House of Wax
Continued from Part 1
Mark arrived outside the wax house. Rosin was nowhere to be seen.
Damn! he thought angrily, she's stood me up!
He frantically looked at his watch cursing. He was only half an hour late. That, surely, was an acceptable time to be late? But then Rosin was a pedantic perfectionist. Always concerned with how she looked and how she dressed. She was beautiful because of this facet, but at times it could be a real pain in the ass.
He kicked a brown leaf and made ready to leave when he saw someone looking at him from the entrance of the wax house.
The person was looking at him with an interest that bemused Mark. He approached him.
"Erm... hello... you are... Mark, are you?"
Mark looked at Mac.
"Yes..." he said slowly, "Who are you?"
Mac was barely able to control his excitement. Mark had an athletic build, with a face that held a strange stern beauty. His eyes were brown and he had a thatch of dark brown hair, parted like curtains which hung down to his smooth cheeks. He would be the perfect subject to begin with.
"Oh... Rosin's inside... she told me that you would be coming soon..." said Mac, unable to take his eyes off the boy.
"Oh..." said Mark, still a little uneasy with the situation, "Then I'll just go in to pick her up then..."
"Oh, please do."
Mark walked in the wax house.
He stared at all the figures frozen into place. Beautiful female bodies in their prime. He felt himself get an erection. There was an erotic aura that filled the area.
He was so wrapped up in the images of all these frozen beautiful girls that he had almost forgotten about Rosin. He looked around the empty hall. She was nowhere to be seen.
"I thought you said she was in here," said Mark, turning to Mac.
"But she is," insisted Mac. He pointed to an island of light in the corner. Mark walked over to the spot.
There, standing on the pedestal, was Rosin. Her blonde hair had been styled into golden ringlets that hung loosely around her face, like an elaborate golden frame holding a beautiful picture. She was a revealing, yet flowing, Roman toga. The material was a translucent silk-like one, and the light revealed a very clear silhouette of Rosin's naked body beneath the toga. Her left arm was bent at the elbow, holding up some of her toga. Her now wax nipples were erect and pushed up against the toga. She smiled vacantly, her glazed eyes staring into space.
Mark stepped back, his eyes were wide. He felt confused, shocked and, deep down, afraid.
"Is... is... this some kind of joke...?" Mark mumbled, unable to take his eyes off the wax figure that had been his girl friend.
"Rosin was most compliant. She's beautiful isn't she?" said Mac admiring his work. He stepped up onto the pedestal and began to stroke Rosin's smooth cheek, smiling back at her.
"No... really... a joke's a joke..." gulped Mark, "But where is she?"
Mac smiled and simply looked at the figure.
Mark backed away. Now that he thought about it, didn't all the figures in the museum look incredibly lifelike? Was this wax figure actually Rosin?
"This... this... can't be..."
"It's a vast improvement though, isn't it?" said Mac advancing on Mark suddenly, "She's perfect now. All she needs is a playmate..."
Mark stared at Mac, with a new, sudden and horrible comprehension, at these words.
"I can make happen for you too. Mark..." said Mac looking into Mark's eyes, "You have the potential... your body, your face... my hands... Do you want to be beautiful too?"
Mark was mesmerised now. His eyes became distant and very susceptible to suggestion.
"Strip, Mark. Let's see your body."
Mac liked what he saw.
Mark's body was lean and athletic. Not at all like the muscle-bound bodies which Mac abhorred.
He looked down at Mark's penis, which was at the moment flaccid.
Perfect, thought Mac. Mark's body held a lot of potential.
He began the transformation.
As Mark's body grew hard and stiff so did his penis. As the transformation completed Mac was delighted to see Mark ejaculate. His semen trickled down his erect wax penis. Mark stood naked and stiff before Mac. His arms by his sides as if he were standing to attention, his erect penis saluting Mac.
Mac admired Mark's naked body for a few minutes before inspiration came to him in a flash.
The display was the best he had done.
Rosin, the regal Roman noble lady stood facing Mark the humble slave-boy, who was dressed only in a loincloth (getting this on Mark had been a problem as his erection kept obstructed the otherwise smooth slip on up Mark's legs. Mac also didn't want the bulge to be too visible to the naked eye). Her hand touched his smooth chest a, a finger circling his wax nipple, her smile seductive, inviting the slave-boy. Mark's eyes stared into Rosin's, his face was expressionless. Neutral. His wide eyes (originally a look of surprise as he was transformed) became a testament to the slave-boy's innocence, soon to be defiled by the Roman noble lady. Which was all that needed to be said.
Rosin and Mark now belonged to Mac. What had originally been intended to be their date would now be an eternal seduction played out forever to visitors of the wax house. Still they didn't complain. Rosin's wax lips were forever frozen into a sly smile and Mark's sealed forever.