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My Body
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
I don't know who wrote this; my hat is off to whoever did. Please enjoy.
The following story includes some fairly extreme body piercing and one brief
"golden shower" incident. If that offends you, please hit 'n' now.
--the Wonderbitch
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 cieling. 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 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 secrue, 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 creshendo, 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
galery 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 delecate, 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 drousyness 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 o like a jungle gym, n someonemust 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 agressive girl," Ed said, very quietly, while Tom
continued to look at my face. "You've done something very agressive,"
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 detatchment 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 fr 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 finge to his lips as I slid free, so I idn't say anything.
He kissed me gently on the lis, 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?"
--
I will ignore all requests for: reposts, e-mailing missing parts, archive
locations, ftp sites, gif sites, and subscription requests. These stories get
deleted immediately after they are posted. For more info on the ARCHIVE
postings, read the FAQ posted bi-monthly to a.s.s.d
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