Sculptor and Muse - All Fetish Forums

Sara_Quill · #1 07-03-17, 19:45

The Sculptor and the Muse

He had called! Lisa turned off the microwave, leaving the instant meal of rice and chicken right there inside of the microwave and got in her car. He was a sculptor, a beautiful free thinker, a philosopher, an artist, with dreadlocks in his hair and always wearing the same smelly tie-die T-shirt. He was a many years older than her, she just turned twenty two and he was almost fifty now. She admired him endlessly. He represented freedom. He helped her the become the person she always knew she could be. He helped her find herself, her true self. She was his muse.

She had been a model for a couple of months now. She’d posed for classroom’s full of art students trying to capture her form in their charcoal sketches, but this was different. He was different, Yohn was different.

For starters Yohn wasn’t a student he was the teacher. Also he was a sculptor, he didn’t want to draw her, he wanted to sculpt her. She was put on a pedestal, literally her likeness would be displayed on a block of shiny granite, as well as figuratively, he admired her. He endlessly complemented her form, the curves of her body, the tone of her skin, he even marveled about her freckles and the childish dimple in her cheek. Whenever she posed for him she felt like a goddess.

There was no doorbell. She knocked loudly on the boarded window of the building he was squatting. A few moment later he opened the door and invited her into his hallway. He was wearing the familiar tie-die T-shirt she knew so well, the sweaty smell she’d come to appreciate. Above his ears some dreadlocks were turning silvery gray.

She smiled. An angelic charming smile she hoped. He guided her to his studio and locked the door behind them. The studio looked different this time, usually there were big pieces of clay and wax laying everywhere, molds and tools, but this time he’d tidied up. She walked up to the screen to undress but he held her back. He had something else in mind, he said. He wanted to get to know her, he wanted to actually study her essence. A burst of butterflies in her tummy. A shy smile.

‘I’ve seen you from the outside. I’ve studied your body.’ He said. ‘But something is missing from my piece.’ He vaguely gestured towards the corner of the studio were her likeness was being formed out of wax, later to be casted in bronze.

‘This posing that you do, it’s all fake. The word says it all. It’s a pose. I get it, your young, society teaches you to pose and pretend, but I’m looking for purity, something unaltered, something that is untouched by society. Something that’s just truly and irrevocably you in your most essential shape.’

He kept on rambling like that for minutes. She leaned against a desk and pretended to listen to his monologue about art and purity, about authenticity and vulnerability, and some inner social curator everyone had. She tried to look interested, she wanted him to think she was wise beyond her years, even though it was pretentious drivel blaming everything what’s wrong in the world on society.

‘See, I found a way to disable this inner curator of yours, that is if you’re willing too work with me on this next project.’

She nodded. ‘Off course I want to.’ She said. ‘I’m your muse, aren’t I.’

He smiled and nodded as well. He picked up a little glass bottle and a dirty rag filled with stains. He poured some of the colorless liquid on the fabric and gestured her to come closer. ‘What’s that?’ she asked. From the rag came a strong chemical smell.

‘I’ve just explained it to you. I want to see you in your purest form, your most vulnerable form.’ Something had changed in his eyes, he was still that same observing artist he always was, but there was a deranged spark in his eyes and a voracious smile on his face, his tongue licking his lips.

‘Yohn, you’re scaring me.’ She said. ‘What are we doing now?’

He didn’t say a word. He cornered her against the wall and put the stained rag in front of her face. The sweet fumes crawling up her nostrils, chafing her throat. She coughed and tried to push the rag away.

‘Yohn.’ She said. ‘I don’t like this.’

The strong chemical fumes made her light headed. Yohn firmly kept the rag in place, pushing it even further into her face, the damp fabric covering her nose and mouth completely. Just those sharp fumes frazzling her, dizzying her.

She felt the room spinning. She grabbed his arm en tried to remove the cloth.

‘What?’ She said. Her tongue thick, it didn’t move the way she wanted. Her whole body seemed heavy and indolent, her fingers slipping off his wrist, her arm limply dangling down.

‘Sshhh. Good girl.’ Yohn said. ‘That’s a good girl. Just breath in the chloroform, just let your thoughts slip a way, no more thinking, no more posing, just pureness.’

His words sounded from far away, as if they were underwater, she tried to turn her head, to shake off the rag, but the smell kept on following her around. Her ears ringing, her eyelids heavy, so heavy, eager to close, she fought the sleep, her eyes fluttering, a haze, a daze, she couldn’t focus. His arms all around her, carrying her, picking her up, she was being placed on some sort of table. Her body limp unable to fight back. Her head rolling from side to side. Almost completely unaware. She heard his voice. Soothing, somewhat paternal and comforting, yet she didn’t register the words, she saw a blur of lights and shadows, no real shapes. The chemical smell got stronger, the rag was placed on her face again. As soon as she felt the damp fabric, she realized the fabric had been gone for a moment. His hand covering her nose and mouth, his fingers pushing the rag tighter and tighter into her face.

Swimming, twirling, a big spinning drain, her thoughts were being sucked away out of her head, her there was a big mist settling in her mind, a wall, a wave of misty sleepiness, it approached her, quickly engulfed her.

She fought the haze, a thick nebula of drowsiness, somewhere from far away she heard footsteps, somewhere on the edge of her awareness she noticed hands touching her, fingers exploring her feet, her toes one by one, the tendons passing over her instep, her ankles. She tried to pull her foot away, but she was tied down. What? She coughed, her throat sore, a slight headache. What was going on? She tried to remember, she tried to wake up, but sleep was pulling her down, sucking her in further and further, it was like being trapped in quicksand. She blinked against the bright lights.

She pulled on her bounds again and again, coughing, struggling, blinking. A silhouette, someone looming over her. She recognized Yohn’s face. She started to remember what had happened what had passed. A fearful knot in her stomach, what would he do to her? Would he murder her? Or rape her? He stretched out his hand and started to touch her other foot, not stroking it tenderly, not caressing it, just feeling, exploring the density, the shape, the structure.

‘Whass goinnnn onnnn?’ She mumbled her voice slurring. Her eyes burning, it was difficult to keep them open, she blinked for a second, then opened her eyes again. She tried to lift her head, to see what Yohn was doing. Now she noticed she was naked. Usually she undressed herself behind the screen, but this time her clothes were ripped open and cut away, some remnants of her cuff still dangled around her wrist.

‘Yohnnn?’ She asked.

Now she noticed Yohn had zipped open his pants, she could see him. He was slowly rubbing his hand on his self, while his other hand was still massaging her foot.

‘Yohn?’ She asked whining. ‘Tell me what’s going on, please.’ In vain she pulled on her bounds.

‘I’ve told you sweety. I wanted to see you, the real you, not the image you want to project of yourself.’

‘But why...’ For a moment she closed her eyes, there was still a slowness in her thoughts, there was still something she couldn’t quite comprehend. He was playing with himself, she was tied down, it just didn’t add up. Why wasn’t he sculpting right now? This was something else, something kinky or sexual, she pulled on her bounds again.

Yohn walked around and started caressing her cheek. ‘You’re afraid.’ He said. Carefully observing. ‘But are you really afraid or has society thought you to be afraid?’

‘What?’ She said confused. ‘I don’t like this game Yohn, let me go please.’

He shook his head. ‘Think Lisa. Be honest with yourself. Are you really afraid? You know me right, you thrust me, you’re my muse, what’s there to be afraid of?’

‘Fine I’m not afraid.’ She said. ‘I never said I was afraid anyway. You said I was. I’m angry. Let me go.’

‘Anger.’ Yohn said. His head slightly tilted. ‘Anger.’ He said again as if he was tasting the syllables in his mouth. ‘People only get angry because they feel the deserve something they’re not getting. What are you not getting?’

‘How about freedom?’ She said. ‘How about the autonomy to decide what happens to my own body.’

He nodded. He picked up the rag, he folded it into a neat square and drizzled a large amount of chloroform on it, then very prudently he placed it over her nose and mouth again. Observing her face closely, sucking in every little flinch every little movement.

‘If it’s freemdom you want, breath.’ He said. ‘Inhale and Exhale. The chloroform will set you free.’

‘No it won’t.’ She said. Her voice muffled behind the rag and his hand. She shook her head. Turning away, fighting the fumes. Yet Yohn was stronger than her, older then her. He tenderly started rubbing her tummy. Big soothing circles, grazing past her pubes, finally leaving his hand to rest in between her breasts, guiding her breath, pushing her chest down every time she exhaled consequently giving her space to inhale.

The room was spinning again. A web of lethargy. Carelessly floating, tumbling, not even realizing what was up or down anymore, sleepy bliss, it was welcoming, she felt warm and hugged, she felt caressed and careless. She sank deeper, thoughts slipping away, her body falling limp and giving in to the fumes. ‘Good girl.’ A voice said.

There was a sadness as the mindless mist faded, she didn’t want to think, she didn’t want to feel, there was something easy, hidden in that forced sleep. A surrender that freed her up from daily worries. It was as if she was homesick towards the haze. She kept her eyes shut, her body loose and limp. She felt hands wandering over her body. Exploring her calves, her knees, her thighs. Fingers pushing softly into her skin, exploring the physicality of her body, her shape and form. There was something calming in his touch, something mesmerizing. Her body was being observed with such and intensity and yet he seemed to be totally locked into his own perceptions, in his own experiences, his own observations.

His hands feeling around her hips and surrounding her waist over and over again. Her belly button, her ribcage, hands studying her, fingers stroking and fondling, soft and earnest. Her breasts, her collarbone, her arms and fingers. As he was exploring her wrist and the tendons on the back of her hand, she tried her hardest to keep her hand loose and limp.

Although she realized it didn’t make sense. If she wanted to return to that mindfull bliss all she had to do was show him she was awake and struggle, scream maybe and fight, and before she knew it he would place the rag over her nose and mouth again.

Yet she felt too groggy to actually struggle and scream, some remnants of drowsiness were still lingering in her mind, she wanted to hang on to them also she was kind of curious what would happen, what he did to her when she was knocked-out, so she clung on to every last bit of haziness still left and laid back.

His hands covered her entire body. Exploring, feeling, meticulously studying every inch of skin. Her private parts got as much attention as her elbow or her collarbone, now his fingers ran over his face, her forehead, the bridge of her nose, her cheekbones, her chin.

‘You’re awake.’ Yohn said.

‘I am?’ She asked.

‘Yes.’ He said. ‘You’re pretending again, you’re posing again, you’re fake.’

‘I’m not fake.’ She said.

‘Well. You’re not pure either.’ He said.

‘Society is part of us. You can’t take a human out of society and still call it human.’ She said. ‘Me socially curating myself is part of who I am.’

‘It doesn’t have to be.’ He said.

‘Who we pretend to be in social situations is part of us. If you take society out you’ll get a savage.’ She said.

He put his hand on her mouth. An exited throb in her body. No rag though, just his hand, just his fingers pressing into her lips to shut her up. He shook his head, his eyes squinting, not really looking at her, just plunged into his own thoughts.

‘You’re right.’ He said. ‘I want to see you’re savage. You’re inner savage. I might have to keep you here for a while. To completely study you, to flush society out of you and set your inner savage free.’ He turned around and left the studio, leaving her unattended for a while. She pulled on her bounds, she screamed, and then she just laid there, trying to recall the slumberous space she just came from. She didn’t know how much time had past when he came back. He’d brought a cage with him, that he now carefully assembled.

As soon as the cage was installed, he douched the rag in chloroform again and pressed it into her face. She was pulled in two directions. There was the wish to breath in deeply, the wish to just inhale and surrender to the haze, but also there was this notion that she had to resist, she had to fight and struggle.

‘Why fight it?’ Yohn said tenderly stroking her forehead. ‘You know you’re helpless, you know it’s pointless to resist, you know you want to return to that blissful serenity, drugged, floating in the high of the chloroform, spacing out. I know you want to, you know you want to. Why then struggle? Why all this theatrical drama. Who are you trying to convince?’

She pondered his words. They sounded wise, they sounded true. She tried to think about it, why was she struggling instead of enjoying? Her head was spinning already, the room turning, the fumes relentlessly crawling into her nose, her mouth, her throat penetrating her lungs. She nodded. Inhaled deeply. Inhaled again. She welcomed the sleepiness, the carefree floating feeling. ‘Very very good,’ Yohn said. ‘Beautiful. Just breath, pretty one. Just breath. No obligations anymore. I’ll set you free. I’ll free you from your day to day responsibility. You’ll stay with me, you’ll live in your cage, I’ll study you. I’ll study your body and your mind. We’ll experiment with all kinds of drugs. I’ll get society out of you. I’ll free you from that burden. I’ll be your savior and you’ll be my savage. Just go to sleep now. Surrender. Free yourself girl.’

His words coiling her in, bewitching her almost. Her eyes started to shut, pupils rolling up, eyelids fluttering, she felt her head slumping to the side. She was there. She was in heaven. She was cared for. She was completely free.

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