I sighed and told her the truth, that my wife had left me and that all I had been doing for the past 6 months was masturbating. I also told her that I had had a crush on her for years. I asked her to forgive me and just take back the bra and panties and I'd make sure my company never scheduled me to work on her furnace again. She shook her head, "No, it's not going to be that easy for you, I'm sorry."Silence again, then she said, "Lay them on the bench." I did. "Not like that, lay them out with the cups facing down and the panties beside the bra with the inside of the crotch facing up." I complied. "Now take out your cock and show me what you would have done with them if you had gotten away with stealing them."Holy shit, I thought, this woman is nuts! I stammered a bit and she shoved her phone in my face, "Do as I say, or I'm calling", she ordered. Slowly, I reached down and unzipped my pants. She moved back a step and folded her arms across her chest, staring at my crotch.. However, the rusty chain behind my back, running from my shackled wrists, over my bottom and down to the huge stone was very real. I looked at him, his eyes roaming over my naked flesh. I was his model to be turned into bronze. He lit another foul smelling cheroot and came over to me, he was ancient like his studio, neglected and dusty, yet his hand created beauty. I felt his cold calloused fingers touch my skin as he lifted my left breast, my nipple eager for the same touch. He smiled his eyes missing nothing and I felt the finger graze the tip, I shuddered unable to move. We had hardly spoken since I had come out in my robe from the changing room, and into the vastness of the warehouse studio, around which stone and even iron had been shaped, or misshaped into whatever twisted form Kapustin had created. Nearly every girl in the college told me, they dreamed of him immortalising them in clay, and he had chosen me. A girl not even in his class, my course was in graphic design. But.
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