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 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 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.
