Patronizing the Arts (Patreon)

Hey folks!

Oh man, it has been a week. Finally finished that big project I've been whining about for ages (or at least finished the first draft of it) and wow, it's so depressing to be working on something for so long and then not having it to focus on all of a sudden xD It was a ton of fun to do, but, uh, now that it's done it actually might be too long to put on Patreon. Not sure what to do with it, but I'll think of something eventually.

In the meantime, enjoy today's piece that's probably set in I.R.O.N.'s world, where magic and weirdness is far more mundane - which means you get all sorts of interesting characters, meeting fun little fates.

Enjoy!

“Are you sure this is the place?”

“Quite sure, my lady.”

“Ugh. And here I was expecting something fancy.” Giana Adesso flicked her long brown hair back over her shoulder, her other hand held casually on her hip. She was looking up at the building in front of her, the Beauregard Gallery, which most people would have thought looked like quite a pretty building, with its sculpted walls and pretty statue decorations. Not so Giana, though.

At her side, her assistant-slash-protégée-slash-gopher Enrica stood with her hands clasped lightly in front of her, the silver-haired woman sending out an aura of quiet professionalism, in contrast to her boss-slash-mentor-slash-tormentor’s loud distain. “Perhaps it will be more extravagant on the inside?”

The brunette rolled her eyes, reaching over without looking to flick her subordinate’s nose. “Don’t be such a dumbass, ‘Rica. If they can’t be bothered to make it look nice on the outside, they’re not going to be any better on the inside. What is it I always say? Always judge a book by its cover!”

Enrica, who had never heard her superior say any such thing, nodded politely. “Of course, my lady. Please forgive my foolish-ow!”

She’d just gotten another flick. “I’ll forgive it when you stop being a fool. Now let’s get this over with.” The brunette sighed theatrically, before striding forwards towards the entrance. She made it up to just in front of the big wooden doors before stopping. “Well?”

“Ah, yes. Apologies, my lady.” The silver haired assistant hurried up, opening the door for her.

Naturally, her lady didn’t even look at her as she passed through, projecting the full image of grace and decorum. After all, if she didn’t, someone might see her entering such a plebian establishment and think she was some low class peasant, or worse, a common thief! And neither Giana nor Enrica were common thieves, no! Perish the thought.

They were far worse criminals than that.

The two representatives of the Adesso crime family entered the gallery together, and there could be no mistaking who they were. Black outfits lined by dark red trim, both of them wearing a flower pin in their lapel that warned everyone who knew what to look for exactly what kind of danger they were dealing with. The Adessos controlled this city with an iron grip, and no one who got in their way lived to see their next sunrise.

But if one could ignore the pin, the swords that both women carried on their backs sent the message just as clearly. It was said that all Adesso swords were enchanted, fated to kill their target as soon as they were unsheathed. Perhaps that was true – but it was hardly needed in this case. Though Giana walked with the most arrogant strut this side of a Parisian catwalk, every movement screamed her mastery of the blade. She was never open to attack, her hand never so far from her hilt that she couldn’t draw it in a flash. Such was only fitting for the famed prodigy of the Adesso family.

Enrica didn’t move quite so dangerously, but her formal professionalism belied her sharp eyes, which never stopped scanning the world around her for threats, or for weapons to be used against her enemies. She was the prodigy’s apprentice for a reason, a reason she would easily prove if her mentor ever gave her the order to do so.

“Hey, Rica, find the bitch who runs this place and let ‘em know we’re here. If they keep me waiting around I’m going to start throwing stuff at you.”

… Instead, Giana’s orders tended to be of a different sort.

“At once, my lady.” The silver haired woman’s long-suffering silence continued as she stepped forward, loyal to the core.

Fortunately for her (and unfortunately for Giana’s hopes to practice knife throwing) the curator burst out of the office before she’d taken two steps.

“Ah, magnifique! You have arrived!”

She was… French.

Oh dear. Very French. There was a beret. There was a striped shirt. Long flowing blonde hair, and entirely too much energy for an adult to carry at any point, Marie Beauregard was… was…

Well, she was a famous artist, apparently, and she looked the part at least. Giana had sent Enrica to look her up, and the silver haired assistant had turned up a few other galleries that displayed her work – her theme was supposed to be ‘highlighting the beautiful potential of man’ or something – but honestly, Giana had never heard of her, and having now met her in person, she wasn’t impressed.

The woman was clearly trying too hard. She had a real artsy air about her, a scarf for flipping around her neck, and hands that, even now, both mafiosos could tell never held still. It was dislike at first sight for the brunette, while the assistant just tried to brace herself for how much more difficult this day was about to get.

“Perfect, perfect, ah, you will be perfect!” Giana’s expression turned from disgust to barely restrained rage as the artist was suddenly at her side, stroking at her arms and admiring her bust. “Such restrained beauty, oh yes, exactly the right state to view my work!”

“Excuse me?!” The brunette’s eyes blazed at the idea that her beauty was in any way ‘restrained’. “The hell are you-?”

But Marie had already moved on, spinning around to lavish Enrica with her attentions instead. “And you, my dear! You! You… Well, I suppose you will do.”

“Wha…?” The assistant blinked, then startled as the artist patted her cheek, before moving on.

“Anyway, I should not interrupt!” The blonde swept away just as quickly as she’d swept in, hopping straight back over the reception counter. She waved them towards the gallery entrance with a smile. “Go, go! The gallery is yours, for your viewing pleasure! I am sure you will find the perfect place to enjoy it! I shall see you later, when you are ready!”

Then she vanished back into her office, leaving the two other woman staring after her in confusion.

“’Rica, did that make even a little sense to you?”

“No, my lady.”

“Thought not.” The brunette sighed and shook her head. “This is why you’re a dumbass, ‘Rica. You’ll never understand art.”

Her assistant blinked, looking around at her. “Huh?”

But Giana was already moving on, strutting towards the gallery proper. “C’mon, idiot, at least try to keep up!”

… Well, there was little Enrica could do but obey.

This visit wasn’t a serious matter. They weren’t here to cut anyone’s heads off (not unless they felt like it, anyway). People honoured the Adessos with gifts and flattery all the time to win their favour, and the Adessos indulged their pitiful attempts with dignified greed. They were a classy family, which meant they needed to be seen being classy. An invitation to the opening of a new gallery was never going to be ignored.

And the gallery certainly seemed to be… eclectic. Displays of all different kinds were listed on the sign posts directing the pair around, even though only one route seemed to be open at the moment. A room labelled ‘Appreciation’.

What, exactly, was being appreciated became quite apparent as they stepped inside. It was a photography exhibit, the walls filled with so many pictures of women that they couldn’t all fit, with multiple display boards having been set up around the room to hold the rest. And all of those many, many pictures had one thing in common – where they focused. For no matter what else the picture may be doing – whether it was in black and white, or glossy, or sent through some bizarre phone filter – it was always squarely set on the women’s chests.

“Ooooh, it’s one of those kinds of ‘art galleries’.” Giana nodded sagely as she entered. “Should have guessed.”

“One of ‘those’ art galleries, my lady?” Enrica asked, following in her wake, tilting her head and trying not to blush at some of the more risqué displays. Not all of the ladies in the pictures were wearing very conservative clothing, as it turned out. In fact, as their busts got bigger, it seemed they were wearing less and less. The smallest breasts in the room wore thick coats or professional suits, all organized on one end of the room, the side that the pair had entered from. From there, the cup sizes increased the further you went, and the coats vanished, replaced with light jackets, then summer dresses, then evening gowns, each one depicting bigger and bigger cleavage windows… until you reached the far side of the exhibit, where the biggest busts lurked, clad in lacey lingerie, or glitzy nipple tassels, or for the biggest, perhaps even nothing at all.

The blade savant scoffed, paying the art barely any attention as she strode on through. “Do at least try to keep up, girl. It’s one of those lezbo art things. Y’know, blah blah blah, aren’t titties nice, yadda yadda wymin power crap…” She waved a hand dismissively. “Artistic suffering! It’s what they get because they’re not getting enough cock. You see it all the time in these places.”

“Uh.” Enrica wasn’t quite sure that was correct – in fact, it sounded rather wrong to her – but trying to correct Giana wouldn’t have just been foolish, it would have been pointless. “I see. Thank you for sharing your insight, my lady.”

“Of course.” The brunette shrugged. “I’m your wise and noble teacher after all. I can’t just leave that ignorant head of yours all empty like that. Maybe you’ll actually bother to learn something if I spell it out plain and simple.”

“Of… course…” This was rather typical Giana behaviour, and Enrica was rather used to it. But if she sounded distracted, that was because she was.

There was an odd ringing sound in her ears, one that grew louder the further through the gallery they walked. It was distracting in that awkward way where she couldn’t quite focus on it enough to work out what it was, and every time she tried the sound would vanish, going silent until she figured she must have been imagining things, and then immediately ringing out again the moment her attention shifted away.

Frustrating, and it was doing a number on the silver haired woman’s ability to think clearly, but she was a professional. She wasn’t going to be this thrown off by a little ringing. No, there was something else. Something she didn’t quite know how to address.

Had… Had Giana’s breasts always been that big?

It was a dangerous question to ask, and almost as dangerous to think, but Enrica could swear that her mentor’s chest had grown in the time that they’d been in this room. It was kind of her job to notice things like that. Not just because she was supposed to be studying how the sword savant moved in order to learn her techniques, but also because the slightest twitch of the other woman’s body could mean she had gotten bored and was about to charge her with a drawn blade.

Yes, being Giana Adesso’s protégé was always a dangerous assignment. And asking about the other woman’s tits directly was out of the question. Despite the brunette’s crude casualness, decorum was expected of Enrica. If she didn’t behave in a proper manor, she might be considered an embarrassment to the Adessos, and that was a death sentence.

“Are you comfortable, my lady?” she asked instead as they were about half way across the exhibit floor, because, to her critical eye, it seemed likely that the other woman’s suit was getting rather tight. She could, in fact, see some of the buttons starting to strain – oh god, those girls were still getting bigger, weren’t they?

“Hm? What, because of the boobs?” The brunette turned her head to arch an eyebrow at her.

So she did notice! Enrica almost sighed with relief. “Yes. I wasn’t sure…”

The silver haired woman was interrupted by a flick to the nose. “Get real, dumbasss. I don’t care about all this gay shit.” She waved a hand at the photos, carelessly and obliviously jiggling her chest with the motion. “It’s just a bunch of photos. I’m no homo but, like, whatever? Fuck off with your judgy crap.”

Oh. She meant the pictures. Enrica bit her lip and nodded, accepting the scold, realising that if the other woman hadn’t noticed the problem, then there was little she could do.

(She also would have questioned Giana saying she was ‘no homo’ considering all the nights they’d spent in bed together, but to be honest, the brunette probably still considered herself straight because her assistant didn’t count for some reason.)

“When’d you start stuffing your bra by the way? Knock it off, the idea of you using a sword with melons like that on your chest is hilarious.” Giana snickered as she turned back and kept walking.

Enrica blinked. Then she looked down, and was surprised to see her own chest was looking very… prominent. In fact, even as she looked, a button popped off the front of her shirt, skittering away loudly over the marble floor.

Huh. Was that… right…?

Ugh, there was that ringing sound again…

The silver haired assistant shook her head, trying to remember what had been bothering her. Another popped button answered the question for her – her clothes must have shrunk in the wash. Embarrassing – hopefully Giana wouldn’t notice…

Face flushing red, Enrica hurried after her superior, her chest growing larger with every step. By the time they reached the far side, passing under an arch of the bustiest pictures in the room, both women were practically bouncing, easily a match for any photograph. The silver haired assistant still had a notion that something was wrong, doing her best to cover herself up with her jacket, but her mentor simply kept walking, paying her new jiggly frame no notice at all.

The next gallery was one entitled ‘The Naked Now’.

“Pretty sure that title’s taken,” Giana said, rolling her eyes as she entered. “Wasn’t that a band or something?”

“O-or something, my lady.” Enrica had only heard that title in an episode of an old cheesy tv show, but she certainly wasn’t going to tell her boss that. “It seems appropriate, though.”

“Mm, I suppose.”

This exhibit had no photography. It was more an art piece, consisting of a room made to look like a market square, with the ceiling painted blue, the light in a sun-shaped lampshade, the walls done up to look like shops and market stalls, with the space itself filled with dozens and dozens of mannequins. All of them were posed as though they were people going about their day, walking, talking, carrying shopping, or a few street vendors trying to sell their stock.

Of course none of them were wearing any clothing, but that was normal for mannequins, right? Their frames were female, though none of them were excessive about it. Certainly none of them matched the two mafiosos in the bust department. Their bodies were otherwise pale, and mostly featureless, roughly average height (so a little shorter than the guests), and broadly speaking all the same.

What the message of the piece was supposed to be, neither of them had any clue, but Enrica had already learned from the last exhibit not to care too much about that, while Giana frankly just didn’t care. The brunette continued walking, making a path straight through the mannequin maze, with her assistant still following quickly behind, both jiggling all the way.

It wasn’t long before the brunette got bored of the silence. “Clearly still some lezbo vibes, but this one’s way more boring,” she muttered. “It’s just kinda weird to be weird, don’t you think? And hey, do you feel a draft?”

“I…” Huh? Enrica blinked at the unexpected question – and then realised that, yes, actually, she did. Looking around, she couldn’t see any place for a breeze to be coming from, but it was definitely cooler in here all of a sudden.

She did, however, spot something an odd. There was a mannequin wearing a jacket over to her left, unlike all the other naked ones. And, actually, looking around, she saw that there was another one in a jacket to her right, too. A familiar jacket. One made in the Adesso colours. One that looked just like the one she was…

The assistant looked down. Huh. That was odd. All she saw was her white shirt, torn buttons and all. Hadn’t she been wearing a jacket? She remembered wearing a…

Ngh… That ringing sound again…

Shaking her head to clear it of the bells, she spotted another mannequin. This one was wearing… a belt? What kind of statement was that supposed to make? The one next to it was wearing an undone shirt. And over there, that pair were both wearing one shoe each. Why? She knew art was supposed to make you think, but this just seemed random…

“Hey, idiot!” Giana’s voice pulled her out of her confusion. “Are you so dumb you’re actually getting lose in all these hollow headed harlots? Hurry up already!”

“Ah, sorry my l-!” Enrica’s head snapped forward, apology already on her tongue, when she found herself stunned into silence. Because there, in front of her, was her esteemed mentor and abuser, Giana Adesso, in all of her glory…

And, at this moment, all of her glory did not include a belt, a shirt, or shoes.

No, the woman was standing in just her socks – no, wait, in only one sock, the other foot was bare – pants, and a bra. The sight was easily enough to stun the normally diligent assistant for a moment.

Which was, of course, more than enough to received a raised eyebrow of ire. “What?”

Enrica swallowed. “N-no, nothing, I just…” She just… what? Why had she stopped? Everything was normal here, wasn’t it? Why was she acting so weird – and why wouldn’t those bells shut up?!

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, my lady. I must have been distracted by all of this… art.”

The brunette rolled her eyes, sighing in irritation, but she didn’t throw anything, so her assistant took this as a good sign. “I suppose it’s all new to an uncultured swine like you, huh? Well hurry up about it. We don’t have all day.”

“Yes my lady.” Enrica nodded, starting after her mentor. But as the other woman turned away, she thought she heard something. The sound of movement behind her, the touch of a breeze over her shoulders.

Startled, she looked back, only to find no one there. There was just another mannequin – another one that was wearing a shirt. Strange, that one looked like it had a few buttons torn off…

The silver haired assistant folded her arms over her bare chest, shifting uncomfortably as she was reminded of how tight this stupid bra was. Now where had she seen that shift before? It felt very familiar…

“Hey! I said hurry up!”

Ngh. Well, no matter. With one last glance behind her, Enrica turned and started walking. Then, just as she was taking a long step, her ears caught a soft sound. Like a whisper, or a rustle, and she thought she felt the lightest of touches on her hips.

She couldn’t help but look back again. There were only mannequins behind her, but… had they moved…? Her brow wrinkled as she tried to recall. Everything looked normal, but she couldn’t help but feel there was something off. Had that one over there been in that position before? Surely that one wearing pants over by the fruit cart hadn’t been there before…

Argh, whatever. This art display was stupid and she didn’t care anymore. Grumbling to herself, the woman shoved her way around the remaining blank-faced statues, ignoring any further feelings of weirdness or confusion. They’d only get her in more trouble with Giana anyway. So she didn’t care about that brief tickle as her socks disappeared, nor did she notice as her panties slipped away. There was a moment of relief when her bra was snapped off, but it was quickly soothed away by the bells.

Even the fact that she was pretty sure she’d come in wearing pants was ignored, her bare thighs shivering slightly as she crossed the floor. The most she did was cast an eye towards a mannequin she passed on her left, who was wearing a pair of panties that seemed oddly familiar, and looked rather smug about it somehow.

By the time Enrica arrived next to Giana, both mafiosos were buck naked, with neither seeming to mind or even notice the fact. The only thing either busty woman wore was their swords, still strapped to their backs – a burden that was silently lifted from their shoulders as they turned towards the exit, silent mannequins sliding the blades away from them and carrying them off to find more responsible owners.

But what concern was that? None at all! Not as the pair entered the next gallery, invitingly entitled ‘Inner Peace’.

It was a portrait gallery, with actual classical art on the walls, almost a dozen different paintings in different mediums. Though, much like the photo gallery, each separate piece shared a ‘theme’. In this case, every picture was of a multi-coloured spiral, captured in different styles.

“My lady…” Enrica frowned, looking around. Something about this whole trip had really set her on edge, but this part in particular was ringing major alarm bells. “Perhaps we should leave…”

“Leave?” The naked swordswoman turned to look at her with scorn-filled pity. “Why, is all the high-class culture too much for your pitiful little brain?”

“Ah… No, not exactly,” the silver haired assistant tried not to wince, feeling she was already on thin ice here. “More… The subjects of these galleries seem suspicious. Especially this one. Our invitation here may have been a trap, a plot against the family. The artist could be in the employ of a rival, or an enemy faction, and we must- Ow!”

“Rica, Rica, Rica,” Giana shook her head, her bust wobbling eagerly. “Whatever am I going to do with you? Such an idiot. Such a fool. Are you seriously scared of a bunch of spirals?”

“M-my lady, I just- Ack!” Enrica tried to explain herself, but she was pulled forwards by the ear, out into the middle of the gallery.

“Paranoia isn’t cute, my dear little apprentice,” the brunette explained, drawing her along. “And this is insulting! Do you seriously think that I, Giana Adesso, would be weak minded enough to by hypnotised by a collection of paintings?”

Ah. “W-well, when you put it like that…”

There was a snort. “You mean when I use my brain. Come on girl.” Enrica was pulled to her feet and spun around, Giana’s hands on her shoulders directing her at the paintings on the east wall. “Which of these little sketches do you think would do it, hm? Which is the big bad scary painting that’s got my assistant’s knickers in a twist?”

Suddenly rather aware of her complete lack of knickers – that was normal, right? Yes, it must have been – the silver haired woman found herself gritting her teeth as she stared at the ‘art’. Just one glance told her she was right about her suspicions – she felt a truly disorienting sensation of vertigo just looking in their direction. Maybe if she focused on one at a time…

“W-well, the one on the left…” She managed, closing one eye and squinting with the other. “The blue on red spiral… It, ah…” Deep breath. “It feels so ssstrange to look at, don’t you… think? I… just staring at it, I feel myself getting lost in the twisting lines… M-my eyes trace towards the centre but somehow I… I can’t find it… I…”

She slammed her eyes shut, trying to steady her wobbling mind, and found that helped. But the hands on her shoulders didn’t relax, so she knew she wasn’t done making her case. Bracing herself, she moved on to the next picture.

“Or the one in the middle, maybe? Green on white on yellow on blue on… on… rings of colour that… It feels like they’re moving around and around and around and… I… getting dizzy even with just a glance. It… It’s hard to look away. I feel it rippling through my mind, washing away things… things that I might not ever… get back…”

She was swaying, only her lady’s hands keeping her steady. Pure loyalty forced her to move on, to prove herself to her mentor.

But by the time she got to the third, she was panting. She could feel the drain on her mind with this one, feel her willpower slowly siphoning out of her, pouring down the spiral into oblivion. “And… and… And the one on the right… P-p-pink on… y-yellow? Nn… I can feel… my mind… slowing down… Like… Like… Like I’m getting’ dummer jus’… just lookin’ at it…” A giggle slipped from her lips. “… Feels… nice… I…”

Her eyelids fluttered, starting to slide closed… And then slammed shut as she bit the inside of her cheek, furiously using the pain to break out of her mesmeric slide. The spirals flickered on the inside of her eyelids for a moment, before fading. Phew. That was too close.

“So as you can see, my lady,” she said, breathing with well-deserved relief. “I think we need to leave.”

Silence.

Enrica’s brow furrowed. “My lady…?”

Still nothing.

Now growing worried, the silver haired assistant tried to turn around. It was harder than expected. Giana’s grip on her shoulders was firm and stiff, refusing to let go… But in the end, it didn’t take much wiggling to get free. Opening her eyes, Enrica looked back at her mentor, and…

“Oh.”

Giana Adesso was still stood in place, in the middle of the gallery, her hands still out, holding thin air as if Enrica’s shoulders were still there. But instead of her usual looks of condescension or scorn, the brunette was wearing a wide, blank smile, drool tricking from the edge of her lips and trickling down her chin, dripping into her cleavage. In her eyes, the spirals from the pictures spun and turned, reflected by the light of the gallery.

“My lady,” Enrica breathed, unable to look away from those eyes. Those beautiful, twisting, turning, spiral filled eyes. “You… stupid… buuuuuhhhhh…”

Then she slumped, her jaw going slack, arms dropping to hang limp in the air. Identical spirals filled her eyes as her weakened will was sucked down into her mentor’s gaze, her mind drowned in those ruthless reflections. In an instant, her mind emptied out, and her thoughts went still. A moment later, and she too was just another busty naked statue drooling into her tits.

…

The two women stood there for some time, developing quite a pool between them, before anything changed. Quite frankly, if it had been left up to them, they probably would have remained there, another exhibit for the gallery added to the painting room. But as it turned out, someone had an issue with that plan.

“Non! Non non non, all wrong, all wrong! You are not supposed to be here.”

Suddenly, Marie Bauregard, the artist behind all of this, was at their side, looking rather annoyed. “This was just supposed to be a little weakening. How you say, dumbing you down just a little. I did not realise how weak minded you already were!”

She sighed, wrapping her arms around the pair’s shoulders and forcefully marching them over to the exit, before giving them a hearty

Smack!

to their rears to get them going again.

“Off you go girls! Still a bit more to see!”

The command, along with the jolt to their systems, had the blank pair walking stiffly forwards. But once they’d left the domain of the spirals, the hypnotic effect began to lessen, and soon enough the two mafiosos found themselves waking up in unfamiliar terrain.

“Nngh… W-where…?” Enrica was the first to look around, trying to work out where she was. Her head felt incredibly foggy, like her brain had been turned into taffy, but for some reason that didn’t really bother her. There was still a bit more to see at this gallery, and that was all that concerned her.

The room, by the look of things, was called ‘Production’, and it was dedicated to a single piece of art – a large sculpture of a woman in a cowprint bikini, with little horns poking out of her blonde hair, and a cow’s tail poking out from behind her, though it was tricky to see with her kneeling against the wall like that. A cowgirl then?

“Hooo!” Giana’s voice almost made the assistant, suddenly speaking up from next to her. Unlike Enrica, she looked completely unaffected by the foggy trials of their journey. “Look at those honkers! There’s a girl who knows what she’s good for!”

It was true. The sculpture’s tits were massive – almost as big on her frame as Enrica and Giana’s were on theirs. The bikini didn’t even try to cover them, instead leaving the job to a pair of clear plastic caps that were attached to long clear plastic tubes which ran off into the ceiling.

A puzzling display, to be sure, and Enrica’s sludge-like brain was in no place to try and decipher it. But she still got a clue as to the meaning of its name as a loud ‘MOOOOO!’ rang out through the room from hidden speakers, and the tubes suddenly filled with white fluid, pumping off the who-knows-where.

“Oooooh.” Giana’s voice was riddled with snickering laughter. “I get it! She’s being milked~!”

The silver haired assistant nodded dumbly. That made sense. Kinda. Didn’t it? Well whatever, she didn’t want to think about any of this too hard. Just looking at the sculpture made her own tits feel warm and tingly, in a way that was half uncomfortable, and half… disturbingly pleasurable…

She shook her head, trying to clear it, but that just felt like it jumbled up her thoughts even further, so she stopped and tried something else. “Maybe we should move on, my lady…?”

“Ugh. I swear, ‘Rica, you’ve got, like, no culture in you at all,” her boss said, rolling her eyes once again. “Can’t you just enjoy this commentary on woman’s role in society? On her effective slavery as a mother, a producer, seen as only valuable for the goods that her sex can provide, and not for the mind that makes those goods possible? How she’s constrained, kept horny and dumb, not by any fault of her own, but by the sexualizing eye of society, which forces her to her knees, and pumps sustenance from her while all she can do is scream?”

Enrica stared at her, jaw slack. “Buh?”

MOOOOOOO!

The sculpture let out another below, more milky white fluid pounding through the clear turbs, and the heat in Enrica’s chest intensified. It felt weird… but also kind of nice? She shifted uncomfortably, and was almost certain she heard a sloshing sound coming from her breasts.

Ooohh…

Looking up, she could see Giana’s nipples stiffening. Was it just her imagination, or could she see small beads of white starting to form on her teats…?

The brunette was paying not attention at all, of course. “It’s obvious, dumbass! This entire gallery has been a feminist critique of woman’s designated role in society.” She raised a hand and started counting her fingers. “The objectifying pictures, reducing women to just their tits. The faceless figures on the street, stripped of all identity but their curves, even their clothing cast aside. The paintings depicting the endless whirlpool of patriarchy that refuses any escape. And now this big cowgirl with big udders. How aren’t you getting this?”

Enrica stared. “I. Uh. I…”

MOOOOOOO!

“Oooh!” The assistant was spared from coming up with an answer as a sudden surge of heat drove a squeal from her lips. The sloshing feeling inside her chest intensified, the silver haired warrior squirming as she felt pressure inside her building and building until-!

“Moooh!”

Milk burst from her nipples, splattering across the floor in arcs, the white fluid glittering in the light for a moment, before soaking away. The pleasure of it almost knocked Enrica from her feet, leaving her swaying in place, unsteady and uncertain, until…

“Ugh, typical.” A firm hand grabbed her left teat, drawing another squeal of pleasure from the assistant.

“Ngh!”

“I can’t take you anywhere, can I?” Giana sighed, cruelly tugging the other woman along once more. “I swear, you’re such an embarrassment. But at least you’ve got great knockers. Come on, Bessie, let’s find somewhere quiet where you can take care of yourself.”

No comment was made on the likewise trails of soaked milk in the carpet that seemed to originate from where she’d been standing. There wouldn’t have been any point.

Enrica was happy to move away from the cowgirl anyway. She wasn’t sure why, but looking at it just made her uncomfortable and drippy – neither of which she needed right now.

Fortunately, the next gallery promised the peace they needed. It was labelled ‘Still and Silent’, after all. Promising.

The assistant’s ability to think was practically non-existent at this point, so when they stepped into the room, she didn’t pay her surroundings much mind. The walls were at odd angles and were designed in strange shapes, but who cared? She just needed… needed… something. Silence, maybe. If the ringing in her ears would stop, she’d be happy.

“Oh, neat.” Even Giana’s voice sounded quieter in here. “It’s one of those sound-cancelling rooms that dampens all noise inside it. Fitting…”

Enrica didn’t care – the sludge that was her brain was far too burnt out. She just let her mentor lead her over to the middle of the room, where a pair of empty plinths awaited them.

“No art in here yet? Shame… But that just means we get some extra chairs…”

The assistant blinked… And then found herself shoved on top of a plinth, while Giana took the other. She didn’t say a word about doing so, of course, but one look at her flushed cheeks and Enrica could tell she also needed a break. Heh…

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Silence settled over the room, with only one sound seeming to pierce the void of noise around them. The silver haired nudist looked around for its source, before looking down in embarrassment. It was, of course, her tits. Even now, they were leaking a constant drizzle of milk, slowly trickling out and down to the floor.

Fortunately, by some random coincidence, she saw that the droplets were being caught by a pair of dishes that had been left down there in front of the plinth. There were holes in them leading into the floor, allowing the milk to all drain away without causing a mess. Phew! There was something weird about that, maybe, but by this point she well and truly had no chance of thinking about it at all, so she just accepted the strangeness and relaxed.

Finally, she could just breathe.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

A sleepy smile settled on her face as the silence began to soak in. It felt good. It felt nice. Relaxing after all of this strange mind melting art was just so pleasant. Even sitting on this cool marble plinth felt comfortable after all of that. She wished she could stay here forever.

And it looked like Giana was feeling the same way, seated on the other plinth. The brunette had a blank smile on her face, clearly enjoying the feeling of milk trickling from her tits as everything else was still. She had dishes under her boobs too, what were the odds?

There was something odd, though. Giana looked kinda… pale? Like, almost ghostly white, actually. Maybe it was the lighting in here, but it looked like all of the colour in her body was seeping away somewhere.

Drip. Drip.

It was getting hard to move her neck. It was getting hard to move at all. Her body had gotten all stiff all of a sudden. All still. But that was fine. She didn’t need to move. She was happy right here.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could still see Giana. Though there was less Giana to see, it seemed. The other woman’s arms were shrinking away, drawing back into her body, like the mass was being poured away somewhere else. As the assistant watched, she saw her mentor’s proud sword arm disappear, turning into a smooth, rounded shoulder with no limbs attached. Just like the one on the opposite side.

And just like what was happening to her legs. They were just melting away, almost evaporating, leaving the other woman a pale white torso on the plinth – looking almost exactly like a marble bust of a stupidly smiling busty woman with milk spurting from her tits.

Heh. The image amused Enrica enough for a stupid smile to spread over her lips, just before they stiffened into solid, hard marble.

Drip.

She wasn’t sure if her own arms had vanished. She thought her legs might have, in a distant and absent kind of a way. She could feel herself resting on the plinth directly through her hips now, with no ass to cushion her. That was fine. Everything was fine. Everything was nice and peaceful. Still and silent.

Silence was spreading through her head now, snuffing her thoughts, smothering her emotions. Or maybe everything left of her, every bit of mind, every bit of soul, was trickling out of her, no longer of use. It didn’t really matter, least of all to her.

A sense of unfathomable peace washed over her, and she sank into it like a diver into the ocean…

Sank far too deep to ever return.

Then even that was silenced too.

Drip.

Then everything was still, save for the constant – now eternal – trickling drip of milk into the dishes. There was only silence, and two naked, busty busts, carved from mindless marble, proudly presented in the middle of the room.

…

Hours later, when someone came to check on them - the artist, who had no care who these women were, or had been, and would never be found by the Adesso family - she simply smiled as she looked over her newest exhibit.

“Magnifique~”