October 2008: Copyright © 2008 by Leem
This story may be posted on other sites provided that Leem is identified as the author and that no unauthorised changes are made to the text.
As always this story developed a mind of its own, so that what you’re about to read is quite different from (and hopefully better than) what I originally imagined. I guess Canadian “niche artist” Taral Wayne can take part of the blame for the original concept, although it’s not specifically based on any of his pictures. Taral once said that his furry characters are not animals in human form, but rather humans with animal characteristics. Sounds good to me. Take that idea and combine it with my recurring theme of living statues as silent witnesses, and you get something that resembles the following story.
Night. It’s quiet here. Hard to keep track of time. I think I heard a clock strike two somewhere off in the house a little while ago, or maybe it was three. The air in the big hall is pleasantly cool on my bare skin... that is, if I can still call it skin.
The hall is empty, except for the paintings, tapestries, ornate vases and antique furniture... and me. It’s a nice collection, I suppose, but I’d appreciate it better if I wasn’t being forced to be part of it.
Even so, I’m not angry or upset, though I probably should be under the circumstances.
The only illumination comes from moonlight filtering dimly through the skylight. The house seems to be out in the countryside, well away from any street lights. Of course, I didn’t get an opportunity to see it from the outside, or to identify its location, when I was brought here.
I suppose I’m a prisoner here. It’s a strange form of imprisonment, but it’s undoubtedly an effective one. It seems to be impossible to escape.
I guess I should be thankful that it’s not uncomfortable. Just the opposite, in fact. I feel calm and relaxed, and even slightly horny and euphoric.
If they keep me like this much longer I might start getting used to it.
Should that worry me?
Once again I try to move, even though I know it’s futile. Ever since I woke up and found myself in this condition my brain has been sending commands to my body, and my body hasn’t responded in the slightest. But I can’t give up. There’s a part of me that has to keep trying no matter what.
Once again there is no response. I’m frozen, paralysed. I can’t move a muscle.
I’m not certain that I even have muscles any more.
I don’t seem to be breathing. I can’t feel my heartbeat. I’m not hungry or thirsty. I don’t need to pee or poop.
Maybe I really have been turned into a statue.
But a statue can’t see or hear either. A statue can’t feel the cool night air, and a statue certainly can’t think about its inability to move.
No. I might look like stone, but it must be more like some kind of suspended animation. My body’s frozen, but my mind and senses aren’t.
I don’t understand how that’s possible, but more to the point, I don’t understand why anyone would do this to me. I’m just an ordinary girl. I never did any harm to anybody.
Maybe it’s some kind of experiment. Maybe they picked me as a guinea pig just because I was single and didn’t have any family in town.
Perhaps it really is a type of imprisonment. I can imagine how it would revolutionise the prison system. Why go to all the trouble and expense of incarcerating criminals for years at a time, feeding and clothing them and giving them medical attention, when you could just turn them into statues and stand them in parks instead?
Jail breaks would be a thing of the past. Escape would be impossible. Passers-by wouldn’t even know they were alive.
My God, it would be the perfect way to dispose of political prisoners, or anyone else you didn’t care for. Instead of executing them you could just render them helpless... forever.
Is that what’s going to happen to me? Are they going to leave me helpless forever?
Maybe they’ll put me in a park. That wouldn’t be so bad, I suppose. I could watch the seasons changing, and all the people passing by.
The weird thing is that the idea doesn’t scare me at all. Yes, I would be happy and relieved if only I could move again. But if I can’t... if they really do leave me frozen as a statue forever...
Well, then, how bad could it be, really?
I’d be alone. I wouldn’t be able to talk to anybody. But then I’ve never been a very social person anyway, and certainly no great conversationist. I’m quite a good listener, though. If I was a public statue I could eavesdrop on passers-by and they’d never know I was listening.
No, the thought of being alone really doesn’t scare me. Alone isn’t the same thing as lonely.
I’d survive it. I’d endure. It wouldn’t destroy my sanity. I’m certain of that.
While I’m musing on these things I hear quiet footsteps approaching, echoing through the silent hall. It seems I’m not completely alone after all.
The footsteps approach from somewhere behind me. Of course I can’t turn my head to see who it is, but some instinct tells me it isn’t one of my abductors. For one thing, the newcomer’s feet sounded bare.
“Hello,” says the newcomer quietly. It’s a low, husky voice, but definitely female.
A hand touches my shoulder gently. It’s the first time anyone has touched me since I became frozen, and it feels nice. My skin... or whatever... tingles pleasantly from the touch of the stranger’s fingers.
“Sorry about sneaking up behind you like this,” she says, “but I didn’t want to alarm you. You see, I’m a... guest here like you. That’s how I know you’re alive. They changed me as well, though obviously not in the same way. I didn’t want my new appearance to startle you.”
With that, she lets her hand fall from my shoulder and walks out in front of me.
I see what she means about being changed. Our hosts have modified her body, so that she resembles a cross between a woman and some kind of animal. A fox maybe, or perhaps a wolf would be closer, although she certainly doesn’t look anything like Lon Chaney.
She turns slowly in front of me, showing off her transformed body.
“What do you think?” she says, then laughs sheepishly. (How inappropriate for her appearance!) “Sorry. I forgot you can’t answer. Treat it as a rhetorical question.”
Like me she is naked, but her body is covered in short fur. The fur on the front of her torso, face and her upper arms and legs is golden-brown like a leopard’s, while on her back, forearms and lower legs it’s a much darker brown, almost black. On her arms and legs this gives the impression that she’s wearing dark gloves and matching stockings.
Her face is framed by shoulder-length wavy brown human hair, but has been reshaped into a short snout, with an elongated mouth, big dark nose, canine whiskers and pointed ears. Her eyes look human, but when she looks at me I have a strange feeling, as if she is gazing into the depths of my soul.
Dear God, she’s beautiful. I wish I could move, so I could hug her.
Apart from her face and her body fur, her most prominent animal characteristic is her tail, which is brown, thick and bushy like a fox’s, and hangs almost to the ground. While she is turning around it brushes against my legs a couple of times, making my skin tingle pleasantly again.
Once she’s done showing off, she steps closer and puts a hand back on my shoulder. A warm glow slowly begins to spread from my shoulder to the rest of my arm and upper torso.
“Our hosts seem to enjoy changing people,” she tells me. “We’re not the only ones. I saw a man they turned into a tree, and a girl they crossed with a dolphin, and other things like you wouldn’t believe. The one thing the changed people have in common, though, is that they can still think. That’s how I know you can still see and hear me inside that stone body of yours.”
She forgot to mention that I can feel her as well. Her hand is slowly straying from my shoulder to my back, and she is slowly moving forward until her fur is just brushing my marble skin.
“I don’t know who our hosts are,” she says. “For some reason I never seem to be able to get a close look at them. Maybe they’re mad scientists, or aliens, or just transformation fetishists with more money than they know how to spend. All I know is, they don’t seem to want to harm us or drive us crazy.”
By now her hand is caressing my back, and her breasts are up against mine. It feels really nice, but I’m not even sure she realises she’s doing it.
“They pretty much give me the run of the place,” she says, “as long as I don’t try to leave. I did try to walk out of the grounds one night. It was after midnight, but the main gate wasn’t even shut. I thought I could just stroll out. I got to within a few metres of the gate and then... I just froze. Couldn’t move a muscle, couldn’t cry for help... well. I really don’t need to tell you what that feels like.”
Now she’s stroking my back and buttocks with both hands, pressing her furred torso against my smooth marble. She seems to be enjoying it, and I certainly am.
I don’t recall ever feeling sexual attraction for women - certainly not women with fur! - but here I am, frozen and helpless, being felt up by this strange, pretty little fox-wolf girl... and it’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever experienced. I don’t ever want it to end, and fortunately it seems like she doesn’t either.
“Being frozen like that... it made me hornier than I could have imagined. I stood there paralysed for hours wishing I could touch myself, and when they finally set me free I just ran to my room and stroked myself for hours.”
And now she’s stroking me as well. Not that I’d be complaining if I could. My skin might look like stone, but it seems to have become hypersensitive to touch.
“So I’m guessing that you’re just as horny as I was then,” she whispers. “I’d probably be doing this anyway, only now I can’t seem to stop myself. Our hosts must have programmed some kind of sexual compulsion into me. I wouldn’t want you to think I went around feeling up statues before I ended up here.”
I can see what she means about a compulsion. She really can’t seem to stop herself. What started out as playful little caresses soon escalates into frantic, almost manic lovemaking. She writhes and cavorts around my stone body, stroking every millimetre of it with her hands and tongue, not forgetting that incredible tail of hers, sighing and moaning with ecstasy all the while. Meanwhile even though I can’t make a sound I’m guessing that my ecstasy is every bit as intense as hers.
Soon I can’t think any more. I can only feel, and love what I’m feeling.
At long last my lover’s caresses become slower and more deliberate. A few moments later she freezes as if she is also turning to stone, then shudders slightly and moans in ecstasy.
As for me, not having muscles means I can’t have an orgasm as such, but my whole body is on fire with sheer physical delight. Never mind stone, right now I feel like I’m made of red-hot lava.
At last it’s over. The furry girl sits in a heap at my feet, while I stand there - as if I could do anything else! - feeling calm, relaxed and euphoric.
That was amazing. It was the most intense physical experience I’ve ever had. If I was granted the power to move again for just one minute I would crush my furry lover in my arms and declare my never-ending love for her.
But even though I can’t do that, I suspect that she knows anyway.
After a while she stirs slowly and gracefully unfolds from her sitting position, standing to hug and kiss me.
“That was really good for me,” she tells me. As if her sighs and moans hadn’t told me already! “And I’m guessing it was just as good for you too. So you’d better get ready, because it’s about to get even better!”
And ten she begins hugging and stroking me all over again.
Over the course of the next few hours she brings us both to four more orgasms, or the frozen equivalent in my case. I’m almost beginning to think she’s insatiable, but at last she yawns and stretches, treating me a wonderful view of her furry nude body, and says, “Well, statue-girl, I guess it’s time we both called it a night.”
It’s getting light outside, and as if on cue a cock crows in the distance. First time I’ve ever heard that except in films.
Furry girl sighs and says, “I’m going to take a shower. But before I do that I’d better get a cloth and a bucket and clean up in here. You’re not real marble so my bodily fluids won’t leave a stain on you, but I can’t say the same about the floor!”
Once she has cleaned up, she strokes my back gently and whispers in my ear.
“You know, if what I’ve overheard our hosts saying is true, when you’re petrified you can replay all of your memories like a digital recording. I mean, everything that happens to you while you’re a statue - if you want to, you can relive it all again, in perfect detail. Do you understand? Perfect.”
While I’m absorbing the implications of that, she goes on.
“I don’t know what they’re going to do with us all eventually,” she tells me. “Maybe they’re going to use us for sex, or send us to some alien planet as exotic specimens. Right now your guess is as good as mine.
“Whatever happens I hope I’ll still be able to visit you. But if not, well... you’ll still have the memories of our time together. They’ll be just like having me there all over again.”
Then she hugs me again and laughs wanly. “But having said all that,” she chuckles, “I really hope we don’t get split up for a while.”
She gives me a long lingering kiss while caressing my buttocks with her tail.
“After all,” she says, “The more experiences I can give you while we are still together, the more you’ll be able to relive in perfect detail if ever we’re not.”
Then she grins her wolfish grin and turn away, swinging her tail from side to side so I can get a good look at her receding buttocks and legs.
My God, she’s beautiful.
I love you, I think.
Even though I can’t say it aloud, something tells me she knows.
End memory, I think. The hall disappears and I find myself back in the present day. To my left is the hustle and bustle of the market, while off to my right is the clamour of the harbour. I’m still a statue, only now I’m on public display, a piece of the scenery that’s so familiar the locals hardly even notice me any more.
I’ve been here for a very long time now, and my encounters with the furry girl were even longer before that. I don’t know what happened to her. I imagine it’s possible she may be alive somewhere, in another form perhaps, a newly-rejuvenated body that I wouldn’t recognise if I saw her again. Or maybe she too is a statue now, gracing some public square as I do. In all the years that have passed, practically anything is possible.
Wherever she may be today, I’m grateful to her for the memories she left me. They have made my time as a statue more contented and fulfilling than they otherwise might have been. In fact, there is only one thing I have ever regretted about our relationship, one-sided as it was.
In all the time I knew her, she never once told me her name.