Bildhauer - The Beginning

by ASL



Author's Note:
 
This was originally intended to be a much longer piece. But, because I was getting tired of looking at it, and things are so slow here in asfr-land, I thought I'd put at least part of the story here to start. Maybe it'll inspire other members of our happy little band to do the same... I hope you find it enjoyable - ASL

German girls are the best.

I have a broker of sorts, one who doesn't ask questions and someone for who names are an unnecessary encumbrance. My broker knows the type girls that I like; young, tall, thin, attractive Caucasians with straight hair, and long legs. Most importantly, my broker knows that these girls need to be untraceable. Thousands of Eastern European girls are lured to the U.S. every year for "modeling" careers; the lucky ones end up in porn, the not so lucky ones just disappear. The girls that come to me tend towards a rather more permanent careerůMy broker even has a nickname for me - 'Bildhauer', German for 'sculptor'. I pay well for the women that are sent to me and those women have made me very rich.

I stumbled into my new career three years ago. I had been working as a chemical engineer with 3M. I actually hold a surprising number of patents. Well, actually, 3M holds the patents; my employment agreement gave the company ownership of any patents or inventions which resulted from my research. In retrospect, signing that damned thing was a really bad idea, not that I had a choice or anything. After many years with the firm, I really began to resent it. I guess being a victim of intellectual piracy one too many times is what made me sandbag my findings when my research into metallic coatings started to look promising. When I knew that it would work, I decided to keep it to myself. I fudged the results, made the whole thing look like a colossal waste of time and money, and then downloaded my files over the course of a weekend. I resigned soon after that.

What prompted me to so abruptly terminate my employment relationship with 3M was simple: I had conceived, developed and subsequently absconded from my employer with a new type of super hard metallic coating and the method of its application.

Cool? You betcha'. In industry, the ability to apply a uniform coating to any manufactured item is no simple thing. Do that, make that coating extremely thin, instant drying, and very, very hard and then you're talking about some serious shit. The basic chemistry of my spray made it dry to shiny silver; but at the time I had no idea how perfect that would be . . .

At first, I had really no idea what I was going to do next. I couldn't really sell my process because 3M was sure to find out. I didn't have the capital to build a facility of sufficient size to become a viable subcontracting partner for any large manufacturer. Even if I did, again, 3M was a cinch to find out.

After a few weeks, when I was really feeling that I had made a colossal blunder, I stumbled across an answer: I had been trying my spray process on various objects, taking flowers for example, and spraying them. A coated flower was fantastically hard yet rendered in perfect detail. I started to place my little objects d'art on consignment in local gift shops and soon found them to be in very high demand. After that I began to buy small birds and animals in the local pet store and coat them. They sold quickly too, and I began then to think that my second career as a sort of artist, was progressing nicely. I had no idea of what was about to happen nextů

Over the next few months I enjoyed a modest success as a local artist, my works appeared in several galleries and I began to make friends within the art community. I met many of Minneapolis' wealthy oddballs and actually became friends with a few of them. One of them, Peter van Arden, and myself started spending an evening or two each week drinking in his club. Striking up a pleasant friendship. One evening Pete, who was one of the most even-tempered guys I ever met, came to the club extremely agitated. After a few McCallums, I was finally able to get him to tell me what was up.

Pete's third wife, Traci, was an ex-model (of course). He had remarried last year after his second wife left for Monaco with her personal trainer. Although Pete was a terrific guy, it was clearly his money that interested Traci. She was a stunning 26-year-old blond that he had met while on vacation in Nevis. Traci dumped the guy that she was with immediately upon ascertaining (correctly) that Pete had a way lot more money. Anyway, it seems that Tracy's attention span hadn't improved all that much over the last year. Anyway, Pete started to tell me how he had thought that she was involved with somebody else. So he hired a private investigator to shadow Tracy and to bring back any evidence of an affair. Apparently, the investigator had been spectacularly successful.

Although I felt badly for Peter, I really had a hard time mustering up any surprise. I had met Tracy a couple of and although she was truly magnificent looking, I never liked her. Not very many people did. In any event, Tracy was about to discover that Peter van Arden was not a person to be f---ed with. As I stared awkwardly at the photographic record of his wife's infidelity, I made the unfortunate observation that although Tracy's personality was pretty terrible (it must have been the McCallums), her body was truly a work of art. As soon as I said that, Peter looked me in the eye and smiled a smile that made the little hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

Pete began to talk very fast. At first I thought he was kidding, but as I listened, I found myself becoming strangely excited. His plan was simple: he'd encourage Tracy come to my studio to "model" for one of my sculptures. "Then you'll coat her with whatever it is you spray those little birds with, and thenů," he gave me that smile again, "ůthen what?"

Fact was, I didn't know. Nothing that I sprayed ever changed; the coating never chipped, melted, ran or smeared. It was pretty much indestructible. 
"Well," I said, "she'd probably be sort of an instant statue." I was beginning to sweat.

"Perfect. I'm sure she'll be quite decorative." He said. I just nodded, flushed with excitement, amazed that I was agreeing to do this, but quite aroused at the prospect.

We ordered more whiskey.


Two weeks later, Peter and I were in my basement studio and Tracy was standing on a small pedestal in the middle of my work area. She was nude, her short blonde hair slicked back; her pussy was shaved clean and her smooth, her tanned legs looked like polished wood, with well defined calves standing in sharp relief. Tracy had obviously just come from the gym; she looked incredible and she knew it. As Pete and I had discussed, I gave Tracy very specific posing instructions. Trying to appear spontaneous, I guided her into the pose that Peter had instructed me to: her legs slightly apart, her right hip jutting out slightly. I positioned her head so she was looking slightly up and to the left, her forearms resting on top of her head. This thrust her breasts forward, making them the true centerpiece of her pose; her nipples were rock hard, but whether from excitement or chill I couldn't tell. "Hold it just like that", I said to her, "you look terrific." She smiled at me and I felt a pang of guilt. As I walked away though, she snarled something about the temperature in my 'cheesy studio' and my guilt disappeared.

As I approached my work area, where I had carefully arranged a worktable and a large amount of plaster, I began in a way that I would imagine a sculptor would start a project. Fact was, I had no clue as to how to sculpt anything - I could only create art one way. I looked carefully at Tracy, then glanced at Pete and saw him nod in my direction. At that moment, I activated the spray jets positioned around the modeling platform. They whooshed for what seemed a long time, and then suddenly stopped. The entire corner of my basement was engulfed in a thick fog and I began to think that perhaps we should retreat when suddenly the fans kicked in, startling us both. As the hazy cloud surrounding the platform cleared, we could see where, just seconds before there was a beautiful woman, there now stood what appeared to be a silver statue of a nude female, glistening under the lights. I heard Pete catch his breath. Neither of us said a word.

I expected Tracy to move, to speak, to somehow react to what had been done to her, but there was nothing, a blink, a move, and a breath. Of course, none of the small animals that I had previously coated ever moved again, but somehow I thought that doing this to Tracy would be different. Only then did I begin to understand - I mean really understand - what had just happened: I had taken a living woman and turned her into a statue. A beautiful woman stood frozen in my basement, encased in a permanent silver metallic coating.

My c--- was rock hard.

Wow.

I'm not sure how long the two of us just stood staring at the silver statue that was, just moments ago, Pete's wife, but eventually we mustered up the mental capacity to walk over to the platform, towards the new sculpture. She (It?) was still slightly warm as I ran my hand over her figure; the coating was hard, as I knew it would be. I inspected her closely; every detail was coated in silver and perfectly rendered. We both just stared and ran our hands over the statue (it was harder and harder to think of it as a "her") for a while. Pete, looking a little dazed, told me he'd be in touch tomorrow to 'finalize' everything and went home.

After Pete left, I went back downstairs to look again at the Tracy-statue. Of course it hadn't changed, Tracy would never move again. I examined the statue even more closely to ensure that the coating coverage was total. Wearing a respirator and protective clothing, I looked for gaps, doing any touchup work with my hand sprayer. Again, I tried hard to get my mind around the concept of what I'd done: Tracy was a statue now, encased permanently in a micro thin coating of super hard silver alloy. . . my head swam at the thought; but I knew right then that I wanted to - no, needed to - do this again: to find other women and make them into statues. I couldn't explain the feeling then, I can't explain it now - I just know that turning beautiful young women into statues is the most exciting thing I'd ever done. But I digress . . .

Satisfied that the she was coated completely, I stepped back to admire my work.

The figure looked incredible; Tracy had been a beautiful woman and now she was a beautiful statue. But she looked too perfect, too much like a real woman. Pondering this for a while, I wandered out to my garage, where I found my inspiration: I saw my buffer, the one I'd use to wax my car. After mounting a very fine grit paper on the buffer I went back downstairs. As I began to slowly polish the statue, I saw my coating take on a terrific shine. The first buffing took off all of the downy hair that had covered her Tracy's body. After I buffed the figure to a high shine, I leisurely added another coat of spray by hand, buffed it out and then repeated the process a dozen times. When I finished, it was just getting light out and the Tracy statue looked like it was made of liquid mercury.

Next day, Pete was obviously surprised to see me in the same clothes and looking way worse for the wear. But when we went downstairs, he could see what I had been slaving away at all night. It was an impressive sight, if I do say so myself. Pete just walked around the statue again and again. Then he stopped, and just looked at me, smiling that smile. He handed me a check for $25,000 and I handed him a receipt (for insurance purposes) for one statue of his wife, who would, within two weeks of that day, be reported lost while sailing on Lake Superior.

Pity.

Meanwhile, Pete' s payment meant that I could begin to explore ways to find the right kind of woman for my sculpting 'projects'. It didn't take me long to connect with my broker, and, soon after that, things really began to get interesting.
 



 
To be continued in: Bildhauer - Statues, Inc.
(I promise!)

ASL