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Still Life free porn video
Having lurked on the edges of Fictionmania for just over a
year and given my opinions under the non-de-plume of
T'liva. I now have a piece *I* consider good enough to
submit for general perusal and examination. You will have
to forgive any errors in terms of high finance, I have
never had much in the way of money, so it's all pie-in-the-
sky to me, but constructive criticism is welcome.
Still Life
By Annabelle Sampson
My name is, or rather was, Andrew Kynaston. A while ago, I
was a very important man in financial circles. Okay I
didn't have many friends; you can't afford close ties in
the cut and thrust of financial dealing but I made enough
to be happy. Women that I worked with, and a few of the
men, thought I was vain, but I didn't really care about
them. I thought they were just jealous of my success and
good looks...
And I was good looking, 5'11", well built, black hair that
was always well groomed and cut. I also had baby blue eyes
and 'pianists hands'.
Anyway, there was one woman who I really liked, Hazel. She
was well named as she had hazel green eyes, a cute face
topped with long ginger hair. We got along fairly well and
I had confided in her a few times. Nothing she could really
use against me you understand at least not in the everyday
work of the office.
In contrast the rest of the office had always been really
nasty to me. That was why I was sure that Hazel had the
hots for me. Indeed, she would smile sweetly and her green
eyes would sparkle brightly as she talked to me.
That was what caused the row that erupted.
Our boss, Harry Cooper, had already been pushing me about
performance indicators among the other staff, mentioning
that some of the 'dead-wood' would have to be pruned after
the next monthly collation. I wasn't unduly worried,
because he was always threatening this but it had never
come to settle on me. I was always feeling smug when many
of my former colleagues had been culled by one of Harry's
purges.
So losing ?170k in an important deal because I'd been
distracted by Hazel's smile was not something I could
really tolerate at this stage. I banished her from our
dealing room, which didn't go down too well with her or the
rest of the team who relied on her to bring them the
research information they needed.
When we finished that night, I watched for her to go,
because I felt sure, she would want some form of revenge.
A few months earlier I had confessed my deepest desire to
have a painting done of myself. It worried me now that I
had told her my big secret desire because she tried to help
me once about finding an artist.
This was something the office would have used against me,
as proof that I was vain, I could see that. All I could do
was hope that she wouldn't use her knowledge against me.
As it happened, four of the traders were put on a month's
notice that evening and fortune had favoured me yet again.
I watched the other's stop by the 'Hit-List' that went up
on the notice board at finishing time. I was in no hurry to
leave as I was still waiting for a contact in New York to
reply, so I was hanging around when Harry came up behind
me.
"You're slipping Andrew, and that deal nearly cost us a
fortune," he said surprising me. "You mustn't let sex get
in the way of a good deal, or I'll be forced to let you go
too..."
"It won't happen again," I replied.
"See it doesn't!"
Christ was I in the shit! People that Harry 'let go' were
considered washouts and burned out cases. Being sacked was
a better option, at least then you could work your way back
in at another dealers. But to be 'let go' was worse! The
result was a golden handshake of about ?50 to 70 thousand
pounds. I know a sum over $100K sounds really good, until
you hear the nickname for the payment. It's always been
referred to as the 'pension fund' because that was where it
was best to put it. In effect that's what it was a
retirement pension, because anyone who received it had just
been retired from high level financial trading for life.
I determined not to let Hazel or any other woman come
between me and the real prize of a ?100-200k bonus as the
year's best trader. I was second last year, to Harry
himself, and was handed ?75k which I salted away in some
future's options. Those options tripled the money inside
six months and so I set aside that for my little nest egg.
Just as I was about to leave, my US contact came online and
we did a little horse-trading and a little ribbing. She
kept saying she was going to come over and make an honest
man out of me so I told her that I couldn't afford it.
I was closing with Anne-Marie when I felt a pair of soft
hands on my shoulders, long thin nails digging, only a
little but still quite painfully into my neck.
"You shouldn't have embarrassed me like that Andi," she
said making the final letter sound like an I instead of a Y
like she always did when she was mad at me. This time she
almost squeaked my name and I groaned inwardly. Two shit
piles in one day, I was thinking that I would be glad to
get home.
"Look I'm sorry Hazel," I replied honestly. "But you almost
cost me a big deal, and you certainly cost me money, which
means the firm lost money, you know how much Harry hates
that."
"That's the only reason that I'm not flaying you alive,"
she said stroking my neck with those long red nails of
hers. "That and the fact that I have a wee challenge for
you."
"Oh," I took her hands in mine and swung round on my chair
so that we were facing. "What's that?"
"I've found you an artist who can immortalize you on
canvas."
"So what's the challenge?" I asked soaking in her beauty.
"Well this artist likes to work from the skin up, so you'll
have to be prepared to pose nude."
"Hey, if he shows off all my assets to best advantage, then
no problemo."
"Oh I'm sure he'll capture your likeness like you would
never believe."
Again a twinkle came into her eye. But she kissed me then
and I didn't think to worry about it. We kissed and petted
on my chair for a while before going home.
***
A week later I sat at my desk, looking at the Stock Market
futures when a note in a pink envelope was dropped onto my
desk by one of my colleagues.
"From Hazel," he said as he walked past and then he looked
at me enviously.
I ripped open the letter. All that was inside was a post-it
note with an address in Kent and a train ticket for
Saturday. At the head of the address was a name; Silas
Turnstill. I wondered if there was anything else. Sure
enough, on the back of the post-it were a few lines from
Hazel.
'He's expecting you at 11:00am so don't disappoint him.'
She cautioned. 'He'll take it out on me if you're late!'
I stuffed the envelope into my pocket and got on with my
dealing. I was really determined to make a fortune and
prove once and for all that I was the best dealer in the
building...
I was waiting on the results of some money brokerage in
Singapore when the system went down, and I mean vanished
completely. The entire city had just been hit by a massive
power-cut and almost all the computers in the office went
blank as a few emergency lights kicked into life.
I had the sense to have a secure power supply installed
next to my computer, unfortunately, someone had
disconnected it, so my computer had died with the rest.
I really wanted to ream someone a new one and shouted,
"Which one of you arseholes fucked with my machine!"
Then suddenly the power came on again. All the systems in
our area rebooted and we went back to trading. What I
didn't notice at first, was that my terminal wasn't really
communicating with the outside world because someone had
pulled the link. It was an accident, of course, someone
blundering around in the semi-dark of the blackout, but it
meant that by the time I sorted the trouble my window of
opportunity had long gone and I was stuck with ?2,000,000
that was worth less than I bought it for.
I knew I was in trouble then. What with the warning the
week before, I was looking at a disaster of Black Monday
proportions. I tried to cover it up by using my own
savings; even my house went onto covering up the error. The
only thing I didn't touch, because it had already cleared,
was the payment for the painting.
By the end of the day I seemed to have covered the loss and
my tracks, and I breathed a sigh of relief. My personal
'Black Thursday' was over.
Next morning I arrived at work feeling that I could get
onto the system and make back my losses and reclaim my
money. When I arrived in the dealer room however, Hazel was
waiting for me with a very serious look on her face. Beside
her was the office security guard.
I shivered and went cold.
"Harry wants a word Andy," she said quietly.
I spent the next few hours in his office, the knawing fear
growing in me as he detailed and logged every little scam,
cream-off and dodgy deal I'd ever done in the last two
years, then he came down to the quick with suddenness.
"To put it bluntly Andrew, you've now proven to be a
liability," he continued with his tirade. "I can't take the
risk of you doing a Barings to us."
"What, you can't be serious," I said comprehending what he
said.
"Perfectly serious, your position here is terminated
immediately," he said sitting there smugly. "Since you were
trading illegally, our legal people will take steps to
recover the damages, so your flat will be repossessed after
the weekend. All assets that you used to cover your illegal
trading are forfeit. I would advise you to contact a good
solicitor, and you'd best apply for legal aid too. Mr
Kennedy here will watch you empty your desk so that you
only take your personal possessions. Goodbye!"
I walked back to the dealer room, which was now quite
quiet, and picked up my watch and my pens. I had to leave
my company laptop and the other things that had been mine
to use.
Hazel met me at the lift and she looked disappointed, "You
will go see Silas, won't you?"
"Why?"
"Because I think you should do it," she said. "It might
help cheer you up a little."
"I can't afford it now, I'm wiped out," I said, forgetting
that I had already paid for the painting.
"You're still worried about the painting being sold off to
pay your debts, don't be, I've told Harry you are giving it
to me as I found the artist."
I didn't give her the courtesy of a reply, which would have
revealed my lapse. I just wandered out into the rain.
***
So there I was, a rainy Friday night, no money, no job and
a train ticket to a tiny little hamlet in the garden of
England for the next day. I went home; at least I still had
that for a few more days and raided my still well stocked
drinks cabinet. A whole bottle of Tequila and a half-bottle
of Vodka later and I was in state of oblivion. The last
thing I remember thinking was, 'At least the painting is
paid for.'
The next morning, I struggled back into the land of the
wide-awake and staggered into the bathroom. Knowing I was
to be painted naked in a couple of hours, I decided to make
the most of the facilities and had a hot shower. I don't
know why I did it, but besides having a very close shave on
my face, I also shaved my armpits, legs and chest. I
realise now that it must have been some sort of geas, but
it somehow just seemed the right thing to do at the time.
I found my travelling bag and gathered together a couple of
shirts, a tie, two t-shirts, some jeans and my second best
Armani before taking a taxi to Victoria Station.
I picked up the F.T. on the station, half expecting to find
my disgrace on one of the pages, but there was nothing. I
boarded the train and settled into the comfortable first
class seat in the compartment. I might as well make the
most of it, after all, I would probably be going to court
quite soon to be declared a bankrupt.
I arrived at the artist's studio on time and saw that it
was a very well to do house near Harrietsham in Kent. I
entered through the main gate and saw the expansive gardens
before wandering round the house.
The main studio was a room that faced south, but had
windows to face both east and west, so there could be light
in the room for most of the day, although I noticed there
were blackout style curtains on all the windows.
A plain easel with a stretched canvas of about twenty-four
inches by eighteen sat near the main French windows,
through which I entered. Flanking it were two tables
cluttered with paint tubes, a palette, several painting
knives and a mass of brushes.
I took in the rest of the room quickly. The north wall was
painted a very pale grey-blue while a large mahogany
sideboard and desk took up a third of the wall on the left.
On the right there were racks, some of which had canvases
clipped to them.
Against the centre of the wall was a japanned changing
screen.
My host, the artist himself, stepped forward and shook my
hand.
"Pleased to meet you Andrew, I'm Silas," he said warmly,
indicating the stool beside the easel for me to sit. "Just
a few questions about what sort of painting you want before
we get started."
"I don't understand," I said shrugging my shoulders, "I
just want my picture painted. What type of painting really
doesn't matter."
"But you must have some idea of how you want to be
immortalised?" he asked.
I thought about it for a bit. After all, if people were
going to be looking at 'me' in the future, I wanted to give
the right image so his question wasn't quite as daft as it
sounded at first.
"Something historical I think," I said after a few moments
thought. "Grecian or Roman I suppose."
"Nice period, any particular setting?" he asked again.
"Something imposing," I replied and though again, "Maybe
with the Parthenon in the background."
"Something that would show your sense of service perhaps?"
he asked, smiling curiously.
"Sure," I replied.
"I think I can provide a more than adequate surrounding."
"As long as I am the centre of attention of the picture." I
reminded him.
"Naturally."
Silence fell for a moment, then my host extended his arm to
show me further into the house. "Would you care for a tour?
And we must find somewhere for your stuff while you are
here."
I figured 'what the hell' so I said, "Yes."
I followed him round the house. The whole place was very
modern, but with some very 'old world' touches. Thick,
leather bound, books with heavy metal clasps sat on
polished oak shelves.
In his lab, where he made his paints, there were strange
bottles with funny labels, but I didn't want to upset him
by commenting on what appeared to be the 'eye of newt' and
'brimstone' bottles. It was bad enough that I would have to
find a new occupation when I returned to civilisation after
he had finished the painting. It was then that I remembered
that the rail ticket had only been a single.
Silas asked me to leave my gear in a small box room at the
east end of the house, which, I assumed, would be my room
for my stay, however long it took him to complete the
picture.
We returned to the studio and he pulled the screens away
from the wall.
"If you wouldn't mind getting undressed Andi."
I didn't notice the inflection he made to my name as I made
my way behind the screen. Slowly I undressed, glad that the
air in the room was warmed by the sunlight through the many
windows.
"Not much to look at really, are you?" he commented, as I
emerged, naked, from behind the screens. "Still, we'll see
what we can do on the canvass."
Confused slightly by this, I went to ask what he meant.
Even as I opened my mouth to speak he flicked his large
paintbrush at me.
For a brief second I felt as though a hurricane had
enveloped me and then all I could feel was some kind of
stiff material at my back. A glance, outward, and I could
see a figure, a giant of a man, moving around. A few
moments later and I realised that, although I still seemed
to be breathing and thinking, I was actually a painted
figure on the artist's canvass.
"Far too much paint!" I heard his comment like a booming
explosion and watched, horrified, as a painter's palette
knife descended towards me.
A chill touch of steel pervaded my body as he scratched
away some of the paint from my sides. A thinner knife
descended, flicked each way, and made two uneven semi-
circles on my chest, which became suddenly weighted and
deeply shadowed.
"Oh and that little blemish must go," He said and all I
could do was watch as a thinner knife descended towards my
groin.
Then his other hand moved a fine camel hair brush to the
same area, which dabbed once. Another brush descended, this
time touching my head and moving to my shoulders; a tingle
passed through me and I knew, on some instinctive level,
that I was now a painting of a naked woman.
It was within that realisation that it dawned on me that I
was in a classic pose, my left arm curled back above my
head, while my right acted as a balance. My legs braced for
walking.
A brush, loaded, to my view, with a strange earthy paint
descended and moved on the canvas above my head. Even as it
completed its motion and moved away I became aware of
another sensation, weight, on my head and something cold
and slightly rough in my left hand. Grasping the thing
tighter gave me more sensations as I explored the rim of a
water urn with my fingers and felt the water slop within.
Terrified by the reality of the feelings even though I
could also tell I was, outwardly, only an oil painting, I
wondered what other indignities I was to be subjected to.
Each approach of the brush or knife was a torture of the
unknown as I watched the artist form a landscape around me.
A thin brush with off-white paint descended to my body
again, as the folds of an Ionic chiton were draped over my
naked form and then belted to my narrowed waist.
A warm breeze flowed past me as the larger brushes made
swathes of paint into houses, ground and trees. I could
sense the environment developing about me, and feel the
ground beneath my feet.
I didn't appreciate it at first, but then, as he moved away
from the easel, I noticed that the 'real' world was getting
darker. The figure of Silas vanished from my view and the
room got darker, until the stars and the moonlight lit the
room with a faint blue-white light.
The next morning, Silas arrived and continued with the
painting of the landscape around me. I was strangely
unworried by my position at that moment; I was wondering
what else was to happen when I noticed other movement.
Silas looked across the room and then shook his head.
"Not yet, later." He sat back at the canvas and continued.
During the night I had tried to work out what scale I was,
as a painting. If the canvas was the twenty-four by
eighteen that I had seen, then I would have been about
fifteen inches high, I would be the centre of the painting.
This excited my ego, until I remembered that the image was
one more associated with the Zodiac sign for Aquarius than
my rugged masculine form.
Even as paint touched the canvas, I could sense the changes
around me. I couldn't really understand why I could feel my
surroundings, sense the warm Mediterranean air and feel the
sun's heat on my hands and arms. I was still immobile, and
still aware of everything that was happening outside, away
from the canvas.
When he finally put his brushes down, I could see Silas was
very satisfied. I could sense buildings behind me and, if I
thought about looking sideways, I could even glimpse a very
ornate building.
The scrape of the stool made me look outward again and I
saw Silas moving to the French windows and then leaving the
room. Once again I wondered whether I would remain female
figure in a painting, what was the cause of the sensations
I could feel and why this had happened. True, no policeman
would ever look for me in a painting, but going into hiding
this way was too weird to contemplate.
Silas re-entered the room, with a companion. I wondered
what was going to happen, especially once I saw who the
second person was.
"Why she's beautiful Silas," said Hazel as she looked down
at my painted form on the canvas. "Who would have believed
that a miserable, selfish pig like Andrew could look so
dainty and adorable. She's going to really brighten up the
dealing room."
I wanted to scream at that point. I'd forgotten that the
painting was promised to her and that I had no way of
denying what she had told Harry. The thought of being
leered at by the men in the dealing room, in my skimpy
Grecian costume, was almost too much to bear. I closed my
eyes, and found that I could, but I lost my balance.
"Steady now Andi."
Silas's voice seemed closer, and I felt a steadying hand.
Opening my eyes, I found myself, still dressed as a Grecian
woman, but full size, in the Studio.
"What's happening?" I asked, my voice, like my body, most
definitely that of a woman.
"You are having a sustenance break." Silas replied,
smoothly. "Every 48 hours you'll emerge from the painting
to eat and drink."
"I'll make sure that you're undisturbed in the dealing room
when it happens," smiled Hazel.
"But why am I a woman? Why have you done that to me?"
"You'll discover in time what's happening, but you must eat
and drink now, you only have two hours before you return
back to the painting."
"What if I leave the room?"
"It doesn't matter, you'll return to your painted state
after two hours. Would you like to see your surroundings?"
I nodded and turned to look at my 'home'. In the top right
corner was the hill with the Parthenon solid and complete
at its summit. I saw the houses that I had sensed were
around me. Or rather around my form, now a patch of off-
white canvas with a water jug suspended in mid air, which
was clearly the focus of the picture.
Hazel handed me a glass of water and a toasted bacon
sandwich, which I hurriedly consumed.
That first time I concentrated on food and not on my fate.
I did ask one thing though.
"Who knows that I will be in this painting?"
"Just Silas and myself," grinned Hazel. "It'll be our
secret."
I could feel my face wrinkling as the skin returned to a
paint-like consistency, and a second or so later I was back
on the canvas. I watched, once again immobile and helpless,
as the painting was glazed and put into a frame. The
journey back to London was done in a brown paper parcel, so
I saw nothing of the trip. The first I knew of my return to
the dealer room was when Harry unveiled the painting, the
next day to the entire staff. My transition was complete,
and I got my wish, I was immortalised in paint and the
centre of attention in the dealer's room...
End
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