Fifty-five

WITH HALF THE PRINTS SIGNED and more to be printed, we had to head west. Clarice changed our routing so we would spend a night in Kentucky to meet with a Bishop who wanted the same installation of the Stations of the Cross for a remodel of his cathedral. He invited us to visit and assess the site.

We’d seen some pictures of the inside of the cathedral, but the outside was a sprawling mass that was the worst possible 1960s neo-gothic revival. Mostly, it just didn’t have any windows below head-height and those it had were dark stained glass. The façade was more jail-like than church-like. Kate reminded me to be nice.

Bishop Clyde Donnelly met us and gave us a tour of the cathedral. He seemed like a nice guy with good sense of humor. I kind of liked him, even after my most recent dealings with the archbishop. Kate agreed to do an installation of the stations if the Bishop or his committee could work out an agreement with Clarice.

Our visit didn’t end there, though. We were taken to a church in a town twenty miles away. It was brick and looked friendly. Inside it was light and open. Quite unlike the cathedral. It was a little plain with white walls, a tile floor, and carpeted aisles and chancel.

“We understand that your exposure to churches is somewhat limited,” Bishop Donnelly said. “I wanted personally to show you the range of different architecture. You’ve worked in a classic church. Notice this one is set up with a more open and modern floorplan. Red brick is a convenient and popular building material in this area. So, you are seeing the extremes. You have the massive and grotesque structure of the cathedral; you have the simple parish church here; you have the elegant small but classic chapel in which your art is featured in Seattle.” He turned to the parish priest, Father Chris.

“What we’re getting at is that Catholics come in every shape and variety, too,” Chris said. “You were treated abominably in the matter of the ‘Lost Sheep.’ I’ve a feeling you were kind to him in the book.”

“How did you read that?”

“Your agent sent us an electronic file of the book several days ago. We wanted to show the images of the Stations and the artist’s concepts when we went before the diocesan finance committee. While poring over the stories, we, of course, read your parables as well,” Clyde said. “I called Father Chris in to look at them.” I was surprised, but if Clarice sent the proof, I supposed it was okay.

“We want to work with you and, in fact, to make use of your unusual parables,” Clyde said.

“We’d like you to paint parables here in Saint Anne’s,” Chris said. “I know we are a small town and fewer people will see the work, but our congregation will love them and learn from them. Unfortunately, we don’t have room or the money for forty panels and the spaces we have are a different size and shape than what you worked with in Seattle. Each is larger, but there are fewer of them. We’d like you to do six parables on these walls, including the Lost Sheep—the original.”

I was shocked. These guys seemed to be genuine. We agreed in principle that I would do six panels of fresco in the church.

“Tony and Katarina, a church isn’t about the artwork, though we love it. It’s about the people who gather there. I hope that your experience in Seattle has not soured you so much against the Church that you are unable to appreciate the fact that we serve the faithful. Your art is employed in that service.”

I had a feeling Kate and I would be honeymooning in Kentucky.

We were exhausted when we got home. And we weren’t finished. I had all I needed for the exhibition, but it was going to take all summer to get all forty pieces printed, checked and signed. Kate and I would be back in Georgia often after the wedding. Erika shipped all the art prints we needed for the exhibition to us so we could finish signing.

We were a week away from moving into our new home. Three weeks from the chapel dedication. Five weeks from Lissa’s due date. Six weeks from our wedding. But nothing was more important than dealing with Wendy. Tonight.

Melody, Lissa, and Wendy met us at the airport and we thoroughly kissed each of our lovers. We stopped for a light meal on the way home and then relaxed when we got there. I tried to judge the timing when no one was looking and reached over to touch Wendy’s tiger eye necklace. “Wait downstairs,” I whispered.

Wendy was gone like a flash.

“You’re sure about this, Kitten?” I asked at Wendy’s door.

“If I think about it too much, I still get squeamish,” Kate said. “But I know it is right. It’s right for the woman I love. You are right for her. Wendy’s submissiveness is a primary part of her personality and I think submitting to you is enabling her to be stronger and more independent in other areas of her life. I finally figured out that it would be as wrong for me to love her and believe I could change her as it would be to love you and believe I could change you.”

“Change me? What would you want to change about me?”

“Tony! It’s not about you, okay?”

“I was kidding. Kitten, I love you. You know I’m still not always with it when it comes to being Wendy’s ... master. The only thing that keeps me going is the pure, open love I feel when she says the word. I think this is the best thing we can ever do for her.”

“Then let’s do it.”

We opened the door. Wendy knelt naked beside the bed, waiting. Her eyes flicked once to Kate, but quickly returned to look straight ahead. We could see her breathing accelerate. I didn’t say anything. Kate and I stood in front of Wendy and began undressing each other. Wendy twitched. Usually the first task I gave her was to undress me and she would carefully fold my clothes and hang them. Kate and I let them fall on the floor where we stood as we kissed.

It was not like we had never made love in front of Wendy, but Wendy had always been a participant or at least had been stretched out beside us basking in our love. She had never been in her fully submissive posture while Kate and I made love. I was worried—not about Wendy, but whether Kate and I would be able to get it on with her in this pose. It was difficult at first and I thought I’d never get hard. But then, Kate ... yeah. Kate. It’s impossible to not get turned on when I kiss Kate. Before long, she was obviously as turned on as I was. She pushed me back onto the bed and mounted me. My legs were hanging off the bed in front Wendy as Kate rode up and down on my cock.

“I love you, Kitten. I can’t wait to be your husband. I want to fill you as often as possible. I want you to possess me and all that I have.”

“My husband, everything I have is yours. I will share in everything you do. I will care for everything you care for.”

We weren’t quiet when we came. As we settled down, I glanced at Wendy, still kneeling beside the bed. She was flushed.

“Tiger, our clothes are a mess. Please take care of them.” She was moving in an instant. All our clothes were picked up, folded, or hung before Kate and I managed to struggle up out of the bed. As soon as the last article was put away, Wendy was back on her knees in front of me. I reached out and petted her hair and her eyes drifted closed as she pressed against my hand. “Tiger, please help me get hard again.” Wendy leaned forward and lovingly licked my cock, cleaning Kate’s and my combined juices from me and humming as she did so. She cupped my balls in her hand and soon had me standing tall again. I glanced at Kate and she leaned in to kiss me.

“Tiger, my Kitten has something running down the inside of her leg. Please take care of it.” Wendy moved over to Kate, looking up at her with such an expression of love that I thought my heart would break. She leaned in to lick the inside of Kate’s thighs and up across her pussy, cleaning the remnants of our lovemaking from her. Kate quivered and kissed me as Wendy worked on her. We were making love, but this was more of a ritual of acceptance than anything else. I stopped her before she made Kate come. “Tiger, please go to your place on the bed.”

Wendy’s movements were quick and catlike. She leapt from the floor to the bed where she perched on the edge facing away from us on her hands and knees, her legs spread so I could step between them. To say Wendy was wet would be a massive understatement. Her own juices were dripping down her legs, glistening on her parted thighs. The flower of her sex opened and bloomed, the head of her clit thrusting out erect. I led Kate behind Wendy and kissed her again. Then we dropped to our knees so we could look more directly into Wendy’s sex.