artists & models
		by Van ©2011
		Chapter 2

The Adair Gallery, the next evening...

---

The show seemed to be a success, at least as far as Erin could tell.  Whether or not Beverly Adair was making any sales, she had no idea, but the crowd was reasonably large without being a crush and most of them seemed to be enjoying themselves.  Half the guests were expensively dressed urbanites of every adult age, patrons-of-the-arts.  They were definitely enjoying themselves, socializing, drinking champagne, and impressing each other with their knowledge of the arts.  The other half were Artist-types, dressed in black.  They were also drinking champagne, but most appeared to be either bored or suffering from borderline clinical depression.  Erin strongly suspected it was mostly affectation, that their Goth–EMO–Vampire-wannabe personas were as much a part of their "uniforms" as black jeans, turtlenecks, and jackets.

Erin was dressed in a "little black dress" on loan from Madison, together with a pair of matching heels.  The dress was sleeveless and rather short, and she was showing a generous amount of legs and cleavage.  She'd wanted to look good, and before leaving the townhouse, Madison had assured her she had succeeded.  Her brown hair was combed back and captured in a tight ponytail to keep it out of her way as she worked.  Her Nikon was slung across her right shoulder by a black leather strap with a row of bandoleer pockets for holding memory cards.

Erin had been discretely snapping photos for about two hours, and knew she had some good stuff.  The theme of the show was "Damsels-in-Distress," and all the works depicted the female form, usually the nude female form, in various forms of restraint and/or peril.  A variety of artistic techniques and media had been used by the various artists, and the paintings, prints, and sculptures ranged from the realistic to the abstract..

Erin changed memory cards and drifted towards her favorite venue of the show, the so-called "Shibari Room."  The entire space was dedicated to the works of  "C. Adams," all of which were realistic sculptures of female figures bound with rope.  All were of some sort of translucent, amber plastic and were lit from below.  The effect was... mesmerizing.  Sitting with legs crossed, kneeling, standing on both feet, standing on one foot, or fully suspended, in every case, each figure's anatomically correct musculature matched its pose.  The "women" looked very real, as did their bondage.

Beverly Adair, dressed in a stunning dress of black satin embroidered with vertical rows of silver seed beads, joined Erin as she entered the room.  "Magnificent, aren't they?"

"They are," Erin agreed.

"She always works with the same model," Beverly explained, "starting from life-casts of plaster or fiberglass.  After the resin sets, a great deal of trimming and polishing follows.  Finally, she applies the rope.  Conditioned hemp."

"It must be difficult for the model to hold the required pose," Erin said.

"Holding the pose is not an issue," Beverly purred.  "The model is bound for the casting in the same manner as the final figure.  It's the only way to achieve the required realism.  She allowed me to witness a session.  It was... fascinating."

Erin blinked in surprise, staring at the room full of helpless, amber maidens.  She turned to her hostess and employer for the night.  "H-how long was the model tied up?  During the session, I mean."

Beverly smiled.  "The binding, alone, took nearly two hours.  Applying the cast took an additional hour and a half.  Setting time was two hours, and removal of the casts required one more.  So, she was tied up... half a day?"

Erin shuddered in sympathy.  "Talk about suffering for your art."

"Or, in this case," Beverly chuckled, "having your model suffer for your art."  She smiled at Erin.  "It's a lifestyle choice, I suppose."

"I suppose," Erin muttered.  Her eyes were on the maidens.

"Come," Beverly said, taking Erin's arm and leading her from the room.  "Let's get some champagne.  I have something I'd like to discuss with you and Madison."

Erin and Madison were standing beside the champagne fountain, sipping flutes of bubbly and watching Beverly chat with various groups of guests as she made her way from the room.

"I really appreciate this," Erin said.

Madison smiled.  "A week relaxing at Beverly Adair's country estate, watching you charm our hostess while you try and finagle a one woman show?  I'll survive."

Erin grinned.  "I did agree to model for her, so some work will be involved."

"Work!" Madison snorted.  "Sitting around while she paints.  Some work."

Erin smiled.  "Remember, she promised to paint you, too."

Madison shrugged, drained her flute and set it on the table.  "And speaking of work..."  She strolled back to the piano.

Just then, a blonde walked up to the table and began filling her flute from the fountain.  Erin smiled (and tried not to stare).  Whoever she was, she was remarkable.  She had one of those faces with balanced features that are quite attractive, but not classically beautiful; however, her greatest asset was her body.  The blonde was one of the most physically fit individuals Erin had ever seen.  Her well-defined muscles slid under her smooth, tan skin as she moved, but her curves were very feminine.  She was an athlete, not a bodybuilder.

"Lyndal Douglas," the blonde said, presenting her right hand.  A quirky smile curled her lips and her blue eyes sparkled.

Erin hurriedly transferred her flute to her left and returned the handshake. "Uh, Erin.  Erin Gillard."

"I know," Lyndal answered.  "I work for Beverly.  She pointed you out."

"Pleased to meet you," Erin said with a grin.  "What do you do?  For Beverly, I mean."

Lyndal smiled.  "Whatever is required.  I also help out at the estate."  She nodded towards Madison, who was playing the opening bars of what Erin thought was probably a Chopin Nocturne.  "Your friend is very good."

"She is," Erin agreed.  She noticed Lyndal's smile and followed her gaze to the sculpture near the piano.  It was a strange piece, something like an oversize canopic jar of milky glass.  As Madison continued playing, subtle tendrils of multicolored light danced across the surface of the "jar," and they were sparkling in time to the music.  "That's pretty," Erin said.

Lyndal's smile broadened.  "I think so.  I believe the effect is from a matrix of LEDs embedded in the plastic."  She sipped her champagne, then shifted her gaze back to Erin.  "I understand you'll be joining us at Bev's place, next weekend."

Erin nodded.  "Beverly's asked me to pose for her."

"Bev asks every female she meets to pose for her," Lyndal chuckled, "myself included.  Welcome to the club."

"You've posed for Beverly?"

Lyndal nodded.  "I've been the subject of six of her oils.  She says I have 'strong lines'."

"I'll say," Erin chuckled.  "If I might ask, how do you do it?  I mean... I work out, but you have an amazing body."

Lyndal grinned.  "Thank you.  Power yoga, running, swimming, and resistance training.  I enjoy the burn."

"It's certainly paid off for you."

Lyndal smiled.  "I have to circulate and keep an eye on things.  It was nice to meet you, and I'll see you on Saturday."

"Same here!" Erin answered as Lyndal strolled away.  She sipped her champagne and watched her new friend's firm buttocks and long, strong legs as she negotiated the crowd.  I wish I had a bod like that, she mused.  Hmm... 'power yoga.'  Maybe I can talk her into a demonstration.

The Adair Gallery, Friday evening...

---

Payback's a bitch, and her name is Crystal, Lyndal mused.

Lyndal was naked—or rather, she'd started out naked.  She'd relieved herself (numbers one and two), neatly tucked her hair under a latex swim-cap, showered, then reclined on her back on a padded massage table.  Crystal smiled, and the "fun" had commenced.

First came the clear plastic wrap.  It was the standard kind used for food preservation, but Crystal had chopped the original twelve-inch rolls into three-inch rolls that were more convenient for her purposes.  Following her "captor's" orders, Lyndal had donned latex gloves and formed her hands into fists.  Then, Crystal had tightly, carefully wrapped them in plastic, immobilizing the blonde's fingers and hands.  Next, her arms were individually wrapped from wrists to armpits and her legs from toes to crotch.  Crystal was careful to overlap each wrapping by half and to maintain uniform pressure that stretched the plastic but didn't compromise Lyndal's circulation.

What happened next fell into the twin categories of maintenance and entertainment.  Specifically...

• A catheter was inserted into Lyndal's urethra with clinical precision.
• A vibrating butt-plug was lubricated and inserted into her anus.
• A "Rabbit" vibrating dildo (with rotating head and clit-ticklers) was inserted into her vagina.
• Clamps with tiny, pill-style vibrators attached to the serrated jaws closed around each nipple.

In each case, the attached tubing or power/control cords and wires were carefully coiled and tucked out of the way.

Next, Lyndal's torso was wrapped as tightly and completely as her limbs.  Care was taken to swaddle her loins in redundant, carefully stretched layers.  The final result was as waterproof as a pair of rubber panties.  Lyndal's breasts also received special attention, with figure-eight wrappings that caused each of the pink, fleshy globes to bulge, ever-so-slightly.  The various devices inserted in her orifices or clamped to her nipples were now completely covered and secured in place.  In fact, Lyndal's entire body was covered from the neck down.

Her legs were placed together and wrapped at the ankles and above and below her knees.  Then, her arms were placed at her sides and secured with wrappings around her hips and wrists and her waist and elbows.  At this point, Lyndal may or may not have been helpless.  It's possible that with time and considerable effort she could have twisted free of her wrappings—but Crystal was far from finished.

A posture collar of clear PVC was buckled around the plastic mummy's throat.  Then, Crystal produced a bundled mass of dozens of intertwined loops of clear plastic tubing  This was dropped over Lyndal's head and shoulders, and after a great deal of lifting and rolling of the captive's body, the nature of the coils become apparent.  It was a net that covered Lyndal from throat to toes.  As Crystal worked her way down the matrix, snapping together twenty or more tiny clips, the net tightened.  When the final clip was secured, it criss-crossed and hugged Lyndal's curves with gaps of no more than an inch or two between loops.

Crystal leaned close and smiled sweetly.  "We better do a test before we move on to the next step, don't you think?"  The question was rhetorical, for Crystal didn't wait for a response.  Also, the strip of Elastoplast plastered to Lyndal's lower face from ear to ear and nostrils to chin rendered the captive mute, in any case.  Crystal plugged the fittings at the ends of the tube net into a long, clear hose connected to a pump next to a small plastic reservoir, then turned a valve and flipped a switch.  A blue liquid appeared inside the tubing, moving in fits and starts as it forced out the air in the line.  Finally, the net was a uniform blue in color.  Crystal turned off the pump and closed the valve.  "We'll test the system, again," she promised, "before I put you away."

Lyndal rolled her eyes and sighed through her gag.

Meanwhile, Crystal had produced a roll of clear plastic.  It was different from the layers of plastic wrap already mummifying Lyndal's body.  It was stiffer, and crinkled as she unrolled what became a long, narrow, clear tube.  Starting at Lyndal's feet, she worked the tube up and around her prisoner's body, lifting and rolling her already well-wrapped form, as required.  She carefully cut small holes and passed through the catheter hose and various wires and cables as required, then produced a hot air gun on the end of a long cord.  She carefully tucked the top ends of the plastic over Lyndal's shoulders, and pulled the trigger.

Whirrrrr...

As hot air played over the plastic, it crinkled and shrank.  Crystal worked her way down Lyndal's body, taking her time and making sure every square inch of what was becoming a hard, clear shell felt the gun's blast.  She paused when she neared Lyndal's feet to cut her free of the remaining roll, leaving a long flap of at least a two feet.  This was wrapped and tucked over and under Lyndal's feet, then the encasement was finished.

Whirrrrr...

The entire wrapping and shrinking process was repeated a second—Whirrrrr—and then a third time—Whirrrrr.  When Crystal turned off the gun and put away the remaining shrink-wrap, it was as if Lyndal was encased in fiberglass, or nearly so.  Also, her face was flushed and beaded with sweat.

"Goodness," Crystal cooed.  "Are we all hot and bothered?"  Another rhetorical question.  "Let's cool you off for a while, shall we?"  She turned the valve on the blue plastic line, then tapped the buttons of a small electronic panel set on the side of the pump.  "I'll leave the system on maximum for a few minutes."  She stretched a pair of broad, nylon straps across Lyndal's waist and thighs, secured the attached buckles—Click, click—then pulled the free ends through the friction locks to pull out the slack and pin Lyndal to the table.  Vrrrrrip, vrrrrrip.  "Now, I want you to try and escape while I'm gone."  She headed for the doorway, then looked back and paused .  "If you succeed, we'll call it even and I'll let you do this to me."

The door closed.

Lyndal sighed through her tape-gag, gathered her strength, and began fighting her encasement.  The multiple layers of plastic, the fluid-filled tube net, and the shrink-wrap cocoon defeated her efforts with ease.  She found she could twist her shoulders, crunch her stomach, lift her legs, or flex her knees, but no more than an inch in any given direction.

Escape was not going to happen.

At least the cooling system works, she thought.

Crystal returned in about ten minutes, pushing a cart from the loading dock.  On the cart was a sarcophagus.  It was smooth, black, and streamlined, and its only decoration was the name "Lyndal" stenciled on the side in metallic gold.  It was molded in fiberglass, and its bottom and top halves were held together by a horizontal row of twelve flush-mounted, locking clamps, six on each side.  A thirteenth clamp secured the top lid of a box-shaped bulge molded into the base of the foot area.  Crystal and Lyndal had built the encasement together, as well as a second sarcophagus.  The two were nearly identical, only the second unit was shorter in length and was labeled "Crystal."

Crystal strolled to the table, smiled, and peeled the tape from Lyndal's lips.  As always, the Elastoplast surrendered its adhesive grip with great reluctance, stretching Lyndal's lips and the skin of her lower face as it was slowly, gently pulled away.

Lyndal licked her lips and worked her jaws.  "Ahh!  Thank you."

Crystal produced a Hello Kitty sippy cup with a bright pink flex-straw and held it to Lyndal's lips.  "Mojito," she purred.

Lyndal sucked on the straw, her smiling blue eyes locked with her captors'.

After a few seconds Crystal pulled away the straw, took a sip, herself, then set the cup aside.  "Now," she said, still smiling, "as I see it, there are two options.  Option one, I plug in your catheter—twat, tushie, and tit cables—the cooling net—and the body temperature, pulse, and breathing rate monitors into the sarcophagus' support system.  Then, I pop in your respirator-gag and earplugs, lace up your isolation hood, lower you into your packing case, snap on the lid, inflate the interior padding... and leave you for the night."

"And option two?" Lyndal purred.

"I leave you more or less as you are for the rest of the night, then pack you up in the morning."

Lyndal grinned.  "Option two is sounding pretty good, but I assume there's a catch."

"You know me too well," Crystal chuckled.  "To earn option two, you have to do me a favor."

"A favor?  Let me guess."

Crystal's smile broadened and turned somewhat sinister.  She peeled off her t-shirt, unsnapped and removed her bra, unzipped and pulled off her jeans, unlaced and kicked off her sneakers, then stripped off her panties.  Now as naked as her prisoner (not counting the multiple layers of Lyndal's plastic cocoon) she retrieved the ends of the "entertainment" cables, opened the lid at the foot of the sarcophagus, and plugged them into the appropriate color-coded receptacles.  She flipped a few switches, lifted a small remote control from a slot, then returned to the side of the table.  The remote in her left hand, she climbed onto the padded surface, straddled Lyndal's encased body, and knelt.  She settled the weight of her diminutive form on Lyndal's smooth, plasticized chest with her knees to either side of the prisoner's plasticized shoulders and arms.

She then leaned down—and they kissed.  Lips smacked, tongues rolled, and toes curled.  Crystal's toes curled, anyway.  Lyndal's toes were too rigidly encased to do any significant curling.

After a brief eternity, Crystal broke off the kiss, smiled, and triggered the remote, pressing its various studs, one by one.  "Pussy vibration with dildo head twisting...  butt plug... and nipple clamps.  Oh, goodness!" she giggled, "I can feel the nipple clamps on my thighs."  She scooted forward until her pussy was hovering above Lyndal's face.  "Now... that favor.  You do me while the vibrators do you.  Think you can handle that?"

"I-I'll d-do my best," Lyndal responded.  The vibrators were making it difficult for her to concentrate.

"Good girl," Crystal purred, and lowered her pussy to Lyndal's waiting lips.

The Adair Gallery loading dock, the next morning...

---

Beverly led Erin and Madison through the gallery and out onto the loading dock in the back.  She was dressed casually, in jeans, sensible flats, a cotton blouse, and a light jacket.  Her guests were casual, as well, having followed her instructions.  Madison was carrying a small suitcase, and Erin a small duffel.

"I really appreciate this, Ms. Adair," Erin said.

"Think nothing of it," Beverly answered, "and I told you, call me Beverly."  She smiled at Madison.  "Both of you."

"It's really nice of you to let me tag along," Madison added.

"I'll make you earn your keep," Beverly chuckled.  "I have a baby grand in my sitting room.  And I really want you to pose for me, Madison, as well as Erin.  You'll be my first redhead."

Madison blushed.  "Okay."

There were two vehicles at the dock.  Both were black.  One was an SUV, a hybrid Escalade, and the other was a full-size pickup, a Silverado.  Marta and a very short young woman with short, black hair were tightening cargo straps, securing several wooden crates in the back of the truck.

"You both know Marta," Beverly said.

Marta smiled.  "Hello."  Erin and Madison returned the greeting.

"And this is Crystal," Beverly continued, indicating the smiling, twenty-something woman.  She was devilishly cute.  "One of my helpers."

"Pleased," Crystal said, and shook hands with the roommates.

Erin glanced at the wooden crates.  All but one looked like they might contain framed paintings or large prints.  The exception was roughly the size and shape of a coffin.

"Some works I'm returning to the estate," Beverly explained, then gestured towards the SUV.  "We'll take the Escalade, and Marta and Crystal will follow in the truck."

"Isn't Lyndal joining us?" Erin asked.  "I was hoping she would show me some of her yoga moves."

Beverly turned to Crystal.

"Lyndal's wrapped up in something at the moment," Crystal responded, "but she'll be along."

Beverly and Marta exchanged a smile, then Beverly turned back to Erin and Madison.  "Okay, then.  Let's go."

Crystal and Marta deployed a tarp over the truck bed and its cargo, secured its clips, and lashed in down for good measure.  Meanwhile, the roommates had put their luggage in the back of the SUV.  Beverly climbed behind the wheel, Erin rode shotgun, and Madison had the backseat to herself.

"You should be ashamed," Marta whispered to Crystal as they finished securing the tarp.  "'Lyndal's wrapped up,' indeed.  Do you want to drive, or play with the remote?"

"I played with the remote last night," Crystal grinned.  "I'll drive."

They climbed into the cab, Crystal started the engine, and the convoy of two drove away.