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Alone and naked, the girl sat, arms wrapped around her knees. A circle of bright
light surrounded her, leaving the rest of the room a dull and unfocussed dark
gray. Around her, the voices of her tormentors spoke in low tones, waiting for
Francis to announce his plans.
"Friends," he started. "The night is still young. At least younger than we are, and I have a plan that veers from the beaten path."
"We do like to beat the path," Eric chuckled, gaining the approving laughter of all.
"Our standard procedures are different than what I have planned," Francis continued. "Usually, we act. Tonight, we plan."
"I'm not sure we follow you," Beatrice said.
"Patience, Beatrice," Francis said. "Desk, see to the girl."
The girl watched, detached from her reality, as Desk appeared within the circle of light. Whispers of motion and the click of locks were the only sounds heard as Desk secured leather cuffs to the girl's extremities. After completing her task, Desk departed the light, leaving the girl seated as she had been, but with all four appendages locked together.
For many moments the room was silent. All eyes were on the girl who was inspecting her bondage in a surprisingly calm manner. Finally, as the girl ceased her inspection, she sat her head on her knees gave over to the strange serenity that encompassed her.
"This girl, Monique, is to be the next piece in my collection," Francis said, his tone soft and steady. "As you have seen, I have a painting, a statue, a coat rack and a desk. These are the things I have had commissioned. Unfortunately, I have run a bit dry on ideas. Tonight, in the presence of the man who is the creator of so many fine pieces, we will discuss what this girl is to become."
"You are an evil one, my boy," Beatrice hissed.
"Thank you," Francis said. "Now, it is time we commenced with our evening."
Quiet settled upon the room as each guest studied the girl, watching as Francis' words sank in. Amidst the silence, the girl began to get fidgety, her hands rubbing the bindings that held her. Sweat beaded on her skin, contrasting with the goose bumps that rose from her flesh. Tears welled up in her eyes, falling to her knees and running down her legs as fear made its way back into her reality.
"Please…" she whispered, softly sobbing.
"Tell us Jerry," Mia began, "how it is that the statue is possible? It will help us in our task for the evening if we better know how such things are made."
"In the case of these pieces, each was subjected to permanent hair removal," Jerry began. "After that we processed them internally, removing unnecessary internal workings, or those that might cause difficulties. They are sterilized, as you probably surmised, though to a more thorough degree than you may have envisioned."
"Interesting," Eric said. "Do continue."
"Their waste functions are entirely routed to a reservoir above a synthetic colon," Jerry said. "A pressure valve holds the waste in the reservoir until the disposal system is in place or until forced open by internal pressure."
Monique listened intently to Jerry's monologue, horrified by what she heard. Nervously, she fidgeted with the cuffs that held her fast, hoping she could discover a way to escape.
"The statue and the coat rack," Jerry continued, "are slightly more modified. Each of these has been implanted with devices that block voluntary muscle control, while inducing a state of constant contraction. Essentially, this leaves them in a state of paralysis while ensuring there is no atrophy. Of course, not every muscle, or group of muscles, is immobilized. Such would cause death."
"I imagine this is a painstaking process," Mia said.
"It used to be, yes. However, we have progressed in leaps and bounds. The immobilization process is handled through mechanical means, now," Jerry answered. "Though there are some parts of their immobilization that were handled manually."
"Why?" Monique whispered. "Why would you do that? Why?"
Silence gripped the room, once again as they watched and listened to the girl, entranced by the beauty of her emotional pain.
"Why?" she demanded of them, her voice suddenly loud and filled with anger. "How could you do that?"
There was no response, each of them watching in silently aroused fascination. Only when she put her head down to her knees did anyone speak.
"Tell them about their skin," Francis prodded.
"Originally, I developed it to aid the recovery of burn victims," Jerry told them. "Its nature, being well suited to long term and even permanent wear, made it perfect for such things. Events prevented this application, though I did manage to find another use for it."
"I don't understand how it can be permanent, though," Mia said. "Skin continually breaks down and regenerates. Skin needs to breathe and grow and die. It needs to sweat. I find it nearly impossible to believe such a thing possible."
Jerry leaned forward, the dim light bringing ominous shadows to his face, irritated at Mia's insolent manner. "Worry not, my dear. It sweats, it breathes. Old skin is passed through as it breaks down. I know what I am doing."
Mia stared at the man's intense and shadowed face, aware of his irritation. A chill ran up her spine, suddenly fearful of the man.
"I am sorry if I offended you, Jerry," she said. "Please accept my apology."
"No need to apologize, my dear," Jerry replied, his sudden change of temper frightening Mia further. "We all find certain things difficult to believe."
Intent stares followed Jerry as he leaned back out of the light. No one spoke, waiting and hoping Francis would break the tension in the room.
Bold, as always, Beatrice spoke up. "What are our limitations, Jerry?" she asked. "Or should we shout out ideas willy-nilly?"
"Beatrice, I do not think you do anything 'willy-nilly'," Jerry replied. "You, my dear, appear to be as calculating as you are wise, and as wise as you are lovely."
"You make me blush, sir,"
she said, pleased with the complement
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