Special note to my friends in the Writer's Block: Thank you for your help in editing this story. For fear of missing someone I will leave names, addresses and phone numbers out of my thanks. Also, I promise that my late night calls to you all will taper off a little bit. Know that, without your helpful comments, this story would have been much longer in seein ghte light of day. Also, your keen insight helped me see certain errors common in my writing. Finally, I thank you all for giving me someone to blame if this story is received poorly.

 

Previous Jerry O'Connell stories:

The Object of His Affection

One Man's Art: - The O'Connell Chronicles

 

The Dinner Party - The O'Connell Chronicles

 

Chapter 1

The members of the Croquet and Lawn Bowling Club arrived at the mansion at precisely six o'clock in the evening dressed in formal evening attire. Greeting them in the main foyer was Francis Héber de Gaulle and a tall studious man who was introduced as "Jerry".

"Friends," Francis began, as the last of his guests entered the foyer, "it is my pleasure to welcome you into my home. I do hope you find this night as enjoyable as I believe you will. As usual, dinner will be followed by the evening's entertainment. But, before all that, I've some artwork I think you will all find rather pleasing. So, if you will, follow me into my study."

As the group entered the study, each was properly impressed. Antique rugs graced all four walls, as did masterful paintings. Rich reds, offset by intricate patters, populated the thick carpeting on the room's floor. Six heavy wooden chairs, padded in red velvet, and two matching sofas were among the simpler comforts the room had to offer. These were the least stunning of his decorations.

"These are amazingly realistic," a voice commented.

"I've a friend who is the director of a facility that creates these masterpieces," he told them. "I have another piece in the works, as a matter of fact."

His guests milled around first one piece and then another, mumbling to their comrades.

A tall woman in her mid-fifties stood over a marble statue depicting a nymph pleasuring two satyrs. Smiling, she bent down to better appreciate the lifelike appearance of the statue. A whisper of approval brought the nymphs eyes open, sending chills down the woman's spine.

"No!" she exclaimed. "Francis! She cannot be real!

Francis laughed as he strode towards the older woman. "As you can see, one satyr has his cock in her mouth and the other in her ass. I won't go into all the plumbing, but there is a small machine that pumps food into her and another that cleans her out. You have noticed, I am sure, that her skin is not her own. It has, in fact, been covered with a permanent synthetic material. I won't go into details about it now, but you will learn of its nature later."

"How is this possible?" she asked. "Can she move?"

"Alas, I like to think she is frozen in time, Beatrice," Francis explained. "Hopeless of all things, save my appreciative gaze. A nymph, forever in the service of monsters."

"I must have one," she said, a hopeful look on her face.

"Perhaps that can be arranged," Francis said, a broad grin of satisfaction crossing his face.

"What about this, is it real, too?" asked a tall, dark haired man.

"Ah, this one...my most recent piece," Francis said, looking to the focus of the man's attention. "I had to have that adjusted somewhat. The spider webbing originally fed into her fingers, but that proved to be a bit problematic. It feeds into the back of her hands now. I'm rather partial to the change: It allows her fingers to move."

Reaching out, the man stroked the girl's leg, prompting her from her state of slumber. Her steel gray eyes blinked open, taking in the rare sight of strangers.

"It is quite beautiful," the man said.

"Thank you. I wanted her to appear much like a painting," Francis told him. "My initial thought was of Fay Ray in the clutches of King Kong. I settled on an image from an old pulp fiction fantasy novel I read as a young man. My memory fails to recall the name of the book, but the image of a nearly naked girl trapped in a huge spider web was rather well imprinted."

"Please, help me," whispered the girl, suddenly hopeful for freedom.

A chuckle of sadistic satisfaction rose from the crowd. They watched, entranced, as the naked girl swayed within her web of metal, fingers reaching out in a desperate attempt for help.

"Monstrous!" Beatrice hissed. "What sadistic pleasures you must find in this hideous beauty."

"More than I can express," Francis related. "There have been many nights when I have taken my seat across from her, enjoying her exquisite suffering, while Desk brought me to satisfaction."

"Who or what is Desk?" Beatrice asked.

"Over there," Francis said, pointing.
.
Residing in shadows, and appearing to be made from a solid piece of oak, was a well-crafted desk. Hewn of thick timbers, it stood in quiet contrast to the rest of the room's decadent furnishings. From beneath the desk's top piece could be seen the vague outline of a woman's lower half. Appearing to be a decorative carving, her bottom jutted out from the desk and her legs spread wide, seamlessly disappearing into the heavy desk.

"I thought she was a carving," Mia whispered, amazed by the workmanship.

"She has relative freedom until locked into place," Francis told the small crowd. "When not in use for my sexual pleasures or cleaning, she is there. When unattended she has a pump attached to her posterior opening to clean out her wastes. Everything is handled through a synthetic colon, even her urinary functions."

"I assume that her upper half is useful when she is ensconced by the desk?" Eric chuckled.

"Please, feel free to look," Francis told him.

One by one Francis' guests made their path to the other side of the desk to admire its most impressive attributes.

"She must be a bit distracting when you are trying to work," chuckled Frank, a tall gray haired man. "And I imagine her tits get in the way a bit, too."

"It can be a bit trying, I'll admit. Truly, it is not terribly practical. To be frank, if I may," Francis said, smiling, "her position is merely to fulfill a fantasy of mine."

"It appears you have modified the girl quite severely," the older woman said. "How is she secured in place?"

"Ah, yes. She is, in fact, a Christ-like figure," Francis said. "Her hands and feet have small holes through them. Titanium tubing fills the holes so they remain open and useful. She is held steady through steel pins that feed through the holes in her hands and feet. Her breasts have been greatly enlarged and are, in fact, still growing thanks to an implant her creator calls 'silly string'. Her lips have been shaped and enlarged, her teeth have been replaced with a synthetic material and her skin, save for her head and breasts, has been permanently covered with the same synthetic material as my statue."

"You said she has duties other than being a desk," Beatrice said. "That indicates that you trust her to be free in the house. That seems a bit risky, if you ask me."

"Her mind is not what it once was. In fact, she has little recollection of the girl she was," Francis told her. "Her only want in life is to be a pleasure toy. She has actually stated that she envies the other pieces I have here - wishes she were one of them."

"Interesting", the woman said.

"Ah, this is quite lovely as well," Roger said.

"That is my coat rack," Francis informed the man. "She has been coated in the same synthetic skin as Desk and Statue, though her modifications are a bit different."

"I assume her wastes are handled through the same means as your statue?" asked Roger.

"The post running between her legs is for just that," Francis said. "That and to aid in keeping her steady. Also, her rib cage has been re-enforced to support the coat hooks that jut out from her breasts. You may note, if you touch her breasts, that they are quite solid. This was, unfortunately, a must for her design."

"Fascinating," Beatrice said, a sadistic smile playing on her lips.

"Well, I think it's time for the party to get started," Francis exclaimed. "So, if there are no objections, I will free Desk from her place and have her get to her duties. Please, the dining room is down the hall and to the left."

Over dinner, Francis' guests spoke in grandly complementary words about his living furnishings. So fascinated and curious was his company, as to how they could acquire such things, that they barely noticed the man who had been so briefly introduced upon their arrival.

"It seems that you are all in agreement," Francis announced. "You all want what I have and you all want to know how it is done. Well, I have news that I think you will all find quite exciting. The man responsible for these creations is here."

Their immediate attention filled the room with sudden silence. Anticipatory, each guest awaited the words that were to follow.

"He has been made fully aware of the status of each individual here," Francis continued. "He knows your base interests and the truth about the activities of the Croquet and Lawn Bowling Club. However, as careful a man as he is, he wished to observe each of you before allowing me to compromise his profession."

Francis paused for a moment, enjoying the sudden tension. He cast his eyes from one guest to another, enjoying their wide-eyed attention. Finally, Beatrice rose from her seat, her eyes burning into Francis.

"Damn it, man! You're going to give us all heart attacks, you sadistic bastard. Bring him in so we can meet him!" she exclaimed, smiling.

"But he is here already, Beatrice," Francis said, an amused smile playing upon his lips. "Friends, let me re-introduce to you the director of the Chimera Foundation, Jerry O'Connell."

All eyes turned towards the man sitting nearest to Francis. Smiling slightly, he raised his hand to his mouth and cleared his throat.

"It's been awhile since I have been away from my facility for a night like this," he began. "I admit to having a very enjoyable time. Your company and adoration of my works has been quite enjoyable. Were I a more easily influenced man my head would be swelled beyond the ridiculous. Francis?"

"Thank you, Jerry," Francis said, regaining the attention of his guests. "Now, let's retire to my study. I have an amusement planned; one I am sure you will all enjoy."

Chapter 2

"Jerry," Beatrice began, cozying into a large, velvet padded chair, "how is it that you came to creating such masterpieces as these?"

"It's a long story, my dear," Jerry replied.

"Jerry, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Ted Dunhill. I must say that I am as curious as Beatrice about your skills, education and how you came to do what you do. Couldn't you entreat us with a bit about yourself?"

Jerry smiled, seeing the curiosity in the eyes of Francis' guests. "I am afraid that my past, indeed my beginnings and education are of little consequence. More importantly, I wish to leave the past where it is; in the firm grasp of historians and scholars."

"A man of mystery, I see," Beatrice mused. "I think we can all respect that. After all, we all have some rather dark secrets of our own."

Chuckles and nodded agreements filled the room. Finally, as the moment died down, Francis stood up to gather the attention of his guests.

"Friends," Francis began, "I've a surprise for you. One I think you will find quite interesting, especially as it pertains to a new form of entertainment."

"Do tell, Francis," said Eric, a middle aged man with close-cropped hair. "Your entertainments are always quite enjoyable, but I find it hard to believe it could be any more entertaining than any of your previous entertainments."

"Desk," Francis said, "Please bring in the girl."

Desk immediately scampered to action. A few moments of anticipatory silence passed before Desk returned, pushing a rolling platform on which rested an "X" shaped crucifix adorned with a gagged and naked girl.

"Exquisite," Beatrice said. "What tortures have you planned for her? Or are we free to torture her as we like?"

"Ah, I have something far different in mind," Francis replied. "You see, this creature is to be my next piece of living art. Unfortunately, I find that my imagination is a bit lacking. I thought you all might provide me with some ideas."

The girl on the crucifix was clearly frightened. Tears, long dried, stained her perfect, white skin. Her breathing was quick and shallow, occasionally shuddering within the throws of her recent crying.

"Let me introduce you to everyone, my dear," Francis said to the girl. Then, gesturing to each guest, he introduced the girl to his company. "First, our guest of honor. His name is Jerry O'Connell. You will come to know him quite well. To your immediate left is Benjamin, and sitting beside him is Beatrice. To your right is Ted, Frank, Roger, Mia, Donald, Terrence, James and, finally, Eric."

The girl's eyes met each of his guest's eyes, fearing their intent, yet hopeful one might aid in her release. When, finally, the introductions were complete, her eyes came to rest on the creature trapped within the web of metal on Francis' wall. Eyes wide, she stared, wondering if the creature was real.

"Ah, so you admire her too?" Francis said, noticing her fascination. "She was once a girl, just as you are now. Her name is 'Art', though it was once Lindsey."

Turning her to the left, he introduced her to the apparent statue. "The nymph was once a girl named Adriana. She is now called 'Statue'. Quite beautiful, isn't she?"

Turning the girl again, he pointed to a tall marble colored girl. "That is 'Coatrack'. You may notice the hooks jutting from her breasts. Otherwise she would just be another statue."

Tears began anew as Francis turned the frightened girl to face the crowd again.

"Sweetheart, I am going to remove your gag, I know it is uncomfortable. I do hope you will have the courtesy not to scream," Francis said. "I don't want to gag you again."

"They aren't real are they?" the girl asked, after the gag's removal. "It isn't possible. Is it?"

"Desk," Francis commanded. "Secure the door, please.

Again, Desk scampered to fulfill her orders, locking the heavy door before bringing the key to Francis.

"I will let you see for yourself," he told her as he freed her from the crucifix.

Upon release the girl bolted for the door. Finding it locked, she struggled; refusing to believe it was so. Finally, understanding the futility of her situation, she stopped and looked back at the observant crowd. Her blue eyes burned out beneath her jet-black hair as she stared, terrible fear and hatred apparent to all.

Amused and excited, each of the club's members's watched the frightened girl, intently studying her every motion, waiting for her to discover what she must. Finally, after crossing eyes with each member of the sadistic crowd, she approached the coat rack. Briefly, her hands moved to cover her suddenly remembered nakedness, only to reach out as she neared the terrible object before her.

"It's not real," she said, refusing to believe the truth of Francis' words. "It's not."

None replied to the girl, entranced in the moment. Instead, they watched the girl, focusing on her trembling body, as she came to stand before the living coat rack.

"I don't know what you're trying to pull, but it's not real!" she exclaimed, her voice nasal from crying.

Turning back to the thing before her, she reached out to touch it. It was warm, not cold as she imagined it would be. A quick glance back at her captor brought more defiant words. "I told you," she said, before looking back to see the coat racks bright green eyes staring back at her.

"Oh God," she muttered, backing away from the coat rack. "No, no, no, no no."

Eyes wide and mouth agape, she turned to Francis' guests, unable to voice more than she had. Her breath became ragged and shallow and she sank to the floor, staring at nothing. Finally, she quieted and pulled her knees to her chest, silently rocking back and forth. For the next several minutes she sat, oblivious to all, trembling in fear and horror.

Wet faced and wide eyed, she looked to Francis, focusing on something beyond the room's walls. "They're real…all of them, aren't they?" she said. "You weren't lying. They're real. All real."

Francis smiled, walking slowly to where she sat. He knelt down and stroked her long hair. She looked at him, still dazed.

"Why?" she asked. "Why would you do that?"

"Your name is Monique, isn't it?" Francis asked the girl. "Come with me, Monique. Let me show you true beauty."

Taking her hand, Francis helped her gain her feet. Weak of knee, she allowed him to guide her to where the girl hung on the wall.

"Please," Monique whispered, pulling weakly, to free herself from Francis' grasp.

"You see, this is more than she would ever be," Francis whispered. "Touch her."

"She looks like a manikin; like something at a wax museum," Monique breathed, her eyes taking in the entirety of the piece before her. "She can't be real. But she is, isn't she?"

"So she is," Francis said. "Now, touch her."

Monique looked to Francis and then to the girl on the wall. Nodding her head, she whispered, "I can't. I don't want to."

"That's all right, Monique. Watch," he told her.

Francis reached out to the girl on the wall and quickly trailed his finger along her rib cage. She jerked from the startling stimulation, a whispered scream escaping her lips.

"Oh God!" Monique cried out, struggling against Francis' firm grip. "Please, please, please. Let me go. Just let me go. I won't tell anyone. Please…"

The eyes of the on looking crowd never wavered. The terror and emotional strain on the girl was far too great to pry their eyes from. So they sat, silent and watchful, breathing in shallow and controlled breaths, not wanting to disturb the fascinating scene that played out before them.

"It's all right, Monique," Francis cooed. "You'll pass out if you keep this up. Take a breath. Don't worry, sweetheart, there is only one more piece to show you.

"No," she screamed. "I don't want to see it. I don't! Please, please, let me go. Please. Just leave me alone. Please…"

Pulling the girl against him, he held her in his strong arms, cooing gentle words of comfort in her ear. Finally, her struggles and pleas subsided and she was led, softly sobbing to the feared and horrible statue.

"Please, please, please," she whispered as they neared the statue. "I don't want to see it. Don't make me. I can't."

"You see, I wanted a statue that was hideous and beautiful, pornographic and erotic," he told her, forcing to the girl to kneel beside the statue with him. "I wanted it to be a study in contrasts. What could fit those better than a nymph making love to monstrous creatures?"

Monique said nothing, her eyes locked unknowingly on the contrasting textures of the statue. The nymph, lovely and pleasing to the eye, appeared to be of polished marble, while the satyrs ghastly appearance seemed more roughly hewn.

"Finally," Francis continued, "I wanted to find a contrast between the fanciful and the horrifying. I think I have accomplished that here."

As his last word left his lips, he leaned towards the nymph's ear. Expected as it was, Monique recoiled at the statue's opened eyes. After a moment of speechless and wide eyed fright, she passed out.

"It seems she is a bit of a delicate sort," Francis muttered, as he lifted the small girl into his arms.

"Astonishingly awful."

"I assume you meant that in a positive way, Mia," Francis said as he placed his charge at the room's center.

"Beyond positive, Francis," Mia responded, her voice breathy. "Already, you have surpassed…I've never seen suffering quite like this."

Francis winked at the woman, pleased to have her approval. Then, looking around the room, he observed his comrades discussing the events they had just witnessed, their words of excitement filling him with pride.

Hideous. Wonderful, Erotic, Sadist. Those are just some of the words I can describe this night with, Francis," Beatrice gushed. "I know you have more planned, my boy. Don't keep us waiting too long."

"Worry not. The night's activities have just begun," he told her.

Chapter 3

Alone and naked, the girl sat, arms wrapped around her knees. A circle of bright light surrounded her, leaving the rest of the room a dull and unfocussed dark gray. Around her, the voices of her tormentors spoke in low tones, waiting for Francis to announce his plans.

"Friends," he started. "The night is still young. At least younger than we are, and I have a plan that veers from the beaten path."

"We do like to beat the path," Eric chuckled, gaining the approving laughter of all.

"Our standard procedures are different than what I have planned," Francis continued. "Usually, we act. Tonight, we plan."

"I'm not sure we follow you," Beatrice said.

"Patience, Beatrice," Francis said. "Desk, see to the girl."

The girl watched, detached from her reality, as Desk appeared within the circle of light. Whispers of motion and the click of locks were the only sounds heard as Desk secured leather cuffs to the girl's extremities. After completing her task, Desk departed the light, leaving the girl seated as she had been, but with all four appendages locked together.

For many moments the room was silent. All eyes were on the girl who was inspecting her bondage in a surprisingly calm manner. Finally, as the girl ceased her inspection, she sat her head on her knees gave over to the strange serenity that encompassed her.

"This girl, Monique, is to be the next piece in my collection," Francis said, his tone soft and steady. "As you have seen, I have a painting, a statue, a coat rack and a desk. These are the things I have had commissioned. Unfortunately, I have run a bit dry on ideas. Tonight, in the presence of the man who is the creator of so many fine pieces, we will discuss what this girl is to become."

"You are an evil one, my boy," Beatrice hissed.

"Thank you," Francis said. "Now, it is time we commenced with our evening."

Quiet settled upon the room as each guest studied the girl, watching as Francis' words sank in. Amidst the silence, the girl began to get fidgety, her hands rubbing the bindings that held her. Sweat beaded on her skin, contrasting with the goose bumps that rose from her flesh. Tears welled up in her eyes, falling to her knees and running down her legs as fear made its way back into her reality.

"Please…" she whispered, softly sobbing.

"Tell us Jerry," Mia began, "how it is that the statue is possible? It will help us in our task for the evening if we better know how such things are made."

"In the case of these pieces, each was subjected to permanent hair removal," Jerry began. "After that we processed them internally, removing unnecessary internal workings, or those that might cause difficulties. They are sterilized, as you probably surmised, though to a more thorough degree than you may have envisioned."

"Interesting," Eric said. "Do continue."

"Their waste functions are entirely routed to a reservoir above a synthetic colon," Jerry said. "A pressure valve holds the waste in the reservoir until the disposal system is in place or until forced open by internal pressure."

Monique listened intently to Jerry's monologue, horrified by what she heard. Nervously, she fidgeted with the cuffs that held her fast, hoping she could discover a way to escape.

"The statue and the coat rack," Jerry continued, "are slightly more modified. Each of these has been implanted with devices that block voluntary muscle control, while inducing a state of constant contraction. Essentially, this leaves them in a state of paralysis while ensuring there is no atrophy. Of course, not every muscle, or group of muscles, is immobilized. Such would cause death."

"I imagine this is a painstaking process," Mia said.

"It used to be, yes. However, we have progressed in leaps and bounds. The immobilization process is handled through mechanical means, now," Jerry answered. "Though there are some parts of their immobilization that were handled manually."

"Why?" Monique whispered. "Why would you do that? Why?"

Silence gripped the room, once again as they watched and listened to the girl, entranced by the beauty of her emotional pain.

"Why?" she demanded of them, her voice suddenly loud and filled with anger. "How could you do that?"

There was no response, each of them watching in silently aroused fascination. Only when she put her head down to her knees did anyone speak.

"Tell them about their skin," Francis prodded.

"Originally, I developed it to aid the recovery of burn victims," Jerry told them. "Its nature, being well suited to long term and even permanent wear, made it perfect for such things. Events prevented this application, though I did manage to find another use for it."

"I don't understand how it can be permanent, though," Mia said. "Skin continually breaks down and regenerates. Skin needs to breathe and grow and die. It needs to sweat. I find it nearly impossible to believe such a thing possible."

Jerry leaned forward, the dim light bringing ominous shadows to his face, irritated at Mia's insolent manner. "Worry not, my dear. It sweats, it breathes. Old skin is passed through as it breaks down. I know what I am doing."

Mia stared at the man's intense and shadowed face, aware of his irritation. A chill ran up her spine, suddenly fearful of the man.

"I am sorry if I offended you, Jerry," she said. "Please accept my apology."

"No need to apologize, my dear," Jerry replied, his sudden change of temper frightening Mia further. "We all find certain things difficult to believe."

Intent stares followed Jerry as he leaned back out of the light. No one spoke, waiting and hoping Francis would break the tension in the room.

Bold, as always, Beatrice spoke up. "What are our limitations, Jerry?" she asked. "Or should we shout out ideas willy-nilly?"

"Beatrice, I do not think you do anything 'willy-nilly'," Jerry replied. "You, my dear, appear to be as calculating as you are wise, and as wise as you are lovely."

"You make me blush, sir," she said, pleased with the complement

Chapter 4

"Do tell us, Francis. Are there any pieces we have yet to see?" Frank inquired.

"These are all that I have," Francis said. "I did have a few other items at one time. They did not fit with the room or my sensibilities."

"I don't suppose you would care to tell us what those other items were?" Eric asked.

"They were practical items. Some were repetitions of what I already had. For instance, one was a lamp," Francis told them. "She appeared much like Coatrack, but lacked artistic merit. One was a chair and another a couch; I even had a coffee table. They were practical household items, as I said. Art is not practical, nor should it be particularly functional. Mostly, art should not be dull. Those furnishings were dull."

"What happened to these pieces, Francis? Are they stored away or were they disposed of?" Beatrice asked, watching the suddenly curious Monique.

"They are living their lives, I am sure, with whomever Jerry found for them," Francis told them. "Jerry, can tell you better than I."

"They are in our offices being used for exactly what they were designed." Jerry said

"You don't sell them to other clients?" Mia asked.

"Most clients want to pick out their girl. They like to know who she was before she is transformed," Jerry replied. "Generally we do not sell returned projects."

"Well then, we should commence with our task," Frank said, clearing his throat.

"Yes, let's do commence," Mia said.

Beatrice leaned forward, casting herself into the light and catching the attention of room. "Such a lovely thing, you are, Monique. So small and well formed. Do you think you would like larger breasts? You would look quite exotic with breasts twice the size of your head."

Blinking at the cruel woman, Monique shivered. Images of herself with breasts too large to carry filled her mind, bringing tears to her eyes. "No," she whispered.

"I've always wanted a mermaid," Mia said. "But how would you make the tail?

"I imagine Jerry could fuse her legs together and cover them with his synthetic skin," Francis suggested.

"Exactly," Jerry said. "We have just such a project in the works. Her heels would also be removed for aesthetic reasons."

Monique stared at her feet, listening to her inner dialogue, torn between childhood fantasy and real life horror. "I don't want to be a mermaid," she muttered.

"I'm sorry, dear heart, what was that?" Beatrice asked.

"I don't want to be a mermaid," she said.

"I don't think it's your choice," Beatrice taunted. "You no longer have a choice in anything."

"I do, you witch!" Monique hissed, anger finding its way to the surface.

Leaning close to the girl, Beatrice smiled. "Look at yourself. You are naked and bound in a room full of people who are deciding your fate. What choice do you have?"

Monique glared at the woman. "Let me go and I will show you what choice I have."

"She would be lovely on the prow of a ship, don't you think?" another voice asked.

"Yes," Francis said, "she would be lovely. But I don't have a boat."

Chuckles rose about the room.

"I do like Beatrice idea. Breasts that are too big to carry," Francis said. "Monique, I do think we are on our way."

The girl looked up to where the voice came from, her eyes sad and teary.

"Haven't you always wanted bigger breasts, dear?" Beatrice taunted. "Tell me you haven't shaken your tits for the attentions of a man."

"Fuck you!" the girl screamed.

"Maybe later you will get the chance to fuck me. Have you ever eaten pussy?

"You sick bitch," Monique screamed. Suddenly, she bucked towards her tormentor, in a futile attempt to kick her.

Beatrice laughed at the struggling girl, grabbing her by the hair and yanking her head back. "Soon, very soon, you will be an inanimate object. Or maybe you will be an animal; a house pet or a mermaid," Beatrice said. "Maybe a bitch to service dogs. Maybe Jerry can help you grow fur and make your face into a muzzle. How would you like that?"

Looking up from the girl, Beatrice looked towards Jerry, holding the girls steady. "What about that Jerry? Is it possible to turn her into a dog; a hairy mutt with paws and a muzzle?"

"It is quite possible," Jerry said. "She would not be the first to undergo such a transformation."

"Give us a bark, princess," Beatrice demanded, still holding the girl by her hair.

"No!"

"Oh, you'll bark," she said, reaching for the girl's right nipple.

"Fuck you!" Monique screamed.

Nails dug into the soft flesh of the girl's breast, pulling and gouging at her sensitive nipple.

"Bark," Beatrice demanded again. "Show me what kind of bitch you can be!"

"No!" came the screamed response. More screams came from the girl as her right breast was tormented.

Beatrice released her nipple and slid her hand down between the girl's legs, digging her fingers inside the girl's sex. "You'll bark now, bitch!"

Screams and growls of pain filled the room, as the girl was tortured until, at long last, the girl could take no more.

"Arf!"

"Again," the woman demanded.

"Arf!" she screamed. "Arf, arf, arf. Please, stop. Please."

"From now on, when I say 'Speak' you are to bark," Beatrice commanded, her voice a low hiss in the girl's ear. "If you do not I will rip your cunt from between your legs and feed it to you. Now, speak, bitch."

"Arf!"

Releasing her hold, Beatrice patted the girl on her head. "Good dog."

Falling to her side upon release from Beatrice's cruel hands, Monique panicked. Lost in confusion and fear, her tearful crying became a fit. She shook and shuddered, issuing strange words from her mouth. Cries for her mother and father were heard as she negotiated with no one for her freedom. Then, at long last, she rested her head on the deep red carpeting and fell into an open-eyed trance, lost in a terrifying nightmare.

Chapter 5

"She looks so peaceful, yet so tortured," Mia observed. "I wonder what she's thinking."

"Wondering what it would be like to be a furry bitch, I am sure," Beatrice said, pleased with her sadistic humor.

"I'm not sure I would want a dog," Francis said, his head cocked as he stared into Monique's unblinking eyes. "Desk, sit her up, please."

"Such a polite man, Francis. Even to your things," Beatrice said as she watched Desk right the girl.

"I wonder," Ted started, "how she would look as part of a chandelier, Francis."

"Hmm, how do you mean?" Francis asked.

"She could hang, face down, arms and legs spread," Ted explained. "Her nipples could be replaced with lights - or light sockets - I don't know how it would all work. Each of her extremities could be part of the lighting.

"Interesting," Francis said.

"Imagine the terrible tortures you could put her through," Beatrice said. "I imagine that you could even set a switch to run current through her body. There are so many possibilities with this."

"Yes, but I am looking for less for form and function than I am for art," Francis reminded them. "Anyone can objectify. I want to improve upon her beauty. As I said before, I want artful contradictions."

"I don't want to be a chandelier," came a small voice.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Beatrice asked, amused.

"I don't want to be a chandelier. You can't make me," Monique said, her voice becoming excited. "You can't make me into a chandelier."

"But just think of, it child," Beatrice said sadistically. "You would be lovely. Imagine your eyes replaced with lights. Better yet, imagine your cunt illuminating this very room or, for more subtle lighting, your asshole could be used. Imagine it, my little bitch, imagine the possibilities."

"Why are you people doing this? What did I do to you?

"I've got an idea, Francis," Beatrice exclaimed, ignoring the girl's question. "She could be a dairy cow. Imagine fresh milk every morning."

"How can you do this?" Monique cried.

"Do you want a more technical description, or was that rhetorical?" Beatrice taunted the girl. "Jerry, can you tell us what it might take to make this lovely creature into a milk producing cow?"

"Well," Jerry began, "we would start by triggering a sort of puberty. In fact, we call it 're-puberty', though it isn't entirely accurate. Essentially, our process triggers the body to produce significantly higher levels of certain hormones, while suppressing others. The resulting effect is an increase in breast mass, milk production, a slight increase in height and substantial increases in fatty tissues throughout the body."

"What kind of milk production are you talking about?" Ted asked.

"Well, milk production can vary, though a standard cow can produce three to four liters of milk per breast every day." Jerry said. "Some produce more and some less. Though, they must be milked regularly, just like any dairy cow."

"Would you like that, Monique?" Beatrice asked from the shadows. "Would you like to be a milk cow?"

Hearing nothing from the girl, Eric spoke up. "You said she would have an increase in fatty tissues. How fat would she get?"

"Including the breasts, a weight gain of a hundred and fifty pounds is not uncommon," Jerry replied.

"And we could give her black and white cow hair, could we not?" Beatrice asked, her voice almost giddy at the torment she was inflicting on Monique's psyche.

"That we could," Jerry answered, triggering more tears and whispers from the captive.

"What's that my dear?" Beatrice asked, "It sounds like you are asking God to help you. Unfortunately, there is no god to help you. There are only us devils."

"This isn't fair," she whispered. "I've been good. I don't deserve this."

Francis leaned from his chair and settled in beside the girl, touching the back of her head tenderly. The girl raised her head from the hiding place of her knees, eyes hopeful.

"Monique, it is not all so bad as it seems," he told her, his voice soft and understanding. "I know that you are afraid. I know that you don't want to be anymore than you are. But you must trust that, when I choose what you are to become, it will be beautiful. Fear not, no matter how Beatrice taunts, you will not be anything so hideous as a cow, nor mundane as a chandelier. You will be more than the sum of your parts. I promise."

Monique's eyes widened, her hope crumbling as the last of his words reached her ears. Her mouth open, she begged for release in an unintelligible garble of words. Leaning into him, she buried her head in his chest, still begging in the unintelligible tongue of panic.

"This can't happen," she finally managed to say clearly. "Please, please, don't do this. You don't have to do this. I can be beautiful now. You don't have to do this."

Francis held the girl to him, comforting her. "You won't understand until you have made this last step. But you will," he said.

"No. I won't," she stammered, her voice honking with her words. "I'll never understand. I'll just die. If you do anything to me, I'll just die. Please…"

"No, you will live for as long as life has given you to live, and you will be more beautiful than any before you," he told her, returning to his seat. "Now, friends, do try to remember that I want something beautiful. A cow certainly does not fit that description."

"Well, I think cows are beautiful," Beatrice said wryly.

Everyone laughed.

Chapter 6

"Well," Ted said. "It appears that we are nearly back to square one. The only suggestion that seems to be headed in the direction you want, Francis, is a fuller bust."

"Yes," Francis replied. "While I don't want it to necessarily be practical, I don't want it to be ridiculously impractical. A mermaid, lovely though she may be, is very impractical. I would need a proper aquarium and all the necessities that come with such a thing."

"I am a bit fixated on the mermaid, though," Mia interrupted. "Impractical or not, she has the short waist and full hips I always imagined a mermaid to have. I'm sorry, I am not much help."

Francis smiled, agreeing with Mia. "She does have a pleasing shape, and I do agree. But I don't think I want to build an aquarium."

"What about a fountain?" Beatrice asked. "Mia is right about the girl being perfect as a mermaid. Perhaps you could put a fountain in your foyer: a mermaid fountain."

Monique looked into the darkness from whence the suggestion had come, returning to the present once again. A moan escaped her lips and she began struggling against her bonds.

"An excellent idea, Beatrice," Francis admitted. "I wouldn't mind having a small koi pond."

Murmurings of approval surrounded the struggling girl.

"So, Jerry, what do you think? Could you mold her into a fountain?" Beatrice asked.

Monique looked up, trying to remember where Jerry was seated, unable to see him outside her circle of light.

"Assuming Francis could plum the foyer, it is quite possible, "Jerry answered. "I would have to have one of my engineers draw up the plans, but it could be done."

Staring down at the girl, who was rediscovering her distress, Beatrice beckoned Jerry to continue. "Please elaborate, Jerry. How could this be accomplished?"

"As I envision it, after the main processing, her legs would be fused from the knees down," Jerry began.

"What do you mean by 'main processing'?" Beatrice asked, still staring at the girl.

"The internal processing; sterilization, hair removal, waste and organ modification. That sort of thing," Jerry said.

"Would you remove her teeth, as well?" Beatrice asked, enjoying the girl's reaction to Jerry's words.

"Teeth and nails. Anything that, in her modified state, might be useless or prove hazardous," Jerry said.

"Do go on," Beatrice said, a broad smile on her face.

"As I said, her legs would be fused from the knees down. We might even remove her feet, though the final design would determine that," Jerry explained. "I envision her high above the water, her back arched, thrusting her breasts outward, as if she had leaped from the water. I imagine we would manage that with titanium rods, though I would leave the exact method of stabilization to our engineers."

"You mean fused to her back?" Beatrice asked.

"I imagine so," Jerry answered. "The final details would need proper planning, of course. I would imagine that the titanium rods would run through her entire body, as I see her positioned at a forward leaning angle."

"What do you think, child?" Beatrice asked Monique, staring down at the terror filled girl. "Why don't you speak up and tell us what you think?"

No sounds came from the girl, much to Beatrice's disappointment. Instead, the girl silently continued her struggles, hoping and praying to free herself from the bonds that held her.

"I've an image in my head," Francis said. "Something from a book on mythology. Desk, fetch it. I believe it's on the top shelf."

Beatrice grinned sadistically. "Have you an image picked out so quickly, Francis?"

"Yes," he responded.

"Do you hear that girl?" Beatrice taunted Monique, slipping into the light beside her. "He knows what he wants already. You are to be a mermaid after all. Let's get you back up, shall we?

Grabbing the girl's hair, she lifted her to sit as she had before.

"Leave me alone," the girl demanded.

"Found your voice again, have you?" Beatrice chortled, her hand firmly gripping Monique's hair. "It'll do you no good. It will amuse me, though."

"I'm a human being! I'm not a toy. I'm real," she screamed, breaking into tears. "You can't do this to me!"

Beatrice grinned, yanking her head to face Jerry. "Listen up, girl. Listen to my question. Then listen to the answer. Are you ready?"

"Fuck you!" Monique screamed.

"Jerry," she began, ignoring the epithet, "how will you make her into a fountain? From what part of her body will the water spring?

"As I see it, the water will spring from her breasts. Of course, much depends on my engineers, but I imagine we will run piping through her body," Jerry replied.

Unsatisfied with the answer and enjoying Monique's fearful shaking, Beatrice continued her questioning. "I assume the water will spring from her nipples. What does this mean for her breasts?"

The girl squirmed in the hold of the woman, moaning her fear and discomfort but saying nothing.

"You are quite right," Jerry said. "The water will spring from her nipples. Her breast tissue, as is the case with most of our subjects, will be replaced with a foam-like substance. In this case, it may be a bit different."

"What do you say to that, princess?" Beatrice asked, jerking the girl's head back and staring into her fear filled eyes. "Your breasts will no longer be breasts. They will be foam. They won't be real, but they will never sag or shrivel."

"You're sick. All of you are sick," Monique spat.

"Thank you Desk," Francis said as the requested book was delivered to him. Fanning the pages, he sought to find the image he wanted. Finding it, he gave the book to Jerry.

"Yes, I think we can do that," Jerry said.

"Show it to me, Francis, won't you?" Beatrice asked.

Francis leaned forward, book in hand, and displayed the image.

"See that, girl. That is what you will look like," Beatrice said, pushing the girl's face towards the book. "Only your breasts won't be quite the same. Yours will have water jets spraying water into a koi pond. Won't that be wonderful?"

With a startling scream, Monique began bucking and thrashing about as best she could. "Leave me alone! Let me go. You can't do this! You can't! Let me go, let me go, let me go!"

Beatrice let go of the girl's hair, letting her flop to her side. Amused, the entire cadre of sadists watched the girl fling her head about as she thrashed and screamed in high tones. Finally, her energy spent, and realizing her thrashing was futile, she settled into relative quiet.

"Is that all you have?" Mia asked.

"You can't do this. Please. I'll do anything. Anything. Just don't do this to me," Monique sobbed.

"Perhaps…" Beatrice said, her voice trailing off.

"What?" the girl asked, raising her head from the carpet, hopeful of any other possibility. "Please, tell me. What?"

All eyes fell on the girl, watching her expressions and listening to her hope and fear. Lips were licked and legs crossed, each player in Francis' game enjoying the full effect of Beatrice's calculating and sadistic mind.

"You're an attractive lass," Beatrice said. "And you did say you would do anything. Hmmm, did you mean anything?"

"Yes," Monique said, desperately grasping at a possible escape from the just described horror. "Anything. Please, just don't turn me into a mermaid statue. Please. What do you want?"

"Well, I do need a slave," Beatrice said, offering hope to the girl.

"Yes, I'll be a slave."

"We all need slaves, I am sure. Perhaps you give us or show us - yes, show us, why you should be a slave and not a fountain," Beatrice offered. "Would you like to show us?"

Monique's eyes were wide and hopeful, despite her fear of Beatrice's offering. Bracing herself against what she knew would be terrible, she blurted out "Yes!" knowing any fate would be preferable to becoming a motionless object.

"Well then, we shall see," Beatrice said, filling the girl with hope and disgust. "Perhaps Francis will see his way to release you from your bondage. Please do cooperate, sweetheart. Don't be foolish enough to bolt for the door. It will only confirm your future."

As Beatrice's last words left her mouth, Desk was at the girl's feet, releasing her from her bonds.

Chapter 7

"Stand up for us, dear," Beatrice said.

Monique slowly stood, modestly covering herself. She stared into the dimness that nearly hid Beatrice from her, wondering and fearing what the woman might demand of her.

"There is no need for modesty, girl. You are beautiful. Besides, I wish to see you more clearly," Beatrice told her. "Now, put your hands behind your back. Grab your elbows with each hand. I want to see you."

Hesitantly, she obeyed, tears beginning to cloud her vision. Goose bumps covered the girl's pale skin, and she began shaking despite the study's even temperature.

"You need to react faster, Monique," Beatrice chided. "Now, slowly turn around. We don't want anyone to miss out on your charms."

Monique obeyed, shaking miserably.

"What size bra do you wear, Monique?" Beatrice asked as the girl finished her turn.

Stammering, the girl answered, "I wear a thirty-four 'C'.

"My dear, you will have to learn to answer better than that if you don't want to avoid becoming a new attraction in Francis' museum. Now, try that answer again. This time, I expect you to show me the proper respect."

Fighting back tears, the girl answered, "I wear a thirty-four 'C', Ma'am."

"Excellent," Beatrice said. "How old are you?"

"I just turned twenty-one, Ma'am."

"How many boyfriends have you had?"

"Just three, Ma'am."

Have you fucked them all?"

"No, Ma'am."

"How many have you fucked?"

"Just the one I am with now, Ma'am."

Beatrice eyed her for a few moments, enjoying the girl's state. Shaking and shivering, Monique was nearing the moment when she would break. Sensing this, Beatrice pushed on.

"Your breasts are lovely. Very well shaped. Does your boyfriend ever fuck them?" Beatrice asked. "Have you ever been tit-fucked?"

"No, Ma'am," Monique answered, her head dropping as tears found their way down her cheeks.

"Why not? They are lovely. Any man would love to fuck those pretty little tits."

"They aren't big enough, ma'am," Monique admitted, knowing how Beatrice would counter.

"Well, that is one knock against you," Beatrice said, teasing her heartlessly. "You will need bigger tits if you are to be a proper slave, won't you?"

Head down and tears streaming she nodded her head. Then, in a wispy voice, tinged with pain, she said "Yes, ma'am."

"I assume you have sucked cock a few times," Beatrice prodded. "Are you a good cock sucker?"

Monique flung her head side to side, whipping her long dark hair about. "Why are you doing this to me? Why don't you leave me alone?"

"Well, that about settles it, doesn't it?" Beatrice chuckled.

Eyes suddenly wide, Monique lifted her head. "I'm a good cock sucker, ma'am. I love sucking cock. I love eating cum. Please…"

"I don't know. I am not fond of back talk, Monique," Beatrice said, her voice filled with feigned disappointment. "Well, have you sucked a lot of cock?"

"Not a lot, but my boyfriend tells me I am good. He loves when I suck his cock," she said, her voice filled with desperation.

"Hmm, perhaps you would like to show us how good a cock sucker you are. Ted looks like he could use his cock sucked," Beatrice said. "Go give Ted a good cock sucking."

Monique looked around the room, desperately trying to remember where Ted was, unable to see him. She looked back at Beatrice, eyes filled with desperation. "I don't know where Ted is, ma'am."

"Find him."

Stepping into the shadows, she turned and eyed each of the guests, trying to remember which one was Ted. "Ma'am, I…I can't find…I don't know."

"Yes, you don't remember who Ted is, despite the introduction you received. This is not a good start," Beatrice warned. "Get back under the light."

New tears filled Monique's eyes obeyed her tormentors command, her hopes diminishing.

"Have you ever been fucked up the ass, Monique?" Beatrice asked.

"No, ma'am."

"Has anyone tried to fuck your ass?"

"Yes, ma'am. My boyfriend tried."

"Why didn't he succeed?"

"I told him to stop, ma'am."

"Hmm, perhaps we should take a vote. What do you say, Francis, can we vote whether to make her a slave or fountain?" asked Beatrice. "I think it's the only fair thing to do."

"I've no objections, Beatrice. I do respect all of your opinions," Francis said, amused at Beatrice's tortures.

"If we decide she should be a slave, will you abide by the vote?"

"I will."

"If we decide she should be a fountain, will you abide by that too?"

"I will."

"Well then," Beatrice continued, "it seems we are at a cross road. Is there anything you would like to say, Monique?"

Her arms still locked behind her, Monique spun about, frantically searching for what she might say. Then, all at once, she blurted, "If you make me a slave I promise to serve as good as any slave ever has. I will suck your cock all day and night if you want me to. Really, I won't complain! You can fuck me in the ass or my pussy. You can fuck my tits or do whatever you want. I'll be a good slave! Just please don't turn me into a fountain."

"Bend over, Monique," Mia told the girl. Turn that ass towards me and pull it apart."

Quickly, and with more tears welling in her eyes, Monique obeyed.

"Stick a finger in that ass - deep in that ass - then tell me how it tastes," Mia commanded.

Disgusted as she was, Monique hardly hesitated, pushing a finger deep in her hole and then bringing it to her mouth. "It doesn't taste like anything, ma'am."

"Fountain," Mia said. "I think she would be a better fountain than a slave."

"No, please!" Monique burst out. "I can be a good slave.

"Fountain," She heard a male voice speak.

"No!"

"Fountain," came another vote.

Spinning round to meet each voice as they cast their votes of "Fountain," Monique begged, hoping for a miracle. She received none. Finally, as the last vote of "Fountain" died down, she fell to the floor to sob uncontrollably.

"The votes are in," she heard Beatrice say. "Make her a fountain."

A jerk from the girl on the wall drew the attention of the entire room. She gasped and moaned as electricity coursed through her body, making her back arch and her muscles bulge. The mark of pain covered her face, her skin growing red and her fingers curling. She inhaled suddenly, whispering a pained cry.

"No," the Monique whispered, her attention being drawn to the girl on the wall.

The web spreading out from the girl shook with her strains, waves radiating outward, again and again. More whispered cries and whimpers of pain came from the tortured girl.

Unable to tear her eyes from the horror before her, Monique sunk to the furthermost edge of the bright light. Clutching her arms to her breasts, she found her strength evaporate to leave her seated on the rich carpet below her. Eyes wide, she stared as the girl's muscles grew ever more taut, exposing the striations of the muscles beneath her skin.

"No. God, no," Monique whispered. "Please, no."

At long last, and just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The girl on the web hung limply, exhausted and covered in sweat. Monique, for all that she had just witnessed, was left staring blankly, refusing to believe what she had just witnessed.

"Get the case, Desk," Francis ordered.

Immediately, Desk brought a leather case into the circle of light. Unzipping it, she held her hand to Monique, motioning her to take it. "Stand up," Desk said softly. "Step inside and lay down on your side, pull your legs to your chest."

Overwhelmed by shock and confusion, and still staring at the recently electrified girl, Monique followed Desk's directions.

"Please don't," came a whispered plea. Moments later, her ankles and wrists were secured to opposing corners of the heavy leather case.

"Please," Monique whispered, turning her sad and tear filled eyes towards the darkness that hid Francis' face.

Carefully, Desk zipped the case close. All watched as Monique's wide eyes disappeared within the case.

"Please, you can't do this to me," came a muffled plea.

Epilogue



The girl looked out from her perch. It was a low perch; lower than she imagined it would be. The faces commenting and admiring her beauty, and the craftsmanship that went into making her, were familiar. The names of all but one were forgotten, though all were hated.

“I see he modified the design”, said a voice.

“Yes, there were technical difficulties with the original design,” another voice said.

Trying hard to make sense of all that was being said, she focused on the voices most familiar to her. Her eyes darted, trying to catch the faces that matched those voices.

“I like this, though. No, she isn’t leaping out of the water. But this is more relaxing,” said a woman’s voice. “At least he did manage to have the water spring from her nipples and into the pond, as you wanted.”

“How did he do it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Does she know what she looks like?”

“Yes, it was a bit difficult to plum the foyer.”

“Amazingly realistic - her tail is beautiful – watch her eyes follow you –museum piece –engineering – breasts – fish,” she heard, the convolution of voices confounding her senses.

As the night wore on, the guests excused themselves, shaking Francis’ hand as they departed. Before leaving, Beatrice came to stand immediately in front of the girl.

“We were right. You are a far better fountain that you would have been a slave,” the woman said. “Oh, you may be interested to know that, in the year and a half since your abduction, the police have no leads. I do have a lead, though; your sister. She is only thirteen now and, in another few years, she is certain to be as lovely a work of art as you.”

End

I wish to express my thanks to my friends in the Writer’s Block. Whether you were students having to put up with my cold hearted instruction, or instructors having to put up with my Hitleresque ego, you aided and abetted in this story from start to finish.

Special thanks to Tessa. Your encouragement, excitement and friendship as I produced this tale were key to my own excitement in seeing it through.

Extra special thanks to my personal inspiration – you know who you are – for being so excited with each and every oddity I write and for being my #1 fan.