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Subject: Twighlight Zone 4 by Seurat: Art Critic 4/8
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See header section 1a for more info!
Thursday, May 30th
I sat on the couch and looked at the video tape box. The cover
showed a woman in
english riding clothes sitting in a saddle. The title read, "Horse play -
the training of a mount". I
slid the tape out of the box and put it in the VCR, undid the drawstring
on my sweatpants, and
relaxed on the couch. My wife wouldn't be home for a few hours; she had
to pick up some
groceries, get gas for the car, and get some scratch-off lottery tickets.
That would take her close
to the mall, and she could never pass by without a quick stop in. I
reached over and turned out
the lights, and focused on the TV.
The screen flickered, then faded in on a row of stables. The camera
was evidently fixed in
position. Into the screen walks an attractive egyptian looking woman with
long brown hair,
almost black. She is dressed in tight purple leather pants, purple
leather riding boots, a white silk
shirt, and a purple leather vest. She is tall and athletically built;
from her location and clothing it
looks like she is going for a ride.
She opens a stall and reaches inside, pulling on a pair of reigns.
Whatever is on the other
end doesn't want to come out. She picks up a riding crop, raises it above
her head, and it
falls: once, twice, a third time, the only sound being that of the crop on
flesh. The reigns go slack
and a figure emerges from the stall.
It looks like a cross between a horse and a man. A man's face and
mouth and held in the
bit and bridle, blinders keeping his sight limited. His arms are strapped
to his sides in a
harness which also holds a saddle on his shoulders. Long hair, made into
a mane of sorts, runs
between two leather horse ears projecting from the top of his head. From
his ass projects a horse
tail, it's root held in his anus by more straps. A thick eight inch cock
dangles limply between his
legs, which are encased in black leather from his crotch down to their
heels. Only these boots are
missing the heels; they force him to stand on the balls of his feet, and
they make little horseshoe
prints when he walks on dirt.
She hits him again and speaks, but the only sound heard is the crop
connecting with flesh.
He squats as low as he can, and she climbs into the saddle. He adjusts
himself to her weight, then
she directs him out of the stables.
The scene changed, showing a riding ring. The purple clad woman
stands on a platform,
cracking a drovers whip at the horse man as he performs tricks; side
shuffles, canters, jumping
over barrels. Any time he falters, he feels the lash.
The scene changed again. She is on his back, and they are at a full
gallop. In front of
them is another man, a look of pure terror on his face as they chase him
down. The rider twirls a
weighted net over her head and releases, the running man tumbles to the
ground, his body encased
in the net. He is quickly surrounded by women dressed in black leather
catsuits and boots who
pick him up and carry him away. The horse man is covered in sweat, and
crop marks can be seen
across his ass. She turns him, and they trot away.
Now she is leading him into a stall in the barn. A sign on the door
reads, æStud Service',
but he doesn't see it. Inside she takes off the bit and bridle and pulls
a large feeding harness over
his head. His jaws move the bag as he eats. She picks up a large beaker
with her left hand and
begins to massage his cock with her right. His eyes go wide, and he tries
to escape her grasp,
only to realize she has attached his body harness to a frame in order to
hold him in place.
His already large prick grows in her hand, eight inches, nine inches,
finally ten inches long
and as thick as a soda can. Her hand pumps away, and after a few minutes
he begins to spurt
huge globs of cum into the beaker, filling it nearly half-way. His knees
buckle from the orgasm,
but he is held up by the harness. She turns to a refrigerator in the
stall and opens it, placing next
to several other beakers. It is labelled with his name: Stud O'Neill.
The screen fades to black.
I hit the æstop' botton, then ærewind'. As the tape rewound I
thought back to last night; I still
have marks on my ass. I got a few tissues and cleaned the pool of precum
on my stomach. I
wasn't supposed to jerk off completely. When it rewound I put it back in
it's case, and put it and
the crop that accompanied it back in the secret drawer with the other two.
I headed to the
bathroom to take a cold shower so the erection would be gone before my
wife got home.
Wednesday, June 5th
I found this week's package on the front seat of my car when I got
out of work.
Whomever was delivering these for Tara and her friends could get in
anywhere, it seemed. I sat
in the parking lot and ripped open the brown paper packages. Inside was a
pair of green shorts, a
green and yellow diamond patterned t-shirt, and a pair of green calf high
socks. All were made of
the same cool and oily feeling material that first nigh I was an art
object. There was another tube
of gel, the now familiar remote, and an invitation to a party for tonight.
I stuffed the items into
the glove compartment, and headed to the store to pick up a few things.
Dinner slipped by. Casual conversations about work, my fictional
racquetball partner for
the evening, and the possibilities of looking at houses this weekend. One
part of my mind kept up
the talking while the other tried to figure out what would happen tonight.
Before I realized it my
wife was kissing me goodbye and I was left to clean up the dinner dishes.
The shirt and shorts were snug, and felt slimey with the coating of
gel underneath. My
feet felt like they were stuck in wet sneakers. I tapped in my code, and
all became skin tight. I
had begun doing morning excersises to releive my sexual tension, and the
shirt showed off the
results. There was small pocket in the front of the shorts for my cock
but not my balls, almost
like a sheath. The shorts also showed off the fact that I shaved down
there, and that I wasn't
wearing any underwear. I went to walk back into the bedroom when I
noticed it. My feet had
become hyper-sensitive; the carpet felt like steel wool trying to rub the
callouses off my feet. I
jumped to the bed and sat down, and realized that the shorts were having
the same effect on the
skin they covered. It was like having a sunburn without the pain,
eveything so sensitive that it
almost hurt. I pulled on a pair of sweats and my old sneakers, the
sensations almost being too
much.
Limping down the stairs was difficult; every step renewed the
sensitivity. My body began
to sweat heavily under the strain. I grabbed my wallet and keys from the
stand by the door and
headed out to the car, the entire time looking like I was walking on eggs.
The address for the party was at a comedy club. I hoped that it
wasn't a tie-and-jacket
club; the note had said nothing about additional clothing. I parked and
grabbed my stuff, then
headed for the club. I found that I could move quick but had to be ready
for when I stopped, as
the effects of the outfit would catch up after a second or too. I pulled
out a ten for the cover
charge, but the man at the door saw my clothing and just pointed to the
stage door.
The entry led into the back of the club, where that night's
performers waited their
turn. I saw my ædate' for the evening immediately, and things in my mind
fell into place.
She was very attractive, as all the women connected with this
organization had been so
far. She was dressed in a green harlequin outfit decorated with yellow
diamonds. Green ankle
boots covered her feet, her hands were in yellow gloves, and a three point
halequin hood finished
the outfit, complete with bells on the ends on the points. A yellow mask
covered the upper part
of her face. Though the rest of the room was empty, I could here the
noise of the crowd in the
next room.
"Whad'ya think? Too much? I always heard that comics were nothing
more than
common man's jesters."
"I don't know. I don't go to this type of club. Maybe some of them
will find it
entertaining."
"I don't care about them. It's you I'm here to entertain." She
smiled. Pleasant as that
smile was, I got a bad feeling about the whole thing.
"What would you like me to do?"
She looked around the room. It was filled with oddities as if
somebody had been collecting
things from garage sales for twenty years. Finally, she motioned to an
old barbers chair in a
corner. "Sit there."
I did as I was told, first taking off my shoes and sweats. I was
growing used to the overly
sensitive nature of my clothing. Once I was seated, she skipped over to
me, bells jingling, like a
little kid. She leaned in front of me, grinning. My bad feelings grew
even worse. She picked up
my left arm and put it on the armrest, and flipped a strap over it, tying
that arm down. "Why are
you strapping me down?" A stupid question, considering the people I was
dealing with, but I
asked anyway.
"Used to be a dentist's chair. These made sure they didn't thrash
during an operation."
She tied down my other arm. I pretty much let her, testing the bands once
she was done. I
could've overpowered her easily if I had wanted, but nothing really
unpleasant had happened to
me yet, at least nothing permanently scarring. "That was in the days
before anesthetic. You
won't have that problem."
Sirens, bells, and whistles all went off in my head. "Let me up."
She strapped my feet
down quickly, knowing I knew something was up.
"But you'd miss the show if you left."
"I don't care. Let me up now, please."
"Don't you like comedy?"
"It's okay. If you want to go out into the club, we could watch a
few of the comedians,
but I've been drugged before and I don't like it. It wasn't part of the deal."
"Deal? I don't remember any deal. I was just asked to show you a
good time, take you
out and have a few laughs. And who said anything about drugs?"
"You did when you talked about the anesthesia."
She laughed. "I meant you wouldn't have to worry about thrashing
about during an
operation."
I felt a little relieved. "Then what are the straps for?"
"So you don't leave during the show." With that, she spun the chair
around, then pulled
back a curtain that had hid the wall behind the chair. I was give a
balcony view of the stage where
a comedian was just finishing his act. I felt her hand do something at my
crotch, and when I
looked down I saw a tube leading away from the tip of the built-in sheath.
She crouched down behind me and whispered in my ear, "This next one
is one of my
favorites. I hope you laugh at all his jokes."
The next one out was a guy who did nothing but complain about the
differences about
men and women. He was okay, by my standards, but I'm not a big one on
male bashing. My
jester friend seemed to like him just fine. I could hear peals of
laughter every time he made a joke
about how stupid men can be. Halfway through his act she leaned in close
again.
"You're not laughing. Nobody comes to my club and doesn't laugh."
She walked to
where I could see her completely. "Some of the people you'll meet may
strike you or tease you
sexually in order to control you. I was asked to teach you how to laugh
at yourself, that you
didn't know how to do that." Again with that æteaching' thing. My mind
flitted back to the
masseuse. She had let on that I was being taught'. This would take some
serious thinking.
"Instead of a crop or a whip or even my hand, I use this." She held up a
long stiff feather.
The alarm bells went off again, louder and stronger than before. I
tried to pulll loose from
the chair, but couldn't.
"That's right. Even if you weren't ticklish before, you are now."
The feather brushed up
my ribs, wiggled in my armpit. I let loose with a howl of laughter.
"Much better. I tought it was
a good joke, too."
The feather wiggled the soles of my feet after each of the comedian's
jokes about men,
ripping guffaws from my mouth and tears from my eyes.
The next comic was one she had picked just for me. My laughs began
to drown out the
crowds in the normal seats. The jester alternated between my feet, my
ribs, and my armpits, never
letting me get desensitized. Tears streamed down my face, and I begged
for mercy. I could feel
my bladder about to explode. She never let up, and finally I lost control
over my bladder. The
tube hooked to my shorts took care of the mess I would have made, drawing
off the results of my
laughing fit.
After nearly an hour of this I was so exhausted that I could hardly
move. She undid the
straps holding me down, then peeled off the shirt, shoes, and finally the
shorts. My mind was
filled with the smell of my own body odor. The room must have reeked from
it; I had sweated so
much I probably lost a few pounds. At the rush of cool air, my cock
sprang to life. The jester
looked down at it.
"Oh yeah. I guess I'm supposed to give you some comic relief'." I
couldn't have
laughed if my life depended on it. She pushed me back into the chair into
a reclining position,
then swung a leg over me so that she was stradling my chest with her back
to me. I felt
something cup my balls, then something else grip my cock. She got off me
and strapped my arms
and legs down again while I looked at the contraption.
My genitals were encased in a large plastic tube, with four rods
pressing along it
lengthwise. Where the rods exited the bottom of the tube, they met and
wrapped the base of my
cock, then melded into a cup holding by balls. At the end of the tube,
just past the head of my
prick, was a ball about the size of a tennis ball, again, it was made of
clear plastic.
The jester stood next to me, hands on hips. "I actually thought this
one up. All you have
to do is fill the ball up, and you can leave." The ball looked pretty big
from where I was.
"How am I supposed to do that without touching myself?" "I've
hooked the rods onto the
network of crystals covering your stomach area. If you
tighten those muscles while shaking your body, it will give the rods the
energy they need to get
you off."
I tried it. I bore down, tightening my abs, and felt a little action
from the rods. Two of
them, lying next to the channel on the underside of my cock, began to
thrum from base to tip.
The other two concentrated their effect on my glans. Where they met,
under my balls, they
almost hummed. The effect was slight, and there was no way it was going
to get me off.
"Ain't gonna happen. I'm just too tired."
"I'll have to help you, then." She pulled out two feathers from
under the chair, and began
to tickle my feet. It had the desired effect as my whole body tensed,
then shook with laughter.
The rods began thrumming along my genitals, bringing me quickly to orgasm.
She didn't stop,
and the rod's vibrating wouldn't let me go soft. A few minutes later I
came again. The ball
wasn't quite full yet, though, and she wasn't going to let up until it was
topped off. I was forced
to a third orgasm.
I couldn't laugh anymore. My body was copletely drained of all
energy. She removed the
apparatus and unstrapped me. She had to help me dress in my meager
clothes, then escorted me
to the door. "Come back anytime."
I stumbled to my car, got in, and sat there for a few minutes. They
had been very intense
orgasms, and I was wiped out. I did manage to drive home.
"So, how did you play tonight?", my wife asked, seeing how wiped out
I was when she
got home. "Did you put up a good fight?"
"It ws laughable."
She didn't appreciate my humor, either. I still had much to learn.
Friday, June 7th
The package came in the mail. æA night at Jester's'. A tape of the
comedians I had seen
that night. Somebody in the audience thought the later acts were
hilarious. Included were two
long, stiff feathers, perfect for application to the soles of feet.
Saturday, June 8th
My wife's business is picking up. She is becoming very absorbed in
her work. We
haven't had sex since before the fateful night I played racquetball with
Tara, and she shows no
signs now of missing it. My strange infidelity makes me wonder if she is
fooling around with
somebody; she must be releasing her sexual energy somehow.
Today we went looking at new houses. For some reason I was drawn to
Tara's
neighborhood, but my wife had seen one in a magazine that she wanted to
check out. It was out
in the country, and as we walked through it with the realtor all I could
think of was how I could
recreate my wednesday nights in the new house. Adentist's chair in the
den , stables in the back,
maybe even an excercise room.
--
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