Warning: Explicit Adult Content Ahead - 18+ Only, Read at Your Own Risk

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.

If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.

Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2013 by The Technician ( Technician666@Gmail.Com. )

Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
* * * * * * * * * * * *

It wasn't the best party I have ever attended, but it wasn't the worst. The problem was that it was one of those parties that you have to attend rather than one that you want to attend. I know, you don't have to do anything in this life except die. Everything we do is a choice we make. I know I didn't really have to come to this party or any other party. I know that ultimately, I chose to come to this party. But the only thing that got me through the door that night was to keep telling myself that I HAD to come to this party.

I didn't want to be there. The truth was that I had reluctantly agreed to come to this particular party because Shelly had batted her baby blue eyes at me and said, "Please, W. Please, please, please come to my party Saturday night." Then she gave me her Hello Kitty smile and added, "There is someone who really wants to meet you."

That alone - "somebody who really wants to meet you" - should have been sufficient reason for me to decline the invitation. But I didn't. Instead I said, "What time and what kind of party?"

She answered, "Starts at eight and it is a standard cocktail party with a bunch of mostly vanilla people from the university."

I was still not sure whether my being there was repaying a favor Shelly once did for me or storing up a favor for some future needs, but in any case, I arrived at her place around 8:30 to a room full of typical college-type professors, students and administrators. Well, typical if you factor in the fact that Shelly is an artist and most of her friends are artists. Shelly is somewhat famous - or perhaps I should say infamous - for her various "performance art" exhibits. A couple of them have even been featured on network "news magazines," and one made national headlines when it was very noisily picketed by a group calling itself "Citizens Against Pornographic Art." Shelly sent them a very nice letter thanking them for doubling the attendance at her performances that summer.

Her performance art is how I met her. She was setting up a show with a BDSM theme and sought me out as a consultant. It was entitled "I, Masochist," and was supposed to consist of a series of glass booths with naked coeds bound in different ways with various kinds of electrodes stuck onto and into their bodies. The planning drawings indicated that the girls would be wearing full coverage bondage hoods with ball gags and micro-mini G strings that were little more than thin straps that held dildo electrodes in place front and back.. It wasn't clear if the ear, eye, and mouth flaps of the bondage hoods would be open or closed.

The drawings showed large buttons on the outside of each booth that would supposedly control the electrical impulses. When you pressed the big red button, Christmas style lights wound around the girl and the booth were supposed to flash and the girl would thrash and scream convincingly. There were two other large buttons with up and down arrows on them. If you pushed the up button, the lights would flash brighter. If you pushed the down button, the lights were dimmer. There was also supposed to be a keypad with the numbers one through ten. Whatever number you pushed, that is how many times the lights would flash when you pressed the button.

Someone had referred Shelly to me. She wouldn't say who it was other than the fact that they were intimately familiar with, and highly satisfied with, my work. She contacted me and asked if I would be willing to look over the designs for the displays and make sure that they were realistic.

The drawings were very complete and very realistic. The bondage was bearable and non- destructive for a normal human body while still projecting an almost fantasy level of erotica. And most of her equipment - including the tongue and ureter electrodes that were shown on a couple of the models - could be or had already been purchased over the internet and were actually capable of doing exactly what she was showing it doing. I was impressed.

I did, however, have one question and a couple of suggestions for her. "Are you going for bondage or torture?" I asked.

"What do you mean?" she replied.

"All of your models are totally bound and gagged," I explained. "That means no safewords. If this were real, they would be totally at the mercy of the person with the button. That is - or can be - torture rather than a BDSM scene unless the sub and dom have a real understanding of each other."

I suggested that, for the sake of realism, the models have some readily apparent safeword device, perhaps a brightly colored ball that could be dropped to indicate a limit threshold. If she was truly going for realism, she might even have them drop the ball once in a while during the performance and see if the people at the controls honored the signal.

She said she would implement my idea, and then asked what else I would suggest.

"Shelly," I said, trying to sound scholarly since I was talking to a full professor. "Your concept is good..., it is very good..., and it is erotic as hell. But you are reaching out to only one of the senses."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"It's all visual," I answered. "And I don't mean just here in the drawings. The models are sealed away behind glass. All the other senses are cut off from what is happening. In the real thing, there is the smell of woman and the smell of leather and the smell of fear or arousal or both. There is the sound of the subs breathing - the little intakes and catches of breath as they attempt to go into the pain and turn it into pleasure. Even the creak of the chains and the sound of the leather rubbing against the restraints is a part of a real scene. You have cut your audience off from all of that. They might as well be watching a video screen. What you have right now is a 3D projection of a silent bondage video. At best, it is a living statue - a damned erotic living statue, but it is still only a statue and still only visual."

"What do you suggest I do?" she asked.

"I would put some holes in those plexiglass cages or use something open that looks like the bars of a cell or reinforced chicken wire. And to up the ante, I would add sound to the shock. Make it buzz or something when they deliver the shock. Don't let your audience stand there passively. Involve their bodies. Make them do more than just punch one button with one finger to cause a pulse or change the intensity. Use a big dial or handle like on a large water valve to turn the power up and down. And make it hard enough to turn that they have to use their whole hand or both hands to turn it. Have something hum or buzz softer and louder, or lower pitched and higher pitched as they make those adjustments. Then use a switch to initiate the pulses that would require that they have to use more hand and body motion than just a tap of the finger. Maybe you could have it turn like a key starting a car or pull back like a lever. Maybe even the lever could come back until an unknown release point allowed the switch to snap forward. That way, as they are pulling it back, even they wouldn't be sure when the pulses would start. All of that would pull them and their body and their mind into your display as they hear and sense and feel what they are doing or are going to do to the woman under their control."

I looked up from the drawings to see how my suggestions were being received. Shelly's mouth was open and her breath was slightly ragged. There was a light sheen of perpetration on her face. Her eyes seemed slightly out of focus.

"I was going to ask if you could visualize what I meant," I said. "But it appears obvious that you can see it in your mind and you like it."

She answered in a very deep throaty voice, "I can see it, and yes, I like it! I like it a lot!" She shook her head to disengage herself from the vision of her revised work and asked, "How much do I owe you?"

I told her that all I had given her was advices, and advice was cheap. I wouldn't charge for the consultation since I hadn't worked up any drawings or gotten bids or done any of the typical pre-production stuff I would normally do for a client. My only charge would be a pass to the exhibit some time during its run.

She thanked me, and I thought that would be

Explore my other stories

THE END