by Julien Sorel

Evangeline and John locked the door of the studio and hurried into the next room, looking around them. "There's no telling when they'll be here — we'll have to move fast. The only important thing is to get you out of here." The pretty 20-year-old nodded, fighting back her fear.

Her cell leader turned to her and took her by the shoulders. "There's only one way. Do you trust me?"

"I trust you," Evangeline said. John's strength gave her confidence.

"I have to make you look like a statue and ship you out of the country," he said.

Evangeline was bewildered by John's words. "How can you make me look like a statue?"

"With drugs," John said.

He was going to immobilize her.... She began to feel faint as the full meaning of the idea sank in.

"Every official in the country knows who we are now. We can't get you out any other way. We have to act quickly." He waited for her reply.

The information that the authorities were looking for had been encoded in the unused portions of Evangeline's DNA. Several in their cell had already lost their lives trying unsuccessfully to get her out of the country.

"But what about you?" she said. She had begun to tremble.

"They probably won't arrest me. They'll hope I'll lead them to you. We have no choice, Angie."

Evangeline looked at her leader with desperation. "I can't!"

"Angie, please! We have to try to save you!"

Being turned into a statue was somehow more unnerving to her than the thought of capture or death. Evangeline summoned up her courage and nodded her assent. But she couldn't speak. The cell had been using living statuary to ship information out of the country for some time. But had they ever shipped a person before as a statue? Evangeline didn't know.

"Okay, let's go. I'll get you out of here all right." He smiled quickly at her, then went to work. "We have no time to lose. Take off your clothes, Angie." Evangeline froze. In a few moments she started to fumble with her blouse buttons. "Can't I..." she started to say, and stopped.

"You'll have to be nude," he said, looking up at her as he pulled materials out of a closet. "We haven't got the time to put clothes on you and make them look convincing. Please, Angie."

She remembered their plight and got a grip on herself. Evangeline's large breasts shook as she pulled her bra off. John, preparing a platform for her, pointedly ignored her nakedness. As she unzipped her pants, she began to think again of what was happening to her. "How will I eat, or...."

"I can stop your metabolism, or nearly so." He looked out the window, anxiously.

Evangeline stood nude, barely able to breathe, her hands in front of her cunt. She had never drawn attention to her body in her life, never even worn feminine clothes.

"This way." John took her hand and pulled her onto a small pedestal covered in clay. "Face me." Evangeline felt the wet cold clay ooze between her toes, and panicked. "Please...."


"Please cover me. Please."

John grabbed Evangeline by the shoulders. "Get a hold of yourself, Angie. I have to do this quickly, or else we're both finished. Okay?" She looked at him miserably, saying nothing. His breasts had shaken wildly when he'd grabbed her, and even in his frantic state he must have noticed how hard and swollen her nipples were. Mortified, she closed her eyes and said, "Okay."

"Okay. Try not to move." John lifted her left leg by the ankle and extended it behind her until only the toes of her right foot touched the pedestal. Barely able to think, Evangeline stood still and felt John's hands mold her soft young body, turning and pushing different parts of her anatomy into a pleasing pose. "Stay still," he said sharply when she breathed in too hard. He folded her arms across her head, arched her broad, womanly back. "There's no time to do your hair. We'll have to leave it long."

"When will you — when will you come get me?" Evangeline murmured. She sounded as if she were in a trance. John went to his desk behind Evangeline and filled a syringe, while Evangeline stood rigidly still, her naked ass arched toward him in a most uncharacteristic fashion. He had posed her as a coy, decorative nude.

"I'll be able to crate you by this afternoon, and ship you tomorrow. They'll open the crate to inspect it, but you won't look any different from the other statues, I guarantee it. I'll send you to a warehouse near Louis's building, and wire ahead to the others that you're there. But you'll have to wait there until I arrive. It will be two weeks at most."

Two weeks! Panic seized her again. She almost backed out at that moment.

He walked up behind her. "Now don't move, Angie. I'm going to give you a muscle relaxant."

Evangeline felt like sobbing, but she tried to emulate John's courage. She winced as John stuck the needle in her ass. After he dabbed her with alcohol and walked away, she waited for something to happen. "What will I..." She suddenly felt very dizzy.

"Try not to talk or move." Kneeling before her, he began brushing a clear liquid on her feet and calves.

Evangeline's head was spinning, but the injection seemed to make her fear subside. She began to focus on the brush that was tracing cool, wet patterns across her exposed flesh.

The liquid coating solidified as John brushed it on, letting him make small adjustments to Evangeline's body. The first time he brushed it between her toes, they returned to their original positions; by the second or third application, they remained extended, and John quickly curled or straightened them until her foot looked sculpted.

Evangeline stared straight ahead of her as the moist, massaging sensations reached her ass and stomach. She felt an odd tightness on the surface of her skin where the wetness had dried.

"Just try to relax. I'm sorry to..." John stopped himself from expressing the concern that he could not help feeling for his beautiful, naked comrade. He was trying to seem confident for her sake, but there was no way to tell what would happen to her, or to him. As he coated her thighs, he noticed that her young cunt was moist, and quickly pushed the carnal thought away. He worked as quickly as he could, teasing and pushing Evangeline's breasts until they stood round and impossibly high, encased in the hardening liquid cement. With a few deft strokes, he extended and broadened her already-distended nipples.

The weird sensations in Evangeline's breasts made her weak and miserable, and it was all she could do not to move or make noises. She was helplessly aroused, and knew John could see it. But the drug made her unable to focus on her shame for more than a few moments; each new sensation drove the last one out.

After lacquering Evangeline's hair and plumping and spreading her lips, John stood back. Evangeline's nakedness was now artificial - she was too smooth, too round, too perfect. In a subtle way, she looked more like a statue now, though John could still see the young girl beneath the glossy coating that held her precariously in her pose.

Evangeline heard John walk behind her again. "I'm going to give you the injection now, Angie. Be brave." She felt another sting in her ass cheek.

John stood in front of her. Had she fallen asleep? She couldn't remember the last few minutes. Out of the corners of her eyes, she could see her breasts, higher and farther out than they were supposed to be.

"You probably won't be able to talk now." He looked at her, waiting.

She found that she wasn't looking him in the eye. She couldn't tell whether she couldn't look at him, or didn't want to. "Can you move?" She tried to answer, but it seemed impossible. "No," he said quietly. He paused for a second. "It's done." She had a strange, flat feeling. He continued to stare at her, then gently ran the back of his hand across her neck and shoulder before he walked away.

Evangeline felt a shock wave run through her body when John touched her. She couldn't feel the pressure of his hand, but the erotic sensation was uncanny and intense.

Now John was moving quickly again. For a moment he had forgotten the danger they were in. He began slathering Evangeline's motionless form in a grey, sticky substance from head to foot. "When this is over, Angie, we'll go away. No more fighting for us," he said, with an urgency in his voice that she had never heard. John knelt before her and began the difficult job of concealing her pubic hair under layers of the grey paint.

Out of nowhere, Evangeline felt the approach of her orgasm. "Please no please no..." The words formed in her mind, but it was as if she no longer remembered having a mouth to speak them with. The tingling in her cunt spread like fire through her whole body, and she surrendered.

As she lost control of her senses, her humiliation and misery buzzed in her head. Did John see that she was coming at his touch? She wanted desperately to move, to run away or to collapse, to stretch the tingling aching passivity out of her body. But she could do nothing at all.

She now knew all the consequences of what had happened to her: until John released her, she would be a thing, not a person, unable to communicate, helpless to cover her nudity, to stop men and women from touching her, from looking at her cunt, her breasts, her ass, her legs.

Could she endure this feeling of being given completely to the world as a piece of property? She tried to think that her time in this unbearable state was limited, that it would just be a matter of a few weeks at most. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw John working on her, moving to her side. Her orgasm was still buzzing inside her. Was she crying? She didn't know if tears were falling, but inside she felt as if she was sobbing.

Suddenly she felt, with great misery, that she could never be the same again. Even if movement were returned to her, she would feel like an object forever. Every time anyone looked at her, part of her would become naked again, become that person's property. Perhaps she had always been an object, and never known it. When would this orgasm fade away?

John had now covered Evangeline from head to toe in the gray coating, and was painstakingly working on details, filling in the too-realistic folds and dimples of her skin, smoothing over her features, gently augmenting her curves. It was a relief to him that he could no longer see or feel her uncovered body. He found it easier now to think of her as a creation rather than as a person, and as she came more and more to resemble a statue, he unwittingly stopped talking to her.

When he was satisfied, he stood back and inspected her statuesque body from every angle, making small adjustments. "Beautiful," he said. Evangeline was indeed very beautiful, impossibly smooth and feminine, impossibly rounded, a perfect nude. John retrieved an electric tool and began buffing her with a rotating cloth attachment, working his way down her arched back. Where she had been buffed, she was off-white instead of gray, and shone like polished stone.

John no longer thought about his young comrade's body beneath his hands. He ran the tool across her cheeks and forehead, around her breasts, down the hollow of her belly, between her legs, as if he was working on a piece of furniture. The miserable, aroused girl gradually became indistinguishable
from a marble statue.

Please keep me, John, she thought, crying uncontrollably inside and coming helplessly again and again. I don't care about the code or the cause anymore. If it's just you who possesses me, it might be easier. Don't give me to everyone.

He took a smaller attachment for the buffer and polished facial features, nipples, navel, the cleavage between breasts, buttocks, toes. He could not detect at all the convulsive, liquid changes that he was effecting in the young girl trapped a millimeter beneath his hands.

Finally the statue that was Evangeline stood finished.

"Can you move, Angie?" John said, awkwardly, needlessly. He felt silly trying to talk to her. It would be an hour before she had hardened enough to begin crating. Looking at his watch, he ran off to pack, opening a window on the way. The spring breeze drifted through the room, gently drying the nude girl.

John returned with his suitcase an hour later and touched Evangeline lightly all over. She was completely dry and hard as rock. He grabbed her around the waist and began edging her toward the crates at the side of the room. Her bare feet were partly embedded in the platform, which moved with her as if she were part of it.

Within that hour Evangeline had gone through many transformations. She no longer knew whether she was still a person. She had lost the sense that she lived somewhere inside her head; now her being seemed concentrated wherever she felt a sensation. All she knew at the moment was the curves of her naked waist where John had gotten a handhold on her. Then she traveled to the sole of her left foot and the first and second toes of her right foot, where the platform vibrated quietly and frantically against her as it dragged against the floor. It didn't matter to her anymore whether John crated and shipped her, or left her in this room. The orgasm in her toes and the orgasm in her waist began to spread and take shape. The two sensations met in her cunt, and then her being was in her cunt as she went over the edge. She would remain in her cunt for a while now.

Suddenly John heard a noise outside. He panicked and released Evangeline. Before he could react, the door burst open, broken down. A group of men with guns rushed in. John bolted for the bedroom.

"Stop!" one of the men yelled. Three or four gunshots rang out, and John fell to the ground.

Footsteps crossed the room. "He's dead," said one of the men.

Evangeline heard it all as if in a dream. John was dead. She heard one of the men walking toward her. I'm next, she thought. The man stood in front of her, staring. She waited for him to shoot her. The man looked at her breasts.

In the background, she could hear the men talking about John. It sounded as if some of them were searching the studio.

Slowly Evangeline put it together. She wouldn't be killed. She was a statue.

Another man walked over and joined the first, gaping at her. "Look at those tits," he said. The first man laughed. The other ran his hand around and over her breasts. "If I could find a woman like this...." Evangeline felt the separate shocks of sexual anguish as the man's fingers passed casually against her nipples.

John was dead. Without him to revive her, she would stay this way. Her head swam as the men's groping brought her to the edge of another orgasm. Help! For a moment she felt her personhood return to her, and she rebelled against what had happened. She wanted to try to move, but it was as if she didn't even remember how. In a split-second her useless resistance collapsed, and she felt her being ebbing away from the place behind her eyes and flowing into her captive nipples. She was at their disposal, at everyone's disposal, forever. She came.

To the men, the gesture of brushing her nipples had lasted less than a second.

After John's body had been taken away, their leader walked over to the curvaceous nude. He lit a cigarette and stared at her coyly tilted head, her full parted lips, her arched back and protruding ass. It looked so soft and yielding. He ran his hand over her ass cheeks. They were hard. Of course. He looked down her round thighs to her lightly bent knee, her long, curved toes pressing into the platform. He looked between her legs, saw a pubic mound but no sex organs. His eyes traveled over her concave stomach and rested on her buoyant, long-nippled breasts, sitting so high that her dimpled chin almost rested between them. Her placid face looked back from between her breasts. For a girl so teasingly offering herself, she seemed strangely lost in thought.

One of the men came over to the statue as everyone was leaving. The leader said to him, "Take her too," The man smiled, but he seemed puzzled. "Get them to help you. Just throw a blanket over her and lash her to the side of the van."

"Yes, sir," the man said.

It was days later. The leader of the group of policemen sat in his office, talking to a secret service official, drinking tea. "We still haven't discovered the whereabouts of the girl. Could she have escaped?"

"I don't think so," said the police official, drinking his tea.

In the officers' lounge, at the far end of the room, between a chair and the fireplace, Evangeline stood naked, back to the fire, her breasts thrust into the air, gleaming in the flickering light. Her being was concentrated in the feeling of intense, volatile warmth in her back, ass and thighs. As her arousal ebbed and flowed, what she felt for the fire was something like love.



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