“Come in! Come in. I’m so glad you were able to make it. Thank you for helping me out on such short notice.”
He found himself in her studio, just off campus. Statues filled the space - all reflections of the human form, but suggestions. All of them were perhaps best described as “mummiforms” - the suggestion of human shapes beneath draped volumes, suggesting softly lain sheets and incalculably tight wrappings simultaneously. It was equal parts artistic and disturbing.
She turned to him, saw him staring at the statues. “Yes, I’m an art student here. I’ve been trying to finish my degree work for years now. Just can’t seem to get it good enough. Perfection is… SO hard to find.”
She was dressed clearly for the comfort of her own home. She was wearing simply a baggy t-shirt, but her bottom half was clad in extremely short terry cloth pajama bottoms and ballet tights with slides. It very much carried the air of the clothes she wore for personal comfort.
He couldn’t help but notice how toned her body was. But it didn’t feel like vanity - he could feel the stress of compulsion behind the tautness of her muscles.
She either didn’t register her staring at him, or didn’t care. She pushed past him, evidently still in quite the rush. “So I have your outfit for the project there. Put it on now.”
He looked to the chair, expecting to see loose-fitting scrubs. Instead he saw beige fabric. Picking it up, the slippery, glossy fabric fell through his fingers.
He realized with sudden apprehension - these were women’s glossy tights.
“85% nylon. 15% spandex. Wonderful material. But it’s absolutely essential for you to wear. My materials won’t adhere without a substrate. There’s a changing room over there.”
He continued to stare at her, dumbstruck. She met his gaze unflinchingly.
“Come on now. Do you want the $500 or not?”
And with that, he acquiesced. He picked up the slidey, shifty fabric and shut the changing room curtain. He could almost swear that he heard her murmur “... good boy.” But he was probably just imagining things.
“The intact pair goes on your legs. The pair with a hole in the crotch will go over your arms with your head through the middle. Did you shave like I requested?”
He quickly murmured his assent.
“And I hope I needn’t say this, but absolutely nothing else between your body and the fabric. I need your form as accessible as possible for this to work.”
He stood there stark naked, pulling this mysterious yet… sensual fabric over his legs. This was starting to get very strange, but he really needed that money. The feel of the fabric pulling over his freshly shaved legs, done just like she had instructed, was an entirely new sensation for him. He’d never felt anything like it before. It was all-encompassing, sensual, it made him feel heat in his cheeks, he could feel the blood rushing to his member. He felt deeply embarrassed, but also aroused. Why though? He realized with even more embarrassment it was from her. Her bossing him around. Her making him strip. Her outfit she was commanding him to wear.
He felt hotter from the feeling of embarrassment, which to his dismay, just made his member harder under the hose. He started sliding the second pair onto his arms. The absurdity of this moment and his complete encasement was not lost him. He checked again. He was still just as hard.
“Done yet?”
He started to babble out that he wasn’t, that he needed more time. He felt like a teenager again, awkwardly trying to hide a boner. There was no way he could go out like this.
Even as he was stumbling over his words, she had flung open the curtain, and without even a single moment of hesitation at his rock hard member, she was pulling him by his wrist.
“We haven’t the time. Stand here.”
He found himself standing against a steel pole, the chill of hard metal immediately meeting the inside of his legs, butt, and upper back. He stood there at attention. He had a sudden fleeting feeling that he was awaiting execution. She stooped before him, a giant spool of plastic wrap in her hands.
“FIRST STAGE: plastic. Tension is required during this portion. Tension minimizes chaos in the system. Tension is how I make you perfect.”
She dove right in, first catching the wrap expertly on his ankles. Her fingers deftly flit over his slim legs, sometimes tracing small arcs over the smooth fabric he now wore. Those small touches, he was ashamed to say, made him even more aroused. He looked down at his dick - it was still raging, smushed against the fabric. If she cared at all, she wasn’t showing it.
She continued to work up from his ankles, his feet left unwrapped for the moment. It was a peculiar sensation with every wrap. The wrap started chilled, then very quickly became warm as his body heated the small pockets of air between him and his wrappings. He didn’t say a word. He felt as if in a trance.
She worked over his knees, his thighs. As her face drew near his groin, he could feel her eyeing the pressure there. That pause left him aching, and he felt himself twitch down there. That single slight vibration in the fabric broke the spell, and she continued wrapping. Curiously, she avoided his dick, guiding the wrapping onto his pubic area.
“Hands down!”
He had been idly lifting his hands without even realizing it. He felt his hands snap to his side. Whoever this woman was, he definitely didn’t want to get on her bad side.
The wrapping continued apace. She was at his fingers. His wrists. He could feel his hands press firmly into his side.
“Tension!” he heard her hiss.
And she did wrap harder, pressing his knuckles into the skin of his thighs. He had the passing though that now, he didn’t really have the ability to… do anything. This had suddenly become a concern. He hadn’t discussed anything with her about what the plan was for the art. For all he knew, she could be a psycho. If anything, that seemed the best guess at the moment, a possessed artist who didn’t care one whit if he was uncomfortable or safe.
He started to speak, to meekly express his misgivings. But it was all so overwhelming, he found himself stammering and barely forming coherent sentences. He moved his chest away from the stainless steel pole, and he felt her use one hand to press him back into the pole while still dispensing wrap with the other.
At the time, he thought very little of this. Later on, he would realize this was the moment when he should have truly committed to running away.
“Please, you’re moving too much. It’s fine for now. HEY! … Like I said, it’s fine for now, this stage uses elastic material for a reason. But I need you! To stop moving!” she barked.
With each exclamation she pulled or pushed him back into alignment with the pole. The wrap had gone over his elbows now. He wasn’t quite sure, but it did seem like suddenly she was moving at a less deliberate and almost hurried pace. He was full on panicking now, realizing that he was trapped in a stranger’s studio, completely at her mercy, with absolutely no idea what was in store for him. This wasn’t an art project, this was imprisonment.
“I’m going to need you to be quiet. You’re really disturbing my work here.” With that, she walked over to her supplies, pulling out another piece of fabric like the tights he was already wearing. She started pulling the material over his head. Like a hood. He was starting to raise his voice; it seemed like no matter what he said, she just pressed forward and continued.
“I guess we can get to this stage now. It would have happened eventually, your hair was far too chaotic to be allowed no moderation here. But you are getting far too rambunctious.”
She pulled out another object - a bright red sponge. He was shouting now, yelling, using all the might he could summon. He was promptly muffled as she pressed the foam into his mouth. His shouts turned into snorts, mumbles, and mewlings.
“MMmmmmmmpphhhh!”
“It’s a shame that I need to gag you. I really much prefer it when my models cooperate. But I’ve learned that there’s nothing like efficiency and getting things done. I will not let you stand in the way of me producing my art.”
A second stocking emerged in her hand, which he felt forced over his head. The fabric slid with no resistance over the first layer, slipping over his forehead.
“Almost done with this stage now.”
“MMMMMMMM!”
She pulled the stocking over his nose and mouth, pressing the foam even deeper into his oral cavity.
“mmmmmm…”
He found himself barely able to get out a groan now. This double-layered hood was far more strict than he would have guessed. There was so much tension that he couldn’t get any air through his mouth and was entirely reliant on any air that he could gasp through his nose. The two layers over his nose also significantly reduced how much he was able to breathe. He could still do so, of course - it was just hard. Any extra energy he tried to put into screaming was winding him at this point with how much effort it took. He felt himself hyperventilating.
“Breathe. Breathe through it. You will come around.”
And so he did. Eventually the spots in his vision dissipated, and he felt himself finding an equilibrium point in his breathing - but all his energy had to go into maintaining his breath. His struggles and verbal protestations completely stopped.
“There we go. Now I can continue in peace.”
And so she did, continuing her wrapping. She continued from his upper arms, pulling, stretching, tensing the entire system which was his body, the plastic wrap, and the pole.
She did very light tension around his neck. But as she continued moving up, as soon as the firm support of his chin allowed, she continued with the barbaric tension. He couldn’t look down now at all and had no idea what he must have looked like. He found himself feeling quite warm under all this wrapping. And… oh god. His erection. He hadn’t even been thinking about it, but sure enough, he was still completely hard.
When she got to his eyes, she did just a single wrap over his eyes. Thankfully, his vision was unabated. He frantically searched for eye contact with her, but it was like every time her gaze grew close to his, she looked past him. He was really just an object to her. He would have bet all the money in the world she didn’t care what he was feeling in the slightest. He felt like the innards within a sausage casing. He felt like the prey of a spider. What he didn’t also expect to feel was so inexplicably aroused and absolutely aching for her to do something with his dick.
“Would you like to see yourself… statue number 34?”
The words hung in the air. She slowly stepped down from the stool she was using. She pulled over a standing mirror, slowly turning it so he could look upon himself. What he saw horrified him. There were still small pockets of himself left. His stockinged feet were still not wrapped. His groin also was not covered yet. But the rest of him - the green plastic she restrained him with was mirror smooth. He was just a … form. A suggestion of humanity, and that was it.
If he focused, he could see that he was a person there. The body staring back at him wiggled when he wiggled, it slightly engorged when he breathed. But if he relaxed his vision - all those vestiges of humanity disappeared. It was just a statue looking back at him.
“Yes. Now you see. You are not just modeling for my art, you ARE my art.”
His eyes suddenly darted around the studio.
Statue. Thirty. Four.
The other forms around the studio suddenly became so much clearer. Other humans-now-statues. Male forms, female forms. Some faces suggesting pain, others ecstasy. They were all just like him at one point.
He truly panicked then. Thrashing as much as he could, squealing with what little air he could.
Statue Number Thirty Four barely jiggled. Some slight sounds still emanated from beneath the wrappings.
She clapped her hands in delight. “Yes! Amazing. What inspiration! You have so much vigor left in you. I think you just may be my best work yet.”
She walked up to him. He suddenly grew distinctly aware of his dick - just one piece of fabric away from freedom. She pulled out a pair of scissors, which he instinctively shirked away from - but she pressed ahead, a slight smile on her lips. She cut out his dick, and it flopped out.
“Now, Thirty Four. What should we do with this?”
He went quiet. He didn’t want to anger her. He didn’t know what she was capable of. He did however suddenly feel the growing warmth of contact. She was working his cock with expert dexterity, softly cackling with glee. He looked into her face, and she finally looked into his. She was, now that he looked at her, stunningly attractive, and despite his best efforts, he felt his member responding immediately to her touch.
“Oh my. Yes. Yes. You do look so perfect up there. And whatever will we do with you?”