They had drugged me again. It must have been the water ... but did it really matter?
I evaluated my situation: the tongue clamp was back in place. I was bound with a rough textured rope. My legs were hiked up to my chest, my knees spread wide apart. My arms tied firmly to the sides of my body, my breasts protruded obscenely from their rope cage. Only my head, hands and feet were not constrained.
I could only move my head, hands and feet, I could hear movements around me, but I couldn't see. There seemed to be a white film over my eyes. A veil ... I had a veil over my face, but why a veil and not a blindfold?
After a minute or so, my eyes adjusted to the filmy covering and I was able to make out people in various stages of dress and undress walking or standing around the huge, totally white room. Everything was white --- the furniture, carpeting and, of course the people wearing white. I noted that some, but not all of these strangers wore white masks that effectively hid their identities, at least from me.
"This isn't a triple-x theater, it's a gallery." a woman said. She sounded irritated.
A gallery? I looked around me, but there were no art or sculptures. Then it hit me. I was being looked at as an object of erotic art! I felt the humiliation flood over me as I realized I was being exhibited to a room full of strangers.
I heard an all too familiar sound and turned to my left. A man groaned as he thrust into a woman bent in front of him. Her skin tight, white dress had been shimmied up around her waist. Her blotchy red face was the first color disparity I'd seen since opening my eyes. Instinctively I knew she'd been slapped around before bending over.
To my right was a full-figured woman, completely naked and uncovered save her masked face. A spotlight shone on the folds and ripples that spilled out of the ropes tying her to a steel frame. Her ample belly nearly covered her mound, and a tattoo of a gecko matched the green of the veins on one of her pendulous breasts. A fat Asian woman knelt and squeezed one of her massive thighs.
"Bigger around than I am," she said to her companion, a woman very much like the woman tied to the steel frame. She kissed her companion and squeezed her voluminous hips. "That is how I want you to get for me."
I grunted into my gag, thinking the statement rude.
A long, muffled groan made me look a little beyond the fat woman and across the room to see a man on his hands and knees. His legs were splayed wide apart, and there was a white sheet draped over his upper back preventing me from seeing his face at all.
An androgynous young woman in a porkpie hat and skinny jeans was handling his formidable testicles. She jiggled them in her hands as he fidgeted, and then squeezed them causing him to scream. Even though my vision wasn't the best, I could clearly see the man's thick, but stubby cock bobbing beyond his balls. What I could see of the woman's face was serious, but the color on her cheeks was high with arousal. It was bizarre to see a woman handling the man's nuts that viciously, but the man clearly wanted to be womanhandled that way.
Beyond the odd couple, someone's feet dangled over the edge of a table with their ankles tied together. I couldn't tell whether it was a young man or a woman, since everything but their feet were covered. The soles flexed in their own spotlight, and the long, knobby toes wiggled as a chubby man pulled his stiff cock from his trousers and used it to tickle the soles of each foot.
Then someone touched me.
"You're sure she's okay with this?" a female voice asked with concern.
"She is an object on display, Margo. She's waiting here ready to be used."
"You aren't serious, Adrian, are you?"
Ask her."
"But...."
"Yes, the tongue-clamp means she can't speak. See how wide and wet her tongue is? See how the saliva dripping from it makes her breasts glisten?"
"Is it ... painful?"
"Of course, to some degree at any rate. But the vital thing other than keeping her from speaking is that the pressure of the clamp keeps her attention on the soft sensitive tissue of her tongue over which she has surrendered all control."
"But her tongue is sticking through it."
"It's designed to do so; see the gag is a kind of bridle through which she has forced her tongue. The gag holds her tongue at full extension."
"It looks painful and barbaric."
"Perhaps it is. But it makes me want to stroke my thumb across the surface of her tongue.
"EWE!" Margo gasped in disgust.
"Squat down," Adrian said, "and look into her eyes. Get closer. Close enough to suck the tip of her tongue into your mouth. What do you see?"
Margo crouched in front of me. She wore a short, form-fitting black dress. From my vantage point, if one would call it that, I can glimpse her thigh-highs and the tiniest of thongs. I can also smell her sweat and sense her excitement. She is younger than me, with perfect skin that I want to lick.
She must know that by squatting thusly she's exposing herself to anyone caring to look her way. I file away the fact that Margo is an exhibitionist and then wait to see what else she has to tell me.
Slowly, deliberately, she makes eye contact with me, and then whispers so that Adrian cannot hear. "I know you're a person ... like me. You're naked and drooling ... why let them do this to you?"
I blink my eyes in response. She can take it to mean whatever she wants. I don't care what she thinks.
Her boyfriend, or whatever, picked that moment to squat alongside Marge and makes contact with my shoulder.
"See," he said, reaching out and taking the tip of my tongue between his finger and thumb and turned my face toward his. "She's responsive," he says releasing my tongue and flicking the saliva I'd drooled on his fingers toward the floor.
Margo brushed some stray hair back from her forehead.
"You do want to be used, don't you ..." he paused and read something out of my field of vision. "Emily?" he said.
Nametag? I'm thinking and then realizing I've been spoken too, I look at Adrian and nod. Adrian stood up. Margo remained squatting, torn between her lust and conscience; seeming to wrestle with the latter before nodding as I had and saying: "She didn't say no. That's makes it okay, right?"
"One can assume so, Margo."
"And she, err... likes women?"
Adrian laughed and said, "You told me over dinner that pretty young women get you off. Have you changed your mind, Margo?"
"No, I haven't."
I felt a twinge of heat between my legs and saw a pair of hands obviously belonging to two separate people; one male, one female both massaging my vaginal lips. I heard Margo whispering excitedly, but couldn't see because the veil impaired my vision when looking down.
Margo's voice became more distinct: "How exquisite! Can you see how the inner labia have swelled and gone from pearly pink to almost red?"
Someone, I guessed the Adrian, tugged. A more delicate fingertip circled my opening. "Her entrance is so narrow; but watch how easily it accepts ...."
Her fingers stretched me open. I was tied so well I could barely fidget, but I tightened around the probing fingers. The sheet rippled against my soles.
Another man entered my space and chuckled. "Why is it so much hotter now that she's being touched? My hard on just went from semi to raging."
A fleeting memory flashed before me of being given an enema earlier, but only bits and pieces of the memory made any sense. The drugs, I told myself.
I heard footsteps, and a different hand touched above my opening. "You're talking all this artsy shit, but I'd bet this is the reason she's here." He pinched the silky skin covering my clit and stroked me there several times until I was groaning into my gag.
"It's a mouthful to say the least," he said. "Can I suck it?" he whispered to someone close by.
"No, hands only, I'm afraid," Another male voice, this one with a foreign accent. He sounded older. To my surprise, he lifted the veil covering my face and I could see my surroundings clearly.
Margo was fairly tall and slender. Like most of the others, she wore a white mask. Adrian turned out to be a very fashionably dressed man whose beauty made me gasp.
An equally young and beautiful woman in a white backless gown was tugging her man toward the bottom half of a man whose upper torso was mostly hidden under another woman's gown. But his uniquely curved penis had apparently drawn the couple to him like moths to a flame.
Sweat pooled on the hard surface underneath me. Adrian placed his index finger against my anus and shoved.
"Must you be so crude, Adrian?" Margo said. "This is why I came here. Why the hell hide it?" he responded.
Ignoring the finger up my ass, I looked over at the man with his penis being displayed. His cock curved sharply up, and his knob flashed purple underneath his companion's palm. Her painted lips were parted, her nipples hard.
"If you'll allow me to interrupt," a third man with a Bostonian accent said, "erotica is meant to arouse. There's nothing wrong with his reaction to this young lady's ... unique endowments. You must realize these exhibits are meant to be interactive to a degree."
"That is what I talk about," the foreign accent said hotly. A hot finger pressed into my clit.
"With all due respect to the Association, this appears to be nothing more than a cheap excuse for a sex club," the Boston accent said.
I was listening to every word being uttered around me. But after having a finger in my anus and another teasing my clitoris, I was in heat. Glancing across the room I spied a chubby woman and a tall blond man with thick black eyeglass frames, openly fondling her now glossy breasts, one of which was fully exposed; while three or four fingers pushed in and out of her hairy pussy.
"Bullshit, Margo," Adrian said.
"Bullshit? Are you really going to claim that this is art?"
"Yes it is!" he insisted.
"Do you usually finger the asses of the sculptures at the Guggenheim?"
