The Art Gallery

The Art Gallery

This happened when I was around nineteen years old, a young man around London and, I had to admit, a total layabout who had failed to get into university to do art. I had a council flat but no job, and very little money.

One night, when there was nothing on the telly, I went out to this art gallery which a friend had told me about. The place had not been advertised, and I had heard nothing in the press. Maybe that was because they were exhibiting erotica. It was actually the reason I went. I was an artist (sort of) and I had a big interest in sexual things, being a horny young male with a ten inch cock and a bigger ego. I had to pay a fiver to get in, which seemed a lot at the time, so I hoped that it would be worth it.

There were artworks from a lot of leading erotic artists, including Olivia de Berardinis, Christos Achilleos, Sadao Sato, Boris Vallejo, Robert Blue, Brian Zick and others.

There weren’t a lot of people in the place, so I could wander around, staring at whatever turned me on. I had worn a long leather coat over my jeans, to hide any erection which I might get. I was nineteen, and got an erection looking at naked tits on page three of the Sun.

I stopped before a painting by Olivia de Berardinis. It showed half a dozen people in a park, and looked like it was set in Victorian times. There was a pair of women in long, yellowish dresses talking to each other, a bearded man in a suit talking to a woman in a striped dress, and a woman having a picnic, with a bottle of wine, cheese and fruit visible. The woman had a fan in one hand. The other was pulling up her voluminous skirt, to reveal that she wore frilly whit bloomers, split down the middle. She was sitting on a man’s face, his tongue had to be buried in her hairy cunt, the rest of his body hidden by the woman’s dress. It was one of the most erotic paintings I had ever seen. I stood there, my coat closed, hiding my raging erection.

“Do you have a large cock?” somebody said. With a start I realised that a woman was standing next to me. She was dressed all in black, from her patent leather shoes, to her knee length skirt, to her bolero jacket over a black blouse. She had a small black hat which had a veil coming down to cover the top half of her face. She exuded both sexuality and authority, despite the fact that she was at least twenty years older than me.

I opened my jacket to reveal the considerable bulge at the front of my jeans. She seemed to take it as an invitation to investigate, as she pulled down my zipper and took my cock out.

“Sizeable enough.” she said. “But you should get circumcised.”

“Shit!” I said, fearing that I might get arrested for exposing myself. But we were alone in that part of the art gallery. I put my cock away, as best as I could, and zipped my jeans back up, being very careful not to catch any skin in the zip.

“I have my own gallery, with paintings much more interesting than these. Come with me and look at them and it will be a night which you never forget.” she said. Well, I was nineteen, and horny, and this woman had just handled my cock. Of course I went with her. How could I resist?

We went out of the gallery. She led me to a black Porsche.

“Lady…” I began to say.

“Don’t speak.” she said. “You may speak when I ask you a direct question. Obey me, and you will not regret it.”

I shut up and got in the car. I was being led by my cock, of course. It was doing all of my thinking for me. She drove out of London, exceeding the speed limit. But I never felt as though I was in danger – probably because I was dreaming about impaling her hot cunt with my large cock.

“Get undressed.” she said, once we got out of London. “I want to see your body. Throw all your clothes in the back. You can have them back when you leave. I like to look at pretty things. DO IT!”

Her tone brooked no disobedience. It’s a little hard to get too get undressed while wearing a seat belt, but somehow I managed it. My clothes were soon in the back of the Porsche. I sat there, feeling more than a little self-conscious, with my erect, ten inch cock on display. My foreskin had pulled back a little, revealing the first part of my glans.

“Pull your foreskin back all the way.” she said. “I want to see all of your cock.”

My foreskin was a little tight, so that, when I pulled it back, and got it behind the head, it would not slide back over the glans. It wasn’t dangerously tight, or anything. But I would either have to wait for my cock to go down, or to pinch the foreskin and drag it back over my cockhead.

“Don’t touch your cock.” the woman said. “If you cum in my car I will castrate you.”

I guessed that she was joking. But my cock didn’t care. It stayed hard all of the way through the drive, to some big estate out in the Home Counties. The house was more a stately home than anything else.

“Don’t worry, I don’t have any servants. Get out of the car.”

I could see that she had a gravel drive.

“But the gravel…”

She got out of the car, ran around to my side, and grabbed my balls, yanking me out of the car. I had to follow or end up singing castrato. I stood on the gravel.

“Never disobey me again.” she snapped, and slapped me across the face. “Don’t be a wimp. I don’t like wimps.”

My cheek flushed from where her hand had made impact with the flesh. But, on some level, I liked being dominated by this older woman. I followed her up the drive to her house, trying to ignore the pain of the sharp gravel on the underside of my feet.

She led me into the house. I brushed of the bits of gravel sticking to the soles of my feet at the entrance, and was led along several corridors, to her own private art gallery.

“I am going to get changed.” she said. “Admire the painting. But don’t leave the art gallery.”

As she left me to look at the pictures I realised that they were all what is now called BDSM. The first picture I looked at, painted in lurid colour (and done very well) showed a naked man being crucified atop some hill. But it was not a normal crucifixion. The mans feet had been brought up to be nailed to the same crossbar as his hands, spreading his legs so that his oversized cock and balls were on display. A dildo of sorts jutted out from the wood of the cross, going into his anus, spreading his anus very wide. Meanwhile, a naked woman, armed with a bullwhip was whipping his large balls and erect cock. Hi could see red lines on the testicles and the shaft of the cock had made impact. Looking closer, I could see that the crucified male was in the act of orgasm, spurting white spunk out of the end of his well-whipped cock.

I stared at the painting. Maybe I should have run a mile. But I found it erotic instead, in a sick way I didn’t yet understand.

I moved on to look at the next painting – and there were a lot of paintings in this hall. This was set in some dark dungeon. A naked, erect man was spread-eagled between two stone pillars, stretched very tightly. The metal bonds around his wrists were digging into his skin, and I could see blood flowing down his arms. A laughing dominatrix was holding a glowing branding iron, about to touch the orange end to the man’s purple glans.

The third painting showed a naked man tied down. You couldn’t see the guy’s face, because a naked woman, painted in the throes of orgasm, was sitting on his face. The guy’s legs were spread, and his balls were in a vice. I could see another, laughing naked woman turning the handle of the vice, squashing his balls even more.

I moved on to another picture. I had lost all track of time by now, absorbed in these images of torture. This one showed another erect man being tortured. The painting just showed his lower torso, groin, and the top of his thighs It appeared that he was sitting on some sort of stone dildo, perhaps of a statue, his anus opened wide. There were the heads and arms of two beautiful women in the picture. They were both holding glowing needles. One was inserting the needle into his left testicle, the other had put her needle all of the wat through his right testicle, the glowing end sticking out of the scrotum. Both women were laughing. But the guy remained erect. It looked like he was just about to cum.

I walked over to another painting. This showed a naked guy spread-eagled, face down, over four wooden posts, his hands and feet chained to the top of the posts. There were two women in the picture. They were naked apart from massive strap-ons around their waists. One was fucking his arsehole, while the other had her strap-on buried down his throat, gagging him. The head of the guy’s cock had been pierced by a large ring. A short chain, of just a few links, had been attached, going down to a large metal weight, pulling his cock down. Somebody had moved a brazier of glowing coals under the guy, resting the weight on the coals. The weight was glowing red, as were some of the links of the chain. No doubt heat was penetrating his cock, slowly cooking it.

“I’m glad to see that you are enjoying the paintings.” the woman said. “This will make this a lot easier.”

I turned to see the woman who had brought me to this place. But she had changed. Gone were her black clothes. Now she wore thigh-high black leather boots, with wicked stiletto heels. She had a very tight whalebone corset around her waist. Black leather gloves covered her arms, to halfway up her upper arms. She had a black leather choker around her throat. She was otherwise naked. I could see that her cunt was completely hairless. This was years ago, and none of my former girlfriends had shaved their pussies. On her pussy mound there was a tattoo of crossed whips. She also had metal rings piercing her labia and large nipples. In one hand she carried a large strap-on (which I hoped she didn’t intend to use on me. in the other hand she had a leather riding crop.

I opened my mouth to say something, the remembered that she had told me not to speak. I suddenly felt very vulnerable, looking at that riding crop.

“Kneel before me.” she said. I knelt on the tiled floor of the gallery. “Masturbate. I like to see men cum.”

I did that, jerking my cock. I was very aroused, and it did not take long to send stream after stream of white cum arcing into the air, to platter on the tiled floor. I sighed with pleasure.

“Now lick it up.” she said.

The idea repulsed me. “No, I don’t…”

“YOU DO NOT SAY NO TO ME!” she shouted, as she slashed me across the face with her riding crop. “LICK UP EVEY BIT OF CUM OR I WILL CUT OFF YOUR COCK AND BALLS!”

I believed her. Crouching down, I licked up every single bit of cum, as she moved behind me. As I finished licking up my cum I felt her wight on me, as the massive strap-on was forced into my virgin anus. It was very painful, as she fucked me up the ass. And a strap-on did not go soft. It did not cum. It just carried on fucking me.

But a strange thing happened, as she was holding me down, my cock pressed into the cold tiles of the floor. My cock began to get hard again. I entered what I now know to be subspace. When she finally pulled out of my anus my cock was hard again, pointing upwards, as I knelt there, bowing my head.

She moved around the front, to stand with legs spread.

“Clean my strap-on.” she said. Feeling utterly humiliated I licked the trap-on clean, licking off my own shit and blood. When she finally judged her toy to be clean enough she unstrapped it, and cast it aside. I was facing her naked cunt. I could smell her arousal.

“Make me cum, slave.” she ordered. And I was happy to obey. I buried my head in her crotch, as she held the back of my head, forcing me into her wet cunt. Dominating me like that, towering over me in her high heels, was very sexy, and I was almost disappointed when she came noisily and moved away.

“Well, I see that you are aroused again.” she said. “I can’t send you home with a hard cock. I am going to whip you to orgasm. Stand up, and arch so that your cock is forward.”

I was scared by the pain to come, but I obeyed her. I stood, and thrust out my erect cock. She began a slow cropping of my cock, up and down my shaft. But she did not use her whole strength. The impacts were erotic rather than painful. The end of the crop caressed all along the shaft, and even my sperm-filled balls.

“Now I am going to use my full-strength.” she warned me. “Ten strokes. You will count them out. And you will cum on the tenth.”

She lashed the base of the shaft of my cock, hitting where it joined my groin. She did hit with a lot of strength, leaving a red mark which would soon turned purple.

“One!” I screamed.

The next strike was a little further up, striping the next section of my cock.

“Two!” I screamed. And she carried on working her way up the shaft, turning it purple, until by the time I screamed Nine! the whip slashed down just behind the ridge of the glans.

She had been standing to the side, to whip my shaft. But for the final stroke she moved to face me. She brought the end of the crop down with all her considerable strength down on the slit in my glans.

“Ten!” I screamed, as I spurted a couple more strands of cum out of my tortured cock onto the gallery floor. I feel down to my knees, and licked up the cum which I had just spilled.

“Good boy.” she said. And I felt a warm glow at those words of praise.

She led me out of her manse, and into her car. She asked me where I lived. She drove to a couple of roads away.

“Get out.” she said.

I got out of the car. Then she drove off, taking my clothes – and flat key – with her. I had to run back home naked, and break into my own flat.

I never saw her again. For a long time I hoped to encounter her somewhere. But, considering the pictures in her private gallery, it was probably best for my health that I did not.

The End.