I really didn't want to go but my best friend, Holly, insisted it would be a lot of fun. I guess I'm kind of old fashioned about accepting alternative this and alternative that. Especially when it involves some of what passes for art these days. Because it just seems to more of an excuse to do and see things most people would be too embarrassed to be involved with if it wasn't considered "artistic". So there I was with Holly for the opening of a new art gallery that promised to "challenge our senses". Whatever the heck that means. The first exhibit was called "Asserting Our Sexual Equality" and it was so shocking to see that I told Holly I wanted to leave. But she convinced me they probably do it on purpose to grab everyone's attention. Well it certainly did that and more, if you ask me. There were three very attractive nude girls standing over an equally attractive naked guy with their feet straddling him on either side. The guy was laying on a tarp under them and his penis was fully erect! Although the actual performance art didn't begin until the girls started urinating on his body as he masturbated. It was a very disturbing sight to witness. But what alarmed me even more was that the longer I watched the dreadful presentation the more turned on I felt. Apparently Holly wasn't affected by it in the same way as me since she insisted we move onto the next one. As we rounded the corner I could feel my face blushing because I immediately recognized the two females in an exhibit called "Mother and Child". The older lady was a checker at the grocery store around the corner from my home where I shopped at least once or twice a week. The younger woman also worked at the same store in the deli section and even though I didn't know them by name, I've chatted with both many times. The older woman was cradling the younger one on her lap in an oversized rocking chair and it looked at though she was breastfeeding the girl. The checker was fully dressed in age appropriate clothes with her shirt unbuttoned like a mother would need to do to feed her baby. But the younger woman was wearing nothing except a diaper and a baby bonnet on her head. There was a large crowd gathered around the small stage holding the rocking chair so Holly and I just stayed in the back. Except after a few minutes the "mother" saw me and when she recognized me she starting waving. She then said something to her "child" and the younger woman stopped breastfeeding long enough to seek me out and do the same. Everyone turned around to see who they were waving at and there I was politely waving back. I knew it probably took all of five seconds for this to take place but I felt like it took closer to five excruciatingly long minutes. As soon as the girl resumed breastfeeding and I was no longer the center of attention, I tugged on Holly's arm hard enough to drag her away from the area. Next we found ourselves in front of an empty stage with a sign overhead that announced this seemingly deserted exhibit was called "I Don't Want To Do This!" But what I though was more interesting was the number of people who were milling around, as though they were trying to decide if the stage was deliberately empty for a reason. And also the purpose for the colorful and exotic looking rope hanging down from the ceiling above the stage. For me it was the safest and most enjoyable exhibit of the eight we had visited so far. Just as Holly and I were about to move on the artist suddenly appeared and stepped up onto the stage. So we decided to stay and see what it was going to be about. He told us that his art form is so shocking it will very likely be considered extremely controversial. He then asked for a volunteer from the audience. A young man who appeared to be in his late teens and covered with tattoos raised his hand to say he would be happy to help. The artist thanked him but said it would be much more effective if the volunteer was an attractive woman in her early forties. Then he pointed right at me and asked if I would join him onstage. As flattered as I was to be considered both hot and forty-ish, I had no intention of getting up on that stage in front of a group of complete strangers. I shook my head no and dropped my gaze to the floor to break off eye contact with the man. I felt Holly nudging my arm as she loudly encouraged me "to go on up there and have a bit of fun, for christs sake!" I really wanted to kill my best friend for embarrassing me like that. Then when I heard her yelling "she says she'll do it!" followed by everyone clapping I shot daggers at her with my eyes. I still can't remember actually walking through the crowd or even stepping up on the stage but I must have done it because I was suddenly looking out at almost two dozen smiling faces. The artist, an exceptionally handsome man in his late twenties or early thirties, asked me my name and I knew I had to make one up. There was no way in hell I wanted anyone to connect me to that place if there was any way for me to avoid it. So I told him my name was Cassandra because I've always loved Greek literature. But I had totally forgotten about the name's more obscure meaning. I immediately wanted to change my assumed name to one without the connotations that Cassandra had. Except it was already too late for me to do it because the artist was asking everyone to "Please welcome Cassandra!" When I realized that I was unconsciously holding my arms over my breasts, I knew it was mistake to let Holly talk me into wearing the blouse she had given me for Christmas. The blouse is something I would never have felt comfortable buying, let alone wearing, but she thought I needed to dress sexier to show off my nice figure. "Guys are going to be buying you drinks all night long," was her way of telling me how risqué and provocative the blouse looked on me. And since the thing was practically see-through she had also convinced me to wear the matching lacey camisole bra under it. I had no idea where my coat was until I saw Holly holding it for me. I silently vowed to myself to get her back for everything she was doing to me just as soon as we got the hell out of this porn shop disguised as a so-called art gallery. The artist asked me if I would be comfortable if he placed a blindfold over my eyes. As much as I wanted to tell him there is no effing way I'll let him do that, I instead just nodded my head. He produced a long black satin scarf from his suit coat pocket and proceeded to bring it towards my face until suddenly everything became dark. The last thing I saw was everyone having a great time watching him and especially the way Holly winked at me and applauded. You don't really appreciate how much your sight affects your attitude until it's gone. One minute I can see and I'm nervous as hell and then the very next minute I sense myself calming and I'm actually starting to enjoy being a part of the performance. I then felt the handsome young artist unfolding my arms from over my chest and I didn't resist at all when he put them down at my sides. "Everyone, you have to admit that this is one incredibly sexy body...woman...up on the stage with me. Right?!" I could hear all the people clapping and shouting out their agreement and for the first time since I was in college, I liked the idea that men were leering at me. But what really surprised me was how wet I was getting. Especially when I realized that it wasn't just the male voices I could hear yelling how hot and desirable I was. One woman even called me "sooo totally fuckable"! I both hated and loved how that made my knees and hands unexpectedly tremble with excitement. The artist said he agree with her as he wrapped something soft around my left wrist. I couldn't tell what it was until he brought my hands together in front of me and then began to wrap whatever it was around my right wrist as well. That's when I put it together; he was tying my wrists with the rope I had seen hanging down from the ceiling. "I don't want to do this," I whispered hoping no one could hear me except him. "I really don't want to do this anymore!" "She is telling me that she doesn't want to do this!" the artist announced to the people crowded around us. Everyone again started to applaud and laugh and that's when I remembered the name of the exhibit I had become a part of. Not just a part of it though, I was the whole point of it. Before I was able to comprehend what I'd gotten myself into...what fucking Holly had gotten me into...it was too late. My wrists were securely bound together and were being pulled upwards. I wanted to scream and demand that I be released immediately but another part of me, one I never even knew existed, wanted it to continue. So I remained quiet but my heart was pounding so hard in my chest that I could hear the thunder of my pulse. I just kept telling myself to have some fun with it because what's the worse thing that can happen in a room filled with people? Once my hands and wrists were pulled high above my head I assumed the artist would give some convoluted and meaningless justification for doing what he was in the name of art. Then my hands will be lowered and I would be untied and free to leave. And I would forever be able to hold this over Holly's head because I was the one who actually went up on stage while she hid out in the back of the room. My best friend who was supposed to be so sexually liberated and kinky that she had gone to bed with more men and women than I even know. And probably will ever know. Yet she wasn't brave enough or open-minded enough to be tied up on a stage in front of dozens of strangers. Ha! I am going to love rubbing it in every chance I get, I decided. I also knew I will be spending hour after hour with my favorite vibrator between my thighs remembering exactly how turned on I felt with my hands over my head while men were lusting after my body. The artist didn't say anything however. Instead I was instantly aware of something or someone fumbling around with the buttons on the front of my blouse. The damn thing was so flimsy though I couldn't be sure, but, I could swear he was undoing them. It wasn't until I felt him stop, fumble, and then move down to the next one that I suddenly knew for a fact that he was indeed unbuttoning my blouse! "Stop!" I shouted out not caring if anyone could hear, "Whatever you think you're doing I want you to stop it right this second!" Except he just ignored me and I quickly felt the front of my blouse being opened to great applause. How was this possible that this man on stage with me had just exposed my sexy camisole to everyone in the room and not a single person came to my aid? What kind of sick minds let a man practically undress an older woman after he has bound her wrists together so she is completely helpless to stop him? "You need to let me go right now," I demanded. "I'm not consenting to what you are doing and if you don't free me this second I will notify the authorities!" "What do you all think?" he asked the crowd, "Should I let her go or should I continue?" I was certain someone would also demand that this had gone far enough and it was time for him to release me. So the shock I felt when I heard the voice of my best friend, the woman I have known since the first grade, was like someone had just punched me in the gut. "She has an amazing rack and I've always wanted to see her tits! Show me her tits! Show us her tits!" The crowd followed Holly's lead and quickly everyone was chanting in unison, "Show us her tits! Show us her tits!" I was utterly astounded by this for two reasons. I felt not only betrayed by my best friend, but by every woman present who was screaming to see my bare breasts. Except it wasn't just Holly I was upset with, I was also mad at the way my own body was betraying me. I couldn't believe how soaked my panties had become or the sinfully delicious way they felt clinging to my pussy. My first reaction was to kick my foot out hoping to connect with his shin and emphasize to the cretin how serious I was about being released from this involuntary "performance". So I did exactly that except I quickly discovered just how difficult it is to kick or knee a man when your hands are pulled high above you while you are balanced precariously on pumps with three inch heels. Which I was wearing thanks solely to another insistent suggestion from Holly. The damn shoe on my foot went flying across the room and thudded against a wall. Some man who was standing closest to it where it landed on the floor picked it up and proudly announced to everyone he now had a wonderful souvenir to take home. Those damn stiletto-heeled shoes cost me over three hundred fucking dollars and that asshole thinks he gets to keep one of them?! I was so angry that without even thinking I kicked out again with my other foot only to have the exact same outcome as the first time! I missed my intended target and heard the shoe land on the floor only to hear a woman's voice also proclaiming that she too now had a keepsake of the performance. By reacting to my situation so irrationally and in anger I suddenly found myself swinging back and forth on the balls of my feet and my toes. I had accomplished nothing more than to provide two of the assholes enjoying my humiliation with very expensive leather trophies. But I was quickly learning something about myself I never knew - the combination of rage, fear and feeling utterly helpless are very powerful aphrodisiacs. The idea that everything which was happening to me was also turning me on scared the crap out of me. I had no intention of allowing the orgasm I could feel growing inside my loins to continue to build so I tried to will it away. Except the more I concentrated on doing exactly that the stronger it grew. I wanted to cry and beg for this performance to stop but I just could not bring myself to do it. A secret part of me was finally escaping the prison I thought I'd safely banished it to many years ago. I had seen what pursuing sexual pleasure with unbridled enthusiasm had done to my older sister and Holly and I wanted nothing to do with it. I needed to keep my desires under my control. That's why I preferred using a vibrator because then I would always be the one who is fully in charge of my passion. The few sexual partners I've had were carefully selected for their passiveness and deference to me in the bedroom. And yet there I was being aroused and stimulated against my will. I was being led to the edge of a cliff and I was afraid I was about to be pushed off. In front of a roomful of people! That damn crowd of perverts would not shut up and kept yelling to see my breasts. I felt something cool and metallic against my skin as it slowly moved up my back. Once it had arrived between my shoulder blades it stopped and both my camisole and my blouse suddenly felt strangely looser on me. It wasn't until he began cutting the sleeves of my blouse with the knife that I realized exactly what was happening. I was being treated as nothing more than a cheap stage prop for his twisted little performance and for the amusement of everyone who encouraged him on. He took his time cutting my top and bra away to ensure he would get maximum mileage from this very illegal and immoral strip show he had orchestrated. With the full approval and encouragement of all the other participants, including my dearest friend in the world. As much as I desperately wanted to twist and struggle hoping to delay my impending unveiling from the waist up I was too afraid. The knife was too sharp and so close I couldn't risk it slipping and injuring me. At least that's what I kept telling myself over and over as I hung passively while pieces of my clothing fell to the stage. I knew everyone in the room could see my bare breasts now and they had gotten exactly what they had been demanding. But what really alarmed me was also knowing they could clearly see how hard my nipples were in spite of the warmness of the air. I felt his body pressing against me from behind as he reached around and cupped my breasts with his hands. He began to squeeze and massage them, pushing them up and together only to release them and then mash them under his hands again. He took my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and pulled and pinched and twisted them. And the entire time this prick kept thanking Holly for her tip, telling her that my "nice, full tits are without a doubt the best ones" he has ever molested. My pussy throbbed and contracted with hunger and desire. For the first time in my life I was actually aware of how hard my clit was. I honestly was starting to worry because of the way my heart was pounding and how difficult it was to suck enough air into my lungs. It was as if I had just run a marathon race and yet I hadn't moved an inch from the stage. "Please let me go now...please let me go," I pleaded uselessly, "Haven't you done enough? You got the cheap fucking thrill you wanted. Please, I don't want to do this anymore." But when I heard several voices asking if the artist intended to keep me all to himself, I knew by his answer that my ordeal had just begun. "Let's get Cassandra naked first and then everyone will have a chance to fondle her." There was a brief moment when I felt hope and that was when a woman's voice starting questioning the whole performance. She was telling the audience that she doubted if I was a model or actress at all. "I think that poor women really is being held and stripped naked against her will," the woman stated, "and I certainly don't feel at all comfortable about participating in this any more if that's true. If I leave I'm calling the cops and reporting what's going on here!" After several others told her to "shut the fuck up" and "get the hell out" the artist answered her concerns surprisingly honestly. In a sociopathic kind of way. He said that for his art to be "authentic" then it was as equally important for the subject to be as well. He said anyone who wasn't comfortable actively participating in the sexual assault of a complete stranger should leave now. "But if it excites you to know that you can touch and fondle and maybe even penetrate an unknown woman who could be your mother or your sister, a neighbor or your neighbor's wife or even your best friend, then you are invited to stay. Decide quickly because I'm having the doors locked and no one will be allowed to enter or leave until the performance is concluded." I heard no footsteps towards either of the doors. I knew that even the woman who was so concerned about my welfare only seconds ago found the idea too irresistible to leave. A couple dozen people intended to stay and do the most depraved things imaginable to an innocent stranger. And if this performance was so unacceptable and so over-the-top then why was I, the victim, so goddamned aroused by it? There were murmurs of excitement coming from the floor as the doors were locked and I again felt the blade of the knife against my skin. Except this time it was between the waistband of my skirt and the small of my back as it began to slice down through the material. The skirt fell into a small heap around my ankles and was then yanked away to be tossed out as yet another souvenir to the appreciative crowd. With my wrists tied together and my arms pulled above me, I stood there blindfolded wearing only my thigh-high stockings and a pair of red thong panties. Both of which were also gifts of my treacherous childhood friend...the very same friend who had insisted I wear them that day. As I hung there feeling dozens of leering eyes staring at my virtually naked form it suddenly occurred to me that I had not been invited to attend the gallery's opening by Holly. I had been lured there by her! It wasn't all the disgusting and perverted comments I could hear the men making which shocked me so much. I knew from experience that men are little more than animals and sexual predators. Rather it was the obscene suggestions and remarks that I heard coming from female voices that amazed me. And thrilled me more than I could possibly admit to even myself. "I wonder how she tastes." "I'd love to take that sweet thing home and lock her in a cage in my bedroom to play with anytime I wanted a woman's touch!" "Do you think we can make her pee for us?" "Did anyone see any whips or crops or paddles we can use on that pretty bottom of hers?" Every one of them more depraved and twisted than the last. The artist's fingers hooked under the waistband on each side of my panties and slowly began to pull them higher and higher. He didn't stop until the thong, completely saturated with my arousal, had been pulled so tightly between the cheeks of my bottom that it was no thicker than a strand of cotton rope. And up between the swollen lips of my pussy until it looked like something one would only see in the pages of a Hustler magazine. Then he cut each side with the knife so the front and back of my panties hung down, unable to fall to the stage below for they were now so tightly wedged into place. He made me turn around so he could show everyone that the view was just as obscene in the back as it was in front. "Do your arms ache, my beautiful lady," he whispered in my ear. I nodded my head only once as a silent reply so he would know, but also to deny giving him the satisfaction of hearing the trepidation I felt. Or the arousal that coursed through every vain of my entire being. "If I lower your arms do I have your promise that you will spread your feet and legs for us? When I remove your panties I want everyone on the floor below us to enjoy a completely unobstructed view of your pussy and ass." A Faustian Bargain is what it's called. It is to naively make a pact with the devil in exchange for something you believe will benefit you. Except the devil always includes some fine print in the deal which ends up costing you much more than what you receive in return. But this devil, my devil, had already spelled out the fine print for me if I agreed to do business with him. That I would willingly expose the most private and intimate parts of my anatomy for the enjoyment of a bunch of degenerates. He may have believed my arms were too sore to me to decline his offer, but that isn't why I agreed to spread my legs. I wanted every single one of those sick motherfuckers in the audience to see me displayed like a living, breathing sex toy. I wanted to be lusted after and to feel their eyes raping my pussy and my ass! I would beat the devil at his own game by becoming the whore he wanted me to be. Without him understanding that it was he who had lost. I intended to take full control of all the pleasure; mine, his and everyone else's who was in that locked room that day. And I that is exactly what I did.