The Gallery

She swung her legs elegantly out of the car, pausing for the chauffeur to take her hand before she stood up and felt the bracing air of late autumn night. Her nipples unfurled and hardened. Was it the chill, or the anticipation of tonight’s event.

To the casual observer it was just another prestigious event at the gallery, a fundraiser perhaps? Nothing seemed unusual… except perhaps the black carpet.

By invitation only, anyone who was anyone would be inside. She knew them all, some of them more intimately than others. She was greeted at the door and directed to the cloakroom, she glanced at the muscular security men as she stepped into the warmth of the foyer.

The click of her spike heels on the marble floor alerted the cloakroom attendant to her approach, he greeted her with a smile. She took him in with a glance. Tall, young and obviously handsome, he wore the uniform of the attendants. A collar and bowtie, white cuffs and a small pinstripe apron. She immediately recognised the sigil on the cufflinks, the mark of tonight’s benefactor. Everything here was bought and paid for, including the serving staff.

Turning as she unbuttoned her ankle length green trench coat, she opened it allowing it to slide over her shoulders. As she slipped from her coat the attendant saw her for the first time, naked except for the patent leather thigh high boots laced tight. The attendant checked her coat and handed her a leather paddle. She slipped her wrist through the plaited lanyard and walked toward the low hum of conversation in the gallery.

On entering she took the glass of champagne offered to her, not her favourite drink, but maybe she’d find something more to her taste in one of the other rooms. She scanned the room, the usual faces, the usual bodies, harnesses, straps. Everything was on offer, to be given and taken freely, the rules were simple. She didn’t know how she had become part of this world, she certainly didn’t have the money to buy a seat at this table. She attracted men of influence and wealth.

Returning the glances and polite nods of recognition as she moved through the room to admire the ‘artworks’ on display, only one caught her eye. Close to the far wall, sat a simple wooden chair, the type you might find in the kitchen of a quaint country cottage. She watched as a hooded man was marched in by two strong attendants and made to sit. Two more attendants moved quickly to restrain his naked, tattooed body with intricate knots made in deep red rope. At last they removed his hood and departed.

She watched him blink before his eyes became accustomed to the light. She could tell by the way he stared back at the onlookers, that he didn’t belong here. The fact that he was the only one that was fully naked suggested he was some kind of prize, like a barbarian enslaved by a conquering army. She felt drawn to him, until his gaze fell on her. Was that hate, pride or just insolence that she read in him?... Whatever it was, it stirred something in her.

Continuing to mingle, she noticed that his eyes were always on her. She would make him regret this act or disrespect. Making sure she remained in his line of sight she caught the attention of one of the regular attendees of these functions. Guests were often in the mood for more than just small talk, and this one made it clear how he would like things to proceed.

She positioned herself where she could see the bound stranger, more importantly, where he could see her. She swayed seductively, making sure to hold the strangers gaze just that little bit too long, before returning her attention to the conversation.

Her attention was not confined to the flirting and suggestive comments of her admirer, his interest in her was far more obvious. Her chest heaved as she listened to him, the back of her hand 'accidentally' brushed against his swollen member from time to time, a little encouragement. He leant in close to whisper something as she tilted her head, exposing the vulnerability of her neck.

She’d played this game many times before and as his lips grazed her skin, her thumb and forefinger encircled his thick shaft. Her fingertips barely touched as she squeezed him lightly, just below the glans. Her admirer let out a low moan, and she smirked for the benefit of the stranger who remained defiant in the chair.

Ensuring that her every move was visible, gripping that most sensitive part of the male anatomy, her micro-movements barely perceptible to any viewing nearby. She continued as the conversation sank deeper and deeper into whispered dirty talk, until she felt a stiffening in her hand and break in the conversation. Her light grip tightened and she pressed her lips against the guest’s, her tongue finding his as his mouth opened with one last moan. It was enough to tip him over the edge, she felt the warm flood of semen over her hand.

An attendant quickly handed her a crisp, bright white linen towel. She made a show of wiping her hand for the stranger, whose eyes had remained on her throughout. Behind her confident smile, her thoughts began to race. Why had he picked her out in the crowd?