Tracy on Show in an Art Gallery
"It's Sunday evening, master," Tracy quietly said, with a guilty look.
Maurice wondered what she meant for a moment, then realised she was expecting to go home.
The weekend had been filled with enjoyable sexual encounters, turning to love-making rather than just sex. She felt guilty about it when thinking of home. She was a married woman with responsibilities, yet selfishly pushed it all aside, leaving her free to explore an uninhibited and lurid affair with a stranger.
He was no longer a stranger, after what they had experienced together. She knew him well, and he knew her too well. She discovered a need for humiliation that drove a sexual desire, not guessed at before. Going back to being a neglected trophy wife would be difficult. Having betrayed her husband was bad enough. The realisation their marriage was nothing more than a sham, would be intolerable.
"You belong to me now, until I release you," Maurice firmly stated. Seeing a look of defiance, he added. "Remember those despicable recordings your mistress gave me. I still have them. Perhaps you need to watch them as a reminder of your position."
A look of anguish washed her features. It wasn't just the threat of disclosure that kept her from insisting he let her leave. It was a surprise to feel how all pervading the need to stay with him had become. He was a powerful man, able to manipulate her into a helpless, pitiable wreck. At other times he could be so loving, and considerate of her feelings.
Experiencing such an onslaught of raw sex, kept her in a tumultuous state over the entire weekend. The powerful arousal he induced had left her unable to resist his every whim. Surely this couldn't go on much longer. She had to escape and return to a mundane life, before she lost all reason.
"Your mistress phoned," he stated. This simple statement had her full attention. "She has arranged with your husband for you to stay the week. No one will be expecting you home," he added.
"Yes, master, thank you master," she dutifully replied. It wasn't what she wanted to say. It had become a habit. She wanted to tell him she had to go home. It was impossible to tell him, 'No', or deny him anything. She wondered what the devious woman had told her husband.
He was relieved to see her capitulate. She even seemed happy that a decision was made for her.
"Follow me to the Gallery," he ordered.
From the apartment behind the gallery they entered his store. Paintings adorned the walls, with free standing sculptures by keen new artists. Everything was for sale. She felt like one of his works of art, after what he had put her through. As he said, he owned her, after swapping her for a painting.
It was demeaning thinking such thoughts, and exciting all at the same time. If he had simply abused her, as her mistress had, it could have been interpreted as a just punishment for the terrible mistake she made.
Having received such passionate loving, and giving so much of herself in return, it was impossible to discount it as a retribution for her misdeeds. She was enjoying it too much. The conflicting emotions of guilt and shocking pleasure, had her mind in a whirl leaving her unable to protest.
Tracy gave in, to obediently follow him.
All at once the gallery became familiar. The objects on display were different, but the three rooms were the same. She had visited it with her husband on viewing evenings. The corporation he worked for purchased works of art, for the reception area and directors offices. Important customers were gifted works of art as an incentive to sign lucrative contracts.
Tracy stood very still looking around the gallery, taking it all in. As a living work of art owned by him, she could be sold to the corporation. She might be given to a customer, while set into position as a piece of lewd furniture. A stranger would own her as a sex object.
She would be used whenever and however the stranger wanted, without considering her feelings. She would have to obey him, or her, committing lewd sexual acts to satisfy their nasty fantasies. As they became bored with her, they would offer her to friends, or use her as party favour.
The thought of being used at a party as nothing more than a sex object, worked her up. She imagined they would eventually sell her on, to start all over again, learning to satisfy another's sexual desires. The fantasy of spending her life as a sex object, being used and abused, had her panting.
She shook her head to clear the notion from her thoughts. Just one week and all this would be over. It had to be withstood without losing her mind, even if her morals had been damaged beyond repair.
Dressed in an expensive business suit, she was ready to greet a customer. It was quiet all morning, with little demands upon her, as he was constantly on the phone. Making coffee and fetching lunch was nothing more than being an assistant. It gave her some pleasure to be working, as she had married straight from university.
The late afternoon soon came around, when specially invited customers were due. Just one at a time would be visiting, so Maurice could work on them one to one. Tracy set up the wine and snacks on a side table in a private room. This was where the naughty works of art were offered to discerning customers.
"Hang up your clothes, all of them," Maurice instructed.
With her clothes on hangers against the wall they looked like just another modern work of art, though out of place among the paintings of naked women, and bacchanalian groups. He looked her over, studying her carefully. She felt like just another exhibit.
When he led her over to a Persian rug, she saw the equipment, and gasped. Her eyes were open wide with astonishment to realise she really was to become an object in his gallery. Serving his guest in a maids costume, or something more salubrious, had been expected. Even serving wine naked, would have been better than this.
"You know what to do," he firmly ordered.
Tracy was full of foreboding as she got down on hands and knees.
He lifted both arms behind her back to cuff her wrists. Her head was touching the floor with her bottom sticking up. He gently massaged her back and arms, telling her to relax. It was an uncomfortable position, but bearable.
Tracy felt the familiar large round pipe pushed between her cheeks. One end was on the floor with the other sticking up to form a support for a table top. Her knees, and the pipe made three legs. Attached to the pipe were two dildos, which he slowly eased into her asshole and pussy.
She was now firmly attached to the pipe. He secured the cuffs to the tube, locking her in place more securely. She wouldn't be able to resist pulling her arms to relieve an ache, and that would pull the dildos deeper up her ass and pussy.
