Chapter Text
Prologue
“Mrs St. James, have a seat please.”
The stylish lady of forty-something took a seat in front of the desk in Dr Newman’s office. As she sat down she made sure that her skirt wouldn’t wrinkle.
“We’ve just accessed the results of your son’s testing and I’m afraid we got some concerning results.”
“Oh, is something wrong with my son?” she asked, the concern clear in her voice.
“Your son has what we would classify as a severe narcissistic personality disorder. What this means is that he suffers from delusions of extreme self-import and is willing to go to greater lengths than others to achieve his own goals. What it unfortunately also means is that he can have trouble maintaining healthy relationships with his peers and have trouble interacting with the rest of society in way that is normal for a child his age.”
“So you’re saying my son is stupid? That he can’t function right in society?”
The doctor puts up his hands up to calm her down:
“No Mrs St. James, don’t get me wrong. With regular therapy and group sessions here at the centre your son will most likely be able to function well in society. Besides his test scores show that your son is extremely intelligent. I have no doubt he will get far in life, I’m merely informing you of his prognosis.”
***
Mrs St. James was seething when she left the child psychologist’s office. She had never heard anything more preposterous in her life than this man sitting there claiming that her son is delusional. Her son is most definitely not delusional he is merely ambitious. She led her son away, stroking his curls as they went; she refused to let any more of those quacks near her son. She has had enough.
Prelude
He discovers his masterpiece on a Tuesday. It’s not the first time he sees her, but it is the first time he notices her. She’s walking out of a coffee shop together with a friend. They seem to be arguing, and eventually they stop walking, instead just standing turned against each other while they continue talking rather loudly. He can hear her voice that way. Hear the melodiousness of it, the delicacy of it.
Even when she’s angry she is graceful. Each movement she makes is controlled; powerful; purposeful. Her skin is pale, but her cheeks are rosy. He can also see the impressive bulge in her pants, the bulge that she apparently does nothing to hide, unlike many other girls like her. She is truly perfect. She is his Rose.
He finally found her.
Chapter 1
When Quinn came to, all she was aware of was that her head ached. A lot. Though, upon further inspection, she also discovered that she was tied to a table. She passed out again before she could make any more observations.
The next time she woke up her head didn’t hurt as bad, and she didn’t take more than a few seconds to realize she was still tied to the table. Naked.
When she looked around the room she realised that even if she was able to get out of the restraints tying her to the table, the chances of escape were slim. The only word you could really use to describe the room she was in was barren. It looked like what she would imagine a room in a psychiatric hospital looked like. A steel bed, a desk a closet and the table she was currently laid out on. No windows.
After what felt like several hours, she became aware of someone entering the room.
“Aah, you’re finally awake! You must excuse my absence, but I was simply preparing my atelier. The atelier where we, my darling, will make beautiful art together.”
Quinn was trying to process it all, but her foggy mind seemed unable to make any sense of what he was saying.
“Atelier? Art? Who are you? What do you want from me?”
“Oh, but how could I be so rude? My mother really raised me better, I can assure you. I like to make myself known as the Artist, but you may know me by Jesse St. James.”
The Artist, or Jesse, walked over to the table and started running his hands over her body, making her shiver, his fingers leaving goose bumps in their trail. As his fingers continued their quest around her body, the Artist began talking again:
“As for what I intend to do with you, I would have thought that was quite clear already. I will of course make art with you, of you.”
The last two words hung in the air like the ending of a death sentence, ominous and lingering.
“But before we can start to make art together, I have to purify you. After all, every artist desires a clean canvas. In order to rebuild you I have to make sure we start, how should I put it? Fresh!”
At that it seemed he had finished his monologue, because he began wheeling the table Quinn was laid up on, into another room.
***
The other room looked like a really twisted operating room. All kinds of equipment were standing along the wall, and Quinn didn’t have a hope of even naming half of them. When he stopped wheeling her table, they were situated in front of what looked like a dentists chair, only fitted with arm and leg restraints.
“There are several phases that must be fulfilled to achieve a blank canvas, and today I will start with phase one – the simplest, but also one of the most dramatic phases. I am now going to unfasten the restraints put on you, but, as you will discover, attempting to escape is futile. I have given you muscle relaxants that while still granting you some level of mobility, also make you very weak.”
Quinn quickly realised the truth in his statement when he helped her to sit up on the table. Her muscles felt like they hadn’t been used in several weeks.
“I will of course ease up on these as we get further in the process, but I have found that they are necessary before the canvas truly understands that escape is futile.”
When Quinn was successfully moved and fastened to the chair, the Artist rolled a mirror out and put it in front of her. He then wasted little time in bringing forth gleaming, sharp-looking shears.
When he cut the first strand of her hair, she closed her eyes, and she could feel the tears running down her cheeks. Jesse continued working, meticulously cutting each strand close to her head. When he put down the scissors she could feel his breath on her, now bare neck. He then tilted her head up,
“Look in the mirror Quinn. You’re going to miss the best parts. If you’re not willing to cooperate I will have to punish you, you know, and that wouldn’t be pleasant for any of us. Or, at least not for you.”
As she looked in the mirror she could see that her head was covered in inch long hair, cut surprisingly evenly. If it hadn’t been for the circumstances she might even have liked the pixie cut, but of course Jessie soon brought out the clippers. She cried even more when she was forced to look at what was left of her hair fall to the ground, leaving only an even spattering of light peach fuzz on the top of her head.
He spent some time putting away the electric razor and preparing the next part of his torture, simply leaving Quinn to observe what he had done with her head. His satisfaction was therefore even greater when he saw the look of horror in her eyes at his next piece of equipment. Ignoring her silent pleas for him to stop what he was doing, while he lathered up her head with shaving cream, and cleaned it off with quick efficient strokes of the razor.
Despite the twistedness of the situation, she couldn’t stop the shiver of pleasure that ran down her spine at the feel of the razor against the now bare skin of her scalp. He even finished off his work by massaging a lotion into her now slightly sore scalp. When he was done, he unfastened one of her arms and led her hand up to her head, moving it back and fort across her scalp, forcing her to take in the new sensation of her bare head. This action prompted another set of tears from her, not that it did anything other than giving the Artist the satisfaction of seeing how he had broken her.
“There’s a certain beauty in the breakdown, isn’t there?”
He muttered as he loosened all of her restraints fastening her to two other restraints, which were suspended from the ceiling, instead, placing her feet on the ground.
What he did next was to lather her entire body in something that looked a lot like the shaving cream, but that smelled sharper. He even covered her eyes with protective caps and smeared the substance in her face. He then proceeded to let her hang there for what felt like hours, while the cream started stinging her skin more and more. When he returned he started scraping the cream off with something that felt smooth, if slightly cold, while sprayed her with water. When he was done he removed the covers from her eyes, and observed as what he had done to her registered in Quinn’s mind.
Her entire body was now free of hair, even her eyebrows. She looked like a freak. A naked, bald freak. The only hair left on her body was her eyelashes, which was probably the only thing that prevented her from looking like a cancer patient. He started talking again as he helped her down from the restraints in the ceiling, and down to the table again.
“Now this next part of the process is going to be quite painful, therefore I will put you under full sedation. The only thing that you need to know is that when you wake up again, this hair removal will have been made permanent. That is the only way I can have a truly bare canvas.”
***
When Quinn finally woke up again, she was disoriented. In those few seconds of haze she had the flicker of hope that maybe this had all been a dream. That flicker died when she could feel the fabric of the pillow directly against the skin of her scalp, or when she could feel her balls resting directly on top of bare skin.
Interlude
“Do you know why I chose you Quinn? Why you are worthy of my genius and no one else?” he kept stroking her penis while he said this, making Quinn hate herself for getting hard. “First and foremost I needed a girl with a penis, and while they aren’t exactly uncommon, yours is a truly fine specimen. Second was your exquisite looks and gracious way of being. Third was your fierce personality. Fourth was your beautiful, yet delicate voice. Fifth was your pale rosy skin. All of these components are necessary to create my masterpiece, my Rose. Of course there are benefits for you as well, much bodily pleasure awaits you when I am done with you. That I promise.”
Chapter 2
Only a couple of weeks passed by before Jessie initiated the next phase. Those two weeks were filled with eating four times a day – only healthy foods (“We wouldn’t want you to get plump my dear Quinn.”), running on the treadmill for one hour each day (“You will of course be allowed to run for longer as you build more stamina.”) and writing (“I want you to record all of your feelings as you go through this transformation. No work of art can ever be magnificent if it lacks true depth.”). Jessie also insisted on helping her keep a rigorous dental hygiene regime, as well as daily sessions of putting on lotion (“As I have removed all mirrors from your quarters I feel it only fair that I help you take care of your teeth. The lotion sessions are so that we can build a more intimate bond. A good artist always becomes one with his art.”). Jessie had also insisted on putting braces on her teeth (“Your teeth are very close to perfect, but why settle for almost when you can have perfection?”), though she didn’t really care either way anymore about what he did to her body. Once a week she also underwent what the Artist liked to call “the full cleanse”, where he cleaned every part of her himself, and finished with an enema made up of soapy water. In addition to this he had her sing with him every day.
Singing was the last thing Quinn felt like doing.
***
For this phase of the transformation he had her lie down on what looked alarmingly like an operating table.
“As you can see, this part of the process requires surgical manipulation of your body. Therefore you will be put in a narcosis for the operation. When you wake up there will be a recovery time of at least two weeks, before I will put you under the knife again. As I have said earlier, you are very close to perfection already, so you do not require a lot of surgical alteration.”
Quinn didn’t even get to ten in her head before she faded away.
***
When she woke up again it wasn’t immediately clear to her exactly what he had done to her body, but when she explored herself with her hands she discovered that she had bandages around her groin and around her breasts. Both areas felt suspiciously flat under her hands. Her fears were only confirmed when the Artist returned to change her dressings, and he revealed two very thin, but angry looking, scars under her arms and similar ones in her groin. He went on to explaining to her how he had to put a catheter in her bladder as she wouldn’t be able to pee on her own for the next three weeks.
***
She didn’t cry when he took the stitches out and she got to see what was made of her groin. He had given her a full penectomy as well as castration, which meant that he had removed both of her balls and testicles as well as her penis. What was left was a slightly elevated mound where her penis used to be and a small slit that she could pee through. As a girl she probably didn’t put as much pride in her penis as a boy would do, but she had always been accustomed to peeing while standing up, and she had never done anything to hide the admittedly impressive bulge under her clothes either. Size mattered just as much to girls as it did to boys; they just weren’t as vocal about it.
She did cry the first time she had to sit down to pee.
***
The artist put her under the knife again two weeks after the first time. When she woke up this time she only had bandages around her breasts. It quickly became clear that the Artist had given her back breasts, though these were smaller than her own boobs. When she looked down at them they strutted out in that unnatural way that silicone boobs do.
Interlude
“You have to smile for the camera Quinn. We already did the melancholy and vulnerable pictures. I want happiness.”
Quinn tried to smile for the camera, but she obviously wasn’t doing a very good job as he started promising her punishment if she didn’t follow his instructions.
That night, when the photo session was done, he did her enema with scalding hot water, though it was important for him to specify that it wasn’t hot enough to scar her insides, as he wanted her unblemished.
She became very good at faking happiness.
Chapter 3
He kept talking excitedly about how this was the next to last phase and that she would soon get to see the fruits of their labour. When he led her into the atelier he laid her, with her stomach down, on the table she had been on when she first arrived, though he didn’t fasten the restraints. In stead he gave her an injection.
“What I am going to do to today requires you to be completely still, and while I trust you I know you don’t have a very high pain tolerance. Because of this I have given you a muscle relaxant that will make you unable to move, but that will not deprive you of the sensation in your skin. After all I want you completely aware during this crucial part of the transformation.”
He then took out what looked like a tattoo gun, gloves, several small tubes of black ink, and a big white sheet with blue lines on it and rolled up on a chair next to the table.
He started by cleaning her skin with a disinfectant and then transferring the drawings from several different transfer papers on to her back. She let out a small whimper when she first felt the needle on her skin, but she managed to keep the tears at bay. Luckily the pain subsided slightly after a while.
***
The Artist kept going for the whole day, only stopping to feed himself and to feed Quinn. Quinn got so overwhelmed by the pain, that she passed out somewhere after her third meal. When she finally came to again she was laid up in her bed and practically covered in gauze. She had gauze on both of her arms, her entire back, both of her hips, down both of her legs, on her sternum on her chin and over her head. The pain of lying on the fresh tattoos was excruciating, but as she was pretty much covered in them she couldn’t avoid lying on them.
He gave her a few weeks off before he continued on the tattoo. By now she had discovered that all the tattoos that were visible were roses. This next session was meant for filling in the colour of all of them. The experience was just as painful the second time around, but she didn’t pass out this time. Naturally she was exhausted when she returned to her quarters.
***
He initiated the next phase right after he had removed the gauze from the now finished tattoos. He had her come into the atelier naked and take a seat in the dentist chair. He then rolled a table filled with rings and needles up next to her.
“This is the last step before we can start on the finishing touches to my masterpiece. This will be quite painful as well, but as you did so well with the tattoos, I have faith that you will be able to do this without any aides.”
He started with swabbing her right cartilage, before he quickly began piercing it with two needles, and then replacing them with a steel bar. He then moved over to where her eyebrows should have been, piercing the left one. In addition to this he pierced one of her nostrils, the middle of her lower lip and her tongue. While the other facial piercings were painful, it was the tongue piercing that prompted the first set of tears from her.
From her face he moved down to her nipples, drawing out the process, savouring her them. The nipple piercings were more painful then the facial piercings, and Jessie also played lightly with these for a while afterwards before he moved on. When he was done piercing her belly button he had her lie down on her stomach so that he could pierce a corset of ten piercings on her lower back. He saved the most painful till last and finished off with piercing the very sensitive mound that remained after her penis.
***
The whole piercing process took about five hours, but as none of her new piercings restricted her movements, she was forced to keep up with her running that day. She was now up to three hours on the treadmill a day, and she had also been started on some very light weights. She had been with this training regime ever since she arrived in her prison and the changes to her body were clearly visible to her, even if she didn’t have access to any mirrors. She had a body that very much resembled that of a marathon runner, with very lean yet muscled legs, slim hips, a small butt and a defined, but still very slim, stomach. Her arms had gained some muscle tone because of the weights, but also they remained very slim.
When three weeks remained to the big reveal the Artist put up a count down calendar in her room. Those last three weeks consisted very much of keeping up with her training and other small adjustments to her body. He removed her braces, bleached her teeth and started treating the surgical scars with lasers. The scar on her groin was almost invisible now. He also laced up the corset on her back, tugging at it now and again, just to remind her that it was still there.
Interlude
Day 289
I have three weeks left now. Three weeks before “the big reveal”. Up until now I’ve been able to pretend that what’s been done to my body doesn’t affect me. Deny that anything has happened to me at all, that this has all been just one long horrifying nightmare. I’m afraid that when I see the complete result, I won’t be able to ignore it anymore. Granted, ignoring it has become increasingly difficult as time has passed. Even though I don’t have any mirrors available, I can still feel my bald head with my hands. See the piercings in my groin and in my belly button, feel the ones in my face and mouth. See the tattoos that cover my arms, legs and hips, remember the needle on my back and head.
The complete result must be hideous, and even if I do get out of here I’ll probably never look normal again. Then there’s the “reward”. He’s been talking about consummating our bond for weeks now, becoming one with one another – the artist and his masterpiece. Maybe that was all I was ever meant to be, the masterpiece of a madman. His Rose.
Chapter 4
The moment the Artist reveals Quinn to herself, in a 360-degree mirror, all she can feel is numbness. The first thing that she sees, except for her obvious baldness and lack of eyebrows, is the tattoos. It starts with a big red rose on her back and curls its way from there to her entire body. One vine starts at the base of her neck and winds it way up to her head. She counts at least seven roses in total on her head, with vines and leafs between them. Those roses will always be visible if she doesn’t cover up her head, the one on her right cheek will be visible no matter what. She also has roses spread down both of her arms and legs, as well as a thick bush around her groin and hips. Three clusters of roses are situated across her sternum, while some wind their way down her belly.
Now that she can fully see her body, she can see the full effects of the workouts and the surgeries. The leanness of it makes it look boyish, almost asexual if it hadn’t been for the boobs. The boobs almost look out of place on her body now, a big size A, maybe a small size B, strutting out unnaturally with glinting silver rings in their nipples. Her groin looks especially naked, without her penis and her balls the only thing left is the very small slit, the piercing and the slight mound of her stump. She almost looks like a sexless cartoon.
The piercings only help to solidify her image as a freak. With four in her face alone, they too will be very hard to cover up. The only place Quinn can imagine herself belonging, looking like this, is in a freak show or a very alternative piercing shop, maybe in a porn mag for those with special interests.
Only when she had stood there, observing herself for what felt like hours, did she break down and cry. She cried for the almost entire year she had lost of her life, trapped with this madman. She cried for the things that had been done to her body that she didn’t agree to, that she couldn’t even undo. She cried for the people at home that had been missing her, worrying about her. She cried for the normal life that she would never be able to have. She also cried for what was about to happen with Jessie the Artist that same night.
***
That night, when Jessie takes her and makes love to her, she doesn’t cry. She does her absolute best to not be present in her head when he traces his fingers over her scalp, down her spine. When he teases her asshole, inserting toy after toy, stretching her, abusing her prostate. He also takes his time playing with her nipples, tugging at the piercings, sucking them. To her shame he even manages to get her to come several times, though now that only means a few beads of come running out of her slit. It used to mean a full ejaculation, one she isn’t capable of performing anymore.
When he finishes, after a full night of sexual activity, there isn’t a single part of her body that hasn’t been licked or touched by him, violated by him.
Postlude
He left Quinn at the hospital two hours ago. He knows that the police will soon know who he is. Know where he lives. It doesn’t matter though; he has reached his goal in life. He has created the ultimate piece of art. He has created a masterpiece unprecedented by even Leonardo da Vinci himself.
He has created The Rose. His Rose.
His life is fulfilled. He is now worthy of joining the masters in the halls of eternity.