Statuesque

Note: This story is set in the same world as (though not directly related to) another of my other stories, DiaboliCon 2048!

_____

As a critic, Claire Pemberton had long been comfortable making enemies with Metrocity's artistic elite. Where others saw brilliance, she saw shallow, hackish, derivative bullshit, and she had never been afraid to call it out. That rarely gained her access to early previews - Her name had become so synonymous with scathing critique that the Gazette was rarely allowed to gallery press events anymore. So be it. If she had to get her review out the day after opening day after buying a ticket like any regular patron, so be it.

And yet here she was, waiting in the lobby of the Holloway Center for Contemporary Art for a private tour, a day before Curator Alessia Stone's latest exhibition was due to open. A bold thing, too, to so openly advertise artworks that would undoubtedly be worth a small fortune, regardless of Claire's opinion, in the middle of an unprecedented crime spree from the supervillains of the city.

But that was none of her concern right now. Instead, she pulled out her notepad and scribbled down "Stone late as usual. Incompetent at running a gallery?" and smirked. Her readers loved it when she got personal. Still, it was odd that nobody else was here for the preview. She looked down at her watch. Had she got the right time...?

"Ms. Pemberton, darling! Always a pleasure!" Claire was caught off guard at the sharp call across the lobby. Alessia Stone was a tall woman with sharp features. As she crossed the foyer, her long, white dress flowed behind her, and once she was closer, Claire could see she was wearing a golden wreath on her head. A little unusual, but the critic was used to dealing with eccentrics in the art world, and it was far from the strangest fashion choice she had seen that week alone.

"Curator Stone. I was almost beginning to think you wouldn't turn up," Claire said as she shook her hand. "I must say, I'm surprised you invited me. Not many would be brave enough to do that after my review of your last exhibition. It's quite admirable, if you ask me, but don't expect me to go any easier on you just for giving me a private showing."

The curator chuckled as she placed an arm around Claire's shoulder, leading her towards Exhibition Hall A. "Oh, come now. I wouldn't expect any less. You know, your little screed actually brought far more attention than a lukewarm review ever would have. It was the Center's most successful showing in a long time. I suppose people wanted to see what all the fuss was about, and let me tell you, darling, most people simply

adored

it when they saw it themselves."

Claire ground her teeth together silently. Not the effect she had hoped. She had called it a disparate series of paintings that lacked a cohesive vision or any meaningful commentary. She had saved her harshest words for Stone's own contributions to the collection. "Still. I see you've taken my criticism to heart." She nodded to the screen next to the archway into the Exhibition Hall.

Skin Deep

, it said. The same title Claire had used for her review. It was followed by the subtitle,

The Female Form in Sculpture by Alessia Stone

.

Stone chuckled as she opened the red rope cordoning the section of the gallery off. "Oh, yes. I was inspired, in fact. You were right, in a way. I do so adore painting, but it's not where I shine, and so I wanted to get back to my roots. Statuary and sculpture."

As Claire entered, she found herself in a long hall filled with statues of women, mostly naked, with many of them in lewd poses. She scoffed. "This is what you've been working on? Some pornographic display? I-..."

"Please, darling. Take it in and let yourself appreciate it before reacting with the first thing that comes into your head." The curator placed her arm around her and led her up to the first statue, a piece called

Isabella Greene

, according to the screen before it. Carved from marble, the woman was bent over, her hand in front of her mouth as if she were blowing a kiss. Claire stepped forward, leaning in closely. She had to admit, the craftsmanship was incredible... The texture of the marble looked as if it would gently give to touch, like real flesh.

"I..." The critic was loathe to compliment the artist's work - It simply wasn't in her nature. "There's technical competence here, Curator, but to what purpose? As a classical piece, perhaps this might be of interest if it weren't for the pose, but it lacks the commentary that the work displayed in other galleries so often provides. As with your paintings, I find it utterly devoid of meaning."

Stone paused a moment, inhaling sharply. She stepped forward, past the rope that surrounded the statue, and up to the pedestal. "Is the beauty of a woman's body not enough for you, Ms. Pemberton?" The artist let her fingers trail along the marble and slowly slid her hand around the statue's waist. The way she held it made it almost seem as if it were a lover she was about to pull in close. She slowly bent down and placed a kiss on the top of the statue's head. Claire frowned a little at the bizarre display.

"It has nothing to do with that, Curator, and has everything to do with how shallow it all is." She walked over to the next piece, and Stone soon followed.

Anonymous Couple

: A pair of women, locked in an embrace, these were carved to look more akin to store mannequins than the marble statue. Looking close, it was impressive how their lips locked together, the realism of the tender touch with one held the other. "This one, for instance. Some hollow commentary on pinkwashing in advertising, I suspect? Some empty platitude about the commodification of love?"

"These two... The models, that is... Are a couple who worked for a fashion company for 30 years, and yet had never felt able to announce their relationship to the world." Stone hopped up and placed an arm around both their shoulders. "Now their love is immortalised. Perhaps your cynicism doesn't allow you to think so, but I'm sure many will find it beautiful."

Claire let out a low grumble under her breath. The two continued through the exhibition, with the critic finding flaws in every piece. All the while, she kept how impressed she was at the clear technical mastery in all manner of materials to herself. The hall had sculptures made from cast iron, clay, stone, and even glass, each rendering women in greater detail than any other artist she had ever seen. She didn't even realise it was possible to get such realistic-looking figures from many of the materials. Still, she found something to nitpick in every single one, and as the tour went on, Stone eventually stopped even dignifying her with a response.

As the two reached the end of Exhibition Hall A, they came to an empty plinth, with pride of place. "Missing a piece, this close to opening? I sure hope nobody stole it," Claire teased. "Has the vaunted security of HCCA fallen?" She approached and looked down at the screen before it.

A Guest of Honor

, it announced the title of the piece. The critic chuckled and pushed up her glasses. "Hrmph. Looks like even this guest didn't want to turn up to..." She gasped as she felt a sharp jab in the back of her neck, finding her body going limp in the curator's arms.

Slowly withdrawing a needle, Stone whispered. "On the contrary, darling. She's just arrived."

_____

Claire awoke with a pounding headache. She was in a dark room, sitting in a chair, with a blinding spotlight above her. It was hard to make out, but it almost seemed as though she was in an artist's studio. "What did... Where...?" She groaned. Try as she might, she couldn't move her limbs, but when she looked down, she found they weren't even bound. "Hey... HEY!" She called out.

"Ah, good. You're awake. It's always more fun to work with a conscious model," Stone's voice spoke from the shadows with a chuckle. "I feel it always makes for a more dynamic final result."

"You?" The critic was furious. "What the fuck is wrong with you? All this over a few mean reviews? I should..."

"Oh, please, darling. I've had a million bad reviews in my life, and a million good ones. An artist must be able to weather criticism. But you... You are simply

rude

." Stone stepped forward from the shadows, looking quite different from how she had earlier. Her whole body had taken on the pure white colour and texture of marble, including her hair and clothes. Her eyes were perfectly smooth with no pupils, like a Roman statue. Even the dress she wore looked more like a stola. As she approached, she caressed Claire's cheek, her body the cold temperature of stone.

"You... I..." Claire's eyes widened. No wonder no supervillains had attacked the museum. It was being run by one of their own. "You're..."

"Statuesque?" the curator replied with a cruel chuckle. "Why, I suppose I am, in

many

senses of the word, darling."

The critic gulped and panicked. If Alessia Stone was Statuesque, then that would make all the sculptures out there... "Please, you... I can't... I wouldn't be good for..."

Statuesque gently hushed her, and Claire found her lips fixing into place, as impossible to part as a statue's. "There, there, Ms. Pemberton. You're already part of my vision. And once I'm done with you, you won't need to speak. My art speaks for itself." She reached over to a table full of tools and grabbed a pair of scissors, silently cutting away Claire's clothes until she was left sitting naked. "You see, if my art

is

as skin deep as you say it is, then I'm sure none of that inner ugliness will matter if you can't let it out, will it?"

The villainess took a step back, looking at the critic as if she were material to carve beauty from rather than a person. She lifted the critic to her feet, and she was no longer frozen in place, Claire found it impossible to move her body herself. Statuesque manipulated her into several poses, stepping back and examining each one, before finally settling on an arabesque ballet pose - Standing on one leg, the other stretched upwards in a manner Claire would never normally be flexible enough to manage, with arms held for balance.

"Perfect." She muttered to herself. Claire couldn't help but feel incredibly exposed, her cheeks flushing red. In this position, there was absolutely nothing to cover her nether regions. The artist grinned, trailing her hand along her curves until they reached her lower lips, gently brushing the cool tips of her fingers against them. She made it obvious the pose was intentional.

"And now for the material... I wonder..." She walked around to Claire's face and stared directly into her eyes as she placed a hand on her cheek. "Marble? The obvious choice..." The critic felt the cold touch of Statuesque's fingers spread deep into her cheek as her flesh began to harden, becoming heavy. "Perhaps something more unusual. People are often impressed by my glasswork..." Placing her other hand on Claire's cheek, she felt the other side of her cheek burn red hot and glow, slowly cooling until it was fragile and transparent.

"No, not for now, at least... I have something better in mind..." She rubbed her hand across the critic's skin and once more it was flesh. Statuesque stepped into the shadows and returned with a bucket of a thick, black, viscous substance. "A very special formulation of liquid latex of my own concoction... I've never had the chance to use it before, but I'm always eager to try new materials..." She placed the bucket at her feet and scooped up a large glob. She trailed a finger from her empty hand over Claire's lips and once more, they were unfrozen.

Before she could say anything, Statuesque grabbed her jaw and forced her mouth open. Lifting her hand, she let the goo drip into the critic's mouth. Unable to move away, Claire was forced to let the bitter substance sit in her mouth. She refused to swallow. "Come, now, darling. Be a good canvas for me and let the artist mould you to her vision." Statuesque pinched Claire's nose, forcing a desperate little squeak from her. As best she could hold her breath, she soon had no choice but to swallow, inhaling plenty at the same time. She coughed and spluttered as the substance clung to her throat and windpipe on the way down. She was surprised to find that she wasn't suffocating. In fact, she didn't seem to need to breathe at all anymore.

"Perfect. Now, from now on, I want you to stay still as a statue..." The curator whispered. Claire found herself unable to move even the tiniest part of her body. Her pulse felt as if it were at a standstill. She couldn't even move her eyes to look around. Instead, she could merely stare forward as she felt Statuesque's hands begin to slowly work along her skin, scooping up the liquid and layering on a generous amount. Her touch was swift and skilful, quickly working to not just coat the critic in latex, but smooth out every imperfection. Her whole back was coated, then her stomach too. Statuesque was quick to catch every drip, making sure none fell to the floor.

"I certainly hope being one of my sculptures won't bore you, but I do always find one of these helps keep my art entertained..." Statuesque walked around and ran a finger along Claire's lower folds. The critic felt a small egg vibrator being pushed inside and turned on. She felt waves of pleasure radiating through her body. The fact that she couldn't moan, couldn't whimper, couldn't even tense her muscles only enhanced the sensation. "Don't worry. It has a VERY long battery life." The artist reached into the bucket of goo and slowly rubbed it over the critic's pussy, her fingers teasing up and down until it was sealed with latex.

Running her hands over her breasts and up towards her neck, the curator soon reached Claire's face. She leaned in and placed a kiss on her lips, her own hard and uncomfortable to the touch. "And now, for the last part." She picked up the bucket and poured it over the critic's head, engulfing her in the thick liquid, and cutting off Claire's sight. "Beautiful..." She could just about hear Statuesque say as she felt her fingers slowly smooth the substance over her, through her hair. Her face was left anonymous and blank.

It was hard to tell what happened after that. Based on the feeling, it seemed as if the artist brought out her tools and began working on her, sculpting additional details and features into the second skin that engulfed her body. She felt hands moving over the rest of her, and perhaps some sort of cloth. Claire assumed she was being polished to a perfect, glistening sheen. None of it mattered, as helpless as she was, and the vibrations were only making her mind hazier and hazier. Eventually, she felt herself being moved. She had presumably been placed in Exhibition Hall A. Left all alone, in the quiet of the gallery at night, she felt the vibrator force her into a silent climax, helpless to resist its pleasure.

_____

Poppy Waters awkwardly stood around, watching smartly dressed patrons of the arts wander the gallery.

Skin Deep

had been a rousing success. Claire Pemberton had sent in a glowing review to her editor at the Gazette after a personal tour shortly before sending in her resignation. The public had figured that if the harshest critic in the city enjoyed it, the exhibition must be something truly special.

As a recently appointed Junior Arts Reporter at the Metrocity Gazette herself, Poppy had earned a ticket to cover the auction on the exhibition's closing night. Well, earned may have been an exaggeration - She had pestered the Arts Editor, telling him it would make for a great story to follow up on Claire's review. When he had said no, she had gone over his head and begged the Editor-in-Chief. Somehow, she had managed to get her on the guest list.

Still, being in the company of high society was still a novel experience, and she felt underdressed compared to everyone else in the little black dress she wore on nights out with friends. Even more, she couldn't help but feel there was something uncanny about the statues and sculptures, looking so lifelike it almost seemed as though they were about to move, and so shamelessly made to look sexual and lewd. There was one in particular she had avoided, near the stage at the far end of the hall. It looked more like a person in some sort of gimp suit than a sculpture, and she was convinced that if she walked near it, someone hiding inside would jump at her.

She had spent the evening wandering the hall, talking to the occasional person who took interest. Several of them were well-known figures in the city's arts community, and a couple were curators from other museums who talked about how fortunate they were to have avoided any thefts. While Poppy didn't have the opportunity to talk to the Curator herself, she did manage to overhear her talk about the models for each sculpture to each person who asked. Strangely, she focused very little on the statues themselves. Perhaps Curator Stone's work was best understood by knowing who it was about, Poppy thought.

The auction was unlike anything she had ever been to, held at the far end of the hall. Ludicrous amounts of money were offered for every piece. A short man in a suit with incredibly long coattails brought a glass sculpture. A woman in a purple pantsuit and sunglasses purchased one made from marble. And with each sale, Curator Stone, sitting near the front, visibly beamed. At the end, she got up on stage and spoke. Poppy hurried and pulled out her phone to record her speaking.

"Fellow artists, esteemed colleagues, and favoured guests. As always, I am blown away by your generosity. I assure you, every penny spent here will go towards the important cultural work we do here at the Center. Now, more than ever, it's essential to have a safe, secure arts scene in this city. 2049 has been a difficult year for many, but Holloway has been fortunate enough to stay from the dastardly villains that seem to haunt every corner of Metrocity." She winked, and the audience gave a little chuckle. Poppy looked around, uncertain about what the joke was. "As many of you are likely aware, my work in

Skin Deep

was inspired by one particular critic, who you will have no doubt noticed has been awfully quiet the past month. In fact, she was last heard of when she gave a deeply favourable review of this very exhibition, after a private tour.

"You may have also noticed that one piece in the collection,

A Guest of Honor

, was not up for auction tonight. That would be because I have decided to keep it for myself." She motioned off-stage and a pair of assistants brought up a sculpture. Poppy squirmed in her seat as she stared at the latex figure, posed in what would undoubtedly be a deeply compromising position if it were a real naked person. Unlike all other sculptures in the exhibition, it lacked the incredibly detailed face, instead having an anonymous, blank look with all features smoothed out. It had been the one piece that Stone had refused to talk about during the evening when asked.

"Nevertheless, I feel as though many of my fellow artists here would be interested in seeing the truth behind it, given their experience with its subject." One of the assistants walked up and handed her a sharpened palette knife. She approached the sculpture, scored the latex along its back and slowly peeled it off. Poppy's eyes widened in shock as she saw flesh, and then audibly gasped as she saw someone she recognised, frozen in position. "My latest piece, my guest of honour... Claire Pemberton!" The crowd applauded. The curator bent down and kissed the woman on the lips, and her body collapsed to the floor and began desperately masturbating. The rest of the audience gave a mocking laugh as the woman whimpered pitifully, seemingly unable to audibly moan. "As you can see, the poor thing has been left rather pent up."