The Sculpture Garden 1

"Champagne, sir?"

Reg was startled. He had been taking in his first glimpse of Mr. Clifford's legendary sculpture garden. Each beautiful sculpture was tastefully lit from below with recessed lighting, and it was also a fairly clear night, with a full moon only occasionally buffeted by clouds. The effect was... astonishing; intoxicating.

What was almost equally astonishing was the pretty brunette hostess who had stepped up to him. She had long, straight brown hair down to her shoulder blades. Her breasts were prettily pert and had to be perfect 34Bs. Reg could easily tell, because all the pretty lady was wearing was a tiny, frilly white apron that barely covered her in front.

Oh. As he looked down to take in her long, slender legs, Reg did see that she was also wearing white, very spiky high heels.

He took the glass. Was he supposed to say something? Acknowledge her awesomely bared beauty?

After much deliberation: "Thank you."

A knowing smile: "You're very welcome."

That smile was knowing in that she knew, as soon as she turned and strolled away, that Reg's eyes would devour her perfect, and perfectly bare, bubbled butt.

"Enjoying yourself already?"

"Mr. Clifford!" Reg nearly spilled his drink. He had been temporarily mesmerized by the brunette's winking pair of rear dimples. Clifford, like all of the male guests, was nattily attired a la Gatsby in a crisp white tux.

"Clark," he replied. "Please! My new consultant who saved me millions in just one month... no more 'Mr. Clifford!'"

"Clark." Reg tried it out. He was now calling this legendary billionaire entrepreneur and slayer of international conglomerates "Clark."

Speaking of legendary...

"I've heard about your parties..."

Clark smiled. "And you thought you were hearing rumors; exaggerations."

Reg tilted his head toward two other breasts and bottoms-out hostesses, who were briefly laughing and conferring nearby.

"I can see... some of the rumors were true!"

Clark looked proud. "Each one is 34B, within half an inch. Each one is 5' 6 1/2", also within half an inch. Each party has a theme: last one was 5' 5" blondes with 36Ds, and the clothes color theme was black."

Reg again didn't know what to say.

"Amazing," he risked.

Clark grinned and clapped Reg on the back. That action was to become a recurring one.

"Let me take you on the grand tour... my sculptures for tonight."

Reg briefly considered "Clark's" appearance. He was as solidly built as an ex-linebacker. Mid-fifties with such close-cropped salt and pepper hair that he looked flat on top.

But it was his ever-smiling, surprisingly pleasant face that was his winning feature. Here was the face of a kindly uncle or your best friend's dad; an older mentor who was ready to show a younger man the ways of the world.

It was not the face of a man who wrecked companies as he raked in millions by picking up the pieces.

Clark showed Reg into a central area with stone benches surrounding a fountain. He directed him to look up.

"Sculpture number one."

The blonde was formidable. That was the first word that came to Reg's mind. Her hair was so light it looked silver under the moon. She had her hands on her hips and her legs boldly open. Like all of Clark's "sculptures," she was of course totally nude.

The pedestal she was standing on was about three feet high, and designed to look like an ancient, weathered castle turret.

Diffuse white light also softly emenated upward from a hidden recess. The combination of the white glow from below, with the moonbeams from above...

"My goodness... incredible." She was only the first of five live nude females, all carefully posed works of art. Reg was going to quickly run out of superlatives.

"Take a good look; all of my objects d'art are up for bid."

Reg stood still and looked up--but this naked vision was beating him in the stillness act. She was breathing so slowly, and her deep violet eyes rarely blinked.

Her breasts were nice and firm... the omnipresent 34Bs? Her stomach was very flat with just a hint of musculature. Her pubes were totally shaved--but all Reg could see in the muted light was an enticing, long dark crease.

The blonde's powerful-looking legs were appropriately sculpted. Again, not overly muscular, but extremely shapely. Reg would not mind that long pair of legs wrapped around him.

Clark picked up one of several ornately printed white cards between the nude's bare feet. He read:

"'Britt spent four years in the Air Force and still keeps herself in great shape. She is now a very successful web designer. She loves jogging, swimming, and dancing up a storm.'"

He stopped. "Can you guess her secret sexual fantasy? Hint: her pose holds all the clues."

Reg considered. There was not one part of this impressively bare body he could take his eyes off.

He free-associated.

"Power; control."

"Excellent!" The back slap again.

"Our Miss Britt desires to totally control a man; to treat him as a worthless sex object; to use him and then discard him."

Reg thought he saw Britt briefly lick her lips. He wasn't sure. She was that good.

"Put in a bid if you're into it--or if you'd like to try it. You'll have ninety minutes with her... or rather: she'll have you."

As Clark directed him clockwise, Reg took in the other guests. There were two male and female couples, one solitary female, and four other men. All of the men were white-tuxed; the ladies all wore ridiculously short--and often slit all the way up to bare hips--white cocktail dresses.

Clark led him to his second living sculpture. Once again, Reg's breath was taken away.

Here stood a tall, leggy, and remarkably big-breasted young lady for her slender form.

Sculpture Number Two had jet-black hair straight down to her tiny waist. She was looking down, seemingly at her open-legged nakedness with a look that was both shy and excited.

Number two's breasts had to be 36Ds. With her tiny waist and slim hips, they captured the eyes. In the diffused light, her button nipples looked almost transparent: her areolae, though quite large, were a very light, barely there pink.

Reg tore his eyes away from her breasts and downward. Her pubic hair was as straight and as silky as the hair streaming down from her head. He looked closer. Not only was her lower hairdo shining, it appeared to have been parted to display her puffy, bulging out labia.

"Is that... is she...?"

Clark laughed. "We do properly prepare our artworks. In Callisa's case, we did apply essential oils, and combed things out to more attractively display her inner beauty."

Clark made a show of peering intently between the young, naked girl's legs.

"But, I can't say at this point whether or not those lubricants are all our oils!"

Reg saw the girl gulp. Number Two was not doing as good a job as Number One in playing statue. Her breathing was not as slow and her eyes kept blinking rapidly.

Clark grabbed one of her cards. Instead of reading word for word, he summarized.

"Callisa is twenty. She's a junior with a major in philosophy. She loves both cooking new dishes as well as fine dining."

He turned to Reg.

"Let's continue playing 'guess the fantasy.'"

Reg studied the busty, nude young beauty's stance.

"She's shy but excited about being nude in front of someone. She's looking down but she's also trying to keep her tongue out a little between her lips."

"Good, very good." Clifford sounded impressed. "All art should invoke emotions--especially the greatest work of art of all, the nude female body.

"I'm seriously thinking of making you a member of my special selection team."

Reg got quiet. Did he mean the team that selected--and then thoroughly inspected--the next crop of potential naked sculptures?

He had been only mildly hard up to now--now he was starting to get uncomfortable.

"Miss Callisa is twenty," Clark was now working from memory. "She's a junior with a major in Philosophy. Her professor is a good friend. He has an eye for recognizing true potential.

"Callisa's fantasy is not untypical. She wants to play the naughty schoolgirl; perhaps brought into the principal's office to be disciplined... starting with a bare-ass spanking."

Now Reg was licking his own lips.

"Take her card. We provide all appropriate costumes for the most common fantasies. It will occur in one of our bedrooms, so you will both need to use some imagination.

"Let's move on."

Reg noticed that Clifford's impromptu tour had acquired a small following: one of the couples and two of the solitary men. The other guests were milling around on their own, taking their time in observing and absorbing the beauty of each naked work of art.

Clark seemed grateful that he had attracted a small following. He was a showman at heart. He still addressed Reg, but now he raised his voice slightly.

"Number Three."

Reg swallowed. Number Three was... something. If Number One was in great shape; Number Three was an athlete.

The dark blonde had shoulder length hair. She was crouching back on her heels, with her legs wider open than any of the prior sculptures. Her open pussy was pointed at him, so Reg took stock.

Three was totally shaved and smooth as silk in the soft light. Her inner labia were long and straight and non-curled. Hers was the first obvious and visible clitoris and vaginal opening to be seen.

Reg's gaze moved up. Three's stomach was at least a four-pack. He had never much gone for muscular women, but this one's body was a near-perfect combination of taut lines and feminine curves.

Her breasts were small, but her nipples looked to be extremely hard and pointy. Her areolae were just outlines of red around those nipples.

Three's face was unexpectedly lovely. Hers was the face of an actress or a model, with her pursed lips in a wry smile, her eyes a piercing blue-violet.

Reg regarded her powerful legs last. From her hips on down to her feet, her legs were unleashed coils of muscle.

He strode around the back to peruse her firm buttocks.

Clifford shrugged off his depature from the unofficial group.

"What is Jana's pose telling us?"

The husband (?) responded. "She's crouched and coiled up but ready to spring."

"Very good! Jana; thirty-five, is a very successful fashion designer and beauty consultant. She is a water baby, loving swimming, surfing and snorkeling. Her secret fantasy is to be the naked hunted in a game in which the male hunter--if he captures her--uses his penis instead of a spear to pin her to the ground."

"Wow." Reg had rejoined them.

"You like her? Make a sizable donation to her cherished cause and she's yours to chase nude through my estate."

Reg was quiet.

By now the informal tour group had grown. The other couple and the single woman had joined them.

Number Four was the only sculpture turned away from the central fountain. She was bent over at the waist. Her substantial ass was not only pointed center, her hands were opening up her big buttcheeks.

"Well."

"Oh my."

Those were the non-Reg comments. He was silent as he walked around her. He had no interest in her asshole. He wanted to see her face but her head was down, her eyes were scrunched shut. She looked to have very artificial, shiny red hair, and her mascara was running. Her tits were simply hanging down; her stomach flabby.

Clifford dove in.

"Debra admittedly looks much more attractive when she's squeezed into some tight clothes at a society function.

"But here: she is stripped naked for us, and only for us. Debra is forty-nine, and is married to a rather prominent individual. We've altered her appearance as best we can. Her fantasy... anyone?"

Reg was ready for Clark to ask "Bueller?"

"She wants to be fucked up the ass."

All turned to the female voice. It was the golden blonde single woman. Hers was perhaps the longest of the extreme micro mini cocktail dresses. There was something elegant and refined about her. Her age was could have been mid-thirties to mid-forties.

"Of course." Clark only hesitated a second or two. "Give her the donations she dreams of--and the forbidden sexual act she so desires. She can be yours tonight."

He looked to the golden blonde.

"Anyone can have her... if they're prepared."

Reg saw the woman nod slightly.

Debra was rather shaky. Her thick thighs were shaking; her hands seemed to be straining in their grip of her bared flesh.

Reg suddenly noticed that her rudely open cheeks displayed no brown star. So, she had her her anal opening made up.

Who was that lucky makeup artist?

They left Number Four.

The golden blonde lingered behind.

"Number Five: two for the price of one. Well. Not really! We will expect a proportional bid."

There were actual gasps. The individual sculptures were placed apart just so... and in the muted light, they were shadowy shapes until close up.

Sculpture Number Five consisted of two nude women. They were embracing each other and staring out, fearfully. One was older with short, bleached blonde hair; the other had long brown hair. Both had strikingly beautiful faces.

Although they were touching hip to hip, their bodies were still facing center. Both women probably tied as having the flattest pancake chests on display tonight. The older woman--in her forties?--looked the largest, although that was probably due to gravity tugging down what little she had.

The younger nude beauty--early twenties?--had only dark red protruding knobs that indicated where her breasts should go.

Both were pleasantly slender. Reg's gaze went to their hips; their mounds...

"Mother/daughter," he announced.

Clark looked immensely pleased. "Tell me how you knew. Don't think--just tell me."

Deep breath in and out: "Their hip structure... the bones, the strong upper thighs... how both of their mounds are so out there--well-defined and prominent."

Clifford paused. "You are now part of my selection and inspection team," he stated quietly.

Reg knew what that meant. Selected likely candidates, talking them into undressing, then having them pose as they revealed not only their naked bodies but their darkest secrets.

He shifted his stance, uncomfortably. He had to look away. It wouldn't do to demonstrate his excitement by making a mess!

Clark turned to his audience. "You heard him. This young man instinctively noticed what I believe primitive man required to be inspected before he mated. Yes: he evaluated these females most sexually desirable attributes; their ability to be successfully mated, and to deliver an infant."

Clifford sighed theatrically. "Kathleen, forty-four, actually sought me out as a challenge. Many women do. They hear about my parties and they can't believe it.

"She is the behind-the-scenes power at a major charitable org. She arranges fundraisers, chats up donors, etc. Kathleen came to me:

'Will you step up and save my most distressed charities?'

'Yes.'

'Don't you need to see the financials?'

'No.'

'What do you want me to do?'

"I had her clothes half off when her daughter burst in. The usual scene. Then I offered to double my commitments--as well as help out the daughter--in any way except directly financially.

"A woman's clothing is her shield, her barrier. It doesn't matter how little they're wearing; how exposed they seem to be. Getting a woman's clothes off is more than half the battle--it is 99% of the battle! Without their shields, they eventually crumble. The woman crumbles--or--the woman that she thought she was crumbles away. I take the remains. Then: they become so malleable. They become the female flesh that I mold in any way I want; the flesh display that you see here today."

Reg was impressed with that speech. He was also happy it gave him time to 'down-think' his throbbing erection.

But: Clifford hadn't even gotten into the naked pair's shared fantasy.

He read his mind.

"It's a common fantasy. These two are kidnapped and forced into a basement slash dungeon by a sexual sadist. They have been forcibly stripped... now they are awaiting their captor's first instructions."

Two of the single men had been quietly conferring. "May we combine our resources, and bid as one?"

Clark nodded. He looked at the two nudes. "Two men... in complete control of their naked bodies. Excellent!"

Reg saw that it was difficult for two nude women to attempt to synchronize, much less control their breathing. They obviously heard Clifford's pronouncement. They were leaning on each other ever more to try to control their trembling.

Clark Clifford glanced at his Swiss timepiece. He stood up straight.

"Your attention." It was said loud enough to receive everyone's attention.

"You may start making your bids now. Plain white cards and pens are between each living sculpture's feet. Your monies are going to their favorite causes; their pet projects. Not to them.

"Highest bidder for each fulfills each dear lady's fantasy; in private for ninety minutes. You may bid on more than one sculpture, but you will not be permitted to take on more than one. Ties and multiple winning bids will be awarded randomly.

"Everything is permissible except causing permanent harm.

"Begin."

Reg wandered around, as he saw others doing. Like them, he only pretended to bid on some sculptures.

He knew which one he wanted. He bid for her outrageously.

Clifford had everyone gather on the long, wide first step leading up to his palatial estate. Suddenly, five men materialized out of the darkness. All were dressed in black jeans and black pullovers. They were part of Clark Clifford's security team; Reg recognized some of them.

They each had canvas bags over their shoulders and were carrying what looked like folded metal chairs.

Each of the men led one of the nearly nude hostesses to one of the sculptures. The men all looked up between each sculpture's legs as they retrieved the bid cards.

They rested what Reg could see were step stools against each pedestal as they began the count. One of the men held a clipboard. When he was done with his count, he went around, conferring with the others.

Finally, all ten staff members and hostesses assembled in front of the fountain. Clipboard man handed it off to the nearest topless girl.

He nodded.

She bit her lip as she walked forward to Mr. Clifford. Reg recognized her as the beauty who had offered him his glass.

"The results are final?"

"Yes sir." More lip biting and licking as she handed off the clipboard. She stared at the ground.

"Turn around," Clark ordered.

She complied immediately. One step down, and now warmly lit by the lights from the house, all had an excellent view of her firm, bare buttocks that begged to be gently cupped.

Clark cleared his throat.

"Sculpture Number One: won by Mr. S."

Immediately one of dark men opened up the stepstool. He reached out and carefully helped Miss Britt down. Once her feet hit the ground, her hands were pulled roughly behind her. Those hands were quickly restrained in silver handcuffs. A silver necklace with a dangling key was placed around the helplessly naked girl's pretty neck... then a black hood was forced over her head.

The security man brought Britt up to and in front of the last man on the left. He turned her away from the gentleman and instructed the lucky winner to grasp her by her cuffs.

The gentleman looked dazed--especially as he must have known that everyone was now very much aware of his own dark fantasy.

Reg turned to Clark. "Why all of the..."

"...BDSM bullshit?" Clark finished for him. "The handcuffs are to keep them from covering their naked beauty. The hoods are to prevent them from being distracted--as with horses at the gate. The hoods must be removed when their fantasy begins. The cuffs are at the discretion of the winner."