Looking at the body was like staring at a still life. So beautiful in its everyday nature. So full of form and texture. The delicate curves. The haunting reminder of the passionate sex to which they had only so recently shared. It was an amazing thing. Something to be painted. And so it was. In oils. Before the body was even cold. The scent of the oils mixed with the scents of incense and candles and their recent lovemaking. No paints were spared for this art piece. Tubes of ivory white that were purchased at such a dear price… for they were over three hundred years old. Paints of period were preferred. To this was added spit and tears and blood and spent orgasm. Sweat and burnt umber and black as dark as the European night itself. The body under the sheets in it’s last pose of repose.
The painting only took a short time. Yet it would catch a magnificent price for the study of light was one that would have shamed even Rembrandt. The curve of the now lifeless body. The skin a perfect tone. The muscle and bone in its rest was perfectly captured. The claw like scratches on the back sang out upon the hand stretched canvas in shades of red and pink and olive.
The scent was miraculous and beautiful. The paints and the night. The love that had been shared for hours. Raw animal sex that one could smell in the room mingled with it and the scents of their bodies adorned with perfume and oil. The tang of sweat and orgasm and the night’s air. The deeper scent of the oils. All of this somehow went into the painting as easily as the soft light of the candles playing on the exposed skin under the sheets. It would be another masterpiece. And that body was so beautiful. When the painting was done at last and left to dry, the dead was rolled over. The eyes still vibrant and open. Lost in the final moments of pleasure. The mouth still a shade of pink. Those lips which had kissed and tasted and sucked and been so amazing to touch. The soft cheeks…
The sheets were pulled back to reveal the final pose of delicate desire. The body rolled over now asprall with a seeming need for more play and joy. It was still warm. It was still vibrant. And pleasure could still be had from those hands as well as those lips and the rest of it. And so pleasure was taken. Again and again. Until the painting was at last dry and the body began to feel stiff and turn cold and dark.
It was only then that she decided to dispose of him and get another to create more beautiful art with.
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