Humiliated Ch. 05

Tracy on Show in an Art Gallery

"It's Sunday evening, master," Tracy quietly said, with a guilty look.

Maurice wondered what she meant for a moment, then realised she was expecting to go home.

The weekend had been filled with enjoyable sexual encounters, turning to love-making rather than just sex. She felt guilty about it when thinking of home. She was a married woman with responsibilities, yet selfishly pushed it all aside, leaving her free to explore an uninhibited and lurid affair with a stranger.

He was no longer a stranger, after what they had experienced together. She knew him well, and he knew her too well. She discovered a need for humiliation that drove a sexual desire, not guessed at before. Going back to being a neglected trophy wife would be difficult. Having betrayed her husband was bad enough. The realisation their marriage was nothing more than a sham, would be intolerable.

"You belong to me now, until I release you," Maurice firmly stated. Seeing a look of defiance, he added. "Remember those despicable recordings your mistress gave me. I still have them. Perhaps you need to watch them as a reminder of your position."

A look of anguish washed her features. It wasn't just the threat of disclosure that kept her from insisting he let her leave. It was a surprise to feel how all pervading the need to stay with him had become. He was a powerful man, able to manipulate her into a helpless, pitiable wreck. At other times he could be so loving, and considerate of her feelings.

Experiencing such an onslaught of raw sex, kept her in a tumultuous state over the entire weekend. The powerful arousal he induced had left her unable to resist his every whim. Surely this couldn't go on much longer. She had to escape and return to a mundane life, before she lost all reason.

"Your mistress phoned," he stated. This simple statement had her full attention. "She has arranged with your husband for you to stay the week. No one will be expecting you home," he added.

"Yes, master, thank you master," she dutifully replied. It wasn't what she wanted to say. It had become a habit. She wanted to tell him she had to go home. It was impossible to tell him, 'No', or deny him anything. She wondered what the devious woman had told her husband.

He was relieved to see her capitulate. She even seemed happy that a decision was made for her.

"Follow me to the Gallery," he ordered.

From the apartment behind the gallery they entered his store. Paintings adorned the walls, with free standing sculptures by keen new artists. Everything was for sale. She felt like one of his works of art, after what he had put her through. As he said, he owned her, after swapping her for a painting.

It was demeaning thinking such thoughts, and exciting all at the same time. If he had simply abused her, as her mistress had, it could have been interpreted as a just punishment for the terrible mistake she made.

Having received such passionate loving, and giving so much of herself in return, it was impossible to discount it as a retribution for her misdeeds. She was enjoying it too much. The conflicting emotions of guilt and shocking pleasure, had her mind in a whirl leaving her unable to protest.

Tracy gave in, to obediently follow him.

All at once the gallery became familiar. The objects on display were different, but the three rooms were the same. She had visited it with her husband on viewing evenings. The corporation he worked for purchased works of art, for the reception area and directors offices. Important customers were gifted works of art as an incentive to sign lucrative contracts.

Tracy stood very still looking around the gallery, taking it all in. As a living work of art owned by him, she could be sold to the corporation. She might be given to a customer, while set into position as a piece of lewd furniture. A stranger would own her as a sex object.

She would be used whenever and however the stranger wanted, without considering her feelings. She would have to obey him, or her, committing lewd sexual acts to satisfy their nasty fantasies. As they became bored with her, they would offer her to friends, or use her as party favour.

The thought of being used at a party as nothing more than a sex object, worked her up. She imagined they would eventually sell her on, to start all over again, learning to satisfy another's sexual desires. The fantasy of spending her life as a sex object, being used and abused, had her panting.

She shook her head to clear the notion from her thoughts. Just one week and all this would be over. It had to be withstood without losing her mind, even if her morals had been damaged beyond repair.

Dressed in an expensive business suit, she was ready to greet a customer. It was quiet all morning, with little demands upon her, as he was constantly on the phone. Making coffee and fetching lunch was nothing more than being an assistant. It gave her some pleasure to be working, as she had married straight from university.

The late afternoon soon came around, when specially invited customers were due. Just one at a time would be visiting, so Maurice could work on them one to one. Tracy set up the wine and snacks on a side table in a private room. This was where the naughty works of art were offered to discerning customers.

"Hang up your clothes, all of them," Maurice instructed.

With her clothes on hangers against the wall they looked like just another modern work of art, though out of place among the paintings of naked women, and bacchanalian groups. He looked her over, studying her carefully. She felt like just another exhibit.

When he led her over to a Persian rug, she saw the equipment, and gasped. Her eyes were open wide with astonishment to realise she really was to become an object in his gallery. Serving his guest in a maids costume, or something more salubrious, had been expected. Even serving wine naked, would have been better than this.

"You know what to do," he firmly ordered.

Tracy was full of foreboding as she got down on hands and knees.

He lifted both arms behind her back to cuff her wrists. Her head was touching the floor with her bottom sticking up. He gently massaged her back and arms, telling her to relax. It was an uncomfortable position, but bearable.

Tracy felt the familiar large round pipe pushed between her cheeks. One end was on the floor with the other sticking up to form a support for a table top. Her knees, and the pipe made three legs. Attached to the pipe were two dildos, which he slowly eased into her asshole and pussy.

She was now firmly attached to the pipe. He secured the cuffs to the tube, locking her in place more securely. She wouldn't be able to resist pulling her arms to relieve an ache, and that would pull the dildos deeper up her ass and pussy.

"Flatten your hands out, upward," Maurice instructed.

She felt the glass table top rest upon her shoulders and hands. The heavy weight pressed her down further into shape, to become nothing more than a piece of furniture. Through tearful eyes she saw the blurred image of another tube.

"Open your mouth," Maurice instructed.

A dildo entered her mouth, which she had to grip with her teeth. It was strapped around the back of her head, securing another table leg in place. Tightly secured in position, it was impossible to move. Tracy felt small and insignificant, more than she had ever been while tormented by Irene.

Hearing voices in the store, announced the customer had arrived. Being displayed as a piece of furniture in this gallery was even more humiliating than trying it out in his workshop.

She closed her eyes tight, but that didn't prevent her from recognising the voice. It was familiar from office parties and sales functions. The procurement CEO was one of her husband's colleagues!

He couldn't possibly recognise her like this, or expect her to be in such a despicable position. That thought was little comfort. The wave of humiliation drove her further into thinking of herself as her masters object. She was forced to squat in position as just another exhibit.

"Good grief! I didn't realise at first. That's real?" Bob asked. The incredulous expression revealed he needed confirmation of the obvious.

"It's one of my new lines. Live art. Do you like it?" he asked, with a sound of pride clearly in his voice.

Maurice put a bowl on the table and Bob carefully placed his wine glass down. Through the glass table top they stared at the naked body of a beautiful woman. The dildo's in her mouth, pussy, and ass, were clearly visible.

"Nice, very nice," he chuckled. "A pity her holes are filled!" Bob commented.

"I have another version almost ready. The mouth and vagina are available in that one," Maurice stated.

"A good idea, but who would be so depraved as to get into the contraption?" Bob mused.

"I'm sure you could find someone at one of your parties," Maurice whimsically suggested.

"Maybe. How much? I'll take one. It will be a hit I'm sure," he laughed with Maurice.

He bent down to take a closer look at the woman's face. Tracy couldn't close her eyes, as much as she wanted to. She was desperately hoping not to see any sign of recognition. Not that she could do, or say anything if he recognised her. In any case, what would she say. There was no defence to being in such a corrupt position.

Of all people to catch her like this, it had to be Bob. He had been over familiar with her while dancing at corporate functions. She had been able to put him in his place with a sharp rebuke, as her husband was of equal standing in the organisation. In this vulnerable position he could take advantage without the slightest possibility of her complaining.

After being referred to as a depraved slut, being recognised as a colleagues wife would be devastating. This would be yet another person able to take advantage of her, with the threat of revelation forcing her to play his vile games.

The mention of his parties had her imagination racing. He could have her tightly bound as a table, with men taking her two at a time. Her reputation as an executives wife would be shattered, if he decided to reveal who she was.

"She's a juicy slut. Seems to be enjoying the humiliation of it," Bob commented.

The dildo in her mouth distorted her features enough to be unrecognisable. Besides, how could he relate the prim and proper wife, with this obviously depraved slut. As he had said, who would be prepared to debase herself in such a demeaning position.

"She's a debased, table-base," Bob laughed.

He took hold of the table top in both hands to rock it back and forth. Tracy felt the dildo's working her vagina, ass, and mouth. The movement was only slight, yet enough to work her further into a heated state. Her breath hissed from around the dildo filling her mouth.

"Do you think I can make her orgasm?" Bob asked.

"Probably not. She needs more than that, though she does look near," Maurice casually commented.

"The other table sounds better. I've thought of someone who would enjoy it. She's an old bird, who gets left out, so might be grateful for a double fucking," he laughed.

Tracy heard the nasty laughter, remembering she had never liked the man. She had guessed he was corrupt, only at office functions he had to behave correctly. Even then he had come across as being crass and uncaring. Being trapped in the hands of this nasty creature would be horrendous.

It was such a relief when they concluded their business by signing a cheque. That it was her they used as a humble table, was all the more poignant. Her up turned bottom was on view, with her asshole flexing in time with the dildo being moved around.

The horrible man manipulated the dildos once again before leaving. This time an audible squelching noise was heard from her juicing pussy. Their laughter had to be tolerated. She felt her juices running down her thighs. That it was a colleague of her husband's doing this to her was bad, and because it was this obnoxious man, it was vile.

"Careful the slut doesn't ruin that rug, it looks valuable," Bob commented, before he left.

Her pussy was dripping wet, and while moaning, saliva dripped from around the thing in her mouth. It was a telling state to be in. The rug was valuable, but she was just a worthless object. Less than that, she had been reduced to an uncontrollable slut. According to her husband's colleague, she was just a filthy sexed up bitch.

At that despicable man's parties she wouldn't need to be forced, she would bitterly enjoy being fucked in both holes by whoever cared to take her. They might be complete strangers, or employees from her husband's department. It wouldn't matter who they were. The humiliation would have her climaxing with everyone who took her.

She imagined her belly and vagina being filled with sperm. Afterwards, when everyone at the party had fucked her, would Bob reveal who she was? He was the type to heap humiliation upon her. The men would gather around in astonishment, to see they had carelessly fucked the wife of a CEO. The woman they had thought was just a dirty whore, was someone they knew, and the wife of their boss. Tightly compressed as a piece of furniture, there would be no escaping the inevitable lewd comments.

At that moment she cum. A dreadful wailing noise from around the gag heralded a powerful climax. The table top quivered, as her limbs flexed as much as they could in the awkward position.

***

An evening exhibition had been organised and Tracy was to be a living piece of art. She had endured almost a week of humiliation in the art gallery, being displayed as various pieces of furniture to private customers. Inevitably she thought of herself as nothing more than an object for Maurice to use. The feeling of being owned was still painful, yet she was thriving on the humiliation. It seemed there wasn't a moment that she wasn't sexed up, like a wanton hussy.

The caterers delivered food and drink, and finally she was ready to serve his guests.

With nerves taught she looked once again in a mirror. Her body was covered from head to foot in shiny black leather. It was stretched tight, showing every curve of her luscious body. Her nipples stood out, with clamps biting them hard, keeping them engorged.

The fear of being recognised wasn't a reason to be so nervous. It wasn't because she would be serving his guests while dressed so lewdly either. The outfit was an effective disguise, and she became used to showing off her body to strangers. She looked in the mirror, yet again wondering why in hell she was putting up with this disgusting degradation.

If she had been simply used as a living sculpture, it wouldn't have been so bad. What was so humiliating was how she was to serve his guests. He called her a living decanter. She was to distribute red and white wine, as well as snacks from a tray in a more usual manner.

It was difficult to walk, but she waddled to her position in the centre of the gallery. She felt so full, it was impossible to ignore the stimulating sensations from every step she took.

Nothing in her life, or at this bizarre studio, had prepared her for such a humbling role. Standing with a tray of nibbles, she wondered if it were possible to escape. Too late now, the guests were arriving.

A stranger walked up close to take a good look at her. Tracy stood still, not daring to move. She stared straight ahead, with only her eyes visible to the stranger. She heard the tinkle of glass when he took one from a rack.

She felt his hand on her bottom as he traced its firm roundness. The sharpness of a fingernail was felt through the thin leather stretched tight between her cheeks. When he took hold of the plastic nozzle imbedded in her asshole and moved it, she felt a tremor deep inside her bottom.

He turned the plastic tap to serve himself a glass of red wine. A stranger was using her ass as a wine decanter! Tracy felt the wine pour from her bottom. The feeling of being nothing more than an object to be used was more potent than ever before. The feeling served to distance herself from what was happening. Thinking of herself as an object here in this studio, became a necessity to hold on to her sanity, or she would scream.

A glass full wasn't enough to alleviate the fullness of a whole bottle of wine filling her bottom. She hoped his guests would be put off by the thought of drinking from her asshole. Otherwise she would be forced to go to the kitchen for a refill. The thought of waddling back here in front of an audience, was dreadful.

A plastic bag had been squeezed into her bottom, filled with red wine, and a tap pushed into the neck of the bag. In her vagina was a larger bag, filled with white wine.

While her master was filling it, she couldn't believe how much she could take. A whole bottle of red filled her bottom, and one and a half of white in her vagina. A tap would be turned, and out flowed wine for his guests. She was a living wine decanter and a party ornament, no-longer a person.

As more guests arrived she became the central attraction. Everyone wanted to see the living sculpture. Most were too frightened to use her. The bolder guests showed off her use, by turning a tap to produce wine. The feeling of it running from her body made her shiver. The movement was enough to ring little bells attached to her nipples.

She didn't hear the delicate tinkle as their conversation had her full attention. She just couldn't tune it out. She just hoped the novelty would wear off and they would leave her alone. There were works of art throughout the gallery, but she was the most bizarre and most fascinating.

"Do it again, Jonathan, it's fascinating," Maria giggled.

"You do it. It's simple enough," Jonathan laughed.

He relented, as he enjoyed the process. He unnecessarily pressed his hand to her crotch, and twisted the tap with the other. He made a show of pushing and pulling at it. The feeling of the wine sloshing around in the bag embedded in her vagina, brought on a shiver. Her whole body tingled.

The little bells tinkled loudly, as he kept moving the tap, pushing and pulling at it. It was now half empty and her vagina was closing around the bag, squeezing it. She had been afraid she might be stretched permanently, but it seemed her muscles were stronger than she realised.

The next glass was sprayed with wine, almost spilling from the forceful flow.

"How can she demean herself in such an awful demonstration," another woman asked.

She wasn't walking away in disgust, despite the tone of voice. She stood with the others, watching with intense fascination as men poured glasses of wine from the human decanter.

Tracy watched Maurice join the throng. It was all the worse that he was here, as he knew who she was.

"Watch this," one of them said. He alternately pulled and pushed on the two taps. Feeling the wine slosh around in opposite directions brought on tremors in her legs and belly. The bells rang loudly, announcing her state of arousal. The humiliation was already turning her on, and the stimulation inside her body added to the forced excited state.

Tracy couldn't escape it. The internal stimulation, the men's hands playing with her body, and the humiliation of women's comments, forced her to the edge of an orgasm.

'Not here, not in front of everyone,' she silently pleaded. Taking deep slow breaths through her mouth, she tried to calm herself. Holding back from the brink was possible. The nerve endings throughout her skin were so sensitive she would lose the battle if someone touched her. They were talking not touching, and she could shut out their disgraceful remarks.

The spectre of having an orgasm before an audience was receding.

Tracy opened her eyes wide with fear. Her husband was here, and he was standing before her!