The Idol Pt. 1
by Tocixcog
“Would you like to see the rest of the contract now?”
Casey blinked slowly, rolling her gaze back to the top of the page in front of her. “Er… ah, can I…” She looked up again to the man in the suit across from her as he folded his hands. “Sorry, still reading it.” “Take your time.” He said, snapping back with practiced coldness.
Forgetting to nod, she continued to parse the document, or what was apparently just its first page. Casey slid her thumb along the line of her cheekbone, pushing back her stringy shoulder-length blond hair that hung in uneven hay-colored strands. Her index finger flicked at the edge of her square glasses, knocking them slightly out of alignment so that she could take her other hands and right them over her nose. “I just don’t see how this has anything to do with working as an idol…”
The man broke his interlocking fingers to reach out and tap on a sentence towards the bottom of the page. “Here. You’ll be working for the gallery in an entertainment capacity.”
“Ok… why does that part make it sound more like I’ll be part of the gallery? As an exhibit...” She was as concerned with the language as she was genuinely confused by it. The pay was quite good, a lot more than what she expected for her first contract. Still, those rumors of newbie idols getting burned by bad agreements that came back to bite them kept rattling around in Casey’s head. The money was too good, and it said so little about what sort of work there would be on her end. “Sorry, again. I just want you to explain. I mean, a real explanation.”
“For tax purposes.”
“Huh?” She blinked twice and then a third time for good measure.
The man’s hand zipped to another passage. “By classifying some of our entertainment and employees as art exhibits, we bypass many costly labor regulations that would impose greater taxes, and restrictions, on the Stoveson Gallery.”
Casey pulled at the hem of her black turtleneck, the fabric scrunching up as it gripped over her chest. “Is that… legal?”
“The Stoveson Gallery is highly experimental. But yes, it is legal.” His finger moved again to a passage on the corner of the page that Casey had missed. “Provided that our employees undergo a level of artistic modification, they can also be classified as exhibits.”
“What sort of modification?”
The man smiled, folding his hands again. “Imagine a tattoo artist would like to display their work, but as a stipulation, it can only be viewed on live bodies. Pictures wouldn’t suffice. Do you understand?”
Casey softened her posture, scanning the page again without reading it this time. “Oh.” It was weird but made sense. The whole gallery was weird, so that at least felt on brand. “Ok, I get it. So, will I have to be naked?”
“Have to?” The man’s chin shifted. “No, you will be able to wear some clothes. This is regarding the dress regulations on the 3[super]rd[/super] paragraph?” Casey nodded. “Right, well you will be required to show some amount of skin too, whatever is necessary to display the artistry when required. So, no but also yes… in short, some amount of nudity will be expected. Is that a concern?”
Casey inhaled deeply to keep from spitting her words across the interview desk. “Uh, yeah it’s a concern! I’m not signing up be a stripper.”
“I see. Of course, well, you know we are very strict about our zero-photography policy or forbidding any touching of the exhibits here.” Her look of scarlet cheeked indignation held strong. “Have you ever posed for a nude portrait. It’s very similar. People look at you like a piece of art, searching for understanding and meaning.”
“Riggght…” One finger pushed the corner of the pager, nudging it across the table in the man’s direction.
“Would a 25% pay increase change your mind?” The page halted. “Our artist has been very particular about who he works with. After he saw your picture, he said he wouldn’t work with us unless I was able to get you to sign as an idol.”
“Really?” The red in Casey’s face shifted hues. “I mean, that sounds better. And while I work here, the gallery pays for my housing and everything?” “That’s correct, all comped on top of your salary.”
“Hmmmmmm.” Casey flipped the paper over, finding blank white. It still wasn’t her first choice of a job, but at least it was high paying and presumably high profile. The Stoveson Gallery as well known for leading the world in experimental art. At least that was what Casey had found from her Google searches, since she would never be able to afford the price of admission. Nothing had come up about them ever signing an idol though, so there would definitely be publicity. All she had to do was catapult that into a new contract with a more conventional idol group. “Do I sign on the bottom?”
The man pulled out another sheet that he swiftly flipped onto Casey’s hand. “On the line here please.” “Ok.” She took the pen by its neck, holding it over the paper. “Wait, uh…”
“Yes?”
“Sorry, hmmm…” She felt like she was forgetting another question, signing her name as she considered it. “Right, my music! I retain all rights to my songs and all that, anything I produce while I’m here too?”
The man nodded while scrooping up the paperwork. “That won’t be a concern Ms. Thomas. The gallery has no interest in any musical component for the exhibit work you’ll be doing for us. Can you come this way with me now?”
Casey stood up to follow the man, her shoulders dipping. “Oh… so I was just being scouted for my appearance?” Flattering for sure, but still a little disappointing.
“Well, yes. But I’m sure we can work out something that lets you display your vocal talents as well, it’s just not our main selling point at this time. I hope you understand.”
“Sure.” The man led her through the first floor, mostly a sterile white landscape of rectangular walls, empty frames, and large glass boxes in the middle of each room. “Umm, where is all the art?”
“We keep the art in storage and the exhibits are only on display during visiting hours.” He stopped to round a corner into a new room. “Wouldn’t want you to stand around without anyone watching.”
Another turn and they entered a similar room where the central glass display case was opened on one side. A person was leaned up against the glass wearing an olive color overcoat with puffy bandages that covered most of their face. Only the eyes shown through the gauze and wrapping, eyes with pale gray irises that stared straight at Casey, taking in her every motion.
“This is Alm, or you can call him the Artist.” A collapsible doctors table was positioned diagonal to the glass walls near the corner of the, beside it sat a chrome roller desk with dubious medical equipment. Casey gulped at the artist’s gaze methodically gliding over her from head to toe.
She grabbed onto her forearm, pushing up her sleeve nervously. “Is this for those modifications? Like, right now?” Her attention was divided between the concerning needle-like devices on the desk and the mysterious faceless figure.
“That’s right. So I’ll leave you two alone. Just do what the he asks of you.” The man left as Alm pushed themselves off the glass, stumbling at little with their first step towards Casey.
“Uh, hello.” Their hands were bandaged too, so Casey kept her own arms at her sides instead of offering a handshake. The way they moved was unnerving to say the least, a hobbling sort of walk like they were disabled and bearing the pain of standing without a crutch. She let them get within two feet of her before taking a sliding step back. “S-should I call you Alm?”
“You have a beautiful neck.” The words came suddenly, like the artist had been trying to force them through since the moment Casey entered through room, only for the sentence to get caught in their stomach.
“Thank you…” The artist was maybe as tall as Casey, but the way they hunched over made them seem a head shorter.
“Sorry, my manners. Alm is good. Artist, also good. I do not mind.” Alm held out one hand, pausing their fingertips in the air between them. “May I see?” Their voice was soft, almost in a pleading manner, haunting without being threatening.
Casey followed the invisible track of their frozen gesture to her neck. Her own fingers got there first, feeling the slippery fabric of the turtleneck. “Do you want me to take this off?”
“Yes, all off.” The artist motioned to the sweater and Casey’s skirt. “All?” Just how big was this tattoo going to be?
“All. You are the canvas, so I must see all. Then I decide.” Alm put their hand down again, turning to the side and shuffling towards the table. “My English is not the best, I will try. If not making sense, you tell me.”
“Uh, no I… I am understand fine...” Casey did a deep breath, pulling the sweater over her head, and then slipping out of her skirt. She followed Alm’s footsteps to the table, setting down the clothes at the foot end.
Alm looked at her from across the table. “All off.” They pointed to her black bra and underwear.
So there would be nudity involved after all. Casey pushed her lips together uncomfortably, reaching behind her back to unlatch the bra, and then stepping out of her panties. She always felt her cup size was slightly larger than average for a woman with her slender build, but nothing exceptional to look at.
A flat brown mole was almost symmetrically placed on the lower left side of each breast, covered by Casey’s arm as she hid her chest and cupped the other hand around her crotch. The artist didn’t seem to mind her attempts at modesty, still with a line of sight at her clavicles.
“May I touch?” He reached out again, Casey tilting her chin up so that the mitten-like hands could palpate on her neck. “Oh, it is very nice.” Alm’s motion was slightly shaky, but they pressed with gentle force on Casey’s bulging sternocleidomastoid muscles. The more she raised her head, the softer the artist’s fingers sprung on the bowstrings of her throat. “This… it is good when you lean up. I will… the word… yes, accentuate this…” The sensation was stiff but never painful, and then Alm’s hand retracted back to their side. It felt like the artist was talking to themself, moving away from Casey to weakly poke the head of the table. “Ok, you lay.”
“Face down?” Alm nodded and Casey took off her glasses to get onto the table, fitting her face through the opening at headrest. Without any clothes on, it was like laying on a cold vinyl bed, her ears acutely aware of any noise Alm made beside her.
“Relax. Calm. There is not needles for you. I only use hands.” Her spine was as tight as a metal rod, stiff and visible under the skin. She could hear something metal lifting off the desk and then set back, spiking her breaths at every unknown clatter. “And special lotion. That all, ok?”
Casey squirmed again at the sound of something squirting out of a tube. “Yeah. This won’t be permanent, right?” It was all so strange, everything about this gallery and this art that would be done on her. At this point she just wanted it over with, to close her eyes and wake from a bizarre dream.
“It is art. You make, and unmake. I do nothing I can not redo.” His unbandaged hands touched down on her back, making Casey shudder suddenly at the coldness of the lotion and the dryness of the artist’s palms whenever they pressed into her. “But you know, it is art. So always new, not like you go back in time…”
“Yeah…” Casey sighed as Alm scraped away the tension from her shoulder blades. “Nnhh!” A little whimper couldn’t help but slip out at every pass over her back, rolling her muscles like dough.
“That is good. Yes, being soft. And the noises, very good.” The artist traced her dorsal lines in the same way, eliciting the same whimper. “Tells me that what I do is right.” Their hands returned to her shoulder areas, cupping around Casey’s deltoids with rhythmic pulses. She closed her eyes, imaging that the artist had slid under her skin, tossing away anything that gave her soreness.
“Y-yeah, there…” Casey tired to touch on her back in the exact spot, but her arms felt too limp to lift. Alm found the sore spot anyway, griping and pulling at her sides. The tremor in their touch was gone, replaced by warm pressure like their hands were heated stone.
“I take your arms away now.” The artist squeezed Casey’s fingers together, holding the five digits and palm with tight pressure until her hand only felt like a stiff tube. “But it will feel good.” A murmur of agreement while Alm preformed petrissage up the length of her arm, feeding the flesh into the shoulder. The skin at her brachial plexus swelled with heavy fat before it absorbed her shoulder joint, and then her entire arm. Alm twisted the single sensitive finger into the center of the lump, giving it another pinch to press it into the shape of a nipple, then sculped the sides of fat sphere to form a sloped and shapely breast.
“Hhnn hnnn…” Casey was breathing heavily, her mouth hanging open as the boob in place of her right arm settled down on the table. She couldn’t move it except to stiffen the sensitive nipple fingertip, and Alm was already moving to her left side to repeat the process. It felt so good, the way the artist sculpted her bone into blubber, filling her cold knuckles with jiggling heat. “MMmm!” She practically squealed when Alm turned her fingers into a nipple and then affixed it to the breast at her left shoulder.
“You like that?” The artist cupped and stroked over the smooth breast surface where Casey’s deltoids had been, listening to her softly moan. Reaching under her body to where her chest was pressed against the table, Alm slid his palms over her bust and tested the yield of her tits, making sure they had replicated it perfectly. “It is good, I want to do more too.”
They moved one space lower and outwards, pinching Casey’s abdomen hard until the red sting became a squishy tingle. “Breath for me, in out.” She did as they asked, gasping for air when Alm’s fingers gently pulled forward, heavy breast flesh slowly embracing their fingers. With every inspiration, the new breasts swelled, and with every expiration Alm held firm to her nipples till they jutted out like pink mountain caps. When the new pair had reached the same size as the others, the artist seamlessly moved lower again and started once more.
Casey was in sheer delight with each swollen and sensitive addition to her chest, squirming as best she could to rub her developing assets against the table and Alm’s hands. Her torso was the complete with a single breast added to the circle of six, the artist the beginning anew along her sides. Two more pairs below her arm tits, followed by another pattern of seven on her polished backside. Each breast was settled on the slope of two others, a single jiggle cascading pleasure through Casey’s upper body.
Alm moved down to her legs, folding up her forelegs onto the back of her thighs. Casey hoped they would turn those floppy limbs into breasts too and leave her as a quivering boob sphere. The artist had other plans though, forcing her feet onto the surface of her bare buttock. After holding the lightly contorted position for long enough, she could feel the surface of another foot within her butt that Alm grabbed hold of and began to drag outwards.
“Gghnn…” The sculpting motions to form new bone and joints was not as soothing as when Alm had reduced her arms to immobile fat.
“Sorry, this is unpleasant, but with good cause for it.” When the third leg was fully formed, Alm bent it to the side and out of the way to draw out a fourth leg from Casey’s other asscheek. Their hands felt around the new thighs, twisting delicately so that each of Casey’s knees now bent in diagonal directions. “Between each legs there should be treasure.”
Alm brought two fingers to the lips of Casey’s vulva, tracing the fine oval of her labia, then testing the depth and breadth of her vaginal cannel as one would neatly dip a finger into cookie batter to measure its taste. It was not a motion that aimed to pleasure her, this was earnest exploration and appreciation of her anatomy. Her mouth hung open, wanting to say something but not wanting to interrupt whatever would come next.
Still holding two fingers inside her slit, the artist stuck the thumb of their other hand on the spot between Casey’s new backwards facing legs, rubbing circles in her skin. Pale cream turned to itching red, and then to glistening pink folds as Alm’s digit sunk into the opening. “Aaahh, ahhnn!” Casey’s eye’s fluttered, streaks of drool hitting the floor.
The artist’s worked her new entranceway like ceramic pottery, hollowing and widening the freshly formed pussy. With a firm pinch at the labial hood, Casey gave an emphatic whine when three finger rolled the tenderest fold into a marble-sized clit. “HHnnngnnnhnn…” All four of her legs twitched and tightened around the artist’s hand before they pulled away.
“I should stop now, but symmetry calls to me. Do you agree?” Their hands moved to the blank cleavage formed on either side of her waist by the new and old legs.
“Yes, nm y-yes!” Casey’s mind was awash in pleasure, her torso heavy and studded with sensitive breasts, now inviting two more cunts into her body without hesitation. Everything felt so good, as soon as Alm began to dig into the tissue at her hips, she’d knew she made the right choice. “YYyes!!” Both the artists fingertips swept rhythmic arcs inside of her, pushing deeper and harder than before. The practiced motion that carved out a perfect replica of her vagina repeated twice at once sent Casey into overdrive, her whole-body throbbing and bouncing on the table. A smear of precum leaked from her original cunt when Alm put the finishing touches onto Casey’s latest pair of clits.
Hands withdrawing from her waist, the artist reached through Casey’s clustered boobs to carefully raise her to a sitting position. Her head swung groggily at first, then straight up as she saw herself in the reflection of the glass display case. “W-what am I?” Her entire trunk was a grape-like bushel of tits that sat atop four evenly spaced legs with a glistening slit between each pair of thighs. She blushed at the indecency of the reflection, crossing her front pair of legs on the table for some modesty, though it only further exposed her other three genitals. The loss of her arms dawned on her when the only motion she could make on her torso was softly shaking her breasts together, unable to every hide even a single plucky nipple.
“An idol.” Alm shuffled back over to the desk, rebandaging their hands. “The primordial idol, image of fertility and abundance. Mother incarnate, glowing with four pregnant belly of child who will nurse on bounty of breasts above. The idol is… is like idea which should never be, but is still wanted, craved.”
They spun their hand in the air, spinning desperate thoughts together. “They look on you and say, ‘I want it, but I do not want it’. That is to be desired in the deepest mind, that curse. But you see now, you see in the eyes.”
Casey raised her chin and turned, wishing just a little she could touch her neck and see if it felt as slender and perfect as it looked in the glass. The artist’s words didn’t match her thoughts perfectly, but she understood. It was scary how strange she looked, and scarier how much she liked it, how much she had always wanted to be so exotic without knowing it. “It feels… I don’t even know, but… it’s just, I…” Words trailed off when she realized she neither wanted to acknowledge her oddity, nor deny her new beauty.
“Can you move?”
She looked down at her front legs and tried flexing her back legs to scuttle off the table. “I think so.” Alm clicked a little remote on the table and it mechanically lowered till Casey was able to plant her feet down together. She walked to the side like an awkward crab, fearful to keep more then one leg off the ground at a time, else her heavy topside might crash into the ground with no arms to break her fall.
The artist wheeled over black stool towards Casey, carefully reaching under her lowest ring of breasts to help her left up and sit balanced on the stool. “Better?”
“Yeah…” A central support was nice, letting her move around by pulling at the ground with her heel. It was a very lazy and decadent way to move. Casey thought how she would rather be pushed on the stool by servants, how the gallery goers would kneel in front of her, asking to touch her all over, begging to fill her with seed. Of course, they wouldn’t say those things with words, but like Alm said, she would see it in their eyes.
Casey twisted up one of her legs, leaning forward slightly to see if she could scratch her nose with her toes. It was barely reachable, mostly because the density of her breasts made it difficult to bend before they squished together uncomfortably.
“Here.” Alm unfolded four pairs of black stockings and slowly knelt to the ground, opening them up for Casey to slide her legs into.
“Thank you.” She spun on the stool in quarter turns so that Alm could fit each of her legs with the thigh high stockings. The silky fabric felt nice on the floor and more sanitary for touching herself with her feet. Casey looked down at Alm betting up slowly from between her legs. It was hard to see where the bone shaping force of their touch had come from, now seeing a figure so frail and hobbled. “I will be your perfect idol, my artist.”
- -
The man was waiting for Alm outside, a lit cigarette in his fingers. Alm shook their head, stepping to the side of the doorway and inhaling the night air greedily. “Suit yourself.” Smoke dribbled out from the man’s lips. “She looks good. The payment has already been wired to your account.” The artist was unmoving under their bandages, even obscuring the slow rise and fall of their diaphragm. “You ok? We have accommodations nearby, if you need to rest...”
“I am good.” Alm stumbled forward, wrapping a hand around their waist. “You call me a car, that is all. If I need room, I find my own.”
The man shrugged; his one response all used up. “It’ll be here soon.” He pulled the smoke away to look towards Alm. “Was she as good as you’d hoped?”
“As a canvas, perfect, oh… a delight.” Alm blinked slowly. “In other ways… well, the viewer decides the rest. I am content.”
Headlights peaked in the distance, casting the man into shadows when Alm stepped closer to the road. The man squinted against the beams, a slight scowl over his brow that was visible to nobody in particular. A small, ‘wait’ eked out of his mouth, quickly rubbed away by the sound the car’s engine and its tires on the pavement.
Alm didn’t turn around, focused on fumbling with the door handle. “When she tires of that shape, you call me. I have many thoughts for her still.”