/lit/ - Literature

Looks like I'm inspired by art lately.
I hope you enjoy this one.

I remember reading a story about an artist that makes realistic sculptures of boys and girls, sealing them in plaster and burning off their bodies, before pouring molten metal in the molds, somewhere on this website, a while ago.
I don't remember who the author was, but it was an amazing story that really inspired me. And I think it heavily influences this story.
Although I don't pretend to be as good at writing, I hope I get anywhere close to that.

Lisa gets a piercing

"Lisa Cooper, you will NOT get a piercing, and that is final, do you understand?"
That was the last thing she wanted to hear, but that was her mom's verdict, whether she wanted it or not.
But Lisa was a very stubborn girl, and she wasn't ready to accept defeat. All her friends had piercings and she wanted to be cool too.

So she went to her dad. Her dad was an artist, and most of his art pieces involved piercings. Surely he wouldn't be so opposed to the idea.

"You want a piercing, huh?", he answered. Thought for a moment, then gave her a strange look. "Very well! I'll give you a piercing."
That's when she realized how stupid she had been.
"No! I didn't mean THAT kind of piercing! " she tried to plead, but the way he looked at her had changed. She could read in his eyes she wasn't his precious little girl anymore, but an art piece.
She moved towards the wall, away from him as he approached.
"No! Don't touch me! Daddy, please! " she tried again.
Her back hit the wall as he walked onto her. She wanted to run towards the door, but this was his workshop. Plenty of girls, many stronger and faster than her had tried that before. The door wouldn't open without his fingerprint.
There was no escape.
She tried to plead, beg, cry, to no avail.

When he ordered her to disrobe, she obeyed. She'd seen what happened to the girls who didn't.
He grabbed her arm and walked her to the chair. She watched in morbid fascination as he lubed up his arm.
She knew it would hurt, having watched him many times. But this time, this was different. She was sitting on the chair.
She gasped in pain, as the fingers broke her hymen, and opened her mouth to scream as he pushed in his hand, but the pain was so intense she couldn't breath. No sound came out of her. None of them screamed.
Most girls fainted. She wasn't so lucky.
She could feel him reaching all the way back. Grabbing the flesh of her cervix. She could feel the metallic claws of the tool taking hold of her. His professional fingers checking with a cold efficiency that everything was in place. The pinching. The ring piercing through her flesh and locking inside her womb. The searing heat of the ring being heated to seal the wounds.
She took a large breath when his fist and the tool came out, instants later, but she didn't have time to scream, as his large arm filled her once again, punching all the way back and forcing her to exhale again, this time holding a large chain.
He quickly attached it to the ring, and her pussy was hand free once again.

Minutes later, she was dangling from the ceiling. Her entire weight pulling on her womb through the ring. Sobbing was all she had the strength to do, but her ordeal wasn't over.
Over the course of the next few hours, he tried various poses, finally driving needles through her articulations when satisfied.
Locking her in the last posture she'd ever hold.

That night, in the cold dark workshop, her vagina finally gave up, inverting itself, mike a pink worm indecently poking out of the tween's pussy.
The next day, he threaded the tubes along the chain and inserted the needles in the relevant places through her cervix.
One to feed, hydrate and sedate her.
One to suck out her pee.
One for the electric shocks that would keep her muscles well defined.

Her transformation was complete.
Soon, she'd be sold to a museum, or a private collector. Go to her dad's personal collection if she was lucky.
It's only when she recognized her art teacher she remembered her class was slated to visit her dad's workshop.
Her widening eyes and reddening cheeks was the strongest reaction she could manage in her dazed state.
She wanted to hide her private parts, to no avail.

Daddy showed her around.
Her classmates poked and prodded her.
Dad even instructed one of the boys to come play with her clit and push her to orgasm, explaining how experiencing the sensuality of a girl's body to its fullest extent was an integral part of his art. How it wasn't just a display, but also performative art.

She watched powerless as the class voted in Emily to demonstrate the process. She was the smallest and less developed girl in the class, but also the prettiest.
The girl tried to protest, but was quickly cornered by the boys and disrobed as some guys held her defenseless.
She struggled in the chair, as her the artist proposed the teacher tried his hand at it.
But the art teacher didn't have her dad's experience, and his clumsy fingers ripped Emily's hole apart.
Gagging the screaming Emily, her dad pretended it often happened to less developed girls, but Lisa knew it was a lie. She'd seen him shove his entire hand inside girls as young as 4, without ripping their flesh, except for the hymen.
He demonstrated the whole process on the broken Emily, but everybody knew she wouldn't ever be an art piece.
That night, the whimpering and sobbing Emily dangled there, next to Lisa. A broken doll in pain. Not even worth sedating.
She screamed a bit when her vagina prolapsed, and even more when the tear in her flesh started to propagate with sickening torn meat sounds. It took almost an hour until the tear finally reached all the way up to her cervix, and her piercing ripped apart. She collapsed to the ground with a final thud. Too weak to even cry anymore.

The next week, when she got mounted to the ceiling of her school's hall, her body fully exposed for her former schoolmates to look at and touch, Lisa remembered Emily, and considered herself lucky.