A Work of Art

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“I’m leaving, honey,” Mack said.

Sasha felt him wrapping his arms around her from behind as he leaned in for a kiss.

“Have a nice day,” she said.

He adjusted his glasses and turned to leave. But in the doorway he paused.

“Um,” he began. “I may be coming home a little late, so — do you have time to pick up the car from the repair shop?”

She nodded.

“Sure,” she replied. “I’ll be in town anyway.”

Mack looked at his watch.

“That’s great,” he said. “Um — they said at noon. But give them a few hours more.”

She smiled at him.

“I will,” she said. “Don’t worry.”

He waved at her as he left.

“Thanks, dear. Bye.”

Sasha walked to the window and watched as Mack climbed onto his bike and drove off. She waved at him, but he didn’t look back. Her phone lay charging on the windowsill. She picked it up, unplugging it, and found the number for Dr. Engel. Taking a deep breath, she called. He picked up in the middle of the second ring.

“Engel,” his voice said.

“Yes, hello,” Sasha replied. “This is Sasha Vain.”

“Ah, Mrs. Vain,” he said. “Good to hear from you. And — I’m happy to tell you that I have good news.”

She suddenly felt slight nervous — short of breath.

“So — you found it?” she asked, her voice little more than a whisper.

“Yes,” Dr. Engel replied with emphasis. “I have it right here. Tucked away, obviously.” He chuckled. “Otherwise, who knows what might happen.”

“But — you looked at it. Didn’t you?”

She heard Dr. Engel take a deep breath.

“Oh yes,” he replied. “Just a glimpse, of course, but even that certainly has an effect. Not to go into details, but — yes, it definitely works.”


“Mrs. Vain,” he went on. “I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into. I mean, once your husband sees this …”

“Yes,” Sasha interrupted. “I know. Believe me. That is exactly what I want.”

“Very well,” Dr. Engel replied after a pause. “As I said, I have it here. You can pick it up whenever you want.”

“How about today — 2 pm?” she asked.

“Um, that’s fine,” he replied. “I’ll see you then.”

“Thanks,” Sasha said. “Bye.”


She hung up. Her entire body was tingling slightly — as if her skin was electrified by an almost imperceptible current. It was an unfamiliar sensation — not exactly like sexual arousal — more like a restless state of anticipation.

She cleared the breakfast table, put the dishes in the dishwasher, and turned it on. It sounded unusually loud in the quiet house, and she stared at it blankly for a few seconds. Then she went into the living room, sat down in the armchair, and picked up her book: “Human Sexuality in World Culture” by Dr. Ernst Engel.

Mack would often comment on the books she read — ask what they were about. But strangely, he had never remarked on this one. Embarrassment, probably. Mack was still a nice boy. Even his lovemaking was sweet and gentle. But that was exactly was she was looking to change.

Sasha turned to her favorite chapter: “The Mystery of the Missing Painting.” The title sounded like a fictional chapter in an otherwise non-fiction book — and it almost came across that way, too. So much, in fact, that Sasha had doubted the story at first.

The chapter was about a painter living in New York City in the 60s. Even his name had been shrouded in mystery — he had used a wide range of ludicrous synonyms like “The Great Rod”. He’d lived most of his life as a recluse, but strangely also seemed to have been quite a ladies’ man. Most of the rumors seemed like tall tales told by jealous colleagues, but there was good evidence that he regularly indulged in orgies with his young female models. Dr. Engel had located and interviewed a few of the girls in question — and they all talked about his impressive endowment and relentless sexual appetite.

Unsurprisingly, his known works were intensely erotic, and consequently he’d only had a few public exhibitions – at small, special-interest galleries and even sex clubs. And then — sometime in the mid-70s — he had simply disappeared. Again, rumors abounded: Some said he’d been murdered by a jealous model — others that he’d killed himself in a bizarre sex ritual. But none of the stories were ever backed up with evidence. He seemed simply to have vanished into thin air.

He’d been an obscure artist at the best of times, and soon after his disappearance, his work was all but forgotten. Until a few years ago, when the opening of a certain warehouse had revealed what seemed to be almost his entire body of work — dozens of paintings, all dealing with “the aesthetics of sexual ecstasy” as Dr. Engel wrote. Sasha wondered what he meant by that.

Modern art critics and collectors had eventually realized the uniqueness of his vision. Retrospective exhibitions were staged and an expensive coffee table book published — along with a comprehensive catalogue of all his works.

But while researching the story, Dr. Engel had stumbled on a strange omission: When comparing the comprehensive catalogue istanbul travesti with the list of published and exhibited works, one painting stood out. This one work never seemed to be reproduced, never exhibited. Even its current owner — a rich New York art collector — kept it hidden away, refusing to show it to even his closest friends.

“Fantasies of the Dark” had been notorious already when the artist was alive — and rarely seen by anyone. According to urban legend, at one occasion it had evoked a reaction so strong that it was deemed unwise to ever show it in public again. And the current owner seemed to agree. Still, Dr. Engel claimed to have acquired a photo.

When Sasha put down her book, it was half past one. She stood up and got dressed. Doing her makeup, she realized that she was making more of an effort than usual – although she wasn’t sure why. She locked herself out of the house and walked towards the subway.

Dr. Engel’s office was on the 42nd floor, and the elevator was at ground level when she entered the lobby. Pressing the lit button, she opened the door and stepped in — and was greeted by the sight of herself from every possible angle. The walls and ceiling of the elevator was completely covered in mirrors. She shrugged and pressed the button for Dr. Engel’s floor, and the elevator set in motion. During the ride, she had time to check her hair and makeup. She looked just fine.

Sasha had never been to the office before, but it turned out there were only two doors on the 42nd floor. And the sign on the first one said simply “Dr. Ernst Engel, anthropologist”. There was no doorbell, and she used her knuckles to rap loudly on the hard wooden door.

“Come in,” Dr. Engel swiftly replied.

Sasha opened the door to a huge office. Looking around, she realized that the floor area might not be that impressive, but the walls were as tall as they were wide – from the looks of it, it was pretty much a cube. And from floor to ceiling, all walls were covered in bookcases — all filled with books. Tall ladders on wheels gave access to even the top shelves. She couldn’t begin to calculate how many volumes were in the office. But she was sure that many small town public libraries had considerably fewer books.

“Wow,” she said.

“Welcome,” a voice said from behind a large desk.

Dr. Engel looked exactly as she’d imagined. His grey beard, like his hair, was slightly unkempt, but not completely out of control. And similarly, the piles of open books and papers on his desk seemed organized by an elaborate system known only to him.

“Mrs. Vain, I presume?” he said.

Sasha nodded.

“Hello,” she replied. “Nice to meet you.”

“My pleasure,” he said, indicating a chair across from him. “Sit down, please. Coffee?”

She shook her head as she sat down

“No, thank you,” she said. “So — you have the picture here?”

Dr. Engel smiled.

“I have,” he replied. “And — I’ve laid eyes on it and can vouch for its, um — efficiency.”

Sasha exhaled.

“But tell me,” she said. “Is it really as powerful as they say?”

Dr. Engel leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath before replying:

“Ever heard of Chelsea ’68?”

“Um, no …”

“Back in 1968, a group of beatniks – hippies — call them what you will — organized a huge exhibition of what they called ‘outlaw art’. You know: Political stuff — performance art — mixed media — anything, as long as it wasn’t ‘square’. And someone knew about The Great Rod and decided to hang a couple of his paintings as well — including ‘Fantasies of the Dark’. The rest, as they say, is history.”

He paused. Sasha moved uneasily in her seat before asking:

“So — what happened?”

Dr. Engel learned forward.

“Utter mayhem,” he replied, “that’s what. ‘Fantasies of the Dark’ aroused all male guests so much that they seemed to lose all inhibitions. They stripped naked and began to masturbate. Eventually, the female guests joined in — and the gallery opening turned into a senseless orgy of copulation. Some neighbors called the police, but to no avail.”

“They … didn’t show up?”

Dr. Engel nodded.

“They did,” he said. “But as soon as the policemen — and –women – saw the paintings, they got aroused as well and joined in the orgy.”

Sasha gasped, her mouth wide open.

“Apparently, the whole thing only ended when someone managed to cover up the painting,” Dr. Engel said. “But by then, they’d been having sex non-stop all through the night and most of the morning. There’s even some evidence that The Great Rod himself participated, but we can’t know for sure.”

Sasha didn’t know what to say.

“So that,” Dr. Engel said, “is the power of this image. Just so you know. Women seem to find it quite arousing, too, but it has a much greater effect on men — it just drives them out of their minds. I only had a brief look, but yes — it’s true.”

“What happened?” Sasha asked.

Dr. Engel smiled slightly.

“Well,” he said. “If you must know, I — I masturbated for five hours straight. After the istanbul travestileri eighth ejaculation, I stopped counting. And mind you, I’m 64 years old. That kind of thing hasn’t happened to me since I was a teenager. And – not even then, come to think of it.”

“Wow!” Sasha said.

Dr. Engel nodded.

“Yes,” he said. “That was a few days ago, and I’m still recovering. Anyway, here it is.”

He reached into a drawer in his desk, pulled out a black plastic folder, and pushed it across the table top. Sasha took it. Just knowing what was inside made her blush.

“Thank you,” she said.

Dr. Engel smiled.

“You’re welcome,” he replied. “Give my best to your husband. I hope it all works out.”

Sasha rolled up the folder and put it in her purse. Then she got up and shook Dr. Engel’s hand.

“Thanks again, for your help. I’ll be in touch.”

She left the office feeling slightly dizzy, just knowing that the salacious image was in her purse. When she got home, she’d take a look at it herself before Mack returned. She wondered how she would react. Dr. Engel had said it worked on women, too — and Sasha was pretty hot-blooded. Perhaps she was in for a long masturbation session. Not the worst thing that could happen, surely? If the image was so arousing, it was only something to look forward to.

She pressed the button for the elevator, and a few seconds later, there was a quiet “ding”. The doors opened. Leaning against the back wall of the mirrored elevator were two businessmen wearing suits and carrying briefcases — one dark and clean-shaven, the other with reddish hair and a neatly trimmed beard. They nodded politely at Sasha as she entered.

They must have come from an office somewhere above the 42nd floor, because the button for the ground floor was already lit. Sasha simply let the doors close and stood in the middle of the floor, her back turned to the two men. As the elevator began to move down, she looked at them in the mirror across from her. They were silent, didn’t look her over — in fact, they hardly seemed to notice her at all. Sasha almost felt slightly disappointed. She was looking good today — why didn’t they even give her a casual glance?

Sasha almost jumped as she heard a loud buzzing sound. She looked around confused, before realizing it was her phone ringing inside her purse. As she opened the clasp and pulled out the phone, she accidentally pulled up the folder along with it. It opened, and Dr. Engel’s photo fluttered to the floor.

At first, Sasha could hardly make sense of what she saw. The image was quite dark. But soon she felt the clenching feeling in her abdomen — the sensation she got when she was surprised by sudden arousal. She felt herself getting wet — quickly, profusely wet.

Out of the dark came glistening bodies — voluptuous women, muscular men — in all sorts of passionate embraces of lovemaking. Faces grimaced in ecstasy, bodies flexed, fat, glistening cocks entered pussies, mouths, asses. And here and there, torrents of spunk spurted from swollen shafts across sweaty bodies. It was as if every possible way of fucking was concentrated into one image — an image of insatiable animal lust.

Swallowing, Sasha bent down to pick it up.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly.

But one of the men put the tip of his shoe on the picture.

“Not so fast,” he said, his voice strangely choked.

The dark man bent down to pick it up and showed it to his colleague. Sasha imagined she could hear their breathing growing louder, more labored. As the two men examined the image carefully, their eyes lit up. It felt hotter inside the elevator — as if Sasha felt the body heat emanating from the two men. But if she could, their skin would have to be on fire. What was going on?

Panting loudly, the redhead jumped across the floor and pressed the emergency button. The elevator jerked to a halt. In the silence, the sound of the men’s breathing seemed to grow even louder. They were like animals in heat, shamelessly grunting with anticipation. And Sasha knew she had now been locked up inside the elevator car — with them.

“What?” she whispered.

Both men put their briefcases down almost in unison. Then, with trembling hands they swiftly zipped down and pulled out their cocks. They were already growing hard, bulging and swelling — heat emanating from the stretching skin. Sasha’s eyes widened. The dark man had an unusually long, but beautifully shaped member — the redhead’s was slightly shorter, but remarkably thick. Inhaling sharply, Sasha took a step back. The men looked deep into her eyes as they exposed themselves to her.

“Let’s get her clothes off,” the dark man said.

His voice was hoarse with lust. He dropped the photo, letting it fall to the floor. Next, Sasha felt the two men grabbing her and impatiently pulling at her clothes. She felt their body heat burning through their business suits, almost taking her breath away. Although she struggled in their grip, they managed to remove her jacket, her blouse and her bra, throwing them on the floor.

“No!” travesti istanbul she protested.

“Shut up!” the redhead said.

He managed to masturbate with one hand, while he helped unzip and pull down her skirt with the other. She made a little sound of protest, as the dark man impatiently pulled down her panties. In the mirrors she saw herself, now naked except for her heels, the two men still in business suits, faces flushed, cocks jutting out, passionately groping her entire body. They grabbed her buttocks hard and kneaded her breasts roughly, making her moan. The dark man forced two hot fingers into her mouth — and next she felt them sliding down over her belly towards her cunt.

“No,” she whispered.

The dark man brutally forced the wet fingers up into her flesh. She cried out — and the men both laughed viciously.

“Yeah,” the redhead said. “She likes it.”

Sasha didn’t even manage to protest. Did she or didn’t she? The two men were in heat, assaulting her — but even the short glimpse of the image had also made her pussy tingle. She could feel her wetness — hear the squishy noises as the dark man began thrusting his fingers in and out of her cunt.

“Ah!” she gasped.

As she squirmed and struggled, the redhead grabbed her forearms, holding her pinned to the spot. Once again, the dark man pushed his fingers into her mouth. Sasha tasted sucked her own juices from them, tasting her own flesh.

“Yeah,” the dark man grunted into her ear. “Lick it all of. There’s a good little slut.”

With the other hand he slapped her naked buttock hard. And then again. The stinging pain made her bite into the fingers inside her mouth.

“Ow!” the dark man said.

He pulled his wet fingers from her mouth, grabbed her chin, and stared straight into her eyes.

“So you’re a feisty one?” he said. “Don’t worry, honey. We’re going to fuck you until you beg for mercy. On your knees!”

Sasha knelt down on the floor of the elevator, her head spinning. Was the image really to blame for all this? Had it really drove the two men mad with lust in a matter of seconds? The redhead stood in front of her, his hard shaft — orange pubes at its root — pointing straight at her face.

“Open your mouth!” he ordered.

His voice was thick with lust. Sasha slowly parted her lips, and immediately felt the hot, wide head of his cock entering her mouth. He gasped loudly with pleasure.

“Fuck!” he said. “That feels good. Now suck it, you little whore.”

Obediently, Sasha began moving her head back and forth, her wet lips sliding up and down over the taut skin of his member. She salivated all over his cock, making it glisten with spit. As she sucked it hard, she felt it throbbing and jumping inside her mouth. The dark man masturbated at the sight. He bent down and picked up the image from the floor. His hard-on jumped as he looked at it again. He glanced at Sasha sucking cock, then at the image, then back again. His mouth fell open — almost drooling with lust.

“Is she good?” he asked hoarsely.

“Yeah!” the redhead replied. “She’s a great little cocksucker.”

The dark man grunted approvingly, stroking his stiff shaft.

“I bet that’s what she does all day,” he said. “Suck the cock of random strangers. That’s what sluts like her do.”

Slobbering loudly, Sasha kept vigorously sucking the redhead’s fat member. Already hard, it seemed to stiffen and grow ever longer as she sucked it. He groaned with pleasure until suddenly he took a step back, his cock slipping out of her mouth with a “pop”.

“Fuck!” he gasped. “She almost made me come.”

Laughing, the dark man let the photo fall from his hand and assumed the position in front of Sasha’s face.

“There’s a good little whore,” he said. “Here’s another hard cock for you to suck.”

Sasha opened her mouth, and he brutally forced his member in between her lips. The head poked the back of her throat, making her gag. He grabbed her hair with his fist and began to thrust in and out of her mouth.

“Hunh!” he yelled. “Yes! Yes!”

The dark man fucked her face with relentless energy — her spittle flew around his hard, glistening shaft. Tears welled up in Sasha’s eyes. The man was savagely abusing her, pulling her hair, almost choking her with his cock. But then again — this raw sexual energy was exciting as hell. Mack never did anything like this. He was a gentle and compassionate lover. But the sight of the image had turned these two men into shameless sex fiends. What would it do to Mack?

As the dark man kept thrusting into her mouth, Sasha moved her knees apart, spreading her legs. Her fingers found her stiffening clit and she began to masturbate. A shiver ran through her.

“Mmm,” she moaned, her mouth full of the dark man’s eager cock. “Mmm!”

The redhead bent down next to her. She felt his beard scratching her cheek as he whispered hotly into her ear:

“Yeah — play with that pussy. Make it sopping wet. I can’t wait to fuck the hell out of you …”

Sasha’s fingers flew up and down across her sensitive clit, making drops of juice fly everywhere. Eyelids fluttering, she felt her climax approaching. She whimpered loudly around the dark man’s cock, as it thrust deep into her throat. And at the exact moment the orgasm hit her, he pulled out, letting her cry out loud in ecstasy:

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