Art Exhibitionism

"Suck my cock," commanded Devon.

Zoe tentatively wrapped her big pillowy lips around Devon's swollen cock, tenderly exploring the head of his dick with a curious tongue. Devon's hand reached down and grabbed a handful of Zoe's cum splattered braids, setting the pace and encouraging Zoe to bob her head the little she could in her bound position.

It didn't take long for Zoe to give in, delivering a sloppy and enthusiastic sloppy blowjob to the man that she had scorned just a few months ago. Devon stared down in satisfaction as her soft curvy lips planted a wet kiss on the head of his cock. He had said it from the beginning: Zoe Abiola had natural dick-sucking lips. He had hoped to experience them himself when he donated so much money to her little trap, but he had never imagined in his wildest dreams that he would trick her into delivering a blowjob while tied up and covered in dozens of loads of cum.

"How many times did you want to do this tonight?" he asked with a viscous grin. "Suck cock like a whore?"

Zoe released his cock momentarily, grinning up at him with a line of drool still trailing to his dick "Sooooo many times. I wanted to touch them. I wanted to make the connection complete!"

Devon stared down at the beautiful young artist who had been utterly humiliated tonight. Tied up, used as jerkoff material, and left slick with sperm. Captured on film as the filthy slut she was. And she still didn't seem to realize how her reputation had been shifting. How much further it would shift.

Zoe would get her chance to make a "complete connection" with her fans very soon. Devon would make sure of it.

Zoe's lips were built for cock-sucking, and her extreme horniness made her eager and enthusaistic. It wasn't long before Devon seized her braids and forced his dick deep into her mouth, firing a load down her throat, where none of her fans had been allowed to cum. Yet.

He finally released Zoe, who came up gasping, but smiling. Proud of how well she had done.

"Well, how would you rate me, Zoe?" asked Devon.

"Ten," said Zoey with a warm, dreamy smile spread across her cum-splattered face.

...

(Months ago, in Zoe's studio...)

Faria stood above Zoe Abiola, who was sprawled over the safety mat, physically and sexually exhausted from what Faria had put her through so far. She looked wearily up at Faria, any defiance she had now drained away.

Ready to fully submit.

"What made you want to be an artist in the first place, dear?" asked Faria gently. Now that the fight was drained from her target, there was no need any longer to be harsh or teasing.

"It's the only job I've ever had I wasn't fired from," said Zoe with a quirk of her lips. "I've had a terrible problem with authority ever since I was a girl. I just can't ever let anyone tell me what to do. I can't allow anyone to control or tie me down in any way. I've broken up with so many sweet guys because they wanted to be more committed to each other. But I have a compulsive need to be completely unconstrained."

"So being an artist lets you be free," mused Faria. "Yet you don't seem enthusiastic about it."

Zoe gave a noncommittal half-shrug. "Freedom is romanticized, but true freedom is lonely. Because of the way I am, I can't hold down a regular nine-to-five. I've never had a long-term boyfriend. Bonds with others feel constricting to me. It's not even good for my art. Some of the best performance artists that I know are able to take input and responses from their audience and use it to create incredible art. I wouldn't be able to. I can't let anyone else's thoughts or feelings change or influence me. I don't see it as a strength. People who can accept the will of others and still create and thrive are the truly strong ones."

A slow smile spread across Faria's face. "So the truly strong are those who are happy to be tied down and enthusiastically allow the will of others to conquer their own?"

Zoe looked hesitant. "Well, I don't know if I would go that far," she said nervously.

Faria winked. "Well, in that case, I'm about to make you the strongest woman in the world, Ms. Abiola."

*Programming Mode*

Zoe looked almost peaceful despite her nudity and the ropes binding her hands behind her back.

*I love to be restrained physically during sexual situations, it's like a switch flips, making me completely submissive and desperately horny.*

"-and desperately horny."

*Nothing is more satisfying to me sexually than completely giving up control and allowing others to dominate me.*

"-dominate me."

*True artists fully accept the feelings and will of their viewers no matter what form that might take.*

"-what form that might take."

Faria snapped her fingers and unbound Zoe.

She sat and watched as Zoe put everything back where it had been before under hypnotic command. The young artist would wake up tomorrow with a splitting headache, Faria's insidious commands already worming their way into her brain. Once she was under Devon's watchful eyes, he would be able to train her, bringing her new thoughts to the forefront and turning Zoe into the exhibitionist bondage slut that he so desired.

Faria thought that it was likely to produce Zoe's most popular performance yet.

...

No matter how enthusiastic reviews had been online, Zoe was nervous that her latest performance had given people the wrong idea.

It was easy for people to look at the performance from the outside and see it as something obscene. Luckily, cell phones had been banned in the exhibit, and no one except the fans who had entered the booth knew for sure exactly what had happened, although rumors had spread all across the internet. One scandalized website had reported on the rumors, calling it a "bukkake gangbang". Which was ridiculous. Zoe hadn't even had sex with anyone! Except for Devon, but that didn't count. It was after the exhibit had closed.

In any case, it hadn't been a gangbang. Describing it as bukkake was missing the point as well. The point of the closed booth was for Zoe and her audience to have a one-on-one encounter that expressed their mutual connection. And if that connection had been best expressed for most fans by ejaculating on Zoe's naked body, that was hardly her fault now was it?

Regardless of the privacy of the booth, the world did know about the vagina-centric main exhibition floor, which was quite bad enough in many people's opinion, regardless of the truth of the rumors.

Although the professional literature was raving about the bold sexuality of "Numerical Value", the media more broadly was painting Zoe as some sort of slut. They were insinuating that Zoe's shows were just excuses to titillate her viewers and please them sexually.

Zoe's new project would prove them wrong. She looked up with satisfaction at the concept art pinned to the corkboard in her new office. It showed her, standing proud and tall in a skintight, pure white, latex bodysuit. It was brilliant: a statement that reasserted her own sexuality while leaving her completely covered, tantalizingly emphasizing her form while hiding it completely from her viewers.

The piece was titled "Madonna", and it would be the perfect rebuke of the media's obscene accusations. The white bodysuit would cast Zoe in the role of a classical statue. She would stand in the middle of the room on a pedestal, slowly shifting between famous poses of statues. A plaque would inform viewers that they could "touch if they dared". Anyone who did would be harshly scolded by Zoe. It would show that she was still in charge of her sexuality and that there were limits to what her viewers could presume.

Zoe smiled in satisfaction. Tonight would dispel the impression that her performances were just excuses to sexually gratify her fans, and set her firmly back on the path to respectability.

...

Devon watched as the workmen made the necessary changes to the exhibition hall that he had requested.

Changing the sign explaining the performance piece would be easiest. He could do it himself as soon as Zoe had been convinced. The large art pieces on the walls were more difficult. Zoe had requested large photo prints of famous Greek and Roman sculptures, and they were large enough that there wouldn't be time to change them after Devon had made his last-minute adjustments to Zoe's plans. Devon had been forced to settle for placing the statue photos in front of the true artwork he planned to display. It looked good enough that Zoe wouldn't be able to tell the difference until it was too late.

Devon looked up. A faint sprinkle of plaster came down as the workmen finished installing the rigging. He would have to have someone come in here with a broom. But otherwise, everything was looking satisfactory.

Devon was absolutely sure that Zoe's resistance would crumble. According to the instructions he had received from Faria, she was ready.

Tonight, the up-and-coming young artist would leave respectability behind forever.

...

Zoe felt less confident now that she had gotten into her latex costume. The concept art that Devon had provided on her request had made the costume look regal, dominant, and classy. But now, wearing the suit herself, it felt... revealing. Maybe even more revealing than being naked. The shiny, glossy material clung lasciviously to every curve of her rounded body. If the point was to deemphasize the eroticism of her performance art, this body suit did a poor job. It looked like she was purposefully putting herself on display.

Another strange detail of the suit was the fact that there were seams in odd places. Except for the opening in the back that allowed her to put the suit on, it was supposed to be seamless and smooth across her whole body.

Instead, there seemed to be separate pieces of latex that covered the crotch and breast areas, with glued seams attaching them to the rest of the suit. Had the designers simply made a mistake when making the suit that required the use of patches? It didn't seem very professional if that was the case.

It was difficult to walk in the pure white platform shoes that completed the suit. Zoe had thought that lower heels or even just a sort of footie bottoms would have worked, but Devon had insisted that the extra height from the towering heels would allow her to look even more dominant and forbidding to her viewers.

Zoe was a little dissatisfied with the suit, but as she walked into the exhibition space, she relaxed. It looked perfect, with the raised pedestal in the center of the hardwood floor, and the photos of the calming, beautiful classical statuary on the surrounding walls. Perfect.

Devon was waiting for her in the middle of the room, with a black duffel bag at his feet and an unreadable expression on his face.

As she approached, Devon shook his head and said, "I'm sorry Zoe. It doesn't work."

The disappointing words sent a stab of cold dread through Zoe's heart. She always felt anxious right before a performance, and now Devon was confirming her worst fears.

"But we planned this together!" she protested, wide-eyed. "A statement about my complete autonomy, pushing back against critics and fans that wanted to control me!"

Devon sighed. "I know. I know. I take some of the blame here. But now that I see it all put together I realize what this is. Cowardice."

Zoe flushed in anger. "What the fuck?" she asked heatedly. "I'm casting myself as a goddess and fighting back against my critics. What's cowardly about that?"

"You're running again," said Devon ruefully. "Running from your fans because the way they feel about you scares you. Running from the critics because they made you feel self-conscious. Running from the expectations of others."

The accusations hit home, making Zoe feel like her heart had been pierced. "No," she said desperately, "That's not what this is. It's me declaring my freedom."

"Zoe," said Devon softly, "What has your best work been with me these past few months?"

Zoe stared at him, her breath growing labored as she instinctively sensed where he was going with this. She felt a dark pulse of heat flare up in the core of her body.

Devon answered his own question. "The pieces where you embraced your arousal. Where you made a deep sexual connection with the viewers of your art. Those were the rawest, realest pieces. The ones that provoked the most interest and response from the public."

Zoe felt like she was being stalked by some dangerous beast. She began to feel a gathering of moisture between her legs, sealed in by the tight latex. Her trapped nipples had no room to expand, but became two throbbing points of heat on her tightly wrapped breasts.

"But you keep running away. Setting limits. Refusing to embrace your biggest successes," Devon now circled her, eyes moving over her perfectly displayed ass and thighs. He finally drew close and whispered in her ear as Zoe closed her eyes, hanging on every word.

"What you really need to do is give in. Stage a piece where you finally accept the feelings the public has towards you. Surrender completely. Fully complete the connection between artist and viewer."

"B-but, if I do that... if I give in..." whimpered Zoe, as Devon's hands crawled over the chest of her body suit, "It won't be art! I won't be an artist anymore, just a... just a dirty sl..."

Zoe gasped as Devon gripped the patches over her breasts and ripped them free in a violent motion, exposing her large brown tits to the open air, poking through two perfect holes in the latex body suit.

"That's what people will think!" said Devon soothingly, "But we will know the truth. This is the truest type of art! Sometimes, to create something truly magical, an artist needs to accept the audience's authentic reaction. And I think we both know how your audience will react to you," said Devon, his hands kneading and pinching Zoe's now-exposed tits.

"I... I can't Devon," protested Zoe in a weak voice, submitting to his roaming fingers, "I'm scared. I can't just let some strange men do whatever they want with me!"

Devon's hands slipped lower, over the shiny tight expanse of white rubber covering her body. "Scared, Zoe? Maybe a little, but just like you have to accept the reaction of your audience, you must accept your own true feelings as well." His hands gripped the seam around the patch covering her crotch and slowly peeled it away.

Zoe moaned in shame as the patch ripped away from its tight grip on her body, revealing the sloppy mess of a pussy beneath. Thick strings of sticky goo glistened, clinging to the latex as it peeled off slowly. Devon tossed the soiled scrap of latex onto the ground and worked his strong fingers into Zoe's drenched pussy, making obscene liquid sounds as their mouths found each other, tongues swirling and clashing as Zoe's mind filled with warm pink fog.

Devon broke away and whispered with a grin, "It doesn't feel like you are afraid to me Zoe. So what is holding you back? Shouldn't you just give in and accept the true feelings of your adoring fans? What do you say? Shall we give the people what they want?"

Zoe bit her lip. Devon's hands working between her legs made it hard to think. It felt like fucking her viewers wasn't something a good artist would do. Or was she just making excuses?

"Stop resisting what you know you want," came Devon's persuasive whisper in her ear. "Wouldn't it feel soooo good just to relax and let other people take control for a while?"

Devon was right. Zoe had felt a powerful burst of energy and creativity when she was chained up and humped by Ivan, and felt it again when she was bound in the private booth and watched dozens of men jerk off to her. Why should she turn away from that feeling? Zoe looked Devon in the eye, overcame her nagging doubts, and said "L-let's do it."

Devon had to work to keep his grin from growing too evil. He turned immediately and zipped open his duffel bag, pulling out a piece of white cloth. He handed it to Zoe, saying: "Put this on. If you need help, let me know."

Zoe held it up to see that it was a tightly-fitting white blindfold.

"I don't understand," she said nervously, "why am I blinding myself?"

Devon chuckled. He pulled a large bundle of soft red ropes from the bag as well as a wide ring-shaped gag with a white leather strap. "Your sight isn't the only thing you'll be giving up tonight. Your fans want to see how eager you are to submit too their true feelings."

Her pulse quickened. Devon didn't just mean that she would give in to her fans' desires when he said she should "give up control". He wanted her to willingly give up all defenses. To blind herself. Silence herself. Bind her movements. Truly submit to all of their twisted desires and make herself utterly vulnerable. She remembered what it had felt like when the crowd had loomed above her as she was chained to the rocks, her tits exposed. She remembered how she had felt when she was bound and fully revealed, watching strange men stroke their cocks to her without any ability to hide her shame.

The idea of utter surrender should terrify and repulse her. She had always been a woman who had insisted on complete freedom above all else.

Instead, her pussy sent a fresh stream of excited fluid in a slimy trail down the white latex covering her inner thigh. With shaking hands, she tied the blindfold over her eyes as Devon approached with a smirk, ropes and gag in hand.

...

Devon held up a hand when Zoe had been hoisted to the perfect height above the floor of the exhibition hall. Just below waist level.

The hall itself had changed in the past fifteen minutes, rapidly converting to the vision that Devon had for it from the beginning. The classy photos of the statuary had been removed, revealing the photos of Zoe underneath.

Photos from her recent performance pieces. One of her in heavy chains, her tits bared, head thrown back to moan her orgasm. One of her laying back with her legs bound open, a dreamy smile on her face, body drenched in cum. A blown-up version of the sassy photo she had sent to Devon and the other hundred bidders so long ago, sitting on a counter, hiding her nudity and flipping off the camera. Devon had made sure that the message Zoe had written in gold pen was faithfully reproduced, now taking on a deliciously ironic new meaning:

"Ready for your chance to fuck me, loser? -Zoe Abiola"

But the most important piece of art in the room hung suspended in the center, between the pornographic photos. Zoe Abiola herself, transformed into Devon's masterpiece.

Her curvy body was tightly encased in the tight white latex Devon had tricked her into wearing. All except for the most important parts. Her massive round tits hung heavily below her suspended body, exposed to the eyes and hands of the men who were coming to watch her perform. Between her wide open thighs, her oozing cunt dripped the signs of its arousal down to the hardwood floor. Maybe he should set up a wet floor warning sign... wouldn't want any lawsuits.

To increase her utter helplessness and submission, Devon had carefully tied an intricate shibari binding over her body, using it to tie her calves to her thighs and her hands behind her back. It took an expert hand to tie a rope binding that could safely hold a woman's weight, but Devon had years of training. Zoe would be comfortable all night if necessary.

To complete her humiliating submission, Zoe had willingly donned the blindfold and gag herself. Her tongue lolled in her forced-open mouth as drool dripped to the floor to join her pussy juice. She was bound, blinded, silenced, and conquered. Turned from a confident and abrasive young artist into a submissive receptacle for the lust and cum of her depraved fans.

And all with her enthusiastic permission.

Devon glanced over to the new sign at the entrance to the performance space. It now read: