Venus of Urbino by Titian

Carlo shook his head as he entered the long, first-floor Hall of Tiziano. He’d been nervously walking these hallways for going on two weeks now with trepidation, ever since he first saw movement on the walls and on the canvases. He felt stupid when he told his fellow night guards, and even stupider when they laughed at him and waved off his stories as if he was one of those people who imagine and are afraid of ghosts. That wasn’t him, dammit, and he knew what he saw wasn’t a hallucination. So once and for all, he was going to march right up to the wall and put those rabid thoughts to bed.

Somewhat blindly, he was drawn to one of the larger paintings on the wall, and immediately recognized it as the famous Venus by Titian. Stretched out on a bed, the beautiful nude woman held her left hand tantalizingly over her crotch, which some believe was a reference to female masturbation. A dog lay with her on the bed, while in the background, two servants are looking through a clothes chest.

Walking right up to the wall, he inspected the masterpiece closely, flashlight in hand, shining on the wall. Nothing was happening. It was just a big piece of canvas with oil painted on it. With a stunning figure, too, of course.

Mentally cursing himself for being so gullible to his own imagination, Carlo began to turn away in anger. He stopped dead in his tracks, however, at a 90 degree angle to the painting, when he saw out of the corner of his eye the dog shift positions on the bed.

Turning back and rubbing his eyes with his free hand, he inspected the painting once more. And to his utter astonishment, it was truly moving.

The dog had turned around and now faced the other direction; the maid on her knees in the back was rummaging through the drawer while the standing one looked around impatiently; and most notably, the bare chest of the reclining woman was visibly rising and falling with her breath, and her eyes were blinking.

“What the fuck…” Carlo whispered, trying to comprehend what his eyes were sending to his brain. That’s when the “Venus” spoke.

“Finally, you stop to notice us,” she said in Italian, tilting her head slightly to her left as she looked the night guard up and down. “We’ve been wondering when you would.”

For a moment, he was too shocked to speak. Then: “I must be high or on drugs or something.”

The Venus laughed mirthily and shook her head. “Not at all, Carlo. You are simply a one-of-a-kind individual we have been waiting for to notice us. We have questions we’d like to ask you.” She rested the roses she held in her right hand on the pillows, and abruptly (although seemingly unconnectedly), the two women in the background of the painting exited the frame, apparently leaving through an unseen door to the right.

“How the hell do you know my name? And who is this ‘we?’” the night guard asked, semi-aware of the fact that he was, again, talking to a damn painting.

The Venus smiled again, and not-so-subtly trailed her fingers across and away from her pussy, leaving it fully visible. Noting it was neatly shaved, he could see the lips were slightly glistened, and in turn, he felt his lower half responding to that sexual arousal with its own.

“I mean all of us, all the paintings. We watch and overhear and observe. But enough talking, there’s plenty of time for that. I can see how you are interested in me. I feel the same. Come step inside.”

As if in a trance, Carlo reached an arm out and (obviously) expected it to hit the glass that covered the painting, or to set an alarm off. Neither happened. Instead, he felt an odd sensation as his hand went inside the painting, and he felt warm air caressing it. He froze, nervous to move any further.

“Oh, come now,” the Venus said, and reached out with her right hand and grabbed his own. With a gentle tug, she led him inside, and a moment later, Carlo found himself literally standing inside the scene in the painting. The dog looked up at him, barked twice, and hopped away. Turning around, he could see the hallway outside, framed by the painting’s edges. This was surreal.

Even more surreal, of course, was the beautiful, nude woman in front of him, her braided hair falling below her shoulders. “Now you see what I mean,” she said in a low voice. “Now, if you’d be so kind as to assist me with something…I’ve only been able to give myself pleasure with my own hand since, well, the 16th century.” Leaving her arms by her sides and leaning back, she presented her perfect snatch to the still-stunned Carlo. “Please?”

Unable to deny her attractiveness, his own lust, and the bizarre situation he was now in, Carlo had no other option but to accept. Somewhat hesitatingly, he slowly reached down and, gently, stroked her labia with his middle finger. The Venus’s eyes snapped shut and she leaned her head back slightly in obvious pleasure, slightly humming. Continuing to massage her lips, Carlo felt his member straining at his pants, but he had a job to do. After half a minute, he added another finger, and then brazenly pushed inside her. She gasped, moaning, “yes…” This is nuts, Carlo thought, I’m fingering a literal painting. He continued to pleasure her, but after a few beats, he heard amplified footsteps seemingly coming from outside. At the same time, he withdrew his fingers from her pussy as she sat up abruptly.

“Damn it,” she said, her voice still trailing arousal. “That’s your other guard. You have to leave before he sees you.”

Nodding, Carlo turned to face the painting frame. Legs first, he left the magic canvas, and in a moment found himself standing back in the hallway, just as another guard came around the corner.

“Why are you just standing there? We’ve been wondering where you went,” he said, with a slightly concerned look on his face.

“Sorry,” Carlo stammered. “I got…distracted.” It was somewhat true.

Glancing at the painting behind Carlo, the fellow guard smirked. “Ahhh, I see, horn-dog. Well, c'mon, let’s go back and you can explain everything.” He snickered.

Resigning himself to be blasted with jokes about being caught in front of a lewd painting, Carlo sighed and made to follow his coworker. But first, he stopped, and looked back at the Titian masterpiece.

Everything was back in its place. The Venus on the bed, the dog with her, and the two maids in the background. It looked as if nothing had ever happened, and it was all a dream or something.

Then, very slowly, Carlo raised his right hand to his face. On his pointer and middle fingers, unmistakably, was a slick substance. Looking back at the painting, he swore he saw the woman wink at him.

So it was real, he thought, and finally started his way back down the hallway.