Party Favor 22

This story was hard to categorize. It contains a bound man being fucked by a fucking machine and some minor ass play by the woman who puts him there. Other than that, it's all sexual discussion, mind games, and thoughts. But for those who might not enjoy some of the scenarios included - there's minor Femdom, Sissy talk, Trans on Woman, and Trans on man content (for lack of a better description)

It's a fairly long one and may not contain as much sex as some of my other stories, but it kind of just wrote itself as I started typing.

Hope you like it.

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The music pounding in my ears and the hood over my head obliterated the sounds of the room and people around me. It also muted the sounds of my voice and partially impeded my ability to breathe.

But that was the point, wasn't it. I'm a fixture, not a person. I'm not here to interact with people. I'm an art installation. A theatrical commentary by the host of the party, who I will likely never met or even know her identity.

But the help wanted ad in the local paper was like a calling card from heaven. I thought it was a joke when I read it. No one could possibly be willing to pay someone for that, could they?

I read it over and over. Coming back to it hour after hour. Minute by minute, the thought crushing my curiosity. Could it be real? Yet it was, and now here I am - sexually explicit art.

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It was a simple ad, no large print, or highlights. Just simple want ad text, but the words consumed me.

Wanted: Male model to be the center piece of a nude, theatrical, sexually explicit art installation for a private party. Model must be thin, fit, with no identifying tattoos or other markings, and over 21. You'll be bound, standing for multiple hours, with a hood over your head for anonymity and isolation. Your ears will be plugged with noise cancelling earbuds playing music and sexually explicit content. For further details, please contact...

Naked and bound in a room full of people, but completely anonymous! Could it be real? How many times had I dreamed of walking through the park at night naked and exposed? My face turned crimson and my cock got hard just thinking about it.

And "sexually explicit art installation" - what could that even mean? Was it some sort of code? Were they looking for a prostitute or an escort for their guests to have sex with?

Again and again, I tossed the paper on the table and walked away. Over and over I returned and re-read the ad.

Fear and anxiety prevented me from calling. But my desire to be displayed and humiliated kept bringing me back. Eventually I blocked caller ID on my cellphone and called the number.

"Hello?" I croaked into the phone when they answered. "I'm calling about the art installation ad in the paper."

I could almost feel the smile on the other end as they let several seconds pass before replying.

A business-like female voice responded. "Oh, yes. Thank you for calling. Do you have experience as a nude model?"

"Um, No." I stutter. "But it sounds very interesting, and well..." I trail off unsure of myself.

"I see." She responded. "Listen. Normally, I'd politely suggest this wasn't really something for a beginner, but frankly, the respondents to date have been, shall we say, undesirable, and I'm getting concerned about filling the position. How about I tell you the details, and you see if you're still interested. Does that sound good to you?"

"Um. Yeah. That would be great," I gushed. "I really was calling to get details. The ad left a lot to the imagination."

"Yes, well when you hear the details, you'll understand why," she quipped. "So here's the rundown."

"My client is planning an art installation that will show a male model being slowly fucked by a dildo on the end of a fucking machine surrounded by a standard office cubical setting. It's supposed to be a commentary on how office workers, even men, are fucked over by corporate overlords." She sighed heavily and continued.

"Personally, knowing her and her crowd, I don't buy her synopsis. But as long as both parties are in agreement and no laws are broken, I don't judge, I just procure results."

"Anyway," she continued. "You will be roped off and away from the guests, so no one can touch or interact with you. Your legs would be spread, with a spreader bar, at a width that is comfortable for you, but I've been asked to make sure you're comfortable with at least two and a half feet of width. Your hands will be bound to a high-back office chair so you can use it to rest against if you get fatigued or need support should you orgasm. You can choose the size of the dildo that will be used. And the pay will be $200 per hour for four hours. But there are no breaks of any kind for that four hours, so for gods sake, make sure you're able to stand for four hours and that you can go without bathroom breaks for that long. And the gig is Saturday night, 8 pm to Midnight, three days from now. Does that cover all your questions?" She paused and waited.

I was stunned and completely at a loss for words. My hand was down my pants and stroking my rock hard cock.

"Hello? Are you still there?" She queried.

I shook my head and tried to respond. "Um, yeah. I'm still here. I..." Was this really legit? "I..."

"Look." She breathed exasperated. "Are you interested. Or are you just another freak calling to get your rocks off."

"No, no, I'm interested. But it just seems so..." Fuck how could I put this?"

"So, sleazy?" She filled in dryly.

"No, no. That's not it. I'm just worried that..." Fuck, I was screwing this up. "Well, it just seems hard to believe this is legit or legal." I blurted.

She didn't respond. Fuck! I'd screwed it up. Then we both spoke at once a few times, until I got out. "Please, I'm sorry. Go ahead."

"Listen." She breathed out slowly. "This is a weird situation and while I've procured some pretty weird shit in my days, this is a first for me too."

She paused, then continued. "I can assure you this is a legitimate gig, and you'll be safe and unmolested. The last thing my client wants is bad press or lawsuits. This is a private party, at a private residence, so as long as there's no sexual intercourse, it's a legitimate modeling gig and not prostitution."

I breathed out heavily on the phone. It was legit. It was really legit. My chest heaved and swelled as I processed this incredible offer.

"So are you interested?" She queried deftly.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Interested! My mouth was watering at the idea. I wanted this so bad, I'd pay them. My mind was reeling.

"Uh, I..." But what if I got hard or had an orgasm. Fuck! I paused again.

"Look." She replied. "It sounds like your interested, but perhaps worried about your identity. I can guarantee, that if you have no identifying marks, no one, but myself, will know your identity. And I can up the fee to $250 per hour, if that would help."

$250! Fuck! $1000 to get fucked in public anonymously. "Okay!" I gushed, before I could chicken out again.

"Awesome. You're a lifesaver." She enthused. "And you're available this coming Saturday night, right?"

"Yes, yes. Saturday night is fine."

"And you think you can stand and get fucked for four hours? I mean, that's a pretty tall order...?"

Now she was questioning if she was making the right choice. I needed to sell her on my skills and ability.

"As long as the machine isn't going too fast, I should be okay. But, um, what about my penis? I mean, what if I should, you know, orgasm or get an erection? Is that something they want to see?" My face was crimson and glowing from shame. I'd dropped my pants and was actively stroking my cock from the humiliation I felt.

"Oh, shit. I forgot to mention the cage. She wants you in a chastity cage for the duration. Is that gonna be a problem? You'd need..."

I dropped my phone on my desk face down, muting it, while I blew a load all over my hand and office chair. A fucking chastity cage and fucking machine in public. Oh, my, fucking, god.

I regained my breathe and picked up the phone. "Sorry, I dropped my phone. What were you saying about a chastity cage?"

She paused for a second. I think she knew what really happened, but couldn't be sure. My face turned even redder.

"I was saying, that you'd need to bring your own cage, since we wouldn't have time to work out sizing between now and Saturday - but I'm guessing that won't be a problem, will it?" Her voice was now dripping with sarcasm. I was busted and we both knew it.

"Uh... Um... I... Ah..." My heart was in my throat and my cock was getting hard again. My entire body was crimson from humiliation.

"Oh for god sake, stop stuttering. You just blew your load when I said chastity cage. So you're obviously into it. Now, bringing your own cage won't be a problem, right?" Her voice had become commanding and stern.

My youthful programming took over. "No, no problem. I can bring a cage." My mother was a strict disciplinarian and the voice of a commanding woman turned me into a cowering little bitch.

"Great," she responded dismissively. "Just make sure you bring one."

"What about clothing?" I asked. Hoping they'd want me to wear something sleazy or tantalizing.

"Well, you'd be nude, so whatever street clothes you want to wear will be fine." She answered.

"Oh," I pouted. "Okay."

"Oh, I see." She bemused throatily. "You were hoping for something more provocative, right? Perhaps along the lines of bondage gear, or maybe something a little more feminine?"

Fuck! My skin was on fire I was so red from shame. "Yes." I croaked into the phone feebly.

"Well, we hadn't discussed that. But I can say with reasonable certainty that feminine would definitely interest my client, if that's of interest to you. If you could send me images of the attire or better yet, you wearing the attire, I could check with her. But no face or identifying details in the photos. Does that sound reasonable?"

I fucking near stood up and danced I was so happy. Anonymously fucked in public wearing a chastity cage and maybe, if I was lucky, in heels and lingerie. How could it get any fucking better!

We hammered out the details, and where I was to meet her on Saturday, so she could take me to her clients home. I'd be paid half up front once I signed the modeling forms on Saturday and the remainder once the gig was finished.

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On Saturday, the cab dropped me off in front of a nondescript building just outside of the affluent section of the city. There was no external signage on the building or any windows, and the only external door had a small sign that simply said Elite Procurement, with a buzzer beside the door. I pressed the intercom and waited.

"Yes?" I recognized the voice from the phone call.

"Hi, this is Nate, I mean Nathaniel, I'm here for the... art project tonight. Is this Mariel?"

The door lock buzzed, and I entered, carrying my bag. The door closed behind me, and I found myself in a concrete stairwell. The stairs led up, so that's where I went.

I opened the door at the top of the stairs, stepping into a lobby that made me feel like I'd entered another realm. The opulence and decor were beyond next level. Deep, lush carpets. Expensive art and sculptures. Luxurious wall paneling. An aquarium that must have been 10 feet wide and 8 feet high occupied a small portion of the back wall, and rich, vibrant flowering plants were everywhere.

The ceiling was 12 to 14 feet over my head and subdued recessed lighting warmly highlighted what appeared to be massive solid mahogany beams separating sections of fresco-painted ceiling, also lit by the recessed lighting. I got the sense that the paintings told the story of human history, but they were abstract, and I didn't have time to study them.

A slim, attractive woman about my height stood 8 feet to my right, smiling at me. No one else was in sight. She was of Asian descent, possibly Chinese, but definitely mixed with European, perhaps Nordic ancestry as well.

"Mariel?" I queried quietly, and my voice seemed to be sucked up by the lavish environment.

"Nate! Right on time! Welcome to Elite Procurement. We're the only ones still here, so please relax. And don't worry about discussing the job. But thank you for your wording over the intercom, very astute of you." She moved toward me with her hand outstretched.

I took her dainty hand and shook it. I'm slim and slightly built, but my hand seemed to dwarf hers. She was nearly as tall as me, but as she moved toward me, I noticed she was wearing 2-inch platform heels under her navy blue wide-leg pantsuit. She couldn't have been more than 5 feet tall if that.

Her black hair was pulled up on top of her head in a bun, and she wore expensive designer glasses and subdued makeup. Her white blouse was buttoned to the collar, showing no skin, and her look screamed high-level corporate exec. But her smile was warm and inviting, putting me somewhat at ease.

Her age was a mystery to me. Based on her face and glowing pale skin, I'd say she was in her early 20s, but her posture, clothing, and presence suggested mid-30s at least.

But it was her eyes that captivated me. Almond shaped and highlighted to perfection by pinkish-bronze eyeshadow and thin black eyeliner. Her hazel irises sat like obsidian pools in the porcelain whites of her eyes, framed by perfectly sculpted, short, medium-width black brows that seemed to have the same hint of red that glowed in the hair on her head - or perhaps the red was an effect of the lighting...

I released her hand sheepishly, having held it and her gaze for far too long, and looked around, still stunned by the environment in which I was standing. I'd never seen anything like it. It was right out of a movie set.

She smiled at me knowingly. "Sorry, you had to use the service entrance. Not many of our clients actually visit the office, but when they do, they enter via the garage, so the street entrance is only used by couriers."

"No problem," I replied. Their clients almost never came to the office, but the office looked like this? If off-hand visits required this level of excess, who the fuck were their clients?

"So, let's get the paperwork sorted and get you ready." She smiled, and when I smiled back, she turned and headed for a hallway to the right.

I followed her for 30 yards until we reached a door with her first name emblazoned in 5-inch gold lettering. There was no indication of rank, title, or last name, just her name, MARIEL.

She opened the door, and my jaw dropped. I didn't think it was possible, but it was even more stunning than the lobby, and the contrast was just as shocking.

Her office was exquisite. The walls were bright white, with light, warm maple flooring and matching ceiling panels broken up by large white beams. The desk was maple and green-tinted glass, with a small white leather chair. Behind her desk, holding pictures, sculptures, and other art objects, was a massive wall unit of maple and chrome. In the center of the room, two large white leather sofas faced one another across a massive maple coffee table on an ivory Persian rug with indigo and gold patterns.

Warm recessed lighting lit the room to perfection, but it was the outer wall of the building that captivated me. It was the Grand Canyon, and it was live! There were birds flying, trees swaying, and I could hear the wind. It was obviously a TV screen of some sort, but it was huge. It must have been 20 feet long and 10 feet high. It was floor-to-ceiling and wall-to-wall, with no visible seams. Her office decor probably cost more than my condo.

She was standing by one of the sofas, looking at me. She appeared vibrant and almost proud. "I never tire of people seeing my window on the world for the first time. Most of the other staff spent their office decoration budget on expensive art and furniture. I spent mine on this baby. Do you like it?"

"It's mind-blowing," I replied in a whisper as I slowly walked toward her, mesmerized by the scene on the TV.

"I've only got 3 scenes so far, but I'm getting ready to purchase more. The hard part used to be getting video with high enough resolution for the wall. It's created using a matrix of multiple cameras mounted on a tripod and stitched together in post processing. The resolution is something like 30k x 15k using experimental and very proprietary hardware from one of my satisfied clients. That's about as well as I understand it, but you gotta love the results!"

"What else do you have?" I queried

"The other two are the gardens of Versailles and a remote beach in Bora Bora. I'd love to show it off, but unfortunately, we don't have time. Come sit." And she patted the seat beside her.

I sat down beside her, and she slid a thin stack of papers in front of me. "This is a modified modeling contract. It stipulates that you agree to be part of an art installation for 4 hours, during which you will be penetrated by an artificial phallus, simulating sex. No interaction is permitted between you and/or any of the guests at the event. Your compensation is to be $250/hr for the duration, and a stipend may be forthcoming if the employer is pleased with your performance, but it is not guaranteed. Under no circumstances are you permitted to talk to the guests, and there will be security on hand to ensure the guests do not try to interact with you." She paused and looked at me.

I simply nodded and replied, "Okay."

"Good. In addition, you should try to remain as motionless and silent as possible. But it's understood that should you orgasm, that may... not be possible, so allowances will be tolerated, and shall we say, fluids dropping to the floor are... foreseen." She smiled at me knowingly and almost mischievously.

I turned red but smiled back and replied. "Understood."

"Okay, so read through it and put one of these stickers beside anything you don't understand or that concerns you. I'm gonna grab a coffee. Do you want anything? You really need to make sure you're hydrated, but you also don't want to need bathroom breaks, so..." And she trailed off.

"Water, please." I smiled and picked up the contract.

Mariel headed out of her office, and I started reading. The contract was in layman's terms and pretty straightforward. It said I would be nude, so I put one of the stickers by that. It also stated forfeiture of payment if the performer breaks character, so I put another sticker by that.

There were only 4 pages, so by the time I finished, Mariel had returned with my water and her coffee. I took the unopened bottle of "Voss" water, which I knew was expensive shit, and cracked the bottle. I took a swig, and as I expected, it tasted like water, causing me to shrug and shake my head in amusement.

"Yeah, I know. It's water, right?" Mariel chuckled, realizing why I was amused. "So, I see some stickers; let's see what you got."

"Right, nude. I talked with the client and showed her the images you sent, and she was delighted. You'll be wearing pantyhose, but your genitalia and buttocks will still be visible, so it would be hard to argue that you're not nude in court. However, if you'd like, we can write in, 'except for lingerie,' and both initial the change."

"No, that's fine. It's not like I could walk down the street dressed like that." And I turned red again. It was kind of surreal talking to a beautiful woman about this.

"Okay, so next, yeah, if you hadn't highlighted 'break character,' I would have gone over it anyway, so I'm glad you saw it. It shows you actually read the contract. In essence, you're being paid to be a piece of art. A living statue. Unmoving. Silent. You understand this, right?"

"Yeah, of course," I replied.

"So, if you start moving around, or try talking, or do anything other than... Well, let's just cut to the chase. You're to stand, leaning against/on an office chair, and get fucked in the ass by a fucking machine. You're allowed to orgasm and moan from an orgasm, but that's about it. No bathroom breaks. No timeouts for pain or discomfort. 4 hours of getting fucked! If you have to stop for any reason, or if you do anything other than stand there and get fucked, you're breaking character."