Humiliated Ch. 05

"I wondered what all the fuss was about. How does it work?" Richard asked.

Her husband was fiddling with her sex before a crowd of awful people. He didn't know who she was. He thought she was just a novelty object, owned by Maurice. She was no longer a wife and stepmother, she was a work of art displayed in a gallery. Her body was there to be used and commented upon by critics.

She had been just a trophy wife, so there wasn't much difference. She had been used as a pretty ornament on his arm at business functions, and dinners with clients. She had been dressed up as a distraction for clients, while her husband smooth talked them into a contract.

Instead of being eye candy she was now a vile living wine decanter. They openly reviled her now. Did they do the same behind her back, when entertaining as a dutiful wife?

"She likes you Richard. You're ringing her bells!" Jonathan laughed.

Tracy realised the heightened humiliation was pushing her over the edge. There was no way to hold back. From behind the mask she croaked a dry moan. Her legs stiffened, her tummy rippled and flexed. The tray tipped, almost spilling the few snacks left.

The thin leather was so tight it showed every muscle flexing. Every quiver of her body was revealed. The nipple bells danced around as though alive. Her husband held an arm to steady her. In front of strangers, as well as people she knew, a deep orgasm rocked her body. Her whole body trembled in its grip.

It carried on and on, prolonging the agony of humiliation. They were applauding her! The women could see it was a genuine happening, and could guess why. The poor woman was turned on by the disgrace of such a lewd position.

"The trollop is turned on by the degradation of it all. It's obvious she's been hot all evening," a woman commented.

Though still on her feet, Tracy sank into the afterglow of a desperate orgasm. Her mind whirled in anguish. Her owner had turned her into a sex machine! Anyone could stimulate her. No-one, and nothing they did was unwelcome anymore. Everything and anything excited her beyond control.

She had lost control of her body and mind. There was no escaping the fact she had become a sex object, ready to be manipulated at any time, by whatever means suited her owner.

"You seem interested in my work of art, Maria," Maurice said, with a devious grin. "You must buy it to wear at your next party," he told her.

Before she could muster a reply he walked off.

"I couldn't possibly, it's too disgusting," Maria blustered.

"You'd be surprised what you might do when Maurice decides to work on you," Jonathan teased. He kept his voice low and serious, amused at the way she quivered.

"I couldn't! He wouldn't make me, I mean, he couldn't, could he?" Maria blushed.

"If he puts his mind to it," Jonathan quietly and meaningfully spoke.

Maria put a hand to her open mouth, as though suppressing a screech of fright. She looked flushed with excitement, and quickly turned away from the lewd exhibit.

Jonathan had certainly learnt something new about Maria. She was older than him, though she was certainly attractive. The state she was in gave him something to work on. Obviously something more subtle than the obscene outfit was required, though as tight and revealing would be perfect.

Maurice watched the two of them from a distance, assessing the size of their bank accounts. They were two new customers. An outfit for her, and another for her paid for by him. He smiled to himself. No-one would buy the lewd outfit, but it certainly generated interest and stimulated ideas.

***

After the show Tracy was shattered. Maurice led her to his apartment behind the studio. He slowly removed the bags from her body and she sighed deeply as he did so. It looked as though she were a deflating blow-up doll.

He carried her to the bathroom to wash her all over. She just lay there, letting him move her limbs and working suds into her most intimate of places. She smelt of bath oil and soap. Her skin was fresh yet she was still exhausted from the extreme experience.

He carried her to his bed and cuddled her.

"You're a wonderful obedient slave. I'm glad I bought you. I shall look after you as my most cherished possession," Maurice told her.

"Thank you, master," Tracy sighed.

She had been bought and paid for, to become an object owned by him. There was no denying what he had made her into. She had been shaped into the work of art he wanted her to be. She was just an item in the art gallery. The idea of being not longer responsible for anything, with no decisions to make, and nothing to trouble her was irresistible. He was looking after her and caring for her like a precious object, which was so very comforting.

He kissed her face, and stroked her body until she fell asleep.