Amor Patrius

1-The Proposal

The house had been quiet for two years.

Mom left and the volume just dropped. No more arguments. No more doors slamming. Just the low hum of the refrigerator and the occasional sound of Dad moving around in the garage workshop. We lived in the same place. We ate in the same kitchen. We barely talked.

I never understood his art. The sculptures were always strange. Twisted figures. Animals that looked too real. Things that made people uncomfortable. I used to walk past the pieces in the garage and feel like I was looking at someone else’s language. Something that didn’t include me.

I still wanted it to.

I was nineteen and still waiting for some version of him that actually saw me as more than the kid who stayed after the divorce.

That afternoon he came in from the workshop with his tablet and a folder of papers. He sat across from me and didn’t waste time.

“I landed a major commission,” he said. “A public park piece. The client is a private collector, very wealthy. He grew up in a city overseas and wants to give something back to it. Full sculpture for a central park there. He’s covering everything — fabrication, travel, housing, my fee. It’s the biggest contract I’ve ever had.”

He turned the tablet toward me. The concept showed three massive metal pigs and a golden female figure locked between them.

“I need a model for the central figure. Full body reference. Accurate. I’ve looked at professionals. None of them are right. I keep thinking it should be you.”

I stared at the image, then at him.

“Me.”

“You’re the right proportions. And it would mean something. Having my own daughter in the work.” He said it simply, like it was obvious. “I’d need a full-body scan. Nothing complicated. Just reference data for the casting.”

I didn’t answer right away. The idea of standing in front of him and his assistants while they scanned every inch of me made my stomach tighten. But the other part of it — the part where I finally got to be included in one of his pieces instead of just living next to them — sat heavier.

“I’ve never modeled,” I said.

“You don’t need experience. You just need to stand still.”

“And you want me to go overseas for this?”

“Yes. We’ll be there for the work. The client is providing an apartment and access to funds while we’re on site. You’ll be comfortable. New clothes, whatever you need. In exchange I need you available for scans and fittings as the piece develops.”

The quiet house suddenly felt even smaller. The idea of leaving it, of being needed for something this size, of having money and a different city around me, hit harder than I expected.

I still didn’t fully understand his art. But for the first time he was asking me to be a part of it.

“Okay,” I said.

He gave a small nod back, like we’d just settled a practical detail.

“We’ll start when we get there,” he said. “Mark and Jake will help with the scanning. Nothing you can’t handle.”

He stood up and went back to the garage.

I stayed on the couch and tried to ignore the way my pulse had picked up.

We left eleven days later.

2-Modeling

The apartment was brighter than anything I had lived in since the divorce. Wide windows, clean floors, a kitchen that actually worked. The client had stocked the fridge and left a card with a monthly allowance that made my old bank account look like a joke.

I bought clothes the second day. Not expensive ones, just things that fit well and felt new. I walked the streets near the apartment with headphones in and no particular destination. For the first time in a long time, the days had space in them.

Dad spent most of his time at the fabrication workshop. He came back in the evenings, tired but focused, and asked if I needed anything. I usually said no. I was still getting used to the feeling of having options.

On the fourth morning he told me the scanning equipment was ready.

“We’ll start with a full-body capture today,” he said. “Nothing complicated. Just reference data for the plates.”

I set down the coffee I had been drinking on the balcony and followed him out. The good feeling from the past few days was still there in my system when we reached workshop.

Mark and Jake were already there. I’d seen them around before when Dad had bigger jobs, but never this close. Mark was older, quiet, always looking at the equipment. Jake was younger and talked more. Both of them looked at me when I came in, then looked away like they were trying to be professional about it.

Dad waved them over..

“We need a full-body scan,” he said. “The gold plates have to fit exactly. Clothes create too much interference.”

I stood there.

“You want me naked.”

“Yes.”

My face went hot. I looked at the two assistants, then back at him.

“I can’t do that.”

Jake cleared his throat. “Bra and panties would work. It's not ideal, but we can clean the data up later.”

Dad considered it for a second, then nodded.

“Fine. Start with that.”

I turned my back to them and stripped down to my underwear. The workshop was cold. My skin prickled. When I faced them again, none of them stared, but I could still feel their eyes tracking the shape of me.

Dad directed me onto a marked spot on the floor. Arms slightly out. Feet apart. Chin level. Mark and Jake moved around me with the scanner and small adhesive markers. They stuck the markers along my collarbones, the undersides of my breasts, the line of my hips, the tops of my thighs. Their fingers were clinical, but every touch still registered.

The scanner hummed as it moved. Slow passes over my chest, my stomach, the curve of my ass, the length of my legs. I kept my eyes on a spot on the far wall and tried not to think about how exposed I felt in just a bra and plain underwear.

It took almost an hour.

When they finished, Dad told me I could get dressed. I did it quickly and left without saying much.

That night I lay in bed with the lights off and kept replaying the whole thing.

The markers on my skin. The way the scanner moved over me. How quiet the workshop had been except for the machine and the occasional instruction. I had stood there in my underwear in front of my father and two men I barely knew because he asked me to. Because I wanted to be part of something that mattered to him.

I kept asking myself if that was enough of a reason.

I had never been close to either of my parents. Mom left and the space she took with her never really filled back in. Dad had always been more interested in the work than in talking. The sculptures made more sense to him than people did. I knew that. I had known it for years.

Still, when he said he wanted me modeling for the piece, something in me had answered before I could stop it.

Now I wasn’t sure if I had done the right thing. Standing there half-naked while they mapped my body felt like crossing a line I couldn’t name yet. At the same time, the idea of backing out felt worse. Like I would be giving up the only real invitation he had ever given me.

I turned over and pulled the blanket higher. The questions got quieter until I finally fell

asleep.

The rest of the week dulled any concerns I had. I found a café I liked and started going there in the afternoons. I bought a better pair of shoes. I sat on the apartment balcony at night and watched the city lights without feeling like I had to be anywhere else.

Dad paid for a nice dinner one evening. He didn’t talk about the sculpture much. He just asked if I was comfortable and whether the allowance was enough. I told him it was. Part of me still couldn’t believe any of this was tied to me standing still in a workshop while machines mapped my body. The rest of me didn’t want to look at that part too closely.

A few days later he said they needed another pass.

“More detail on the torso and limbs,” he told me. “The first capture was good, but the plates have to sit perfectly.”

I was in the middle of planning what to do with the afternoon. I put the plans aside and went with him. The workshop felt colder than the streets outside.

It was the same setup. It was a little bit easier to get down to my bra and panties this time, but still very embarrassing. The process and marks felt almost routine until Mark stepped over to Dad and spoke quietly near the workbench.

After another slow pass over my hips, Mark stepped away from me and walked over to Dad at the workbench. They spoke in low voices for almost a full minute. I couldn’t make out the words, only that Mark gestured once toward me and Dad nodded.

Dad turned around.

“Emily. Come here for a second.”

I stepped off the mark and walked over, arms crossed over my stomach. He leaned against the edge of the workbench and kept his voice even.

“We need better data on the openings,” he said. “Specifically on your mouth, vagina, and anus. The sculpture has specific penetration points. Estimates only get us so far.”

I stared at him.

“What?”

“The internal measurements,” he said. “Depth, diameter, the way the tissue sits when relaxed. We can approximate from the external scan, but it won’t be accurate. A direct scan of each… opening… would give us exact numbers.”

My face went hot. I glanced at Mark and Jake. Both of them were looking at the floor.

“No,” I said. The word came out sharper than I meant it to. “I’m not doing that.”

Dad didn’t raise his voice. He just watched me.

“It would only take a few minutes. We’d use a small probe scanner. Nothing invasive beyond the measurement itself.”

“I said no.”

I shook my head and took a step back. “I’ll do the body scans. I’ll stand here in my underwear. But I’m not letting anyone scan those parts of me. That’s too far.”

Jake cleared his throat, “Listen Rich, I can run some numbers and maybe estimate the rest.”

Dad was silent for a few seconds. He looked at me the same way he looked at a piece that wasn’t quite right yet — measuring, deciding how much to push.

Then he gave a small shrug.

“All right. We’ll work with what we have. Jake can do the rest.”

That was it. No argument. No pressure. Just the quiet acceptance that made my stomach twist in a different way.

I got dressed again without looking at any of them and left.

That night I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Part of me was relieved I’d drawn the line. The other part kept turning over the fact that I’d still said no to him. The one time he’d asked me to be part of the work, and I’d stopped short.

By the third week the routine of things felt almost normal. I'd spend some mornings or early afternoons at the workshop when they needed me. The rest of the time was mine. I got used to the card in my wallet. I got used to not checking prices first. I even started sleeping better.

Life was good.

3-Assembly

That last morning felt different.

A man I had never seen before was already in the workshop when Dad brought me in. Older, calm, wearing a white coat over expensive clothes. A woman in nurse scrubs stood beside him with a small case of instruments.

“This is Dr. Vargas,” Dad said. “He works for our benefactor and is here to make sure it's… anatomically correct..”

Dr. Vargas gave me a short, professional nod.

The nurse stepped closer. She had a quiet, practiced way of moving.

“We are excited to see what you and your father have come up with.,” she told me. “It’s a unique piece.”

I looked at Dad. He was already turning toward the gold plates.

“It’s the last day,” he said. “After this the piece is finished.”

For the first time I saw the three enormous metal pigs that would make up the sculpture around my cast. They stood in separate pieces across the floor. Two of them had a thick, veiny human-like cock carved in brutal detail, complete with heavy balls. The third one had a hole where a cock should be. A giant black pedestal waited in the center. On a wide table lay dozens of shiny gold metal plates shaped exactly like parts of my body — breasts, torso, thighs, even the start of a face.

I stared at the pig cocks. They were huge. Obscene.

“Jesus, Dad… those are massive,” I said.

He glanced at them, then back at me.

“They’re sized for the scale of the piece. Artistic proportion. Nothing more.”

I believed him. I still thought this was just modeling work.

A few days later he called me back for what he called the final fitting.

“Today we lock the plates in place so we can test the assembly,” he said. “Once they’re fitted we can finish the rest.”

I followed him into the workshop again.

Dad was already there with Mark and Jake. The gold plates were laid out in order on the table. The three metal pigs stood in their pieces around the pedestal.

“This is the last part,” Dad said. “We need you naked for the fitting. The plates have to sit directly against skin or it won’t fit right. I need to know the cast captured you exactly right.”

I stopped just inside the door.

“Completely naked?”

“Yes.”

I looked at the plates, then back at him. “Can’t you just hold them up against me or something? Do it side by side?”

He shook his head once. “That won’t give me the real fit. For the vision to be perfect, this is the only way.”

He stepped closer and took hold of my arms, gently but firmly, and looked straight at me.

“Don’t you want to help me make my vision come true?”

The question sat there between us. Mark and Jake stayed quiet. The same hard no I had given him about the openings was still in my chest, but the way he asked it — calm, direct, like this was the one thing that would finally make me part of the work — cut through the rest.

I nodded once.

“Okay.”

I turned my back and stripped. When I faced them again I kept both hands crossed over my chest and one forearm low across my hips. My face burned. I could feel the air on every inch of skin that was no longer covered.

Dad pointed at the metal table.

“Lie down on the back plate there on the table. Same position as the concept. On your back, arms out, legs open.”

I climbed onto the table. My back on a gold metal plate formed to fit the curve of my spine. The metal was cold. I kept my hands in place as long as I could, covering my breasts and the space between my legs until Mark gently moved my arms out to the sides and Jake guided my knees apart. I stared at the ceiling, face hot, trying not to look at either of them.

That was when I noticed it.

Mark’s jawline. The way Jake’s sleeves were rolled up. Both of them focused and quiet while they worked around my naked body. I had never really looked at them before. Now I couldn’t stop. And under the embarrassment, under the cold metal and the open position, I felt my pussy start to get wet. The shame of it only made it worse.

Dad picked up the first plates.

He started attaching the gold titanium plates. First my calves, then my thighs, then my hips. The metal was cold and heavy. It clicked and locked into place around my body. More plates covered my stomach, my ribs, my tits. They fit perfectly over my breasts, molding tightly around my hard nipples.

I started breathing faster. “Dad… this feels really tight.”

“It’s only for a few hours,” he said calmly. “You’ll be able to get free easily once we’re done. Don’t worry.”

I tried to relax. More plates went on my shoulders, then my arms. The gold locked around my wrists and kept going up. When they reached my neck the metal closed in a solid collar that forced my chin slightly up. I could still turn my head a little. That was the last real movement I had.

“Dad… it’s getting hard to move.”

“Almost finished,” he said. He didn’t look up from the plates.

Mark and Jake worked in silence, fitting the remaining sections over my cheeks and forehead. The last pieces clicked into place with a series of sharp locks. Suddenly the only skin left open were the precise holes cut for my eyes, my mouth, my pussy, and my asshole.

I tried to lift my arms. Nothing happened. I tried to close my legs. The cast held them exactly where they had been placed. The plates had locked together tightly enough that I couldn’t shift even an inch.

“Dad, stop. I want out.”

He finally looked down at me. His expression stayed calm.

“The plates are locked, Emily. They’re designed to hold under pressure so we can test the full assembly. I need to see the finished piece. Just stay still and let us finish.”

My heart started hammering. “What are you talking about?”

He tapped the open hole between my legs, then the one at my mouth.

“These are the penetration points. The pigs are sized to fit them. That’s what the whole sculpture is built around. Once everything is in place you’ll understand.”

I started struggling inside the gold. The cast didn’t give at all. Mark and Jake were already moving the cranes into position. The first massive metal pig rose off the floor and swung toward the pedestal.

I was trapped.

The gold plates were locked all over my body. I could barely twitch. Dad and Mark sprayed a clear chemical into every seam of the cast. It hissed and heated up fast, fusing the metal permanently around me. There was no taking it off now. I was part of the sculpture whether I wanted it or not.

They moved on like I wasn’t panicking.

Using a big crane, they lifted the first metal pig and set it on its back on the huge black pedestal. Its cock lay thick and curved along its belly, parallel to the ground and hollow inside. The head alone looked bigger than my fist. They bolted the pig down hard so it wouldn’t move an inch.

Once that was finished they brought the crane over me and locked the entire gold cast to it. Dad grabbed a bottle of lube and poured it over my asshole. The crane lifted me just enough to clear the pig, then began moving me horizontally into position. My hole lined up directly with the metal cock.

“Dad, please don’t do this,” I begged.

He didn’t answer.

The crane pushed me forward with slow, mechanical precision. The fat, flared head pressed firmly against my asshole and began to push. At first it only spread my cheeks. Then the pressure increased. My asshole was forced wider and wider around the thick head. I clenched hard, trying to keep it out, but the crane never slowed. The head popped inside with a brutal stretch that made me scream. The crane kept driving me forward, feeding inch after thick inch of the curved metal cock into my ass. My hole stretched painfully wide around the shaft. The rim burned as it was forced to take more than it ever had. I thrashed inside the gold, but the cast and the straps held me completely still. The crane pushed the cock deeper into my guts while I screamed and cried. I could feel my belly starting to bulge from the size of it as it sank further inside. They took their time, adjusting the angle until every inch lined up. The crane continued until the entire thick cock was buried in my gut and my asshole was stretched tight around the base.

Dad looked down at me and spoke in the same calm voice he had used all afternoon.

“We had to estimate the size of your anus and vagina since we couldn’t get those measurements. It may be a bit large.” He shook his head. “It’s too late to change it now.”

The pain and fullness were insane. The hollow cock sat deep in my intestines, locked in place. They released the straps leaving my weight on the statue beneath me. Then they started sealing the back of my gold cast to the bottom pig. Metal fused with metal. I was now permanently mounted on the first pig cock.

I could already feel my asshole stretched tight around the thick metal shaft.

They weren’t done.

The crane moved again. This time they brought the second pig over me. It was positioned between my legs and on top of me — mounting me from the front. Its massive cock lined up with my pussy. A smaller hollow tube sat right above it, aimed at my urethra.

They poured more lube over both.

“Dad, please,” I sobbed. “Please stop. It already hurts. Don’t put another one in me.”

He didn’t look at my face. He was watching the alignment.

“Hold her steady,” he told Mark. “Jake, watch the upper tube. If it drifts even a little it’ll miss.”

The crane began pushing the pig forward with the same slow, deliberate control.

The thick head pressed against my pussy lips and started to sink in. My lips were forced wider and wider around it. I tried to clench and shook my head hard inside the gold.

“No—no, take it out, please, it’s too big—”

“Easy,” Jake muttered, eyes on the angle. “A little higher… there. Keep that line.”

The crane advanced in tiny, measured increments, stretching my cunt open around the huge shaft. Every few seconds it paused just long enough for them to check.

I was crying openly now. “Dad, I’m begging you. It hurts. Please don’t do this.”

“Almost lined up,” Mark said. “I think we just hit the cervix.”

Dad stepped in closer and looked between my legs, watching the thick metal cock pressed tight against me.

“Yeah. That’s it.” He straightened up. “We’ve still got a few inches to go. We need it all the way in for the piece to sit right.”

“No—please, don’t,” I cried. “It’s already too deep, it hurts, please stop—”

Jake kept his eyes on the upper tube. “Angle’s still good. Just go slow.”

Dad nodded once. “Keep pushing. We’ll get it in.”

The head pressed hard against my cervix and stopped for a moment.

The smaller hollow tube lined up with my urethra. The nurse moved in close, gloved hands steady.

“Hold the advance,” she said to Jake. “I need to guide the tip.”

She took the end of the tube, applied more lubricant, and carefully began working it into me. The stretch was sharp and immediate. I tried to twist away inside the cast, but there was nowhere to go.

“Breathe,” she said, voice even. “It’s going to feel wrong. That’s normal.”

She kept feeding it in slowly while the main cock continued its measured push against my cervix. The dual invasion made my vision blur. I was crying again, begging them to stop, but the nurse only adjusted the angle once more and nodded to the crane operator.

“It’s good to go. You can finish with the primary shaft.”

Then the crane pushed a fraction further, pinning the thick cock tightly against it.

“Fuck—stop, please, it’s going in the wrong place, it burns—”

Dad just shook his head. “We really should have gagged her before we started this part. The screaming’s getting in the way.”

The dual invasion was overwhelming. My bladder felt invaded while my cunt was stretched to its limit and crushed against my cervix. I screamed and kept begging, voice breaking, as the crane continued its slow, precise advance until the second pig was fully seated — the massive cock buried as deep as it could go without breaking through, the smaller tube lodged deep in my urethra, and my body completely pinned between the two metal beasts.

Dad stepped back and looked at the fit.

“Good. Lock it.”

I screamed again, voice hoarse. The weight of the second pig pressed down on me, locking me between the two metal beasts. They sealed it tight to the rest of the cast and the bottom pig.

Now only my face was left. They locked more plates on my face to hide it completely. My vision blocked by the faceless mask. Only a hole for my mouth left.

The gold plates over my eyes weren’t solid. Small rectangular screens were built into them. They flicked on as the last plates locked into place. Suddenly I could see again — but not through my own eyes. It was a camera feed. I was looking at myself from above, sealed in gold between the two metal pigs, the thick cocks already buried inside me. My gold-plated body looked obscene. The screens showed every detail in sharp color.

Dad leaned in close to my face. “I wanted you to always see how beautiful you’ve become,” he said. His voice was calm. “I hope you can appreciate what I've done for you.”

Dr. Vargas approached holding a long, thick, polished metal shaft shaped exactly like a cock. It was hollow, with a slight curve and a flared head. Two narrow internal channels ran the full length — one for air, one for liquid nutrition.

“This is the last piece,” Dad said. “Breathing and feeding tube. It’s going to attach to the face plate. Once it’s in, we solder the housing and mount the final pig over it so the sculpture looks right.”

Dad asked for the numbing spray for my throat. Mark admitted that they lost it.

“Fuck it,” Dad said. “We can’t stop now.

I tried to shake my head. The plates barely allowed the movement.

“Dad—please—”

Dr. Vargas coated the metal cock with a thin layer of medical lubricant. The nurse moved to one side of my head and braced it. Mark took the other side to keep me from turning.

“Open her jaw,” the doctor said.

The nurse’s gloved fingers dug into the hinges of my jaw and forced it wide. The flared head pushed past my teeth and onto my tongue. It was cold, heavy, and far thicker than anything that should have been going down my throat.

They did not rush it.

Dr. Vargas fed the shaft forward in slow, steady increments while the nurse watched my throat and called small corrections. Every time I gagged and tried to shove it back out with my tongue, they simply waited for the spasm to pass and advanced another inch. I could feel my neck bulging against the inside of the gold plates as the shaft went deeper. Tears ran sideways into my hair. The only sounds I could make were wet, choking ones that never formed words.

“Almost at depth,” the nurse said. “Keep the angle. Don’t force the last section.”

Dr. Vargas gave one final, controlled push. The full length seated. The base of the metal cock locked into the circular housing on the gold face plate with a solid click. I felt the head resting deep in my throat, the dual channels already open so air could reach my lungs.

They soldered the housing shut while I lay there gagging around it. The smell of hot metal filled the small space inside the cast. When they finished, the tube was permanent. No removal without destroying the face plate.

Only then did they bring the third metal pig into position. The hole in its crotch lined up to seat cleanly over the external end of the tube so the finished sculpture still showed three pigs fully mounted on me. They bolted and sealed it in place.

I was completely filled. Ass, cunt, and throat. The only air I would ever get again would come through the contraption that had become the final pigs cock.

It felt like I was being skewered straight through — the thick cock in my throat meeting the massive one that had already crushed my womb and the curved shaft buried in my guts. All three cocks felt like they were almost touching in the middle of my body. The discomfort was intense. I was completely impaled from three directions at once, stretched and filled in ways I never thought possible,

The gold cast covered almost my entire body.

Dad stepped back and looked at the finished piece under the bright workshop lights. “Perfect,” he said.

That’s when it really hit me. It was done. I was sealed in. I tried to thrash. I tried to scream. But the cast held me completely still. All that came out were wet, choked sounds around the cock in my throat. My body could only make tiny, useless twitches inside the metal.

One of the assistants laughed. “She’s still freaking out.”

Dad watched me for a second, then nodded. “Yeah. Can’t have her making noise all night.” He walked over to a drawer on the workbench and came back with a small brown bottle. He measured out a dose with a dropper.

I tried harder to move, tried to make more sound, tried to beg, but nothing worked right. The panic was getting worse. I could feel my heart hammering against the gold plates over my chest.

Dr. Vargas opened the access port on the throat tube. “This’ll calm her down.”

He squeezed the liquid straight down the tube into my stomach.

It hit fast. A heavy, warm fog spread through my chest and belly. My thoughts got slow and thick. The sharp edge of panic started to fade even though I could still feel everything — the brutal stretch in my ass, the massive cock filling my guts and crushing into my guts, the thick shaft owning my throat. My body relaxed as much as the cast would let it. The desperate need to thrash and scream dulled into a drugged, heavy calm. I could still feel my holes clenching helplessly around the metal, but the terror couldn’t take proper hold anymore. My breathing through the tube slowed down.

Dad watched until my muffled sounds got quieter and the twitching stopped.

“That should keep her calm until morning,” he said. “Grom what I understand she’ll still feel everything. Just won’t be able to freak out about it.”

Mark nodded. “Smart.”

They did one last check on the bolts and the gold coating around my exposed pussy and asshole.

“Everything’s solid,” Mark said.

Jake nodded. “She’s not going anywhere.”

Dad stepped back and looked at the finished piece under the bright workshop lights. “Perfect,” Dad said quietly. He sounded proud.

They did one final test.

Dr. Vargas opened the access port on the base of the throat tube. The nurse poured a small amount of water into it. I felt the cool liquid slide straight down the feeding channel and into my stomach. A moment later she switched to the air channel and gave a short controlled breath. Air reached my lungs cleanly. The dual system worked.

The nurse held a tablet up so both she and the doctor could see the readouts. They watched the numbers for a full minute — oxygen saturation, breathing rate, heart rate, the small sensors embedded under the gold.

“Stable,” Dr. Vargas said. He turned to Dad. “The app you installed on your phone is already linked. You’ll get the same live data we just checked — O2, respiration, heart rate. If any of the values drop below the safe threshold it will push an alert to you immediately. You don’t have to watch it constantly. The system will tell you if something needs attention.”

Dad nodded and unlocked his phone. The nurse leaned over and confirmed the connection with a quick tap on her tablet.

“It also logs the larger spikes,” she added. “Heart rate and muscle activity jump hard during orgasm. The rumble feature will show up clearly in the data if you ever want to review how often it’s triggering.”

Dad glanced at the screen once, then locked the phone and slipped it back into his pocket.

“Good,” he said. “That’s everything.”

He tapped the gold plate over my right eye with one finger. “The screens are linked to a camera on the ceiling right now. Once we move you to the park they’ll switch over to the security feed. You’ll still be able to see everything that happens to you. Every day. Every person who stops to look. Every time someone touches you. I thought you’d want that.”

I couldn’t answer. The sedative was already making everything heavy and slow. But I understood. They weren’t just sealing me in. They were making sure I would have to watch it happen for as long as I stayed alive inside the cast.

“You did good, Emily,” he said. “This is going to be a masterpiece.”Dad checked his phone one more time. The screen lit up his face in the dim workshop. “App’s still reading clean. O2’s steady. Breathing’s normal through the tube.” He looked at me through the gold plates like he could see my eyes behind the screens. “If you start to panic again it’ll show up here. I’ll know.” He slipped the phone back into his pocket. “Try to get some sleep, sweetheart. You’ve got a long life ahead of you in there.”

Then he turned off the lights and they left.

The workshop went dark except for the dim safety lights in the corners. I lay there sealed and impaled, drugged and quiet, listening to their boots on the concrete as they walked out and locked the door behind them.

I was alone.

The sedative kept the worst of the panic away, but it didn’t stop the constant, overwhelming fullness. Or the way my stretched holes kept squeezing around the metal cocks. Or the slow, heavy realization that this was permanent.