The elevator doors opened onto a storm of camera flashes. Elena stepped out on Alexander's arm, crimson silk whispering against her bare legs, the slit climbing so high that every stride flashed the curve of her hip and the faint glint of the sapphire plug. The diamonds at her throat caught the strobes like tiny screams. Victoria walked on Alexander's other side, black lace clinging to her body, eyes glittering with triumph. Julian followed a step behind, slim suit perfectly tailored, cheeks flushed but chin high. The red carpet stretched ahead, velvet ropes holding back photographers and society reporters who had no idea what they were about to witness.
Alexander's hand rested low on her back, thumb tracing the edge of the plunging gown. "Smile, pet. They're starving for you."
She did, slow and wicked, feeling the plug shift with every heartbeat. The vibrations were set to low (Julian's doing), a constant hum that kept her slick and swollen beneath the silk. Cameras exploded. Questions flew.
"Mr Voss, who is your stunning companion?"
"Is this the mystery muse behind Victoria Lang's new collection?"
Elena tilted her head, letting Alexander answer. "She is the collection," he said simply, voice carrying over the chaos. The crowd hushed for half a second, then roared louder.
Inside the gallery, the air was thick with perfume, champagne, and anticipation. Canvases lined the walls: huge abstracts of smeared gold and crimson handprints, close-ups of rope marks on pale skin, frozen frames of her face mid-orgasm. Videos played on loop across three walls (muted, but the images unmistakable): her body bound, oiled, taken from every angle. Guests in tuxedos and gowns circled like elegant sharks, pretending to study brushstrokes while their eyes devoured the truth.
Victoria took the small stage at the far end, microphone in hand. The room quieted.
"Tonight," she announced, voice velvet and steel, "we unveil not just art, but devotion. A living installation. A woman who has given herself completely to creation."
Spotlights converged on the centre dais. The velvet chaise waited, ropes already draped like jewellery.
Alexander led Elena forward. The crowd parted. Phones lifted. She felt the vibrations increase (Julian again, somewhere in the shadows), and her knees nearly buckled.
Alexander stopped at the dais steps. Turned her to face the room. His fingers found the sash at her waist. One tug. The crimson silk sighed to the floor.
Silence. Then a collective inhale sharp enough to cut glass.
She stood naked except for diamonds and the sapphire plug winking between her cheeks. Gooseflesh raced over her skin under hundreds of eyes. Her nipples tightened instantly. Between her thighs, she was already glistening (the low hum of the plug had kept her on edge for hours).
Alexander guided her onto the chaise, lay her back gently. Victoria knelt to bind her wrists above her head with silk rope the colour of fresh blood. Julian appeared from the wings, knelt to secure her ankles wide, exposing her completely. The plug's remote dangled from his fingers like a conductor's baton.
The lights shifted to deep indigo, heartbeat monitor appearing on the massive screen behind them: 112 bpm and climbing.
Victoria leaned close to the microphone. "Watch her pulse. Watch her body speak."
Alexander was first. He unbuttoned his tux jacket slowly, let it drop. Shirt next, revealing the hard planes of his chest. He knelt between her spread thighs, eyes locked on hers. The room held its breath. He entered her in one smooth thrust, no teasing, just ownership. She cried out, back arching, the sound echoing through hidden speakers. The heartbeat spiked to 140. Lights flashed crimson.
Victoria circled, trailing fingers over Elena's breasts, pinching nipples sharply. "Feel them watching," she whispered, loud enough for the mic to catch. "Every elite cock hard, every society cunt soaked because of you."
Julian increased the plug's vibration. Elena moaned, hips jerking. Alexander set a steady, punishing rhythm, each thrust driving her higher. The screen showed close-up feeds: his cock sliding in and out, her pussy gripping him, juices coating his shaft. Guests shifted, some openly touching themselves through expensive fabric.
Alexander leaned down, bit her neck hard enough to bruise. "Come for them, pet. Show them who you belong to."
She shattered, squirting hard around his cock, arcs catching the spotlights like diamonds. The room erupted in gasps and applause. Heartbeat hit 178. Lights strobed blood red.
He pulled out slowly, cum dripping obscenely. Victoria took his place instantly, strap-on already buckled beneath her gown (thick, black, ridged). She entered Elena's ass in one slick push, the plug removed just in time. Elena screamed, pleasure-pain exquisite, walls stretching around silicone. Alexander fed his cock to her mouth, letting her taste their mixed release.
Julian stepped forward, trousers open, cock long and flushed. He slid into her pussy alongside the memory of Alexander's spend, double penetration making her sob around the cock in her throat. The screen split three ways: every hole filled, every face contorted in ecstasy.
They moved in perfect sync, years of practice distilled into this public claiming. Victoria's thrusts drove her onto Victoria's strap, Julian's rhythm pushing her mouth deeper on Alexander. The heartbeat monitor screamed past 190. Lights pulsed frantic red.
Victoria reached between them, thumb on Elena's clit, rubbing vicious circles. "Come again. Flood the stage."
She did, violently and endlessly, squirting in powerful jets that splashed Julian's shirt, the chaise, the marble floor. The crowd moaned as one. Phones captured every second.
Julian came first, flooding her pussy with a broken cry. Alexander followed, painting her tongue thick. Victoria last, grinding deep, her own climax soaking Elena's thighs.
They withdrew slowly, untied her gently. Alexander lifted her into his arms, cum running down her legs in slow rivers. The room erupted in thunderous applause. Victoria bowed theatrically, Julian flushed and glowing.
Alexander carried her through the cheering crowd, guests reaching out to touch (a finger on her ankle, a brush across her breast), reverent and hungry. Backstage, in the private lounge, they collapsed together. Champagne poured over her body, licked clean by three tongues. The gown lay forgotten somewhere on the gallery floor.
Later, headlines would scream:
VOSS-LANG SHATTERS THE ART WORLD WITH LIVE EROTIC MASTERPIECE
MYSTERY MUSE IDENTIFIED: FORMER MAID NOW LOVER AND CENTERPIECE BIDS ON CANVASES REACH EIGHT FIGURES IN FIRST HOUR
But in that moment, wrapped in their arms, Elena only felt the aftershocks and the steady thump of four hearts beating as one.
The maid had become a legend.
And the legend had only just begun.