’s spell and
Wrapped in scarves that appeared to flow on an invisible wind, she stood poised
on tiptoe as if in mid dance. A mischievous glint seemed to reflect in her
eyes, leaving the impression that a seductive smile lay hidden beneath the veil
draped over the lower half of her face. The piece was so stunning it nearly
took my breath away.
Abbas would kill for
this piece.
Turning, I locked gazes with Christian who’d been
watching me with a boyish grin, and I gave him a slight nod. Laughing, he
scurried away, returning moments later with a black leather folio tucked under
his arm. Over the next hour and a half, I procured eight exquisite pieces for
Abbas.
Christian disappeared to process the financial
transaction, and I wandered the gallery one last time eyeing the pieces I’d
chosen for Abbas. I lifted a flute of champagne from the tray of a passing
waiter and stepped to the back of the gallery, indulging myself with a private
toast for a job well done. Raising my glass, I spied a piece of art tucked away
in the corner that I’d somehow missed. Stepping closer, I stopped. Frozen in
shock, I stared at the piece, totally mesmerized.
Situated on a tall pedestal was the tiny figure of a
naked woman, kneeling. Her face was upturned toward the heavens and her long
slender neck banded in a wide metal collar. My breath caught in my lungs as I
stared at her hands resting on her splayed thighs—palms up—her pose undeniably
submissive.
Tears burned the back of my eyes and my heartbeat
quickened. The statue called to me in a way so powerful and primitive, I
couldn’t stop staring. How had the man managed to transform a lump of clay into
such a powerful reflection of submission? The enthralling piece of art seemed
to have been crafted as a tribute from the heart.
The intricate details were so painstakingly exact that
meticulous tears clung to slivers of her eye lashes. So realistic, I could
clearly see the lines on her palms and whorls carved into each fingertip. Even
the pads of her heels had been etched like the living. Long hair fell in soft
curls over her slender shoulders and cascaded down her back, kissing the apex
of her ass.
Studying her oval face, her prominent cheekbones,
narrow nose, and full lips bore a disturbing resemblance to my own. A shiver
slithered up my spine. The longer I studied the piece, the more convinced I
became; she wasn’t gazing toward the sky. No, the girl was focused on the face
of some unseen Master—seeking approval, pleading for Dominance, or begging his
mercy.
Entranced by the lifelike figure, memories bubbled to
the surface, igniting a blistering fire of longing and neglect. Seduced by the
smoky images filling my mind, I could see myself—through the eyes of an unknown
voyeur—kneeling before the man who once held my heart, mind, and soul. Lost in
reminiscence, the ghostly sound of my own submissive voice resonated in my
ears, while sheltered surrender warmed my empty soul. My days had been bound to
unfulfilling duties and tasks, but my nights… oh, my
nights had been spent liberated in the bliss of submission. Every cell in my
body ached to re-live that glorious feeling…for one more night.
The sensation of hot tears sliding down my cheeks
brought me back to the present. Quickly brushing them away, I lifted the
champagne to my lips with a trembling hand. The bubbly liquid fizzed over my
tongue and I swallowed tightly, unable to look away from the work of art.
“She’s quite beautiful, isn’t she?” A deep voice asked
in a smooth, velvet whisper.
Even the stranger’s question didn’t lure my gaze away.
I absently nodded. “Yes,” I murmured.
“She speaks a language you seem to understand. I’ve
watched you stare at her for over half an hour,” the whisky-voiced man noted.
“Tell me, why the tears?”
His question finally broke the statue’s spell and
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