Endry, Doe in the Headlights

How kind of him, to open the sculptor's eyes. To show them that fear could be as sexy as lust.

They thanked him each time they went to inflict that fear. Assured him they'd never sell him off. To open a whole new creative horizon... how many pieces could have that effect on their creator?

They liked him well enough, in fact, to be worth keeping. He was an inspiration.

Before each new round of artistry, they consulted with the frozen boy. Read the abject terror on his stone face as he came to terms with his fate once more. Spoke with him, too, now that they knew he could hear.

It was rather disconcerting, but what was to be done? The boy couldn't offer anything but crazed, rambling terror. He was so ugly as a living being, so angry, so feral. The gorgon had done him a favor, really. He looked so very much better as a fresh statue than ever before.

You see, he had remembered his imprisonment. Every moment of it. He'd gone mad from the experience, to be sure, but he remained lucid enough to recall all the lewd comments made over his stone form over the years.

It was almost enough for the gorgon to feel sorry, when they petrified him once more.

Only once has an art piece reanimated. A foolish sale, made to a mage. Experiments with a cursebreaking spell misfired, and the mage's conversation piece — a cute boy on his knees, gazing up as if in prayer — turned back to flesh and blood after a decade sealed as stone. What a headache that was.

Some other supernatural creatures know about the gorgon. The really foolish ones think they're kin enough to be able to trust them.

This allows the real high-dollar items. A fountain made of a nursing minotauress, water splashing from her nipple. An impressive, howling werewolf, tits hanging free.

Or bathroom fixtures. Why have an ordinary porcelain toilet when you could have a gorgeous woman's face carved of granite? Looking up worshipfully, mouth open, ready for a golden stream to splash against her cold skin and give her meaning to the eternity she's stuck in?

Practical items are also available. It took some effort to get those two bodybuilder sisters to show off their strength, but the end result was worth it: a glass tabletop, held up by a pair of nude, muscular beauties. Rest your drinks on them, put your feet up, or drape a tablecloth and forget them.

Of course, it doesn't do to only sell full-body sculptures. Too expensive.

Targets who are exceptionally beautiful are petrified the moment a pretty smile crosses their face. Their limbs and lower torso are chiseled free and trashed. They're sold as busts, all the cheaper for their beauty.

The unluckier ones are the ones that sell better. So many figures provocatively posing. Sticking out their asses, bending over teasingly. Trying their very best to entice the viewer into a sensual night. Frozen in place to preserve that beautiful view, never to have their efforts rewarded.

Their display garden shows the fruits of their efforts. Stone men leaning back in the throes of orgasm, mouths silently open. Women embracing empty air, cunts gaping open around nothing. These are the lucky ones, those who the gorgon actually followed through on, fucking before turning them to art.

The trick isn't seducing someone and getting them into their house. The trick is all in the timing; petrifying them at the perfect moment to realize their creative vision. They have to take their shot with care, focus past the pleasure and see the one instant worth preserving in stone forever.

Kinktober Day 11: Petrification

1/13. CW: (functional) snuff, watersports

"Specialty sculptor" who sells custom-made erotic artwork: the finest human figures ever seen, in moments of hyperrealistic submission.

...They're a gorgon, of course. But that doesn't mean there's no skill involved.

Using your captive doe's tail as a litmus test, to check if your threats and promises are hitting hard enough or if you need to dial it up to scare her better...

Making you beg on your hands and knees to be blackmailed, since you know the alternative is a lifetime of internet fame...

Vampire with a deep and abiding passion for archaeology, spending her nights at digsites and museums. Other vampires think it's out of nostalgia for her centuries-long life. In truth, she clings to a vain, desperate hope that she can find the old chastity key she lost during the reign of Heraclius.

yeah. relatable. Like, i'm capable of enjoying quite a few gendered terms! especially the fem ones. But in most cases it still feels like i'm... playing a role, i guess. The language offers plenty of words that are hot, but few that are genuine, and almost zero that are both.

jesus fucking christ 😵‍💫

love love love smut that genuinely makes me feel horrified...

non-con, blood, snuff??///

The thing about the modern vampire is that most things come second to survival. You can claw, sneer, hiss, posture all you want, but when push comes to shove your first priority is always finding the next person to feed off of. To stave off the constant, gnawing hunger.

Pushing estrogen down an egg's throat with your tongue — purely as a sex act of course! one pill won't do anything! — and then doing it again the next morning, and again that night, and again, and again, and really at this point the train's already rolling so she may as well start for real, right??

you go devour your strange, exotic europizza!

I see it's setting in fast this time. A shame. Perhaps your misery will be a little more drawn out the next time I see you.

Now, as I said, let's wrap this up.

Come here, pet.

Good toy.

Oh, here come the waterworks. Don't worry, pet, I wouldn't actually let anything happen to you! You're great entertainment. So maybe you won't see the surface ever again, but who cares? With how many offspring you've had in your time here, you've got a whole new family right down here!

No? No bell ringing up there? Of course not. You see, darling paladin, you've made your way through this dungeon to me fifteen times already! Each time I use you for awhile, wipe your memory, and drop you back at the start. It's ever so fun, seeing how you run afoul of my defenses over and over.

Why, you're right! Kneel, by the way. Good pet. A few minutes of conversation shouldn't be nearly enough time to make my words so deeply irresistible to you.

Not if this was your first time, at least.

Strip off that pretty armor.

That shocked face never gets old. Can't control your body, can you? I have a special spell, a mind-altering aura that slowly acts on those around me. Spend too much time in my presence and you become more and more suggestible. Debilitatingly horny, too.

Well, that must be why you look so exhausted. Honestly, I'm surprised you can stand up straight after spending a day wrapped up inside a mimic, having every hole filled by tentacles, being drained for all you're worth... heh.

Well, I suppose that brings us up to speed, doesn't it? Let's get to it.

Well, the hellpit is right next door to my antechamber, so I suppose that explains... oh, this was still yesterday? What was the delay?

Ahahaha, the good old mimic door! A classic. I wish I could have seen your face when the handle wrapped around your arm and pulled you in.

So the hounds dragged you to their master? I'd love to hear how you got out of that one. An angel? What do you... oh, I'd forgotten my enslaved angel! She broke you out, hm? Disappointing, but — oh? She traded another *century* of servitude for the demons to release you? Oh, that's simply too much.

And where did you finally get away from him? Ahh, the hellpit! That explains those big red scratches on your skin. Had a run-in with a hellhound, did you? No? THREE? You constantly impress me, paladin! I don't know how your pelvis didn't crack, with three knots stretching you out.