When Carina arrives at work the painting of ‘The Lovers’ is already in place, dominating the foyer. The atmosphere is charged with its presence. A man and a woman so intertwined and passionate in their lovemaking that Carina’s mind is imbued with their sensuality. It is a semi-abstract work full of flashing colour as the figures reach their zenith. She is reminded of the brilliant colours of the Blue Mountains in autumn and the passion of her lover. Stepping forward she sees the name of the artist: A-R-I. Her fingers trace the letters and tingle with pleasure. Her absorption begins.
The next morning a sculpture is positioned in front of the painting. Though it is incomplete, the nakedness of the man is already apparent. The office is deserted. The executives have departed to celebrate their sales’ achievements. Carina stays behind; she approaches the statue. Tentatively, she slides her hands across the powerful body hewn from marble, tracing with sensitive fingers the thick veins standing out on his arms. His face is partially hidden, seeking the woman to satisfy his tumescent need.
A cloak of loneliness surrounds her. The city of Sydney where she now works is sterile and cold and she yearns to return to the arms of her lover and her home in the Blue Mountains but the past is forever gone and her lover no longer waiting her embrace.
Carina envisages the woman still buried in the stone, yearning to be discovered, her body soon to be enmeshed with the man’s. Her destiny to be cherished, fulfilled and satisfied by her lover. The eroticism is already evident in the half-finished piece.
Carina runs her hands slowly over her breasts massaging them until the nipples stand out like small peaks craving satisfaction. Down her hands travel past her stomach to the heat of her mons, the silk of her dress barely hiding the moistness between her thighs. Cautiously she glances at the lifts in the foyer. At any time they can open and deliver their occupants, disturbing her private world. Her sensitized nipples and steaming vulva demand her attention. She longs to peel off her dress and panties and rub her length of body along the body of the man and savour his tantalizing coolness.
Pressing herself against the hardness of the sculpture, one hand explores his large erection, her fingers lightly tracing the hood of his penis imagining an eternity of satisfaction. Sliding her other hand under her dress, her fingers explore her own slick wetness, her stomach contracting with anticipation. Quickly she unbuttons the front of her dress and unclips her bra, thrusting her breasts forward eager to encounter the welcoming coolness of the man. Her nipples tingle with pleasure as she rubs them over his silky texture and her hand slides from his penis to part her pussy lips allowing the other to make fluid circular movements around her aching, wet bud. Waves of desire build up in the small of her back as her eyes focus on the beckoning penis of the statue, larger and harder than she as ever experienced.
One last glance at the lifts confirms their steely silence and she prays that they will not open and deliver unwanted visitors to her domain. Sliding out of her dress and panties, she climbs onto the lap of the statue, enjoying the firm texture of his chest. Kneeling either side of his beckoning penis she slowly lowers herself onto the bulbous head, sighing deeply as she is stretched to accommodate his size. She lowers herself further and although the man’s expression is set in stone, she swears a hint of a smile has appeared at the edge of his sensuous mouth. Harder and faster, she lowers herself and gasps in pleasure at the delicious feeling of being stretched and filled. One hand strokes her breast, pinching and twisting her nipple as the other rhythmically stokes her swollen clitoris. Riding the stallion of a man, thrusting deeper and deeper, she can feel the edges of her vision dissolving.
The sound of her ragged breathing creates frissons of energy throughout the silent office. Succumbing to the pleasurable waves created by her slippery fingers relentlessly massaging her swollen bud, she involuntarily arches her back. The sound of a bell enters her consciousness and she freezes in dismay as the lift doors slide silently open. Trapped naked upon the statue she waits to be discovered, wishing she could turn to stone.
The doors slide silently closed and she starts to breath again realising the lift contains no occupants. The adrenaline of her possible discovery courses through her blood and she rides the man with a primitive passion desiring release. Back arching, breasts thrusting upwards, her cries split the silence as the world around her dissolves into a sea of pleasure.
Body trembling, she climbs disjointedly off the statue, knowing the man’s presence will torment her day after day until she succumbs to his call, seeking release — risking exposure. Ragged breathing in and out, in and out she realises she needs more of what she has tasted. She has come too close. Like the woman still trapped in stone, she awaits the arrival of the creator.
Late the next day he comes to finish his work. He nods to Carina but does not speak. Her nipples tighten in anticipation. Ari is an original; oozing raw sensuality. When God made him the casting shattered leaving Ari unctuous, pitted but strangely handsome. Like the jigsaw of a latter Picasso, Ari’s ramshackle appearance with his long hair, overlarge nose and lost expression, attracts a particular type of woman.
Carina sits watching him while he works, fascinated by the fluidity of his movement. His large, capable hands patiently define the presence of the woman, her shape emerging from the marble. Carina watches those hands caressing, creating form and she longs to feel them upon her body. Longs to be stroked and touched, brought to pulsating life under his tutored touch. To watch him is to absorb his creativity. The foyer is being transformed by his art.
He leans over the body of the sculpture, polishing the torso of the man. His hands move downwards until he reaches the penis. Suddenly he stops, breaths deeply and turns to face Carina. She freezes, eyes locked with his, lips softly parted wondering if he has picked up her scent. For hours she has hungrily watched him at work, sculpting, polishing, caressing and her body aches with pent up frustration. He nods slowly and she watches dry mouthed as he unbuttons his shirt, his muscular torso beaded with sweat from his labour, then he turns to continue his work.
She licks her top lip seeking moisture unable to take her eyes from him. The telephone rings but she does not hear it. She is in love. But it is a strange sort of love – she has never spoken to him. The shrill noise permeates her consciousness and she wants to rip the cord from the socket. Instead she is forced to continue her work, her mind focussed on the supine shape of love uncovered before her eyes.
Behind the large counter of the foyer she appears in control, a smiling face employed to greet fellow employees and answer the telephone. Yet she longs to strip off her clothes, lie across the sculpture and allow the artist to mould her body with his deliciously strong hands. All day she has devoured his male presence no longer able to concentrate on her work. She urgently desires to return to the delights of yesterday, only this time she needs to be filled by the flesh and blood original.
The phones have finally fallen silent, the office ritual finished for today. Her fellow workers have gone home to their families. Carina has no one at home, nothing to return to except the stark order of her modern apartment so different from the rich life in the mountains. Her place is here now, waiting and hoping for a signal from the creator to say he is ready.
Fascinated by his very disorder she watches him while he works, his firm body smeared with dust, his Hawaiian shirt now pulled free from his pants. Drifting into her pristine environment is the fecund animal smell of a man hard at work. She breathes deeply, her nostrils savouring the potency of his scent.
Today the shape of a woman has emerged from the disorder. Soon he will be finished then perhaps he will turn to her. But something is wrong. He stands back, slowly peeling the shirt from his torso. His thick hand massages one shoulder. He rotates his neck, unable to find the relief he is seeking.
A soft sigh slips from Carina’s lips, her tongue moistening her mouth. The air is cool but she can see a rivulet of sweat begin its journey over the broad expanse of his chest, gathering momentum until it disappears among the curling hair just below his navel.
She can feel his proximity now as if the counter that separates them has dissolved. The air seems suddenly humid, her space not so ordered – or secure. She raises her eyes to his face; he is looking straight at her. Her body quivers, knowing once he touches her, her life will never be the same.
It is time to leave, to walk past pretending the silence between them is nothing. Yet she stops, unable to move past the incomplete piece, its very sexuality entrancing her. Another bead of sweat, a tear, weaves its way down his chest. His body is crying, unable to finish its work. She is drawn to taste him. Breathe, feel and savour the scent of him, overload her senses. Lick the tear from his chest then follow its pathway down.
He holds out his hand. She can leave now or stay and enter into a world she has never experienced.
When she takes his hand her fingers tingle from the feel of it. Rough and calloused with years of experience from moulding the female form. She is breathing rapidly, fearing she will pass out. Her head swirls dizzy with pleasure as she traces her fingers lightly down his chest, finally able to touch him.
Suddenly he pulls her close and she can feel the heat of his body burning through her clothes. Like a crimson flame, her being bursts into life, ignited by his caress. The hard buds of her nipples ache with desire as she presses them against his chest. Her insides liquefy as he kisses her, taking possession of her mouth, his tongue dancing, teasing and demanding entry. Her own darts to meet his and the eroticism of the contact sends messages to her slick, wet centre. In the back of her mind she wonders whether they will be discovered but his hand travels up under her dress, his thick fingers slide under her French knickers and she no longer cares.
Two fingers find their way into her while his calloused thumb massages her highly sensitized clitoris. Grinding against him she borders on orgasm just from his touch alone. She pulls back to breathe but he pursues her with his mouth, not letting her break contact. Desperate to breathe as she comes, Carina fears she will faint but his contact is relentless as he sucks on her tongue, nibbles on her lips all the while squeezing yet another finger deep inside, rhythmically massaging that tender spot until her vagina contacts furiously around his fingers. Back arched against the sculpture, eyes rolled heavenwards she groans deeply, and shudders as orgasm after orgasm consumes her. Momentarily spent, she rests against the sculpture of the man aware of his penis standing erect near her open hungry lips. The hollow part of her throbs urgently and she knows that only the creator can fill and drive her further into satisfying orgasm after orgasm.
Ari pulls back, breaking contact and she feels a sense of loss. She is not ready to let him go, she wants him for eternity. His heavy, potent scent surrounds her and suddenly she has a need to see all of him. Enjoy his total nakedness. With trembling fingers she unbuttons his jeans and gasps in joy. He has based his sculpture on himself and she already knows how good he feels. She slides his clothing past his muscular legs and she knows she has to taste him, enjoy the source of the scent that has been tormenting her senses. She takes his tip in her mouth stretching her lips around his engorged head. One hand circles his shaft; her fingers do not meet. Soon she can feel his silky sac tighten and tremble so she pulls back. She wants to save the best till last. His very presence has tortured her for days. Now it is her turn!
She stands back. Slowly she strips never allowing her eyes to leave his face. He moves to help her. Butting her hand hard against his chest, he stops. Once the controlled she is now the controller. His hands drop to his side. He is waiting. She will let him move when she is ready.
Unbuttoning her summer dress, she allows it to slide to the floor. Her firm breasts press urgently against her bra. Clicking the front clasp she peels away the soft layer, noticing with satisfaction the rapid rise and fall of his chest. A drop of moisture is forming on the head of his penis as he waits quivering with arousal.
She moves towards him, pulling his mouth to her aching nipples. His hands enclose her bottom as his tongue glides over her smouldering peaks, flicking backwards and forwards until it begins to oscillate with an intensity all its own. His fingers shred her French knickers, parting her womanly lips, desperate to be in her. She rests against the torso of his artwork, her back fitting neatly between its legs as if it has been made for her.
Then he fills her, stretching her with his engorged member. Thrusting deeply, he lifts her until she can feel the manhood of the sculpture pressing between her cheeks. Momentarily she tenses as an unfamiliar burning forces her to tighten her anus yet he continues to thrust gently this time until she can feel herself relaxing, stretching to accommodate two men, one passionately alive, the other cool but waiting to satisfy her for eternity.
Her eyes roll backward, she is totally surrounded by an intoxicating male hardness as he lowers her down onto the sculpture. Passionately, his mouth claims hers and searing waves of pleasure surge to every part of her body. Filling every orifice he thrusts faster and faster taking her with him to a place where they will be forever together. She rakes her fingers through his hair as her delicate inner core is vibrated between deliciously hard penises sending her to an untenable height of pleasure. A tension forming in the pit of her womb is mirrored behind her eyes. She closes them, hallucinating with ecstasy Carina can feel herself dissolving into the artwork, she is no longer form, only waves of rhapsody on a silken sea.
Their forms become one, moving in synchronous fluidity. His touch is everywhere: his lips; his hands; his passion is both inside and out melding them together so that she is unable to tell where her body starts and his finishes. No longer in control, she is erupting in an ocean of colour. Brilliant reds and flashing golds. She is melting, dissolving; he has coalesced with her body. The sculpture is complete – a work of ecstasy.
The next day the busy executives arrive at work determined to meet their sales targets for the financial year. They pause to admire the new sculpture dominating the foyer, drawn to the passion displayed by The Lovers, two men and a woman. The woman’s face, her head thrown back in ecstasy seems vaguely familiar. Behind the foyer desk, the phones ring furiously but there is no one to answer their call.