She didn't need another statue, but for some strange reason she had sent the ambiguous advertisement. Dante answering it with a proper portfolio didn't make sense, but she didn't muse on it long. She'd learned a long time ago not to question the unusual happenings in her life. Besides, she reasoned, with their annual Fire and Ice charity event only a week away, it couldn't hurt. Closing her eyes, she envisioned Dante, his muscled body painted strikingly in the blues and whites of ice, as a centerpiece; a simple, classic pose that accentuated his defined, muscular form.
A masterful display to grace her party, but she knew his eyes, not his body, would draw the attention of her guests. No amount of body paint could distract from the haunting expression of his eyes. He'd looked at her as if he could see her most intimate fantasies and make them come true.
Taking a deep, cleansing breath, she pulled herself together. Well, he'd learn soon enough that it took more than a body built like a Roman god and an enticing smile to get into her fantasies. Other statues had tried, and they had all failed. Dante would hear about their failed attempts in the locker room, as the topic seemed to be their favorite, and maybe he'd think twice before he tried himself.
Then again, she hoped, maybe he wouldn't.
Turning away from the monitor, she forced herself not to watch him move through the studio as John gave him the grand tour. But her gaze kept going back to the screen. Dante walked with the natural stride of self-confidence, and she could tell by the creasing of his brows and the look on his face indicated he listened to his guide with sincere interest. Light conversation passed between them, and curious, she turned up the volume in time to hear Dante's shocked voice coming through the tinny speaker.
"Yoga? Why do I need to twist my body into a pretzel?” A look of panic crossed his features and it made her smile. “I'm not going to have to pose with my legs wrapped around my neck, am I?"
John didn't try to smother his laugh. “Don't worry. We use yoga to teach breathing and muscle control. The artists design the poses and choreography."
Abject horror showed on Dante's face. “Choreography? As in dancing?"
A look of longsuffering patience crossed John's features. Disappointed, she supposed, to hear the same questions—again. “No. Choreography as in movement. No matter how toned you guys are, you can't stay in the same position for hours. The yoga and precision choreography ensure you don't suffer serious injury, or pass out."
"Good point,” Dante conceded.
The men walked out of camera range, and she reluctantly turned off the monitor. Dante was proving too much of a distraction. Details had to be seen to, the caterer needed a menu, and the printer awaited her final approval of the auction program.
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Chapter Two
"Hey, Dante, the boss lady wants to speak with you."
Finally. After five days of constant workouts, classes, and training, he'd begun to think his exposé piece was going to be a bust. He wiped the sweat from his face, wrapped the towel around his neck, and made his way to Ms. Darnoud's office.
From the rumors and research, he'd expected life at the mansion as something along the lines of free-flowing alcohol, lots of the love drug ecstasy, wild orgies—in short, total hedonism. And then there were the reports of strange happenings, supposedly wrought from dark magic and Voodoo. However, he'd heard about one or two of the past parties from fellow statues, and they sounded disappointingly dull. Art connoisseurs mostly, and those elite members of society who attended for the prestige.
But excitement had been building for the annual Fire and Ice party, some big shindig celebrating the winter solstice. He didn't know his role for the party, and neither John nor anyone else would even drop a hint. Now was his chance to find out. If he couldn't charm his way to the center of the action, he'd have to find a way to sneak in or cut his losses and leave the table.
He stopped at the door and knocked. Ms. Darnoud called “Enter” before the rapping sound finished. The heavy door opened easily, like it had been helped by a breeze, and he walked into the dark office. She stood in front of her desk, silhouetted by candlelight. It had a certain, ambiance, he decided. A mystique he couldn't explain, but it drew him in like the proverbial moth, and the door closed silently behind him.
"Dante, please sit.” Her voice sounded husky, breathy, and distant, even though only a few feet separated them. The lights came on, blinding in the unexpectedness. “I just finished my meditation session.” She walked gracefully to a mini-fridge. “Would you like some water?"
The Lycra outfit she wore left nothing to his imagination, and the sight of her perfectly heart-shaped ass bent over in front of the small refrigerator hidden behind a wall panel made his mouth go bone dry. “Yeah. Water'd be good."
She straightened, handed him a cold bottle he wished he could place between his legs before he embarrassed himself, and twisted the cap off her own. She wrapped her lips around the opening and took three long swallows. The provocative sight had him imagining those wet lips swallowing his cock and sent his senses in a tailspin.
"I gather you've heard about the little soirée I'm planning?"
His throat tightened and his tongue felt thick in his mouth. “Fire and Ice, right?"
The air of sophistication and confidence she wore softened. Her posture wasn't quite as straight, and she couldn't look him in the eye. “I realize you haven't completed your probationary period, but ... well, I feel like you've worked hard and earned a pedestal at the party. Plus, I'd like you to participate in the auction."
If he didn't know better, he'd swear she fidgeted. One of the signs and symptoms of someone hiding something. His reporter instincts kicked in, and the sudden jolt of investigative adrenaline lifted the sexual fog somewhat. Several questions popped into his mind, but he started with the obvious, the mundane. “What kind of auction?"
"Art,” Ms. Darnoud answered a little too quickly, but he watched her take a deep breath, noting the slight lift of her breasts, and when she spoke again, her voice sounded calm. “It's a charity auction. I donate several pieces of art for the auction, pay all the expenses, and this year the proceeds go to the various charities still helping Katrina victims."
Stop thinking about her breasts! He finally opened his water and took a long draw from the bottle, using the time to study Ms. Darnoud. She appeared a little off her stride. A little anxious.
The auction could be a front for laundering dirty money from blackmail or any one of several illegal operations. Hell, the artwork could be stolen. He scented the biggest story of his career underneath the musky scent which lingered in the air from her workout—and the most dangerous. No way was he going to pass on the opportunity, but he simply shrugged as if it didn't matter one way or another. “Sounds like fun."
The tiny lines of tension on her forehead relaxed as she smiled and leaned against the desk. “I'll have John fill you in on the details.” Concentration showed on her face while she studied him, almost as if she could see his thoughts. The feeling unsettled him and left him feeling exposed. “It will require extra hours outside of your normal schedule. Will the overtime be a problem?"
"Not at all."
"Great. And, um, there's one other ... detail. An addendum to your contract, which allows certain activities outside our original agreement. The art from the auction can be, and often is, displayed under less stringent rules than we normally impose.” She took a deep breath. “I want to make it perfectly clear that the bidders are not paying for sexual services. However, you may be asked to participate in any number of fantasies, and suites are provided here at the mansion for those private showings. Of course, you have the option to refuse. You are in no way required to do more than pose. If it makes you uncomfortable, please let me know now so I can arrange for another statue in the auction."
Headlines flashed in his mind. Darnoud's Statues Cum to Life in Garden of Sexual Delights, and Wallets Growing in Garden District, Fertilized with Sex. It might not
be Pulitzer Prize winning journalism, but the exposé could get him closer to real investigative reporting. Hell, if a politician or two showed up at the party, he just might get there a little quicker.
Trying not to let the excitement show, he closed his eyes and took a moment to school his features. But, his imagination went into overdrive, and he thought he heard her shallow breaths, her heartbeat, smell her, like an animal scenting its mate. Opening his eyes didn't help. Tiny beads of sweat glistened against her skin, and he wanted to run his tongue over the graceful column of her neck and taste her. The craving burned through him until he felt consumed by its heat. Forgetting the auction, the story, and the sensational headlines, he stood and crossed the space between them. Aware only of the heat and his need, he pulled her tight against him and seized her mouth with his.
Her mouth, still cold from the water, did nothing to cool or quench his lust. He felt her muscles, which had been warm and loose just moments before, tense in his embrace, but he couldn't stop. Couldn't resist palming her ass and pulling her tight against his erection. Every part of his body ground against hers. Hard nipples pressed into his chest, thighs pressed together, and his cock pumped against her mound.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, her lack of response registered faintly through the sensual fog. He pulled away, a little confused at his lack of control. Trying to lighten the mood and brush it off as no big deal, he gave her a sheepish little grin. “Not impressed?"
"No."
The chilly tone of her voice and the rigid way she stood put him on the defensive, but he refused to take another step back. She hadn't invited the kiss, but she sure as hell hadn't pushed him away either. “But you're hoping someone at the auction will be."
Unabashed, her gaze traveled from his eyes to his erection. “Does this mean you're willing to participate? I'm sure you'll have plenty of bidders."
He mirrored her actions, letting his gaze move from her face to her breasts. “Anything for a good cause."
"Good. When you return to the studio, tell John I want you posed as an ice sculpture. A Roman gladiator posed in a chariot and chased by flames."
Taking her statement as a dismissal, Dante crossed the room and walked through the door without looking back. He waited a full ten seconds after leaving Ms. Darnoud's office before he allowed himself to celebrate. Hot damn! Even if the thought of standing in the middle of ice for a couple of hours in the dead of winter gave him the shivers, the story was worth it. Punching a victory fist in the air, he turned down the hallway and headed back to the training room.
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Chapter Three
Dante tried to ignore the conversations taking place around him, but it proved difficult, especially since every whispered snippet he heard contained open curiosity regarding what was hidden beneath his costume. Thankfully, the heavy make-up hid his blush as the ladies discussed his physique.
"Oh, my,” one of them whispered to another. “What a truly magnificent work of art. Such lines and definition. Oooh, I'd love to know what's hidden beneath the gladiator uniform and why Alex is hiding obviously exquisite artwork from us."
"Judging from the form, dear, I agree. Obviously exquisite. I wonder how she made him look like ice. Why, I get cold chills just looking at him."
If he were allowed to speak, he could have answered all of their questions. First, the artist had airbrushed his entire body ice blue, even the artwork hidden under the skirt of the gladiator uniform. The term being generous as it only covered the front, fastened at his hips with some sort of tape. Then, an opaque white sheen had been added over the blue. The skirt portion had been added, and he'd been posed on the chariot. Once posed, the muscular lines were accented with silver highlights.
The artist had even added some type of gel to his hair which made it look frozen. Silver contact lenses completed the look. The whole process had been humiliating, and made more so by the blatant way the women, and some of the men, discussed his attributes.
A machine, concealed beneath the chariot, blew a cold misty fog. Positioned at an angle, with fire nipping at his heels, it looked as if he were fleeing the flames of hell.
"Careful, Ursula.” Alexandria's voice broke through his thoughts, admonishing the guest whose hand lingered close to his thigh ready to lift the uniform. “Ice burns."
Ursula pulled her hand away. “Of course, dear. Better to wait until the auction. Anticipation and all that."
The ballroom and everyone in it faded from his vision until only Alexandria remained, elegantly draped in her fire-themed costume, as the center of his universe. The embarrassment, the tiny skirt, the dread of removing it, everything fled from his thoughts when he looked at her. The red strapless gown looked molten over her body and when she moved, light caused subtle variations of color in the fabric. Hints of orange, yellow, and even blue teased the eye as she walked. A living, breathing flame.
Her skin glowed with a soft luminescence under the lights, and he couldn't tear his gaze away from the creamy flesh. Tendrils of her light brown hair, loosened from the classic upswept, Roman hairstyle and tipped in red, brushed against the slender column of her neck. A man leaned close, handed her a flute of champagne, and whispered something in her ear which made her smile. Her lips captivated him, slightly parted and glistening from the sparkling wine. Red, full, ripe. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed to stay on the pedestal and not satisfy his hunger to nibble on the succulent flesh.
Thankfully, a young lady with white blonde hair drew his attention. She had to be the woman Adam had nicknamed Snowball. Not because of her coloring, but because she had perfected the art of cum swapping. The older gentlemen with her had to be “Daddy.” According to Adam, the man who owned the little blonde had peculiar ways of obtaining sexual satisfaction. Like a puppeteer, he directed her every movement per his prurient desires, and apparently liked to watch as she followed his commands, at times with three or more men to satisfy. Adam had told him that last year she had swapped Adam's load into another man's mouth.
As if to prove Adam's story, the couple stopped in front of him and did a blatant performance of her skills with a sip of schnapps and an unsuspecting participant who willing obliged as she allowed the liqueur to flow slowly over her tongue into his mouth. The display had every man in the room adjusting his pants.
Dante had heard several stories from the other statues detailing the sexual exploits of the auction over the past week, and he'd found most of them hard to believe. But after Snowball's spectacle, he might have to change his thinking. Of course, it didn't mean he wouldn't use the tales—especially when they involved the rich and powerful—in his article. The other guys hadn't dropped any names, but Dante noticed a few of the city's elite in the crowd tonight, along with a few of the politicians he had hoped would attend.
Alexandria moved to the center of the room where a spotlight showed and silhouetted her body beneath the semi-sheer gown. Perfectly manicured nails produced the familiar tinkling sound from her glass, and although it wasn't loud, conversations ceased and the room stilled. “Ladies and gentleman, I hope you have enjoyed tonight's showing, but it is now time to dispense with the civilities and quiet admiration. Please consult your program for the artwork up for auction. We shall assemble in the Great Hall in fifteen minutes. Chairs and numbered paddles are provided."
Finishing her champagne, Alexandria stayed until the ballroom emptied. “Statues, remove your ornamentation and follow me. Charles, you are first on the pedestal, followed by James, Adam, Michael, Tyler, and Dante.
As if to confirm his thoughts, she caught his arm as he walked past her. “Dante, now would be a perfect time to demonstrate your ability to maintain an erection. The guests already adore you, but if you appear on the pedestal with your impressive cock, the bidding will go through the roof."
Following her from the room, his thoughts spun. In the back of his mind, he knew he'd have to get the hell out of Dodge before his obligation to th
e winning bidder came due. Even if the lucky person expected him in one of the special suites right after the auction. It'd be hell for Alexandria, as would the article, but with all her money and connections, she'd come through it without a scratch. Hell, it'd probably make her more famous, or infamous, depending on one's point of view.
While a few of the other statues tried a myriad of techniques to get hard without touching their dicks and messing up their body paint, he stole a glance at the crowd through the velvet curtains and searched for Alexandria. She stood to the side of the lectern, bathed in the low ambient light around the stage. The sight of her lush body poured into that red gown was all he needed to get as rock hard as the statue he portrayed.
"Ladies and gentlemen,” the auctioneer started. “Let the bidding begin!"
Charles took a deep breath, took a last look at his hard-on, and walked through the opening in the curtains and onto the stage.
A round of applause erupted, then the auctioneer's voice filled the room and quieted the crowd. A soft murmur of voices carried when the bidding started. Dante managed to drown out most of the noise and concentrated on playing his part, paying attention to the antics of the guys as they paraded across the stage and posed for the audience.
Joining in their excitement as they exited, he filed every word in the back of his mind for use in his article. What they expected from the winning bidders, based on last year's after-auction activity, and most importantly, names. If his editor allowed him free rein of the content, his article was going to burn the paper it was printed on.
John nudged Dante toward the stage. “You're up."
Taking his cue, he imagined Alexandria slinking out of her gown, and stepped through the curtain.
A soft spotlight angled down on him as he paraded across the stage to the small, square pedestal where the other guys had done their “Mr. Universe” routines. Knowing his lean, rangy body didn't have the build for a muscle pose, he straddled the pedestal and bowed his back over the edge. Fearing he might lose his erection, he blocked out the crowd and imagined Alexandria riding him.
Phaze Fantasies, Vol. VI Page 33