Modern Art

Pauline didn't care about art, sports, movies or any other distraction, She enjoyed herself, the pleasures that came from being her and what she could take from others. However when she was getting something that was lavish for free she would make exceptions.

So when the glossy invitation had landed on her desk for the opening of Kinetic Flesh: An Interactive Exhibition, she had accepted without hesitation. Not because she liked modern art, most of it struck her as the drool of idiots **** to call their confusion profound but because she could walk into the gallery, buy the most talked-about piece, and take it away simply because she wanted to. She didn't care what the piece would mean only that she deprived it from others.

She dressed accordingly.

The gown as a deep red silk that clung to her body, it was low cut so that men would struggle not to look at her, she wore no bra, her areola and nipples pushing against the fabric, the dress was tight against her ass so even a string thong would be visible, so she went without, enjoying the freedom that being almost naked in public provided her. On her feet, black stilettos, giving her more inches on her already tall frame.

When she entered the gallery, heads turned but Pauline ignored them there was no-one here suitable for her attention. She took a glass of champagne from a server and sipped it, she was pleasantly surprised that it was palatable.

She walked through the room ignoring most of the pedestrian excuses for art until she saw it.

looming at ten feet high, a twisted structure of steel, resin, and leather. Shapes bulged and bent, curves that suggested bodies trapped within. A sign in front read:

PLEASE TOUCH.

ALL PARTS ARE INTERACTIVE.

Pauline smirked. How perfectly vulgar. How delightfully ****. It was grotesque, she lay a hand against a fake breasts and squeezed, thinking that her own were far superior. She began to walk away but there was something about the sculpture that made her want to touch it more, she walked around the collection of body parts inlayed in various states of arousal and touched it, she was aware that other patrons were also touching it and she felt a wave of anger, "this should be mine, they are enjoying it too much"

Pauline sneered and approached, an part of the sculpture that looked familiar, the breasts and pubic mound were attractive, one of her scarlet nail dragging across the sculpture’s hip bone. The material quivered beneath her touch and a small drop of blood appeared.

And then—

The lights cut out.

The gallery plunged into black. A murmur rose from the crowd. Pauline blinked, poised, waiting for some tedious artist’s stunt. But the floor tilted beneath her, the air shifted, and suddenly, she was falling.

Her breath tore out of her as she struck something slick, warm, enclosing. The silk gown slid from her shoulders, vanishing into the dark. Hands scrabbled, silk thong the only thing left between her and complete nakedness.

Then light.

Not the gallery’s cool spotlights, but a low, red glow, pulsing from within the sculpture itself. Pauline gasped. She was inside it.

Her arms pinned to her side, her torso thrust forward through a smooth aperture. Her breasts jutted into the open air, held in place by leather and bonds, her nipples hard and obscene. Her legs were **** apart exposing her cunt, her face was inside the sculpture but she could breath easily, the saw the outline of the other patrons completely unaware that she was within and hear their pathetic conversations.

Pauline tried to move her arms and legs but were held in place, immobile and enveloped, all she was now was a naked torso open and available to all who wanted to experience her.

And outside—

The patrons laughed.

“My God,” a woman said, voice shrill with champagne. “They look so real.”

A man’s voice, closer: “They’re perfect. Look—responsive, too.”

Fingers brushed her nipple. Pauline hissed, jerking, but the sculpture held her fast. Another hand followed, pinching, rolling the swollen bud until it stood like glass. Applause, laughter.

“Responsive,” the man repeated, delighted.

More hands. A palm cupping her breast, squeezing hard. Fingertips tracing the pale swell, nails raking down until she shuddered despite herself. Someone slapped her tit, the sound sharp, the ripple visible.

“Interactive indeed,” a voice chuckled.

Pauline’s cheeks burned crimson. Rage and arousal warred in her chest, each stroke of anonymous hands driving the shame deeper. She wanted to spit at them, to remind them who she was. She wanted to command the sculpture to release her, to walk away clothed in triumph.

But her body betrayed her.

Her nipples strained under their touch, swollen and aching. Her clit hardened and when touched by an enthusiastic female she felt the head of excitement, she let out a sound—half-gasp, half-groan—that made the crowd murmur with glee.

“Its so immersive and real,” someone said. “Look at it squirm, if you push your fingers in it feels like a real woman's cunt.”

Pauline squeezed her eyes shut, grinding her teeth. How dare these plebs touch her, no one was allowed to do that to me but me.

Hands groped her breasts, pulled at her nipples, stroked her belly. more fingers pushed into her hole, one hand slip under and she felt pressure against her asshole, his cuff grazing her clit making her whimpered in spite of herself.

“Real enough,” a voice whispered close to her ear. “Real and wet.”

She heard a man ask how much to fuck it, and she gasped as he pushed two thick fingers into her pussy.

At last—the sculpture shuddered. Released her.

She tumbled free, scrambling, snatching up the gown from the floor. She pressed it to her chest, covering her breasts, the crowd parted, and most thought it was part of the art, Pauline ran trying to ignoring the laughter, the clapping, the whispers. Her heels clattered as she ran from the gallery, scarlet silk clutched to her trembling body.

Outside she pulled her dress down trying to regain her breath, her cunt still throbbing with the memory of too many hands.

She hailed a taxi and was quickly home.