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."
