New entry for the backer driven story “The Flesh-Crafter”

You can find the new entry below the break or you can read the story in its entirety HERE.

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Cecilia stood silent before the Flesh-Crafter, terrified of what would happen next. He’d taken her to his lair where he’d put an IntelliTek Prisoner Collar on her. The devices were designed to keep superpowered criminals depowered when in prison but they had the same effect on superheroines: cutting off their powers.

Before the villain had put the high-tech collar on her Cecilia had begun thinking that with enough time she’d be able to devise a way to escape. Yes, this monster could easily dominate her physically, but her superpower was her intelligence. With enough time she’d have been able to outsmart him.

But not with the collar on. She’d never had her powers cut off and was not enjoying the experience. She’d been an intelligent girl before her Power-Gene activated but returning to that level of intelligence after being a super genius for so long left her feeling like she had the intellect of a slug.

The Flesh-Crafter seemed fully aware of this, but Cecilia was beginning to suspect there was more to draining her brainpower than simply preventing her from escaping. She’d only been with the Flesh-Crafter for a short time, but she’d already seen he was cruel and delighted in making her suffer. Often he did so in subtle ways that seemed unintentional at first, but she was beginning to suspect nothing the ugly chubby little man did was accidental.

She stood before him. He was staring at her with an expression she couldn’t read. He reached out to touch her cheek and she instinctively pulled away then made herself hold still. She’d already seen how brutal and cruel he could be, she was not eager to anger him.

As soon as his fingers touched her skin she began getting impressions of his intentions. He was going to make her attractive, but not yet. Before he made her body sexually appealing he wanted to ensure she was “trained” to be sexy. The first lesson she’d need to learn was that no matter how smart a woman was her primary reason to exist was to be an object of desire. And since she was not yet desirable she’d be practicing being just an object.

When she’d begun to get impressions of what the training would be she’d pulled away from him, chest heaving. “No, please! You can’t do this. I’m a superheroine, not some… thing! Just let me go, I promise I won’t tell anyone about you.”

He responded by giggling. Each time he did the sound became more unsettling to Cecilia. He left the room and returned a minute later holding a leather outfit and a red ball gag. He put the ball gag on her and while he was touching her doing that she was made to understand she was to dress and put the full-body black leather outfit on.

She was surprised when the villain turned his back to her when she began to undress. Then the meaning of it hit her, a nasty little emotional dagger into her. He didn’t WANT to see her naked because she wasn’t attractive yet.

Once the leather outfit was on only her nose and eyes were left exposed. The outfit was uncomfortable and when she caught sight of herself in a mirror she was disheartened to see just how dehumanizing it was. Everything recognizable about her was gone, she was just a black formless woman-shaped thing.

A touch to her arm, proving he didn’t need skin-on-skin contact for the strange mental connection to form, and she was given the impression that she was to follow him no matter where he went unless “told” otherwise.

The villain’s lair was a large empty office building that had been stripped bare. She’d seen he’d begun renovating parts of it but so far they’d only been spending time on a floor that was in the middle of being assembled into something that looked like an apartment. He took her to a living room where there was a large couch across from an entertainment center.

Looking at the large television and the gaming console under it she found the mental image of such an evil man sitting and watching a movie or playing a video game almost as unsettling as what he was doing to her. This man was a monster, how could he enjoy such simple and mundane things?

He pointed to the floor in front of the couch. Cecilia tried to ask him what he wanted but had forgotten she was gagged. She groaned in frustration, stomping her foot to try and tell him she didn’t understand.

After he put a hand on her shoulder and pointed again she understood. He wanted her to get down on the ground in front of the couch, to kneel hunched over so her back would be flat and he could use her as a footrest while he played a video game.

She tried to do what he wanted but the position was too uncomfortable and she kept wiggling and adjusting her body. Every time she did he’d grunt in annoyance and slam down on her back with his heel.

Eventually his patience ran out. He paused his game, pulled her to her feet, and backhanded her face sending her stumbling back. As his hand had impacted into her face she’d been made to understand. She’d failed. She’d need more severe training.

At first she didn’t understand what the strange device he led her to was. It looked like an art piece made of gold rods shaped and twisted together into a frame surrounding a hollow space. There was a glass surface attached to the top, making it look as though it could serve as a table.

When he touched her and pointed at it she understood. The metal frame would open and she’d have to go into it. After positioned correctly the frame would be closed around her body, keeping her on her feet with her knees bent and her back bent over flat. Once locked in place she’d be made into a human table.

For three days he kept her in the frame, only letting her out at night. He stored her in a small cell where she was allowed to take her leather outfit off for the night. There was always a bland but filling meal waiting for her and the cell had a toilet and small shower she could use. Then, first thing in the morning, he’d return, knocking on her cell door to let her know it was time to get dressed and return to being a table.

He kept the living table in his living room beside the couch, always keeping a drink or a bowl of snacks on it along with a bottle of lube and a box of tissues. He spent those three days idly playing video games, watching television, and jerking off to pornography. It was the last thing that disturbed her the most. Whenever he’d grab the lube and start jerking off she’d feel the most like a thing and not a person. He COULD have been fucking her, COULD have forced her to do any number of things. But he didn’t, it was like she wasn’t there, like she was just a table.

After those three days she was made to be a table for another three days but without the aid of the frame. By that time she’d internalized what it was to be a thing and was able to keep in position all on her own through the whole day without issue. By the end of the day her muscles would ache and she’d be relieved to be allowed out of her leather outfit, but even after showering and eating she wouldn’t feel any more like a person.

She cried herself to sleep every night, wondering when her nightmare would be over. And where were her teammates? Were they looking for her? Did they even notice or care that she was gone? She didn’t know the answer and feared she never might.

Every time he reached for something from his “table” his hand would be close enough for their minds to connect for a moment. He never “thought” at her the way he did when giving her impressions she interpreted as commands. It was like he’d forgotten she was there and she was just getting accidental flashes of what was going on in his mind.

She’d seen she was only the second heroine he’d captured. She eventually saw that the other one had been “fixed” and returned to her life. That had raised her hopes for a bit until she got flashes that suggested he was thinking about keeping her. He was enjoying having a heroine that served as a thing. He hadn’t made his mind up yet, he still had a lot of work to do on her. But the possibility was there: she might never be allowed to leave.

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