The gallery opening for Robert DeSoto was a much-anticipated event in town. He was somewhat of a local celebrity artist and his openings were always sold-out affairs. We own one of his works, so we always get first dibs on tickets before the regular public and we were not going to miss this one for two reasons. First, we wanted to talk with him about doing a commissioned piece, potentially with me as the model. Second, the theme of this collection was decidedly more erotic than many of his past works and I was interested in the reaction from the viewers.
We were his guests at the preview opening so we had already seen the collection. It was quite amazing and featured many ritualistic paintings with devils and similar creatures having sex with women. It was very arousing material for me, and a scary thought went through my head after seeing it about whether he would paint me into one of those scenes. But that would have to wait.
Since we had already previewed the show, I planned just to enjoy the party with plenty of Champagne and do some people watching until most of the crowd left at the end of the night so we could approach Robert about our commission idea. And since the theme was on the erotic side, I also planned on being a little erotic myself.
Since it was a warm June Friday, I wore a mid-thigh length black dress that had buttons from the waist to the neckline. But it would not be buttoned up to the neckline tonight. I find exhibitionism on its own a little boring and it doesn’t do a whole lot for me. My feeling is that just because the other people get to see things doesn’t mean that I get anything out of it. I need to have more.
I find the psychology of the situation far more interesting and arousing than just the mere act of flashing some skin. My plan for the gallery was to wear the dress with many of the buttons left open. In my mind, the viewer would then know that I left them open on purpose, as opposed to a dress with a plunging neckline without buttons where you have no choice.
I wanted those who saw me to wonder why I left them open. To make them think about what I was intending and what I wanted them to see. Don’t get me wrong; I wanted them to see me and I planned on giving many opportunities for that. But I wanted to play some games with these voyeurs as I did. To enjoy myself and the control I could have over them.
Jacque and I got dressed for the show after some evening cocktails at home. I put on the dress and decided to leave the buttons open just past breast level and hesitantly decided that I was going to go commando for the evening. That is not something I normally did, but I was not planning on having to sit down anywhere and wanted to push myself a little, and I knew that Jacque would appreciate it.
“What do you think?” I asked him as I looked at myself in the mirror.
Ever the one to push me, he walked over to me and unbuttoned the dress to navel level. “If you want to play your little game tonight, you might as well play it right,” he said. “Wearing it like this might shock some and really get people thinking about why you are doing it since you could clearly cover yourself by closing more buttons.”
He had a point, but now I was nervous and unsure about how far I was willing to go. I knew this was an erotic event and that helped to allay some of my fears, but wearing it like this was going to be difficult to control. One effect of opening the dress so far down was that the top had no tension, so it spread out wide across my shoulders. It then moved down across the tops of my breasts so the inner sides of each were in full view. And that was without moving!
“And one other thing,” he said. “If you are going to do this and wear it like that, you can’t be constantly adjusting things. You have to wear it with confidence and let what happens happen as if you don’t care who may see.”
I both hated and loved Jacque for things like this. He is always pushing me, and deep down, I knew he was right if I wanted to really play my game. I was just not as confident as he was suggesting I be. I looked at myself in the mirror while moving around. Even the slightest movements were opening the dress significantly, revealing most of my breasts, and if I was not careful, the fabric would pull completely to the side.
In the end, I decided I would give it a try. I could always button more if needed and began to think about my plan for the evening, which was to make small talk with people and be more than a little flirty while looking them directly in the eyes. I wanted that eye contact. Then I would find a way to look in a different direction and make a movement or gesture causing the expected exposure, so they had a chance to get a view. This would allow me to watch them over the rest of the evening to see if they were keeping an eye on me and I could imagine what they were thinking.
We got into the car to drive to the gallery, and it became immediately clear that sitting down was going to be dangerous. As soon as I got in the car, both sides of the dress fell to the side, leaving both breasts completely exposed. ‘Note to self!’
The gallery was already packed when we arrived. We quickly found Robert and congratulated him on the show again. He smiled an appreciative smile while grabbing glasses of Champagne for us. “Thank you,” he said. “I always love to have owners like the two of you at my shows!”
“We would not have missed this for the world!” I responded. “These paintings are so incredibly beautiful and erotic. I love them!”
Jacque and I had decided that we would split up for a while so I could play my physiological control game without him being an interference. Plus, I was sure he would enjoy watching me from afar more than anyone else.
I walked to the main gallery room while paying close attention to the action of the dress and got more confident in the movements I should or shouldn’t make, given what I wanted to happen. But I did realize that even a simple thing like raising a glass to my lips revealed quite a bit, and a little sway or bend allowed the dress to open, giving a clear view of my entire breast and nipple.
I found a well-dressed man about my age standing alone in front of a particularly evocative painting of many cloaked and hooded figures standing around a nude woman. They were all touching and groping her breasts and legs and her head was tilted back by one grabbing her hair.
I stopped next to him and looked at it for a few seconds. “Quite an interesting image, isn’t it?” I started. “I almost want to be her.”
“Really? I almost want to be them,” he responded with a smile. He turned towards me and held up his glass in toast. “My name is Franklin. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise,” I responded while holding his eye contact as we clinked glasses. “I am Jean.”
This time, it wasn’t the act of raising the glass that did anything. But when I swung my arm back to my side after raising it to him, I could feel my breast and nipple slip out of the dress, but I maintained my eye contact with him and pretended not to notice.
I turned my body slightly and looked at the painting again. I could feel his eyes move down to my chest. “No. As a matter of fact, I definitely want to be her,” I deadpanned. I knew he was looking at me and I started to become aroused for the first time. “It was nice meeting you, Franklin. Enjoy the rest of the show,” I said as I walked away from him, not giving him a chance to respond.
I had several similar encounters like this throughout the evening and each time, I became more and more aroused and daring in what I would try and show and expose to them. The fun thing was watching them move throughout the gallery afterwards trying to catch another view of me. One guy was like a photography drone in ‘follow’ mode. I could not shake him from my tail.
The crowd started to thin after more than a couple of hours of this controlling game and more than a few glasses of Champagne. I saw Jacque on the other side of the room in what looked like an animated conversation with a man about something, so I moved over to a bare wall on the side of the smaller gallery room and leaned back against it to enjoy my last glass of bubbly for the evening.
I got lost in myself for a moment, contemplating what had occurred throughout the evening, when a tall man in a Fedora walked up to me. It was Anthony Shelton, a well-known and eccentric art collector. “I have been watching you for much of the evening,” he said. “You seemed to enjoy your controlled exposure of your body tonight. I appreciate that and enjoyed watching you.”
I was taken aback by his confidence and brazen attitude that he could just walk up to me and say that. But I kept my stance leaning against the wall and smiled at him and was not going to give him the upper hand in this conversation. “I did, in fact, enjoy it very much, Mr. Shelton,” I responded.
What happened next caught me by even more of a surprise. He took his left hand and moved the dress off of my right breast and groped me strongly and stared me in the face. “Is this what you were wanting from all of those men you have been showing yourself to?” he said sternly.
It was all I could do to contain my fury, but I was able to quickly gather a response together in my head. I did not move and allowed him to keep his grasp on my breast while I remained leaning against the wall and looked him in the eyes. I raised my glass of Champagne to my lips and took a very long sip.
I straightened up and with my left hand grasped his wrist as strongly as I could and removed his hand from me and angrily said while staring at him, “No, that is not what I wanted. I alone control who gets to touch me!”
With that, I quickly walked away from him and found Jacque. I was shaken by that experience, but we still had to talk to Robert about the commission. I felt safer being with Jacque, so I calmed down quickly.
We found Robert and he quickly agreed to meet us at his studio to discuss doing a painting for us. While we did not talk about the subject of the work, my mind immediately went to the painting I was looking at with Franklin and was intrigued in reflection that I was aroused by the thought of wanting to be the woman in the painting with the cloaked men touching her. Then Anthony Shelton groped me in a similar manner at the end of the evening, and I was furious. Wasn’t that a contradiction in my feelings?
I recounted the night’s events to Jacque on the drive home, saving the story of Shelton for the end. “Well, I was watching you all evening too and it was a huge turn-on for me. I can’t tell you the number of times I wanted to do the same thing,” he said.
“Yes, but I want to be in control!” I replied.
………………………………………………………………………..
Several months passed after the gallery event and even though I thought about it every once in a while, I had largely forgotten about Mr. Anthony Shelton.
Jacque and I were enjoying a September evening together, reminiscing and talking about our experiences together like our Paris trip and how much I had moved my public exhibitionism to a new level. I could tell he was getting turned on by the conversation.
“So, there is an event in a couple weeks that I would love to attend with you. I have been wanting to go to this for a couple years now, but I have always been out of the country,” he stated.
“OK. What is it? I asked.
“It is a BDSM performance ball. Everyone gets dressed up in costume and they have Shibari and a lot of other different performances. I have heard it gets pretty sexual and I am very intrigued by it,” he said.
“That would certainly be different, and I know you have a lot of BDSM fantasies, so sure. Why not?” I said. “I will have to do some research on a costume. I am guessing you would prefer on the provocative side?” I questioned with a sly smile, knowing exactly the answer to the question.
“I guess you know me pretty well,” he laughed. “Why don’t we get my computer and do some research tonight? It would be a fun way to spend the evening.”
“OK. But just know that I will not be wearing a ‘Story of O’ dress!” I demanded.
“I didn’t expect that you would. Although you would look amazing in one!” he responded while getting up to get his laptop.
We settled on an all-black suit and white mask for Jacque, but we struggled with mine. He kept pushing me towards bare-breasted outfits. He argued that many of the women at the event wore similar costumes and showed me previous event gallery photos to prove it. He was right. There were a lot of them. But it just wasn’t me.
I finally settled on a more feminine dominant costume and we pushed the order button and purchased the tickets for the event to be held in two weeks.
When the costumes arrived, I took them directly to the cleaners to make sure they were neatly pressed and ready for the event, so I never tried my costume on until it was time to get ready. My costume consisted of very tight black stretch pants and a collared white dress shirt with cuffs. Except this shirt had no buttons save for one at the very bottom, which was tucked into the pants.
If I had tried on the costume in advance, I would have noticed how loose the shirt was on me and I could have had the tailor take it in. The shoulders and sleeves fit well, but the front was too loose, resulting in it being very open and revealing. Maybe it was made for women with larger breasts than I? But there was no turning back.
The costume was topped off with a flowing black cape and a feathered mask that covered my entire face except for my mouth, but it provided complete anonymity.
As I looked in the mirror, I was struck by how much this costume resembled the open dress I wore to the gallery opening. Except this was much more assertive with no buttons and a crisp starched look and I have to say, the cape made me look a little menacing.
We took an Uber to the gala, so we didn’t have to worry about either of us driving after the expected amount of alcohol. When we arrived, there was a line leading to the doors of the building and when we finally got to the doors I realized why. In addition to the tickets for the event, everyone entering was required to sign a confidentiality agreement and legal release.
I looked at Jacque quizzically and said, “Um, are you sure this is OK?”
“Sure, it’s fine,” he said. “I don’t think they could hold a sexually charged event these days without some sort of legal protection.”
We signed the paperwork without reading the fine print and entered the venue. It was a single very large room with a circular stage set up in the middle that was not on risers, so it was at the same level as the rest of the room. Jacque was right, though. Most of the women were dressed very submissively, many of them bare-breasted and some with collars and some even with leashes on. My costume choice seemed to be out of place.
There were probably over three hundred people in attendance, mostly couples of all persuasions. I reveled in how I looked and felt very free to allow my loose top to do what it wanted, and the mask provided anonymity, so I felt safe. And, even though I was more dressed than most of the other women, I felt powerful and sexy and was very happy with my choice of costume. It was very me!
“I told you that you should have gone with the ‘Story of O’ dress,” chided Jacque.
“But you know I am not the submissive type, and besides, I would look like everyone else,” I responded. With that, he kissed me and put his hand under my shirt and cupped my breast. When he removed his hand, he made sure to leave the shirt to the side, keeping my breast exposed. He was intent on seeing me walk around with my tits out.
“I will let you have your little fun for now since I am anonymous with this mask covering my face,” I said and I left the top as it was, and we continued to walk towards the open bar, my breast fully exposed. The feeling for me at this point was similar to being on a nude beach. The women were all in a similar state of undress, so it seemed normal and not too arousing, although very intriguing. Much different than when I am the only one being an exhibitionist.
We got our large drinks and made our way to join the growing throng of people near the large stage, and I noticed quite a few people looking at me and talking as we passed them. It was strange to be one of the least exhibitionistic women in the place and get stares and chatter like that as we walked by.
We found a spot with a decent view of the stage. It was a large circular stage with the crowd forming around the perimeter that was delineated by a rope line to separate the crowd from the performers, no doubt to keep overzealous patrons from touching any of the performers.
The lights soon dimmed, and spotlights came on over the stage. The crowd murmured with excitement as a Japanese man and a kimono-clad model entered the circle of light. Sensual Asian music began playing over the speakers as the man brought out a large assortment of ropes. I assumed this was a Shibari performance.
I had only seen a few videos of Shibari that Jacque had shown me, so I was only vaguely sure what to expect. I was fascinated as he started to tie intricate rope patterns over her kimono and then had her lie down and started to make patterns of rope around her legs. I was fascinated, and that feeling of wanting to be the model like the woman in the painting at the gallery came back to me.
A winch appeared above them and the man fastened it to one of the ropes. The model was raised off the floor slowly as the music continued. The man slowly spun her around several times then stopped her, grabbed the front of her kimono and roughly spread both sides, resulting in the ropes digging into her bare skin and her breasts being exposed to the audience.
I had a sudden jolt of blood to my face. I tried to imagine what it would be like to be tied and then stripped and exposed to over three hundred onlookers and contrary to my initial feelings about the night, I was now getting quite aroused at this exposition of eroticism and sensuality and had a desire to be that model on stage.
Their performance ended with her being lowered back to the floor and the ropes gently removed. He then slowly removed her kimono, revealing the rope marks on her naked body as he hugged her on the floor to the end of the sensual music.
“I feel a little flustered,” I said to Jacque. “I did not expect to be turned on by some rope play. But that was amazingly sensual and beautiful.”
“I am glad you agreed to come, my love!” said Jacque.
I squeezed his arm as comfortable lovers do and said, “I think I may be enjoying this more than you so far, but I think we need refills on these drinks. I am feeling flush, so I will go over and get them.”
I readjusted my shirt so that my breasts were covered and made the arduous passage through the crowd back to the bar. I could not help again feeling strange looks at me and mumbled words. When I got to the bar, there was a tall man in a black cape in front of me. He turned around with his drinks and made a sudden stop in front of me. He had a large black bird beak mask and a hood over his head.
“You look different from the rest,” he said, “very masculine and in control.”
I did not respond to him but bowed slightly and gestured to allow him to move past me and appreciated having the mask on for anonymity as he slowly moved away, eyeing me as he went.
After I got our drinks, I made the reverse trip back to Jacque just in time for the next performance. It was a group of four dancers; three men and one woman. All of them were incredibly muscular and fit and completely nude except for masks. As they danced, the men started to become hard as the woman touched them as they danced.
I had never seen anything so erotic and beautiful and my arousal level was kicked up a notch as she continually grabbed their huge cocks as they danced together. Why had Jacque never brought me to this gala before if this is what I get to experience? They were incredible dancers and seeing their beautiful naked bodies dance and touch each other was amazing.
This sequence of events played on for quite some time with more drinks and more amazing performances. Some of them were sensual but others were very sexual. Between the alcohol, the sensual acts and my growing arousal, I was feeling very happy as I hugged Jacque to my side. “I love this!” I screamed.
The music suddenly changed tone and a single spotlight shone on the stage floor. A man walked out with a microphone and my heart stopped. It was the tall man at the bar with the black bird beak mask. Oh shit, I thought to myself for some reason. Did I diss the emcee at the bar?
“Gentleman and ladies,” he started. I made a very quick note of the juxtaposition of the adjectives in his presentation as he continued. “We have a longstanding tradition that the last performance of the night involves one of the audience members as an homage to all of you who come out to support this amazing gala. By right and written into the release documents you signed as you entered the gala, the participant is chosen by popular vote and the chosen one cannot refuse participation.”
The crowd cheered its approval and the atmosphere started to change.
“Tonight’s participant,” he bellowed, “is the most non-submissive woman in the room!”
Cheers rang out and I heard stamping feet and a din start to form around me and Jacque. “Her, her, HER!” I kept hearing. I felt someone push me forward, then hands were on me compelling me forward to the stage. I was at a loss and was alone and now separated from Jacque.
I felt hands on me as I was squeezed forward through the crowd, their hands touching me everywhere and groping and pushing me as if I was a prisoner. When I finally was near the edge of the stage, a group of men took me by the arms and pulled me forward onto the stage in front of the bird-masked man.
“Is this your vote?” he screamed.
“Yes, YES, YES!” was the answer.
I was dumbfounded. I was enjoying a very erotic evening with Jacque of performances and now I was being compelled onstage by this beaked man and a growing chant from the crowd. “HER, HER, HER!” they said. I had immediate feelings of both fear and excitement about being brought onstage.
I was pulled roughly onto the stage floor and someone placed my arms behind my back and began to tie them tightly so I could not resist, and I felt multiple men holding me.
“Friends!” shouted the beaked man. “As you know, we value masks and the anonymity that they afford us here. But if the majority rules that if you are an outlier, we will reveal you!”
There was an immediate chorus from the crowd, “Take her mask! Take her mask! TAKE HER MASK!”
I stood in my costume as proudly as I could before three hundred screaming people, but my arms were now firmly bound behind me. Through my mask, I noticed that the rope barriers were no longer in place and the stage had become very small and the crowd was almost on top of me and within touching distance.
There were many who were slapping the stage floor, yelling for my mask to be removed.
“You have spoken!” exclaimed Birdman.
With that, he reached out and removed my mask.
“You?!” he yelled.
I was horrified, yet at the same time a rush of intense adrenaline pulsed through my body. My mask was now off and I was exposed, and my anonymity was gone but I felt powerful and resilient, and that odd sense of both dread and exhilaration at the same time pervaded my being. I stood before the crowd, now the only one demasked, but I also felt a sense of pride and resilience. And even with my arms tied behind my back, I was determined to resist. I looked out and the crowd was now within a foot of me and I could not see Jacque anywhere.
The beak man moved in front of me and in a loud voice said, “It is only fair that you see me as well,” and with that pronouncement, he took off his mask.
It was Anthony Shelton! A sudden rush of blood poured into my face.
I felt the hands holding my arms behind my back tighten as Shelton moved behind me. The rope around my wrists was immediately more constricting as he removed my cape and then pushed his body against me.
“I give you your dominant!” he yelled as he grabbed the sides of my shirt and ripped them to the sides, exposing me to the crowd, which roared its approval. He then pulled the shirt back over my shoulders and down to where my arms were bound behind my back.
He grabbed my hair from behind and pulled me backwards. My naked torso was exposed for the crowd, and a roar rang out. But instead of feeling compelled, I felt empowered. I wanted them to see me!
“Shall we?” I heard him say.
“Do it… Do It… DO IT!” was the crowd’s response and with that, I felt my pants being ripped and torn then pulled to the floor. Multiple hands lifted me off the floor and they removed them, tattered and torn from my feet and waved them to the screaming crowd. Someone kicked at my feet and pushed my legs to spread wide on the floor and I was now totally naked before them with my arms tied behind my back.
Then hands started to touch me from all angles, from behind and from the crowd in front of me. I was surrounded by multiple masked men groping my breasts and inner thighs and virtually everywhere. I realized that I was now the woman in the Robert DeSoto painting and was helpless and unable to resist the throng of men touching me.
My inner debate seemed to last a long time, but it was probably pretty instantaneous. I decided to let go of my need for control. For better or for worse, I was going to experience everything that was happening or was going to happen here on this stage.
I tried to isolate and pay attention to every hand groping my breasts and those trying to finger my pussy. I was very strangely becoming aroused by the hands all over my body and was surprised to feel myself becoming wet.
I felt ropes being tied around my neck and then both thighs just above my knees and wondered if this was being done by the Shibari artist. I was pushed to my knees by strong hands and felt something hard move against my back, some kind of wooden structure. My hands were released from their bindings and then my hair was pulled backwards, causing me to arch my entire body over whatever this thing was.
My arms and then my thighs were tied to each side, causing me to now be displayed, arched and spread-eagled on my knees in front of the entire crowd. Another cheer rang out as I was bound, and the many hands continued to grope me. And again, the strange feeling of arousal went through my body. How could I be getting turned on by this? I wondered.
As the groping continued, I felt the sudden movement of being pulled backwards as the structure tilted back, and now I was lying on my back, keenly aware that my legs were spread wide open and my pussy was now on much greater display to the cheering crowd. Let them see all of me, I thought to myself while wondering if they could tell that I was now getting wet.
I felt hands spread my labia open and a shudder went through my body as I saw a large cock touch the side of my face. Being bound and displayed to hundreds of people was one thing, but now I had a stranger’s hard cock in my face. Hands grabbed my hair and turned my head to the side and the cock was pushed into my mouth and I did not resist. While he moved in and out of my mouth, I saw more hard cocks appear out of the corner of my eye.
The man pulled out of my mouth and released my hair and as I looked back to the front, I saw Shelton standing before my spread legs, naked and hard. Hands continued to grope me everywhere and I felt my labia being spread open again, all the while the men around me started to stroke their cocks.
Shelton moved forward and I felt his cock at my labia. A sense of fear and a strange excitement went charging throughout my body. “Fuck me, you fucking bastard!” I screamed at him as a thundering roar came out from the crowd.
He entered me with no difficulty as I was obviously aroused and wet. He began to fuck me roughly as the groping intensified and more cocks appeared on all sides. I felt a sudden warm splash on my chest as one of the participants obviously could not hold it any longer. My hair was pulled backwards again, pulling my head all the way back.
Another cock entered my mouth as Shelton continued to fuck me. The cock in my mouth exploded, spurting cum deep into my throat and then I felt warm splashes all over my body and then my face. The sight of my bound body being covered with cum must have been too much for Shelton because he thrust himself deep inside of me, pulling himself in by grabbing my thighs, and I felt his cum explode deep against my cervix.
He pulled out of me and turned to the crowd and screamed, “Your dominant!” as he raised his arms above his head.
I lay there, bound, spread wide open and covered with cum inside and out as a procession began, apparently to allow everyone to get a closer look at me. I was being gawked at, touched and groped by the entire room of both men and women but I was determined to not be humiliated. They could look and do what they wanted to me, but I would not break.
After what felt like an eternity, the crowd moved back and I felt the ropes binding me being released and I was helped to my feet. I stood in front of Shelton, still covered head to toe in cum. He handed me a towel and said, “Is this what you wanted while showing yourself at the gallery?”
I took the towel and stood there staring at him for a moment. I tilted my cum-covered face, smiled and said, “No. But it is what I wanted when I looked at Robert DeSoto’s paintings.”
I now knew what the subject of our commission should be, and it would commemorate this experience.
I dropped the towel to the floor in defiance while still maintaining my stare into his eyes. “I won’t be needing this,” I said as I planned on walking out proudly just as I was as soon as I found Jacque.
Just then, I saw Jacque running to me. “Are you OK?” he said with a very concerned tone.
I hugged him back then pushed him away and gestured to my naked cum-covered body. “Strangely, I am more than OK, but we need to make that appointment with DeSoto. I need to model for him,” I said.
Applause rang out through the venue as I took Jacque’s arm and began to walk to the exits, completely used by Anthony Shelton and a group of men. I was naked and proud, and I intended to hold my head high as I walked through the throng. None of them had any idea what I was thinking. But what I was thinking was that I did become that woman in the painting at the gallery. And that experience will be forever remembered when I look at the painting hanging on our wall at home that Robert DeSoto will paint for me.
