After their experience of being turned into art the last time they’d visited, Dylan had tried to tell themself that they had no interest in making any sort of return to the Mornington Private Gallery. No matter how hot it had been to be a naked statue for people to gawp at, or how many buttons of theirs the Mesmeros Security system had pushed, or how kind Vanessa Mornington was, or how sexy she was, or how often thoughts of being posed and displayed had entered their dreams, or…

Okay, they totally had some interest in returning. But they weren’t going to admit that! They had their pride, after all, and they had (theoretically) been trying to steal from the Gallery that time, and they’d got caught. It wouldn’t exactly do for their reputation as a thief to admit that they’d enjoyed the consequences of that far more than they would have enjoyed a successful heist. So they managed to hold out for six-odd months. But eventually, late one night, Dylan found themself feeling particularly pent-up, and particularly shameless, and maybe Ms. Mornington had been on the news recently to talk about her new central exhibit and they’d ended up drooling over her… and so they sent an email, deliberately keeping their language as circumspect as possible.

From: nbimnb@mooglemail.com

To: contact@morningtonpg.com

Subject: Violets are actually purple

Dear Ms. Mornington,

I ended up as a model for you on the 19th of November last year. If your offer of more such work is still available, I would like to avail myself of it. If you are amenable, please let me know when and where I should be. My schedule should be entirely open for the foreseeable future.

Thank you in advance,

Dylan Blake.

They hadn’t expected anything to come of it at all, let alone as quickly as the next morning. But as they hesitantly checked their phone, already mentally cursing their impulsiveness and assuming Ms. Mornington would laugh them out of town, they instead found an almost unbelievable reply.

From: ceo@morningtonpg.com

To: nbimnb@mooglemail.com

Subject: Re:Violets are actually purple

Dear Mx Blake (or, should I say, my little thief?),

I am delighted to receive your email and would be thrilled for you to return as a model. I remember your previous session very fondly indeed.

As it happens, I am organising an exhibit that I believe you may enjoy modelling for. I am hosting an information session for prospective models this Sunday at 10, in the central hall of the gallery. If you would like to learn more, please show up then. Attached to this email is a pass authorising your attendance at this session; you may present it to the guard at the door to the central hall to gain access.

If this does not work for you, I am sure I will have other opportunities available.

Regards,

Vanessa Mornington (she/her)

CEO and Owner, Mornington Private Gallery

P.S. Feel free to call me “Vanessa”.

Dylan blinked in shock. Well, that certainly sounded intriguing. They checked their calendar, although they knew they didn’t really need to; they’d certainly be free then. It looked like they had an appointment to keep.

***

With a nod from the guard at the pass on their phone, Dylan walked through the doors and into the Gallery’s central hall. They knew that this was where the Gallery kept its temporary, touring exhibitions; that was why Vanessa (they still had to get used to that) had been on the news, after all: to talk about the current one. But right now the room was empty, save for themself and the other… models… scattered throughout the space. There were maybe a couple dozen of them all up, representing a variety of genders and appearances. The only consistent thread was that they were all fairly young; most seemed to cluster around their mid-20s like Dylan, and none were older than their 30s. Given the circumstances of their own involvement as a model, Dylan was quickly suspecting that Vanessa had a type.

Speaking of the Devil, there she was, sweeping into the central gallery at 10 o’clock on the dot. The room quieted pretty much instantly, even before she raised her hands for silence. Her voice was quiet but commanding. “Welcome, everyone, to this information session. I believe that this is all of my volunteers accounted for, so without further ado, let’s begin! All of you know why you’re here and how you ended up here, yes?” A general chorus of agreement ran through the small crowd. “I can assure you that everyone is here for the same reason: you were caught by the Mesmeros system, I turned you into art, and now you’re back for more. I am here to offer more to you. As you may have heard, the central hall of the gallery is currently host to a piece of performance art on most days of the week. I shan’t bore you with the details - if you’re curious, you can always visit on another day, after all - but suffice it to say that it’s an interactive exhibit that combines circus skills with living statuary. However, the performers of course need their days off. They will take a break on Wednesdays, of course, as that’s when we’re closed, but they will also break on Sundays, and that presents a challenge for us, as we need something to fill this space. And what better to fill it with than more living statues? So, my proposal is simple. Every Sunday, for the next three months, I wish to employ you to come here, and pose as models in a similar manner to how I placed you your first time. If anyone here has no interest in this whatsoever, you are perfectly free to leave now, or at any point.” She paused to give people space, but no-one left. “Marvellous! In that case, let me explain more freely. Obviously, this will have to be an age-restricted exhibition. However, we can facilitate this quite easily.” Vanessa paced over to a small staff door on one wall and, producing a set of keys, unlocked it, pulling it open. “As you can see,” she continued, motioning towards the other side of the door, “the adult room connects directly to the central hall. Obviously, we do not make much use of this entrance, but in this instance, it is very convenient indeed.” She closed and locked the door again. “The other major point of note, however, and one I hope many of you will find very interesting indeed, is that, because I am this time obtaining your full, legal consent to be exhibited, it is possible for our guests to be far freer in their appreciation of you. If you so desire… well, the possibilities are many. You could be entirely naked while on display, or in far lewder poses - which, I hope, will be of your devising. Guests will be able to get far closer to you, to the point that, if you wish, they may be able to place their hands on you, or whisper right into your ear. And, more prosaically, you may be placed with someone else as a single statue. Imagine how that might feel, hmm?”

Dylan was, by this point, very much feeling it already, biting their lip in anticipation. Looking around, they could see that many other models seemed to be feeling the same way. “Of course,” Vanessa added, “you are under no obligation to allow any of that. We will pass around forms in a bit for you to indicate your comfort levels so we can appropriately signpost and monitor you, and there is no monetary incentive for you to do anything more than how you were originally displayed after you were caught.” Dylan thought they could hear a couple sighs of relief at this point. “We’ll hand those around in a second, but first… does anyone have any questions about any of this so far?”

One hand was raised at first, belonging to a tall blonde. Vanessa indicated for her to speak. “Will we be able to revise the results of the forms at a later point?” she asked.

“Of course! If you decide that you are uncomfortable with something you originally consented to, or would be comfortable with something you previously deemed off the menu, you will be able to let my team know at any point in-person or via email. Which reminds me; we’ve got a dedicated email address for this project, accessible to only myself and my most trusted curators. Who’s next?” The fact that someone had asked a question seemed to have broken the ice, as several more hands were raised almost immediately. Vanessa began indicating who should speak. “Yes?”

“What’s to stop guests from overstepping the limits we request?”

“We’ll have intense guard scrutiny on all guests and will implement an immediate, permanent ban for anyone we catch violating the rules. You’ll also all have concealed panic buttons that, even in your entranced state, you’ll be able to press, and in extremis, you’ll be able to move away from an offender. Finally, if you do not wish to be touched in any way, we may of course erect physical barriers if you so desire. Again, if you find yourselves feeling uncomfortable in any way with this arrangement, you are welcome to step out without penalty.”

“Will we have to show up every Sunday?”

“No, not at all. You will only be paid for days you actually work, but you’ll be paid the same no matter how long you end up staying; if, God forbid, there is an incident and you leave early, you’ll still be paid for a full day so that there’s no pressure to stay if you’re no longer feeling comfortable. I would prefer it if you give at least a day’s notice of your absence, but obviously, sometimes you can’t predict these things.”

“Will we be recorded at all?”
“We will take photographs for our private records, including communication with other models - if we need to make a substitution, having pictures will be more expedient to explain a proposed pose. There’s also security camera footage, which will be kept strictly private unless there’s an incident that requires its review; in that case, if we need to share it broadly, we’ll censor it as much as possible unless you give us explicit permission not to. Similarly, you’ll have to opt in for our official photos of you to be shared in public communications. As for guests, photography and phone usage will be banned by default, as we’ll treat this room as an extension of the adult gallery. However, if the idea of strangers having photos of you in salacious poses appeals to you, then you’ll be able to opt in on the form, and we’ll supply cameras that will be screened before guests can transfer those images elsewhere. I can supply further details later if you want to know more, but that’s the general idea.”

“Will we be in the same poses every week?”

“So, obviously, you won’t ever be in a strictly identical pose week-to-week. However, more broadly, also no: you’ll be able to ask for different poses each time you come in. We would appreciate some advance warning, however, so that all our plaques are correct; ideally, you’d directly exchange poses with another person or group so that all we need to change are names and pronouns.”

“You just said names - how much will we be identified?”

“Again, only to the extent that you’re comfortable. We would like at least a pseudonym that you’re okay with, but you can also go any distance beyond that.”

“Will we just be posing by ourselves, or will we have access to props?”

“Ah - great question, and one that leads me neatly onto one of the other major purposes of this session. Does anyone have any other immediate, burning questions?” There was a general silence. “Great. Feel free to come up to me, or send an email, at any time if any more questions occur to you. For now, though - Amanda, can you bring me the QR code, please?”

A short woman in a suit jacket and a pencil skirt bustled over, holding a stack of sheets with QR codes on them. At a nod from Vanessa, she began passing them around to the attendees. As she did so, Vanessa began to explain. “This is the link to the form I was talking about earlier. Please complete it to the best of your abilities. Our team will go over the results in the following week; it will also sort you into broad groups for the next phase. Hopefully the questions and terminology should all be clear, but if you have any questions, feel free to let myself or Amanda know. If we’re giving you options on a scale and your ideal response falls between two, select the more conservative option unless indicated otherwise; we’ve given you the opportunity to be more exact at later points in the form.”

The paper came round to Dylan, who pulled out their phone to scan the code. The initial questions were all pretty basic stuff - name, gender, contact info, that sort of thing - but pretty soon they got to the spicier stuff. “How nude are you willing to be?” The options were surprisingly finely graded; clearly, Vanessa and her team had put a lot of thought into this. They settled on Fully nude, but not fully exposed. “How sexual are you willing for your pose to be?” They went for the most extreme option of Engaged in sex acts. “Are you willing for guests to touch at least one part of your body?” Yes. “Are you willing for guests to touch at least one intimate part of your body?” They gave it some thought, then selected Yes. “To what extent are you comfortable with guests touching your body? Please select the most extreme you are willing to go.” Dylan selected Heavily, which the form indicated would permit light touches, squeezing, and non-sexual stroking, but not kissing, stimulation, or rougher acts. There then followed a list of specific body parts they had to indicate their comfort levels with (or lack of possession of), then it moved on to questions about guests making comments, about posing with other models, about recordings, and so on. Almost everything was laid out in near-excruciating detail, but if anything, this made Dylan more excited, knowing that not only were they getting close to participating in one of the kinkiest things they’d ever done in their life, but that they would be taken complete care of while doing so.

Eventually getting to the end of the form, Dylan pressed Submit, then took the opportunity to look around at their fellow models. They seemed to be about halfway through the pack when it came to submission time; those that had finished seemed to be wearing about the same mixture of excitement and mild trepidation on their faces that Dylan was feeling. Eventually, everyone was off their phones and looking back to Vanessa, who was consulting a tablet alongside Amanda. The gallery owner eventually noticed the crowd’s attention and looked up, smiling. “Alright, everyone! That seemed to go quite smoothly. So now we get to move onto the exciting part: workshopping! From your responses, we’ve made a preliminary division of you into groups who we hope will be able to pose together if you indicated you are willing to do so. Our algorithm’s tried to group you up by preferences as indicated on the form. Obviously, all our individuals will be separate. So I’m now going to read out the list, and if you can split off when I call your names and begin working together on ideas for the pose you’ll be in for the exhibit, that would be great! Oh - we’ll start, actually, by getting everyone who wants to pose individually off to the side; hopefully, some of you might already have a thought or two and we’ll be able to collect those first. And returning to the question I put off, if you want to be holding or wearing something - a sex toy, lingerie, body paint, et cetera - when we ask for your ideas, please tell us, and we’ll procure it, as long as it’s not too out-there. We’ll also work on supports: wires if you want to have a limb raised, poles to prop you up against, that sort of thing. And don’t worry if your mind is completely blank; we’ll be perfectly willing to workshop with you. But if for now, everyone who wants to pose solo can head over there…” The crowd shuffled around, and maybe a fifth of them split off. Vanessa then turned to address the remainder. “Okay, time to put you into groups. So we’ll start with…”

People were slowly sectioned off, mostly into pairs, but occasionally into larger groups. Eventually, Vanessa read out, “Dylan and Carmine.” Dylan walked over to where she was pointing, as did the tall blonde who’d been the first to ask a question. They held out a hand to shake. “Uh, hi! I’m Dylan; they/them.”

“Carmine. She/her.” She seemed to be in about the average emotional state of the room: excited, but tempered with a bit of apprehension.

Dylan carded their fingers through their short black hair. “D’you have any particular ideas? I assume we filled out the form in roughly the same way…”

“Not immediately, but we could maybe start from the limitations and work our way from there?”

“Sounds as good an idea as any. So, uh, I said that I’m willing to be naked, but not fully exposed, and for me, that meant that I don’t really want to be fully showing off my vagina to the masses, but I’m otherwise fine with whatever. Was… what did you select for that question?”

Carmine looked surprised. “Wow, they really did do a good job of matching us; I’m at pretty much the exact same comfort level. So how do we make that work, then? Because I’ll assume we also both said we were fine to look like we’re actually fucking, and I don’t think that’ll work very well if we’ve got our legs closed…”

A bolt of inspiration struck Dylan. “Ms. Mornington - Vanessa - mentioned we could ask for sex toys. If one of us was wearing a harness, that’d cover up everything while still being appealing, wouldn’t it?”

Carmine’s face lit up. “Yeah, that’d work! Especially if we got one that’s as minimalistic as possible. And then… oh, do you think we could align the, uh, dildo so that it’s mostly resting against the other person’s vagina? So, like, they’re both parallel, I suppose? I’m just not sure how we could line that up…”

Dylan licked their lips. “I think I have an idea…”

***

The two of them had spent a while longer hashing out the details, with each other and then with Vanessa when she came around to them. All three had found themselves very enthusiastic about the proposed statue indeed. The information session had dragged on for a while after that, delving into the duller but necessary details of contracts, exact rules for visitors and how they would be presented, safety briefings, insurance, and so on. It had briefly been spiced up, fortunately, by Vanessa dropping all of them in the middle of it, in order to ensure everyone’s freeze triggers still worked, as well as making sure that they would be able to engage with all the various safety rules. Even with all their clothes on, seeing all those gorgeous people, hypnotically frozen and helpless in the middle of a public gallery, had been quite something. Dylan had returned home with their mind swimming with thoughts - mostly sexual ones - and an entire ream of papers to go over later in more detail, but even that couldn’t dampen their enthusiasm. This was going to be so hot.

The next week, Dylan showed up with the rest of the models at 8 sharp. They had been quickly waved through to the central gallery, which was now a hive of activity. Various pedestals and cases were scattered around the room; multiple attendants were corralling the models, double-checking that everything was in place, and setting the last few plaques into their stands or slots on the wall. Dylan was swiftly handed a labelled bag for their belongings, and an anti-cramping pill to swallow. As they started stripping, they realised that many of the models were already nude; as of yet, nobody seemed to be treating them in anything close to a sexual manner. That probably helped with the nerves, they mused, as they put the last of their clothes away and handed the bag off to an attendant. They looked around, feeling a bit lost, only for a waving hand to catch their eye - Carmine’s, sticking above the crowd. She was also naked, aside from the strap-on she was wearing, a dark blue dildo jutting out from it.

Dylan hurried over to her. “Hey, hot stuff,” Carmine giggled. “You look even sexier than I’d been anticipating.”

Dylan blushed. “Well, right back at you. You know how you’d look even hotter, though?”

Carmine pretended to think. “Oh, I may have a thought or two…”

“Any idea where we’re going?”

“I think over there, maybe?” Carmine gestured towards a pedestal up next to the wall that would usually be home to the hall’s main entrance, although that was currently locked up. It was bare, except for a clear, precisely-shaped block of near-transparent plastic placed against the wall.

Dylan nodded. “Yep, that looks like us. Should we…” They gestured, and the pair walked over to the pedestal.

Once there, Carmine sat herself down. “I dunno about you, but I’m thinking I should rest my legs while I still can, ya know?”

“Good thinking.” Dylan joined her, watching the other models. A few of them, they noticed, were beginning to be prepped to be on display. Vanessa and a couple of the curators were holding some sort of device which looked almost like a toy ray-gun. Dylan would’ve scoffed at it if it didn’t have clear effects; whenever they aimed it at someone, Dylan could see their posture slump and their eyes glaze over, before moving smoothly to take their position on a stand or in a case, then locking in place. For some of them, the curator would make some minor adjustments to achieve a better effect; for all of them, they would speak briefly into a radio and then watch as the model did… something; Dylan couldn’t quite tell what at this distance. What they could tell, however, was that this was going to be quite the scene indeed once the exhibit was complete, as people were already positioned in all sorts of interesting ways: bending over provocatively; cupping their breasts; toying with themselves; locked in a passionate kiss… and they were pretty sure this was just some of the tamer stuff.

Dylan and Carmine had just started leaning into each other’s embrace when they were jolted into alertness by the sound of footsteps coming their way. Looking up, they saw Vanessa Mornington herself in front of them, holding a pair of small radio transmitters and the ray-gun thingy. “Hello, darlings,” she smiled. “You both good to go?” At affirmative nods from both of them, she clapped her hands together in approval. “Marvellous. You’ve obviously already found your spot, so the first step is to check that all the signage is correct.” The two of them looked over the display plaque, checking that the description, the credits, and, more importantly, the list of Dos and Don’ts were all in order. Nodding in approval, Dylan had a quick look round at the rest of the display-to-be, and chuckled as they realised that the edge of the pedestal had several signs on it asking visitors, “Please DO Touch the Art!” As Carmine nodded at Vanessa as well, the CEO smiled. “Great! In that case, please take these…” She handed a transmitter - the panic buttons - to each of them. “And if you could please both look at the portable Mesmeros system here…”

Vanessa aimed the ray-gun at Carmine, then at Dylan, pulling the trigger each time. Dylan heard a quiet pulsing sound, and thought they could make out a small pellet of blue light shooting towards them, hitting them square in the temple. A sense of calm emptiness instantly washed over them, soothing away any lingering worries or fears they may have had. “Good models,” Vanessa told them quietly, and Dylan felt warm happiness washing through them. “Are you ready to become my statues now?”

“Yes, Ms. Mornington”, the two answered in unison.

“And you remember what your plan was, yes?”

“Yes, Ms. Mornington.”

“Good. You may have noticed that I’ve been asking your fellow models to just pose… but you two are part of a different group; people who wanted to capture a moment of authentic passion. So I’m going to snap my fingers, and when I do, you’ll awaken, believing that you are somewhere private, where Carmine is actually going to take Dylan against the wall. You’ll subconsciously get into the right position, but you will both believe that you are actually in the scenario you’re about to model. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Ms. Mornington.”

“In that case…”

*Snap*

Carmine wiggled her hips seductively at Dylan, who pulled her into a deep kiss, which she eagerly reciprocated. The tall blonde drove the two of them towards the wall, giving Dylan a highly welcome surprise in just how forceful she was. They could feel her dildo rubbing against their body as she pushed them against and up the wall, pulling one of their legs up to give her better access to their rapidly dampening pussy, placing her other hand underneath their armpit to hold them in place, and Dylan’s hand snaked up to stroke Carmine’s case as she leaned over them, a tender smile on her face as the dildo came to rest against their slit, and Dylan’s other hand pressed against the wall to keep their balance, and-

*Snap* “Freeze, and awaken.”

Dylan’s awareness fully returned as their body and Carmine’s locked into position, intertwined. They became aware of the plastic stand they were half-sitting against, designed so Carmine wouldn’t actually have to take their weight for the entirety of the day, and of the panic button concealed in the hand they were stroking Carmine’s face with. That face was frozen in that tender smile as she looked down at them; Dylan’s showed a mixture of awe and want as they met her gaze. As the two of them had devised, most of their more sensitive areas were somewhat concealed, while still being visible enough to titillate: a statue that made you desperate to see more, while simultaneously denying that wish.

Vanessa stepped up onto the pedestal and circled them, examining their handiwork. Her hands briefly alit upon their bodies to adjust them to her liking - spreading Dylan’s legs a bit further to open the space between bodies, moving Carmine slightly to create a more dynamic posture - but, true to her word, she left their faces alone, the emotion on them plain enough for anyone to see.

The body oil Dylan had been painted with last time was of course unnecessary here, as there was no need for the gallery to maintain plausible deniability. Vanessa did, however, need to make a few quick checks. “Alright then, dears. First, please tell me if you are in any way physically uncomfortable in this position; otherwise, remain frozen.” Both of the models remained silent. “Lovely. Now, same deal for if you are mentally uncomfortable.” Again, silence. “Perfect! Finally, we’ll need to test your panic buttons. Press them on my word, please.” She produced a walkie-talkie from her belt and spoke into it. “Security, about to test panic buttons CG and DB.”

The person on the other end spoke up. “Confirmed; all clear to go ahead.”

Vanessa turned back to the sculpture. “Press them now, please.”

Dylan clenched their hand around the concealed button, finding that it depressed easily with minimal movement on their part. They could feel Carmine doing the same against their upheld leg. After a couple of seconds, the walkie-talkie crackled again. “Test successful; both buttons in working order. Switching alarms off now; please let go of the buttons.”

Vanessa nodded in satisfaction. “Wonderful. Let me just take these…” She lifted the camera hanging around her neck and took some carefully thought-out shots, capturing the statue’s best sides. The legal documents they’d had to sign had promised that they’d be allowed to review them before they were posted anywhere public. “And now, you should be all set for the next eight-or-so hours. You can allow your minds to drift or come to a halt, if that is what you wish to experience. And to reiterate, do not hesitate to press the buttons if you are at all uncomfortable; and do not hesitate to unfreeze if you need to get out of a situation immediately. And above all… enjoy yourselves, my dears.”

***

Perhaps half an hour later, Dylan became aware of movement - only out of the corner of their eye, as most of their field of vision was taken up by Carmine’s angelically smiling face. Guests were beginning to be admitted to the Sunday installation, Exhibit B. Naturally, some people drifted over to their own pedestal to take a look at the lovers’ embrace.

Vanessa Mornington (b. 1989), Dylan B. (b. 2001), and Carmine G. (b. 1999)

Back Against the Wall, 2026

Humans; strap-on dildo and harness

A pair of lovers, caught just before they take each other in the heat of passion.

Permitted: Light touching of all areas, heavy touching of non-erogenous zones, close examination, personal comments

Not Permitted: Heavy touching of erogenous zones, sexual touching, rough touching, movement, sexual comments, recording

Deliberate violation of these rules will result in an immediate lifetime ban and pressing of charges.

The guests circling Back Against the Wall seemed almost nervous to interact with the sculpture - unsurprisingly, given just how unreal the concept seemed, and how dire the warnings on all the signs appeared. Fortunately, Vanessa and her curators had accounted for this. Soon enough, Amanda, the curator from the previous week, had stepped up next to the small crowd examining Dylan and Carmine. “Gorgeous, aren’t they?” she said, quietly enough to feel private, but loud enough that Dylan could pick up on every word.

A young feminine voice was the first to reply. “Y-yeah. It seems almost unreal, y’know?”

“Too good to be true?” Amanda suggested.

“That’s about right, yeah.”

“Would you like a demonstration, then?”

“O-okay…”

Dylan could feel as much as hear Amanda’s footsteps on the pedestal as she approached them. She did something just outside their range of sight; at a guess, they assumed she was running a hand down Carmine’s back. “So as you can see, I can just do this…” Her hand traced round to Carmine’s thighs, and then to the gap between their bodies. “Or this…” The hand made its way up Dylan’s front, grazing a nipple and coming up to cup their face. “Or even this, and the models won’t move a jot, because they’re just our perfect statues. Anyone want a try?”

There was a brief pause, and then a second set of footsteps came onto the pedestal. Dylan could see dark-skinned hands reaching round to cup Carmine’s butt, and then moving to settle between their breasts. “Wow,” the same voice from before giggled, as more people joined them, and Dylan could see more hands, belonging to complete strangers, tracing along Carmine’s body, then feel them on their own; treating the two of them not as people, but just as statues, objects to be inspected and seen, but not truly acknowledged. It was electrifying.

“They’re both so hot,” a masculine voice whispered. “Oh- am I allowed to say that?”

Amanda nodded in their peripheral vision as a finger skirted across Carmine’s lips, then their own. “Yes, that’s about the extreme of the language you’re allowed to use for this particular statue. I’d recommend taking a flier from the entrance if you haven’t already, just to ease the experience and make sure both you and the models have the best time possible in this exhibit. And you can always ask any member of staff for clarification on boundaries if you’re unsure. And above all, enjoy.”

Amanda and the other curators’ work seemed to put the guests at ease, enough to establish a precedent that stayed in place for the rest of the day. As guests trickled in and out, Dylan’s perception of the world warped and blurred: their mind drifting in trance one moment, then hyperfixated on every touch the next, as guests ran their hands across their bodies: swiping across lips; cupping breasts; even, a couple of times after carefully checking the rules, placing a gentle hand over the exposed parts of their vulva, framing the silicone of the dildo between fingers and brushing through the dark curls above. They heard muttered expressions of amazement; cooing over how good they were being; compliments on their beauty; and the occasional murmur of surprise at just how aroused they were. Because it was true: as the day wore on; as their eyes grew tired of seeing near-identical views over and over and their ears tuned out the background noise of a busy gallery; as the reality of their situation - that they were stark naked, in front of a crowd of strangers, helplessly frozen in the middle of a simulated sex scene - set in, their skin was becoming more and more hypersensitive. Even small moments of contact; slight grazes or nudges from people not even intending to touch them; bumps against their clit as people accidentally moved Carmine’s body against them; even those sent shivers down their spine and blood and warmth and wetness rushing to pool between their spread legs. Carmine, from what they could see, was experiencing much of the same; her pupils slowly dilating, face growing subtly more flushed, breathing becoming more ragged as the two of them stayed there, locked together, on display for all to see and touch. And so they drifted, because what else could they do, if they did not want to collapse from the incredible, intoxicating, slowly building burn of overstimulation.

It seemed like a century and a minute had passed when the closing announcements began to crackle over the loudspeaker, starting at the 30-minute warning. The day had passed in a veil of bliss for Dylan, unpunctured by incident: everyone who came to view the exhibit had stayed almost entirely within the rules, with any minor slip-ups they had been aware of seeming to be honest mistakes that were admitted to, apologised for, and caught and dealt with quickly by the guards. Guests slowly began to trickle out, with fewer and fewer coming in, until eventually, the 5 o’clock announcement played, and the gallery shut down.

Footsteps echoed through the hall, and then Vanessa spoke up, projecting her voice for everyone to hear, speaking with evident warmth and pride. “Well done everyone on an incredible first day. Here’s to many more like it, but for now, Unfreeze.”

Dylan let out a sigh as their muscles relaxed for the first time in hours. Between the pill and the muscular stimulation from the pedestal, they felt less like they’d been locked in place, and more like they’d been through an incredibly intense workout. As expected, a pleasant burn rapidly spread throughout their body. And then Carmine adjusted slightly against them, working out her stiff back, and jostled the dildo against them in a way that could only barely be described as a thrust - and Dylan’s legs gave out as, with what would under any other circumstances have been an embarrassingly loud moan, the literal hours of pent-up pleasure they’d been feeling came rushing out all at once in one of the most intense climaxes of their life. They were only vaguely aware of how they slumped forward into Carmine’s arms and the taller woman had to do her best to turn their fall into a controlled descent as they gushed and trembled against them, crying their throat almost raw as they did so. As Dylan slowly regained awareness of their surroundings, they realised they were now cradled against Carmine’s chest, and she was gently stroking their hair.

It was several minutes before they could form semi-coherent words. “I, uh. Geez. Wow.”

“You okay there, Dylan?” Carmine asked, her voice betraying a slight sense of worry. “Did I do something wrong?”

Dylan noticed the dampness on their face, and realised that they’d been crying. They shook their head emphatically. “No, not at all, are you kidding me? That was fucking incredible, Carmine.” They flushed as they realised just how public this had all been. “Uh, sorry for making a scene?”

“No, no, you’re all good! I don’t think you were the only one to react that way to being set free.” Indeed, as they looked around the room, Dylan could spot several other people in various states of panting semi-coherence.

Vanessa walked over to them at this point. “You alright there?” she asked gently. Both of them nodded, Dylan somewhat blearily. “Good. You may not have noticed; we’re bringing in aftercare supplies now. We’ve got food, drink, ointment, clothing - anything you might want, hopefully, we’ve either got or can provide. But please take your time; I’ll be around until at least 6:30, maybe longer.”

The gathered models slowly converged on the centre of the hall as staff began to clean up around them, resetting the room for the regular display on Monday. Most of them didn’t bother to re-clothe themselves yet; Dylan did, trying to regain some of their still slightly vague sense of humanity, while also regaining the ability to walk. People were quietly swapping stories with each other, exchanging recounts of some of the hottest moments they’d experienced, or talking with their partners about what they could do even better next time. And then, slowly, everyone trickled home, about ready to collapse into bed from a long, but very gratifying day.

***

The next week, Dylan and Carmine returned to their pedestal and were once again frozen in the heat of the moment. Word had spread, it seemed, as the guests were freer with their hands and words from the get-go, although everyone remained perfectly respectful. They found it easier to drift off into mindlessness this time, allowing themself to become just another pretty thing on display at Ms. Mornington’s whims. And once again, the combined iotas of pleasure added up to create one of Dylan’s most spectacular orgasms upon unfreezing, which Carmine once again cradled them through. That evening, Carmine raised the possibility of exchanging positions with another pair, just for variety, which Dylan was more than willing to try out.

Fortunately, there was indeed another pair of models who had broadly the same rules around what could be on display; and like Dylan and Carmine, their sculpture had made use of a strap-on. The two of them had agreed to keep their apparent Dom/sub dynamic intact, and so it was that the next week that Dylan found themself being pushed down into a mattress on the ground, face and tits squished into the fabric as Carmine rubbed the silicone tip up against their vulva. Dylan’s body was far more concealed in Down and Dirty, as this piece was called, than in Back Against the Wall, but they somehow felt even more exposed, more charged, in this new position.

They returned to Back Against the Wall for the next couple of weeks, and then switched again, this time to A Display Within a Display. Carmine was stood behind Dylan, pulling them against her as she gently cupped their tits, pushing them up and presenting them to the audience. Dylan’s legs were spread slightly, a step upwards from their previous displays as people could get a full eyeful of everything. They did, however, have a new accessory, in the form of a collar around their neck. Both of them had agreed to allowing a few more interactions as well, so now people weren’t just touching Dylan’s body, but actively toying with them: squeezing and kissing and rubbing at their exposed flesh, or reaching around them casually to get the same sort of access to Carmine, not bothering to circle around behind the pair. Dylan knew even before they were awoken that they could absolutely get used to this whole “letting strangers feel them up” thing.

A few weeks later again, on a Thursday, Carmine sent an apologetic email saying that she couldn’t make it this time. Vanessa, fortunately, was on the case, sending Dylan through the details of another model whose partner couldn’t make it, and their usual pose. As they scanned over the description and images of Jen’s sculpture, they smiled as one word caught their eye: hypnotising. Oh, yeah. They wanted to try this one out.

Dylan was standing in a commanding position: one stockinged and heeled leg planted on a small box, bending over slightly to dangle, from a gloved hand, a crystal pendant in front of Jen’s face. Jen’s eyes were glazed over as she knelt in front of them - had begun to do so even without the curators’ instruction - and her face was wearing a dazed expression, partly covered by strands of light brown hair that had fallen in front of her eyes. Her legs were spread wide, giving everyone - but especially Dylan - a wonderful view of her pretty little cock, which vacillated between hard and soft throughout the day, depending on how recently guests had pawed at her or whispered dirty thoughts in her ears. Not that Dylan was getting spared either: this posture allowed their tits to dangle slightly, providing ample incentive for people to grope them; the stockings and heels accentuated the top of their legs as well, meaning more eyes than usual were drawn to their ass and cunt. By the time the crowds left, Dylan was blatantly dripping down their legs, the only sign betraying their otherwise confident smirk as the perfect hypnotist they were posed to be. Jen had thanked them shyly afterwards, and had handed over her phone number; Dylan wasn’t entirely sure when they would take her up on that offer, but knew that they would.

By the end of their contract, Dylan was almost feeling like being hypnotised into an erotic statue was a regular, humdrum activity. Logically, they knew it wasn’t - which the crowds’ reaction very much proved - but that, more than anything, was why they were happy their time as a model for Exhibit B was coming to an end: so that this experience would remain special. Carmine had agreed, and the two of them had decided on a new pose for their final outing. The two of them were locked together in a passionate embrace, Dylan balancing on their toes (and hidden supports) to meet Carmine’s lips in a deep kiss. Their naked bodies were pressed close together, concealing their tits and cunts; by that metric, it was their most modest pose, but by any other, it was anything but. Their hands had clearly been wandering before they were frozen: each had a hand on the other’s butt, Dylan’s other hand was snaking, hidden, between their bodies, and Carmine had reached out to possessively grab the back of Dylan’s head, pushing their faces together. Their faces were caught in almost debaucherous expressions, and their thighs were slickened even before people started toying with them. And toy they did, as the couple had decided to almost entirely rid themselves of boundaries for their last dance here. Dylan was groped and fondled, kissed and licked, spanked and pinched; people wrapped their hands around their neck and pushed their fingers into their holes and dug their nails into their yielding flesh, and then came back for seconds on Carmine; they whispered every filthy sentence imaginable into their ears; a moving symphony of curiosity and lust and desire and pleasure; and perhaps, Dylan wondered, this - the interaction between guest and statue - was the real art all along.

And then the guests left, the lights went out, Vanessa called for them to unfreeze, and the two of them collapsed to the floor, still locked in each other’s embrace.