Posted by Barbanne on September 12, 2002 at 23:33:30:
Marjorie Nolan was a big woman.
One ninety centimetres tall in the low heels she favoured and ninety two kilograms in weight.
At thirty nine she was a big commanding presence and her long straight blone hair and impressive chest and hawkish good looks gave her the character of some old Norse heroine. A woman you couldn't ignore, a woman of substance.
She was also one of the finest artists of her generation, her nudes in landscapes had been compared with the Pre Raphaelites for their romantic beauty and with the great Renaissance painters for their lushness of form and skin tone and the erotic nature of the figures.
Wearing her trade mark silk dressing gown (it was widely rumoured she was nude underneath) she painted in bold confident strokes, her brush swiping the canvas with the boldness of the extremely self assured.
She paused and glared at the girl sitting on the velvet draped stool a silken sash covering one hip and trailing between her legs.
"Ronnie, is that what you said your name is?"
The girl sniffed, "Yeah Ronnie Missus, that's me."
"Ronnie for god's sake stop fidgeting. I told you I want you to remain perfectly still and hold the pose. How am I supposed to capture my Astarte when you persist in jiggling all over the place."
"Sorry Missus," Ronnie sniffed again and twitched back and forth. She was a small, well built girl with conical breasts and a well padded bottom. Her looks could only be described as plain and her shoulder length brown hair hung stringily around her face.
"Don't fidget!" demanded Marjorie.
"Yes Missus," sniff, twitch, twitch.
Marjorie sighed in exasperation and continued painting.
Ronnie stayed still, her brow contracting into a little frown as she concentrated on holding the pose.
Her fingers quivered and touched her leg.
She wrinkled her nose and jerked.
"Oh for christ's sake!"
Marjorie threw down the brush and came over to the girl.
Ronnie, can't you for one moment stay still? Pose? Do as I ask? Model the pose for me?"
She threw the silken sash aside.
"Here, I want you to put your hand here," Marjorie gripped Ronnie's hand and thrust it into her groin, "there, put it there, and put your finger in there, I want you to pretend you are pleasuring yourself, finger fucking to you dear."
Ronnie went bright red.
"And lean back, close your eyes and look as though you are orgasming."
"Aw Missus....................," Ronnie was red down onto the tops of her breasts now.
Marjorie returned to her easel and took up her brush.
Ronnie lay her hand over her mons and leaned back a bit and closed her eyes and opened her mouth.
Ronnie sniffed and twitched.
Marjorie grated her teeth and painted on.
Ronnie rolled her shoulders and Marjorie's eyes slitted and she put the brush down and crossed the room to where Ronnie sat. Ronnie opened her eyes and saw Marjorie looming over her.
"What now Missus?"
Marjorie's long, strong fingers encircled Ronnie's throat and gripped hard, crushing her windpipe closed.
Marjorie lifted Ronnie from the stool holding her suspended while she shook her and throttled her.
Ronnie's arms flapped and her legs scissored and she went, "Ungh, ungh, ungh, ungh........."
Marjorie's face was screwed into a ball of tight fearsome intensity, her fingers wound around Ronnie's throat like steel bands, She crushed with all her considerable strength and lifted and shook and crushed and crushed relentlessly.
Ronnie's arms flapped and her fingers curled and then uncurled and her arms flopped down limply and her head rolled to one side in Marjorie's grip and her eyeballs disappeared upward. Marjorie held Ronnie suspended, her toes touching the floor, feet buckled at the ankles, buttocks sagging downward, arms finally still and dangling.
Ronnie was dead.
Still gripping her throat, Marjorie dragged Ronnie's corpse over to a chair and flopped her into it. She pushed the posing stool aside and dragged the chair and Ronnie over to replace it. She arranged Ronnie's nude body against the chair, her head laid back against the upright and her legs crossed at the ankles and one hand lying on her thigh the other cupping her groin. She took the middle finger of that hand and slipped it into the dead girl's wet pussy ignoring the thin leakage of urine that had started when Ronnie died. She closed Ronnie's eyelids over her wide staring whiteness and parted her lips with one finger. A dark blue band of finger marks like a tattooed necklace encircled Ronnie's throat.
Marjoried stepped back and admired her handiwork, hands on hips.
"Now, girl, now maybe you'll stay still. Now I can get on with it, not going to move now are you...........Missus?"
Ronnie's corpse blooped and leaked wee but otherwise stayed perfectly still.
All the time.
Marjorie tramped down into the basement.
Ronnie's body hung limply over her shoulder. Marjorie's hand was clamped around Ronnie's left buttock her fingers gripping the dead girl's crack. Ronnie's arms and hair swung loosely as Marjorie carried her downward. When she reached the basement Marjorie used her free hand to flick the switch and then she crossed to the bare timber table and flopped Ronnie onto it. Ronnie's head cracked sickeningly as it hit the table top. Marjorie rolled her onto her side and used thick nylon rope to bind her hands behind her. Then she moved down and, using the same rope, bound Ronnie's ankles tightly together.
Marjorie crossed to the heavy door of a sizeable cold room and opened it and then hoisted Ronnie's bound body up and carried it inside and hung it by the ankles onto a hook suspended from the steel railing that ran around the cold room at door head height.
Kaylee, Emma, Suzanne, Bridget, Vasha, Tilly, Caterina, Maud, Simone and Sharon were all still there. All hanging from their heels and chilled stiff. Now Ronnie had joined them. Now they were perfect models. Now they knew how to stay still, hold a pose and not twitch around. Stupid little bitches, they had all come here wanting to make the few bucks she offered for modelling and every last one of them had been unable to stay still enough to hold the poses she required. Hopping around as though they had ants in their panties. Dumb bimbos.
But now they were good.
Very very still. Able to pose for hours without the slightest twinge.
Now they were truly models!
Marjorie adjusted the thermostat to allow for the extra heat load of Ronnie's body and then clicked off the light and closed and sealed the heavy door.
She tramped back upstairs.
I walked up the brick paved path towards the house.
It was necessary to jink every now and then to avoid the overgrown garden plants and weeds that tumbled out across the path. I looked up at the house. Struth! it looked like that joint out the back of the motel that Norman Bates had lived in.
I shivered although the day was warm enough that all I wore was a short cotton dress.
I couldn't believe it. I was going to model for the famous Marjorie Nolan. When I saw the ad calling for models I had written in sending a cheesy picture of myself topless that Sean had taken and then forgot about it. I was gob swoggled when I got the reply arranging an interview with Marjorie herself.
Bloody amazing! She must be really hard up for models.
I stopped outside the big oak door and rang the bell. It clanged inside like Dracula's castle or something. I giggled.
The door opened and she stood there.
Jeez she was big!
I felt like one of them little dudes in Gulliver's travels.
"Miz, Nolan?" I said.
"You must be Barbanne," she said, "come in girl. Can you model?"
"Yes I am, er pleased to meet you Miz Nolan, er yes I've done some photographic modelling."
"Can you keep still girl? Hold a pose?"
"Er, I think so."
She was wearing this silk dressing gown and nothing else. I knew because I could see her nipples prodding that fabric like mad.
"Come in then girl, come in."
I followed her inside. The place was just as gloomy and dusty as I had imagined. Heaps of old junk decorated the hall we were in. Suits of armour, stuffed birds and animals all that sort of shit. A doorway to oneside must have led down to a cellar or something. A great curved staircase led upward. She took my wrist and sort of dragged me up that. At the top was a landing and a lot of doors and a passage leading down the back somewhere. She pulled me into one of the doors and it opened into a big, high ceilinged room set up as an artist's studio, paints and brushes and easels and canvases and big windows with lots of small glass panes and a velvet couch and stuff.
"Take off your clothes and get on the couch," she said, and then she said, "please..............Barbanne."
I sat on the couch and took off my shoes and hoicked my dress off over my head and popped my bra and flipped it off and then wriggled out of my panties. I folded everything neatly and put it aside in a little heap and then stood there. Throughout Miz Nolan watched me like a hawk that was about to eat me. I stood there nude, fluttering my hand in front of my breasts and pussy, strangely embarrassed considering I had modelled nude heaps for Sean and his friends.
"Alright Barbanne, lie down on the couch."
"More side on, yes that's it now put one hand behind your head, yes like that and let your other hand trail in your groin. Mmmmn yes that's ok, now relax and try to look languid.........not bad, now hold that."
I lay there posed on the velvet couch with one arm behind my head and the other down resting at my groin and my legs slightly spread and my hair loose and a look of what I thought was languid boredom on my face. Marjorie seemed satisfied with my efforts and stood behind her easel sketching madly.
After a while she said, "You're twitching girl I want you to keep perfectly still."
"Sorry, I wasn't trying to move."
She painted on.
"Damn it Barbanne, you're heaving your damned tits and your arms and legs are everywhere, what's the matter with you girl? can't you just be still?"
"Sorry Miz Nolan I didn't think I had moved at all." I didn't either.
"Touch yourself with that hand in your groin."
Touch yourself, play with your pussy, god girl haven't you ever masturbated?"
"Erm," this was wierd, I felt myself reddening and sort of slid my finger down between my labia.
"Now look as though you are having sex, you know orgasms."
I put a look of what I thought was rapture on my face.
"Hmmn you'll never win an Oscar but it will do I suppose."
I wondered if the money was worth it, this was really odd.
"You're still twitching girl. Damnation can't any of you young girls sit still for a moment or two, just strike a pose and keep it, stay very still and not wriggle around as though you have saint vitus dance."
She ground her teeth and painted furiously.
"Curse you," she shouted and flung the brush down, "here I'll show you how to keep still."
She was advancing on me red faced and I cringed back onto the couch despite myself.
"Sorry Miz Nolan, sorry, I'm trying my best really I am I truly don't want to move or anything, I'm trying."
She loomed over me her teeth bared and then she had me by the throat and was shaking me and lifting me.
"Sorry, sorr...........gerggh, gerggh..................."
Marjorie Nolan had me half off the couch and gripped by the throat and she was shaking me and throttling me. I panicked and struck out at her and she dragged me off of the couch and we sort of waltzed around the studio, me naked, ineffectually pummelling at her, her, robe flying, red faced and furious and seemingly bent on my murder.
I was weakening as her hands crushed my windpipe robbing me of air, my face felt flushed and my weedy blows were doing nothing. I tried to plead for help, "Miz Nolan, pleeee.....erggh, erggghh..........."
I wriggled wildly and her grip weakened and I broke free and ran for the door. She was on me immediately and grabbed my bare shoulder and spun me and her free hand wrapped its fingers around my throat again and with a cry like a wild creature she rammed me back against the door jamb and the back of my head slammed into the heavy wooden moulding with a crack and I saw a flash of light and then I collapsed against her, my breasts crushing back onto my chest and for me the fight was over.
I came back to consciousness with a dreadful aching pain in the back of my head. I was still stark naked and I was lying on my back on a wooden table in a bare room. My arms were at right angles to my body and my legs were spread. I was splayed out, sprawled out flat on this table. The ceiling above me was concrete and old and dirty and covered in spiders' webs. I groaned and lifted my head on my neck to look around. I was alone. The room was bare and looked like a basement. A cold room door was in one corner. I rolled off of the table and stood on shakey feet. For a second or two I thought I would pass out again as a wave of nausea overwhelmed me. I stood wobbling and holding onto the table for a moment. When my head regained it's balance I went over to the cold room and swung the big chromed handledown and pulled the heavy door open. Cold air washed over me and misty fog rolled out and then it cleared and I saw the girls, a row of girls, all nude and all dead and hung upside down from their ankles like slabs of beef in an abattoir.
I screamed like "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaagggghhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Like an echo, but I hadn't uttered that.
I turned and Marjorie Nolan was rushing at me her hands extended, hair flying, robe apart and flapping, big breasts bobbling and legs pumping.
I shrieked and ducked but she grabbed me by the throat and I drove my fist into her groin and she grunted and dropped me and I rolled, slippery and naked under her outstretched arms and ran for the door. I tipped the table I had lain on over as I passed it and sprinted for the stairs. She was after me her feet slapping on the floor. I rushed up the stairs two at a time. She grabbed for me and her fisted hand thumped me between the shoulder blades and I went down and she was on me. On top of me, her body covering mine. With an enormous effort I bucked upward, driving my bum into her tummy and she grunted again and I was off like a startled rabbit.
I raced across the entry hall and grabbed the front door. She grabbed my hair and spun me around. Without thinking I lashed out with my foot, kicking her in between her legs. She gasped and thrust me backward. My head conked the door and I saw flashes again. She turned toward me red faced as anything and grinding her bared teeth and I saw insanity and murder written all over her face.
I ripped the door open and ran naked down the path screaming at the top of my voice. Two female police officers were parked in the street outside writing a ticket for an errant motorist. I raced up to them shrieking, "Murder, murder, help me please. Murder she's done murder."
One of the lady cops grabbed me and said, "Hey honey come on now, calm down."
"Mur......................," I said weakly and my eyes rolled up and I fainted against the policewoman.
I came to an instant later lying in the officer's arms and she was saying, "Get a blanket, poor bugger's off her head."
"No!!!!" I screeched, "come, you've got to come." Then I was up and running back up the path with the cops after me and I tore the door open and inside the hall they both tackled me and one said, "Hold up honey."
"No, no, you've got to see this, come with me." I dragged them to the basement door and we all tumbled down the stairs and I staggered over to the cold room with them in pursuit and ripped open the door and there were the dead girls all eleven of them swinging from their hooks.
"Oh Jeeezus," said one of the cops.
Marjorie Nolan was pounding down the basement stairs, robe flapping, an axe in her hand and me in her sights.
"EEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAARRRRRCCHHHHHH!" I screamed and wet myself.
Both officers fired at once and two bloody flowers mushroomed from Marjorie Nolan's breasts and she and the axe clattered down the stairs and onto the basement floor.
She twitched once and then lay still.
I said, "Oh shit," and then fainted out cold for the full count this time.
Marjorie Nolan's paintings became very, very valuable. Tripled overnight. The city morgue became very, very full of frozen dead girls' bodies and I became very, very convinced that I had posed nude for the last time.
Sean talked me out of it though.
They say artists are a bit strange and of course very arty.
Wierd is what I'd say, very wierd.