E-written Hedony: What Big Eyes You Have

This is part of my series set on Hedony, an adults only pleasure planet, in a distant future. They can be read in any order. Some of the themes are similar but they span a wide variety of categories. I hope you'll let me know if you're enjoying them.

It's also part of the E-Written Fairy Tale Anthology of erotic rewritten fairy tales created by the very talented gabthewriter which you should definitely check out.

****

"The bitch left me," my best friend Malcom announced as he burst through the connecting door into my hotel room without knocking.

"Evion? Now? The show starts in three hours. She can't have just left." I didn't think much of Malcom's girlfriend. She was a classic narcissist and didn't care about anyone but herself. Still, like most narcissists, she loved being the center of attention and she was supposed to be Malcom's model for his thesis project in erotic fashion that was being showcased as part of tonight's Cirque. The Cirque is, of course, the longest running show on Hedony, an interactive adult theater spectacular based loosely on Ovid's Metamorphoses. I didn't think she'd pass up the chance to be a part of Hedony's most famed show, even if it was only for one night.

"She met one of the producers this afternoon at the walkthrough and went off with him to his vacation place on the Ortan islands. Evidently, she thinks it's a better in than being a student's model. The bitch. I cannot believe she's doing this to me."

Ok, that I could see Evion doing. The bitch.

"Shit, Malcom, who are you going to get to model?" If he didn't find someone, not only would his graduation be in jeopardy, it would scuttle any chance he had of being hired on as a post-graduate intern for the Cirque, which I knew was his real goal for tonight.

"I don't know. There's no time. I am so screwed." A thought occurred to him and he looked at me with naked pleading in his eyes. "Red, you always said you'd do anything for me."

"There's no way you want me to take Evion's place! I'm six inches shorter than her and she has the body of a lean goddess. I do not. I love you Malcom but there's just no way."

I wasn't lying. I did love Malcom. Not just in a best friend kind of way. I was in love with him - even if he'd never see me that way. Saying no wasn't easy.

We grew up together. Our parents were crew on the same long-haul space trawler so it's not like there were any other kids for us to grow up with. For a long time we were like brother and sister, thick as thieves as they say. We even went off to university together. But sometime in the last few years I'd stopped seeing him as my brother, even if he still saw me as his annoying redheaded kid sister.

I'm only six months younger than him but I'm a head shorter. Puberty had been kind to Malcom. He went from my scrawny playmate, able to fit through the smallest access hatches, to a tall, wide-shouldered, well, man. I'd gotten boobs and a booty but I was still a pale little shrimp and he was still protective. He pulled the big brother card on any guy who so much as looked at me.

Not there had been many of those. I still dressed like a trawler brat, wearing coveralls most days. They were familiar and comfortable. Besides, with Malcom uninterested I didn't really care to attract any male attention anyway. I'd only come on this trip to Hedony because I wanted to support him for his thesis more than I'd cared about being a third wheel with him and Evion. It definitely wasn't to find a playmate for myself.

"You'll look very different than Evie but you'll still look gorgeous. Most of the outfit is very, um, adaptable."

My eyes narrowed. "Adaptable how?"

I'd seen all of Malcom's previous shows. His pieces were gorgeous and imaginative, but they were also very, very revealing. Nudity and even insertables featured prominently. He was majoring in erotic fashion afterall. For his thesis project he wouldn't have pulled any punches and Evion had always been game for anything.

He looked embarrassed. "Well, you start out mostly clothed but by the end it's almost all the ropes. And there are some, um, extras.

"You know what, it's a bad idea. Forget I asked. I'll see if I can find someone at the pool who's game to try it. Lots of people would kill to be in the Cirque for a night, right? I can't ask you to do this."

He looked so worried, so defeated. Suddenly I didn't want him to find someone else. I didn't want him putting the miles of red rope I'd seen him prepping on anyone but me.

"No, you know what, I'll do it. It'll be fun. I trust you."

"Really? I'll make it good for you. And we can skip the finale, you can just model the look and the effects. It'll be gorgeous. You'll be gorgeous." He was obviously relieved but somehow still nervous, talking too fast.

"No way we're skipping whatever your showstopping finale is when it's your senior thesis and potentially your ticket to working at the Cirque. It's all you've wanted since the first trip we took here when we were eighteen."

His face twisted in chagrin. "We were going to have sex Red. Evie and I were going to have intercourse as part of my finale. I was going to put my penis in her. In public." He looked acutely embarrassed now.

"I'm not a virgin Malcom, I know what sex is. And you've dragged me to the Cirque enough times I know sex is a big part of it."

"Yeah, but you've always worn a white mask."

The audience at the Cirque were all wore domino masks. You selected your mask based on what kind of experience you were looking for. White was for no contact, just a spectator. Pink was for contact without nudity. Red was for those willing to join the show in any way the performers wished. Once you put your mask on it was bonded to your face until the show was over or until one of the performers took it off during an encounter. Wearing a red mask didn't guarantee you'd get a personal or even public encounter but it did increase the chances.

I'd been curious but never quite had the nerve to claim anything except a white mask. The world of the Cirque was lush and magical, breathtaking and hauntingly erotic, even if you only watched. Speaking was forbidden in the Cirque. Even the public performances didn't involve vocalizations beyond some grunts or moans, although I'd been told some of the performers spoke during private encounters. So you spent the whole show silently observing, at times running to chase the acrobatics performers, to follow the music calling you to some spectacle, investigating endless rooms and sets, the whole Cirque a warren of spaces and experiences filled with sights and sounds and scents. Even tastes and textures. And all the while the edges of the white mask filled your peripheral vision, framed the scenes and reinforced your position as audience, as spectator and specter.

I crossed over to him, reaching up to put my hand on his cheek. It was hot and slightly stubbled under my hand. "For you, tonight, I'm willing to wear red."

His eyes heated, his pupils dilating. Maybe he was finally seeing me as something other than his little sister. When he spoke his voice was an octave lower. "I'll make it good Red, I'll take good care of you."

"I know you will. I trust you. Completely."

*****

The prep work began in a whirlwind. We went down to one of the dressing rooms at the Cirque right away because we were already running behind Malcom's timetable. Thankfully we'd sprung to stay in the adjacent hotel so we weren't going far.

Malcom had me strip down so he could see "the canvas" and his look was more professional than heated as he assessed me. We used to see each other naked all the time - my mom had a 2D of the two of us naked together in a sanitube, when we were about two years old - but there had been a lot of changes since then. He declared me perfect, despite my big boobs and my soft curves, despite even the slight soft pudge in my middle that I thought made me look as far as humanly possible from Evion's lithe beauty. Malcolm said I'd show off the ropes even more beautifully than she had. So that was something.

I got nervous about my pubic hair. It was a curly red tangled triangle above my sex that I'd hadn't bothered to groom beyond that in the last year, since I'd broken up with my last boyfriend. Below that, I had gotten lazed years before just because it felt cleaner that way. Most performers, and even red masks, at the Cirque were hairless. But Malcom assured me that it was perfect for the look he was going for, "even more perfect than Evion". He still hadn't told me exactly what the look was.

He rushed me into a quick water shower, where I cleaned absolutely everywhere I could, inside and out. He let me throw on a thin robe when I was done, then attacked my hair and face. He added some variety of product that made my hair even curlier and bigger than normal as he dried it with an insta-wand. Some kind of headband went on tight to my scalp then he arranged my curls and some clip-in curly hair extensions that matched my hair color really well over the band so it was invisible. He confessed he'd planned to molecular dye Evion's hair to my coppery red color for the show. So that was lucky. The whole thing was somewhat uncomfortable, the band tight to my head and the extensions pulling where he'd clipped them in but I didn't complain, just let him get on with it.

He had me put in a pair of single-use contacts but when I looked in the mirror I couldn't see a difference. The same for the tooth caps he fit over my canines. It was an awkward production letting him mold them into my mouth but when I looked in the mirror afterward I didn't see a noticeable difference. He painted something onto my other teeth that did make them look a little whiter, but it was subtle.

All of the makeup was less dramatic than I was expecting. He did make my lips look lusher and fuller, coating them in a semi-permanent lip stain, and he outlined and contoured my eyes in a way that made them look huge. Maybe that was what the contacts were doing? Making my eyes look bigger? He added some fake dirt and then dripped fake tears down from my eyes to leave tracks in it. Once he put the tooth caps in I couldn't really ask him any questions, he said I had to keep my teeth together to let them cure. And he was so focused on what he was doing I didn't want to distract him anyway. There was something kind of hypnotic to just letting him work, letting him arrange and paint me the way he wanted, like I was a doll and not a person.

Still, when he was done with my face and stepped back so I could see myself fully in the mirror, it was a subtle, not a dramatic, transformation. Beyond the dirt and tear tracks, my hair looked wilder, my face looked younger and more innocent, but overall I was still very much myself. I was a bit disappointed. I'd hoped for something more pronounced I could hide myself in when I was apparently wearing little more than the red cotton rope he'd carefully packed and brought down in a bag. Though there was also a garment bag. I had high hopes for the garment bag.

He took my hands but didn't paint my nails the way I expected. Instead, he affixed short, rounded red artificial nails over my own. They were a little thicker than my normal nails and I was acutely aware of them when I touched anything, the tactile feedback blunted. But they didn't look like anything beyond a regular manicure. He painted my toenails, using an instant dry enamel in the same shade of red.

"Ok, time for the body makeup."

He eased the robe off. My nipple pebbled as he looked at me. I hoped he'd attribute it to the room air, though it wasn't cold. Whatever his thoughts, he got back to work and I slipped back into that languid hazy space, observing him working on me. I'd felt a similar, if less intense, version of this watching him and others create in the past. Watching someone concentrate on making art, whether it was a musician playing or an artist sketching, did something to me, especially if it was in person.

Malcom, totally focused on creating the illusion of bloody looking tears in my flesh across my collarbone and the top of my left breast, as though some great beast had raked claws over me, put me into that shiver headspace with a vengeance. He moved to my back, shifting the riot of curls out of his way, and continued. The wounds glistened wetly and looked so real I almost expected them to hurt.

"Ok, we can do most of the rope work here, although the last little bit will have to be done when I get you situated. I'll start on your ankle so the effects make-up has a little longer to dry."

With that, he took my left foot in his big hand. The hazy floaty feeling I'd been basking in sharpened into something more intense. He took a length of soft cotton rope, the exact shade of red he'd put on my lips and nails. He worked quickly but surely, wrapping my leg just above my ankle joint with deft fingers in a complicated pattern of crosses and crisscrosses. This didn't compress my leg, only encircled it. It was more of a piece of clothing than a true binding.

He looked up at me a little ruefully. "I prefer to take my time doing this, especially the first time, but we have to get you trussed and in place. Then I can throw on my outfit. It's a lot less elaborate to get into than yours, thankfully."

He was still moving as he spoke. He had me stand. He fastened a belt that was made to look like a torn white skirt, with only a few scraggly pieces still clinging to it, around my waist. I was pleasantly surprised that anything tailored to fit Evion fit me, but I guess she was so much taller than me our waists were similar even if she looked thinner.

Then he put on a white peasant top, also artfully torn. Each of the faux scratches corresponded to a real tear in the top, which hung down in tatters to the point my left nipple was on display. He'd cleverly sewn supports into the top so my breasts were enhanced without giving the appearance of being held up. On Evion, it would have looked deliciously flirtatious, on me, with my charms overflowing the top, it looked obscene and slutty. But the looks on Malcom's face, both his initial professional one and his more personally appreciative one after he'd gotten everything situated, told me that in this case, that wasn't a bad thing.

He had me use the bathroom one last time and then he got down to the real work of binding me. He looped a long rope around my neck, knotting it at my sternum, then ran the ropes down between my breasts. He tied another knot here, then split the two ends, pulling them under my breasts, behind my back and back around to loop through the double ropes above my breasts. This set my breasts off and slightly compressed them so that they creased and bulged even more obscenely to my mind, though not so tightly my circulation was in jeopardy. My nipples were so hard they ached and I was desperate for him to do something but at the same time his total concentration on what he was doing put me back in that hazy, glowy space. He pulled the ropes back the way they'd come around my back, crossed them over and brought them back to the front under my breasts and twisted them around each other, then back, again and again, weaving me a corset of rope.

He tied this section off behind me and got another rope. With this he created almost a belt, lower than the actual belt he had me wearing, so that the fluttering scraps of skirt weren't trapped by the ropes the way the white top was. Then he pulled the loose ends of the rope between my legs, careful not to touch my pussy lips, back up behind me and around to cut into the upper curve of my hip with it, then again around.

I couldn't follow all the turns of the rope but when he was finished the long red coils had been transformed. I was wearing a complicated net that emphasized my breasts and mound, the ropes pulled to the sides so that they didn't touch my sex or my asshole, framing them both instead. My skin looked soft and malleable, squeezed and gently bulging as it was. But nothing was too tight or constrictive. I could wear this for a long time without injury.

Malcom stood behind me and looked over my head into the mirror, meeting my gaze there. His look was hot and focused, and I could feel, for the first time, the press of his cock behind me. "Red, you look amazing." I had to agree, what he'd created was beautiful.

He got out more rope and bound each of my wrists and forearms with the same complicated patterns as my ankle, leaving long ropes dangling from each which he coiled up and handed me hold. He did the same for my right thigh, careful not to bind it too tightly, allowing those long ends to trail on the floor.

Finished for the moment he looked at me. His eyes were burning but his words were measured. "You can probably talk now without disturbing the caps."

"There's not much in the way of clothing in this fashion exhibit of yours."

He snorted. "You know this is less a fashion show than it is an audition for the Cirque. I'll be graded on everything: the set design, the effects, the music, the audience reaction, and yes, brat, the clothes. There's only two more things to do down here. The gag and the butt plug. Are you really sure you're ok doing this? I'm not making you uncomfortable for the sake of a grade or the chance at a job. Red, I need you to be honest. Remember, I planned this with Evion in mind. Are you sure?"

I let him see the heat in my own eyes. "Malcom, I'm not doing this for your thesis, or the internship. Those are bonuses. I'm doing it because if Evion were up there tonight and I was in a white mask watching, I would be wishing it was me in red ropes. I want this." And I want you, I thought but didn't say. I just let it show in my too wide eyes.

"Ok." He had me turn and lean against the vanity table, then he knelt behind me, his bag of tricks handy. It felt really weird and really good to have him looking at such an intimate spot. I felt more naked than I had when I'd had nothing on. "You're really tight back here Red. Have you done anal before?"

I blushed but answered, "No, Bryn wanted to but I decided he wasn't worthy of my last cherry. I drew the line at fingers and a small plug."

Malcolm made a derisive noise and I could picture the face he was pulling. He liked my ex as much as I liked Evion. "Good call Red. Bryn was an ass, he didn't deserve to enjoy your lovely one.

"Well, the program doesn't call for anal sex, but it does call for a plug and it's not a really small one. It's going to be a workout. Are you ok wearing this in public?" I turned my head to see. He held up a classically shaped butt plug, slightly darker than the color of my skin. It was bigger than the one I had at home but it wasn't huge. The base was T shaped and slender.

I shrugged. "I knew things going in places went with the territory when I said I'd be your model. I have seen your other shows remember. Just go slow and I should be fine. How are we on time?"

He glanced at his credit band's display. "Right on schedule. We don't go on until the third act." Admission to the Cirque was staggered, so that audience members trickled in over the course of the evening. No one could see all of it in one viewing anyway, but the main acts repeated three times over the course of the night, with minor variations, and culminated in the finale where everyone was gathered in the ballroom, as I liked to think of it, for a full on Bacchanalia. We would only have participated in the third and final cycle of the show. I was relieved, it was going to take all my nerve to go through with this once, let alone three times in one night.