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07.19.06 Portrait
We fade in.
A large, vacant, white room, not a lick of paint or decor to be seen.
With two exceptions.
There's always an exception.
One is a portrait, painted by one Hëlius Andrös, the German
impressionist/surrealist/realist/cubist/portraitist...and so on.
It is bound in a very fine mahogany frame which looks as if it had been
wrenched from a classical Renaissance painting and stuck on this
monstrosity.
And it was.
The monstrosity in question is a portrait of one Keith Edwards.
Surprise, surprise.
He sits posed, on a cloud, with God touching his hand, and handing him
a championship; the same championship which he recently trotted out and
re-awarded himself, declaring himself the real Champion.
(Woooooooooooo!)
Keith sits proudly, his arm hungrily outstretched, reaching, grasping
for the Almighty to hand the gold and leather to him.
The shot pulls back.
Two arms begin to slide up the painting slowly, and as they proceed, a
body is exposed. It is the Duchess. She wears a black lace
bra, and presses herself tightly to the painting.
"Oh Keith."
Her hand reaches back and unclasps her bra; she pulls back slightly and
allows it to fall to the ground, and presses herself back up and
breathes heavily and hotly.
The shot fades out slowly and returns. We see her black high
heels and black stockings as she stops before a chair, the second
exception: it doesn't have a very high back, but it has solid legs, and
is upholstered in black leather.
Between her legs drops a pair of silk black panties.
She sits down, her legs tight together. She then spreads them.
Only her feet are visible still.
The shot fades again.
It returns to her face. She licks her lips, covered in black
lipstick, and moans gently.
"You're going to make us so rich."
Her hand appears in the shot holding a hundred dollar bill. She
licks it slowly and moves it down her neck, and out of the shot.
The shot fades.
It returns to her back, sitting in the chair. She is staring
intently at the portrait which is right before her, standing on an
easel. Her legs move inwards and outwards.
She throws her head back in a moment of ecstasy.
The shot fades.
It returns to her eyes, which are blurred almost, her pupils, dilated.
"You are more a man than any
woman could want. Oh shit...Keith. You're money."
Her moans grow louder with each moment.
The shot fades.
It returns to her lips.
"What I fucking
need...mmm...is a real champion...a man who won't ever
lose...who's synonymous with greatness...and is so fucking
attractive..."
Her mouth is agape as she swallows a large breath of air.
"Mmm...and that's you Keith."
The shot fades.
It returns to her legs. Her panties stretch around her ankles as
she writhes wildly in the chair, breathing louder and harder.
"Baby once you're champion you
will fucking rule
OLW...as long as you can rule me too."
Her moans turn to sighs and almost shouts as it builds and builds and
builds.
The scene fades to darkness.
"Oh God."
Gradually the scene fades back up.
The scene returns to whence it started.
The portrait.
The scene switches to her legs, and slowly makes its way upwards
between her legs - where the championship rests oh so carefully laid.
"Baby, like that orgasm, like
your title, like your character, you're a goddamn fake. You are
nothing. And you are fucking with two of the sickest
motherfuckers on Earth."
She shot slithers up her body.
Two hands cover her breasts from behind.
Her smile is enigmatic but unmistakably seductive, devilish.
"And Keith."
Slowly Avarice raises himself up, keeping his hands firmly on
Marissah's breasts until his head - his piercing red eyes - and his
topless body are visible.
Marissah stretches herself backwards so her hands are around Avarice's
head, caressing it slowly.
"We can't wait."
Avarice spews red crimson into the lens.
We fade.
I am become Death The Destroyer
of Worlds
