An Artist’s Masterpiece
Copyright © 2017, Dave Potter & Cafter
This story is set in the same alternative world as The Tale of Anastasia, Doll Wife, Alison Becomes A Lady of Leisure and Dr. Edwards’ Special Birthday Present. However, whilst they are all set in the latter half of the 20th century, this takes place in the middle of the 21st. Therefore, technology has advanced and with it the possibilities to modify and control wives and companions and this story aims to reflect this in the full.
This is the first time that I have ever co-written a story and this work is as much the fruit of Cafter’s labours as my own. It has been an enjoyable experience and one that I hope to repeat in the near future.
Those of you who don’t like things that are graphic and explicit, are advised not to read any further, or indeed, to read any of the other stories on this site, although this is at the more extreme end of my offerings.
If there was ever a problem in her life, Emily could trace it back to her brother Branwell. Whilst she knew that it was both unkind and undutiful to think so ill of a family member, whenever her brother entered the room, she heaved a sigh of disappointment. He would always make some cutting or hurtful remark, give her a task to do that was rightly his but he was too lazy, or invoke a negative comparison from her parents. She wished that she could be more like her younger sister Anne who was far more forgiving and kind but, alas, God had not made her that way. Anne was truly an angel whereas she was all too human.
Even so, nothing could have prepared her for what was to happen that fateful Summer Saturday.
Things had started quite well. The day before had been the day when they all collected their final examination results from school, the results that could decide if they would go on to university or not. As anticipated, her results had been outstanding, top marks in every subject save for History where she’d got a B rather than an A. Not only could she go to the university in Oxford, but she could even get a scholarship which was vital since there was no way that her cash-strapped parents would have paid for a mere girl to study (“After all, what is the point,” her father had said countless times, “when your only purpose in life is to look pretty and make babies?”). But on top of that, when Branwell had gone to get his results, they turned out to be far better than anticipated and he too could scrape into a university, albeit one of the lesser institutions. So, there were great celebrations in the house for the conquering son who was treated to numerous presents and the summer looked set to be fine.
How little did she know…
The evening before it was announced that they had all been invited for dinner at the home of a Mr. Battersby of Thornfield Hall in Oxfordshire, and they all had to dress up smartly and behave. Both Emily and Anne were laced into their best stays, struggling down to a mind-blowing 21 inches which left them gasping for breath, over which their matching grey satin travelling gowns were worn. Then they took the morning bullet train from their Devonshire home, travelling through the day until they steamed into Didcot station just after one. There an auto-carriage was waiting for them which took them several miles along winding country lanes until they came at last to an enormous mansion.
Emily and Anne in the train travelling to Thornfield Hall
When they first entered Thornfield Hall, they were received by a maid dressed in a minimal lavender dress (pure colours being the custom these days), but what she was wearing was not what most struck Emily. As Anne, her father, and Branwell pushed through and beckoned, her eyes were stuck on the blank white porcelain faceplate, the pale plastic skin, and if you ignored the joints, the lifelike nature of the womanly robot attendant. This machine was not like the crude metal conductors on the train ride here, there was obviously a level of refinement she had not seen before in person. Emily snapped back from her reverie as the silent robomaid made a beckoning gesture, and as she regained her composure, Emily continued through the front door.
They were all ushered into the reception room where they were greeted by their host, a Mr. Battersby who, their father had told them, had made his fortune through insurance. He was a small, balding man in his fifties with a mousey look about him and rather piercing eyes which unnerved Emily a little. He suggested they go out onto the terrace which they did and where they drank tea and he talked about his late wife and also Branwell’s university prospects. At five they were called in for dinner which was a delicious meal of venison washed down with port, after which Battersby withdrew into the smoking room with Emily’s father and brother, leaving the three Lowood females to amuse themselves until, most unexpectedly, Emily was called in by a robotic servant to meet with the gentlemen.
Confused, she entered the room to see Branwell standing by the fireplace smoking whilst her father and Battersby sat in armchairs. There was a third chair free and Battersby motioned for her to sit in it.
“Emily my dear, we’ve called you in here today because Mr. Battersby here has a most excellent proposal to put to you.”
“What is that, sir?” she asked.
“Well Emily,” said Battersby, “I should like to ask you to give me the honour of your hand in marriage.”
Shamefully, her first reaction was to laugh, although thankfully she stifled it before it came out. “But sir, I do not know you, nor you me.”
“That is true, but I know your family and I can see that you have a good nature. Love comes with familiarity.”
“That may be true sir, but I am young and about to start university whereas you are past my father in years.”
“Here, Emily, I must say something,” interjected that father. “You mention university, yet there is no guarantee that you shall be attending. The fact is that, as a family, we have insufficient funds.”
“But I have won a scholarship, father, you know that.”
“That as may be, but Branwell here has shamefully been passed over and so we would have to fund him and it would be most remiss of us to have a daughter in education and a son out of it. Therefore, unless we can raise the funds for Branwell, then you attending university is simply out of the question.”
“Yeah, sis, think of that,” added Branwell, still smirking.
“But here is where Mr. Battersby has very kindly offered to help us. He has agreed to pay Branwell’s fees in full and give him a grant for living costs if you agree to marry him.”
With those words, things started to become clear. Once again, her brother’s very existence was causing her problems. “But what of me, father, I still wish to attend as well.”
“That would be a matter for your husband to decide, Emily.”
“And, if you would grace me with your hand, then I do not say I shall refuse. The practicalities will have to be considered of course, but I do not rule it out.”
“But why me? I am naught but a plain and homely girl. I am no match for a gentleman such as yourself.”
“On the contrary my dear, you are exactly the kind of lady I have been searching for. So, what is your answer?”
“You require an answer now?”
“Of course he does, Emily, the university will not hold Branwell’s place open any longer!”
Realising that she had to think fast, Emily did just that. Marrying this Battersby, whom she could not imagine ever loving, would mean that Branwell went to university, but the comments about her were no guarantee that she could. But then, what of Anne? What if she refused and he asked Anne instead? She would never be undutiful and all her dreams of university next year would be dashed. In an instant she knew what to say: “I accept sir, on one condition: that my sister Anne is never forced to marry and that, next year, she too will be able to attend university.”
Battersby and Lowood looked at one another and then Battersby nodded. “We shall marry next month on the church here on the estate. My darling, you have made me so happy! Would it be remiss of me to kiss my fiancee?”
In the month before her wedding day, Emily had quite a few preparations to make. Mr. Battersby did not want a huge affair which, she had to admit, suited her, but he did want her appearance to reflect her new, heightened role in society. So it was that she went into Exeter with her mother to the finest dressmaker there and ordered a trousseau of outfits made from the finest fabrics. On her second visit there, a Lady of Leisure entered with her arms pinned behind her back in a monoglove. Whilst it did look rather elegant and refined, Emily pitied the poor girl – who was only in her teens – for being forced to wear such a restrictive device and thanked her lucky stars that, for all his faults, her fiance did not expect such ridiculous things of her.
What he did expect however, was for her to reduce her waist size to a staggering 20 inches for everyday outfits and 19 for the wedding dress. Since she’d found the 21 inch waist of the other day supremely uncomfortable, Emily did not welcome this but she acquiesced since she knew that ladies of standing did lace tighter and, she reasoned to herself, everything that she could do to please her new husband, would help convince him to let her study.
The day of the wedding came soon enough and Emily was led down the aisle by her father, her darling sister Anne looking divine in pink as her bridesmaid. The dress that she wore was a beautiful creation on white silk and lace with a thick veil that she struggled to see through and a crinoline some five feet in diameter. More difficult to cope with, however, were the pinching white leather boots that came with it that boasted heels of three inches which made her gait unsteady and the tight stays which she had managed – just – to get her waist down to the required 19 inches.
That tiny waist was also the reason behind her only picking at the beautiful wedding meal in her new home and feeling faint during the festivities after. These did not last too long however, and around nine o’clock her new husband led her up the stairs to their room. It really was a palatial chamber with a glorious four-poster bed in the centre. He then proceeded to undress her slowly and when she had only her stays left, guided her to the bed itself and there proceeded to introduce her to the world of lovemaking. Although she did not love him in any way, she found, to her surprise, that he was both gentle and compassionate in bed, and the activity that she had so feared, she actually began to enjoy. However, at the end, after he had deposited his load deep within her, he said something very strange which she did not (at the time) understand. “Thank you for that my darling, I do love to appreciate my ladies in their natural state before I go to work as an artist.” She wondered what he meant but since he fell asleep only moments after, she never asked him.
The following morning they made love again and then he rang for the robomaid to bathe her and dress her for travelling. It was pure luxury being bathed by another even if it was a machine and Emily began to wonder if she had not stumbled upon a very good life with Humphrey Battersby after all.
The happy couple then enjoyed a breakfast of toast and jam together before Humphrey announced that they would be travelling to London to begin her transformation into a lady fit for Thornfield Hall. She asked what he meant by that and he told her that she would discover all in due course which made her realise that he intended to spoil his new bride by buying her some new clothes or jewellery and so she stayed silent, wondering what gifts he might shower her with.
But once their train pulled into Paddington, to her shock, instead of taking the Underground to the shops, Humphrey Battersby instead hailed a cab and ordered it to take them to Great Ormond Street Hospital and then, once they were there, she was shown into a room and ordered to divest herself of her clothes. “Whyever am I to undress?” she asked the nurse who was with her, but the nurse merely smiled and repeated her husband’s words from earlier: she would discover all in due course. Then, when she was clad only in her underwear, a robotic attendant came in bearing a cup of tea which she duly took and drank and, within seconds, Emily Battersby’s world went black.
When Emily awoke, she nearly tasted the delightful tea she had just…a great concern came over her as she tried to remember what happened after the autonurse fed her that drink. It was only then that the feelings in her body came to her attention. Eyes shooting open, Emily looked down to see what the source of that otherworldly ache was when she discovered more than she bargained for!
Sitting on her previously flat chest, above the night stays she had just begun wearing, were the breasts of a naturally well-endowed woman. Emily started to wonder how long she had been asleep, no not asleep, sedated! From her studies in the sciences, artificial growth procedures like this took days, not hours. Touching herself, she noticed a smoothness to her skin like never before, and on further inspection found the stubble near her womanly folds to be completely gone! This was well beyond what she had signed up for with Mr. Battersby and as his wife she was going to assert her place. How would the university treat her if she looked like a spoiled Lady?
Swinging her smooth legs out of bed and rising to stand, Emily found her balance off. Not only because of her new breasts, but because when she rose, she found herself a few inches taller than before! Looking down, she could almost forget the widened shape of her hips as she tried to lower her heels to the floor. Try as she might, a sudden tightness in her ankle and calf kept her heel up. Permanently on her tip toes, Emily stumbled a bit in her large ward room until she found a wall to cling to. Following the wall she rounded the corner to her private bathroom, simply for some water to splash on her face; to tell herself that she was okay, that she was still Emily, the plain, smart girl from Devonshire.
The autonurse found her on the floor of her bathroom, brought her back to bed, and wirelessly alerted the Head Nurse, Doctor, and her husband that Emily was awake. She lay there, still slightly aching, thinking of the lipstick, the rouge, the shadowing, the pale visage that had greeted her when she had looked in the mirror. The makeup, the full eyelashes, they had not come off as she washed. The nurse had no time for her self-pity, as the womanly robot started her daily physical therapy, stretching her legs to adapt to the modified calf muscles and tendons keeping her feet en pointe. Emily was not in the mood and tried to fight the machine off, but only ended up having her newly-manicured hands tied to the bed while the autonurse continued her routine for the next 30 minutes.
It was then that her husband Humphrey and a Doctor walked in. “That’s enough 112, untie this young lady please.” Free of her wrist restraints, Emily had half a thought to give Humphrey her mind, but knew that in the Doctor’s presence this would be impolite and disrespectful to both of them. Doctor Eaton as he was called walked up to the bedside with her chart on his tablet, while the autonurse stood at attention in the corner. Emily couldn’t help but notice her husband admiring the robot out of the corner of her eye as the good doctor explained to her the “routine procedures” which had transpired over the last 10 days.
Like she had noted herself earlier in shock, she had received a generous dosage of gene therapy to her breasts and behind (“Much more refined than the implants and basic hormones of last century”). The doctor confirmed her fears that the calf surgery had been very successful, and that as most Ladies do these days, she would have to begin wearing heels even higher than on her wedding night to support her new physique. Last but not least she had been treated to the finest plastic spa in the city, and because they were in London, the country. Gone was any chance of hair growth save for on her head, and her skin had been treated with chemical lotions and salves to give it a sensitive, smooth lustre. Last but not least was a light coating of semi-permanent makeup, at the height of fashion she was assured, so even when alone and unprepared she could be stylish for her husband. “All the time and effort your husband says you spent on books instead of beauty is now recovered! Take this as a second chance.” Emily meekly thanked the doctor, before the autonurse was commanded to prepare her for the journey home. “The new outfits, not the old,” her husband added, before winking and leaving the room.
Emily sat the chair in the drawing room looking out at the rain-sodden parkland beyond the large windows. Her chest, that almighty new addition to her body, was heaving up and down, surging like a stormy sea, and why? Because she just completed the simple task of walking from the dining room to the drawing room and lowering herself into her chair. And, unseen by any observers, her mind was just as turbulent as her breasts.
She could not come to terms with her her life had changed over the last twenty-four hours. This time yesterday she had awakened in her hospital bed to find her body drastically altered without her prior knowledge or permission. There were those comely new breasts that now rose up and down at the bottom of her eyeline, coupled with her enhanced buttocks that felt like a cushion underneath her bum. Except that cushion was now her bum, unnaturally round and juicy, like an enormous peach. And her skin, including that most private of areas, all as smooth as a baby’s whilst her feet could now only stand on tiptoes, and even in the bedroom she required mules with four inch heels just to be able to walk. But worst of all was her face, that most personal and distinct part of her, now permanently made-up, nearly doll-like, unnatural, almost asking for sex.
After discovering all these changes she had been dressed in the first outfit of her new wardrobe. It had more room for the chest, of course, and higher boots than before. Her waist was no larger though, in fact all of her dresses now were an inch smaller and this one couldn’t quite close. Worse than that though were the stays that enforced that new waist, longer than previously and with a strap attached to the bottom that ran between her new buttocks and up over her love tunnel. And attached to that strap, two rods, one for each hole. She’d tried to protest when she was first fitted with them but the nurse in the hospital had broached no opposition nor answered any questions. Robots never do of course, they are not programmed too. So it was the same in the hall where all the servants were robots. The only other person to talk to was her darling husband. Talking to him though, was the worst bit of all, and not because of the strangling neck corset that all her new outfits incorporated, although that didn’t help matters of course.
“What is the meaning of this?” she’d asked, as soon as they were both alone in the carriage.
“Meaning of what Mrs. Battersby?” he’d asked, a smile on his face.
“This, all of it! These changes to my body!”
“Correction darling, it’s my body now. Remember the words of the ceremony: ‘With my body, I thee worship…’ I own you now. But really, I can’t see why you are protesting; most ladies would be overjoyed and full of thanks!”
“Yes, of course. The procedures that you’ve had done on you did not come cheap but they do make you far more attractive. You were, after all, a rather plain girl. I could have married someone far prettier or richer, but no, I did the right thing. I married a girl to help her brother succeed in life, a noble act indeed. But the kindness must work both ways! I need a wife to reflect my standing in the world.”
“But I never wanted to…”
“Emily, you married me out of your own free will, knowing full well what marriage entails. The wives of wealthy men must reflect their husband’s status. I have tolerated your strange academic whim so you must tolerate mine. I need a wife who is worthy of me, an ornament to reflect my success. You must be pretty and fashionable and today is the first stage of this.”
“The first stage? You mean to say there’s more!”
“Of course there is. As I said on our wedding night, I am an artist and you were my blank canvas. All we have done so far is roughly sketch out the masterpiece that will be created. But do not fear, I will give you the opportunity to get accustomed to these changes first. We must not rush matters.”
“But I don’t want to be your masterpiece! I don’t want to be altered anymore!”
“What you want my dear, is immaterial. You should not have agreed to marriage. It is too late now.”
And upon reaching home, those cold words were borne out for she was escorted directly to the bedroom and stripped of all her clothing save for the corset and neck corset and then her husband arrived clearly inflamed by her sexy new appearance. Regardless of her desires, he took her there and then, caressing her enormous buttocks and breasts with vigour and thrusting excitedly into her smooth love channel. He even flipped her over and tried to insert his member into her bottom hole but it was too tight and she screamed out it pain, leaving him to desist until she had been “trained”. Then they had slept but in the morning it was the same again, before she was dressed in her restrictive regalia by the robomaid and led down for breakfast.
And now she was here, with nothing to do save for stare out of the window and contemplate her new existence as the alluring plaything of her aged husband. It disgusted her yet at the same time, even as she fought those thoughts, the rods nestled snugly in her two holes excited her and made her want sex, even that degrading sex of a lovedoll with her master that she had just been subjected to. And the more she tried to ignore it, the more those thoughts came until her chest was rising and falling again, a sweat building on her brow and then everything went black as she slumped in her chair.