A Private Exhibition

- Arrival -

The gallery took up the entire ground floor of the converted storehouse in one of the posh areas of the redeveloped docklands. Bright light spilled through the extensive window panes cut into the old brick facade and peering inside, she could see throngs of exquisitely dressed people swirling around the big room, forming stationary vertices in front of the paintings and slow eddies around the sculptures. The muted sounds of laughter and lively conversation filtered onto the street, interspersed with the cool riffs of a jazz trio valiantly fighting to make itself heard through the din.

She checked her reflection in the side window of a parked sports car for a last time then walked up to the entrance. The eyes of the uniformed security guard lit up appreciatively when she entered the lighted area in front of the massive portal, his unabashed stare making her blush self-consciously. With an abrupt gesture she passed him the invitation and began a deliberate study of the intricate relief on the metal door. He scanned the invitation perfunctorily, then with a small bow handed it back to her.

"You are eagerly expected, Miss Liddell."

The deep, cultured tones of the guard's voice surprised her as much as the unexpected statement and made her look at him questioningly. He only smiled enigmatically at her, whispered some words into a microphone camouflaged in the lapel of his jacket and opened the door. Instantly the noise level redoubled. She stepped through the entrance into the waiting arms of a liveried attendant who, after a brief skirmish, succeeded in separating her from her well-worn coat. He vanished with his prize to add it to his hoard, leaving her behind in her plain black gown. Another attendant balancing a tablet cruised by and forced a glass of straw pale wine upon her. She decided to leave the conspicuous neighbourhood of the entrance and drifted into the room, mixing with the other guests. Occasional glances came her way, lingered for a moment to tally her net worth, and, after coming to an apparently unfavourable conclusion, slid off. In these rarefied circles her simple clothing marked her as an outsider and pariah.

Inevitably, she arrived in front of a painting. At first glance, it showed a spherical composition of translucent, intersecting golden planes that somehow appeared to float free of a dark brown background. After a while, when the eye had picked out more details, the planes seemed to coalesce into a multitude of vaguely humanoid shapes, strangely contorted and intertwined, evoking a subtly erotic sensation. She looked at the catalogue excerpt pinned next to the painting. Apparently, it was an early work, nondescriptly entitled "Protuberances". The attached price tag made her eyes water.

The music stopped and a sudden hush spread through the exhibition hall. Near the big freight elevator at the hall's rear a knot of people was rapidly forming. A tall man with long, dramatically silver hair stood in the centre of the commotion. He was dressed conservatively in a black suit, an extravagant, silver belt buckle echoing his hair's colour; the only concession to his image as eccentric artist. Involuntarily, her heart started a faster beat and the palms of her hands turned moist. With an effort, she wrenched her attention away from the figure and retreated to the opposite end of the room, against the forming general drift. Once there, she consciously drew several deep breaths to bring her reaction under control. Remembering her glass of wine, she emptied it in one big swallow, barely tasting the excellent vintage. She valiantly refused the urge to stare at him again, instead concentrating on the works displayed in this part of the room.

They were large-sized paintings from a more recent period. One of them she instantly recognized: it was the one that had piqued her interest in his art in the first place and the reason she had taken up the course he gave at university. Almost against her will she became engrossed once more, as had happened so many times in the past already.

Painstakingly executed in an almost minimalist style, it depicted a young woman, her naked body suspended by chains connecting her limbs to the edges of a triangular arch formed by two massive wooden beams angling toward each other. The scene was shown from the perspective of someone standing almost below the high arch and looking straight up into the woman's lowered face. There was a bright halo around her head as though it eclipsed the midday sun; however, what could be seen of the sky was a midnight blue inconsistent with this assumption. Her features were hard to make out due to the brilliant nimbus, but somehow an expression of incongruous rapture was conveyed.

What would it really feel like to be the woman in the painting?

She was so lost in her reverie that she only became aware of his presence at her side when he started to speak.

"Your devotion to the study of my art is commendable. However, everyone else has abandoned it for more carnal pleasures, I'm afraid. The buffet has opened."

Startled, she looked up quickly. His ironic expression did not soften the devastating impact his smile had upon her and she quickly lowered her head when she felt her face heating. Disconcerted by her reaction, she brusquely gestured at the painting.

"Your works always seem to revolve around carnal pleasures as well, admittedly of a darker nature. In your lectures, you never tire of stressing how important the motive of Eros has been throughout the development of art. So why begrudge your admirers their simple joys?"

"And why should you defend them, since you don't seem to share their proclivities? Or is it that your appetite for this different kind of carnal pleasures just happens to be more poignant?"

"Man shall not live by bread alone." She piously countered his teasing.

"Indeed." He chuckled. "However, I was about to ask if you'd care to join me for a private dinner."

"Oh! I'd love to accept, but wouldn't it be unfair of me to deprive your other guests of the privilege of your presence?"

"Believe me, that's a privilege they can dispense with quite well. Most of the men are here because their investment consultants advised them to come. They can't help wondering how much the market value for my works might rise if only I had the good grace to pass away soon, so they seem to consider it a personal affront that I'm actually younger than most of them. Constantly answering veiled inquiries regarding the state of my health makes conversing with them a tad too tedious for my jaded tastes. Anyway, the situation's actually worse with the women. Attending my party is more than sufficient to satisfy their taste for scandal and actually talking to me would have to be considered an act of outright frivolity."

"So you were forced to invite one of your humble students to keep you company at the opening night of your first exhibition in your very own gallery. I suppose I should feel honoured, Professor Lewis?"

"Please, don't call me that. It's Stephen. Actually, it's been my pleasure to invite you, because, unlikely as it seems, I enjoy talking to you, Joanna. It's gratifying to learn that at least one of my students listens to what I have to say during my lectures, instead of just speculating about the truth behind the latest rumours regarding my private life."

Actually, fantasizing about just these rumours had occupied a large part of her waking time, so she blushed again. He had the good grace not to notice her embarrassment and continued.

"I'd also like to extend our association for a little longer than just tonight, for I need to discuss some plans concerning my latest project with you." His dark eyes intently searched her face, his meaning clearly more significant than his words indicated.

She felt her pulse racing for this was the moment she had dreamed about and dreaded simultaneously, ever since the time she had got up the nerve to approach him after one of his lectures. Unsure whether she could trust her voice, she acquiesced with a wordless nod.

"Good."

Stephen relieved her of the empty glass and beckoned an attendant who had unobtrusively hovered nearby to approach.

"Please see to it we aren't disturbed."

- A Most Unusual Dinner -

He took her hand and setting a brisk pace led her towards the elevator. Quite a few pairs of eyes followed their rapid passage, and she felt their curious stares burning into her back, so she was glad when he didn't bother calling the lift but opened the door next to it instead. In the staircase beyond, he pulled her up one flight of stairs before unlocking the door giving access to the next floor, then gestured for her to precede him into the dark room. She hesitantly complied and the solid clunk of the door closing behind them, cutting off the noise from the ongoing party, sent a shiver down her spine. It was as if she had suddenly entered another world.

After the brightness of the gallery and staircase, her eyes needed a moment to adjust. Unexpectedly, she found herself in a spacious pantry, dimly illuminated by the light falling through the open doorway to the adjacent room. A mostly filled wine rack took up one entire side of the room with the other dedicated to a massive refrigerator and rows of shelves filled with all kinds of provisions. He took her hand again and led her through the doorway into the next room which turned out to be a large, well-appointed kitchen cum dining room. For the first time in her life Joanna saw a cooking island outside of a furniture store's exhibition. The dining table had been set for two.

"Please take a seat. Dinner will be ready in a minute."

"Thank you!" She delicately lowered herself onto one of the severe-looking chairs, which, despite its straight, high back, turned out to be surprisingly comfortable.

He captured her wrist and bowing gallantly touched his lips to the back of her hand. When he straightened, he pulled a pair of gleaming handcuffs out of his pocket and looked at her questioningly.

"Do you mind?"

Her pulse spiked again.

My flight reflexes really get taxed to the limit this evening! The wry thought bolstered her confidence, and ignoring her hammering heart, she graciously offered him her other hand.

"Not at all. I was taught to respect the indigenous customs, even if they appeared somewhat strange. Please go ahead."

Stephen moved behind her and brought her arms close together around the back of the chair, gently twisting them until her palms faced outward. Slowly, almost sensually he ratcheted the heavy cuffs closed around her wrists to a tight, but not uncomfortable fit. When he released her arms, she compulsively tried to slip her hands out of their uncompromising embrace, immediately establishing the hopelessness of her efforts. She was not even able to turn her wrists within their close confines! To her own surprise, as the realization of her helplessness sank in, instead of panicking she felt an accepting calm come over her and a dreamy smile spread across her face. She could not deny she was turned on by the whole situation.

"I hope your precautions don't reflect the quality of your cooking. Anyway, how will I be able to eat, with my hands bound like this?"

"It looks like I'll have to feed you. And don't worry; it's never been necessary to force-feed my guests yet. Not to say that the thought of thus stuffing your clever mouth is without appeal."

The accompanying grin robbed his words of the sting they otherwise might have held and although she did not really agree, she wisely choose to swallow the barbed retort at the tip of her tongue. Content with having the last word for once, her host busied himself with the simmering pots and pans, causing delicious aromas to waft through the room. Craning her neck, Joanna watched interestedly while he readied the first set of plates. Satisfied with the artistic arrangement of the ingredients at last, he brought the fruits of his labours over for her inspection.

"Voila! The first course: rochette salad with shaved parmesan and pear." He announced grandly.

"That sounds promising."

"Just wait till you taste it."

"It seems you're leaving me no other option."

"Ah, indeed. However, let's toast to our future collaboration first, Joanna. It may seem a little premature, but it's been a very auspicious start and I hope the evening will continue in the same way."

Stephen held a glass against her lips with his left hand, slowly tilting it until the dark red wine it held threatened to spill past her mouth and over her chin. Perforce she took a generous swallow, while he took a much more sensible sip from his own glass, savouring its rich body appreciatively.

He set down the glasses and reached for the cutlery.

"Let the feast begin!"

- Secret Lives -

An hour later Joanna leaned back as far as her chair would permit and sighed contentedly. Although her helplessness and the somewhat uncomfortable configuration of her bound arms had bothered her at first, she felt completely at ease now, if somewhat replete and just a tad tipsy. The food had been excellent and she feared she had overindulged herself; certainly disabusing her host of the notion that she was the dainty eater her slight frame and slender figure suggested. With a regretful headshake she indicated that she did not want yet another pastry from the plate Stephen held before her.

"I've had enough. One more of those and I shall burst."

She unsuccessfully tried to stifle a giggle when unbidden the memory of a notorious movie scene resurfaced, graphically detailing just such an event. She hated it when she giggled, fearing it made her sound like a little school girl rather than the sophisticated young woman she actually was. Or fancied to be, she corrected herself, thinking back to how often she had already felt out of her depth during the course of this remarkable evening.

He raised his eyebrow, silently inquiring about the cause for her exhilaration and she shook her head again.

"It's nothing."

He shrugged and put the pastries away.

"I assume that the dinner met with your approval?" he smiled, "I'd hate to think you ate only to pre-empt me from force-feeding you."

"You needn't worry. It's been delicious. And thank you for feeding me. I could get used to that, you know?"

"Maybe you will. Let's get down to business. I have a proposal for you. But before I go into the details, let me explain to you what I've been really up to in recent years."

Stephen had her full attention now; her earlier drowsiness replaced by a state of anxious expectation and not a little apprehension.

"About three years ago, I had a creative crisis. I felt I had grown stale in my work, beginning to repeat myself. Eventually, I came to the conclusion that I'd exhausted the possibilities that canvas and bronze offer for artistic expression. I needed a new challenge and so decided to change the material I work with. For the last three years my raw material has been the human body; female ones to be more precise."

He paused, watching for the impact his words had on Joanna. Obviously quite a profound one, judging from her wide-eyed expression, vividly reminding him of the proverbial deer caught in the headlights of a speeding car. He continued smoothly in a matter-of-fact voice, as if discussing the weather.

"As is obvious from my art, I've been interested in the darker aspects of human sexuality for a long time now. More specifically, the intricate ties between Eros and power as revealed in the interplay between sadism and masochism, dominance and submission have come to fascinate me. For the last three years I've explored these inter-relationships with brave women who are not afraid to break the stifling mould of their middle-class existence. Women who are driven by the same urge to explore, driven by the necessity to bring their inner truth to its fullest realization and have it revealed to themselves, as well as others, by becoming what they've in their inner gestalt always been: a living work of art."

He looked her straight in the eye before continuing.

"I believe you can be one of them."

His calm assertion caused a multitude of conflicting impulses to race through her. The images his words conjured in her mind resonated with a deeply rooted aspect of her personality that had lain dormant for the longest time but had gradually come to dominate her dreams and fantasies in the past year or so. Other, more familiar parts of her were alarmed and terrified by these same images.

"What do you mean? What did you do to these women?"

"Unfortunately, what I mean is not easy to explain in words. Let me show you instead."

Not waiting for an answer, he again moved behind her. Joanna raised her arms as far as their awkward configuration allowed, expecting to be released at last, but instead, he took hold of her body by her armpits and effortlessly lifted her out of the chair, setting her down on her feet next to it. With a strange mixture of apprehension and relief she concluded that, apparently, Stephen had no intention of giving her the option to decline his invitation. Her assumption was further substantiated when he pulled another item out of his surprisingly deep pockets: this one turning out to be a leather collar with a light but sturdy looking chain attached. She stood motionless while he fastened the collar around her neck, readily tilting her head forward when he lifted her long, black tresses out of the way to close its buckle at the nape of her neck. Each touch of his cool hands, each breath caressing the flushed skin of her bared nape seemed to send an electrical discharge through her, further rousing the fire that simmered in her loins.

As with the cuffs, he tightened the collar to a snug but not uncomfortable fit, then grasped the chain cascading down her front and exerted a gentle pull.

"Come!"

- Deeper Into Privacy -

She followed him through the pantry to the elevator and watched him punch the call button with trance-like detachment. The doors opened immediately for obviously the cabin had been waiting for them. They entered and ascended to the top floor. The high-ceilinged room they arrived in was probably even bigger than the pantry and kitchen below put together. At first glance it appeared to be an ordinary, if exceedingly well-equipped workshop with crates stacked along the inner wall, further on giving way to storage cabinets and shelves where all kinds of neatly laid out tools vied for space with cans of paint and stacks of brushes. Most of the floor was taken up by workbenches and bulky machinery, that, judging from its sleek lines and attached computer terminals, would do a dedicated machine shop proud. However, totally out of place in such an environment was the massive, clinical looking, rubber and steel contraption resembling a gynaecological chair; this sitting incongruously among all the other equipment. It gave the whole ensemble a deeply sinister note that became even more pronounced when she noticed the numerous, strategically mounted straps that would make it quite impossible for the chair's occupant to move a muscle, let alone escape its confines.

Luckily, Joanna had no time to dwell excessively on the likely applications of the chair that made these precautions necessary for the insistent pull on her collar urged her on to the far end of the room where she had to wait for her host to open a massive metal door. This led into a wide and quite long, windowless passageway, blocked at the far end by another door identical to the one they had just passed through. Both side walls were hung with close-packed photographs and paintings, with the occasional bronze sculpture on a pedestal interspersed at irregular intervals.

Stephen stopped in front of the first picture; a large black and white portrait of a nude woman. She was quite stunning, standing upright in front of the camera with a cool, self-assured expression, as if daring the viewer to comment on her nakedness.