The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

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.

Faria had heard all she needed about the offense. Zoe had done what Devon accused her of. But there was one more formality Faria had to take care of. She launched into her usual offer:

“By requesting my services to be performed on you, my client has wronged you at least as much as you have wronged them. Therefore I will offer you a chance to escape what is about to happen. The fee charged to my client in this instance was $50,000. If you are willing to double that price, I will offer you the chance to simply walk away, or craft a reversed punishment for him. Are you interested?”

Zoe looked nervous. “I’m between shows right now, so funds are a little tight. If you can wait a month, then I can…”

Silence, Zoe

Zoe’s mouth snapped shut, and her eyes blazed as she realized how easily Faria could silence her.

“I would normally question you a little before making any changes, but I think I already know where to start in this particular case,” said Faria, slowly circling her captive.

Zoe shook her head desperately, but Faria was already drawing a deep breath.

You will now enter programming mode. Your mind will grow completely calm and empty. Your body will breathe deeply and relax completely. When you hear my next words, they will become your new thoughts

Zoe relaxed, her dark brown eyes shutting as she gently drifted, suspended and bound above the floor of her studio.

The first order of business was to bind Zoe to Devon.

Regardless of my personal issues with Devon Preisinger, working with him will be good for my career.

“—good for my career.” Zoe repeated Faria’s words just a half step behind in a low undertone, indicating her absorption of the modified thoughts.

Devon Preisinger is a deeply attractive man, and I value his artistic opinions

-value his artistic opinions. Zoe’s eyebrows creased slightly at this command, indicating that it clashed with her pre-existing ways of thinking. It would still eventually become her new opinion, but this command might take a little training on Devon’s part to fully sink in.

Alright, those commands should allow the pompous gallery owner to get his foot in the door, now Faria needed to supply the first gentle nudge towards the depravity that Devon craved.

Performing in front of others is sexually exciting to me. When people look at me as a sexual object, it gives me an erotic thrill.

-an erotic thrill. Zoe’s eyebrows creased again. She genuinely didn’t feel this way currently.

That would change.

Zoe eyed the setup at the center of the cavernous gallery with a critical eye. The false mountaintop looked suitably rough and primeval. The chains were genuine iron: heavy as shit. But at least there was hidden padding inside the manacles to keep them from chafing.

“What do you think, boss?” asked Ivan, the edge of pre-performance jitters already coloring his voice. “Are we good to go?” The huge model held his stylized eagle mask under his thickly muscled arm. His loincloth showed off his bulging, oiled physique just like it was designed to. Ivan represented stereotypical masculinity in this particular piece.

“We’re as ready as we’ll ever be,’’ said Zoe grimly. She was always pessimistic before shows, convinced that this was the project that would finally flop and ruin her career. It hadn’t happened yet, but that fact didn’t comfort her. There was always a first time.

Zoe’s costume was a parallel to Ivan’s: a ragged waist wrap slung across her hips and a matching cloth concealing her braless tits. The costume left her shoulders, feet, belly, and most of her thick thighs utterly exposed. She was mildly uncomfortable to be revealing this much skin, but the symbolism of the piece demanded it.

Zoe laid down on the surface of the “stone”, letting some assistants clasp her wrists and ankles in the iron cuffs, leaving her body spread-eagled in the artfully concealed depression that assured her comfort.

Zoe heard the assistants murmuring and watched them part to let Devon Preisinger through.

After rightfully humiliating him a few months ago, Zoe had been surprised that Devon had wanted to work with her at all, let alone sponsor a series of projects from her in his prestigious gallery. Zoe had been reluctant at first, sensing some sort of trap, but money was money, and she knew working with Devon would further her career. After a successful trial period of performing some of her popular pieces in his gallery space, she finally agreed to work on a series of original projects for the Preisinger Gallery.

In working with him, Zoe had found Devon unexpectedly compelling. She had written him off as just another old white sexist, but he had a keen artistic sense. Not to mention being handsome in a sophisticated silver fox sort of way. Not that that had anything to do with Zoe’s decision to work with him.

Zoe was so impressed with Devon’s artistic vision that this latest piece, titled “Woman as Prometheus” was a sort of collaboration between the two of them; born from their discussions.

“Perfect,” said Devon, stalking forward to loom above the chained artist at his feet. “Exactly as I pictured it.” Something was off about his smile: it suddenly looked more…predatory than proud. Suddenly Zoe felt a wave of helpless inferiority, bound and helpless in a skimpy outfit beneath a smugly grinning, fully clothed older man.

The feeling should have been disgusting and unpleasant. But as Zoe looked up into Devon’s harsh gaze, she felt a flicker of heat deep in her belly. A tingle shivered down her spine at the submissive feeling, stopping and buzzing between her wide-open legs.

The strange erotic moment was broken by Ivan, wearing his large eagle mask with huge fiery eyes, popping up behind Devon. “Staff is saying that we are on in five. The line is getting a little restless.” He bustled off, taking his mark for the beginning of the performance.

Devon gave Ivan’s retreating back a rueful look, as though annoyed to have been interrupted. Then he kneeled down next to Zoe, closing the distance between them. Zoe’s breath caught in her throat as the feeling of vulnerability came back in full force. Devon could do anything to her right now. Chained as she was, she would be powerless to resist…

Devon drew uncomfortably close, a strange light burning in his eyes. “Wh-what are you doing, Devon?” demanded Zoe shakily, “We are about to get started!”

“I know Zoe,” said Devon patiently. His arms snaked behind her back. He was so close that Zoe could smell a faint, herbal cologne. Zoe panicked as she felt Devon fumble with the knot on the cloth wrapped around her breasts. Was Devon intending to remove the only thin covering of her chest and expose her naked tits just as the crowd of viewers was walking in? The idea sent a spike of adrenaline through Zoe’s veins, but also something more primal. The pleasant, burning buzz had returned between her legs, and she felt herself getting wet beneath the flimsy covering around her waist.

“What the fuck?” She spluttered, tensing her arms against the clanking chains in her panic as she felt the knot behind her back release and the cloth over her breasts loosen. “Stop it you psycho! The crowd is about to come in through those doors!”

Devon just gave her a wolfish smile, tugging the loose end of the wrap from behind Zoe’s back. “Just one more adjustment, Zoe. I don’t think the costume emphasizes your… vulnerability enough for my tastes.” He carefully draped the rectangular strip of fabric over Zoe’s heaving breasts, leaving ends loose on the rock to either side of her. Then he stepped back.

“Put it back, Devon,” said Zoe murderously. “I’ll call off this whole thing. The whole series. I make the calls artistically, and I say the wrap stays tied.”

Devon gave her a wry look, then composed his expression into a pleading look. “But Zoe, it’s PERFECT! The whole piece is about women’s vulnerability to the whims of men. You need the extra bit of vulnerability. It WORKS.”

Zoe stared into Devon’s eyes, prepared to restate her ultimatum. But then she saw the adoring look there. She wavered. She really did trust his eye when it came to art, and… maybe it would be intriguing for her audience to see her like this, just a bit more vulnerable than usual. It could bring a new perspective to the work.

Zoe gave an exasperated sigh. “Fine, we can try it your way. But next time, leave the artistic decisions to the artist.”

Devon bowed mockingly and retreated, signaling the staff to open the doors to the exhibition hall.

The crowd slowly filed in, surrounding the tableau of the false rock and chains in a rough circle, growing denser as more of those outside filtered in.

Zoe took a deep breath and screamed in rage, twisting her body against the chains. Even though they recognized it as part of the performance, the nearest audience members flinched at the sound. Zoe was proud of her scream: a raw powerful sound that worked well in her pieces about female anger, like this one. Most of her work centered around rage and strength and rebellion, so she found herself using her scream quite a lot.

The central metaphor in this performance was simple, almost trite. Zoe was Woman/Prometheus, bound and displayed on the rocks of society. Ivan, the muscled male model, was Man, the eagle from the myth, who instead of daily pecking out her liver, would daily assault her.

As her body shifted, Zoe immediately saw her predicament. The cloth that Devon had insisted on draping loosely over her chest was hanging much more precariously than she first thought. Her first scream and twisting of her body had caused it to shift slightly, displaying another half-inch of velvety brown cleavage. The performance called for many more body movements of that kind, and she had barely started.

Zoe looked up into the crowd to see that she was surrounded mostly by a semi-circle of men. Men with bright hungry eyes stared down at her scantily clad body.

Zoe’s breath quickened as she felt the weight of those longing stares. She was suddenly deeply aware of how exposed and vulnerable she was. The eyes of her viewers ran over her toned thighs, her naked belly, her barely concealed tits, teasingly covered by a flimsy layer of draped cloth. How much could these men get away with before security could stop them? They could certainly snatch away the cloth on her breasts. They could probably tear off her waist wrap too, leaving her naked and chained at the mercy of the gleeful crowd. Would security even be able to get to her at all if they needed to? Zoe shuddered as the thought ran through her mind of what a horny crowd of men could do to a woman completely at their mercy, unable to move an inch.

Zoe realized that this was the most exposed and vulnerable she had ever been in her years of performance art. The thought of being stripped by these strange men shouldn’t excite her, but it did. The strange arousal that Devon had inspired in her flared back to life, inflamed further by the lustful eyes of the men surrounding her. She felt her pussy growing wetter. Her nipples sprang to attention under the draped cloth, mercifully hidden by its looseness. Arousal during a performance was a new sensation for Zoe. She had no idea what this would mean for the piece of art… But she knew that when a sensation came over her in the moment of performance, she should seize it.

Zoe realized with annoyance that it had been a solid minute since her first scream, and let out another primal yell, trying to twist and writhe her body less this time to keep her chest covered. She couldn’t help but notice the eyes of the men surrounding her watching her body twist and move, staring at the way her muscles rippled and moved beneath her dark, shining skin. Their eyes clung to the curve of her hips and focused on the bulge of her shifting breasts beneath their flimsy covering.

These men… they were all imagining what it would be like to fuck her. They wanted to have her tied down in their beds rather than in this art space. Or maybe they would rather have her right here… strip off their clothes in the gallery and take turns with the helpless young artist who had foolishly restrained herself and put herself at their mercy. The thought sent Zoe’s pulse quickening. They said that one cure for performance anxiety was picturing your audience naked. Zoe had no trouble visualizing that right now, but her anxiety and inexplicable arousal were only rising.

The crowd parted, allowing Ivan to saunter up in his loincloth and eagle mask. Zoe had worked with Ivan before. He had the muscular, chiseled body type that worked well as a symbol of overpowering masculinity but, unlike many people who sculpted their bodies to that level, he was easy-going and level-headed. A real pleasure to work with. His relationship with Zoe had, of course, always been purely professional.

Now he was coming to fuck her. Zoe tried to calm her overheated mind. Yes, Ivan was approaching with a determined swagger, his powerful muscles bunching and rippling beneath his oiled skin, but it was all part of the act. Ivan’s role was to simulate an assault as Zoe continued to scream in rage. There would be no sex. Ivan’s cock would stay dry and flaccid.

But her body refused to accept the unreality of the situation. Hormones gushed through her bloodstream as the dominant man approached her defenseless body. She was already hot and wet with arousal: her pussy sensed the intent in Ivan’s well-acted body language and eagerly welcomed what it knew was coming next.

Ivan took his position, hunching his powerful body over Zoe’s chained form. The crowd pressed closer, eager to see the debauched act. This art piece wasn’t meant to be erotic, it was supposed to be harrowing, but Zoe had failed to conceal her intense arousal. The men in the crowd could sense the sexual energy rolling off the beautiful young artist in waves, and to them, it was like blood in the water. The males in the crowd pushed forward, leaving the women behind until Ivan and Zoe were surrounded by only men. Men who were eager to see the performance that was designed to be troubling, but had become lewd in the eyes of Zoe and her audience.

A flash and shutter click reminded Zoe that photos were being captured by employees of the gallery. She blinked and shook her head, trying to clear away the haze of inappropriate lust that had overtaken her. The huge eagle mask Ivan was wearing filled her entire field of view. Her chest heaved with ragged breath, causing ticklish friction between her stiff nipples and the rough cloth wrap covering them.

“Zoe. You good? “ came Ivan’s kind, concerned voice from the bestial mask. Zoe looked down, seeing Ivan’s muscular, almost naked body straddling hers, his crotch just inches away from her aching pussy. She bit her plump, rosy bottom lip and stared up into the fiery, fake eyes of the eagle mask, nodding eagerly.

Ivan began his part in the performance, moving his hips in strong, fluid movements. The surrounding crowd of men crushed forward with avid eyes, eager to see the curvy young artist bound and fucked. At this point, Zoe was meant to be screaming her rage and defiance, but she was too caught up in her submissive horny fantasy to follow the plan. Just as rehearsed, Ivan’s crotch was hitting her just above the pussy, in the swell of her pubic area. It was a compromise designed to achieve the maximum amount of realism without actual crotch-to-crotch contact, which would be entirely inappropriate.

Entirely inappropriate, but exactly what Zoe’s body deeply craved right now.

Zoe whined in frustration, causing a concerned look from her scene partner thrusting above her. She was soooo close to the satisfaction she craved… There was just enough give in the chains, if she just shifted her body slightly, she could angle her hips up and…

Ivan’s next thrust caused a solid impact of his crotch directly between Zoe’s splayed legs, sending an electric jolt of pleasure from her pussy out through her whole body, and wrenching a little moan from her throat.

Ivan paused, bewildered and worried that he had done something wrong. “Keep going,” said Zoe in a husky, desperate whisper. “Don’t stop.”

“But Zoe…” said the muffled voice of the dumbstruck model, “In this position, I…”

“Shhhh,” said Zoe with a soft smile, turning her best bedroom eyes up toward where she knew the eye holes were in the mask, “Go with the flow, big boy. The show must go on.”

Ivan didn’t say anything else, but he thrust forward again, this time slowly and firmly. Zoe gasped as he ground himself powerfully between her thighs. She could feel the rapidly growing bulge of his awakening cock against her swollen pussy. This was becoming more than a performance for Ivan as well. The muscular model above her continued to thrust, his loincloth tenting out as his cock grew iron-hard, rubbing and teasing Zoe’s wet pussy through the cloth barriers separating them from penetration. Zoe angled her hips upward, writhing and grinding her desperate pussy upward into Ivan’s cock as much as her chains would allow, trying and failing to hold back the moans of pleasure growing in her throat.

The chains clanked, and Zoe felt the tension on her wrists and ankles as the powerful thrusts shifted her body. The sensation of being trapped, fixed in place while being ravished, was intoxicating, humiliating, and arousing in ways Zoe never would have guessed.

Lost in her new feelings of submissive, forbidden pleasure, Zoe didn’t notice the shifting of the cloth covering her naked breasts. By the time it fell away completely, it was too late. Her magnificent ebony tits were instantly captured by the waiting cameras in high definition, bouncing from the two performers’ enthusiastic simulated mating, crowned with two diamond-hard nipples that fully confirmed that for the slutty artist on display, her desperate moans were anything but an act.

The crowd was chattering and buzzing with twisted sexual energy, pressing so closely to the “performance” that Zoe could feel their sweaty heat. She felt the eyes of a dozen horny men on her naked, bouncing tits, but instead of taking her out of the moment, it just inflamed her lust. She wanted them to see. She wanted them to watch her shameful, slutty dry humping orgasm in front of a crowd. Her nipples felt almost painfully tight and hard as they scraped against Ivan’s oily skin. His cock was a rod of white-hot steel, and he was no longer thrusting, just keeping a steady, grinding pressure against her crotch, mashing the soaked cloth of the waist wrap against the folds of her throbbing cunt. Phones were coming out of pockets, recording material for later use. The staff was yelling that recording wasn’t permitted, but they were unable to push through the dense crowd and were simply ignored. Zoe wanted them to record. The thought of all these men jerking off to her exposed body was suddenly a source of burning hot arousal.

She would show them. Give them something to cum to when they replayed their videos, gripping their cocks tightly, frantically pleasuring themselves to the sight of her debasement. “Don’t stop,” she told Ivan in a low, moaning whisper. “Harder!”

He did as she commanded, using his muscles to grip the young artist’s wide hips tightly and pushing his cock even harder against her dripping sex. Zoe threw her head back, her pillowy lips opened wide to release a wild moan of liberated lust. Her legs rattled the chains as they shook and spasmed in the depths of her orgasm. Ivan pushed his throbbing length against her pussy and held there, shuddering as well. Zoe could feel the twitching warmth as he filled his loincloth with a powerfully spurting load of cum.

The crowd roared and pressed forward to get a look a the performers’ humiliating shared climax. The cameras of the official photoshoot erupted in flashes.

This wasn’t what the description of the piece released beforehand had promised, but the crowd loved it anyway.

Zoe grimaced as she ripped another sheet out of her notebook and crumpled it in frustration.

She was deeply annoyed at how things had gone last week at her performance of “Woman as Prometheus”. The entire piece was supposed to be a commentary on the oppression of women, but she had for some reason gotten all horny and muddled the message, turning the simulated assault into a raunchy dry humping sex show.

Worse than the debacle on the day of the performance was the minor sensation caused when the bootleg videos and photos were released online. Needless to say, while the comments were wildly positive, they had little to do with the piece’s artistic merit.

The idea of her bouncing, naked tits being displayed to the entire internet made Zoe furious. And tense. And inexplicably, deeply aroused. She had to stop herself from combing through online comments, feeling a deep, twisted heat in her belly growing as she read the filthy thoughts that men were having about her.

Just as her anger was mounting to a crescendo, Devon Preisinger walked into the room, carrying a glossy magazine.

Zoe prepared to give him the rough side of her tongue. Devon was a busy man, and they hadn’t had a chance for a real conversation since the performance. Zoe felt that the confusing and sexual atmosphere of that day could be blamed on Devon’s last minute wardrobe modification. The exposure of her breasts to the general public was certainly his fault.

Before she could open her mouth, however, Devon slapped the open magazine down on her desk and proudly stabbed a finger at the feature article.

It showed a high-quality image of the debauched performance, the moment of Zoe’s orgasm in fact. Her head was thrown back, eyes closed in ecstasy, moist lips parted to scream her pleasure. Her dark, luscious tits were captured weightless in mid-bounce, tipped with the chocolate spikes of her erect nipples. Ivan’s massive form crouched possessively above her, animalistic and primal. It immediately brought back the torrid feelings of that day, causing a flush of heat to flash across Zoe’s face and a hot wet tangle of lust to uncoil in her belly.

The title of the article read “Zoe Abiola intrigues and arouses with ‘Woman as Prometheus’”. Zoe snatched up the magazine, eyes scanning furiously. It was a glowing review. Instead of finding the work muddled or tasteless, the author thought it was “a twisted labyrinth of violent desire and erotic violence”.

Zoe looked up with delighted wonder into Devon’s beaming face.

Somehow this partnership was bearing fruit in ways she had never suspected.

Devon chuckled to himself as he walked back to his office. He almost bumped into a mousy intern on his way: it was hard to keep his eyes off the photo he had sent in to the magazine. He was thinking of getting the original framed for his home office.

This Faria woman might be a high and mighty woman of the type he hated, but Devon had always been a keen appreciator of art, and he recognized the hypnotist’s work for what it was. What Faria had done to the young thorn in his side was a masterpiece. And the work wasn’t yet complete.

Devon stared again at the breathtakingly erotic photo above the fawning article. It had been easy to pull the strings necessary for a positive review to be printed alongside Devon’s favorite photo from that day. Having worked with hundreds of artists over the years, Devon was well aware that the best lever to manipulate them was external validation. With this proof that Devon’s vision was correct, the budding exhibitionist slut would be all the more eager to accept his help in shaping her next artistic work.

Devon’s eyes locked onto Zoe’s heavy tits, now the spank material for thousands of horny men. An overwhelming feeling of dominant lust swelled inside him. Time to add one more. He thumbed a button and let his secretary know that he shouldn’t be disturbed, then slipped his pants down to his knees and began stroking.

Soon it would be much more than her delicious tits that Zoe would be revealing to the public, and it would be much more than some shameful dry humping she would be performing in front of her adoring fans. Devon had a feeling that after her recent online popularity, the crowds at her events would become considerably more… lowbrow. Devon came into his hand, his greedy eyes staring rapturously at Zoe’s slutty O-face, now printed in a magazine with nationwide circulation.

He already had a good idea for her next exhibition.

(Weeks ago, in Zoe Abiola’s studio)

Zoe drew in a deep, ragged breath as Faria dragged a buzzing vibrator across her exposed pussy. The young artist really did keep everything she needed in her studio! Zoe had blushed darkly when forced to admit that she kept a toy in a drawer in case she was working late and needed to work out some stress. Or maybe it was blood rushing to her head rather than a blush. It was hard to tell.

The young artist tried in vain to stop her body’s reaction to the intense stimulation from Faria’s relentless teasing with the buzzing toy, but her juices were already overflowing, dripping down her suspended body in shiny, viscous trails.

Faria inserted the vibrator deeply, relishing the look of pained concentration on the young artist’s lovely face. She was so desperate not to cum from this humiliating treatment that she would be perfectly distracted from the real danger: Faria getting the information she needed to permanently alter her mind.

“I’d like to know how you feel when you perform, Zoe,” said Faria, circling slowly around the tense hanging woman currently struggling against the assault of pleasure on her senses. “How do you feel when you are in front of a crowd?”

“It’s a mrrrmmmhhh… It’s an intimate connection between artist and viewer.” Zoe’s pussy pulsed and spasmed involuntarily around the vibrator, sending a fresh flood of slimy lubrication tracing down her body in thin lines.

“Oooooh, intimate,” gushed Faria, “I love that word! So you feel some sort of sexual connection between you and the people watching?”

Zoe left out a barking laugh that was meant to sound derisive, but turned into a bit of a moan by the end, spoiling the effect. “Noooo! Never. My style of art is almost adversarial with my audience. I confront them with emotions they would rather not feel and make them think in ways they haven’t before.”

“And here I was thinking that art was supposed to be fun,” said Faria teasingly. “So it’s just a one-way street? You harangue your audience and teach them a lesson? You don’t have a dialogue?”

“No,” said Zoe sharply. “I’m not interested in other people forcing their beliefs onto me.” Faria sensed some resistance there. Maybe it would be a fertile ground for further questions later on. For now, she thought she had what she needed. Zoe claimed that her deep, “intimate” connection with her viewers was never sexual. Faria thought she should definitely change that.

Programming mode. Silent. Serene. Willing.

Zoe’s body relaxed completely, hanging limply from her suspension. The juices of Zoe’s shameful arousal now ran freely down her body in rivulets, hanging in fat viscous droplets from her tits before splashing to the safety mat below her.

The connection between me and my viewers is both intimate and sexual

“—and sexual.”

When interacting with my viewers in a performance piece, I want to feel their reactions towards me, both emotionally and physically.

“—and physically.”

When I turn on my viewers, it turns me on as well.

“—as well.”

Displaying my body to others is brave and artistic.

“—artistic.”

There, that should allow Devon to put on some truly inspiring performances at Zoe’s expense. Faria crossed to the hook securing the rope, and carefully lowered Zoe to the safety mat. It probably wasn’t good for her to be upside down much longer than she had been. Just one last thing to ask about. Earlier Zoe had been quite resistant about her philosophy on interactivity in her art. Faria sensed something deeper there, and Faria prided herself on going deep with her targets.

Zoe Abiola looked up from drafting an email to see Devon Preisinger leaning in her doorway, simply staring at her.

The relationship between them had… intensified since Zoe had performed “Woman as Prometheus”. Devon had become more than just a bankroller of her work and now approached a sort of muse. Conversations with him had opened up a whole new chapter in Zoe’s work which was being highly praised by critics.

She and Devon had also been making out. It was strange. Up until a few months ago, Zoe would have sworn that Devon was an old creep who she would never look twice at. She had been delighted when he won the bidding war trap precisely because no one would ever believe that she would consider fucking a creep like him. But when they were together there was a crackling sexual energy that Zoe couldn’t deny. When he kissed her forcefully, something in Zoe wanted to give way, to melt. To submit. But it was one thing to make out with a creative partner in the passionate heat of artistic creation, it was quite another to fuck him. That was a line Zoe wouldn’t cross. A girl had to have standards.

The new direction for Zoe’s art was mainly performing her old pieces while topless. It sounded simple, even crass. Zoe herself had been skeptical at first. But the creative results spoke for themselves. Baring her breasts during performances added a new layer of raw vulnerability to previously stale works, reinterpreting their message. Zoe had also come to relish the sexual energy she felt from her viewers. Seeing the tented pants and hungry eyes of the male viewers in her audience gave her a thrill better than any art she had made before this new awakening. As much as it humiliated her to admit, the thrill she felt was absolutely sexual. Even if she wanted to deny it, her perpetually rock-hard nipples would give her away: they had become as much a staple of her performances as the toplessness itself. Zoe had begun a shameful habit of masturbatating herself to orgasm in her dressing room after each performance.

Despite the new creative energy it gave her, performing topless did have certain downsides. Zoe had formed quite a following online, and she had a growing certainty that many who flocked to her shows were more fans of her body than of her art.

The critics were also beginning to cool on her output. Despite early praise of her new erotic direction, they had begun to question if she was a one-trick pony. Why had her explorations of sexuality only focused on her breasts? Was she afraid to reveal anything else?

Her new interactive performance piece “Numerical Value” was designed to answer that criticism.

“The staff just let me know that the setup is finished,” said Devon. He turned his wrist to peer down at his watch. “And just in time too. We have less than an hour until opening. Do you want to walk the gallery? Get a feel for the space before you begin?”

Zoe nodded, feeling some pre-performance jitters. This new piece was… a big swing. It was going to carry her out of her comfort zone. But, she told herself firmly, that was how all great art was made. She rose to her feet and trailed after Devon, walking toward the large gallery space where “Numerical Value” would be hosted.

As they walked in the doors, Zoe was confronted by a huge photograph of her vagina. Her delicate dark brown lips lightly parted to show a peek of the rosy pink interior and topped by a dense little triangle of dark pubic hair. The critics thought she was scared to show her pussy? Wait until they got a load of this.

A conspicuous sign next to the huge, high-definition photograph explained that through the short exhibit, guests would become intimately familiar with the artist’s genitalia. At the end of their tour, they would have a chance to rate Zoe’s pussy on a scale of one to ten. The tour then proceeded to the left.

There were numerous photographs of Zoe’s vagina from all angles in the exhibit. One looking up from Zoe’s feet, one of her pussy just barely visible from between her thighs, even one of Zoe doing a high leg lift, displaying her pussy to the camera. There were other representations as well. A plaster cast she had taken, a lovingly rendered 3d model on a computer screen, and a looping video of a bottomless Zoe squatting down over a camera.

Zoe felt a little uncomfortable as she moved deeper into the exhibit. Devon had insisted that the work required her to show all aspects of her vagina, including its arousal, but the photos here still felt like they exposed something deeply private to the public. A photo of her spreading her lips to reveal her bubblegum-pink interior. A close-up of her pussy, swollen and dripping with arousal.

The photos here made Zoe troublingly horny. The thought that soon members of the public would see her most intimate places this way tormented and fascinated her.

And right at the end was the photo that she and Devon had argued about the most. A photo of white male fingers digging deeply into her soft cunt. She remembered taking it clearly. The smirking photographer at her feet, preparing for the closeup. Devon’s hand slipping slowly down her hip, his hot encouraging whisper in her ear. His free hand turning her head, his lips meeting hers. His tongue sliding into her mouth as his hand made contact with her pussy. His fingers gripping, probing, pleasuring.

It was the farthest the two of them had gone so far sexually speaking, and it had been captured on camera forever. Zoe had argued that the image portrayed her as a sexual object, unlike the other photos which stressed her independence. Devon argued that the goal of the exhibit was to display all aspects of her vagina, and leaving out how it related to others sexually would leave the exhibit incomplete. In the end, Zoe bowed to Devon’s artistic instincts. They had served her well so far.

She still wasn’t thrilled by it though. Her eyebrows wrinkled as she stared up at the high-definition photo. It didn’t look like an image of love to her. It looked like the fingers were controlling her, almost claiming ownership. The thought sent a tingling shiver through her like a splash of icy water. She shook her head and moved on.

The final part of the exhibit was the most important. It was what the whole thing led up to. A dark curtain separated a private booth from the rest of the gallery floor. Zoe entered. Inside was a darkly lit room, harshly decorated with a bare cement floor and a wall of iron grating behind a small cushion bench. Here was where the point of the entire piece would be revealed.

Just like the sign at the front promised, the viewers would have a chance to rate Zoe’s vagina that they had just seen from every angle. But there was a catch. First, they would have to have their genitals rated by Zoe. Zoe would sit on the bench in judgment, assigning a score to her audience before they would be allowed to judge her.

How many people would line up, eager to judge her, only to shrink back and reject the chance once the attendant outside the booth told them that they would have to submit to judgment first? Zoe couldn’t wait to find out.

Whenever those brave enough to submit to Zoe’s critical eye left the booth, they would be allowed to give their score of Zoe’s vagina, the average of which would be displayed in glowing red numbers on a huge sign visible from every angle of the gallery.

Zoe felt nervous, but elated. She loved the concept and was eager to see how the audience responded. It was almost time to start, Zoe took her place on the bench, kicking her feet nervously and waiting for her first visitor.

It took only ten minutes for the first visitor to arrive at Zoe’s location. He must have been eager to meet me in person, Zoe thought, to rush through the gallery that fast. Zoe could tell instantly that he was one of her new internet fans rather than an art connoisseur. He had that hungry, desperate look that Zoe had come to associate with fans of her naked body. He had already been told by the attendant outside that he would have to show Zoe his dick, so he must have been brave enough to enter despite that.

The pale little man looked disappointed that this time his idol was fully clothed. “Well?” said Zoe testily. “Let’s see it.” Her role in this case was to be as harsh and judgmental as possible. It wasn’t easy to submit to the judgment of others, and her audience needed to feel that. It was essential to understand the work as a whole. A large part of her work had always been harsh confrontation, and if this fan of her tits didn’t understand that, then he should study her artistic work more closely.

The fan looked a little taken aback at Zoe’s harsh tone, but complied with her demand, pulling down his pants to reveal a pale average length cock in a nest of brown pubic hair. He stepped forward to the red line taped on the floor, which each visitor had been strictly warned to stay behind. Zoe’s breath caught in her throat. The man’s cock was rigid with desire, throbbing rapidly with his rapid heartbeat and already leaking with desperation from the sight of the photos in the rest of the gallery.

Zoe felt an echo of lust respond deep inside her. She didn’t find this man attractive. Far from it. But she felt his desperate desire. Her body flushed with heat as her body subconciously began to match the stranger’s lust. Her eyes couldn’t look away from his cock. Unimpressive as it was, the sight of it awoke something in her.

“F-four,” Zoe managed to blurt out in nearly the harsh tone she was aiming for. The man’s bushy eyebrows scrunched together in petulant anger. He quickly pulled his pants up and left in a huff.

Zoe took a deep breath and cupped her flushed cheeks in her hands. She wasn’t sure exactly what had happened. For some reason, just the thought that she had been able to inspire such lust in one of her viewers had driven her crazy for a moment. She had been certain that this evening would be empowering. A chance to turn the tables of her voyeuristic viewers. But instead, she found had found herself getting lost in inexplicable horniness again, even though she was fully clothed this time.

She was going to have to get a hold of herself. If she got all hot and bothered for every average dick that came into the booth, it was going to be a very long night.

Devon looked up at the glowing red numbers, currently rating Zoe at just two point six out of ten. She had just finished up rating around a dozen men, the ones who had rushed through the exhibit in their haste to see their idol.

It seemed like Zoe’s harsh cock ratings were causing a little backlash when the men were asked to score Zoe’s pussy.

Devon thought that he could improve those numbers somewhat. After seeing all the hard cocks she had caused, he was sure that his slutty little primadonna would be receptive to one or two little changes to the performance.

He told the staff in front of the curtain to hold the line for a moment, then ducked inside the booth to make his pitch.

Zoe trembled with her hand over her eyes. It was too much. She had managed to keep it together somehow so far, but only barely. She had thought it would be easy. A handful of men daring enough to enter the booth, sent scurrying away by her harsh rating.

She reached between her legs, just as a test, and whimpered as a red-hot wave of sensation shot through her body. It didn’t make sense. None of the men so far had been her type, and all of their cocks had been unimpressive. But somehow, the connection they shared as artist and viewer made it impossible for Zoe to avoid this intense arousal. Every man, every hard cock had made her lust grow stronger and stronger. Each man had just feasted his eyes on her most private place, from every angle. And the sight had made each one horny and desperate, rigid with desire. For her. It was like she could feel the lust of each man being added to her own with every cock she saw.

She didn’t know how she could make it through the night.

Another man was coming through the curtain. Zoe needed to be strong. She had to be harsh and critical. It was the entire point of the piece. She wasn’t supposed to be spending tonight drooling over strange men’s dicks.

It was Devon. For a second, Zoe’s mind whirled. Was Devon about to pull out his cock in front of her? Strangely, her body responded to the idea for a moment, the warmth of lust that had been slowly building over the past hour flaring into flames. Then her mind caught up. Of course Devon wasn’t here to whip out his dick. There must be something going on with the show.

Her suspicions were immediately confirmed. “Listen, babe,” said Devon with a wince, “We have a small problem.”

“What happened?” Zoe said, wide-eyed. Worst-case scenarios flitted through her mind. A protest, a fire, a damaged piece of artwork.

“The guests aren’t happy,” said Devon with chagrin.

Zoe paused for a moment, not comprehending, then rolled her eyes. “Of course they aren’t. It’s sort of the point of the entire piece. They’re supposed to feel judged like they are judging me.”

“I know, Zoe. I know. But I’m sorry to say that the guests just aren’t feeling a connection with you as an artist the way the piece is currently being performed.”

Zoe felt her stomach drop as she absorbed what Devon was saying. It was the worst-case scenario. The main goal of her performances was to feel a deep connection between artist and viewer. Devon was saying she had failed.

“But… but the parallels are perfect!” said Zoe in frustration. “They judge me when they walk through the gallery, then they feel the judgment turned back onto them. It works.” Even as she said it, she could hear her whining tone, and saw Devon’s smile become patronizing.

“You are a famous artist who had professional photos taken of your pussy and chose the most attractive ones to display to the public,” explained Devon. “These are just average men who didn’t know ahead of time they would be flashing a pretty woman their dick. You can see why they would still feel like there was a power imbalance.”

Zoe gritted her teeth, but she saw Devon’s logic. With the way things were currently set up, the visitors would probably be resistant to the connection she was trying to make with them. She wasn’t sure what she could do. The old fear she had of her art flopping and ruining her career came roaring back. She leaned back against the iron grating behind her and tried to think of a way to salvage the piece. Her strange arousal felt like it was clouding her mind.

“I think I know of a way that you could make your crowd feel a little less alienated,” said Devon soothingly.

Zoe looked up into Devon’s eyes, eager for a solution to her problem. “What? What’s your plan?” she asked with shining eyes.

“Well,” said Devon slowly, “Sitting there in such severe clothes while asking them to disrobe… that’s a big part of what’s keeping people from making a connection with you. You feel closed off, like you are placing yourself above them. What if your appearance was a little more… vulnerable?”

Zoe knew what he meant right away. “You think that I should go topless again.” The idea was intriguing. It sent an insistent flush of heat through her skin, making her feel alive. “But that is the main criticism that I’m responding to! The critics have been saying that the only way that I’ve been pushing the envelope is going topless again and again. Wouldn’t getting my tits out tonight just prove them right?”

Devon shook his head. “Not if you go one step further. Remember, what is this exhibition focusing on?”

“My pussy…” said Zoe numbly.

Devon wanted her to strip completely nude. To sit here in this private booth naked while a parade of strange men came in to show her their cocks. Zoe’s pulse drummed in her ears as her pussy grew wet at the prospect of its upcoming live debut. In here… naked and alone… with the hard cocks of her horny fans. It was becoming hard to think. Was this the best idea? Would it make a good artistic statement? It all seemed so unclear. She needed Devon to help her decide what to do. And to do that he needed all the information, no matter how humiliating it was to her.

“Devon, I have to tell you something,” she said nervously. “I don’t know if pushing the envelope is a good idea right now... Earlier, when I was rating those men’s cocks. I… I got turned on…” she added the last part in a miserable whisper, hiding her face in her hands at the humiliating confession. “I think that things might get… crazy if I turn up the heat any further.”

But far from disgusting Devon, the new information seemed to excite him. “But Zoe, that’s perfect! In a performance, when you and the audience begin to feel something together, you need to chase it! That’s where the true heart of the performance lies. If this process aroused both you and your audience, we don’t need to fight that; we need to embrace it. In fact, we should go one step further than you just being nude. We need to do something that will provoke maximum arousal from both you and the audience.”

Zoe’s mouth was dry at the fire blazing in Devon’s eyes. “One step further than naked? Maximum arousal? Wh-what do you mean?” she asked in a trembling voice.

“Wait here for just a minute,” said Devon with an excited grin. “I need to grab some materials.”

Zoe’s breath panted harshly, hot and wet in her throat. She looked down at the finished product: the work of erotic art Devon had created from her body. Her hands had been cuffed to the metal grating above her head, leaving her unable to conceal anything even if she wanted to.

But her lower body was the real focus of this piece. Using soft black ropes, Devon had bound together her calves and thighs, forcing her legs to stay bent at the knee. Then he had laid Zoe on her back, tying each thigh to an opposite leg of the bench, keeping her legs spread wide open and leaving her pussy fully on display.

Zoe had to admit that it was a powerful restatement of what was being displayed in the main gallery: the artist was exposed to the critical eye of her viewer. Zoe’s most intimate, private place would be fully, rawly, helplessly displayed to anyone who walked in the room, live and in person.

The idea was driving Zoe crazy already. The feeling of being bound and exposed, which had sent her into a lustful frenzy during her last big performance, was assaulting her mind with desperate arousal once again. Her pussy throbbed almost painfully in anticipation as it leaked sticky, clear fluids of eager excitement down her thighs and butt, leaving them wet and shiny from her arousal.

“Well, the line is getting anxious,” said Devon, looking down and proudly surveying his work. “I think it is time for your next cock rating.”

“W-wait,” whimpered Zoe, trying desperately to think. For some reason, something didn’t feel right. Like Devon had tricked her somehow. Like he had used twisted logic to make her arrive at the wrong answer. What was the message of this performance supposed to be again? It was on the tip of her tongue, but for some reason, she couldn’t quite remember. She had a gut feeling that Devon’s idea to connect her to the viewers would undermine what the art installation was supposed to be saying.

Devon kneeled down next to Zoe, a kind look in his eyes. “Shhhh, you’re overthinking this Zoe. You want to connect with your viewers, right? You want to feel what they feel towards you? That’s what you need to focus on.”

The men from before… their hard cocks stiff and eager… desperate for her… dripping with desire. Zoe’s pulse quickened. Her eyes dilated. It had felt so wrong, but so exciting to see how she had affected those men, how much they burned for her. How much stronger would the feeling be now, helpless and bound and displayed for their pleasure? Before their arousal had echoed in her, turned her on in response. Even then it had been almost overwhelming, when she was sitting fully clothed and in control. She imagined what it would feel like now, how much stronger the reactions would be of both her and her audience. What would it feel like?

She had to know.

“Are you ready, Zoe?” said Devon, using a hand to gently smooth back her braided hair.

Zoe bit her lip and nodded desperately, her eyebrows drawn together in an expression of nervous anticipation.

Devon smiled and left through the curtain.

“Send through the next man,” he told the staff at the front of the line, wearing a wolfish grin.

When the first stranger came through the dark curtains, Zoe’s arms clanked instinctively against the handcuffs. From when she was young, it had been drilled into her relentlessly: her pussy was sacred. Special. To remain absolutely hidden at all times. Her parents, media, and society in general had all told her the same. Zoe rarely even felt comfortable having sex with the lights on when she was dating someone. So her brain responded to the prying eyes of the strange man on a gut level, telling her hands to hurry between her legs to cover her exposed womanhood.

But that wasn’t possible.

The intensely taboo feeling of being exposed to a stranger while helpless and bound overwhelmed her. She felt faint. Her nipples pulsed with the intensity of blood flow stiffening them. The strange man grinned at the sight of the beautiful famous woman, tied up and displayed for his viewing pleasure. Now that she was in such a submissive posture, the intense arousal Zoe felt was almost overwhelming. Zoe opened her mouth, took a shuddering breath, and managed to horsely say: “Your cock. Show me.”

The man needed no further prompting, he pulled a short thick cock out of his shorts, obviously as hard as a rock. Zoe’s pussy pulsed heat up her body, flooding her brain with warm sticky fog. This was bad. She knew that the connection between her and her viewers would be intense, but at this rate, things might go too far. She wasn’t just horny, she felt raw unbridled lust toward this strange repulsive man. The only thing that saved her from foolishly consummation their mutual arousal was the thick red line of tape that the visitor wasn’t allowed to cross, keeping him on the far side of the room. Zoe’s libido was running wild, her pussy was trying desperately to override her brain. A thin line of precum oozed from the man’s dick.

“S-seven!” called Zoe desperately, trying to maintain some semblance of control. “Next!”

The man in front of her looked a little disappointed, but his eyes lingered on the exposed artist as he exited, imprinting her naked form into his memory.

Devon watched in delight as Zoe’s pussy rating jumped up to 3.13.

Devon knew what men wanted. All these artistic shots of vaginas were well and good, but men preferred pussy in person, submissive, and dripping wet.

He looked at the line of men, now stretching across the exhibition hall.

He wondered how long it would take Zoe to let some of the men take things further…

It had been another ten men since the first one and Zoe was getting desperate. Her pussy burned with an itching, needy, unquenchable lust. She didn’t know that it was possible to be this horny. She desperately wanted her hands to be released, but now it was just so she could play with herself.

Zoe could tell the next man was trouble. He entered the room with a chest-puffing swagger and was clearly a step up in attractiveness from her online fans before him in line. Many of the men who had entered before had done a nervous double take when they saw Zoe’s shameful state, but as this man’s eyes locked firmly on her exposed pussy, a big confident smile slowly spread across his face.

Zoe gulped. “Ummm, could you show me your…?”

“Way ahead of you babe,” said the man arrogantly, dropping his pants completely and stepping out of them. Zoe’s eyes widened and a thin line of drool escaped her parted lips. His cock was huge. Beautiful. Rock hard.

Her arousal had been off the charts even with the unimpressive cocks she had seen earlier today, but this was a cock she would have been interested in even outside the overheated environment of the art exhibit.

“What do you think, sweetheart?” said the man in a soft, gloating voice.

It took Zoe a moment to register that he had been talking, her eyes and brain were locked on his penis. ‘Oh…” she said dreamily, a giggle bubbling up from her throat, “It’s goooood. Like an eight for sure.”

“Just an eight? You haven’t even seen it up close!” said the man in a disappointed tone. “Do you think…” he traced a foot along the red line of tape indicating where the guests were supposed to stay. “...That maybe I can break the rules a little and get closer?

Zoe hesitated. She remembered that it was she who had insisted on the line of red tape in the first place. It had seemed really important at the time for some reason. She looked longingly at the big manly cock across the room from her. She did want a closer look. And she had been who made the rule in the first place.

“You can cum… come closer I mean,” she said in a hoarse voice, her eyes following every shift and bob of the man’s dick as he crossed the red line, moving closer to Zoe’s restricted, vulnerable body.

Finally, he stood above her, looming over her tied-up body, blocking the light. His cock was close enough that she could trace every vein beneath the skin with her curious eyes. Instinctively, Zoe’s eyes moved up to her visitor’s face, locking on to his powerful blue gaze. Now that Zoe had willing welcomed him across the line, what other lines would this arrogant guest want to cross? Zoe was bound in a perfect position for deep penetration. She was so turned on that if the man placed his cock at the entrance of her pussy, he could slide inside her silky wet hole with almost zero resistance, filling her completely with his big, hard, beautiful…

“Still an eight?” He asked, amused.

“Eight point f-five.” said Zoe, feeling the deep ache of need in her pussy as she stared deep into this man’s dominant gaze.

“Just wait until you see it in action,” said the man confidently. Now he was wrapping a powerful hand around his cock, slowly pumping his fist up and down its length. Zoe’s eyes drank in the sight, feeling the powerful exchange of sexual energy between her and this stranger as he pleasured himself, staring at her displayed body.

“You… you can’t,” Zoe said vaguely, her eyes glazing over as her eyes flicked up and down with the rhythm of his hand. God she wanted to have that cock in her mouth. Her pussy. But what would they say about her? She couldn’t. She musn’t. “This… this is art, not something sexual,” she protested absurdly while her pussy dripped down her legs.

“This IS art, Zoe,” said the man, overriding her weak protest. His hand was growing faster and faster, his cock so close that Zoe imagined she could feel the heat rolling off it. Zoe’s thighs flexed against the ropes, her instincts telling her to get closer to this superior male. “You’ve inspired me, Zoe. I feel a deep connection between us. We aren’t just strangers anymore. Call me by my name. Tell me to show you how much you’ve inspired me.”

Zoe’s lips were parted, drawing in hot desperate breaths, her eyes shone as she asked in a voice tinged with pleasure, “What’s your name, baby?”

“Tyler.” grunted the man above her, the motions of his hand growing frantic.

“Cum for me Tyler!” moaned Zoe, lost in the submissive role Tyler had placed her in.

Hot white cum splattered over Zoe’s body, leaving dots and globs of hot sticky goo all over her dark brown skin, making a vivid contrast. One fleck landed on her lower lip, and as she closed her eyes, bathing in the feeling of satisfaction that she sensed from her audience member, her little pink tongue flicked out to taste the proof of her and Tyler’s connection. It wasn’t as satisfying as actually touching the cock, let alone getting fucked by it, but this was surely a good compromise. Letting the strange men cum on her body allowed her to satisfy her viewers without actually having sex with them. So it wasn’t slutty at all when you thought about it.

When Zoe opened her eyes, she noticed the young man kneeling down and reaching for something. He peeled away the red tape and walked back towards Zoe, reapplying it just inches from the foot of the bench where she was displayed.

“I thought this would make your evening a little more interesting,” he said with a wink. “I’ve always loved art, Zoe, and I think that I’m going to be following the rest of your career with great interest.”

And with a wave, Tyler was gone, moving on to rate her pussy.

When the next man came in, his eyes widened when he saw the tied-up, cum splattered artist.

“Show me your cock!” said Zoe with an excited grin as the man stepped forward to the newly moved red line.

“And start stroking for me.”

Devon looked up at the glowing red lights, now reading 9.6.

Good job you little slut. I’m sure you found all kinds of ways to increase your rating, he thought with satisfaction.

The media team exited the booth and the man with the video camera gave Devon a thumbs-up. “We asked the last couple of guys if we could film. We’ll have to blur their faces, but we got some really hot stuff.”

Devon thanked him and waited until they had left to enter the booth and see how his artist-in-residence had done tonight.

Zoe flashed him a dopey smile up at him as he entered. Every inch of her lovely brown skin was dripping with sticky, slimy baby batter. Globby clumps of it slid off her gorgeous tits. Her long tightly-braided hair would probably smell like cum for a month. Her pussy was the worst off. The exposed target, clearly demonstrating the bound artist’s extreme arousal, must have been too tempting for most of the men. Zoe’s upper thighs, triangular patch of pubic hair, and puffy swollen cunt were covered in a thick glaze of cum, completely drenching the young artist’s pussy in the filthy jizz of a dozen strangers. Devon hoped she was on the pill, because she was playing with fire having that much cum on her pussy, even only on the surface.

Devon stared down into Zoe’s dreamy eyes, long since put into a daze by the constant overwhelming lust of being tied up and masturbated over by her adoring fans. Ropes of thick white goo stained her beautiful face. All except for her lips, which were as clean as usual, silently showing how deep her depravity had gone tonight.

“You naughty girl,” said Devon teasingly, “Did you start judging cocks by the taste of their cum?””

Zoe giggled. “Hmmmm, are you jealous, baby?” she said, looking up into his eyes and making a kissy face.

“Why would I be jealous when I get to have more than they did?” said Devon, pulling his cock from his pants. Zoe’s eyes regained a measure of clarity as she saw Devon’s cock. She remembered the careful lines she had drawn in her mind. Make-outs aside, she had to remain completely professional with Devon. No matter how desperately she wanted a cock in her mouth.

“Devon… w-we can’t. We’re creative partners. I don’t have sex with people I work with. I’m not some sort of s-slut.” she protested weakly, stranger’s cum dripping from her face.

But Devon could see the telltale signs of arousal. Her flushed cheeks, her labored breath, the stiff peaks of her nipples. Zoe had been drooling for cock all evening, but her morals hadn’t allowed her to give in. Devon could tell that all it would take was a little assertiveness.

Devon positioned himself above Zoe, thrusting his cock right up to her face. She couldn’t take her eyes off it. He could feel her warm breaths as her lips parted instinctively. Her warm, nervous eyes gazed softly up into his. The evening locked in submissive bondage, the unbearable erotic experience of being splattered with the cum of her fans, and the dominant postion of Devon looming above her short-circuted her resistance.

“Suck my cock,” commanded Devon.

Zoe tentatively wrapped her big pillowy lips around Devon’s swollen cock, tenderly exploring the head of his dick with a curious tongue. Devon’s hand reached down and grabbed a handful of Zoe’s cum splattered braids, setting the pace and encouraging Zoe to bob her head the little she could in her bound position.

It didn’t take long for Zoe to give in, delivering a sloppy and enthusiastic sloppy blowjob to the man that she had scorned just a few months ago. Devon stared down in satisfaction as her soft curvy lips planted a wet kiss on the head of his cock. He had said it from the beginning: Zoe Abiola had natural dick-sucking lips. He had hoped to experience them himself when he donated so much money to her little trap, but he had never imagined in his wildest dreams that he would trick her into delivering a blowjob while tied up and covered in dozens of loads of cum.

“How many times did you want to do this tonight?” he asked with a viscous grin. “Suck cock like a whore?”

Zoe released his cock momentarily, grinning up at him with a line of drool still trailing to his dick “Sooooo many times. I wanted to touch them. I wanted to make the connection complete!”

Devon stared down at the beautiful young artist who had been utterly humiliated tonight. Tied up, used as jerkoff material, and left slick with sperm. Captured on film as the filthy slut she was. And she still didn’t seem to realize how her reputation had been shifting. How much further it would shift.

Zoe would get her chance to make a “complete connection” with her fans very soon. Devon would make sure of it.

Zoe’s lips were built for cock-sucking, and her extreme horniness made her eager and enthusaistic. It wasn’t long before Devon seized her braids and forced his dick deep into her mouth, firing a load down her throat, where none of her fans had been allowed to cum. Yet.

He finally released Zoe, who came up gasping, but smiling. Proud of how well she had done.

“Well, how would you rate me, Zoe?” asked Devon.

“Ten,” said Zoey with a warm, dreamy smile spread across her cum-splattered face.

(Months ago, in Zoe’s studio…)

Faria stood above Zoe Abiola, who was sprawled over the safety mat, physically and sexually exhausted from what Faria had put her through so far. She looked wearily up at Faria, any defiance she had now drained away.

Ready to fully submit.

“What made you want to be an artist in the first place, dear?” asked Faria gently. Now that the fight was drained from her target, there was no need any longer to be harsh or teasing.

“It’s the only job I’ve ever had I wasn’t fired from,” said Zoe with a quirk of her lips. “I’ve had a terrible problem with authority ever since I was a girl. I just can’t ever let anyone tell me what to do. I can’t allow anyone to control or tie me down in any way. I’ve broken up with so many sweet guys because they wanted to be more committed to each other. But I have a compulsive need to be completely unconstrained.”

“So being an artist lets you be free,” mused Faria. “Yet you don’t seem enthusiastic about it.”

Zoe gave a noncommittal half-shrug. “Freedom is romanticized, but true freedom is lonely. Because of the way I am, I can’t hold down a regular nine-to-five. I’ve never had a long-term boyfriend. Bonds with others feel constricting to me. It’s not even good for my art. Some of the best performance artists that I know are able to take input and responses from their audience and use it to create incredible art. I wouldn’t be able to. I can’t let anyone else’s thoughts or feelings change or influence me. I don’t see it as a strength. People who can accept the will of others and still create and thrive are the truly strong ones.”

A slow smile spread across Faria’s face. “So the truly strong are those who are happy to be tied down and enthusiastically allow the will of others to conquer their own?”

Zoe looked hesitant. “Well, I don’t know if I would go that far,” she said nervously.

Faria winked. “Well, in that case, I’m about to make you the strongest woman in the world, Ms. Abiola.”

Programming Mode

Zoe looked almost peaceful despite her nudity and the ropes binding her hands behind her back.

I love to be restrained physically during sexual situations, it’s like a switch flips, making me completely submissive and desperately horny.

“—and desperately horny.”

Nothing is more satisfying to me sexually than completely giving up control and allowing others to dominate me.

“—dominate me.”

True artists fully accept the feelings and will of their viewers no matter what form that might take.

“—what form that might take.”

Faria snapped her fingers and unbound Zoe.

She sat and watched as Zoe put everything back where it had been before under hypnotic command. The young artist would wake up tomorrow with a splitting headache, Faria’s insidious commands already worming their way into her brain. Once she was under Devon’s watchful eyes, he would be able to train her, bringing her new thoughts to the forefront and turning Zoe into the exhibitionist bondage slut that he so desired.

Faria thought that it was likely to produce Zoe’s most popular performance yet.

No matter how enthusiastic reviews had been online, Zoe was nervous that her latest performance had given people the wrong idea.

It was easy for people to look at the performance from the outside and see it as something obscene. Luckily, cell phones had been banned in the exhibit, and no one except the fans who had entered the booth knew for sure exactly what had happened, although rumors had spread all across the internet. One scandalized website had reported on the rumors, calling it a “bukkake gangbang”. Which was ridiculous. Zoe hadn’t even had sex with anyone! Except for Devon, but that didn’t count. It was after the exhibit had closed.

In any case, it hadn’t been a gangbang. Describing it as bukkake was missing the point as well. The point of the closed booth was for Zoe and her audience to have a one-on-one encounter that expressed their mutual connection. And if that connection had been best expressed for most fans by ejaculating on Zoe’s naked body, that was hardly her fault now was it?

Regardless of the privacy of the booth, the world did know about the vagina-centric main exhibition floor, which was quite bad enough in many people’s opinion, regardless of the truth of the rumors.

Although the professional literature was raving about the bold sexuality of “Numerical Value”, the media more broadly was painting Zoe as some sort of slut. They were insinuating that Zoe’s shows were just excuses to titillate her viewers and please them sexually.

Zoe’s new project would prove them wrong. She looked up with satisfaction at the concept art pinned to the corkboard in her new office. It showed her, standing proud and tall in a skintight, pure white, latex bodysuit. It was brilliant: a statement that reasserted her own sexuality while leaving her completely covered, tantalizingly emphasizing her form while hiding it completely from her viewers.

The piece was titled “Madonna”, and it would be the perfect rebuke of the media’s obscene accusations. The white bodysuit would cast Zoe in the role of a classical statue. She would stand in the middle of the room on a pedestal, slowly shifting between famous poses of statues. A plaque would inform viewers that they could “touch if they dared”. Anyone who did would be harshly scolded by Zoe. It would show that she was still in charge of her sexuality and that there were limits to what her viewers could presume.

Zoe smiled in satisfaction. Tonight would dispel the impression that her performances were just excuses to sexually gratify her fans, and set her firmly back on the path to respectability.

Devon watched as the workmen made the necessary changes to the exhibition hall that he had requested.

Changing the sign explaining the performance piece would be easiest. He could do it himself as soon as Zoe had been convinced. The large art pieces on the walls were more difficult. Zoe had requested large photo prints of famous Greek and Roman sculptures, and they were large enough that there wouldn’t be time to change them after Devon had made his last-minute adjustments to Zoe’s plans. Devon had been forced to settle for placing the statue photos in front of the true artwork he planned to display. It looked good enough that Zoe wouldn’t be able to tell the difference until it was too late.

Devon looked up. A faint sprinkle of plaster came down as the workmen finished installing the rigging. He would have to have someone come in here with a broom. But otherwise, everything was looking satisfactory.

Devon was absolutely sure that Zoe’s resistance would crumble. According to the instructions he had received from Faria, she was ready.

Tonight, the up-and-coming young artist would leave respectability behind forever.

Zoe felt less confident now that she had gotten into her latex costume. The concept art that Devon had provided on her request had made the costume look regal, dominant, and classy. But now, wearing the suit herself, it felt… revealing. Maybe even more revealing than being naked. The shiny, glossy material clung lasciviously to every curve of her rounded body. If the point was to deemphasize the eroticism of her performance art, this body suit did a poor job. It looked like she was purposefully putting herself on display.

Another strange detail of the suit was the fact that there were seams in odd places. Except for the opening in the back that allowed her to put the suit on, it was supposed to be seamless and smooth across her whole body.

Instead, there seemed to be separate pieces of latex that covered the crotch and breast areas, with glued seams attaching them to the rest of the suit. Had the designers simply made a mistake when making the suit that required the use of patches? It didn’t seem very professional if that was the case.

It was difficult to walk in the pure white platform shoes that completed the suit. Zoe had thought that lower heels or even just a sort of footie bottoms would have worked, but Devon had insisted that the extra height from the towering heels would allow her to look even more dominant and forbidding to her viewers.

Zoe was a little dissatisfied with the suit, but as she walked into the exhibition space, she relaxed. It looked perfect, with the raised pedestal in the center of the hardwood floor, and the photos of the calming, beautiful classical statuary on the surrounding walls. Perfect.

Devon was waiting for her in the middle of the room, with a black duffel bag at his feet and an unreadable expression on his face.

As she approached, Devon shook his head and said, “I’m sorry Zoe. It doesn’t work.”

The disappointing words sent a stab of cold dread through Zoe’s heart. She always felt anxious right before a performance, and now Devon was confirming her worst fears.

“But we planned this together!” she protested, wide-eyed. “A statement about my complete autonomy, pushing back against critics and fans that wanted to control me!”

Devon sighed. “I know. I know. I take some of the blame here. But now that I see it all put together I realize what this is. Cowardice.”

Zoe flushed in anger. “What the fuck?” she asked heatedly. “I’m casting myself as a goddess and fighting back against my critics. What’s cowardly about that?”

“You’re running again,” said Devon ruefully. “Running from your fans because the way they feel about you scares you. Running from the critics because they made you feel self-conscious. Running from the expectations of others.”

The accusations hit home, making Zoe feel like her heart had been pierced. “No,” she said desperately, “That’s not what this is. It’s me declaring my freedom.”

“Zoe,” said Devon softly, “What has your best work been with me these past few months?”

Zoe stared at him, her breath growing labored as she instinctively sensed where he was going with this. She felt a dark pulse of heat flare up in the core of her body.

Devon answered his own question. “The pieces where you embraced your arousal. Where you made a deep sexual connection with the viewers of your art. Those were the rawest, realest pieces. The ones that provoked the most interest and response from the public.”

Zoe felt like she was being stalked by some dangerous beast. She began to feel a gathering of moisture between her legs, sealed in by the tight latex. Her trapped nipples had no room to expand, but became two throbbing points of heat on her tightly wrapped breasts.

“But you keep running away. Setting limits. Refusing to embrace your biggest successes,” Devon now circled her, eyes moving over her perfectly displayed ass and thighs. He finally drew close and whispered in her ear as Zoe closed her eyes, hanging on every word.

“What you really need to do is give in. Stage a piece where you finally accept the feelings the public has towards you. Surrender completely. Fully complete the connection between artist and viewer.”

“B-but, if I do that… if I give in…” whimpered Zoe, as Devon’s hands crawled over the chest of her body suit, “It won’t be art! I won’t be an artist anymore, just a… just a dirty sl…”

Zoe gasped as Devon gripped the patches over her breasts and ripped them free in a violent motion, exposing her large brown tits to the open air, poking through two perfect holes in the latex body suit.

“That’s what people will think!” said Devon soothingly, “But we will know the truth. This is the truest type of art! Sometimes, to create something truly magical, an artist needs to accept the audience‘s authentic reaction. And I think we both know how your audience will react to you,” said Devon, his hands kneading and pinching Zoe’s now-exposed tits.

“I… I can’t Devon,” protested Zoe in a weak voice, submitting to his roaming fingers, “I’m scared. I can’t just let some strange men do whatever they want with me!”

Devon’s hands slipped lower, over the shiny tight expanse of white rubber covering her body. “Scared, Zoe? Maybe a little, but just like you have to accept the reaction of your audience, you must accept your own true feelings as well.” His hands gripped the seam around the patch covering her crotch and slowly peeled it away.

Zoe moaned in shame as the patch ripped away from its tight grip on her body, revealing the sloppy mess of a pussy beneath. Thick strings of sticky goo glistened, clinging to the latex as it peeled off slowly. Devon tossed the soiled scrap of latex onto the ground and worked his strong fingers into Zoe’s drenched pussy, making obscene liquid sounds as their mouths found each other, tongues swirling and clashing as Zoe’s mind filled with warm pink fog.

Devon broke away and whispered with a grin, “It doesn’t feel like you are afraid to me Zoe. So what is holding you back? Shouldn’t you just give in and accept the true feelings of your adoring fans? What do you say? Shall we give the people what they want?”

Zoe bit her lip. Devon’s hands working between her legs made it hard to think. It felt like fucking her viewers wasn’t something a good artist would do. Or was she just making excuses?

“Stop resisting what you know you want,” came Devon’s persuasive whisper in her ear. “Wouldn’t it feel soooo good just to relax and let other people take control for a while?”

Devon was right. Zoe had felt a powerful burst of energy and creativity when she was chained up and humped by Ivan, and felt it again when she was bound in the private booth and watched dozens of men jerk off to her. Why should she turn away from that feeling? Zoe looked Devon in the eye, overcame her nagging doubts, and said “L-let’s do it.”

Devon had to work to keep his grin from growing too evil. He turned immediately and zipped open his duffel bag, pulling out a piece of white cloth. He handed it to Zoe, saying: “Put this on. If you need help, let me know.”

Zoe held it up to see that it was a tightly-fitting white blindfold.

“I don’t understand,” she said nervously, “why am I blinding myself?”

Devon chuckled. He pulled a large bundle of soft red ropes from the bag as well as a wide ring-shaped gag with a white leather strap. “Your sight isn’t the only thing you’ll be giving up tonight. Your fans want to see how eager you are to submit too their true feelings.”

Her pulse quickened. Devon didn’t just mean that she would give in to her fans’ desires when he said she should “give up control”. He wanted her to willingly give up all defenses. To blind herself. Silence herself. Bind her movements. Truly submit to all of their twisted desires and make herself utterly vulnerable. She remembered what it had felt like when the crowd had loomed above her as she was chained to the rocks, her tits exposed. She remembered how she had felt when she was bound and fully revealed, watching strange men stroke their cocks to her without any ability to hide her shame.

The idea of utter surrender should terrify and repulse her. She had always been a woman who had insisted on complete freedom above all else.

Instead, her pussy sent a fresh stream of excited fluid in a slimy trail down the white latex covering her inner thigh. With shaking hands, she tied the blindfold over her eyes as Devon approached with a smirk, ropes and gag in hand.

Devon held up a hand when Zoe had been hoisted to the perfect height above the floor of the exhibition hall. Just below waist level.

The hall itself had changed in the past fifteen minutes, rapidly converting to the vision that Devon had for it from the beginning. The classy photos of the statuary had been removed, revealing the photos of Zoe underneath.

Photos from her recent performance pieces. One of her in heavy chains, her tits bared, head thrown back to moan her orgasm. One of her laying back with her legs bound open, a dreamy smile on her face, body drenched in cum. A blown-up version of the sassy photo she had sent to Devon and the other hundred bidders so long ago, sitting on a counter, hiding her nudity and flipping off the camera. Devon had made sure that the message Zoe had written in gold pen was faithfully reproduced, now taking on a deliciously ironic new meaning:

“Ready for your chance to fuck me, loser? -Zoe Abiola”

But the most important piece of art in the room hung suspended in the center, between the pornographic photos. Zoe Abiola herself, transformed into Devon’s masterpiece.

Her curvy body was tightly encased in the tight white latex Devon had tricked her into wearing. All except for the most important parts. Her massive round tits hung heavily below her suspended body, exposed to the eyes and hands of the men who were coming to watch her perform. Between her wide open thighs, her oozing cunt dripped the signs of its arousal down to the hardwood floor. Maybe he should set up a wet floor warning sign… wouldn’t want any lawsuits.

To increase her utter helplessness and submission, Devon had carefully tied an intricate shibari binding over her body, using it to tie her calves to her thighs and her hands behind her back. It took an expert hand to tie a rope binding that could safely hold a woman’s weight, but Devon had years of training. Zoe would be comfortable all night if necessary.

To complete her humiliating submission, Zoe had willingly donned the blindfold and gag herself. Her tongue lolled in her forced-open mouth as drool dripped to the floor to join her pussy juice. She was bound, blinded, silenced, and conquered. Turned from a confident and abrasive young artist into a submissive receptacle for the lust and cum of her depraved fans.

And all with her enthusiastic permission.

Devon glanced over to the new sign at the entrance to the performance space. It now read:

The artist Zoe Abiola represents all aspects of womanhood in this new piece, titled “Madonna”.

The white color of her suit represents the clinging and restrictive expectations imposed on the VIRGIN.

The warm brown skin color of her exposed tits and pussy represent the nurturing and creative energies of these reproductive and childrearing body parts, emblematic of the MOTHER.

The red ropes represent the social stigma that restricts and binds the WHORE.

The artist invites you to work your own art on her willing body. Fully taste all aspects of womanhood, VIRGIN, MOTHER, and WHORE in whatever way you choose. The artist welcomes all interaction.

No responses will be refused.

Devon walked over to the bound young woman. He nudged her gently, drawing a gurgle of surprise from her gaping mouth as she began gently spinning in a circle. Utterly at his mercy. But Devon had no desire for a slave that couldn’t say no. He stopped Zoe’s spin and knelt down next to her. He pushed a small remote into her fingers, the only parts of her body with any ability to move.

“Obviously, traditional safe words won’t work in this situation, Zoe,” he said gently in her ear. “But if it gets to be too much, or you feel unsafe, just press the button on this device. An alarm will sound and we will get you down.”

Zoe’s fingers felt the remote curiously, her thumb running over the button. Then, deliberately and unmistakably, she gave the device a little toss, letting it clatter to the floor.

Devon’s cock swelled at the sign of Zoe’s utter submission. She wanted to have zero control tonight. He looked at his watch. Ten minutes. He had time.

Devon removed his cock from his pants and began stroking, using his free hand to turn Zoe’s body, observing all the angles, his hand increasing speed as he glared at her sopping cunt and the diamond-hard nipples at the tips of her swaying tits.

“Well, well, well,” he said gloatingly, watching every obscene angle of Zoe’s displayed body with delight, “What ever happened to the fiery revolutionary?” He paused the rotation to place his free hand lovingly on Zoe’s exposed cunt, slipping a finger inside to feel her slick, velvety heat.

“I read an interview with you once. You told people “never accept the chains of oppression. Never meekly submit to those in power. Never let ‘The Man’ win’.” Devon held his hand in place for a moment, feeling Zoe’s internal muscles grip and milk his finger.

“Tonight, you submitted meekly. You accepted the chains. You were so eager that you put them on yourself.” Zoe made a sloppy moan of shame, unable to form any words through her ring-gagged mouth.

Devon rotated Zoe and stopped her with her face in front of his cock, eyes covered, tongue lolling shamefully from her forced-open mouth.

“Sorry Zoe, tonight, you let ‘The Man’ win.”

He fired a thick load all over her ridiculous face, declaring his victory over the cocky young artist. Zoe had thought she was better than him. But he wasn’t the one who would be the center of a BDSM gang bang tonight.

Devon thought of cleaning up his mess, but decided against it. Let her wear it. It would help the first few guests to quickly overcome their hesitance.

Devon turned and walked towards the entrance, ready to signal the staff to let the crowd inside.

Zoe hung, suspended in the air, completely unable to move, unable to see, unable to speak. Barely able to think due to her intense arousal. She had felt and tasted Devon’s load of jizz a while ago now. How long had it been? With her senses limited like this, it was hard to judge the passage of time. She could hear the creak of the ropes cradling and binding her body, feel the cool air currents of the room tickling her hard nipples and wet pussy. Anticipation made her feel like she was balanced on the edge of a knife.

Finally, she heard it, the murmur of the crowd, the thump of approaching feet. She felt a stab of apprehension approaching fear. For a second she wished she hadn’t impulsively thrown away the remote that was her only safety net. But the feeling passed. She had made her choice. Tonight she wanted utter submission. Utter helplessness. Anything less just wouldn’t be the same.

As the men in the crowd finally saw her she heard gasps. The murmuring increased in volume, and took on a excited edge. Even bound and blinded as she was, Zoe could feel the sexual energy of the crowd as it surged forward. The sounds of the crowd moved around her. She thought could sense the heavy, hot stares of the horny men in a circle around her, almost feel the heat of their bodies.

This close, she could pick out individual voices.

“...such a dirty fucking slut. I knew it. I knew it ever since she flashed her tits that first time.”

“Oh my god! She’s just completely given up on the “art” excuse now, right? There’s no way she’s stupid enough to think this is performance art.”

“Did that sign mean what I think it means? She’s saying that we can just, like, fuck her?”

“Is that cum on her face? That whore couldn’t even wait until the doors opened…”

More and more voices, low and gruff, high and excited, all different, but all carrying an undertone of desperate lust.

It took a minute for someone to be brave enough to step forward. Zoe could hear his heavy step, sense his presence as he closed in. Her body sang with anticipation, every nerve ending in her aching tits and pussy begging to be touched.

The man just stood there for a moment. The crowd fell silent as it watched the brave man and the helpless woman. Both Zoe and the crowd held their breath, waiting for what would come next.

Zoe was so close to the edge of orgasm already that a muffled, slutty moan tore from her throat instantly as the stranger’s rough hand reached out and palmed one of her hanging tits, gently feeling and squeezing what no art viewer had been allowed to touch before. As he confirmed that no alarms would sound, and no staff would come to stop him, his hands grew bolder, kneading and pinching with enthusiasm, drawing more deep animalistic moans from Zoe’s drooling mouth.

Encouraged by the bravery, another man stepped forward, kneeling between Zoe’s spread legs. She felt a rough thumb trace up and down her slippery pussy, gently parting her lower lips to explore her womanhood. Another man rushed forward to feel her other breast, doubling the sensation as both men began teasing her erect nipples.

The man behind her was getting rougher, thrusting two fingers deep into her dripping sex, drawing wilder moans from her throat as the sensation grew. More men came forward, the whole crowd surging closer, to get a better look and wait their turn to participate. Zoe gasped as she felt the red hot skin of a cock rub against her breast, the first man had pulled out his penis and began pleasuring himself on the warm velvety skin of her breasts.

The man behind her leaned forward, plunging his tongue deep inside Zoe’s aching cunt, desperately slobbering and tasting the juices of his idol, making breathy whining moans burst from her throat as she built towards her first orgasm of the long evening. Another man stepped forward from the crowd, and Zoe felt a short thick cock plunge into her open mouth through the wide metal ring. Her tongue swirled and drool dripped out out as he began to gently thrust into her free-use hole.

The man behind her must have decided that he had prepared Zoe sufficiently because as she moaned around the cock stuffing her mouth, she felt the largest dick she had ever fucked glide effortlessly into her eager pussy.

The overwhelming sensation assaulted her on all sides. A huge cock was thrusting deeply into her slick pussy, her mouth was stuffed with a stranger’s cock, dicks were being rubbed over every inch of her exposed tits. The lack of sight doubled her sensations, and the feeling of being helpless and completely under the control of these strange men quadrupled it.

Zoe’s toes curled. She squeezed her eyes shut under her blindfold. Every muscle in her body tensed, and a primal gargling sound choked past the cock in her mouth as she abandoned herself to the deepest and strongest orgasm of her young life. The spasming muscles of her pussy must have set off the man behind her, because he pulled out to fire a thick load onto her latex-clad ass. The man in the front came just a second later, filling her mouth with the first of countless loads that evening, coating her tongue with the rank, salty taste even as it dripped out onto the floor through the gag.

The men worshipping her tits moved instantly to take their places, and more men crowded in to replace them, the entire crowd going wild with lust.

It was going to be a long night.

Faria watched from the boundaries of the crowd as yet another man flooded Zoe’s mouth with seed. She watched the slutty little exhibition piece do her best to swallow what she could before the rest splattered to the ground.

Behind her, another eager fan slid himself into her slightly gaping asshole. It would probably be a smooth, slick fuck at this point, based on the number of men who had already deposited a load there this evening. Cameramen eagerly snapped photos and ran video from every angle, as they had from the first moment. Zoe Abiola’s rocket to stardom would doubtless continue after tonight. Her image as a respectable artist however? That was probably dead, no matter what the magazines that Devon influenced said.

Devon Preisinger, the man himself, sauntered up to stand at Faria’s side, a proud, smug look on his face.

They watched the gang bang in silence for a moment. At this point, some of the men must be going up for seconds. Even with a crowd this size, the sheer amount of cum wouldn’t make sense otherwise.

“Well,” said Devon happily, “All art is up to the viewer’s interpretation. What do you think this piece is commenting on?”

Faria raised an eyebrow at the odious little gallery owner. “The barbarity of man, perhaps,” she said dryly.

Devon nodded sagely. “I tend to think that it’s a commentary on hubris.” He turned back to the spectacle with a look of joy in his eyes. “I think this will be Zoe’s most popular work yet! I’ve already been talking to some like-minded gallery owners. We will be taking this particular performance piece on a world tour! Hundreds of showings, all across the world. I’m also going to release the footage of her last performance and this one together for sale online. It’s going to really drum up interest for the tour!”

Faria grimaced. She didn’t feel guilty about what she had done to Zoe. After all, Zoe had been pompous and manipulative before she met Faria, and it seemed a fitting punishment for her to be subjected to public humiliation since that was what she had inflicted on others.

But to make her the permanent submissive slave of a man as cruel as Devon Preisinger? That was too much… Well, for a woman of her talents, there was definitely something she could do to salve her conscience. Maybe in the end Zoe had managed to inspire Faria a little. Even if the hypnotist had allowed Zoe to be conquered, she could still make sure that Zoe could claim the final victory. She had a complete understanding of Devon Preisinger and what a small man he truly was. This would be easy.

Devon Preisinger. The next words I say will be your new thoughts, replacing your old thoughts as though they were never there.

Devon turned slowly towards her, his eyes glazed over, waiting for his commands.

I will never take any action to harm Zoe Abiola

“—Zoe Abiola.”

I will support Zoe Abiola unquestioningly, and do my best to further her career.

“—further her career.”

I will destroy any media I have that might harm Zoe Abiola’s reputation.

“—reputation.”

Faria snapped her fingers, bringing Devon back to blinking, confused awareness. There. Faria had settled on a compromise. Zoe would still have some brand new submissive tendencies and a bondage fetish. And Faria assumed that the air of eroticism and taboo would surround her artistic work for years to come as the rumors swirled regarding her three infamously sexual performance pieces.

But Zoe’s new sexual tendencies weren’t the end of the world. She had admitted to Faria herself that she wished she was able to give up more control. And Faria expected that a smart young woman like Zoe could turn the air of scandal and mystery around her work into a positive rather than a liability.

And at this point, she would have a powerful gallery owner fighting tooth and nail in her corner to make sure she succeeded.

Faria watched the debauchery for a moment longer. Then sighed. As annoying as it would be, she should probably confuse the memories of the attendees tonight. Who knows who had pulled out a phone and filmed a quick video?

She had been hoping for an early evening tonight, but she had just created a couple more hours of work for herself. She left the dazed-looking Devon behind and walked toward the crowd.

Her and her soft heart.