Jess Sampson bent over, her hands on her knees gasping and coughing for breath. She had only jogged a quarter of a mile through the park and she was ready to collapse.

"So much for getting into shape." Jess grumbled as soon as her panting subsided.

Regaining her composure she removed the scrunchie from her hair and undid her ponytail, freeing her golden locks fall about her shoulders like the sun's golden rays. Her hair was her best feature. Other than that, there was not much to look at. She might have some pleasing features, but these and all of her form were buried beneath unflattering fat. Occasionally, she resolved to do something about her weight, only to be defeated by the intense exertion of exercise. Now was just such a moment. The run had taken too much effort and she was ready to give up.

Jess started to redo her ponytail when the hair on the back of her neck stood on end in a alert of possible danger. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see someone staring at her. She jumped up but sighed in relief after a good look at her stalker—a statue of a muscle bound man with his arms fixed in a body building pose. Beside it was a placard reading, "City Arts Society Presents: Bodies in Motion, Sculptures by Alesandro."

Intrigued, Jess walked over to make a closer inspection. The figure was exceedingly life like, a mountain of muscles, a bathing suit sparing him from being nearly entirely nude. It was s real to life, Jess had to confirm with her touch that it was a stony statue and not someone painted to look like one.

Jess figured that it would take a while to recover from her "run" so she might as well see the rest of the exhibition. She walked into a square, walled by tall shrubs and carpeted by hard stony gray square tiles, several square feet in size. Placed in no particular pattern throughout the square were a dozen or so statues of men and women, fixed in a pose from some sport or exercise, some made out of stone, others made out of metal. One was a steel man with his body twisted in preparation of hurling a discus. A woman made of gray granite was caught mid-stride as she readied to hurl a javelin. A male of bronze had been cast with a football cradled in one arm had the other extended as if to block an invisible tackler. A female of glossy red marble stood with her arms out stretched and her head bent back like a gymnast who has just sprung off a balancing beam at the end of her routine. Unlike the figure she had seen outside the square, these figures were entirely naked, all cut to the perfection of an Adonis or Venus.

Jess admired the features of the statues for their capture of perfection in form rather than their quality as art. She particularly enjoyed the well endowed foot ball player, with his skin of polished bronze, his barrel like chest and the rippled muscles of his trunk-like arms and legs.

The whisper of a deep groan floating through the air like a gentle breeze took Jess by surprise. She quickly looked around for its creator, but there was no one else in the square but her and the statues.

Jess shrugged. "I must be hearing things. Maybe I am dehydrated." She figured, though not entirely sure hearing things was a symptom of dehydration or not. She moved closer to the football player and felt his rocky chest.

The deep groan sung more loudly.

Jess jumped away from the statue and the voice disappeared with just as immediate suddenness.

"Fuck!" She exclaimed. "The noise is coming from the statue."

Jess slid her hand down one of the statues arms to test her theory. The groan sung around them as if in appreciation,

"This so is totally fucked up." Jess giggled, continuing to stroke the statue, eliciting different types of unctuous sounds.

The deep moan hung about them as she touched him, rising and falling with the fullness of her touch. Playfully, she let her finger slide down below his waist and onto his thick penis. The groan tuned into deep growl. She stroked the metallic phallus and the voice responded with deep with lustful grunts, growing faster and louder. She giggled as she led the statue to toward climax, curious to see if he would cum but his grunts just hit a repetitive level and she lost interest. As she walked away, the voice around the statute dissipated like a departing apparition, sounding out a mournfully disappointed moan.

Jess was curious to see if any of the other statues responded in the same way as her rejected bronze football player. She walked to the female gymnast and waved her hand back and forth over the hard woman's chest. A light whisper of a high-pitched cry rose and sung around them. Jess smiled with the glee of a naughty child as her hand played over the woman's nipple, making the voice turn into a squeal. Next she let it fall to the red hard crotch of the athlete making the voice rise and tremble as she stroked there.

"You like?"

Jess nearly jumped a foot in the air and fell against the statue. She turned around, regaining her composure and footing, and found a small, olive skinned man with thick curly hair and a goatee, eying her with an amused smile. He was wear a tight v-necked shirt and threadbare jeans. On his wrist was a thick, golden bracelet studded with colored gems.

"You like?" He asked again, his words thick with an accent Jess could not place geographically.

"Yes." She stammered. "I like."

"Good!" The man said enthusiastically. "I am Alesandro. I am arteest. I make theese statues."

"Ah." Jess replied. "They certainly are, erm, lifelike. You don't see that much these days."

The man stamped his foot. "Life ees Alesandro's art! Art should look like life! Alesandro speets on the abstract!" He said after which he spat on the ground for emphasis.

Now it was Jess' turn to be amused. "I agree with you there."

Alesandro continued, "Art not eemmitate life, art ees life and life must become art."

"Uh huh." Jess replied. The man was a little unhinged like many artists she had met. It was time to break off the conversation before she found herself trapped in an hours-long diatribe on the meaning of art.

"Alesandro bring out the art in life." He gestured to the gymnast statue. "Zees one, she dreamed of zees form, Alesandro captured dream, give eet form, make her form."

"She modeled for you is what you are trying to say." Jess interjected as she edged a little further toward the exit

The man arched an eyebrow in irritation. "No, she ees form, became form, became statue. Best way to capture form."

Jess now backed away more deliberately. "Okay, someone took their crazy pills this morning." She said while trying to decide whether he was regular crazy and she should walk away or he was dangerous crazy and she should run.

The man seemed to understand her intent and smiled. Fingering the jeweled bracelet, he told her, "You not understand. Alesandro demonstrate, demonstrate on you."

Jess decided he fell on the dangerous side of crazy and she had better run. She covered a few feet of ground when the tile upon which she was stepping took on a bright yellow glow. As each foot fell on the tile, the sole became solidly fixed to it as if glued there.

As Jess frantically attempted to free herself, a coolness, the temperature of a mid-fall breeze, swept up her calves and thighs. Wherever she felt that sensation touch, control of her body left her. As it moved past her waist, her legs became immovable as pillars. She tugged at her thighs fruitlessly as if that would get them moving but they did not budge. The coolness was up to her chest now and she flung her arms about wildly, putting her head back as if she were trying to stay above water, gasping for air, screaming for help. The coolness captured her in mid-motion her mouth now stuck in a silent scream. Her eyes darted about, straining to look around her now that her head could not move. In her frozen position, she appeared as if she were caught in a horrible free fall from some deathly height.

The man studied her a few moments as she stood frozen in this awkward position and then tapped some gems on his bracelet. "Off with zee clothes." He declared. In an instant, Jess's panic disappeared and she found herself focused on removing her clothing with as much ease as if she were doing it a gym, discarding her track suit, jogging bra and panties. After the last article had fallen from her hands, her arms dropped to her sides and she stood mutely, staring straight ahead. Her mind returned to her as did her fright and astonishment at this strange man's weird power over her. Added to this was the embarrassment of possibly being found nude in public. As much as she hoped that someone would stumble upon them and rescue her, she feared the reaction of anyone coming to her aid, to her fat body exposed for all the world to see. She knew she should not care at all what her captor thought of her, but she was relieved that he showed no look of amusement or disgust at seeing her this way. Instead, he inspected her carefully and clinically, like a doctor giving a physical.

Alesandro touched his bracelet again and closed his eyes. "Now let me zee what we have in zere." Jess felt his presence bore into her mind, drilling into its depths and scattering her thoughts like they were errant moths. Deep he reached into that well, through consciousness and subconsciousness, until he hooked what he wanted and pulled it out, making it grow as it came. The vision's features became clear to her mind: it was an image of herself but an idealized one, the ultimate figure and look she had always wanted but had been unable to obtain. The image grew and grew until it overwhelmed her mind's eye, passing over her like a wave. It crested against her body's outline, vibrating against it, molding the outside it like a cast reverse.

She could not see the changes. She did not need to. The feel of her body told her how she was being reformed. Fat evaporated or was moved or remade into muscle. No longer did she feel her weight's draining, ever constant battle against gravity. No longer did she wear jelly-like rolls of flesh at her sides, no longer were her arms swollen, soft and weak. Even unmoving, she felt light and energized, her new form tightly wrapped in a catlike litheness. If she could have taken off at a sprint, she felt as if she could run for miles at a fraction of the speed it would have taken her original body.

She could also tell that she had not become the mirror image of her ideal. Alesandro apparently had some ability to make input as well and liberally exercised the option. Jess could tell, for example, that she was heavy in the bust, but not with the bloated bagginess that afflicted her original bosom. Her new tits were huge but gracefully inviting in their perfectly plump roundness. They were jaunty bobbed pleasantly with each breath. As large as they were the did not drag or cause her back to ache like her heavy weight loaded breasts. The narrows of her waist were much slimmer than she had ever thought possible and slightly broader shoulders and a slightly broader waist gave it the illusion of being much thinner. She had always cursed her legs for being short; now they they were like graceful towers ascending to a firmly sleek ass.

Alesandro inspected his work as the new Jess stood in complete frozen passivity. "Now for zee pose." The artist informed her as he stepped forward. He raised her arms high, turned her palms upwards and interlaced her fingers above her head. He manipulated her to give her back a snake-like arch and moved her legs closer together, bending one just a bit. Her limbs easily obeyed his direction yet her joints remained stiff to hold the pose that he created. The stance he manufactured had the effect of an erotic stretch, making her throw forth her new ample tits for display.

"God! It's like he is using me like I am a frickin' doll!" Jess murmured silently to herself, both appalled and amazed by the power he was wielding over her. She also found herself surprisingly grateful. She was completely vulnerable to his whim. In this condition, there was no limit to the ways he could take advantage of her. Yet, Alesandro was more interested in his brand of art to be tempted by darkly salacious designs. He showed no inclination for the temptations that a more unsavory soul would grasp.