Christine Dies

It was with some reluctance that Yuri finally agreed commission a statue of the sex slave he had murdered with his own hands by burying her alive. Stipulations: she must be life-size; completely naked; realistic to the last detail. No other material but gold was good enough. There were enough photographs of Christine in her nakedness so that lack of realism would never be an issue, and as for gold - Yuri's fortune could purchase the most glamorous of living women and would have no problem encompassing that kind of expense.

After her death he was usually found dressed in black from head to toe. Nightly, he would pore over the albums and files of the pictures he had of her, seeking to find a new expression on her face, a new angle of her body that he had not noticed before. Christine posing, love in her eyes; bound to the whipping post, her sleek body covered in angry red weals; Christine on all fours, being buggered by Yuri, her back arched, her full breasts dangling. But he had known and had loved every last molecule of his pretty slave: the images simply reminded him of his loss. He was heard to murmur that her true icon lay in his heart; an external statue was really quite unnecessary, if kindly meant.

Autumn seemed to have come with exceptional beauty that year on the grounds of his mansion.  The colours, smells and even the sounds were vivid, fresh as the mounded earth on her grave which gradually fell in as the days passed.  Some of the staff were embarrassed to find him carefully, tenderly, kneeling to pick up leaves that had blown over the raw earth, tears streaming from his eyes. If he hadn't already been persuaded to have a statue made in the house, he would have had a magnificent marble tombstone erected for her: a sculpting of Christine lying on her front: raising herself like a sphinx so her breasts dangled seductively in their full ripeness, one leg crossed over the calf of the other, the secrets of her labia and clitoris forever hidden.

It had been such a simple idea at first.  This Christine – was she the fourth or fifth full-bodied young Baltic blonde he had purchased and given the name "Christine"? – would take part in her own funeral supper. Soft, lingering music. The mixture of death and sex had been heady, intoxicating.  Christine had worn her fine grey silk dress which exposed a little of her hand-stitched ivory lace underwear.  Her voluptuous body beneath it all, sometimes obscured in swirls of clothing and then a glimpse of her pale bare skin as an involuntary movement on her part shifted the delicate materials in which she was swathed.  Perfume in a scented cloud around her, and tiny gold ornaments that glittered in the candle light.  Between her slightly uplifted breasts her little gold crucifix dangled enticingly over her sweet cleavage.

The talk had been of death, of course.  How she had come into Yuri’s life, succeeding the previous Christine in the presence of that last one’s mangled and bloody body: how she had learnt to become Yuri’s creature, her slavery finally so ingrained in her that she wished for nothing more than the fulfilment of her Master’s wishes. If these wishes concerned the non-existence of herself, then this is what she also desired. Desired? No, burned to embrace!  As the meal progressed, the candles, his light touches against her skin, the conversation, the exquisitely selected wines and minuscule dishes, one after another, all blended in her mind. She was already half-faint of an erotic delirium, her lips slightly parted, her eyelashes half-closed, her breasts moving softly in time to the flow of her Master’s words to which she would sometimes chime in with a soft "I agree, Master" or a gasp of surprise and a quick blush as she found yet again how his words could still make her feel as innocent and ready for him as the young virgin she once had been.

At the end of the meal, the music faded to silence and they rose wordlessly. She took his arm, and they walked slowly down the hall, her high heeled slippers clattering a little on the marble.  Her body was quivering with fear and excitement, and Yuri held her close to his side, murmuring obscene endearments to her every now and again at which she usually smiled fondly or raised her free hand to touch her little cross.  Outside, her heels sank a little in the damp grass, and she hung on the more tightly as they rounded a copse of trees to the deeply dug grave, the wet, light brown earth heaped to one side, glistening in the light of the torches held by the servants.

They paused at the head of the grave and looked into each other’s eyes.

"Well, Christine, this is it then."

"Yes Master."

He held out his hand and she wordlessly bowed her head and lifted off the chain with her cross on it, and placed it carefully in his palm.

"I hope the next one gives you more pleasure, my dear Yuri.  And I hope you’ll be pleased at the way I accept my death."

"Yes, go" he said thickly, nodding down.  She smiled at him and cautiously placed her feet on the wooden ladder, incongruous in her silk finery. She went down step by step until she reached the bottom.  The wet soil of the grave loomed up on either side of her; the faces of Yuri and the servants peered down.  One of the servants removed the ladder, pulling it up, with a light scraping of loose earth.  A sudden sense that she had been let go. There was nothing next to her but the walls of earth that would soon entomb her.

With a sigh, she sat down on the wet soil, feeling the dampness against her bottom almost instantaneously.  The palms of her hands were already stained, but she was careful not to touch the clothing on her front as she straightened her legs, and then slowly arranged herself on her back, arms at her sides.  Ugh, it was wet and cold against her.  She looked up at the narrow rectangle of sky above her and saw Yuri peering down at her. Then she felt a spatter of earth over her body as he threw the first handful over her.

The woman lying in her silks was the most beautiful thing Yuri thought he had ever seen, and his passion suddenly flared as he saw the handful of earth he had cast fall over her stomach and elegant silk-clad legs.  She was lying quietly and smiling up at him, as he took another, bigger handful, and threw it after the first.  Grains of earth settled over her, some falling between her legs; more earth – he seized a large shovel, dug into the banked earth and tipped the full load over her legs.  She opened her mouth and gave a small cry as the huge chunk of soil landed on her heavily. She moved her legs apart and as a second shovel load hit her, Yuri saw that she had raised her right hand to pull up her muddy dress, exposing her naked vagina to him. She parted her thighs and started to masturbate herself with her middle two fingers, stroking forcefully and leaning her head back as he rained more and more earth over her, covering her legs, her breasts, and, as she began to shake and blush from her neck to her forehead from the impending orgasm, her face.

When had he thrown her little crucifix with its chain after her?  He no longer remembered.  He recalled shovelling faster and faster, until the earth covering the body no longer heaved and was finally still. He stumbled away as if drunk, swaying on his feet towards the light of the mansion, brushing his hands, waving the servants to finish the job.  He had only killed his most recent Christine. There were plenty more lovely young blonde girls in this world who would turn themselves completely to the uses of his pleasure.

The staff were at first surprised to see no requests from their Master to send up her replacement (and there was one of course, ready and naïve and not suspecting what she was about to enter.)  Instead, he took a small bubbly redhead one night and her cries echoed through the halls during his frenzied and sometimes brutal lovemaking. They breakfasted the following morning, and after the meal he told her to remain seated at the table without moving. She was still naked, felt his cum still oozing out of her sore fuckholes and the soreness on her nipple where he had whipped her very hard. What now? He got up, and with a soft "excuse me" walked behind her; put his hands firmly on her neck. She gasped remembering the strength of those hands during the night, but suddenly she felt him twist her neck savagely. She lifted her hands but with an easy movement he snapped her spine, killing her with the same deftness one might kill an animal. He walked out, leaving her twitching body lying over the table, head canted at a crazy angle.  It was that morning he first dressed himself in black. 

Nobody knew how he relieved his sexual tension thereafter: Yuri was known for his voracious appetite but as the weeks passed it seemed as if he had become a monk.

His manner in his business affairs, they noted with some relief, was if anything even more acute and at times his energy levels left his entire work group gasping.  It was at four am one morning that a message flashed up on his console that the statue was ready for viewing, and that if he cared, it would be unveiled in the reception room the following morning. He stared at the words for whole minutes and finally,rubbed his eyes, switched off the console, and walked out. Business was after all well handled. He passed quietly through the halls to the warm upstairs corridor and his own bedroom where he undressed and sank on his bed into a deep and profound sleep such as he had not had for weeks.

That night, he dreamt of Christine warm again beside him. As ever, she was quiet and only smiled at him, no matter how much he shook her or begged and entreated her to speak.  She fled with the dawn.  As he woke in the morning light he realised there had only been one person in the bed after all. Just himself.

A pedestal of black marble, stepped at the front. The statue was covered in a light silk cover. There was quite a crowd of staff: the work group, and of course the sculptor himself, a pleasantly self-effacing little Italian man.  Yuri nodded to him, and at a gesture from his hand, the cover was removed.  Oh! Transformed into burnished dark gold she was beautiful and a gasp resounded through the room.  Already, he felt the tears start at the corners of his eyes.  She looked as if she was about to step off the pedestal, one hand held out slightly further than the other, palm out to him, one knee slightly bent.  Her head was covered with a black veil that fell over her face at an angle so neither her hair nor her eyes were visible.

"You may remove the veil in private, if you wish sir" whispered the Italian.  There was now a silence in the hall as Yuri moved ever closer to the statue, marvelling at the exquisite texture of the work: every fine detail was captured, the slight imbalance in her breasts, her nipples, hardened as he often remembered them.  The little gold crucifix, at precisely the right position, the curve of her belly below her navel, the seductive line of her pubis. Instead of removing the veil, he dropped to one knee, and the assembled crowd saw him suddenly put his hands to his face as a torrent of tears overtook him. He fell against the steps, sobbing bitterly.

Yuri became aware of a movement, and lifted a hand from his face. Who would dare! But a flash of gold in his vision sent a shock through his body like ice. He looked up as the statue bent down and touched the top of his head. As he watched in unbelief, the golden figure stepped down from her pedestal, came down next to him on the ground beside him, and gravely, silently, lifted him up, one hand over his arm, the other in the air as if they were about to start the figure of a dance. She lifted the veil covering her head, and Yuri saw her intense blue eyes and gold-blonde hair.  Christine was looking at him.  He thought his heart had stopped and made as if to clutch his chest but she took his other hand, simply, kindly, and smiled at him.

"Your slave greets you and is ready for you, Master Yuri."

"What?"

Her skin was translucently gold, every particle of her was gleaming and warmly suggestive of the intimacy he had shared with no other soul on earth.

"Should you wish to, Christine is ready for her Master." Softly, gently, he touched her warm and naked breast, stroking down her body to just above her vagina and their eyes finally met.  They smiled together: that complicit smile they both knew so well.

Later, in the bed, he watched her golden body twisting and arching above him as she rode him towards orgasm: he seized her and pulled her down, and they rolled, tangled in the sheets, until he was lying over her, over her warm golden flesh, hovering on the edge of cumming, feeling her vagina tense around his penis watching her eyes his eyes widening in the old surprise as he began to feel himself pour inside her as her vagina spasmed round him, sucking his sperm deep inside her.

Years later, speaking about that moment (she had eventually regained her normal natural pale flesh colours although it had been real gold for a while!) they were both surprised to discover that precisely then, at that moment of orgasm, like two horses galloping side by side, the lines from that old French poet had passed through both their minds: "for love and death can only be as one."

And as for the mystery, staff finally admitted guiltily that they had been part of the deception - his closest colleagues. It had been on the spur of the moment: they had seen his anguish as he had stumbled away from the grave and they had rushed down to pull the dazed and half-suffocated woman out of her shallow grave. They offered to resign, but Yuri would have none of it. Christine offered to die a second time, should he wish it, this time for real.

"How did you know I would mourn you so?" he asked her gently, one evening, after a particularly brutal whipping. "Because I would have done the same" she replied. "And I knew that if I had been mistaken, I would have died anyway. Life means little to me without your love, Master Yuri."