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Artifact

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Kylie Venn smoothed the front of her black pleated skirt and reviewed the work she had done on her ipad. A range of photos of architectural closeups of different modernist landmarks. She’d perhaps pretentiously shifted them to black and white. They looked at times like alien artifacts. Strange geometries blown up under an electron microscope. She sipped her coffee.

She’d been working at the Vincent Clover Gallery for a month now, earning as she learned. It wasn’t a lot, just a stipend, but it covered some of her basic living expenses, the majority of those being paid by her parents. Unlike many of her friends, she didn’t have a large trust fund. A small allowance was all they gave her, but between it and her money from the gallery, she was able to make ends meet, barely.

Clothing was a top concern for her, but of course a woman’s clothing budget was never enough. Not all the lottery winnings in the world could hope to fill up the infinite appetite for the ever changing whims of a young woman’s taste, especially not one who wanted to be seen as cultured. Who wanted to convey a certain image of taste, or refinement, or non conformity, or cool, or whatever came to her mind that week as regards to what would look cool in a selfie.

She dreamed of having fame and fortune for her work, but for the time being, she was more than content to work on the sales aspect, pushing the work of artists who had already made it.

The Vincent Clover Gallery took a unique approach. In addition to contemporary work, they handled rare antiquities and artifacts from all the corners of the globe; masks from Africa, sculptures from ancient Egypt and South America. The owner liked to highlight the differences and similarities between the ancient and the modern. To show what we had gained, and what we had lost.

The gallery itself was a set of enormous white rooms, lit from high overhead. It was located in an industrial district where a number of other galleries had recently begun to create a kind of arts district. The wealthy clientele loved the grit of the place and it’s associations of danger and even crime.

It’s inventory provided a sometimes shocking contrast, with ancient Hindu fertility sculptures and Japanese erotic woodblock prints next to contemporary photographs and abstract sculpture.

The owner, Vincent, was in his mid forties. Tall and muscular, with piercing blue eyes and dark black hair. He worked out a lot and took care of himself, knowing that he was as much a part of the sale as the quality of the work and it’s reputation. His reputation became the work’s reputation. When someone was paying tens of thousands or even hundreds of thousands for an object, one needed to trust that the person selling it to you knew what they were doing.

It wasn’t like oil futures or real estate, where the thing had a purpose, or a use that could be used to make a definite profit, or where the value had some connection to reality. Art was all smoke and mirrors. All subjectivity.

He’d hired her after a grueling interview, insisting on hearing everything about her life, and background, and views on art. He has an almost salacious manner about him. Something that was almost creepy, yet at the same time magnetic. He was certainly far too old for her, and yet she couldn’t help but feel somewhat attracted. He seemed to know so much about this business, and she so little. He seemed to know everyone, and she knew almost no one.

She’d been working for him for months now, just out of art school. He was slowly beginning to trust her. She admitted finding him super hot, despite their age differences. If anything, it made her hotter for him.

That day he’d assigned her to receiving and cataloging a set of artifacts that were coming in from Turkey; works of ancient Greek and Hittite origin.

A courier arrived around eleven. He wheeled in several crates, each five feet on each side, and she signed for them. Taking a pry bar to them, inside she found any number of sculptures, tiles, and artifacts; bubble wrapped and itemized on the manifest. Wearing soft white gloves, she began taking them to the store room for further study. Some would be placed in one of the gallery rooms, others would be left back here for the more exclusive clients to see. The store room itself was lined with racks for paintings and framed photographs.

One after another she ticked off the boxes next to the descriptions of objects until she was done. All told, it had taken her about three hours. Vincent was away for the day, and she was surprised he had given her this responsibility, as normally he was present during an intake.

She stirred the foam packing peanuts to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. What was that? Something at the bottom of the third crate? She leaned over and reached in, and her hand closed around something smooth and warm. Her hand pulled out, and when she opened it, she saw in it it something strange.

A round smooth stone, almost egg shaped, of black crystal, with strange runes inscribed on it. It almost felt like it pulsed in her hand, like some small casino siteleri animal. She couldn’t recognize the writing from any of her ancient or art history classes.

At that moment she heard the front door being unlocked (she had closed the gallery for the day) and the door swinging open. Almost by instinct she thrusted the object into her pocket and looked over.

Vincent was striding in, taking off his raincoat (it had been threatening to rain all day) and hanging it on the rack by the door. He quickly cleared the distance between them.

“So, how did it go?”

She found herself reddening, as her hand still clutched the object in her pocket. She withdrew her hand dramatically, almost to show that she hadn’t put it in her pocket (why had she done that she thought?)

“Fine. It went great. I was just checking to see if there was anything I missed.”

“Oh? Did everything check off on the manifest?”

“Well, yes, but…”

“Well, then don’t worry. I’m sure they didn’t drop in any extra surprises…”

His voice had an almost knowing tone to it. As if he knew that Kylie had pocketed the object. As if it was written across her face. As if he had planned it.

“Oh…By the way,” he said, “There’s an opening at the Lamont Gallery tomorrow. I’ll need you to attend. Dress smart. Meet me there at seven tomorrow. I want to introduce you to some people as I work the room.”

“Okay. Anyone in particular you want me to pay attention to?”

“I’ll point them out if need be.”

“Okay. Sounds good.”

“Oh, and Kylie..”

“Yes?”

“So, you say you were looking to see if there was anything else in the crates…Was there?”

A brief moment of silence.

“No Vincent, nothing at all.”

****

She had no idea why she had lied to Vincent. Something about the object compelled her to lie; to possess it, to have some secret she withheld from Vincent. That night, before she went to bed, she scanned the object more closely. She put it under her pillow, like some strange offering to the tooth fairy. The runes had been cut deeply into it, and it was more smokey than entirely opaque, although a sort of dark cloud lived in its heart. She’d looked online, but couldn’t find anything of the sort.

That night her dreams were filled with erotic imagery, of fucking and sucking different strangers in some dark chamber, with Vincent there, overseeing it all.

The next day she woke up with her sheets soaked and feeling incredibly horny. Somehow the object had made it’s way into her hands and seemed warmer than would seem reasonable.

It was entirely out of character for her. She’s always tried to maintain the image of herself as very proper and classy, not at all slutty, but she’d always harbored perverted fantasies. Why were these now breaking into her dreams?

She had mediocre, okay sex with her boyfriend, Phil, who she’d met at art school, the school she still attended. He was polite and very much believed in feminism and was not at all sexist. He always said all the right things. He always asked her what she wanted and if he was hurting her. He was terribly eager to please. A little too eager.

***

She carefully selected an outfit. A matching black lace bra and panties, over a red dress hanging in folds. She would normally wear something more conservative, but she felt different today. Like showing off. Like being a center of attention.

She arrived at the gallery early on and yet it was still packed. People dressed mostly in black. She located Vincent, who was holding court with a group of collectors and hangers on. It was no secret that a great number of collectors were gay, and Vincent’s animal magnetism served him in great stead there.

“Ahhh…And this is my new assistant, Kylie…”

Handshakes and introductions went all around, as the group commented on, praised, and picked apart the work of the artist, a series of photographs of himself in different animal costumes in various corporate boardroom settings. A wash of art speak bullshit flowed from Vincent’s mouth. Half of the hustle of art was convincing people that buying it would make them appear cultured and intelligent, and one of the surest ways to do that was to speak to them in high flown nonsense, and pretend that everyone understood it. Or at least pretend that if you didn’t understand it you were an idiot. It was an updated take on the Emperor’s New Clothes.

She kept close to Vincent, his words and face seeming to cast ever more a spell on her. For some odd reason she had brought the talisman in her bag, and it seemed to grow heavier. Warmer. And for some other strange reason, this seemed to translate to a growing warmth between her legs.

Over the course of the evening, it was almost as if he were reading her mind. He kept on glancing over and giving her knowing looks. The memory of her dreams the night before, and the stone, and Vincent kept piling up and swirling around in her mind. Almost as if the stone was controlling her. She felt herself growing increasingly aroused in the middle canlı casino of all these people. As if everyone could tell that even now her pussy was lubricating and soaking her panties. Bizarre, yet arousing thoughts filled her mind. She imagined dropping to her knees and blowing Vincent in front of this room full of people. Of letting him fuck her while everyone stood by an watched, making her in fact the center of attention, instead of the art.

The evening was winding down. People were shuffling out. She could barely remember the names of all the people Vincent had introduced her to, and the various connections they had to him. This one owned a large software company. This one had millions from his parent’s real estate. That one was a dominatrix to various in the wealthy men. Her head swam. She felt like she would need an Excel spreadsheet to keep them separate.

As if reading her mind, he touched her on the shoulder, which sent an electric shock through her, and flush to her neck.

“And don’t worry if you don’t remember them all. The key is to just pretend that you do. You’ll get it all straight soon enough.”

It was like they were connecting on some deeper level. Almost telepathic. His eyes bore into her, putting her in a spotlight that only the two of them could see.

“Do you need a ride home?”

“Yuhh…Yes…” her voice squeaked out.

He retrieved her coat from a hallway closet and put it around her shoulders. He led her outside and down the street to his car. Streetlights cast them in an unearthly glow. Suddenly, he took her hand, and leaned in, kissing her passionately on the lips. She was taken aback as his arm looped around her. She resisted within herself for a moment. Surely this was wrong. He was older and her employer. These thoughts were cast away as she tremblingly responded to him, falling into his arms, at first hesitant, but then returning his lust.

He pulled her into a nearby alley and pushed her up against a wall. He kissed her savagely, burrowing his tongue into her mouth. His hand reached behind and hiked up her skirt to give himself better access to her firm yoga tight ass. She moaned as he pawed at her firm breasts. Her pussy was soaking as he rubbed the front of her panties, seeking out her quivering lips. He reached inside and teased her until she was a squirming mess. He unzipped his pants, pulled out his cock, and started teasing her with it. She moaned as he pressed in. Drawing her panties aside, he began easing his rod into her tight pussy. He gripped her waist for better traction and started slamming into her, all the while keeping his lips locked on hers.

She was carried away by her arousal and desire and excitement. Pressed against the wall, she started arching her back and bucking her hips to meet him. Her fingers dug into his back, pulling him in. To her shock, she was moaning loudly like some cat in heat. He lifted her up with both arms, now holding her up against the wall. Her legs wrapped around him as he rocked her up and down like a sex doll, perfectly aligning his thrusts with her clit. She could feel her orgasm building and found herself begging him to not stop. She exploded in a a rainbow of sensation, a white lightning of screams. He responded by shooting his fiery cum deep inside her cunt, firing bolt after bolt of thick hot juice.

They stopped, exhausted. He lowered her to the ground. Kissed her again.

She couldn’t believe what had just happened. Just a short time ago she had been in an art opening, surrounded by people, now she was being used like a cheap whore by her boss.

“I think you should come over…spend the night.”

Her inner conflict came back. Then, in a moment of impulse she overcame it. They doubled back, and he found his silver Lexus. He opened the door for her,and then walked around and got in.

His face was a composed mask as he started and revved the engine, then pulled out of his parking space. Through the dark streets they hurtled, though the financial district, to the exclusive downtown neighborhood he lived in. He idled his way into the underground parking garage and shut the engine off.

He turned to face her and reached over, toying with her hair. He reached between her legs and pressed his hands into her crotch, feeling the lingering wetness there.

“Okay, we’re here.”

They got out and he carded them both into the building. He opened the door for her and disabled the security system.

“Make yourself at home. What would you like to drink? A glass of Merlot?”

“Yes… Please…”

She walked into the cavernous apartment. With it’s ceiling reaching high above her and it’s view of the city laid out, it was like some magical cave. Paintings adorned the wall and a grand piano was the centerpiece.

He brought her a glass, full of delicious red and led her over to the couch.

Her mind swirled as he leaned in and began passionately kissing her, reaching around and unzipping her dress. His hands were in her hair, tangled in the long strands. Her heart was bounding through her chest as he kaçak casino pulled the sides of her dress down her arms, revealing her breasts encased in black mesh, her ripening nipples just aching for his touch. His tongue ran round her ear and down her cheek, probing, pressing, kissing, licking, sucking.

Her pussy gushed with wetness. How could she be doing this? Her hands explored his hair, and ran across his broad shoulders and chest, still wrapped in his blue business suit.

He kissed his way down to her breasts, delighting in first one, then the other. He pulled them slightly out of their underwire mesh, so that the nipples were displayed for him. He sucked deeply on them, bringing them to their full hardness. She moaned in ecstasy as he reached around and undid her bra clasp with one hand, releasing her aching dove like breasts from their prison. His hands then reached around to her back, drawing her closer so she could feel the full mass of him.

He stood up, and she now noticed the considerable bulge, outlined at his crotch, straining against his trousers. He unzipped his fly, and released his throbbing and enormous cock. His hands roughly gripped the back of her head and he plunged himself into her slightly open mouth. She could barely take him all in. Phil was much smaller, and she was used to only giving him blow jobs on special occasions, and after he’d practically pleaded.

He started fucking her face, using her mouth like some sex toy. His cock head bounced against the back of her throat as she controlled her gag reflex. He grabbed her hands and pulled them to the base of his cock.

“That’s right, stroke it, stroke it while you blow me.”

Her head bobbed back and forth as she inhaled him, stroking his cock, playing with his balls. His hands entangled themselves in her hair, pulling her head forward. He pushed her off the couch, and down onto her knees so he was now standing over her.

She looked up with her big doe-eyes into his cold gaze as he continued to use her. He sat back down on the couch, and sprawled out, pulling her forward. He continued to use her mouth. After a time, he pulled her up, and began making out with her again, running his hands up and down her body, reaching up the front of her skirt and teasing her by rubbing the front of her lace panties. His right hand reached down and cupped her young tight ass, pulling her in, feeling her up. Was this cheating? Of course it was, but she couldn’t help herself. Something had changed inside of her, and she couldn’t resist Vincent’s animal magnetism.

“Stand up, come with me.”

She followed him through the sliding glass doors, out onto the large balcony. The view was breathtaking from here, up on the 20th floor, with the city lights all laid out below in some sparkling tapestry.

“Put your hands on the railing and hike your skirt up for me”

With a slight whimper she obeyed. The night was still chill and it cut to her to the quick. He reached into the band of her panties and yanked them down, leaving her exposed. His hands cupped her buttocks and appraised them like ripe fruit. He spread her legs and began teasing her pussy lips with his hard shaft. She couldn’t believe she was doing this.

“You like that?” he teased

“O…Oh yes…Oh…Oh yesss…”

“You want that? You want this in you? You want this in your little tight cunt? You want your boss’s cock in your little tight cunt?”

“Oh…Oh yes…Yes…”

“Say please…”

“Please…”

“Please what? “

“Please put it in…In…”

“In your cunt, say cunt..Say please put it in my tight cunt.”

“Please…Please put it in my tight cunt…”

He surged forward, past the barrier of her pussy lips, again with no condom. She rocked forward, taking his weight. She gasped as he slammed into her and kept slamming. She gripped the railing, staring off into the depths, her mind and body swimming with pleasure. She swooned at the height and her mouth gasped.

He held her firmly with both hands up around where her dress was hiked, her legs forming an arch, his cock entering her at the apex, pounding in and out of her tight young defenseless pussy. She ached for him to go deeper as groans began issuing from her pretty mouth. She started backing up, bucking into him, trying to take ever more in as his balls slapped against the back of her tight young ass. His cock was buried deep inside her warm fertile young cunt, seeking out all her secret places.

“Oh..Oh…Ohhhhh…” she cried out. Anyone looking from one of the many adjacent buildings could see them, could see her being dominated and taken by her older boss.

His dick kept on bumping up against her insides. She could barely take all of him, and yet, just when she thought it was too much, she relaxed, and took him in even deeper. She clenched him at the end of every thrust, gripping and holding him in.

He reached around front and began fingering her clit as his cock dove in and out. Then, without a word, he spit on his hand, and began fingering and playing with her asshole. He got his finger partway in, and began massaging. He started stroking her hair, whispering to her, kissing the side of her face. He pulled his cock from her pussy and began rubbing it against her ever loosening asshole. He started working it in slowly.

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