Chapter 41: Making an exhibition of oneself

Janelle's mind felt fogged by all that "relationship" talk from Sue. She tried to put it all to one side so she could focus on setting up her art-work ready for the class exhibition. By contrast the "liberation bondage" theme was one she could make good sense of, and she had Sue to thank for bouncing ideas around on how to enhance the eroticism of this theme.

She decided that she needed a contrast between "regular" and "freaky" in the work, but in such a way that "freaky" is obviously an intrinsic part of "regular". That "abnormal" can be normal, so it's time to bring it out from behind closed doors. Time to face facts, sexually speaking. Face up to what really goes on, and revel in it. Celebrate strength through subjugation.

As the centre of her life-sized exhibit, she started off with a representation of a nice comfy armchair. A man's bedtime slippers were at the ready, carved out of solid wood. A pipe and tobacco, also rendered in wood.

A life-sized leather hood, hovering in space above the back of the chair. Stylized leg-irons, and huge wrist-cuffs joined by a two-foot length of solid metal. A whip, naturally. A cat-o-nine-tails.

And a six-foot carved-wooden figure of sassiness personified. One hand holding the whip. The other hand melting into her own crutch.

Family values, with a fem-domme undercurrent.

Everything ready for the moment when an absent someone will appear and say "Honey, I'm home!"

Friday afternoon. The opening was to be on Saturday. Janelle had lugged everything down to the gallery in a rented U-Haul shared with some fellow students.

These other exhibits were less ambitious, more straight-forward. A hell of a lot easier to set up. By four-thirty Janelle's classmates had all gone, their exhibits all complete and to their satisfaction.

Janelle was still struggling by herself in the deserted gallery. Various technical problems now presented themselves in getting the pieces in position without falling over or looking out-of-kilter. Nothing that a few well-driven six-inch nails wouldn't quickly fix, but she had to be a bit more subtle than that in an art gallery as up-market as this one. She finally got it figured, using discreetly screwed steel brackets, and some stainless wires up to the roof beams. By the time she'd finished, folded up the step-ladder, and stood back to check it out overall, her T-shirt and track pants had big patches of perspiration showing through.

Behind her, a discreet cough.

She turned.

It was Doug.

Business-suited. Must have come down here direct from the office.

This was her first sighting of him in almost two months.

He looked good. Tall, and wiry as ever. Distinguished graying hair, chiseled face.

But she wasn't going to admit that her heart gave a little skip on seeing him there.

"What th' fuck you want?"

"Janelle, I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd still be here."

"Are you stalkin' me?"

"No, please, an honest mistake."

"How'd you know I'd be here at all?"

"I heard about the exhibition. It's getting corporate sponsorship about town."

"So?"

"So, I thought I'd drop by and get a sneak preview. See if I could pick out which one was yours."

"Why would you even give a shit?"

"I... uh, I'm still interested."

"In your artwork" he added hastily.

"Well, this is it."

Janelle waved airily in the direction of her comfy-domme tableaux.

Then she proceeded to pack up her stuff. She'd have to come back early in the morning to do any last adjustments. No way could she concentrate on it properly, now that Doug was present.

Doug stood.

And looked.

And stood.

And looked some more.

Finally aware that he wasn't going to just turn on his heel and stride away, Janelle at last ended the pretence of busying herself with all her left-over things. Putting it all away neatly out of sight, she came and stood at his side.

The silence continued.

Unable to bear it anymore, she finally said "Well?"

He turned, and looked down at her. Looked her straight in the eye.

Her initial reaction was to look away. Then she rallied. Like, hell, who is the domme here? Direct gazes are something she's always excelled at.

So she held his look, and returned it in good measure. But he remained cool and unflustered.

Then Doug spoke.

"So, who is it that's missing?"

FUCK!

This registered like an explosion in her brain.

He gets it!

So far, he's the only one who gets it!

She felt moved. Really moved.