Art Exhibitionism

Author's Note:

This story is part of an anthology series of standalone stories, so there is no need to read the other stories in the series before starting this one.

Fetishes included: Bondage, Free use, Exhibitionism, Public Humiliation, Bukkake, and Hypnosis.

I hope you enjoy!

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Devon Preisinger was the kind of man who made you want to roll your eyes the moment you met him. He gave the impression of pretentious snobbery before he even opened his mouth.

His understated all-black outfit, neatly clipped beard (going white at the chin), rimless glasses, and especially his fixed expression of casual disdain for the world around him marked him for what he was: an arrogant elite of the artistic world.

Faria loved museum-going, and fancied herself a keen appreciator of modern art. She found it important to fill her time between work projects with activities she found relaxing and fulfilling. So obviously she had heard of the Preisinger Gallery. It was simultaneously one of the oldest and most avant-garde art spaces open today, founded by Devon's grandfather.

And for anyone familiar with the modern art scene, it was also obvious why Devon might want Faria's services.

"So," said Faria, fixing amused eyes on the man lounging in the chair across from her, "Zoe Abiola."

Devon gave her a tight-lipped, humorless smile and inclined his head.

"I'm familiar with the disagreement between you and Ms. Abiola," admitted Faria, "But I'd like to hear about the situation in your own words. Please tell me what happened, Mr. Preisinger."

Devon sighed and launched into his explanation. "Zoe Abiola is a rising star in the world of performance art," he began in a lazy, drawling voice at odds with the venom in his expression. "She began making waves almost as soon as she moved to New York from London, her hometown. Her work has thus far explored themes of the male gaze, societal oppression of the female gender, and rebellion against traditional authority."

Faria couldn't help but laugh. "So really, you should have known better," she teased. Devon's eyes flashed in annoyance and his cheeks grew pink, but he refused to dignify the comment with a response.

Zoe Abiola. If anything, Devon was underplaying her reach and influence. Zoe's performance pieces were powerful statements against oppression, corporate greed, and especially the patriarchy. Zoe's popularity was certainly enhanced by the fact that she was a gorgeous young woman in the bloom of life. The fiery young artist was currently the darling of the underground art scene, but the artistic establishment wasn't sure what to make of her. On one hand, she was clearly talented, but on the other, upsetting the status quo and attacking people in power was her specialty. Not attractive traits to the kind of powerful people firmly in Zoe's crosshairs.

"In any case, Ms. Abiola caused a stir with her fresh, provocative work," said Devon irritably, ignoring Faria's gibe.

"And do you agree with the critical praise she has received, Mr. Preisinger?" asked Faria, raising an eyebrow.

Devon looked up at Faria as though shocked. "What? Oh absolutely! Whatever Zoe did to me, I would never be so petty as to deny her talent. If I didn't think she was a fantastic artist, I never would have gotten into this trouble in the first place!"

Despite how obnoxious Devon was, Faria had to give him credit: many of his colleagues would have refused to praise Zoe, but Devon took his job seriously and valued fair evaluation. Faria respected those qualities. She strived for them in her own profession.

"Let's talk about Zoe's latest piece," said Faria, steering the conversation back on track.

Devon nodded sourly and removed a glossy photo print from the folder he brought along. "You requested a photo of Zoe I believe?" he said. "Since this is part of the story, I think it will serve nicely."

He placed the photo on the desk in front of Faria. She had seen it before. Like Devon said, it was a major part of a story that had rocked the world of modern art.

In the black and white photo, Zoe Abiola looked toward the camera with soft shining eyes. Her nose cutely crinkled up as her pillowy lips curved into a mischievous smile.

Zoe's hair looked soft, fluffy, and perfect in a natural afro style. She was shot from the waist up, wrapped in a large, soft-looking blanket. One naked ebony shoulder left bare gave the strong implication that Zoe was wearing nothing at all underneath.

Overall, the picture dripped with innocent, playful sexiness. To a certain type of man, Faria was sure it would be irresistible. Devon certainly hadn't been able to resist.

'Zoe posted this picture on her website at the beginning of March," explained Devon. "Accompanying it was a caption with the following proposition: Zoe would accept payment in advance for her next work of performance art from whoever cared to donate. She would leave donations open for a month. When donations were closed, the top one hundred contributors would receive a signed, nude photograph of the artist. The top contributor would 'be given a chance to fuck' Zoe. Her words, not mine."

"How delightfully kinky," said Faria with a chuckle, "Zoe Abiola, the famous artist, auctions off her sweet pussy to a crowd of old art nerds on the internet. It almost sounds like the end result of one of my projects, rather than the beginning."

Devon didn't look amused. "In the end, the premise of the donations was misleading," he said in a clipped tone. "All of those who donated discovered that, but I learned a particularly harsh lesson."

"Why did you end up as the top donator, Mr. Preisinger?" needled Faria, her eyes intense as she sized up the small man in front of her.

Devon looked away, embarrassed, unable to meet Faria's weighing gaze. "I wanted to support Zoe's art of course," he said lightly.

"Yes," said Faria with a wicked grin, "I'm sure you wanted to be her strongest supporter. All night long, if possible."

Devon awkwardly cleared his throat and continued, trying to ignore Faria's throaty chuckles. "This is what the top one hundred donors received in the mail. I think you can agree that we were somewhat misled."

Devon placed another photo next to the first. Zoe Abiola's hairstyle had changed, now done up into tight, fierce box braids. She sat up on a counter, and, as promised, wasn't wearing any clothes. But her thick, toned legs were crossed tightly at the thighs, revealing nothing. One of Zoe's arms carefully clutched her naked breasts. Her huge tits were too large to cover completely with one arm; some tantalizing glimpses of warm brown flesh squeezed out above and below her concealing arm. Her face had an expression of amused disgust, and she held up a stiff, pink-nailed middle finger on her free hand.

It was still a red-hot photo if you were into the dominant, mocking tone it set, but it was hardly the full-access, softly sexy image that the initial post had implied. Faria saw that Zoe had written a personal message for Devon as well as her signature in bright gold ink.

"Ready for your chance to fuck me, loser?"

Faria raised her eyebrow. The next part of the story had been in the news, but she still had to hear Devon say it. "And then...?" she prompted.

Devon sighed heavily. "Then she showed up in front of my gallery with a megaphone. She loudly proclaimed that this was my chance. If I came out right then and there, she would fuck me right on the dirty sidewalk. It was a huge production. A big statement about how men thought they could purchase the sexual autonomy of women. She burned a wheelbarrow filled with the amount I had donated. In prop cash, by the way. The media won't tell you that. In the end, she called me a coward and a hypocrite. She said I wanted women to expose their bodies and perform sexually in public but wasn't willing to do the same by having public sex with her."

Faria nodded. It matched with what had been reported. The art media loved it, calling it Zoe's most daring piece yet, exposing the hypocrisy of the elites of the art world. However, some questioned the ethics of the performance. Devon had been roped into the performance piece against his will on false pretenses. True, it tended to be the older, whiter, more male art critics raising this complaint, but the criticism existed. Faria thought carefully over whether this was an offense bad enough to deserve her punishment. It was borderline.

"Why not laugh it off?" asked Faria seriously. "You're a powerful gallery owner, she's a starving artist. Sure, she tweaked your nose a little, but wouldn't it be better in the long run to apologize and let everyone forget?"

Devon Preisinger was shaking his head with an angry expression. "I would love to, but Zoe has been crowing about her achievement for months. Posting images and videos of the performance on her website. Giving interviews about how brave she was to stand up to me. Inspiring boycotts and protests of my gallery. In the art world, image is everything, and Zoe has committed herself to enhancing her image by tearing mine down. Regardless of whether it was wrong of me to take Zoe up on her disingenuous offer, I believe she has taken things too far."

That sounded more like the kind of offense that Faria could accept. It would really depend on the type of revenge Mr. Preisinger had in mind.

"And what exactly is your desired result, Mr. Preisinger?" asked Faria with interest. "How would you like Zoe to be hypnotized?"

"Art is about breaking boundaries," said Devon confidently, "Zoe has examined gender in her work, but has also drawn careful limits, never truly exploring eroticism and sensuality in her performance pieces." For the first time in the interview, Devon broke into a wide grin. "I want to see her break that boundary. I think it could lead to a whole new era of artistic output for her."

Faria rolled her eyes. Trust an art snob to describe his dark desires in such a roundabout way. She knew what he meant though, and the concept of such a thoroughly humiliating reversal on the young artist was too intriguing to ignore. Yes, this would be appropriate in Faria's judgment: Zoe hadn't hesitated to inflict public humiliation on Devon, it was fair for her to experience the same thing.

"The price is set at fifty thousand dollars, Mr. Preisinger. I'll be in touch."

...

Zoe Abiola met Faria at the door to her studio wearing ripped jeans, heavy-looking boots, and a scuffed leather jacket over a form-fitting white tee. The look said "rebel", but was also selected carefully to show off Zoe's sense of style and curvy figure.

It appeared that, like most performing artists, Zoe had a keen eye for self-promotion.

That same instinct had made it easy for Faria to arrange a meeting. Faria had simply needed to pose as a reporter for an art magazine, and Zoe had jumped at the chance.

The studio itself had been carefully stage-managed as well, hosting a wide variety of materials and art supplies crowding every surface, carefully arranged to look chaotic but picturesque.

"Welcome to the workshop," said Zoe confidently, spreading her arms with a grin. "I'm in here building a revolution from scratch, seven days a week." Faria loved Zoe's accent. She had always had a thing for British girls.

Faria couldn't help but laugh good-naturedly at Zoe's swaggering attitude. "Come now, Ms. Abiola," she said with a teasing tone, examining a model made of twisted wires, "Art can be an inspiration. But a revolution? Surely not."

Zoe flopped back into an office chair and kicked her combat boots up on a table. "You'll find that you're wrong there. My work is a powerful indictment of authority. People have been taught to meekly submit to those in power, to let themselves be bound by the chains of oppression. My work stands against that. If you don't believe that art can be a revolution, I invite you and your readers to watch my future career closely. My work inspires power feelings in my viewers."

Faria eyed the brash young artist with a sly smile. Faria thought that her future career would definitely inspire passionate reactions from people who kept a close eye on it, but she doubted that they would be learning the lessons that Zoe hoped.

Faria reached out and touched a rope hanging from a pulley attached to the ceiling. "I'm fascinated by your process, Zoe," said Faria, her eyes darting all over the rigging setup as a wicked idea formed in her head, "For instance, what do you use this setup for?"

"Great question!" said Zoe cheerfully, hopping up from her chair and joining Faria in the center of the room. "Obviously most of my work is performance-based, but visuals are a huge part of my work. Sometimes when I am looking for inspiration, I want to examine an object from every angle." She jiggled the rope for emphasis, making the pulley clank. "So I hoist it up with this and have a chance to see my inspiration from every angle."

Faria's lips curved into a smile. Faria was planning a masterpiece of her own, and she wanted to get some inspiration. Why not hoist her subject and get a look at her from every angle?

In order to fully control a person mentally, she had to understand their true self. But for Zoe, that was easy: she wore her arrogant, cheerful heart on her sleeve. Faria unleashed her special vocal talent.

*I want you to strip naked, Zoe, but without noticing anything out if the ordinary*

Her voice sounded odd and slithery, the vowels lengthened in ways that felt uncomfortable to the ear. Zoe froze and looked confused for just a moment, then the command took hold.

Zoe shrugged out of her leather jacket as she continued speaking nonchalantly. "But that's just one of the many tools I use to get inspiration for my pieces. I use models and photo collages too, as you can see."

"Fascinating dear," said Faria distractedly, eyes scanning the room. "You must have some rope available if you tie things to the rigging, right?"

Zoe gave Faria an odd look as she shimmied out of her jeans, revealing her juicy, smooth thighs and a sky-blue thong. "Well, yeah, there's some over there", she said, indicating a coil of rope on a nearby bench. Her voice became slightly muffled as she pulled her tight tee up over her head. "I know the rigging is pretty dramatic, but it's really a small part of my process. Why don't I show you some of the concepts for my next piece?"

"I'm not sure we'll have time, unfortunately," said Faria apologetically. She scooped up the rope from the bench as behind her Zoe discarded her bra, revealing her luscious tits.

"No time for my next big performance?" asked Zoe in an annoyed tone as she swiftly stripped off her tiny panties, the last scrap of cloth preserving her modesty. "What kind of interview is this?"

"It's a kind unlike any you've experienced before," said Faria, approaching the nude, confused woman with an eager step.

*Now, hands behind your back like a good girl, Zoe. It's time to start the interview for real*

...

Faria groaned and strained, digging in her heels and hauling the rope back far enough to finally secure it to the hook on the wall.

She collapsed onto a nearby stool, wiping her forehead and panting. She should really think things through more clearly when she came up with creative setups for her programming sessions: she almost didn't have the physical strength to accomplish this one.

But Faria hadn't been able to resist the temptation of Zoe's rigging system. And now that the hard work was done, the results were certainly worth it.

Zoe Abiola swung suspended upside down above the floor of her workshop, gagged, bound, and eyes wide with outrage and fear. Her hands were expertly tied behind her back and a spreader bar splayed her juicy legs, ensuring Faria would still have access to her pussy. Her heavy round breasts hung awkwardly down towards her face, and her long, tight braids swung so low that they almost reached the floor.

This must not be the first time that a person had been suspended on this particular setup: Faria spied a safety mat as she approached the displayed artist. She used a foot to slide it below Zoe. Better safe than sorry.

Let's see what this young firebrand has to say for herself now. Faria ripped away the electrical tape she had used to seal Zoe's mouth. It was mainly for show. Once Faria had a fix on a person's mental waves, she could simply command them to remain silent. But sometimes there was no substitute for the psychological impact of physical restraint.

"What is this?" Spat Zoe as soon as she was free. "You aren't a reporter, are you?"

Oh my, Ms. Abiola, thought Faria as she surveyed her target, I think I'm falling for you! A dynamite body to go along with her lovely face and cute accent. The artist's body was all tempting curves, with a tender little belly, wide rounded hips, juicy thighs, and a big bubble butt that seemed to defy gravity. Her large breasts were magnificent as well, perky and round with prominent, dark, half-dollar-sized nipples. Zoe wasn't fat by any stretch of the imagination, but carried just enough weight to give her body an appealing feminine softness and a certain squishiness that the fingers ached to touch. To top things off, the young artist had the kind of dark chocolatey skin that Faria had always thought was a particularly delicious feast for the eyes.

"A keen observation," said Faria sardonically in response to Zoe's panicked outburst, "No Ms. Abiola, this isn't a new aggressive interview tactic. Our agenda has changed from what you were led to expect. But you know all about bait and switch, don't you honey?"

Zoe struggled against her tight bonds as the rope holding her gently rotated her. "I don't know what you're talking about, bitch," she growled, fury in her eyes. "Who the fuck are you and what do you want?" Ooh, this girl was a little spicy. Faria liked this kind of target much more than those who begged and pleaded.

"You can call me Faria. I'm a mesmerist by trade. I'm here on behalf of a client. He's interested in... modifying your artistic sensibilities somewhat."

Zoe looked horrified. "What?!" she gasped in outrage, "You're going to mess around with my brain and change my art!?" Her lovely face scrunched into an expression of fury. "How dare you?"

"Calm down, honey," said Faria condescendingly. It was kind of adorable that when bound and at the mercy of a mysterious stranger, Zoe's first concern was the purity of her art.

"I don't even rate this as an extreme modification," continued Faria. "A slutty exhibitionist and performance artist are just a hair's breadth away from each other anyway. It's just a difference in subject matter. A performance where you scream gibberish and throw paint at art patrons and a sloppy free-use gangbang are just two sides of the same coin."

Zoe's face grew ashy as what Faria was suggesting sunk in. Faria watched as the wheels turned in the pretty young woman's head. Saw her reject bargaining and raging as useless. Faria liked this girl: she had a good head on her shoulders.

"Why?" Zoe asked simply, her eyes solemn.

"An excellent question," Said Faria with a smile, tracing a slim finger down Zoe's tender, exposed belly, making the bound woman squirm and tense at the intimate sensation. "Did you deliberately mislead Devon Preisinger in order to publicly humiliate him?"

Zoe found herself unable to lie or refuse to answer: Faria had already commanded her to answer promptly and honestly. "Yes I did," she said grudgingly, "But there were no lies in what I accused him of. He and all the other entrenched elites are hypocritical sexist cowards."

Faria nodded. In Zoe's eyes, what she did was appropriate punishment for Devon Preisinger's arrogant feelings of entitlement towards her body. Maybe she was even correct. But she was about to learn a harsh lesson about the cycle of vengeance.