A Lover's Pride

by Jurodan [crosspost from GorgonArt, posted by "thaknin"]

Author's Note: First attempt at this sort of thing.

               She was no one's picture of beauty.

               She was by no means ugly, but beautiful? With her dull greasy hair, long nose and pimple ridden face? She stood with a stoop, hair hanging in front of her face like a screen. Her shirt clung to her shoulders, dangling over her chest, hiding her half developed breasts and the slight bulge she had developed around her midsection. Her hands, now stuffed in her pockets, were hiding nails that she gnawed on whenever she grew anxious, and even now, she struggled to keep them there, fidgeting uncomfortably  as people passed her.

               That was the sight Markal beheld across the room, hovering feet away from one of his statues, 'The Fair Lady'. They were so dissimilar, it was almost comical, and she looked at it with envy. A smile spread across Markal's face and he took a sip from the glass of champagne he had been holding he wasn't sure how long. At least since he had been ambushed.


               Markal blinked, looking back at the gaggle of aficionados who had politely hounded him since the evening began, and found all of them staring at him eagerly. He smiled genially, "I'm sorry, you were saying?" He asked, "I wasn't paying attention." They looked at him, genuine surprise spreading across their faces, and Markal wondered if it was the first expression they hadn't forced all evening.. He shook his head, and placed his glass of stale champagne down on a platter, "Please, if you'll excuse me," He took a step back, smiled, bowed slightly, and made his way towards her with all the haste of someone fleeing from another two hours of tedious conversation.

               She didn't see him coming. She had moved on to another statue, 'Perdition', and she had her back to him. He saw her pants held no curves, and he doubted she was even accustomed to her own hips, but pushed the thought aside as he walked up beside her, looking at the eternally screaming woman before them. He said nothing for a moment, merely casting a sideways glance to her before looking back at the scene he had sculpted.

               The figure before them was unlike the others in his gallery, standing out even in his gallery as something different, something special. She was hunched forward, as if rising; only the balls of her feet and her fingers touched the ground. Her head was held up: eyes squeezed shut, her mouth held open in an eternal scream. The woman at his side shook her head, letting it sag, "I don't get it."

               "What's there to get?" Markal queried, perking an eyebrow, "It's a statue."

               She looked up at him, a flash of hair and scarlet skin before she looked down again. Apparently, she had been talking to herself out loud. "You're the sculptor, right?" Markal nodded, and she looked up at him for a moment, "I like your work, really, it's amazingly done, but why did you make this piece look so angry?"

               "Because the model was angry." Markal smirked, "Furious, actually."

               The girl frowned, "Why?"

               "Because she realized she had given up something real for something hollow. She indulged herself without thinking of the repercussions. When she found out, it was almost too much for her to bear."

               The girl looked back to the figure, then back at the artist, "Ex-girlfriend?"

               "Ex-wife actually." Her eyes widened a bit as Markal smiled, "She didn't read the prenuptial agreement. It said plainly that she would get nothing if I found out she had cheated on me."

               "I didn't know you were married."

               Markal smiled again, bowing his head, "I haven't been."

               She opened her mouth and then shut it, looking at the statue a bit closer for a moment, "How did you do that?" She murmured, inching closer, "The mouth. It actually looks like you sculpted a throat." She shook her head in astonishment, "I've never seen anything like it."

               Markal shrugged, "Natural fault in the stone? I've never taken the time to really think about it, but it was a surprise to me as well."

               The girl took a step back, nodding, "Lucky it didn't pop up in a different place, it might have ruined the piece."

               Markal smiled, "I'm glad you think of it that way. Most people would have expected me to fix it somehow."

               "Flaws in material are painful." She murmured.

               "Oh?" Markal smiled, "Are you a sculptor as well?"

               "My grandfather taught me how to whittle before he died. It may not seem all that special, but I carved out a doll as a kid." She frowned, "Not that I'm comparing the two."

               "Yes you are," He chided, "but only so you can relate." He waited a moment, a bemused smile playing on his face. "I don't remind you of your grandfather, do I?"

               She looked at him, a confused look on her face, "No."

               "Good," He let out a heavy breath, "Because if I did, asking you to pose in the nude would be very awkward indeed." The girl's eyes widened, her face growing flush as she looked at him. Markal could only grin.


               She couldn't. She... she wasn't meant to be a model. She wasn't sure she'd be able to hold a pose for long enough. She was afraid of what people would say of her posing in the nude. She was afraid that if he did her justice, it would only do him injustice. Those, and all her other arguments Markal bypassed as trivial. He had the money, the time, and even the connections to get her paid days off for the time she'd spend modeling. He wouldn't force her, of course, a forced model rarely, if ever, made a good model, and so he wormed his way in through her defenses until finally, however reluctantly, she agreed.

               What she was expecting, and she wasn't sure what that was, was pushed aside when he welcomed her into his home again. They passed his gallery, empty save for the statues, and walked into his studio. Lights were focused on a simple white platform in the center of the room. A single stool stood in front of it, a drawing pad resting on it. He walked over to it and picked it up. "Whenever you're ready."

               She remained at the doorway, looking at his back, clothes still very much on. She swallowed nervously, unwilling to disrobe. Why had he chosen her? She winced at the thought that he would create a statue to preserve her... so that everyone would know how ugly she truly was. She wanted to leave. But he stayed exactly where he was, waiting patiently for her. Most women, most beautiful women anyway, would jump at the chance to be a model for Markal. She was just wondering if she'd ever be able to look at herself again if he captured her like she was.

               Markal smiled softly, "Still worried?" He shook his head, "I wouldn't have chosen you unless I thought I could do you justice. I've had several non-professional models. They're often my finest works."

               She nodded slowly slinking away from the doorway. It felt wrong as she pulled her shirt over her head, but she did it. Her skirt slipped down her legs. She looked at Markal and turned around, unable to strip in front of him, even if she was going to be posing nude for him in a moment. Maybe, if he saw her, he would change his mind? She closed her eyes and unclasped her bra by touch. As the garment fell to the floor, she moved her fingers under her panties, drawing them down, her flat ass exposed to the air.

               She turned back around and found, to her relief, that Markal had his back turned to her. He was at least understanding, she thought, and with a little more will than she gave herself credit for, she strode towards the stage. When she got there, Markal looked at her almost lazily, and she frowned, "What pose should I take?"

               "Right now? Nothing elaborate. I just want a sketch of your body. Stand straight, but relax. You can keep your arms outstretched, if you want, but if you don't please don't cover yourself."

               She bit back the urge to cover herself, grabbing onto the support ropes to keep herself from doing so. They were meant to help a person hold a pose, and that's exactly what she used them for, hands tightly held to keep from covering herself. Markal looked at her for a moment, then began to draw, taking a moment every minute to look up at her, slightly tilting his head too and from before going back to the notepad with a vengeance.

               Abruptly, Markal rose, grabbing his stool without a word and moving to her side. She turned to look at him, but he held up a hand, "I want a profile as well." He said plainly, and she nodded, looking forward to where he had been sitting moments before. She could hear the scratches against the paper, and could make out the slightest image of him scribbling against it from the corner of her eye. Standing there, motionless, she could almost picture what being a statue would be like.

               Markal finished the picture, flipping the page and looking at the information listed there. She was a low b cup, that much was obvious. Her waste wasn't too wide, which was nice, but she lacked curves otherwise. He nodded, flipping the pencil over in his hand and began to erase the information. It wouldn't do for what he was planning. The girl's face scrunched up awkwardly as her breasts suddenly inflated to a full C, while her waste slimmed and her butt grew. She opened her mouth, but quickly closed it, a neutral face replacing that of barely veiled panic. Markal nodded, smiling.

               He turned back a page, rubbing his eraser against the sheet and quickly flipping back. Her nose shrunk a bit. The sheen in her hair, now well taken care of, began to show. Her acne cleared up in an instant. Markal leaned back carefully looking over his new model. He nodded, and looked back to his sheet. Her lips became fuller. Her muscles tightened, her unruly pubic hair was trimmed to nothing.

               He flipped the page, ridding her of an ulcer that had been bothering her, and then flipped it again, looking over her attractions and hobbies. Markal smirked, finding his name prominently displayed where it hadn't been before. Her confidence had grown steadily with each change, and she stood solidly, looking forward, knowing he would capture her perfectly, as he already had. Markal nodded, flipping through the pages, reading or scribbling in slight changes, but she was almost done. He nodded to himself in satisfaction, and set the paper pad down on his lap.

               "I think I'm done with the drawing." He said dully. She looked at him, releasing the ropes, a smirk playing up against her lips. Markal smiled, "So, what should we do next?"

               She slunk over to him, breasts hovering inches from his face. She placed a finger beneath his chin and lifted it, smirking down at him. "I can think of a few thins."


               She was an absolute beast in bed. Markal was pushed back into it so many times that he stopped bothering any attempt to rise. His hands roamed her body as she rode him, grinding her pelvis into his. She sat on him, arms stretched above her, grabbing at the low hanging ropes to help support her. She grunted and groaned and moaned, but refused to stop. Markal moaned as well. It was not his first time, not even his second, but she had made a vow to wear him out completely and she was going about the task with absolute relish.

               Markal felt her hips tighten around his waste as she anticipated him again. He didn't disappoint, pushing himself up from beneath, barely pushing her up a few inches before collapsing down against the makeshift bed they were using. She ground into him a final time and moaned loudly, and Markal silently prayed that would be enough. She looked down at him, her face full of lust and for a moment, Markal was worried it hadn't been. But slowly, she rose, pushing herself free of his spent form, and lay down beside him. She was sated, at least, and Markal sighed in relief as she sighed in satisfaction. She leaned forward, wrapped a hand around his face and drew it into a long kiss. When she let go, she smiled at him, "So, when are you going to start working on that statue?"

               Markal smiled wanly, "Tomorrow morning."

               "Mmm..." She purred, "I can't wait."


               She woke up and stretched. Through blurry eyes, she could see Markal sitting at the edge of his bed. She grinned, rolling over, arm propping her up. The sheet clung to her, covering her chest, and one of her perfectly sculpted breasts. She smiled lazily at him, thinking of the statue he was going to make of her.

               Markal watched the picture as it moved on the paper. It hadn't seemed right before, while she was sleeping. It was much, much better now, but something... something was missing, and he couldn't put his finger on it. He frowned, thinking furiously. It seemed to have everything he wanted. What was missing?

               "Hello lover..." She said sensuously, her grin turning wild, "Working hard all ready?"

               He stared at the pad for a moment longer, and his eyes widened. That's what he'd been missing. He scribbled at the top of his notepad, put it down at his side, then rose and stretched.  There were no more calls from behind him. Nor would there be. Looking back, he found the pale light from above illuminating the Styrofoam figure brilliantly. He'd change her into something more appropriate later, marble, probably, but it was just so much easier to move her while she weighed under ten pounds.

               No one else would remember her. No one would remember how he'd changed her, or what she was originally like. Time shifted casually to cover over her presence in the lives of others as if she had never existed. She didn't exist. Her former life was all just a figment of Markal's imagination now. He looked at her. She lay there, looking at him with a grin, the same grin she had had on her face the night before. She looked hungry, proud.

A Lover's Pride

That was her name now. The only name anyone would ever know her by. He leaned forward and kissed her brow, and then walked away.

Author's Notes: Yes, so the transformations are a bit rushed. I tried to explain it as I saw it. He makes changes and they just... are. There isn't an extended scene where she is transformed, but he does things so quickly because he wants to hold that perfect expression. Having it spread would have given her time to change it, and he didn't want that. I do hope you enjoyed, and please, tell me what you think.

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