Art Exhibitionism

Faria had heard all she needed about the offense. Zoe had done what Devon accused her of. But there was one more formality Faria had to take care of. She launched into her usual offer:

"By requesting my services to be performed on you, my client has wronged you at least as much as you have wronged them. Therefore I will offer you a chance to escape what is about to happen. The fee charged to my client in this instance was $50,000. If you are willing to double that price, I will offer you the chance to simply walk away, or craft a reversed punishment for him. Are you interested?"

Zoe looked nervous. "I'm between shows right now, so funds are a little tight. If you can wait a month, then I can..."

*Silence, Zoe*

Zoe's mouth snapped shut, and her eyes blazed as she realized how easily Faria could silence her.

"I would normally question you a little before making any changes, but I think I already know where to start in this particular case," said Faria, slowly circling her captive.

Zoe shook her head desperately, but Faria was already drawing a deep breath.

*You will now enter programming mode. Your mind will grow completely calm and empty. Your body will breathe deeply and relax completely. When you hear my next words, they will become your new thoughts*

Zoe relaxed, her dark brown eyes shutting as she gently drifted, suspended and bound above the floor of her studio.

The first order of business was to bind Zoe to Devon.

*Regardless of my personal issues with Devon Preisinger, working with him will be good for my career.*

"-good for my career." Zoe repeated Faria's words just a half step behind in a low undertone, indicating her absorption of the modified thoughts.

*Devon Preisinger is a deeply attractive man, and I value his artistic opinions*

*-value his artistic opinions.* Zoe's eyebrows creased slightly at this command, indicating that it clashed with her pre-existing ways of thinking. It would still eventually become her new opinion, but this command might take a little training on Devon's part to fully sink in.

Alright, those commands should allow the pompous gallery owner to get his foot in the door, now Faria needed to supply the first gentle nudge towards the depravity that Devon craved.

*Performing in front of others is sexually exciting to me. When people look at me as a sexual object, it gives me an erotic thrill.*

*-an erotic thrill.* Zoe's eyebrows creased again. She genuinely didn't feel this way currently.

That would change.

...

Zoe eyed the setup at the center of the cavernous gallery with a critical eye. The false mountaintop looked suitably rough and primeval. The chains were genuine iron: heavy as shit. But at least there was hidden padding inside the manacles to keep them from chafing.

"What do you think, boss?" asked Ivan, the edge of pre-performance jitters already coloring his voice. "Are we good to go?" The huge model held his stylized eagle mask under his thickly muscled arm. His loincloth showed off his bulging, oiled physique just like it was designed to. Ivan represented stereotypical masculinity in this particular piece.

"We're as ready as we'll ever be,'' said Zoe grimly. She was always pessimistic before shows, convinced that this was the project that would finally flop and ruin her career. It hadn't happened yet, but that fact didn't comfort her. There was always a first time.

Zoe's costume was a parallel to Ivan's: a ragged waist wrap slung across her hips and a matching cloth concealing her braless tits. The costume left her shoulders, feet, belly, and most of her thick thighs utterly exposed. She was mildly uncomfortable to be revealing this much skin, but the symbolism of the piece demanded it.

Zoe laid down on the surface of the "stone", letting some assistants clasp her wrists and ankles in the iron cuffs, leaving her body spread-eagled in the artfully concealed depression that assured her comfort.

Zoe heard the assistants murmuring and watched them part to let Devon Preisinger through.

After rightfully humiliating him a few months ago, Zoe had been surprised that Devon had wanted to work with her at all, let alone sponsor a series of projects from her in his prestigious gallery. Zoe had been reluctant at first, sensing some sort of trap, but money was money, and she knew working with Devon would further her career. After a successful trial period of performing some of her popular pieces in his gallery space, she finally agreed to work on a series of original projects for the Preisinger Gallery.

In working with him, Zoe had found Devon unexpectedly compelling. She had written him off as just another old white sexist, but he had a keen artistic sense. Not to mention being handsome in a sophisticated silver fox sort of way. Not that that had anything to do with Zoe's decision to work with him.

Zoe was so impressed with Devon's artistic vision that this latest piece, titled "Woman as Prometheus" was a sort of collaboration between the two of them; born from their discussions.

"Perfect," said Devon, stalking forward to loom above the chained artist at his feet. "Exactly as I pictured it." Something was off about his smile: it suddenly looked more...predatory than proud. Suddenly Zoe felt a wave of helpless inferiority, bound and helpless in a skimpy outfit beneath a smugly grinning, fully clothed older man.

The feeling should have been disgusting and unpleasant. But as Zoe looked up into Devon's harsh gaze, she felt a flicker of heat deep in her belly. A tingle shivered down her spine at the submissive feeling, stopping and buzzing between her wide-open legs.

The strange erotic moment was broken by Ivan, wearing his large eagle mask with huge fiery eyes, popping up behind Devon. "Staff is saying that we are on in five. The line is getting a little restless." He bustled off, taking his mark for the beginning of the performance.

Devon gave Ivan's retreating back a rueful look, as though annoyed to have been interrupted. Then he kneeled down next to Zoe, closing the distance between them. Zoe's breath caught in her throat as the feeling of vulnerability came back in full force. Devon could do anything to her right now. Chained as she was, she would be powerless to resist...

Devon drew uncomfortably close, a strange light burning in his eyes. "Wh-what are you doing, Devon?" demanded Zoe shakily, "We are about to get started!"

"I know Zoe," said Devon patiently. His arms snaked behind her back. He was so close that Zoe could smell a faint, herbal cologne. Zoe panicked as she felt Devon fumble with the knot on the cloth wrapped around her breasts. Was Devon intending to remove the only thin covering of her chest and expose her naked tits just as the crowd of viewers was walking in? The idea sent a spike of adrenaline through Zoe's veins, but also something more primal. The pleasant, burning buzz had returned between her legs, and she felt herself getting wet beneath the flimsy covering around her waist.

"What the fuck?" She spluttered, tensing her arms against the clanking chains in her panic as she felt the knot behind her back release and the cloth over her breasts loosen. "Stop it you psycho! The crowd is about to come in through those doors!"

Devon just gave her a wolfish smile, tugging the loose end of the wrap from behind Zoe's back. "Just one more adjustment, Zoe. I don't think the costume emphasizes your... vulnerability enough for my tastes." He carefully draped the rectangular strip of fabric over Zoe's heaving breasts, leaving ends loose on the rock to either side of her. Then he stepped back.

"Put it back, Devon," said Zoe murderously. "I'll call off this whole thing. The whole series. I make the calls artistically, and I say the wrap stays tied."

Devon gave her a wry look, then composed his expression into a pleading look. "But Zoe, it's PERFECT! The whole piece is about women's vulnerability to the whims of men. You need the extra bit of vulnerability. It WORKS."

Zoe stared into Devon's eyes, prepared to restate her ultimatum. But then she saw the adoring look there. She wavered. She really did trust his eye when it came to art, and... maybe it would be intriguing for her audience to see her like this, just a bit more vulnerable than usual. It could bring a new perspective to the work.

Zoe gave an exasperated sigh. "Fine, we can try it your way. But next time, leave the artistic decisions to the artist."

Devon bowed mockingly and retreated, signaling the staff to open the doors to the exhibition hall.

The crowd slowly filed in, surrounding the tableau of the false rock and chains in a rough circle, growing denser as more of those outside filtered in.

Zoe took a deep breath and screamed in rage, twisting her body against the chains. Even though they recognized it as part of the performance, the nearest audience members flinched at the sound. Zoe was proud of her scream: a raw powerful sound that worked well in her pieces about female anger, like this one. Most of her work centered around rage and strength and rebellion, so she found herself using her scream quite a lot.

The central metaphor in this performance was simple, almost trite. Zoe was Woman/Prometheus, bound and displayed on the rocks of society. Ivan, the muscled male model, was Man, the eagle from the myth, who instead of daily pecking out her liver, would daily assault her.

As her body shifted, Zoe immediately saw her predicament. The cloth that Devon had insisted on draping loosely over her chest was hanging much more precariously than she first thought. Her first scream and twisting of her body had caused it to shift slightly, displaying another half-inch of velvety brown cleavage. The performance called for many more body movements of that kind, and she had barely started.

Zoe looked up into the crowd to see that she was surrounded mostly by a semi-circle of men. Men with bright hungry eyes stared down at her scantily clad body.

Zoe's breath quickened as she felt the weight of those longing stares. She was suddenly deeply aware of how exposed and vulnerable she was. The eyes of her viewers ran over her toned thighs, her naked belly, her barely concealed tits, teasingly covered by a flimsy layer of draped cloth. How much could these men get away with before security could stop them? They could certainly snatch away the cloth on her breasts. They could probably tear off her waist wrap too, leaving her naked and chained at the mercy of the gleeful crowd. Would security even be able to get to her at all if they needed to? Zoe shuddered as the thought ran through her mind of what a horny crowd of men could do to a woman completely at their mercy, unable to move an inch.

Zoe realized that this was the most exposed and vulnerable she had ever been in her years of performance art. The thought of being stripped by these strange men shouldn't excite her, but it did. The strange arousal that Devon had inspired in her flared back to life, inflamed further by the lustful eyes of the men surrounding her. She felt her pussy growing wetter. Her nipples sprang to attention under the draped cloth, mercifully hidden by its looseness. Arousal during a performance was a new sensation for Zoe. She had no idea what this would mean for the piece of art... But she knew that when a sensation came over her in the moment of performance, she should seize it.

Zoe realized with annoyance that it had been a solid minute since her first scream, and let out another primal yell, trying to twist and writhe her body less this time to keep her chest covered. She couldn't help but notice the eyes of the men surrounding her watching her body twist and move, staring at the way her muscles rippled and moved beneath her dark, shining skin. Their eyes clung to the curve of her hips and focused on the bulge of her shifting breasts beneath their flimsy covering.

These men... they were all imagining what it would be like to fuck her. They wanted to have her tied down in their beds rather than in this art space. Or maybe they would rather have her right here... strip off their clothes in the gallery and take turns with the helpless young artist who had foolishly restrained herself and put herself at their mercy. The thought sent Zoe's pulse quickening. They said that one cure for performance anxiety was picturing your audience naked. Zoe had no trouble visualizing that right now, but her anxiety and inexplicable arousal were only rising.

The crowd parted, allowing Ivan to saunter up in his loincloth and eagle mask. Zoe had worked with Ivan before. He had the muscular, chiseled body type that worked well as a symbol of overpowering masculinity but, unlike many people who sculpted their bodies to that level, he was easy-going and level-headed. A real pleasure to work with. His relationship with Zoe had, of course, always been purely professional.

Now he was coming to fuck her. Zoe tried to calm her overheated mind. Yes, Ivan was approaching with a determined swagger, his powerful muscles bunching and rippling beneath his oiled skin, but it was all part of the act. Ivan's role was to simulate an assault as Zoe continued to scream in rage. There would be no sex. Ivan's cock would stay dry and flaccid.

But her body refused to accept the unreality of the situation. Hormones gushed through her bloodstream as the dominant man approached her defenseless body. She was already hot and wet with arousal: her pussy sensed the intent in Ivan's well-acted body language and eagerly welcomed what it knew was coming next.

Ivan took his position, hunching his powerful body over Zoe's chained form. The crowd pressed closer, eager to see the debauched act. This art piece wasn't meant to be erotic, it was supposed to be harrowing, but Zoe had failed to conceal her intense arousal. The men in the crowd could sense the sexual energy rolling off the beautiful young artist in waves, and to them, it was like blood in the water. The males in the crowd pushed forward, leaving the women behind until Ivan and Zoe were surrounded by only men. Men who were eager to see the performance that was designed to be troubling, but had become lewd in the eyes of Zoe and her audience.

A flash and shutter click reminded Zoe that photos were being captured by employees of the gallery. She blinked and shook her head, trying to clear away the haze of inappropriate lust that had overtaken her. The huge eagle mask Ivan was wearing filled her entire field of view. Her chest heaved with ragged breath, causing ticklish friction between her stiff nipples and the rough cloth wrap covering them.

"Zoe. You good? " came Ivan's kind, concerned voice from the bestial mask. Zoe looked down, seeing Ivan's muscular, almost naked body straddling hers, his crotch just inches away from her aching pussy. She bit her plump, rosy bottom lip and stared up into the fiery, fake eyes of the eagle mask, nodding eagerly.

Ivan began his part in the performance, moving his hips in strong, fluid movements. The surrounding crowd of men crushed forward with avid eyes, eager to see the curvy young artist bound and fucked. At this point, Zoe was meant to be screaming her rage and defiance, but she was too caught up in her submissive horny fantasy to follow the plan. Just as rehearsed, Ivan's crotch was hitting her just above the pussy, in the swell of her pubic area. It was a compromise designed to achieve the maximum amount of realism without actual crotch-to-crotch contact, which would be entirely inappropriate.

Entirely inappropriate, but exactly what Zoe's body deeply craved right now.

Zoe whined in frustration, causing a concerned look from her scene partner thrusting above her. She was soooo close to the satisfaction she craved... There was just enough give in the chains, if she just shifted her body slightly, she could angle her hips up and...

Ivan's next thrust caused a solid impact of his crotch directly between Zoe's splayed legs, sending an electric jolt of pleasure from her pussy out through her whole body, and wrenching a little moan from her throat.

Ivan paused, bewildered and worried that he had done something wrong. "Keep going," said Zoe in a husky, desperate whisper. "Don't stop."

"But Zoe..." said the muffled voice of the dumbstruck model, "In this position, I..."

"Shhhh," said Zoe with a soft smile, turning her best bedroom eyes up toward where she knew the eye holes were in the mask, "Go with the flow, big boy. The show must go on."

Ivan didn't say anything else, but he thrust forward again, this time slowly and firmly. Zoe gasped as he ground himself powerfully between her thighs. She could feel the rapidly growing bulge of his awakening cock against her swollen pussy. This was becoming more than a performance for Ivan as well. The muscular model above her continued to thrust, his loincloth tenting out as his cock grew iron-hard, rubbing and teasing Zoe's wet pussy through the cloth barriers separating them from penetration. Zoe angled her hips upward, writhing and grinding her desperate pussy upward into Ivan's cock as much as her chains would allow, trying and failing to hold back the moans of pleasure growing in her throat.

The chains clanked, and Zoe felt the tension on her wrists and ankles as the powerful thrusts shifted her body. The sensation of being trapped, fixed in place while being ravished, was intoxicating, humiliating, and arousing in ways Zoe never would have guessed.

Lost in her new feelings of submissive, forbidden pleasure, Zoe didn't notice the shifting of the cloth covering her naked breasts. By the time it fell away completely, it was too late. Her magnificent ebony tits were instantly captured by the waiting cameras in high definition, bouncing from the two performers' enthusiastic simulated mating, crowned with two diamond-hard nipples that fully confirmed that for the slutty artist on display, her desperate moans were anything but an act.

The crowd was chattering and buzzing with twisted sexual energy, pressing so closely to the "performance" that Zoe could feel their sweaty heat. She felt the eyes of a dozen horny men on her naked, bouncing tits, but instead of taking her out of the moment, it just inflamed her lust. She wanted them to see. She wanted them to watch her shameful, slutty dry humping orgasm in front of a crowd. Her nipples felt almost painfully tight and hard as they scraped against Ivan's oily skin. His cock was a rod of white-hot steel, and he was no longer thrusting, just keeping a steady, grinding pressure against her crotch, mashing the soaked cloth of the waist wrap against the folds of her throbbing cunt. Phones were coming out of pockets, recording material for later use. The staff was yelling that recording wasn't permitted, but they were unable to push through the dense crowd and were simply ignored. Zoe wanted them to record. The thought of all these men jerking off to her exposed body was suddenly a source of burning hot arousal.

She would show them. Give them something to cum to when they replayed their videos, gripping their cocks tightly, frantically pleasuring themselves to the sight of her debasement. "Don't stop," she told Ivan in a low, moaning whisper. "Harder!"

He did as she commanded, using his muscles to grip the young artist's wide hips tightly and pushing his cock even harder against her dripping sex. Zoe threw her head back, her pillowy lips opened wide to release a wild moan of liberated lust. Her legs rattled the chains as they shook and spasmed in the depths of her orgasm. Ivan pushed his throbbing length against her pussy and held there, shuddering as well. Zoe could feel the twitching warmth as he filled his loincloth with a powerfully spurting load of cum.

The crowd roared and pressed forward to get a look a the performers' humiliating shared climax. The cameras of the official photoshoot erupted in flashes.