Take her hand (Amelia's ending)

Her fingers feel warm. She always feels warm. She pulls from you, there's nothing else to say. She runs away from that room, and you follow her, you'd follow her to the end of the earth. Neither of you look back. It takes a while for you to realize that she isn't going anywhere, that she is just running, not out of fear but freedom. You beg her to stop, just to not ruin your manly dress and she stops with a laughter, she is almost jumping, going from one corner of the room to another. The big halls of the mansion are too small for her. She looks ecstatic, she can't help but to kiss you, and it feels so right.

"You heard that?" she says. "I admitted it, in front of my fucking mother! I-I just said it out loud, I... I fucking love you! I want to scream it everywhere!"

"Amelia..." You say, trying to calm her down. You are close to the maids quarters and a few of them are looking at you in a mix of surprise and terror.

"No, no! I've never feel more alive! I..." She looks at you fondly, ignoring the other men. "If I dared to say such things in front of her... I... no one is scarier than her. I can say it to anyone, I can say it to the whole world and they can go and eat a cunt."

"Why would you?" You ask, looking around you. You see what you feared the most: there, in one corner lies Rufus, the chiefmaid. His tall head looming like a malevolent sentinel above the other maids. they were all collecting around you, watching their lady's new and blasphemous act. He doesn't dare to speak before a lady of the house, of course, even one that has fallen from grace, but his look of disapproval is far too obvious.

Amelia just looks at you with a smirk. For her, there is no world beyond you. "And why the fuck not?" And with the same smile she turns to Rufus, as if she had known far to well that he had been there all along. "Hey Ruff."

You can almost hear him ****. "Yes, my lady Amelia?" Said the old man with **** politeness.

"I love to suck cock. Did you know that?"

"I..." He tries in vain to hide a gesture of conservative disgust. "I didn't..."

"Oh forget it." She said, bored of him. "Go beat your own dick to it tonight, but I'm never touching you. Be a kind dog and bring my man's belongings here. I'm getting him away from you."

You feel really uncomfortable, but she cannot be happier as she sees him eating his words. The chiefmaid moves his head to the closest maid "Paul, bring here the..."

"No, dog." says Amelia. "YOU bring them."

Rufus doesn't say a thing, for a moment you think that he is about to say no, that she is about to rebel and treat her like a man, like another one of you, but it never happens. Amelia might be a scorn woman now, a devassed one, but she's still scary, she still has that commanding presence that came so naturally to the Bartons. Rufus brings all your humble belongings in silent and as he hands them to you, you can feel his burning rage. It is only when you have them that you dare to speak. "Hey, Rufus." You say to him, his eyes rising to meet yours with a scorching disapproval.

It takes a while for you to dare to say it, the words don't came easy. "Fuck you." That makes Amelia laugh. It makes her laugh and it's all that matter.

Because her laugh is beautiful-

---

Six months later.

It's raining. You can hear the constant pouring of water against the windows, but even that doesn't compete against the noise of the city. New York is were artist come to make their dreams true, but the old and cold building around you feels closer to a nightmare. It's actually more like Amelia's studio than an actual house, it barely has furniture, not even a bed for you two, just a mattress on the floor, surrounded by paint cans and your sister and lover's paintings. The acrylic smell is so strong that it's mixed with her own smell.

You both fail to sleep in that mattress, naked and covered in the sweat of recent sex. Your foreheads are touching, her voice sounds soft and close. She has a drop of red paint on her forehead. "I'm sorry it's so cold" she says.

"I feel pretty warm" you say.

"No, I... I didn't manage to sell a painting. The woman said it was derivative, a call back to some asshole from the 70s that it's out of fashion. It felt like such a waste of time, like... maybe I'm not good enough for this."

"You are."

"You don't know shit about art." She says with a sad smile.

"But I know all about you. You have passion, you have so much to say and express, and I know others will see it too... eventually."

"But we need the money."

"I made more than enough at Giovanni's... and it brings us free dinner." you say, thinking of the empty pizza box that lingers just at arm's reach from your humble lovenest.

"But I am the woman, I should be the one to bring you..." she closes her eyes with frustration, holding your hands between hers. "...sorry, I... I feel like I'm ruining both of our lives with my dream. I should accept Lily's money and..."

"This is my dream too." It's now you who holds her hands. "Amelia, this is were I want to be. Here, with you, naked."

---

Two months later.

The cheap TV is the only thing that brings light to the dark room, but the news are far from luminous.

Lady Cassandra Barton is dead.

Lily is on TV in front of the mansion, dressed in a dark and femenine suit, she doesn't smile like you always remember her doing "Many knew my mother just for her controversies, her conservative views and money, but to me she was also a loving parent, a complicated woman that sometimes scared me and sometimes I wanted to be like. These last months have been really hard on both of us, with the rest of our own family abandoning us..."

Amelia is stark naked, her slender and tall figure cutting the light source of the TV in half, defiant like Davetta against the Goliath. All you can see are her back and her long black locks, her firm butt stands defiant, still leaking the marks of your passion.

"Bring me the big one." Was all she said.

"The canvas?" You ask with fear. It was the last one, she hasn't managed to sell any of the others.

"Yes" You obey her. It's so big that it cannot be supported by any painting easel, it has to go on the floor. Amelia looks at it like it is the abyss and she is about to jump. She walks around its border like it is a dangerous animal. Brush in hand, she opens the first can of painting.

"I don't know how it makes me feel... Red... Red is anger. I hate her. I hate how she makes me feel, the shades of her I see in me... Blue... I feel sad and lonely, like something is hollow under my chest... Yellow... What is yellow?"

She looks at you. "Maybe some colors have no words." It's all you can say.

"Maybe none of them do." She then looks at you, standing next to her. Her fingers surround your cock, coating it with paint as she starts jerking you off furiously.

"Amelia..." you say, holding a moan.

"I want you to cum on it."

"what?"

"This is no time to being conceptual, no time for perspective or anatomy. This is raw, these are my emotions... I have all of them so we will use all the colours, I'm not being moderate, I'm not saving paint for later. We'll use all that is left. All or nothing. It must be raw... But I'm horny too. I always am. I want you to fuck me over this canvas. Our bodies will be two of the many brushes, our fluids will be just another colour, we will spit and piss on it. We will sleep and fuck over it until the shape of her comes out from it."

---

Three weeks later

"Mother, is without a doubt a modern classic, a work with the weight of a profound meaning. It is the modern crisis of feminity cristalised, the denunciation of a modern icon of capitalism, but also the loud scream, the broken heart of a daughter. A daughter that was kicked out of her house and shamed for her sexual deviancy, that now uses the shapes of that same deviancy to express herself, to try to convey the form of what she cannot describe. It carries the weight of our old excesses, as seen through the eyes of our lost youth."

The gallery is full, all of Amelia's painting are hanging around you with many wealthy people looking and praising them. You both feel out of place, but she at least knows how to hide those feelings. You had held her hand for hours but now you can do nothing but observe her from the shadows as she is surrounded by all those new admirers. It is her time to shine and yours to breathe.

You need to go out and breathe fresh air for once, and the exterior is dark and silent, a green garden that can only hide fairies, but there you found another lonely shape, a busty woman covered in black. She is smoking a cigarette, it is the only light on her once brilliant face.

"Lily?" You ask the shadow.

"Oh, hi Mark... I'm... how are you?"

"Lily... I'm... we are really happy. It has been a great week."

"We... I see." She turns silent and goes for another smoke. There are dark shapes under her eyes that makeup can't hide.

"I've missed you a lot. How come you are here?"

"Evelyn is a friend of the art dealer."

"Oh... did you...?" You ask pointing back to the gallery.

"I merely point them in her direction. I didn't order them to be impressed. That she did on her own... Although I recognise the shape of your cock in mother's teeth... I found it tasteless... it's all like her, crude and unrefined but... it's her... and it's you too."

Then you heard the voice of Amelia, calling you from the door. "Mark! Are you here?"

"Over here!" You say outloud, turning around to call her. You come back to the other sister. "Come, Lily, you should have diner with..." but as you turn back to her, Lily is no longer there, only the traces of her cigarette prove that she wasn't an illusion. The sound of your lover's steps don't let you think too much about it.

"You asshole, don't leave me here with this people. They are all fucking reptilians and Illuminati. I thought one of them had kidnaped you for their dark chamber." She says as she reaches your dark spot. Her hands find you and they are playful. "My love why are you here so alone? Shh don't answer. We just made a lot of money, like A LOT and I already have commissions for..." She gets closer. Her perky breast stab you like sweet daggers. Her mouth kisses your forehead. "Is it too womanly of me to want you to never work again? To stay all day in home with me. I would paint you and you would be my muse... and you could fuck me every time you wished, anytime, anywhere..."

"It sounds tempting."

"Mark, I hate this suit... I hate it and I want you to... just rip it. We could do some performance art for our new patrons, you rip and tear my clothes and fuck me in the ass in front of all these people, I want to feel how your cock pulsates inside my asshole and I want to suck it dry and taste my own shit. God, I'm so FUCKING horny."

You put your fingers in her mouth, to make her quiet. "You'll have to wait, little cat. This is the time to behave." She makes an almost infantile pout. "You have to be a good girl now, so that I can treat you like one later. You asked for anal. Are you wearing the buttplug, like you said you would?"

"It's so little, my beloved. We'll use all the money of tonight to buy a bigger one."

"We'll need a washing machine first."

"Ok..."

---

5 Years Later

"A hundred years ago we had Van Gogh and Picassa, now so called artists have seem to forgot about taste and beauty in pursuit of scandal and retweets. Tonight we are here with the controversial artist Amelia Cumdump, formally known as Amelia Barton, one of the icons of the recent so called, 'sexual revolution'. Some say her art directly challenges the power dynamics of the matriarchy, with such crude and raw sexuality, embracing kink and fetish not as a source of shame but as a way of liberation for both genders, others that she is just a liberal provocateur, whose so called 'art' is hollow and tasteless, that ..."

The late night host doesn't look too impress with your sister, she is polite about it, but her politeness barely hides a her contempt. Amelia can't give two fucks about her, she is no longer impress by women in suits. She looks like a true rock star, a Diva for the masses, sit in the interviewee couch like it belongs to her. She wears big sunglasses, she is dressed all in a skin tight black latex suit that covers from her neck to the tip of her fingers and toes, the suit purposely leaves two big circles of exposed flesh just around her perky breasts, half of her body weight is condensed in two shinny metal boots, with the word 'WHORE' written on it. The late night host is not so subtly trying to demean her and provoque her. It doesn't work.

"Please, Mrs Cumdump tell us about your latest work."

"What do you want to know?" She asks, and with that question she manages to annoy the interviewer more than she ever could annoy her. Behind each of them there is a video playing on loop of how that last work was made, which usually involves her being fucked... by you.

"What do you say about those critics that define your latest work as glorified sex toys?" She ask, making it very clear that she is one of those critics.

"Well, sex toys are truly glorious, aren't they? Attendants and buyers are free too fuck or blow my statues if they feel like it. Art cannot exist without passion."

"You always talk of your lover. His presence is a constant in your work but rarely is it so... direct."

"Well, he has a beautiful cock. I just salivate by thinking about it. I want to jump on him all the time, but he is such a sweetheart, he is the one that pushes me to be so... well behaved."

"So, this is your.... controlled self?" The interviewer cannot hold back to take a peek at her rock hard nipples, just in front of her.

"Oh, dear you have no idea."

"Would you say that he is your muse?"

"Oh, that and much more. He is also the fountain of ambrosia if you want to keep the greek references."

"He does... Release like a fountain." It's meant to sound like an attack, but your sister loves it.

"Oh, would you like a taste?"

"I... Well thanks but..."

"Relax girl. You can save your answer for later."

"How do you feel about all the people that call your art degenerate, that call you a spawn of Satana?"

"Well, it gets my nipples really hard to know that there are so many people willing to spank me. I hope your camera has enough definition to record them properly. Their puritanism pushes me to be even kinkier... About the Satana thing... Well, I have a red latex suit too back in my home that I know they would love and I do own a sort of 'Trident'... Although I'm the only one that gets poked by it."

---

9 Years Later

The years have taken a toll on her youth, her skin is no longer as terse, but her eyes are as lively as the first day and in your eyes she is still the most beautiful woman in the world. She paints naked on her studio. Her small breasts sag just a bit, but they are still defiant in her own way, ringed piercings hang from her nipples. Your name is engraved on the left one. The right one has the word "Slut".

You get to her side quietly, you don't want to disturb her, and she looks so beautiful when she is concentrated. You are naked too, house rules are house rules, and your finger touches the skin of her calves, to clean a drop of paint. "Sometimes I wonder if you stain yourself just for me to wash you."

"Why wonder? You know I totally do. Kiss me." It feels so sweet to obey her. Shades of her defiance still shine in her, even if she enjoys having you order her around, her natural carisma can make her scary and imposing again at any moment. You stay by her side looking at her canvas, her work has changed over the years, it's no longer that raw and savage as it once was but it has grown more introspective, more deep. She is painting your mother again.

Your hand grabs one of her boobs, the one with your name on it. "I have a present for you."

She looks at you amused. "My oh my, you do?"

"Yes, close your eyes."

She obeys you with a smile. She gets up, leaving the painting unfinished, mother's portraits are always left unfinished. It takes you a while to guide her around the house while blind and she is too playful to cooperate, trying to catch your dick whenever you get too close. Your objective is only two rooms away and you tell her she can look now. It makes her laugh, there is nothing more beautiful than her laughter.

"A bathtub? My, it has been a while..." She then looks at it more closely and her smile widens. "You asshole, you really found the same model?"

"It was tricky, but it should be the same." It was really the same bathtub she once had in the Barton manor.

"Is the water warm?" She asks with a devious smile.

Of course it is. You reach for her hand to guide her. "My lady Barton... your bath is ready."

"You repulsive peasant, how dare you enter my chambers. You should immediately..." She tries to keep her old voice but she starts cracking with laughter midway through it. "Oh my god, I can't"

"Shut up, whore." and with that you push her. She almost falls into the tub and then remerges like a creature of the waters. Her mouth goes for your cock. She sucks it with such passion, like she feels compelled to be grateful for that piece of meat's existence. Her eyes are closed and she hums a happy song while devouring you. Her lips go now for your balls, to make sure the become full and ready for her. "The children are away..." You mumble while she goes at it. "We have the house to ourselves."

She looks up to you with a grim, amused by your plans an intentions. "That means I can scream... isn't it?... Do you want me to scream?"

She does, she does scream and moan and she feels so warm and perfect when you are inside her. By the end of the deal, half of the water is on the floor and what is left on the tub is now cold, but she feels so warm. She lets you be on top of her, such an unwomanly position, but that's her favorite, and she giggles and embrances you while you enter her. She feels like home.

"After all this years... I feared I would get numb to it, but I'm still so easy, you still make me so wet... I love you Mark. I love you with all my heart."

THE END

---

Hi there, I think this deserves some sort of disclaimer. It's been... oh my god, more than 4 years. I felt really sorry for leaving you all like that, but it was what I needed at the moment. I don't want to promise something that I'm not sure if I can deliver but I do have some chapters halfwritten for my other's stories that I might release... well ...let's say soon. I did need to finish this chapter tough.

I don't have as much free time as I once had during the pandemic, but I still have a lot of good memories of this place. For those of you wondering: no, I'm not dead, far from it. I've just been really busy, and this is not something bad, in fact, life has been treating me really well and I think this may have affected the end result of this chapter. My new job requires almost all of my creative energy and it lefts me with little will or time to sit down and write here, but like I said: I couldn't left this chapter unfinished.

Hope it doesn't take that much time to see you again, and as always, I hope you are all well.

Conan.