CHAPTER ONE by gildsoul

Sharon stood upon her golden pedestal watching another beautiful sunset as the fading light pouring through the huge windows filled the gallery with a warm amber glow. The glow illuminated the numerous other statues that shared the gallery with her. Statues of marble, precious metals, porcelain and even glass all bathed in the pure sweet light of the setting sun.  She knew that they were as happy and content as she was, immortal and eternally beautiful, free of pain and sorrow, feeling pure physical pleasure and joy forever, frozen into the heavenly stillness of works of art.

She could always see her reflection in one of the many huge mirrors and even the windows along the walls, a solid gold statue in an erotic pose standing upon an gold pedestal. She along with all the others so transformed had been carefully placed so that the souls inside their inanimate bodies would have their pleasure enhanced by seeing how beautiful they looked as statues. Sharon sighed inwardly in constant joy at the reflected image of her precious metal body, she looked good and felt good, heaven was not a place but a state of being, she was truly in heaven!

She marveled at the glinting rays as they reflected off her shinny metal form, sparkling off the golden strands of hair on her head and her pleasure. Gleaming gold the most precious of metals, she looked and felt literally as "good as gold". Day and night, rain or shine, with the changing of the seasons the light was always slowly changing, always wonderfully different and entertaining as she watched how the light changed the look of her metallic body.

She watched the slowly fading light she had countless times before over the decades, never bored, always joyous as the cool light of deepening twilight dimmed the art gallery. Soon the cool weak light of nighttime would darken the interior and the cold sparkle of the moon and stars would shine through the window glass.

Sharon thought back years ago to the wonderful day when she was granted the astonishing gift of immortality by a magical being of incredible power and grace. Who every day visited his private art gallery in a vast castle located in mystical timeless astral plane out of the reach of mortals. Sometimes to deposit a new addition to the gigantic gallery, only those rare beautiful women that he deemed perfect enough to be preserved forever by being magically transformed into precious substances and given true eternal life. Sharon remembered the pivotal day when she met the wizard, warlock or sorcerer whatever he was who changed her life forever...


It was a balmy mid spring day in midtown Manhattan, the time of year Sharon liked best. New York winters were always too cold, in her opinion, and as a transplanted midwesterner, she could never quite used to what she had heard gently phrased as the "smell of New York in the summer." But today was nearly perfect: seventy-five degrees and sunny, with a light breeze that took the heat away from the sidewalk and the street.

The perfect time of year for pounding the pavement, in other words, she thought with just the slightest bit of chagrin. Traffic was snarled at every light, where throngs of pedestrians were crossing. Street vendors were in full force along 52nd, and the last store she'd been in for an interview had crushed her in a room with eight other people also seeking work.  Apparently, she hadn't been the only one who decided today would be a good day for job hunting.

She was only a block away from the latest opportunity she had circled in pencil from the classified section of the Times. Compared to most of the other quarter page and logo filled ads, this one was simple and unassuming:

long hours but great aesthetic gratification.
Jean Blanche Studios, 5340 Bleeker St.
In fact, Sharon had overlooked it twice while skimming the want ads. She hadn't really planned on interviewing at the studio, but as luck would have it, she'd had four less than enthusiastic interviews so far today, and no more bites on previous interviews.

And as much as she wanted a white-collar job, the idea of working for an artist was intriguing. She'd had a couple semesters of graphic art in college and had loved it, but she had discarded the idea of getting a degree in it because she didn't think the money was there. She remembered how much she enjoyed the thought of looking at a creation of her own and knowing that it was, only days ago, a blank sheet of paper or canvas. There was immense satisfaction to the creation side of it.

The building that housed Jean Blanche Studios was as simple and unassuming as the ad had been. It was a quiet tri-level structure, placed in between two larger buildings. As she entered, she saw immediately that the only person in the reception area was a young woman at a desk, and for a moment she feared the position had already been taken.

"Excuse me," Sharon said, making her way up to the desk, "but I saw this ad in the paper and I was wondering...?"

Sharon trailed off as the young woman glanced up and down at her, in a way that made Sharon feel a little uncomfortable for a moment.

"Yes," she said with a wide smile. "The position's still open. And I think Jean will be very satisfied with you."


"Step this way, please," the woman motioned as she walked through a door leading to the studio. Her high heeled shoes clacked against the natural finish wood floor. "By the way, I'm Michelle, Jean's personal ass."

"What?" Sharon thought she heard something other than what Michelle had said.

"You know, personal assistant," Michelle smiled. It was an enigmatic smile, sort of teasing. As if she was a cat who had just swallowed a canary and was trying to hide that fact from the world.

Sharon followed her into the studio and noticed many completed works of art. There was an empty modeling stand in the center, with various pedestals, some occupied by sculptures under cloth tarps, along the side wall. The other wall was open, with huge windows which let in the natural light. Sharon looked around the sparsely decorated studio and wondered why there were no works by the artist on display.

"I'll let Jean know you're here," Michelle said as she strode to a closed door on the other side of the studio. Her short skirt was in danger of revealing the crack of her butt as she walked away from Sharon.

Sharon watched as Michelle knocked on the door, entered and closed the door behind her. It was so quiet in the studio. Sharon waited, taking in the fantastic view of the buildings through the windows. She waited a little longer, and started getting curious as to what was under the cloth tarps. She walked over to the closest one and looked around.  Still no one around. She lifted the bottom of one end and peeked at the sculpture underneath and saw the delicate, alabaster white toes of a statue. Intrigued, Sharon lifted the tarp carefully off the entire figure, revealing a beautifully stunning marble nude. "Oh my..." she gasped, her breath taken away by the elegant female statue.

Sharon reached out and touched the cold marble 'skin' on the statue's hip and felt it was smooth as a baby's bottom. She ran her hand across the silky smooth stone buttocks to the front of the immobile work of art. It even has pubic hair! she marveled. So delicately sculpted, so fragile looking, She couldn't keep her hands off the statue for some reason. It was soooo realistic. She moved her hands up and cupped the all-too real breasts and traced the nipples. She could feel the texture of the skin, the way the aureoles became slightly bumpier around the erect nipples. As she stared into the lovely marble face her examination of the statue was interrupted by a tap on her shoulder.

"Excuse me," a deep voice spoke.

"EEK!" Sharon almost hit the ceiling. She whirled around to face a dark haired man with curly long hair. He had a dark tan and was quite dreamy...

"I'm Jean Blanche, the sculptor? I hear you are interested in posing for me?"

"Oh, ah, yes..." Sharon tried to regain her shaken wits. "Um I'm sorry I peeked at your lovely statue...I just couldn't curiosity got the better of me..."

"Do not apologize," he said with a slight French accent. "My work is designed to be seen. I am just in the process of moving some of my work and I did not want them to be damaged."

"Oh, you're moving them to another studio?" Sharon asked.

"Something like that," Jean smiled.

"They're so...lifelike...How do you sculpt them so perfectly?" Sharon asked. She couldn't take her eyes off the nude statue. "I've never seen anything at all like this," she traced the lines of the statue's inner thigh.

Jean reached down and delicately took Sharon's hand in his own. He leaned over slightly and kissed the back of her hand.  "Ah, if you are so curious, perhaps you will model for me and find out, no?"


Sharon should have been startled or offended by Jean's boldness, yet, to her revelation, she was quite receptive to his advance. She let the kiss upon her hand linger. It was almost like she were frozen by this man's touch, or maybe she was under some strange spell.

"So, what do you say to that, milady?"

She almost had not heard his voice, being that she seemed to be adrift to some distant place or other.

"Do you want to satiate your curiosity?" Jean Blanche asked.

Finally coming back to full consciousness, Sharon took note of her hand being slightly gripped by this enigmatic artiste and pulled it away. Her self -possession seemed to be returned to her after its momentary lapse.

This man looked at her expectantly, like a pet awaiting a treat for performing cutesy tricks to an appreciative audience.

Sharon felt a sudden cool chill graze about her body and she shivered. "I--I'm not sure I'm prepared to do this . . ."

"Of course you are," Jean assured her, his voice so coaxing, so . . .magical. His eyes were a deep shade of blue, like arctic ice under a fool moon. His gaze was a powerful one, it too seemed coaxing; influential. He reached for both of her hands. She gave an apprehensive pull, yet relented.

She sighed, "What is it about you?"

"It is not my essence that is the power in question here. It is yours. You see, you have a natural gift, a raw quality that is yet to be harnessed. It takes a certain kind of artiste to harvest the crop that is your beauty. I am that artiste, milady.  Pose for me, and I will show you your gift as well as my own.

Again, Sharon was frozen by his voice, his gaze. He seemed to be speaking not only to her but to her very soul.

And it was listening intently. It wanted to respond in kind. Sharon herself could not seem to utter any words.

"Together, you and I can create a harmony so exquisite and untouched by the corruption of modesty. It will be magnificent."


Sharon nodded a slow affirmation to his request. Jean smiled gently at her, a glint of gold flashing across his cold blue eyes. He gestured to the center of his studio, a low black pedestal stood there. He motioned her to it silently, urging her to step onto it.

"You have made me so very happy." Jean's voice rolled out, washing over her like a wave of tropical water, the sheer weight of his words resonating through her body. He produced a sketchbook and pencil and pulled up a stool opposite the pedestal.

"What should I do?" Sharon asked quietly.

"We are harvesting your beauty my dear." Jean licked the tip of his pencil. "Close your eyes and listen to my voice and soon all will become apparent to you." The slow rich sound of his voice send licks of cool fire through her body and she relaxed slightly, and let her eyelids close. "Picture yourself on a beach, the golden sand is hot on your feet, can you feel it?"

"No.." Sharon was puzzled. "I still have my shoes on."

"Of course you do," Jean spoke slowly, pausing as Sharon shifted slightly, kicking off her high heels and resuming her pose, a slow smile spreading across her features. "Yes, it is pleasant isn't it, golden sun, golden sand, can you see the waves."

"They're gold too." She spoke haltingly.

"Beautiful waves of gold, slowly lapping against the sand. You really don't need to speak anymore." Jean cautioned her. "The sunlight is warm on your face, and a gentle breeze is blowing, cooling your skin, the contrast of temperatures a sensual counterpoint to the sound of the waves."

His smile became feral as Sharon's hands slowly rose to her blouse and began undoing the buttons that closed it over her breasts. Her breath was coming faster. "Yes, it does feel good doesn't it?" He watched entranced as Sharon undressed slowly, each garment that fell away revealing more of her perfect body. Soon she was naked, her lovely flesh shining with a thin layer of sweat. She moaned slightly.

"The tide is coming in." Jean continued in honeyed tones. "Golden waters brushing against your feet," Sharon shivered with delight as the waters caressed her feet, leaving the flesh cool. "Each wave climbs higher and higher, sliding sensuously over your skin, your desire is increasing isn't it?"

Sharon nodded, her right hand sliding down to caress her body. Jean watched with growing enjoyment as he spoke, with each passing moment she became more beautiful, the essence of her body being changed from fragile, mortal flesh, to the eternal beauty of gold. Already her long, shapely legs had succumbed, the caressing hand and the flesh underneath it had been frozen in the perfect image of self-fulfillment. The rising tide of gold continued to sweep upwards, hardening her taut belly and washing over her breasts and the excited, peaked nipples....


"Let the waters flow across your beauty, higher now" The compelling voice of Jean was all she heard as a flood of tingling coolness spread to engulf her. "You possess no resistance, only acceptance of the golden waters of eternity."  Sharon had no idea what was happening to her, but it felt wonderfully erotic. There was a fierce sexual energy building within her that she could not control. From the moment the first glint of gold brushed her toes it increased relentlessly.  Every touch of the waters brought her closer and closer to ecstasy as her hands caressed her own body as if he was guiding them. One had found a pleasurable home in the soft moist folds of her sex and remained there as the other continued to flit over her taut breasts and up towards her lissome neck. The waters were rising quickly now, guided by Jean's magical sense of essence.

She had guessed somehow, abstractly, how this marvelous sculptor had created his masterpieces the instant she had touched that marble statue and felt an essence within the cold hard stone. The possibility had thrilled her to the very core of her being. Sharon's only fear then was that it was just a foolish dream. Now, in the midst of becoming one of those artworks, she was euphoric.

Moment by moment the golden tide washed over her lovely form, hardening each curve and feature into rigid permanence. Like a seabird in front of a wave, her free hand flew upwards across her body. Each brief touch brought the glint of metal to her neck, face and head before she paused while tousling her already golden locks. The wave of ultimate bliss started to crest over her.

"Ohhhh Ahhhhhiee!" Sharon wailed as the most intense climax she ever felt gripped her senses. Her last movements came as she arched her back and a rapt expression of joy glowed upon her transforming features. Then she did not move. Sharon's thoughts continued to race as she realized the moment of ecstasy had somehow been captured.  Preserved forever along with her immortalized beauty.

Jean Blanche at last looked up from the pad where he had concentrated his thoughts while sculpting the girl. The paper had not a mark on it, but the dazzling vision of amorous pulchritude that he saw was more lovely than he could have ever imagined, or drawn. "Ah, C'est Magnifique!" The artist had spoken the absolute truth to her earlier. Her subtle elegant beauty was something that could only be harvested, not captured by crude strokes of any pen or brush.  He approached his latest masterpiece slowly, respectfully. Her transmuted figure was still warm to the touch. The hardened skin of her solidified body felt slightly moist though he knew every molecule of her being had become gold.  Carefully, with a soft cloth, he began to polish the statue until she gleamed.

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