From: AnonEMoose <an000000@anon.penet.fi>
Subject: STORY: My Body (MF, bd, piercing, body-art, art-body, exhi)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.bondage,alt.sex.bondage,alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.exhibitionism
Newsgroups: alt.sex.bondage,alt.sex.stories.bondage,alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.exhibitionism Subject: STORY: My Body (MF, bd, piercing, body-art, art-body, exhi)
My Body
Part I
The early evening was pleasantly warm as I stood naked in my studio looking at the gleaming oak and stainless steel of my armature. The sound of the cicadas and crickets was comforting, but I hesitated. I went to the door again, checking to see that it was open, adjusted the lights, checked the program on my CD player, checked the view through the video cameras, adjusted the stack of handouts, and read over the engraved invitation I'd sent out one last time.
Susan Anderson
invites you to join her to celebrate
the completion of her most recent
work of art. This mixed media work
is the largest and most personal
work she has ever created.
Come at seven, Friday afternoon.
The door will be open, let yourself in.
It was right, the door was open, the snack trays were all in place, the lights were adjusted, the champagne was ready, so I looked back at my armature.
The armature was a massive oak framework, reaching to the ceiling. and filling the center of the room. Originally, I'd planned on a crude looking framework, but over the year and a half that I'd worked on the project, it had been refined, polished, sculpted. Now, it had a heavy body, but there were smooth organic looking projections here and there, some functional as seats, and 22 stainless steel studs protruded from the oak, almost at random. Those pegs had taken me hours of work. They were made from various diameter stainless rod, carefully fit into the oak and protruding from two inches to a foot. They were almost smooth, but near the ends, all were lightly threaded to accept a nut screwed onto them.
I rewound the VCR, started the CD player on its program, and slowly walked into the cameras' fields of view. I looked at the lowest peg on the armature. It was almost waist high, protruding from the bottom of one curved oak surface. I was ready, so I lifted my right foot to the stud and carefully worked the lubricated peg through the hole I'd pierced more than a year ago in the ball of my foot. I took a polished brass washer from a nearby notch in the armature, slipped it over the peg, then took a stainless steel nut and carefully tightened it until my foot was snugly held in place.
The 22 holes I'd had pierced in my body had been a chore. The pain of piercing was transient, and most had healed in less than a month, but keeping them a secret was another matter. The holes in my feet and breasts were private enough as long as I wore normal clothes, but others like those in my hands and face couldn't be hidden. I'd justified them to my friends as experiments in body piercing jewelry, and they were fun to use that way, but I was about to put them to their real purpose.
With the ball of my right foot secure, I twisted my foot, slowly sliding the next stud through the back of my ankle, between the tendon and the bone. I'd put in quite a few hours studying anatomy books to find out where I could pierce myself safely, without risk to nerves, blood supply, or mobility. When my ankle was secure, another bolt held my upper calf, and then I was ready to climb into my armature.
The pegs would have made good handholds if they weren't lubricated, but I'd planned the armature carefully and it had plenty of places to hold on. I slid my left foot carefully down over its peg, then added a brass washer and tightened the nut, all the while hanging awkwardly by one hand and my right leg. My leg held most of my weight, and it hurt a bit, but that was only temporary. With all 22 pegs in place, I knew I'd be comfortable. I'd done experiments to prove it.
It wasn't difficult to slide onto the four studs securing my hips, and once I was securely bolted to them, I could work comfortably. I'd debated long and hard about how to secure my hips. A bolt through the navel would have been beautiful, but weeks in the medical library had convinced me that it couldn't be done. I'd been tempted for a while to put a bolt through my genitals somehow, but in the end, I rejected that on aesthetic grounds. I wanted to be frankly sexual, and that would have looked too much like a figleaf.
I'd spent hours locked in my studio bolted like this, using the bottom half of my armature as a chair while I worked on the rest, and I'd tried on each part of the armature before, but I'd never gone all the way. I'd rehearsed every part of the bolting it before, getting it so I could bolt myself in place in some semblance of synchronization to the music. Now, I had time for a short rest before the next step.
When it was time for the next move. I carefully leaned back into a hollow in an oak crossbeam. A pair of long slim bolts protruded on each side of the hollow; they went under my arms and fit tightly against my sides, and I had to be careful not to bend them. As I leaned back, I guided them into the piercings in the backs of my breasts, then carefully used my hands to work first one breast and then the other into place, so the ends of the bolts protruded from the little craters in the center of each nipple. Those piercings had taken particular care, and I was glad I'd been generous with the KY Jelly on the studs because my nipples always felt a bit odd for the first few minute when I ran the studs through them. I carefully slid the brass washers on, then tightened the nuts as the music reached a brief creshendo.
Another pair of bolts went through my armpits, and then it was time to secure my head. I took a last look around the room from my high perch. The video camers were in place, focused on me as I worked and I gave them my last smile. I adjusted my hair carefully, letting its blond length drape forward over my right shoulder, clear of my breast, and then carefully leaned my head back. I slid my head carefully sideways, guiding the stud through my cheek and tongue, and with my head cradeled in the form fitting curve of the oak, slid the washer in place and tightened the bolt.
I couldn't turn to look at what I was doing anymore, and that made securing my arms the hardest part of the job. The beams to which my arms were secured were hinged, and I pulled them forward, then slid my left forearm and palm onto their studs. I set the bolts and washers for my right arm in my upturned left palm, then slid my right forearm and palm up onto its studs and carefully fumbled the washers and nuts into place.
I'd done it! I could still free myself by reversing the process I'd gone through to bolt myself to the armature, but I was basically in place. As the music reached it's final creschendo, I slowly straightened my arms, moving them in the only way the hinged armature allowed, straightening them until I heard the clicks that signified that my armature had locked me into my final position. I was held in the pose of a triumphal leap, soaring off towards the left, my feet well off the ground, my body tightly bound but completely exposed, my head turned up and to the side. I knew I was beautiful!
My Body
Part II
While I waited for my guests to arrive, I thought about how I'd come to this. It had all started as a crucifixion fantasy, and I'd gotten my first piercings with that goal in mind. I'd even built myself a cross and experimented with hanging from it, but as time went on, I'd decided that there was too much wrong with that. I'd concluded that I didn't like the religious symbolism. There was something intriguing about the image of a crucified woman, but that was wrong. I wanted to create a more triumphal image, but the idea of being bound to my artwork continued to draw me in.
My thoughts were interrupted by the noise of a small car with a bad muffler pulling into my drive, and after the doors slammed, I heard the familiar voices of Don and Marie Cavanaugh on their way up the walk to my barn studio. Marie had been one of my art professors, and Don ran a gallery I sometimes sold work through. The screen door banged behind them, and then their conversation stopped abruptly as they came into sight. "What the blazes?" Don said. "Sue, is that really you?"
Marie didn't say anything, and I couldn't. The stud through my cheeks and tongue deliberately prevented that. I didn't want to spoil my creation by chatting away while I was part of it.
Don found my pile of handouts, and I heard him mumble what I'd written as he read.
My Body
by
Susan Anderson
This work combines aspects of performance
art with multimedia sculpture. The work
consists of three major components, a semi-
rigid bolted wood framework, a system of
stainless steel studs, each with a brass
washer and a steel nut, and me.
As an artist, I am frequently asked to
describe what my work symbolizes. Keeping
in mind the warning that the ultimate judge
of symbolism must be the viewer, consider
the following explanation. I have always
felt that I was bound up in my work, I have
always felt that the human body was an
appropriate subject for art, and I have
always wanted to try performance art. This
work fulfills my interest in all of these.
Because of the nature of this work, I will
not be able to participate with you in the
celebration of its completion, so let me
give you some guidelines.
As with all my sculptures, this work is
intended to be touched and climbed on. A
few parts are delicate, but I trust your
judgement when it comes to that.
Please feel free to enjoy the refreshments
set around the room, and if you want, take
a photo with one of the cameras (If you do,
please note the exposure number and sign
the log sheet so I'll know who took what).
Someone else came in while Don was mumbling, but they didn't speak. I herd the rustle of paper, but I didn't learn anything until Don was done reading. "I'll be damned," he said.
"Damnation's not enough," someone whispered, under their breath.
I heard footsteps walking around me, and I wished I could see who it was and what they were doing. There was a pop and then a clink of glass, and I knew someone was pouring a glass of champagne. "To Susan," the mystery person said, and I knew it was Ken Fuchs. "I don't know why you've done this to yourself," he went on with his toast, "But I'll admit it's one of the most disturbing things I've seen in my years in the art business." Ken was another artist in the area, I'd invited him because his art was some of the most sexual I'd seen without being in any way obscene.
Three more people arrived; "Susan!" someone almost screamed. It was Jenny Helgeson's voice. "What in God's name have you done?" Jenny was a friend of Tom Carstens, so I wasn't surprised to hear Tom's voice, but it was very reassuring to hear Ed Silvers. Ed was my current boyfriend, and I'd sent him a special invitation to the event.
I relaxed into comfortable drowsiness as the sound of conversation intensified around me. Someone took some pictures, and I felt my armature vibrate as someone did more than touch it. There were seats in it at various levels, sort of like a jungle gym, and someone must have sat in one. They were the only seats in the room, and I'd hoped people would sit in them.
I lost track of the people in the room, but my attention returned to the moment when I felt a hand on my leg. The seats were intentionally near my body, but as I'd expected, it took a while before anyone touched me. The feeling was electric as the hand slid up to my thigh and traced the edge of the washer holding my lower thigh in place.
"This is really remarkable," Ken Fuchs said, "I knew she'd experimented with body piercing, but I didn't realize the extent."
"Don't you feel awkward touching her like that?" Jenny asked from almost between my legs. "A bit," Ken said, "but she said to feel free to touch in her writeup. Try it, touch her."
I heard a camera click as a hand brushed the inside of my thigh, and then I felt something brush against my thigh. Jenny giggled and the camera clicked again.
Charlie Andrews spoke. "That's obscene!" Jenny giggled again and the pressure of hair on the inside of my thigh was firm. "Charlie, she put the seat here on purpose, if she wants people to sit here, she wants their heads against her thigh." I could feel the hair move as Jenny spoke, so I knew it was her head leaning against my thigh.
I don't know how long the party went on, but eventually, there were only a few people left in the room, Ed Silvers, Jenny Helgeson, and Tom Carstens. "God," Jenny said, "I just realized I'm still leaning on Susan's thigh. It's like I've reduced her to a piece of furniture, a thing!"
"But you've done more than just use her," Ed said. "You've talked about her as if she isn't here. Good God, I'm doing it. Susan? You there? Wiggle your fingers or grunt or something! Let us know you're still a person!" I wiggled my fingers and laughed a bit.
Tom spoke in a thoughtful voice. "We've been sitting drinking your champagne, and we haven't even offered you any. Want some?" He paused. I realized that I was thirsty, very thirsty. I wiggled my fingers again and I guess someone saw my answer, because I felt the armature vibrate, then heard Tom again. "How?"
"Probably climb up that post," Jenny said. "Don't use a glass, let her drink from the bottle." I felt the armature vibrate, and Tom's head came into view, the first person I'd seen since I began my preparations for the party. He smiled at me, then carefully fitted the bottle to my lips and tipped it up. I cooperated as best I could, sputtered a bit, spilled some of the champagne, then got the hang of it and began to drink. I didn't stop until the bottle was empty.
"Good?" Tom asked, smiling. I smiled back, and he gently traced a finger down my cheek and around the washer that secured my head. "God, I still don't believe you're doing this," he said.
"What gets me is the sexuality of it all," Jenny said from down near my thigh. "I mean, I always thought of female bondage as sick, and it wrenches my gut to see what Susan's done and realize that I think its beautiful."
"She's such an aggressive girl," Ed said, very quietly, while Tom continued to look at my face. "You've done something very aggressive," Tom said, and then stroked my face again before disappearing from my view. "Can you imagine a more agressive way to do it?" Tom asked from down near my thighs.
"It still hurts," Jenny said. "I mean, everything I know about female submissive bondage cries out 'Rape' at every turn. Isn't that what rape is? Taking away a woman's right to chose her own place and time, forcing her to submit, forcing her to passively participate in whatever turns a man on?"
The discussion went on that way for a while, and my attention wandered to the music from my CD player. Half the reason I'd programmed as much music as I did was to make sure I'd have something to occupy me while the party went on. My bladder was starting to ache from the champagne I'd drunk and the hours since I'd been to the toilet, and the music helped distract me from it.
My Body
Part III
My attention was jerked back to reality by a gentle touch on the inside of my upper thigh. "It's awfully late," Jenny said. "Should we do something about Susan first? Help her down? I hate to think of leaving her all alone like this." Ed Silvers answered. "Her invitation asked me to help clean up, but she didn't say anything specific."
"You're lovers, aren't you?" Jenny asked. Someone reached up to pat my stomach. "I think so," Ed said. "Lately, she's been so secretive, I'm not really sure." Jenny laughed. "Look what she's been doing, are you surprised? When's the last time you made love?"
"Two days ago," he said, and I remembered. It had been more and more awkward hiding some of my piercings from him, and these last few months, I'd hardly let him see my body or touch me when we made love.
"Think she wants you to make love to her before you take her down?" Jenny asked. "If I were her, I think I might!" She giggled. Tom Carstens chuckled. "You know what? It fits my idea of performance art; why don't you do it?"
"Gross," Ed said. "Anyway, to make modern performance art, we all have to take part, and we have to get it on video. You know what the problem with that is? It's almost tempting." There was a long pause, and I tingled with anticipation. I'd almost given up hope that someone would be brave enough to do it. For a long time, I hadn't been able to face the fact that I wanted it, but I think the plan was always there in the back of my mind.
"Those video cameras still running?" Tom asked. There was movement, and then Jenny's voice answered "Yup, someone must have changed the tape before they left. We've got a half hour or so." They discussed it for a few more minutes, and as they talked, I felt a change in my body. The abstract detachment I'd felt the whole evening began to melt away, to be replaced with a fierce longing.
My longing was answered! A gentle touch to my clitoris, a brushing of my thigh, and my spirits soared. "She's real wet," Jenny said. "Come on, Ed, she wants you." "Wait," Tom said. "She probably needs to pee first, Susan? We'll get you something to pee in, OK?"
Ed sounded very quiet when he spoke. "I've always had this fantasy," he paused. "No, I shouldn't," he paused uncertainly. "What?" Jen asked. "Well," he went on, "I guess it won't hurt to say, I've always wanted to drink a womans pee." "Why not," Jen said. "You'll never have a better chance!" There was a long pause before Ed spoke again. "OK, Susan? Is it OK with you? Can you wiggle your fingers if it's ok?"
I wiggled my fingers, and then relaxed to the gentle touch of Ed's lips between my legs. We'd enjoyed oral sex before, but not like this. It was hard to relax, and I shivvered all over when I finally started to pee. The feel of lips sucking on me overcame my senses, and as I ran dry, I came convulsively.
"Wow," Jen said, and I heard a zipper being pulled down. "I've, God, what am I saying?" She giggled. "Oh God! Ed? Can I try? I've never done this to a woman before, but ... Somehow it just seems to be the right way to end the evening." Who had unzipped what? I wouldn't find that out until I looked at the video tapes.
Ed chuckled nervously, and I felt his hand pat my belly and then slide over and circle the washer on the stud through the flesh of my side. "This is wierd," he said, "but Susan? That what you want?" I wiggled my fingers, and someone started kissing their way up my thigh. I think all three of them were at it, but I lost track as I came and came again.
I heard the screen door slam as I came one last time, and then someone turned out the lights. I was two exhausted to say anything, but I knew that someone was still in the room with me. After what seemed like forever, Ed's voice spoke. "Susan, the others went home, sorry they didn't say goodbye, but I think they were a bit embarrassed by what your artwork inspired in them. I don't blame them one bit, I'm a bit grossed out by what I've just done."
He paused, and I had to admit that if I hadn't planned for things to end the way they did, I'd have been a bit grossed out myself. "Was that what you really wanted?" He finally asked. "I'm not sure I want to know right now, and since you've rigged things so you can't speak, I guess I won't find out. I'll be back tomorrow, OK?"
I listened in disbelief as his footsteps echoed out of my studio, and then the door slammed. I heard the faint call of Jenny's voice asking if everything was OK, then the sound of a car starting and driving away. My CD player wasn't going anymore, I assumed because the program had ended, so my world was filled with the sounds of a summer night.
While I hung on my creation, the peaceful sounds of cicadas and katydids wafted over me, with the occasional sound of an owl adding a mournful note. At first, I was furious at Ed for leaving me, but as time passed, I relaxed. In a way, I'd certainly asked for it, although I never imagined that he'd leave me bound to my armature for the night.
I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I remember is waking up to find the early morning sun streaming into my studio, with the night's insect sounds replaced by the morning's birdsongs. I felt a bit stiff from not moving all night, but at least I didn't ache. The worst part of it was that I was bored, and I don't know how many times I reviewed the evening before while I waited for Ed. It seemed like forever, and I had to pee.
They say that sensory depravation sharpens the senses, and I guess its true. I listened to every car that went by on the distant highway, and I began to imagine that I knew exactly where each bird outside was sitting when I heard it sing. I heard a car slow down on the highway, and my heart rose with my excitement as I imagined it turning into my drive. It did! The sound of gravel under car tires was music to my ears, and then the screen door slammed and I had company again.
Footsteps approached, but whoever it was didn't speak and I couldn't. My body tensed, but then a hand rested gently on my thigh and stroked up towards my crotch. It had to be Ed, but why didn't he say anything. Whovever it was stepped back, and I heard the click of a camera, and then the sound of someone fiddling with my video equipment, changing tapes? I couldn't tell.
The person came back and I felt a gentle kiss on the inside of my thigh, and then more kisses, up my thigh towards my crotch. Was it Ed? If it was, he knew well that I needed to pee, if it wasn't, it would serve the person right. As the mouth closed over my pussy, I let go, and knew it was Ed. I could feel the eager sucking, and the hands on my hips and thighs massaged me as he worked. I didn't climax immediately, the uncertainty had been too much, but he didn't stop until I was satisfied.
There was a brief vibration in my oak armature, and then I felt his hands gently sliding up over my hips, fingering the bolts in my sides as he kissed his way up my body. He kissed his way around my breast before he finally climbed into view and looked at me. I could smell my urine on his breath as he kissed my lips, and then backed off to look at me.
Almost reluctantly, he undid the nut on my cheek and slid the washer off, and then I carefully slid myself off the stud, freeing my mouth for the first time in what must have been more than twelve hours. He held his finger to his lips as I slid free, so I didn't say anything. He kissed me gently on the lips, and then more fiercely.
His body pressed against mine, and I could feel that he was nude, I didn't know what he was standing on, but he reached down with one hand and guided his penis into me and then, very gently, began to grind his hips, bringing both of us to another climax. I hadn't planned this, but I was in ecstacy. It was the right ending!
As I recovered from my climax, I thought about what I'd done, and about what I'd managed to inspire in others. I hoped it was all on video, I wanted to see it! I knew I'd have to cut two versions of the tape when I edited it, one very personal copy just for me and three friends who had proved to be closer than I ever expected, and one for public use, to the extent that the kind of performance art I'd just done is ever shown in public. What kinds of pictures were on the film in my cameras? I couldn't wait to develop them and print them. Would any be good enough to sell as art? I had to support myself after all.
Only when we were both satisfied and recovered did he finally speak. "Did you really want things to turn out the way they did?" My jaw ached, but I managed to say the word that mattered. "Yes." He paused and gently ran his finger around the edge of the washer covering my nipple. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded reluctant. "I guess it's time to take you down, what do I undo first?"
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