On Display In An Art Exhibit

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On Display In An Art Exhibit

Unread postby rashaverak » Tue Mar 28, 2017 6:19 am

She was so pretty, I fell in love with her. We partied for hours. She gave me some pills, she said one was X, and I was high as the stars. I felt sexy and horny. She told me she'd buy me some new clothes, but I laughed and said everything was closed, but she laughed and said she knew a place. I said fine. She led me down some back alleys and into a building, and I lost my sense of direction, and eventually we came to a door in a dark hallway and she knocked. A while later the door opened and a woman was there. My lover spoke some whispered words into her ear, and the door opened wide and I was pulled inside.

The two of them worked together to get me dressed as my girl wanted. They flattered me and scolded me, and my shy, self conscious side was put to sleep. I found myself naked in front of the two of them, while they remained fully clothed, and I was fine with it. The woman produced a number of garments, and the girl told me to try them on. Everything was tight and had laces and buckles and belts and clasps that would be tightened, fastenened, then dangling ends tucked away. I found myself dressed in tight sneakers without socks on my bare feet, and my crotch and torso wrapped in a tight unitard that left my cock and balls exposed, but tightly belted by the fabric of the garment after they had been eased through the small, stretchy hole located in just the right place. The rear end was a tight thong that left my butt cheeks fully exposed. My torso was wrapped in a tight corset that the two women tightened on me by pulling laces and belts tight. It left a horizontal strip of my upper body exposed, right at my nipples, with belts above and below them tight around my chest. In front only a thin strap connected the upper and lower pieces in the center of my front. At the sides the open slit ended. For some reason the garment was designed to tightly wrap my upper body, throat and arms, but leave my nipples and genitals exposed.

The unitard went up my shoulders and around my throat, where more laces were carefully tightened and tied off. It had long sleeves that wrapped tightly around my arms, all the way down to my hands, where my thumb and fingers were fed through loops so the sleeves couldn't slide back up my arms. Even the arms had dark, almost invisible laces running down the inside, allowing them to be tightened up, and the ends tied off and tucked inside some handy pockets.

At first I resisted being dressed this way, but the girl was so persistant and so persuasive. Finally I agreed to let her finish and then decide if it was ok after I'd gotten the feel of it for a while. They finished tightening the unitard's various staps, and then the woman produced some small, stretchy white belts that they placed around my legs, just above and below each knee, and then pulled very tight and fastened. The unitard was black. When the girl pronounced me as being fully dressed and ready for any occasion, I thought she was joking. My cock and balls were right out in the open! Finally she let me slide on a very sheer, almost transparent pair of tight, dark boy-shorts that clearly would only serve as a suggestion of modesty, such that if a person saw me only out of the corner of their eye they might assume I was reasonably clothed. But anyone looking directly at me from the front in even dim light would see everything I had. My dick was fully erect and the boy- shorts held it tight against my body.

I looked at myself for a long time in a full length mirror, under bright lights, and had to admit I did like how I looked. But drugs or no drugs, sexy girl or no sexy girl, reason prevailed and I began to object. Just then there was a loud bang on the door, and it quickly opened, and several young, large men came in. They ignored me and spoke to the woman. "Get rid of them!" was all one of them said. I found myself quickly shoved out the door, and heard it slam behind me, before I realized I was alone with the woman and all my clothes and belongings were still in the room! I was going to throw a fit but the girl knew her stuff. She put her finger on my lips and pushed me down the hall, whispering words of caution and pleading for me to be quiet and just trust her. She said those guys were dangerous and we had to just get away from there. She said my stuff was perfectly safe, we'd be able to get it later. But now we had to just go.

So I let her take me back outside, and she held me by the hand and pulled me along. Outside we found a private, dark place and she gave me another pill, telling me to let it dissolve under my tongue. I felt sexy, alive and horny.

We want all over, from club to club. She introduced me to her friends. They all wanted to get close to me, to touch me, to hug me, to dance with me. They all couldn't take their eyes off me. That was all it took to bury my sense of embarassment. The night was a neverending, sexy, delight.

Finally she said she wanted me to meet an artist friend of hers, and we'd be able to spend the night at her place. I followed. After a long taxi ride we got out at a large warehouse, in the rear freight loading area. The taxi left and the girl took us to a door, where she rang a buzzer. The door opened and a young, pretty woman was there. We were introduced. She was the artist. She looked me over carefully and said I was perfect. We went inside. I was given a drink and a place to sit down. I took a few sips. Then I could remember nothing more.

I awoke with bright light in my eyes. I was on my back, on the floor, on some soft cushion. I tried to sit up and found my arms were behind and underneath me, and something was wrapped around me that pulled tight as I tried to move. I thought I must have gotten tangled up in a blanket, and still not entirely awake I tried to work loose, but gradually came to the realization that something was wrong. I awoke fully very quickly, and became aware of something tightly wrapped around my face and mouth, and realized my arms were behind my back and it felt like they were wrapped tightly somehow. Then it flashed all at once. I was tied up and gagged, with my arms behind my back. I looked around and managed to sit up. I was in a corner, where the floor and two walls met, resting on a cushion. My arms were tied behind my back, and I was gagged, with something clamping on my lips, and my mouth stuffed full with some foamy material that pressed down on my tongue. I tried to pull away from the corner, and felt a jerk on my wrists, and I realized I was tethered by my wrists behind my back to the corner.

I looked down and saw my legs were tied together by loops of cord at my ankles and above and below my knees, the loops cinched tightly with strong, tight knots. I saw a length of strong cord was tied around my ankles, and it extended underneath me and behind, and I realized my ankles were tethered to the corner behind me, just like my wrists. I felt tight constriction all over my body, not just from the cords that bound me but also from all the tight, sexy clothing I had been dressed in. Even my shoes were especially tight on my sockless feet. What was going on?

I looked around, but I was alone. The room appeared to be large, and I realized it was some kind of art exhibit. There were statues and paintings spread around. Lots of nudes. The statues were often of women and men tied up and gagged, as were lots of the paintings. I looked at the walls around me, and was able to see a caption nearby that said, "A bound, captive, living man. Please leave him tied up and gagged." I realized that was referring to me. I had become an exhibit in some bondage art show!

I tried to get loose, but no matter what I did I couldn't escape. I realized my arms were expertly bound behind my back, with loops tied at my elbows, pulling them together quite snugly, and looking down I could make out a set of loops binding my upper body and shoulders, and I knew I was tied in some kind of harness that I knew must serve as an anchor point for my elbow cords. I tried to move my hands and realized they were wrapped in some kind of tight glove, so one hand was forced to cup around the other and my thumbs were kept apart and immobile by tight tubes on the inside of the glove itself. I managed to twist and look at my wrists, and I saw a length of cord went from my wrists up behind, and I knew my wrist loops were also tied to my shoulder harness, so the wrist cords couldn't be worked down over my hands. I saw my hands were invisible inside a tight black fabric glove that had white laces criscrossing on it, and the laces had been pulled tight and tied in a nice, pretty bow that flopped around as I moved. I saw the upper end of the glove was tight around my wrists, and the laces went around my wrist cinch loops, so the glove could not be worked off of my hands. Seeing this detail I realized escape was impossible. I stopped looking at my hands and again looked around.

Some time passed. Finally I heard footsteps. Then the artist woman from last night stepped into view. She came over and squatted next to me, and whispered, "You look fabulous! Thank you again for helping me out like this. The guy I hired for this exhibit bailed out on me at the last minute. Sandy really did come through for me. She said she explained everything to you. So you don't have any questions, right?" I didn't know what to do. I frowned and shook my head, and tried to yell but the gag kept me quiet. "Oh dear! You mean she didn't tell you anything?" I shook my head and calmed down a bit.

"She told me you had had a long day and that's why you fell asleep so suddenly. She said she'd explained everything to you and you said you were fine with the whole thing. I tried to wake you up so I could get you tied up, but you were out like a light. Sandy said you were exhausted, that we should just get you tied up and gagged while you sleep and you'd wake up in the morning all ready for display, and so that's what we did. She helped me to get you over here and get you tied up and gagged. But you're saying you don't know about any of this? That she didn't tell you anything?" Again I nodded.

She paused and seemed to think for a while, absently staring at me and letting her eyes roam over my body. Finally she said, "Do you think she slipped some kind of knockout drug into your drink last night?" I nodded. "You seemed totally wasted, no matter how we moved you around and tied you, you never stirred." She continued to just squat there, thinking, and gazing at me. Finally she said, "See, the thing is, this exhibit is supposed to be one of my best. I need a man to be on display, tied up and gagged, and dressed in sexy, tight clothing. The guy I had hired got stage fright when it came time for him to be tied up and gagged, and he ran out on me. He was supposed to be a professional!" Sandy is my partner in this show, and she said she'd find someone, and she came back with you, just in time. But now you say you don't know about any of this?" Again I nodded. "So you want to be untied and set free then?" I nodded vigorously, expecting her to begin untying me. Instead she just continued to stare at me. Finally she spoke. "That's perfect! The exhibit has to have a captive man who has been involuntarily tied up and gagged and put on display. Sandy really came through on this one. You're even better than the guy who ran out, because he would have been doing this willingly. " She stood up then and stepped back a few paces, staring down at me.

"The show opens in a few minutes. People will be around all day. Don't be shy! You look fantastic. Do whatever you like, try to get loose, struggle. Do whatever comes naturally. That's all part of the exhibit. The show is for 4 days, and you will have to be kept tied up and gagged the whole time, I'm sorry. After the show is over you'll be released, I can assure you. But until then just make the best of it. You won't be able to get loose, we tied you up too tightly and thoroughly, so you can squirm around and struggle against your bondage as much as you want." She then turned and walked away.

That was the start of a long, neverending experience where I was kept tightly tied up, gagged and tethered by my wrists and ankles, while an endless stream of women and men paraded by and gawked at me. They would approach as close as they wanted, as there were no barriers or ropes preventing it. Some women actually touched me (quite a few, actually), and many of them stroked my body and even my genitals under the sheer boy-shorts. Often I was shoved around so someone could get a look at my arms and wrists behind my back, and I could feel as fingers were run over my bonds, testing them for authenticity. Loops were tugged on, tested for tightness. Fingers were forced in between binding cords and my body, clearly in an effort to verify I really was tied up as securely and tightly as I appeared to be. Knots were examined and fingered. The tether loops were felt and tugged on, firmly, as people, almost exclusively women, wanted to make sure without any doubt I really was tied up and unable to get loose and tethered in place.

They'd approach, always with obvious disbelief, and always they'd slowly back away, convinced. But not a single one of any of them ever did anything to loosen any of my bonds, or set me free. Everything was checked for tightness and effectiveness and security, but nothing was ever loosened or untied. One girl, seemingly just barely in her 20's, seemed to be obsessed with my gag, and her fingers at the back of my gag were jerking and pulling for the longest time, and I felt my head snapped back and forth. Finally she succeeded in what she was trying to accomplish, she had managed to unbuckle the gag and pull the straps one notch tighter, and then rebuckle it again, then tuck the loose ends back into their tight pockets. "There!" she exclaimed, with clear satisfaction. "That's better, it was clearly too loose." I would have disagreed if I'd been able to, it had been tight before but now it was murder! I could feel the straps digging into my cheeks and neck, and my lips were pinched even tighter by the mechanism in the gag itself. Why had she done that? It was more than tight enough before. I glared at her but she only laughed at me. "I guess you really are tied up if you can't do anything to loosen your gag!"

Endless pictures were taken of me, the flashing was constant. People, mostly women, posed with me while a friend took a picture of us together. I was forced to pose in whatever position they demanded. Once I was made to rise into a kneeling position with my knees spread wide apart, while a woman cupped my genitals in her hand. Late on the first day I was surprised when a hand tugged at my boy-shorts, and looking down I saw a small knife on a keychain, and to my horror I saw the fabric of the boy-shorts come apart. Another cut on the other side, then the hand grabbed hold of the shorts and pulled them free, overcoming the tight pressure of my flesh on them. I was left completely exposed! I looked up and saw as the girl who had cut off my shorts, pitiful as they were, stepped back and rolled them up and put them into her purse, with a smile, muttering, "Nice souvenier. And you look better like this anyway, lover boy."

I spent the rest of the exhibit fully exposed. The artist never reappeared to check on me. Visitors arriving the next day and after probably had no idea that I had started out wearing shorts and wasn't so completely naked. But being so exposed did nothing to reduce the public's interest in my exhibit. More women were standing around, staring at me. There seemed to be fewer men now, and of those few men who would stick around, it seemed either they were obviously gay and found me sexually attractive (I shuddered in fear when I made eye contact with them, and this invariably was impossible to hide from them, and my visible terror only seemed to delight them more), or they were hetero and with their girlfriend and she wanted to stick around for a while. Lots of whispered conversations between young couples. Once I heard a girl say to her boyfriend, "You'd look good tied up like that. Want to try it?" I never heard his answer.

Day after day passed. I remained securely tied up and gagged. I was touched, prodded, poked, and ordered around. But I was never released. I never even heard anyone talk about releasing me, nor did I ever hear anyone even wonder about whether what was being done to me was an inhumane cruelty. It seemed clear everyone just assumed I was just part of the exhibit, just an object. No longer a person worthy of consideration. I realized there was more writing on the walls, and came to understand in time that it was an explanation that I had been tricked and kidnapped and drugged, and that I had been tied up and gagged as I was unconscious, and that I had awoken in horror and shock to discover my predicament. That explanation served only to raise doubt in the audience's minds, and I came to realize disbelief was why they were constantly trying to verify that I was really and truly tied up. But there was no hint at all of concern, that if I really was an involuntary captive that a crime was being committed right in front of their eyes. There was some sort of willing blindness at work. I came to realize that either the people didn't really believe I was an involuntary prisoner, or (much more frequently) they did believe that I was a kidnap victim, an unwilling captive, but that they just didn't give a damn. It was someone else's problem. They'd stare at me for as long as they wished, then would walk away, leaving me as much a captive as they had found me, certain in the knowledge that there was safety in numbers. If no one else was going to set me free, they were not obligated to either.

I thought perhaps someone might at least go to the authorities, perhaps the police, and tell them of my plight. But no authorities came to release me. On two different days police in uniform did arrive, and they were both female, and both alone. I saw them studying me very carefully, for a long time, and then glance around and see the writing. I watched their eyes carefully. They read my story, they understood. But they pretended they hadn't read the writing fully. Their eyes would drift away and they'd look around the room, looking for witnesses. Finding none, they turned and stared at me for a long time, but didn't come closer. And they deliberately didn't look any more at any of the writing.

Finally they'd leave, and my hopes would be dashed. The second time it happened, when the officer was turning to leave, I struggled and tried to yell, I shook my head violently. I tried in any way I could to convey that I wanted to be set free. She turned and looked at me as I struggled, but she did nothing. Finally I stopped and glared at her, and she stared back at me, and I saw the cruelty in her eyes. She knew. And she was prepared to do nothing. She then turned and walked away.

After that I sought only to preserve my dignity. I was sure now that no one would lift a finger to set me free. And anything I did to struggle or convey that I wanted to be released only attracted their fascinated attention. They soaked it up, my misery, my helplessness, my hopelessness. So all I could do was deny them their sick, voyeuristic excitement and pleasure. By remaining silent and still the gawkers would come, lose interest, and move on.
rashaverak
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Re: On Display In An Art Exhibit

Unread postby Marigold » Thu Mar 30, 2017 4:57 pm

Very good story - I've always liked the idea of long-term bondage. However, it doesn't seem that the captive was able to go to the toilet for four whole days, nor have anything to eat or drink. That's not a realistic scenario.
Marigold
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