Why was I so nervous? We had tested the Field on what must have of been the entire food chain between paramecium and poodles. That it worked was unquestionable, only now the stakes were a lot higher: I didn't want a dead call girl in my basement. Or more precisely, I didn't want the statue of a dead call girl in my basement. What would happen to her if something went wrong? Would she remain forever encased in the Field, an eternal monument to some oversight that I had made?
I guided Barbara to the workroom babbling something about wanting only to photograph her, nude of course, that I wasn't interested in sex. She didn't hesitate, I was sure she had gotten more than her share of bizarre requests.
As she slipped out of her black dress I realized I had chosen well. Her shoulder length black hair framed a beautiful, angular face, a thin straight nose and warm, intelligent green eyes. She stood in front of me in a tissue-thin white thong and bra, she was an all over uniform shade of warm bronze - the kind of color that only comes from the sun, not a machine. If her breasts were store-bought, I couldn't tell - they were perfect. The idea of being naked in front of me obviously excited her; her nipples were rock hard and threatened to poke through her sheer brassiere. Her breathing came quick and shallow. I smiled and nodded to her as she took off her bra. I could barely stand as she stepped out of her panties, revealing a clean shaven pussy and one of the firmest, most beautiful asses I have ever seen. She was exquisite.
There was awkwardness at first; I was hesitant and unsure of what to do next. We just looked at each other for a moment before she stepped onto the pedestal that I had placed in the center of the workroom. She began to move through a series of poses for me, some were amateurish, some were rather striking. Several times she moved into an almost mannequin-like position, hands away from her body, fingers splayed, a distant, distracted look on her face. She would hold that position for a few seconds, look at me, smile and change her pose again. It was about now that I remembered that I was supposed to be taking pictures, so I began to busily snap away with my camera. She would strike a pose for me hold it for a moment and then flow into another. It seemed that the longer she posed, the more pictures I took, the more excited she became. I began to give her suggestions, told her how to hold her head where to look, how to position her legs. Finally I began to tell her what to do with her hands, I asked her to pinch her nipples, to make them even harder for me. After only a few minutes of that I caught a look in her eyes and I nodded - her fingers slipped into her pussy and she moaned. It was then - as she stood with her right leg slightly bent, caressing her right breast with her left hand, playing with her pussy with the other, moaning, a look of lust fixed on her lovely face - it was then that I activated the Field.
For the first few seconds I wasn't sure if it worked, neither of us moved - I didn't, she couldn't. Then I slowly moved towards her, walking slowly around her beautiful, frozen figure, admiring the statue I had just created. She remained motionless, poised as perfectly as I could have imagined, a moment of utter femininity captured forever, if I so desired. I wanted to put her on display for others to see; something this incredible was meant to be shared. This, I thought, is art: a beautiful woman, caught in a private moment of self-love, aroused, nude, perfectly posed. I stepped onto the pedestal with her, looking deeply into her eyes, expecting a blink, a twitch, a breath, a moan. Nothing. She was a statue. I touched her breast, and felt the hard smoothness of the field. What should have been soft was hard, solid, encased in the something unexplainable, but quite obviously real; something which shouldn't exist, but did. I looked closely at her - she was perfectly motionless: her nipples fully erect, her eyes half closed, her lips pursed with what would have been a moan of pleasure... I kissed her frozen lips and my passion exploded. I ran my hands over her frozen body, feeling every detail. I brought my mouth to her pussy, licking her glistening finger where it disappeared inside of her. I could smell her excitement.
I took my clothes off and rubbed my c--- between the cheeks of her ass, licked her back and bit her erect, frozen nipple. I stood in front of her, looked deeply into her unseeing eyes, and masturbated. Just before I came I thought of how excited she would be to know what I had done to her. To know that I had turned her into an object that would excite any man, that would be the envy of any woman and would make an student of art stare in awe at the perfection of it's form. I came, all over her arm and stomach and watched as my c-- dripped down off of her onto the floor, leaving my Barbara-statue as pristine as before.
After I came I was still incredibly aroused. To know that this beautiful woman was now a work of art; posed for my own enjoyment, and would remain so at my whim, gave me a feeling of power like I never felt before. I ran my hand over every bit of her, memorizing her curves and folds but also learning the Field's nuances as well. The statue was cool; the Field was hard, I rapped my knuckles on her figure, I may as well been rapping them on steel, but I knew that the Field would yield, ever so slightly, if sufficient force were applied. Once, when I was doing animal testing, I froze a cat, took it to the basement and shot it. To my surprise, the bullet didn't ricochet off but fell to the floor like a wad of wet tissue paper. That drove my research team nuts for days.
I toyed briefly, then, with the idea of keeping her suspended, forever pleasuring herself, a statue for all eternity. Would that be murder? She was still alive, IF I released the Field. I wanted to preserve her, to keep her perfect, to make her the first acquisition in an entire collection of statues - women frozen as art for my own pleasure. Maybe an entire statuary of figures, women caught in the throes of ecstasy, their faces forever fixed in orgasm. I stopped my fantasy there, realizing that no matter how compelling her pose, I couldn't leave her frozen.
I set up the video camera, placing it in front of my new statue. Still naked, I walked slowly around her. Her buttocks were firm, clenched ever so slightly, I ran my hand across the downy, Field-encased hairs on the small of her back, feeling them move ever so slightly under my touch. I took my time, with the camera running, admiring her as I would a sculpture or museum piece. I began to rub my hands up her legs, over her ass, around her sex. I began to get hard again and stepped back onto the pedestal with her. I touched her arm, tracing the taut tendons and then let my hand slide down towards hers, following her fingers into her pussy. I ran both my hands up her flat stomach to her breasts. I let my hand trace lazy circles around her unoccupied nipple, feeling its stiffness as I played with her frozen fingers clamped firmly around her other nipple. I began to masturbate again, not for me this time but for her. I moved to the side of her, clearly in view of the video camera and pleasured myself. Caressing her frozen body with my other hand, I licked her face and neck, enjoying the hard smoothness of the Field yet feeling every pore of the skin beneath. Finally I came, moaning loudly, with my face buried in the corner of her neck and shoulders.
Weak-kneed, I stepped down from her pedestal. I cleaned myself off, got dressed and popped the tape from the video camera. I positioned myself in front of my still picture camera in roughly the same place that I was when I froze her. I took one long look at my statue, mentally crossed my fingers, and hit the button to turn off the Field. The low moaning started again, she continued to massage her breast and finger her sex as if the last 45 minutes had never happened. It struck me then that of course, for her, it hadn't. I watched for several moments as she continued to make love to herself. Her breathing became faster, her moans louder and the scent of aroused woman began to fill my workroom. As she neared orgasm, I walked toward her, took her hand and led her off the pedestal. She looked at me with a look of annoyed confusion. Why had I denied her release from the aroused state that I had coaxed her towards?
I sat her down, still naked, in front of the video monitor, put the tape in and pressed play. I could see the confusion on her face as the tape began; she looked at me and then back to the video, then to me and back to the video again. We watched together as I circled her immobile figure, gazing admiringly at the sculpture she had become. She caught her breath as the video showed me caressing her, licking her frozen body. I paused the video. Her breath coming in short, ragged pants, she asked me how I did it. "Was it trick photography?" she asked. "Was I hypnotized?" How come she didn't remember anything of what she was seeing. I smiled nervously and began to explain.
I told her how my blue-sky project team at Bell Labs had accidentally stumbled on a method of encasing any object in an essentially impenetrable field. We were deeply troubled, though, by the apparent cessation of any chemical, electrical, biological and nuclear processes within the field - time just stopped. There was no theory, or even a hypothesis, to explain what we were able to create. I told her of how we decided not to publish, how we would continue to discuss the social and commercial implications of our discovery before deciding our next move. As project manager, I was able to remove the device to my home for safekeeping and further "experimentation". Barbara looked at me, clearly unsure of what to think but unable to ignore the videotape. She watched on the monitor as I ejaculated all over her frozen body.
She asked me to replay the videotape and I watched her as she began to play with herself again. Her hand became a blur as I watched her back arch and her body once again become rigid, though now for a very different reason. She cried out once, loudly and then settled back into the chair, spent. I was going to let her rest and was getting up to fix us a drink when she said, "Do it again." I look at her, confused. She smiled at me and said, "Do it again." My confusion must have been apparent, so this time she explained it to me. "Make me into a statue again, only this time I get to choose my pose." I looked at her, astonished, unsure of what to say; I had taken such liberty with her, I had even considered leaving her posed permanently on her pedestal, yet she wanted to do it again. I was too taken aback to even move.
Silently she rose, took my hand, and led me back to where our "photography session" had started. She mounted the pedestal, 'her pedestal', I thought, and flowed into a stunning pose: She stood with her legs together, her left knee slightly bent. Her right arm trailed behind her, her left arm bent slightly, her hand at the small of her back. She cocked her head slightly up and to the left and allowed her eyes to rest on a point far away. She relaxed her face and smiled.
"I posed for a sculptor once, he posed me like this. I stood, cold and motionless in his studio for twelve hours a day, for six days and he butchered the piece. He posed me so well, I endured so much and he butchered the piece . . ." She trailed off, visibly angry. Composing herself, she continued: "I have always fantasized about posing for a man, being the object of his attention, exciting him without moving, exciting him by not moving." She fell silent for a moment and I could see her trembling with excitement. "I want you to make me a statue, leave me frozen for a few days, enjoy me, admire me like art, touch me, c-- on me, bring people here to see your new statue. All I ask is that you videotape it all for me . . . Freeze me. Now. Please."
I pressed the button and for the second time that evening, Barbara fell silent, frozen. I flipped on one of the overhead spots, illuminating her immobile figure. I looked at my new statue, it was stunning, but it was out of place in my basement - I knew that it belonged elsewhere, perhaps in my library, a decorative object to be enjoyed, not hidden away. I moved the Barbara-statue upstairs that evening, placing it in the center of my library, near my desk, a spotlight illuminating the figure. I set up the video camera, as she had requested . . .
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