Gift for Whom, Santiago's Story

I wondered who was talking about my intimate portraits, but it didn't matter; it was free advertising. I stood up and walked toward my desk, "Well then, he should love this pose, and every time he looks at it, I'm sure you'll find out repeatedly how much he loves it." The tone of my voice left no doubt of my meaning.

I heard an embarrassed gasp behind me, and I was sure she was blushing. I sat at my desk, pulled out a contract, jotted some numbers down, and wondered if I could seduce her. She sat in front of my desk, dressed now, and I slid the contract in front of her.

I spoke in a flat tone, not showing any emotion. "Fifteen sittings should be enough, three hours each session with breaks, and that's the price. Take it home, discuss it with your husband, fill out the top and sign it, return it to me, and we'll set up a schedule."

Sally didn't move from her chair; she picked up my pen, filled out the name and address information, signed it, and asked, "When can we start?"

Because her children were in school, midmorning was best for her schedule. She tried to get the sittings done in her home, but I informed her, "Won't happen, can't happen, ain't happening, we do it here in my studio, or I shall bid thee farewell." I was very proud of myself for being so witty.

By the start of the second week, I realized how ironic our interaction had become. After striking out twice, I felt at peace behaving myself, while Sally seemed quite determined to seduce me. Entering my studio for this session, the third one, I noticed she had a layer of makeup on her face and looked quite beautiful. She seemed very disappointed when I made her remove it before I started painting.

After the fifth sitting, she began arriving wearing sexy dresses with lacy lingerie, and I frustrated her by turning my back as she stripped while secretly watching her in a strategically placed mirror.

Still dressing for seduction through the 9^th sitting, Sally arrived for the 10^th session, wearing a miniskirt, see-through blouse, five-inch heels, and a light evening jacket to cover her stiff nipples poking out. She increased her pressure on me with a new weapon, having dabbed a very expensive parfum on various pulse points of her body, which I immediately noticed as she strolled into my studio. My resolve was weakening.

When she arrived for the 14^th sitting, I told her we should be finished in an hour and wouldn't need the last session. Her answer surprised me.

"Then, I'll have to figure out something to do today instead of posing because my husband wants to attend the last session to watch me pose and see you at work."

I gulped, thinking, 'I got shot down twice looking for sex, and today I wasn't looking, and the sex found me.'

I don't recall ever showing Sally my bedroom, which was behind the only other door in the studio, but when she opened it and disappeared through that doorway, I followed her like a new puppy.

Two days later, Sally and her husband, Alex, arrived on time for her last sitting, and I wasn't surprised to see her wearing slacks and a long-sleeved blouse. I was surprised when she stripped in front of both of us and lay down on my imitation 18^th-century divan, falling right into her pose.

I suppose I should describe the position I painted her in.

Lying on her left side, with her head supported by her left hand on her cheek, her pinky finger was touching her lips next to the extended tip of her tongue. Her right hand cupped her left breast with her index finger brushing against her stiff nipple. Her legs were stacked with a pillow clenched between her knees, opening a gap between her thighs, exposing most of her pussy.

Her husband was shocked, but I figured he wasn't angry since his trousers began poking outward. I could have finished in 15 minutes, but I dragged it out for the entire hour they expected before inviting them to view her portrait. Without any thoughts concerning her nudity, Sally joined her husband next to me and gazed upon herself immortalized on canvas.

"Outstanding, Mr. Lopes, worth every penny. You'll have it delivered when?"

"In two days after the ink is dry." The ink on my deposit slip, not the painting.

"Sally, you're no longer posing, so get dressed."

***

It became easier after that, the portraits and the seductions of other men's wives. And I probably could've continued on my road of debauchery until I died if I'd remembered that word, 'Once.'

Six months passed by, winter was pummeling our town, and I'd had three more conquests causing my inflated ego to fill any room I entered. I continued limiting my flings with married women to one time only, and then Mrs. Adele Walters walked into my studio, and my fate was sealed.

If I could build the perfect woman in my studio, she would've looked like Adele Walters, the wife of some hotshot lawyer in the city, whose first name was Erol, and if she hadn't agreed to the price I showed her, I would've cut it in half, but she was agreeable, and he signed the contract.

After completing the eighth sitting, Adele dressed before me and reapplied her makeup while sitting on my desk. She'd never behaved this way after previous sittings. When I escorted her to the door, she turned to face me, and staring deep into my eyes, kissed me tenderly on the lips. Shocked, I embraced her and began celebrating prematurely in my mind when she groped my package before breaking free and running out of my studio.

For three days, I moped around, worried she wouldn't return. When she returned on her scheduled day and time, wearing a full-length mink coat, I sprinted toward the door to greet her. There would be no painting today because when she removed her coat, she was wearing nothing but pumps. We spent that entire three-hour session in my bed. After that, she was able to rearrange her schedule to include an extra hour for the rest of our sittings.

Is she the one where her husband found out about us and divorced her?

No, this is the one where Mr. Alter Ego, or Mr. Hyde as I now refer to myself, began having full-blown affairs with the married women I was painting. I also started leaving a clue in the painting for jealous husbands to find, then presumably divorcing the wife and killing the painter. In Adele's portrait, I painted a drop of my cum that was on the red fabric of the divan, close to her pussy, and the word once disappeared from my thoughts.

After Adele, I continued my new pattern with a Japanese woman who was very petite and wanted a geisha portrait without the dress. By the eighth sitting, she was scheduling four-hour appointments, and I was seriously considering moving to Japan. Again, I didn't see or hear of any repercussions after the painting was delivered to her husband. I didn't add anything to this portrait because I only had four weeks and 12 sessions to complete my work.

After the naked geisha, my best friend, Eduardo, turned up at my studio one sunny day. I haven't seen him since my father's funeral two years ago, where he hovered around me while his father hovered around my mother, both of them telling us if we needed anything, anything at all, to call and it would be taken care of.

After that, I lost touch with my friend, but I heard through the grapevine he was working for his father and had become some sort of advisor in his family's business.

"Santiago, you look well, but I've heard disturbing tales from my father, and he's concerned."

I was confused when he moved his index finger back and forth while making a clicking noise in his mouth.

"Eddie!" I called him that now. "What have you heard about me? I haven't cheated anyone; my paintings are worth every penny I'm paid. I give to all the local charities and take my mother to church every Sunday. I am a respected member of my community."

"Santiago, don't lie to me; you know what I'm talking about. My father knows everything that happens in this town. He has taught me how to look into the eyes of anyone and know if they're guilty. And when I know, I advise. And what I advise is in friendship only until someone pays me, and then it becomes business. And business overrules everything else."

Eddie pinched my cheek just as my grandfather used to, lightly slapped my cheek, and winked at me as he left, saying, "I'll be keeping an eye on you, my old friend."

When he called me Santiago, I stopped breathing until he left. No way he could know about my affairs with the married women I was immortalizing on canvas. By the end of the day, I'd forgotten about his visit.

***

Two more years passed, and I'd lost count of the number of married women I'd taken to my bed. I treated most people I met with contempt and no longer cared about the feelings of the women I turned down.

I recall one woman; I can still see her face but can't remember her name, and I shot a stream of cum over her stomach, covering her tits. After massaging my cum into her beautiful skin, I noticed a small drop of cum in her naval and decided to add it to the picture. Only by using a magnifying glass could you see the difference between the painting and her real belly button.

I saw Eddie several times at the restaurant, and each time instead of embracing me like a friend, he shook his head from side to side and walked away. I convinced myself he was just jealous of my success.

I no longer listened to advice, even my own, late at night when I couldn't fall to sleep. If just once I listened to that little voice, my conscience, fuck, never mind. I can pretend I might have followed sound advice, but I know I'd be lying.

Ford and Traci Pomerantz wandered into Galeria Lopes late on a Saturday afternoon, and the end was near.

Adele was a hundred to Traci's ninety-nine on the beauty meter, but I wanted Traci and would kill to possess her. Adele was great, but I didn't have any feelings for her, while Traci was causing my blood to boil in my veins.

I turned on my charm and followed them around my gallery, commenting whenever I had an opening. I was devastated when they left a few minutes later.

Ten days later, I was still depressed but preparing to begin a portrait session with the woman in my bathroom, washing my cum off her tits. As I mixed some pain on my pallet, the phone on my desk rang. I was furious because Maria and her helper had strict orders never to put a phone call through when I was doing a portrait. Snatching up the headset, I snarled, "I told you never...."

"I'm sorry, Santiago, but that woman you're pining over, Traci something, is on line two asking...."

I hung up on my sister by punching the button for line two, took a deep breath, and answered calmly, "This is Santiago Lopes, and who am I speaking to?"

"Hello, Mr. Lopes, this is Traci Pomerantz, um, my husband and I were in your, um, gallery a couple of weekends ago, looking at that portrait of the, um, naked man."

"Let me think, ah, yes. I remember both of you, such a lovely couple. How may I help you?"

"Well, I took one of your cards when we left, and I wanted to see if you had any room in your schedule to paint a portrait of me for my husband? Our 25^th anniversary is fast approaching, and I think this is the perfect gift for me to give him."

"Well, I have some holes in my busy schedule, but I just started a sitting with another client. Why don't you come by the gallery, any morning after 10 AM, and I can look you over and visualize if you are suitable to be in one of my portraits. Beauty is important, but I always look for that 'Je ne sais quoi' quality that is not apparent to the untrained eye."

"Oh, thank you very much. I'll be there tomorrow at 10 AM. Should I wear anything special?"

"Anything you like," and for a moment, I imagined undressing her before returning to the sitting by my latest conquest.

***

My affair with Traci was well covered in another's tale, and after Traci's portrait was delivered, I took time off from the gallery to recover and mourn the end of my affair with her. Gradually, I got back in the saddle, and two months later, I was painting and screwing my way through every beautiful rich woman I could squeeze into my studio.

One evening, just over a year after I'd last seen Traci, I'd closed the gallery and was locking up when hands grabbed both my arms, and a hood was pulled over my head. I struggled and screamed until I was punched in the stomach, and I struggled to breathe, unable to cry out anymore. I was thrown into a vehicle; I believe it was a van, and we drove for what seemed like hours before stopping, and the engine shut off.

I was pulled out of the vehicle by my arms, dragged into a building, and slammed into a chair. My forearms were tied on top of the chair's arms, and after I heard a door slam shut, I thought I was alone until the hood was ripped off my head. By the light of the lamp swinging from the ceiling, I could see the man who took the hood off, my old friend Eduardo.

We stared at each other for seconds, maybe even a minute, before he slapped my left cheek, snapping my head ninety degrees to the right. He slapped me again on the right cheek, and tears poured over my cheeks. He repeated both slaps to my head before speaking to me and looked very angry.

"I warned you several times, and you didn't take my advice, and now, look where we are."

I had never seen my friend this upset, and he scared me.

"Did I not give you good advice, Santiago? Did I threaten or harm you in any way?"

I hesitated, and he answered for me.

"No, I never threatened you, and you have not been harmed, yet. I didn't even threaten your family, although your sister, Maria, knew what a pig you'd become and covered for you. Thankfully, your precious mother does not know how disgraceful you've been behaving these past few years. Well, now the time for advice is over."

My bladder let loose, and I pissed myself, soaking my pants. Fifth

"Do you remember what I told you that day in your studio?"

What did he say, something about eyes, advice, and business? Oh, shit, now I remember. I'm fucked.

"Someone has paid me, so now this is business, Santiago. No hard feelings, I hope."

He pulled my right hand forward and spread my fingers on top of a small table. When he picked up a ball-peen hammer from the floor, I lost it and began pleading for mercy.

"Please, Eddie, don't do this to me. I'm your friend, Sandy, I beg you. I'll change and, and, I'll give everyone their money...."

"Santiago, be a man and accept your punishment. I have a contract, I've been paid, and there's nothing you can say that will change anything."

I composed myself until I regained my voice and squeaked some words through my dry lips, "If you must, please, not right hand. I paint with hand," and I cried like a baby.

"Santiago, control yourself, be a man. I only punish those who are guilty of the worst offenses. I always verify guilt before accepting payment, but in your case, I don't have to look very hard to find your guilt, did I, Santiago?"

I shook my head from side to side.

"Good, confession is good for the soul. Now, tell me how you have sinned against the institution of marriage, and I will absolve you and advise you once more."

I started babbling but wasn't making any sense, and he stopped me by placing a finger across my lips.

"Shush, calm down, and don't rush. We have all night. Take your time, and you'll feel better getting all this guilt off your chest."

When I regained control of my emotions, I started speaking. Looking into Eduardo's eyes, I discovered I could remember everything I tried so hard to forget. I'm not sure how much time passed, but I felt relieved after describing my last affair.

"Santiago, you have now made a full confession, and now, in order to move on and receive my family's sound advice again, I must fulfill the contract I have received payment for."

My pulse rate started rising, but Eduardo continued before I could react or speak, "Now, pay attention. Keep your hand still on the table, no matter how much it hurts, and I'll be able to limit the damage. The contract calls for me to break the fingers and thumb on your right hand, and the price I gave is for exactly that, a break in each finger. I took this contract myself because if I gave it to one of my men, they would stick your fingers in a door and slam it shut, which is what you must tell the emergency room when they ask you how this happened."

Oh, God, forgive me. I nodded, closed my eyes, and said, "Do it."

The first bolt of pain came from my pinky finger, but I held in most of my scream. Before I had a chance to recover, I felt my ring finger shatter, and this time I couldn't keep my screams inside me.

Something pressed against my lips, and I opened my eyes to see Eduardo holding a stick against my lips.

"Bite down on this, Santiago. We don't want to disturb the neighbors."

After biting down as hard as I could, I closed my eyes before I saw my hand.

A gurgling scream was stuck in my throat as I felt like my middle finger was chopped off and thrown away.

Eduardo wasn't wasting any time, and before I could focus on the pain from my middle finger, I felt my index finger explode, and I jerked my hand back toward me as far as the ropes allowed.

"Put it back, Santiago. Only one more to go, and then I'll give you a ride to the emergency room. It's fifteen minutes away, the doctor on my payroll is working tonight, and she's got some powerful painkillers. She's also cute and not married; I'll fix you up with her if you want. That's it, good boy; I only need your thumb, that's right, keep it flat on the table."

He hesitated for five seconds, and I opened my eyes to see why as the hammer descended.

I must've blacked out because when I came to, Eddie was waving an ammonia capsule under my nose, and my arms were no longer tied to the chair.

There was no moon behind a cloudy sky, and I couldn't see any houses around as he helped me into the passenger seat and buckled my seatbelt. Bother the neighbors, my ass; my tough friend didn't want to hear me scream anymore.

In no time, he pulled up to the back of the emergency room where the ambulances brought their patients and put the transmission into park.

As he helped me out of the car, he spoke softly, "Now, Sandy, remember, you hurt your hand in a door. I'll come by this weekend, and we can take your mom and sister out to dinner."

And then he was gone, turning right at the light and disappearing down the road, and I was Sandy again.

I stumbled onto the sidewalk leading to the emergency room doors, and when they opened automatically, I stumbled through them, running over a candy striper.

The world started spinning, and I felt myself falling, but I don't remember hitting the floor. When I opened my eyes again, a cute doctor was building a cast over my hand as I lay on a bed. I had an IV in my left arm, my right hand wasn't hurting anymore, and I felt kind of goofy as I opened my mouth to speak.

"Hello, beautiful. Do you know my friend Eddie?"

She had a beautiful smile, and her voice was that of an angel when she said, "I sure do."

Looking at my hand, I wondered if I'd ever be able to paint again. If I recover and am able to paint again, I know whose nude painting I want hanging on my wall.

*****