The Silver Statue


Before you, atop a stone base, stands a silver statue of a muscular man on his knees. His body gleams in the light, the chest thrust forwards proudly with chiseled abs underneath. The surface is perfectly smooth, reflecting your image as you draw near.

As you approach, you can see that the figure is posed provocatively in front of a mirror. His right arm is down his side, the fist clenched tightly. The other arm is bent, with the hand gripping his erect member. A pair of large, silver balls are hung low between his legs. The detailing is exquisite. You are able to make out rippling muscles and raised veins across his form.

His face, slightly tilted upwards, is frozen in a lustful expression. Silver orbs serve as his eyes, locked wide open. An open mouth hints at breathless anticipation. Even the teeth and tongue gleam with immaculate silver. His metallic tongue, shiny and smooth, rests in his mouth with a single groove running down the middle. There are rough textures above his eyes and around his jaw, suggesting brows and a beard.

"Would you believe this statue was once a man?", asks your host.

*****

He was a strong and handsome man, obsessed with silver. He would coat himself entirely with silver paint, even pouring it into his eyes and mouth. Truly revolting. While painted, he would admire himself in the mirror, jerking off to his own reflection.

We shared numerous sessions together. He'd request the silver paint to be poured into his eyes and mouth during our encounters, craving complete transformation. His desire to shed his humanity intrigued me--he sought to become a flawless silver creature, devoid of any human trace.

As we grew close, he confided his desire to remain silver forever, a perfect statue frozen in time. I wonder if he knew of my powers, my ability to fulfill his singular desire.

When we met again, a palpable change hung in the air. His desire surged, yearning for his fantasy to be realised, to be transformed into that ideal image. I would do more than that.

As my hands caressed his body, I posed a question that stirred the depths of his longing:

"Do you want to become a statue, forever immortalized in silver, frozen in time?"

In the throes of lust, he begged me, urging me to grant his deepest desire.

I positioned him on his knees before the mirror while I stood behind, ordering him to jerk off to his own reflection, as he had done countless times before.

"Don't look away", I instructed, "When you cum, you'll be forever cast in silver."

At my words, his eyes widened, his breath quickened in anticipation. His muscles tensed up as he approached release.

"Please", he pleaded, "turn me into a silver statue."

"Forever", he added as an afterthought.

I poured the rest of the paint over him. Rivers of silver streamed over his body, cascading over powerful muscles. His eyes were awash with the metallic hue and yet more trickled from the corners of his mouth.

His strokes hastened as he held his breath and began to tremble. Suddenly, he gasped and shuddered as thick ropes of cum erupted from his cock. Moans of pleasure escaped his lips as he continued to gaze at his reflection. Gradually, he began to slow, his climax reaching completion.

Suddenly, his breath ceased, his body becoming rigid. With one final twitch, his cock spurted out the last of his cum.

Then, he was still.

I moved closer to examine my handiwork.

His flesh had transformed entirely into metal, solid yet retaining a subtle warmth. His once distinct strands of hair melded into a single, seamless piece, though the intricate details remained visible.

His face remained frozen in an expression of ecstasy, his eyes fixated on his reflection. Mouth agape, it seemed as if he struggled to comprehend his transformation.

Lowering my gaze, I noticed his hand still clutching his now metallic shaft, cum still dripping from its tip.

With a sense of finality, I scooped up his cum and smeared it onto his tongue, the stark contrast against the reflective surface was striking. It seemed only fitting that he should taste the remnants of his final load. As it trickled backwards, disappearing down his silver throat, a feeling of closure settled in.

Unable to resist, I leaned in to clean his cock with my tongue. Its flavour was both sweet and salty, with a subtle metallic undertone.

Grabbing some towels, I set to work cleaning him up. Once the paint and cum were wiped away, I placed him on this very pedestal. After giving him a thorough polish, I positioned his mirror in front of him.

*****

"I'm unsure if he is still able to see. If he could, he'd be able to witness what he's become, his long-held fantasy finally becoming reality. Yet, even if he cannot, it feels fitting--the mirror was always part of his metallic ritual."

"It may sound strange, but at times, I can sense his consciousness--a blend of sexual tension and distant moaning echoing in the back of my mind. It's as if he's caught in a perpetual climax, locked in an eternal orgasm, forever ejaculating. The intensity of such pleasure, I cannot comprehend."

As you study the statue's face, you attempt to reach his mind, if it were even possible. It's difficult to tell, but you swear you feel the air grow warm and heavy. Your gaze lingers on his eyes for a moment--they are truly captivating, reflecting your own image back at you.

Without thinking, you find yourself moving closer, your gaze fixed on his. Following his line of sight, your eyes land upon his reflection in the mirror.

"Absolutely perfect", you think to yourself.

A brief shimmer flashes across his eyes. Did he just glance at you through the mirror's reflection? You can't be certain, but there's an inexplicable pull to his gaze that captivates you.

"Come now", your host speaks.

Your trance breaks, and you turn to face your host.

"We have our session ahead of us", he continues, "If you're still curious, he'll be here once we're done. He's not going anywhere."

"After all, he's trapped like this forever."