Susan wore many hats in her job at a high-end hotel. Primarily, she was a receptionist: taking and cancelling bookings, checking guests in and out, and coordinating staff to attend to said guests’ needs. Occasionally, she’d be required to chip in on other tasks, such as cleaning or room service, if they were rushed, or someone had called sick, or she was working an overnight shift. However, none of these were her favourite jobs. That title went to her second official role, as an “assistant chef”. What that innocent title concealed was that she was responsible for exactly one ludicrously pricey and exclusive dish known as the “Sweet Centrepiece”. Few guests were even aware of its existence - it was dubiously legal, and so it was a well-kept secret, concealed from all but those the staff knew it would appeal to, and those who had experienced it, one way or another. Few could afford it, and it was designed to be sampled at big events, conferences and the like, and so Susan often had no need to perform this second job, but when she did, it was always a delight.

She could always tell if someone was coming up to her to order one. Regular partakers, she knew on sight by now, and there were a fair few of those. First-timers, on the other hand, had this bearing to them. A mixture of excitement and nervousness, coupled with this cynical sense that it would all prove to be a scam or a trap. And so, when she saw a middle-aged man slowly walk up to the front desk, eyes shifting from side to side, she began to perk up in anticipation.

“Good morning, sir, how may I help you?”

He leaned in close, keeping his voice down. “I’d… I’d like to order a Sweet Centrepiece for the conference dinner this evening. Who do I, uh, speak to about that?”

She smiled warmly, trying to project calm. “That would be me, sir. Before we start, can I just confirm that you are part of this conference, and have the authority to order for them?”

He handed over his details, and Susan processed them. They all checked out, and she looked up from her station. “Good, that seems to all be in order. Would you like to discuss the details somewhere more private?”

He nodded. “That would be helpful, yes.”

She led him behind the desk to her office, gesturing for him to take a seat at her desk as she logged on to her computer, bringing up the guest’s details there. He was fidgeting with his hands, and Susan smiled at him again. “I take it that this is your first time ordering this dish?”

He nodded, wetting his lips. “Yes, it is. Apologies for the nerves - it’s hard to believe this is all real.”

“I can assure you, sir, that it absolutely is. I can see from your details that you’re with Greenlight Technology Solutions? We had another party from there last year, led by Blake Smith, who ordered this for themselves - you can call them to confirm, if you wish.”

“Unfortunately, that’s where I heard about it from, so that’s not exactly an independent source… I am mentally convinced, it’s just my emotions that aren’t playing ball. We can get down to details, if you’re ready.”

“Certainly, sir. We’ll work out both pricing and specifics of your experience here; you may back out at any time before the money changes hands. There won’t be any record of you having tried to make this purchase until you actually do so.”

“Right. That’s good to know. Ask away.”

She opened up the form for creating a Centrepiece, leaving the personal details blank as promised for the time. “So, first question: since you’ve come alone and early, I assume you don’t have a volunteer?”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t.”

“Fair enough, but I will warn you that that is considerably more expensive, given the need to compensate the target.”

“That should be fine. How much are we talking?”

“Well, between refunding the night, potentially travel as well, and general hush money, on top of the basic fee for ingredients…” Susan named an already exorbitant figure, and the guest didn’t even blink. Good. She continued down the list.

“Do you have a preferred appearance or sex?”

“Definitely young; preferably female.”

She nodded, pulling up the candidates who fit the description. They were in luck: there were three of them, all good-looking. “Good news, sir - you have options that fit in that range. Do you want to select one of them, or allow us to pick?”

“Do you have an idea of which would be cheapest to compensate?”

“Of course, sir; we try to poll all potential candidates for such criteria. Do you wish to see your choice, then, or be surprised?”

“Surprise me.”

“Very well.” Only one candidate was staying multiple nights after this, and she had the added bonus of being on a tight schedule, and thus unlikely to take up the room for an extra night. Millie Jennings it was.

“So, now we come to the specifics of preparation. Do you want the standard Centrepiece, or a customised one?”

“Can I hear about the customisation options first and then decide?”

“Of course. First is pose - our standard poses are prone and supine; anything more detailed costs extra. I have diagrams if you wish to see them.”

He nodded, and Susan rotated her screen to show him. He looked over the poses briefly.

“Prone looks good to me.”

“I’ll add that, then. Next, glaze and dipping options. The standard is a sugar glaze paired with apples or strawberries; we have a selection of more expensive glazes which are a slight upcharge, and changing the fruit or requesting a glaze we don’t have on hand is more again.”

“Apple should be fine, I think… what other glazes can you provide?”

“Let’s see here… the best options other than sugar for pairing with the apple would be cinnamon or caramel, but we also have chocolate or vanilla if you want either of those.”

“I think I’ll go with cinnamon, please.”

“An excellent choice, if I might say so myself. Do you want there to be an apple in the mouth? It’s no extra cost.”

“Yes, please.”

“Alright… now we come to presentation. The standard is a giant silver cloche, resting on a white cushion to protect the hands and knees. Is that acceptable, or do you want something more?”

“No, that sounds fine.”

“Okay, and last thing… contact. Do you intend for your coworkers and other guests to touch the centrepiece with their hands, or with food only?”

“Food only.”

“Absolutely. So, just to read it back, that’s a non-volunteered, young, female Centrepiece, prone, with a cinnamon glaze paired with apple, in the standard cloche, not to be touched. Correct?”

“That all sounds right. This is easier than I’d thought it would be.”

“We try to make the experience as streamlined as possible; it helps with repeat business and to keep our guests at ease. I must warn you, however, that we’re now moving to the legal requirements.”

“Legal requirements? I thought this was all off the books.”

“Yes, and this is so we can keep it that way. It should be simple enough, but it is important. So, first, we will be monitoring the dining hall via camera, as well as in-person with our waitstaff. If we judge any guest to have purposefully overstepped the touching rules, it will be treated as though you had opted for a more extreme option, and Greenlight will be charged accordingly.”

“What sort of money are we talking?”

She named two more exorbitant figures; one for mere touching, the other for sexual contact. The guest frowned.

“That second one wasn’t an option you laid out for me. What gives?”

“That’s because it’s only available for volunteer Centrepieces, and I’m afraid none of the candidates asked to be chosen if the opportunity arose.”

“I see. It’s not like I would have chosen that option anyway. But back to the point, that sounds fair.”

“Great. Next point: there is to be absolutely no recording of the Centrepiece in any way. If we see someone appear to make such a recording, we will check the suspect device for confirmation. If a recording is found, it will be instantly deleted and the guest who took it fined. If a recording later turns up online, the same principle applies. If we are unable to identify the source of the recording, Greenlight will be fined directly.”

He nodded in understanding, and Susan continued.

“Finally, no blabbing. If you see the Centrepiece after the event, no talking about it unless they initiate. If you tell the authorities, we will come after you. Is that clear?”

“Crystal. Will these rules be posted anywhere?”

“I was just about to get there; yes, they will be prominent throughout the room.”

“That’s good to hear. Those rules all make sense; I’m fine to agree to them on Greenlight’s behalf.”

“Marvellous. In that case, I’ll print out the form, get you to sign it, get the company payment details, and we’ll be all sorted.”

They went over the form once more, the guest filled everything out, and left with a handshake. Susan had already notified the manager that she might have a Centrepiece to make, but now she confirmed it, getting extra staff brought in for the front desk and to aid her in the kitchen. Susan, meanwhile, went to seek out Millie Jennings, and specifically, find out what she was having for lunch.

***

Millie was eating at the hotel’s restaurant, which Susan was grateful for - it made her job much easier. She passed a bag of powder from her supply cabinet to the chef, with instructions for it to be slipped into Millie’s food or drink, then sat down to watch, acting as though she were on her lunch break.

Soon enough, Millie was swaying in her seat, eyelids flickering. The drug was working exactly as intended, and Susan crossed the room to the young woman, crouching next to her seat. She spoke in a low voice.

“Ma’am? You seem to be having some sort of medical episode. I’m the hotel’s first aid responder; I’m here to take you somewhere private so we can sort things out. Do you think you can walk?”

Millie blinked, then nodded, letting Susan support her as she was guided to her office. Once there, she slumped into the chair. The drug had essentially induced a trance state, making her far more impressionable and agreeable to anything Susan would suggest. She made a show of checking the young woman over - feeling her pulse, brushing her brown hair aside to feel her forehead, and so on. In reality, she already knew exactly what she was going to “diagnose” Millie with, the checks more a way of testing that she was deep under the drug’s effects. Satisfied that she was, Susan spoke again.

“Right, you seem to be suffering from a rare but not-unheard-of complaint. There’s some strange vibrations across this block - our neighbours have reported it as well - that can, in some people, induce spells of dizziness. We’ve tried to get the city to have a look at it, but they never seem to have the time…” She faked annoyance - the story was all complete baloney, but Millie’s befuddled mind instantly bought it.

“Wha’do we do?” she slurred.

“You’re probably going to be knocked out for the rest of the day, I’m afraid. Did you have any plans; anyone you were going to meet with?”

“Nooo…”

“That makes things easier, then.” Susan had, in the past, unlocked future Centrepieces’ phones to cancel meet-ups on their behalf, but it was nice to not have to do so. She continued. “In that case, we can get right to treating you - the issue’s just common enough here, and simple enough to treat, that we can administer it in the comfort of the hotel. That’s nice and simple, isn’t it?”

Millie nodded again. “‘Ow much?” she asked.

“No need to worry; since it’s not your fault, it’s completely free. And we’ll compensate you for the missing night as well.”

A drunken-looking smile passed over Millie’s face. “Thank you… ‘s very kind… will ‘t be… problem again?”

“No; the treatment should set you up for the rest of your stay.” That was, in a sense, true - Centrepieces weren’t reused within a stay except at their request.

Susan crossed over to her cabinet, and produced a VR headset from a box, programmed and ready. “I’ll just put this on you, if that’s alright…” Millie gave no protest, and Susan slipped it on her, fixing it to her eyes and securing the headphones. “The treatment programme will start in a second, but there are some things we can do to speed up the process. There’s a cool room down the hall where I can take you to have a lie-down, that usually helps; and there’s also an injection I can give you. It’s very small - you won’t feel a thing.”

“Sounds good… y’re taking such good care ‘f me… ‘ll leave a five-star review…”

“That’s very kind of you, ma’am, but you don’t have to. Now, I think it might be better if I carry you…” Susan scooped Millie up, and carried her in her arms down the hall, to a side-room from the kitchens. It was indeed cool - cold, even - and Millie sighed in relief as the temperature hit her and she was placed on a soft mattress. Susan pressed a button on her headset, and the brainwashing programme started up. Susan had coded it herself and knew it well: Millie would now be seeing a confusing pattern of pastel shapes and lights, dragging her mind further into trance. The headphones were playing calming music right now, but later would switch to pump ideas into the brunette’s head: telling her that she was a statue, with no thoughts, to be sculpted and put on display and shown off. Her stunned mind would lap it all up - the programme had never failed - and she would be completely compliant with the evening’s events. However, the human body couldn’t remain still for as long as was required, even with hypnosis, which was where the injection came in. Susan administered it now, plunging the small needle into Millie’s neck, not even seeing a twitch from the brunette. Combined with the cold of the room, the new drug would travel through her system, causing all her joints to stiffen and lock, turning her effectively from a human into a doll for a few hours. It would combine to create a striking effect indeed.

Susan began to leave the room, pausing at the door. She spoke somewhat louder than she had been, raising her voice to be heard over the music in Millie’s ears. “I need to leave now, ma’am, but you’ll be perfectly safe here. I’ll check in on you in a few hours, but if you feel better sooner, feel free to leave - the way out is clearly signposted, or you can contact the front desk and I’ll guide you myself. Once again, our deepest apologies - we wish there was a way around it, but you know how government can be.” She closed the door, leaving Millie in darkness and cold, with the brainwashing programme kicking into full gear around her.

***

This treatment was unusual, but it was doing wonders for Millie’s head. The dizziness had almost completely vanished (courtesy of the first drug leaving her system, but of course she didn’t know that), but the programme had told her to wait to ensure a repeat didn’t happen. It told her to remain very still, like a statue, and so she did. Then it told her to imagine herself as a statue, and so she did. Then it told her she was a good statue, and she was happy. It told her that statues don’t have thoughts or emotions, least of all shame, and so it didn’t. It told it that good statues allowed themselves to be admired, and so it waited for the opportunity to be admired. It told it that good statues remained perfectly still, no matter what.

It would be a good statue. It waited.

***

Susan returned a few hours later, as she’d said, and checked in on Millie, turning on the lights. She was still lying on the table, headset obscuring her face, in the same position she’d left her. That was to be expected even if the programme hadn’t worked, but it was a good sign nonetheless.

She approached the table. Millie showed no sign of registering her presence. Susan cautiously lifted up one of the brunette’s arms. Still no reaction, and when she let go, the arm remained, stuck in the air. The telltale stiffness had pervaded the joint as well. Susan breathed a sigh of relief. It had worked. Not that she’d really been expecting anything different, of course - the hotel had conducted extensive testing, after all - but she’d hate to disappoint a guest.

She slipped the headset off, making one last check of the brunette’s status. Her pale blue eyes stared straight up, not blinking or moving even when Susan clapped directly in front of her. Marvellous. For the rest of the afternoon and into the night, Millie Jennings did not exist - her body was the setting for a novelty meal, nothing more.

Susan moved Millie to the base of the cloche, which had been laid out in the centre of the cold room ahead of time, then began to strip her of her clothes, allowing herself to admire the Centrepiece’s body. This was a good catch, alright. Flawless skin, shapely breasts and butt, cute face with a button nose, framed by shoulder-length, light brown ringlets. As she moved her body around to get all the clothing off, she also noted her muscle tone - Millie was fit, without showing it overtly. Good. She should last for all of dinner.

Millie didn’t bother with shaving, and for the purposes of the dish, this was a flaw which had to be rectified. Susan grabbed a razor and wax from her storage of supplies, and set to work, turning Millie’s skin as smooth as the day she was born. She might object, but she could always be paid off. She also took a makeup wipe to her face, as makeup didn’t comply with food safety. Satisfied with her work, Susan moved on to the posing stage. The guest had requested that Millie be prone, and so Susan had to roll her over, grunting slightly with the effort. Millie’s hands were raised in front of her and her knees moved into a bent position, so that she was on all fours, looking ahead into nothing. Susan took the time to tweak the finer details of the pose - raising the head slightly and opening the mouth in preparation for a later step, splaying the legs slightly to grant a good view of the newly-shorn vulva, and moving the arms so diners could admire the breasts, dangling pleasingly beneath the body. Susan stepped back, pleased. It was shaping up to be one of her finer efforts, if she said so herself.

The final step was actually preparing Millie’s body to be used as part of a meal. She returned to her supply cabinet, pulling out the cinnamon glaze and a basting brush. She began to slowly, methodically, apply the glaze to every exposed inch of Millie’s skin, leaving only her palms and shins, which would remain fixed to the cushion. Up and down, back and forth the brush went, gliding over Millie’s back, along her arms, and coating her face. It caressed her breasts, kissed her butt, and made her vulva glisten as though she were aroused. To be fair, such a sensual experience probably was arousing her somewhat, even though her mind was too far gone to register it. The overall effect was to make her skin shimmer, as though coated in oil, darkened slightly by the flavouring. The kitchen would arrange the accompanying apple slices, but it was Susan’s job to add the apple in her mouth - a final touch to fully emphasise Millie’s status, not as a person, but as almost food. It wasn’t too much of a challenge to fit her jaw around the fruit, which was then itself brushed with the glaze.

Preparations complete, Susan retrieved a camera belonging to the hotel, and began to take pictures of the dish. She made sure to cover all angles - face, sides, behind, even a few pictures from above. This would serve two purposes. The first was as anonymised marketing material for the Centrepiece, to be presented to potential clients in secret. The other, perhaps more relevant purpose, was as a way of enforcing the “no-images” policy - the photos would be stored in the hotel’s database, with image-matching software used to track anything uploaded online and take appropriate action. The security feed was usually quite good for picking up on this sort of thing, but it was always good to have a safety net.

The glaze would need time to set, and there were hours left before dinner anyway, and so Susan retreated once more, leaving Millie in the darkness.

***

The statue waited. It had been prepared for display, and now it was ready to show off. But not yet. All in good time, it had been told. Good statues waited. It waited.

The nice woman who had made it entered the room along with someone else. They placed a lid over the statue’s pedestal, covering it in darkness. It waited.

It could feel the pedestal moving now, turning corners and juddering slightly, wheels not quite aligned. It could hear its maker and the other person talking. If it had a mind, it would have understood their words, but it didn’t. It just heard the sounds of their voices, and waited.

“You really did a bang-up job this time, Susan!”

“I’m pleased it worked out so well. She was definitely the prettiest of all the options, and worked out as likely cheapest as well. And I do think the cinnamon brought out her colouration well.”

“Give yourself some credit too; the pose is marvellous. I know some people would complain about a standard pose, but I often think they look better than your custom jobs - you really know how to get the most out of those.”

Maker made a small sound, which her companion recognised as noncommittal.

“Either way,” they continued, “I’m sure the guests will be positively salivating over her. I’m sure you’ll get some satisfaction out of that.”

“Yes, but also extra work. The client opted for non-contact, and given how delectable she looks, I think we’ll need to be paying real close attention to the camera feeds.”
“Y’know, I’ve never understood why people go for that option. Seems boring.”

“I think it’s because they’re trying to convince themselves this is in any way ethical. But yeah, I get what you’re saying - the markup isn’t really that much extra, and I don’t see how going “but I didn’t touch her” will in any way salvage someone’s conscience. Oh- we’re getting close, better pipe down.”

It could hear more people’s voices around it as it was wheeled to a stop. Maker spoke up again.
“Would you like it unveiled now, or when the rest of dessert is served?”

“Make ‘em wait, I think. I know there’s signs up, but I still don’t want to spoil the surprise.”

“Very well, sir.”

It waited.

All of a sudden, the lid was whisked off, revealing the statue in all its glory. The light was a shock to its eyes, but it didn’t flinch, didn’t so much as blink. Statues didn’t do that. It could feel people’s eyes on it - feel their wonder, their surprise, their appreciation. Their lust. One voice piped up, laughing.

“No you didn’t, Jake!”

“Oh yes I did! Now, there should be rules next to the Sweet Centrepiece and around the room - please read and follow them, or you’ll be costing yourself tons of money. But otherwise - tuck in!”

People crowded around the statue. There were neat plates of apple slices next to it, arranged artistically, and some picked them up. They approached the statue and used the apple to gather up its glaze, gliding along its form, then biting into the fruit with appreciative noises. Others tried to get a reaction out of it, for some reason. Clapping their hands, making loud noises, saying words it didn’t understand. It didn’t understand humans in general, even though it was shaped like one. Why did they think it might move? It was a statue. It waited.

“Y’know, it’s only apple and cinnamon, but it tastes so good…”

“The setting probably helps. Apple and cinnamon con gorgeous, naked girl.”

“I could have given that to you for free, darling.”

“You sure we can’t touch? I just want a quick squeeze…”

“Absolutely not! The hotel’s gonna sue the crap outta you!”

It could feel eyes tracing its form, admiring all of its curves. Some guests got close enough to its eyes that it could see slight tents in their pants. It must be a pretty statue. It waited, for hours, not that the term carried any meaning. What else would it do? It was a statue. The glaze was all consumed, and some guests, swaying slightly, came to take bites of the apple in its mouth, after carefully checking the sign next to it. That was real. Why would they need confirmation? Surely they could tell the difference between stone and fruit. It waited.

Eventually, the light from the windows faded entirely, and the guests started to trickle off to their rooms. Different people came in, beginning to clean up the room. Then, the statue’s maker appeared, and started speaking.

“You did so well, ma’am. We hope you enjoyed the experience. But now, it’s time to sleep.” She poked the statue’s forehead, and it felt its limbs suddenly come to life as it collapsed onto its cushion.

***

Susan wheeled the cart with Millie’s slumbering form on it out of the grand hall, into the elevator, and up to the guest’s room. She unlocked the brunette’s door with her staff card and pushed her inside. She gently lifted Millie up, carrying her into the bathroom where she was deposited in the tub. The stiffening drug had worn off about an hour ago, meaning Millie had been holding the pose entirely through mental fortitude. Susan began to run the water, leaving the room briefly to ensure all of Millie’s things she’d had on her when she was taken were present and accounted for. She also located the guest’s pyjamas, setting them out for later. Everything needed to be as unsuspicious as possible.

Returning to the bath, she rolled up her sleeves and began to scrub Millie down. While the diners always did a very good job of cleaning up the glaze, she had to be certain. She had to admit, she was almost tempted to feel Millie’s body for herself, but she resisted the urge. Leaning in, she whispered into the guest’s ear. “Did anyone touch you inappropriately during your time as a statue?”

“Not that it is aware of, Maker.”

“Very good.” Nothing had been caught by staff, either - the guests had been remarkably well-behaved for a bunch of tech bros.

Lifting the guest out of the bath and back onto the cart, Susan towelled her down, before dressing her in some panties and her pyjamas. She carried her over to the bed, tucking her in, trying her utmost to make sure nothing was majorly amiss. If Millie had absorbed the programming correctly, of course, there was nothing to fear - she would gloss over any minor inconsistencies without breaking stride. How much she remembered would be up to her - she might believe she had a medical episode, got treatment, and then had a lazy afternoon, or she might be massively turned on by the idea and remember it all in perfect detail. Susan hoped it was the latter; Millie would be great as a volunteer Centrepiece. Collecting the cart, she walked out of the room, leaving the guest to her slumber, for now unaware of the display she’d put on.