Maxence the Living Painting: Prequel (complete)

Part One 

Before I was cursed into a painting, I had once been an ordinary man, with all the appetites, dreams, and aspirations as any other. My family was well-off, renowned, and wanted only the best for me. Having decided early on what my life would be, my parents sent me to study art under the masters. I was merely a child when I went away to study under my first teacher.

For years, I traveled back and forth between home and my masters. I was like a wet lump of clay slowly being formed. Back home, I was famous and considered a prodigious talent. Among my teachers, though, I felt like nothing more than a mouse among men. I suppose it was good they kept me humble. 

One of them told me, “No great man ever became so by claiming he was great. It takes a soul who is humble enough to realize there is beauty in even the mundane. That is where artists find their soul. When they connect to the small, to the everyday, and find a way to bring out the greatest beauty within it, that is what makes an artist worthy in the eyes of the people.” He placed his hand on my shoulder. “Tell me, when was the last time you looked at the painting of a king and thought to yourself, ‘Wow, this is one of the world’s greatest works of art’?”

I thought for a long moment. “Never, Master,” I answered. “But don’t you paint for kings?”

“Money is money,” he said with a nonchalant shrug. “I am no fool.” He then led me aside, showing me his half-finished masterpiece. “I know where my passions lie, and I know how to divide my talent between that and work.” He sighed. “You are lucky, young Maxence. You can paint kings and queens if you so choose, but you will also be able to chase passion if you so choose.”

He let out a heavier sigh. “I may never finish this.” His dark blue eyes looked over the canvas with a weariness I had seen in my own father. 

“What do you call it?” I asked.

He smiled, but the weight was still in his gaze. “I have been calling it by the name of my greatest treasure in this world - Haydee.”

I scowled. “Haydee? What does that mean?”

He chuckled, then smiled down at me. “It is a secret for now. One day I’ll tell you about Haydee. But for now, it is a canvas.” He stared over the art, where the paint met the sketch, and the sketch faded into blurred lines. “At least I can say I am proud of it, and everything I am is within it.”

This is what always confused me the most. I was still young and only painted because I was told to. I painted what I was taught rather than how I felt. I wouldn’t learn my lesson until I was much older. “But how?” I turned to look up at him. “Tell me, Master. You always say that a great artist will paint with everything in him, but I do not know how!”

“It is a hard lesson to teach, Maxence,” he replied. He led me away again, taking me down the halls of his small home. “In fact, it’s not one I can fully teach you, and that is where I fail as a master. It is something you must learn to do on your own.”

It was a frustrating thing to be told, but over time I understood what my Master was saying. I had hoped to continue painting under him for a long time, but unfortunately, he passed away that winter.

I was sent to a new Master, one who had contacted my parents to ask about me. My parents were so impressed by him and their correspondence that they decided to send me to train under him.

Baldassar Barbachollo was very much the opposite of my Master. Where my Master believed in simplicity, Baldassar believed in extravagance. Where Master taught the beauty in the mundane, Baldassar preached the beauty of what was sensual.

I was a young man by then, and while I had studied nudes and the human body before, Baldassar took his lessons to another level. More than once, he had couples fornicate before his students, and we would have to sketch what we saw. Baldassar also had a beautiful daughter named Madelena who would pose nude for us - and, under the instruction of her father, try to seduce one of us.

I was Baldassar’s favorite - not because of my talent or skill, but because of my family’s fortune. Baldassar chased after his own desires, rather than the passions in his life. I knew he was seeking me out for my family’s money. I was a constant target of Madelena, who seemed to be around every corner when I was out.

While Madelena was indisputably beautiful, I had no attraction to her besides a physical one, and even that waned quickly. She was a voluptuous woman with long red hair, soft skin, and eyes that were nearly black. She was very much like her father, chasing her desires before anything else.

My only respite was when I got to go home for holidays. Even there, Baldassar followed me in letters to my parents. They kept a lengthy correspondence, and my parents were smitten by him. It was absolute torture. 

One holiday, I was doing whatever I could to lengthen my stay. I did not want to return to Baldassar and his lessons, or to his daughter’s constant seduction. I wanted to stay home, and for the first time, I understood my Master and the lesson he could never teach me.

I left home early one morning as the sun was still rising. The sky was dappled pink and orange, tinged with purple and blue. I remembered the painting my Master never got to complete, and how he was painting the horizon of his childhood home. Then I discovered I was not alone. Standing near me was another figure. Clutched tight in her hands was a scrap of paper attached to a smooth stone. Beside her, there were small cups filled with smashed berries.

She was painting with her fingers, dabbing and swiping across the scrap of paper, then smashing the berries into the bowls to get more paint. She was lost in her own world, and I was not a part of it. It wasn’t for a long time that she realized I was there.

When the figure lifted her head, I saw a face as beautiful as the moon. Her features were soft and rounded, while her complexion was olive and her hair was pitch black. She looked at me with a pinched brow and a scowl on her face.

“I’m sorry.” It was the only thing I could think to say under such a gaze. “I should have said something, but I was so entranced by how you work.”

She looked down at her paper, then back up at me. Her eyes darted over me, and a single brow cocked up. “You’re an Emmanuelli,” she murmured. Her voice was husky yet smooth, like a wonderful dark coffee.

“Yes,” I bowed before her. “Maxence.”

She nodded her head, still with a brow raised. “What is a man such as yourself doing out here? I figured the rich slept until they pleased.”

I frowned a bit. “Not until they please,” I huffed. “But even still, I am troubled - plagued really - and I could not sleep.”

She smirked almost tauntingly. “And what, by chance, could be plaguing a man such as yourself?” She lifted her berry-stained hand to me. “Surely you can purchase a solution to any problem you have.”

“Callous,” I chuckled. “You have no taste for wealth, do you?”

She laughed. “Oh, my dear - like many people, I have a great appetite for wealth, but I have none for the people who hold it.”

“Well,” I huffed. “I could certainly buy away this issue of mine, but I am afraid it could only make it worse. You see, I have a Master who is… how should I put this?”

She tilted her head. “Is he mean to you?”

I shook my head. “I wish that he were. Perhaps then I could get some peace. He is overly friendly.”

“Oh,” she gasped in alarm. “He has been inappropriate with you?”

“Not exactly,” I grimaced towards her. “His daughter, though, absolutely.”

She nodded. “I see, I think.” She stretched out her legs. “They are trying to dig into your pockets.”

I nodded and stared out over the horizon. “I had a Master before who passed away, one I greatly loved. He was wise beyond measure and kind to a fault. I would give anything to have him returned to me.”

The moment hung in the air like heavy incense. I watched as the orange in the sky diluted into the blue of morning.

“My father was a painter,” the girl said as she stood up. “He too died.”

I furrowed my brow at her. “If he was a painter, then why do you only work on a scrap of canvas and use your breakfast as paints?”

“I didn’t say he was a rich painter, did I?” she scoffed. “We had to sell all his supplies - everything he had - in order to get by. As good a man as he was, he still had his vices.” She mimicked drinking from a bottle.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” I bowed my head.

“He was never around, really,” she sighed. “He preferred to keep things separate. Life, work, passion - they were all boxes he could open whenever he wanted.”

Something about that sounded familiar, but I could not place the origin right away.

The woman tilted her head from side to side. “I only have one thing left that was his, and we couldn’t get rid of it because he did not finish it.” She started gathering her art supplies. “I suppose I kept it out of sentimentality, too.” She balances the bowls of mashed berries on top of one another. “We moved here with it, and I cannot count how many curses my mother put on the damn thing.” Her laugh was sad, and it faded away quickly. 

I positioned myself so I was completely facing her. “Do you mind if I see it?” 

The girl huffed. She raked her fingers through her hair, moving aside the thick waves and curls to reveal a high, domed forehead. “It’s not done.” She rolled her eyes. “The old fool spent more time drinking and painting kings than his own work.”

“No, not that,” I grumbled. “Yours.”

Her dark blue eyes widened ever so slightly, and she looked down at her work. “Why would you want to see it?”

I offered my hand. “Because I could tell you enjoyed working on it.” I chuckled. “I am also curious to see what one can do with fingertips and berries alone.”

She scowled at me, her brow pinched and her gaze cagey. All I did was smile, hoping I came across as genuine. After a while, she placed the scrap of canvas in my palms. Despite it being painted with the stain of berries, or even because of it, I was stunned. Her study of the horizon was breathtaking, far more accomplished and arresting than anything I had ever created in my life. I dare say, seeing her skill, that I was in love.

She looked at me curiously, then scowled again and stomped her foot. “Give it back if you have nothing to say.”

“What is your name?” I whispered. I looked into her eyes, my heart thrumming faster than it had ever gone before. “I must know your name.”

Her hair caught a breeze and fell from her shoulder. She sighed, dropping her hand away. “My name is Haydee.”

Perhaps it was fate, perhaps the scheming of my master, perhaps just dumb luck. Whatever the reason, my beloved Master’s greatest treasure was standing right before me, and I was in love with her. 

Haydee had an exceptional talent, one that neither her father or I possessed. She was truly a prodigy, but her lot in life ensured that her skill went unrecognized. Now that I saw her, I did not want to take my eyes off her. I wanted to give her everything that her father had given to me. 

I convinced my family to let me stay home and start taking in students of my own. They were leery at first, but they had also become exhausted with having me gone all the time, especially now that they were growing older. 

I opened my own study and took in several young students. I also hired Haydee as my assistant. We worked together, and I gave her the supplies she needed to create her masterpieces. For all the brushes I gave her, Haydee still used her fingers to paint - and even then, she painted circles around me.

“Do you keep me around out of some self-inflicted sense of responsibility to my father?” She teased me one day. “Or do you feel the need to keep me around as some sort of torture to your ego?”

“If I was into such self-flagellation, I think you wouldn’t be questioning it,” I laughed. “You’re also forgetting a third reason why I might keep you around.”

Haydee smirked and lifted her hand to touch my face. Her fingers were stained with paint, and yet they were the most beautiful hands I have ever seen. “I simply like to believe you are jealous of me.” Her smile faded into something else, a knowing look. “You’re plotting away, trying to find a way to humiliate me and take my works.”

“You’ve caught me,” I breathed. “Your own damnable gifts are greater than mine, so I must steal everything you have and make it my own.”

Her smile returned, more devious than before. “Take off your clothes, Emmanuelli.”

I couldn’t breathe, I am so shocked.

Haydee started to laugh. “That reaction was worth it.” She pulled me down, pressing a kiss to my lips. “But I do so wish to paint you.”

I was sure my soul has risen from my body and ascended into heaven without me. “You told me once you’d rather lick a pig than paint a man.”

“With you,” she grinned, “I can do both.”

The main study was quiet, and the lanterns were still lit. I felt a chill run up my spine as Haydee set up her easel. I stripped naked and positioned myself in the center of the room. She did not look at me once while I was doing this, but I knew that when she did, I would be as vulnerable and moldable as wet clay.

When her dark blue eyes finally met mine, it was a moment hung in time, a living painting of its own. Her eyes lingered down my body, and her lips parted with a soft breath. Her tongue darted out for a moment before she looked back into my eyes.

“You’re a natural,” she chuckled. Then she took charcoal to her page.

“Everyone is. We’re born that way.” A shudder went through me again, and this time, I was beyond excited.

Haydee took quick glances at me, and each time her cheeks darkened just a little more. Her eyes were also becoming heady, almost dangerous. I felt like a cornered mouse, and she was the cat waiting in the shadows, her eyes holding the dim gleam of a smoking wick. 

I must admit, my blood was boiling. I was alive under her gaze, in more ways than one. I did not mind being the prey, as long as Haydee was my predator. 

Haydee eventually set her charcoal aside and stood up. She walked slowly over to me and touched my chest. Smoky streaks of charcoal smeared from her fingertips and down my body. Her eyes swept down my body, but her chin tilted up as she looked into my eyes.

“I can barely breathe.” My voice was a shudder as I touched her face.

Haydee’s lashes fluttered. “Come to me, then. I’ll breathe for you.”

As our lips touched, I pulled her into me. She left charcoal fingerprints all over my body as she laid me on the ground. Straddling my waist, Haydee hiked up her skirts and removed her underclothes. I felt something hot and wet against my shaft, and I truly could not breathe.

Haydee sank down upon me, taking me into the deepest place of her. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip as she threw her head back. “Finally,” she cried out.

She had her skirt gathered in her arms, and I could see where our bodies joined. My cock was buried in her to the hilt, and when she rose I can see her wetness cling to the shaft. I grabbed hold of her hips, squeezing them as she slowly moved herself upon me.

“How long have you been planning this?” I groaned. “Did you always want to seduce me?” I kneaded my fingers into her ass.

“No,” she gasped with a short breath. “I always wanted to slap you!” She grinned down at me before her mouth opened into a big wide O. 

“You’re choking me,” I moaned. “I much prefer that.”

She leaned back, giving me a better view. “You are disgusting.” She leaned forward again, pressing her hands down on my chest. She thrust backwards onto me, and her long hair hung in my face.

I thrust up inside her and watched as her breath was taken away. I met the thrust of her hips, my thighs clapping against her rear. Once she collapsed, I rolled her over so I was on top of her. Her legs clenched around my waist, and I tore open her tunic. Her breasts swayed from my thrusts, to my ever-mounting arousal. 

I buried my head between her breasts, moaning and snarling as the heat mounted. I was not sure how long we stayed melded together, but it did not matter. When Haydee cried out in agony and pleasure, I too felt my release. It overwhelmed my senses and dragged me under dark waves, where I would be lost forever. I spilled my seed outside of her, letting it smear across her thighs and stomach.

We laid there together for the longest time, breathing deeply, touching, kissing, and glowing with delight in the shadows. 

“I want you again, and again, and again,” I purred into her hair. “You have created your own downfall, I hope you realize.”

Haydee kissed my chest, stroking her hand down to my stomach. “I have made for myself a servant,” she laughed. “One who will obey my every command now that he knows what I can give him.” She rose up, her hair falling into her face as she smiled at me. “I am the Master now.”

We both broke into great big grins, and I kissed her repeatedly. I rolled her onto her back, kissing down her neck and nuzzling between her breasts. Her nipples were dark and the peaks had hardened, looking like dots of chocolate. I took one into my mouth, nursing on it like a child.

A soft moan escaped Haydee’s lips as she pushed at my shoulders. “What is so fascinating?” 

“I love the taste of you,” I whispered. “Your skin, your lips, your deft little tongue.” I kissed down her belly, pressing my lips into her thighs. I spread her open, and kissed the dewy lips I found there.

“Wait--!” Haydee cried out in embarrassment.

I slipped my tongue inside her, where I tasted her true essence. She caught my crown as I did, pulling my hair between her fingers. I tasted more, unable to get enough of Haydee. Her breath hitched as she tugged harder at my scalp.

“You fool,” she moaned. “You’ll damn us both.”

I lifted my head, my lips coated with her essence and my blood racing again. “I do not mind if you don’t.” I whispered as I move between her thighs again.

“The dawn,” she mewled. “What if someone finds us?”

“Then they will see us,” I whispered to her. 

We made love again as the sun rose, and luckily, no one found us that day. That evening though, Haydee showed me a treasure I knew she kept hidden.

Her father’s unfinished painting was kept covered and away. She removed the sheets around it, letting me see my old master’s unfinished masterpiece. There was more work done to it than the last I saw it, but not much.

“What do you plan to do to it?” I asked. “Will you keep it this way forever?”

“I am not sure.” She murmured over the landscape. There was a garden that faded into the hills, and a glorious mansion in the distance. “I have considered finishing it myself, but then I grow horribly afraid.” She looked up at me. “I want to paint you first.”

I kissed her for what must have been the millionth time that day. “I would like to see what you drew last night.” I smiled brightly at the memory, still so fresh in my mind. “I do not know how you see me.”

Haydee shook her head. “No. You will see nothing until I am done.”

“Be that way,” I whispered against her temple. My fingers brushed down the side of her neck. “I will wait to see your vision. It is the least I can do.”

Haydee giggled and pressed another kiss to my lips.

When I returned home, my mother called me into her company. She had an excited expression on her face as I came into the room.

“You look positively rosy, mother.” I kissed her hand. “What makes you so radiant this evening?”

“Be prepared, my son,” she replied. “For we are to soon have company join us!” She beamed up at me. “Your master is coming to pay you visit.”

I went cold all over. I gave my mother the strangest look, and she returned it to me. “Are you not excited, my Maxcence?” she asked. “Master Barbachollo and his lovely daughter are coming all the way here because they miss you.”

“I do not miss them!” I scoffed. “Mother, I told you how they made me miserable. After all this time, how can you not understand that?”

“You were impatient. You wanted to strike out on your own,” she answered. “Master Barbachollo said so himself.”

I could not believe what I was hearing. “He has you wrapped around his finger, Mother!” I stomped my foot. “How can you not see it? He is only interested in us because of our wealth.”

My mother stood from her chair, scowling horribly at me. “Master Barbachollo is a good, kind man who is worried about you! He is coming here out of the kindness of his own heart to make sure you are doing your best. I have agreed to this, and I also agree with him that you should return with him if he feels you are not living up to your potential.”

“Mother!” I nearly screeched.

“That is enough, Maxence!” she roared back at me. “I am your mother, and I know what is best for you. I thought for sure you would be excited about this, after how well you and Madelena got along.”

“I despise her!” I stopped myself, seeing that nothing I could say would break through to her. Somehow, Baldassar had charmed my mother to only see his side of things. I sigh and shake my head. “Mother,” I say calmly, “why do you not hear me?”

She smiled. “You are young. I hear exactly what I need to.”

I left her then, going back to my chambers and sinking down in a chair, despondent over this news and my mother’s own bedazzlement. Once Baldassar and Madelena arrived, it would be all over.