SSC: The Statue

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Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

Copyright 1985-2016 by the Flogmaster. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via electronic medium (i.e. the internet or electronic BBS) is permitted as long as the text is _not_ modified and this copyright is included, but _no_ other form of publication is allowed without written permission. This document _may_ contain explicit material of an ADULT nature. ***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** Anything offensive is your own problem. This story is for **entertainment** purposes only, and it does _not_ necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author or the electronic source where this was obtained. All characters are *fictional* -- any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.

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*** Author's Note ***
Okay, I admit I'm not very good at keeping within a word limit like this contest, but it's such a challenge I had to at least put in one entry.

Frank
***

SSC: The Statue

(****, M/F, Intense, Adult, semi n/c)

A woman meets a sculptor with a unique talent. (Approximately 542 words. Originally published 1996-06.)

At first I assumed he was lying. But his expression was sincere. My refusal crushed him, and I felt bad. His accent was foreign. He was modest about his art and without smiling said his name was Zolton. Giggling, I remarked that he sounded like a carnival magician. He glanced at me sharply, his thick eyebrows bunching into a glare.

"Do not joke about such things," he said. "In my country magic and art are not far apart."

For reasons I cannot fathom I followed him home. Be assured this not my normal habit. I am a modest girl with a good reputation. Perhaps the man's dark, mysterious eyes captivated me. I couldn't refuse.

Zolton had an attic loft. A rumpled cot was the only furnishing. Most of the room was filled with completed sculptures and works in progress.

I was entranced. Nude statues of women were made from clay, granite, alabaster. Their faces were incredibly vivid.

"Why these are astonishing!" I cried out. "You are _major_ talent!"

"It is nothing."

"But these should be on exhibit. These are wonderful!"

Darkness clouded the old man's visage. "No one sees these but me! I create for me, not for those fools out there."

"And this statue of me--it too will remain here, hidden away?"

"It is true, my beauty. I put my soul and the soul of my models into these works."

Had I realized Zolton wanted me to pose nude I would refused. But after seeing his masterpieces I disrobed without hesitation. I felt flattered and dangerously sexy as I posed.

The process was tiring. Long into the night I stood, naked, while Zolton grunted and slapped his clay with ruthless enthusiasm. By dawn it was finished, a magnificent likeness. Seeing the statue was disconcerting. I expected it to turn and look at me it was so lifelike. The erotic power of the nudity was overwhelming.

"Now watch, child," said Zolton as he showed me a thick strip of leather. "Believe in the power of art!" With quick, practiced strokes he began to whip my statue's backside. Engulfing, raw pain swept across my buttocks. As each stroke landed I felt it as clearly as if he was beating me! It was amazing.

"Stop!" I cried out, tears gushing. "No more!" Again and the again the strap landed and I danced about in a maddened state, howling and squeezing my bottom.

Finally, Zolton put down the strap. Tearfully I knelt before him and kissed his shoes. "Zolton, my master, how it this possible?"

He only smiled. "Be wary, child. I shall be watching you. At any time, day or night, I have the power to blister your bottom. Prepare for it, expect it, for it will come whenever I decide."

Sniffling, I thanked him and dressed and quickly left, frightened of this terrible man. At the door I paused for a last look at myself, and I saw wondrously that I was crying, sculptured tears dripping down my sculptured face.

The End

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