Performance

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This story is fictitious and any names associated with persons living or dead is purely coincidental. The story contains extreme adult themes to include teasing, BDSM, forced orgasm, exhibitionism and unwilling administration of drugs. If you are underage or are offended or otherwise disturbed by these elements, do not continue reading.

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The ad read simply:

Male actor wanted for performance art show. Nudity required. $500 for two-hour performance. Call 279-555-1212.

Ian was strangely stimulated by the notion that he could be part of a display where he would be in the nude and the only thing troubling him was the prospect of developing an erection in front of a crowd of people. This quickly passed as he thought, "So what? These are artists and intellectuals, there would be no issue." He dialed the number.

"Hallo," a woman's voice with a heavy German accent said when the phone picked up.

"Yes, hello, I am calling about the performance ad."

"Yah, yah. Audition tomorrow at 9 AM at the gallery. The performance is at 10 PM if you are selected. The address is 2538 Center Street." A loud "click" and the line was dead.

Ian thought that was strange, but the exotic voice made him want to do the audition all the more. He could decide later if he wanted to go through with it. The gallery was in the artsy section of town and it would take him some time to get there in the morning.

"Fran!" he yelled for his secretary.

"Yes Mr. Byrne?" she answered from the other room.

"I'll be a bit late coming in tomorrow morning, so please make sure my schedule is clear until noon."

"Yes, Sir, will do."

The next morning Ian made sure he was well-showered and shaved before heading downtown to the gallery. He liked to keep trimmed, even "down there". When he arrived at the gallery he was relieved to see that it was a small one, nestled between a fruit market and a travel agency on a side street. There would not be much activity late in the evening--only the people invited would even know where it was. The gallery had a huge window that went from the ground up to the high ceilings inside and although Ian could see paintings on the walls, he could not see far in because a large sculpture piece dominated the space by the front window. It was extreme modern, but what it was could clearly be discerned--a naked man bound to a rock, with all features grotesquely exaggerated.

He went inside just as a man was leaving. They nodded to each other and Ian wondered if he had auditioned for the show. The room facing the street was just an entry foyer, albeit a large one, and at the back it opened to another space to the right. Ian didn't know if he should call out or not since there was no one there. Just then he heard the click of heels on the tiled floor and a woman appeared. She was statuesque, long blond hair blown out and framing a narrow, nordic face. She was starkly beautiful and wore the clothes to match. A tight-fitting sarong that wrapped up from a slit along her leg to an open bosom trying hard to push her ample boobs out from the top. Ian's mouth fell open at the sight of her and before he could utter a word, she said sharply, "You are za nine o'clock, follow me. My name is Helga, what iz yours?" She turned and he followed, realizing at once from the sound of her voice and the heavy accent that she was the woman who had answered the phone.

"Uhhh, Ian, my name is Ian." Ian had to start thinking of baseball scores as her curvaceous buns pistoned up and down behind the taut fabric of her dress.

They turned the corner and the room opened to a larger gallery space. It was empty except for pictures on the walls and a few low benches. In one corner was a long table covered with a white cloth; champagne buckets and wine glasses were arranged on one end. At the far end of the room were a pair of double doors, which she led Ian through. These opened to a warehouse like space, clearly used for the prep of exhibits and such. She motioned towards a set of lockers against one wall and a low bench.

"Choose a locker and get undressed," she ordered.

Ian was taken aback, but he gulped and realized that since he had come this far he might as well move forward with it. He chose a locker and began pulling his clothes off. When he had gotten down to his briefs he hesitated. "Hurry up Depp," the woman said sharply, "I have others to see today". Ian didn't know what a 'Depp' was, but he was sure it wasn't complimentary. He quickly pulled his briefs off then turned to face her, his hands at his crotch.

"Over here, on ze dais" she motioned to a round disk, about four feet in diameter and raised from the floor. He stepped up onto it as she sat in a chair facing him. His crotch was now at her eye level and he felt the warming of embarrassment creep up his neck. Hold your hands over your head and turn around. He did as he was told, but as he turned back towards her he dropped his hands to cover his manhood. "Nein, nein, keep your hands in the air, keep turning!" she barked.

She had crossed her legs and he had an unrestricted view into the chasm that was formed by her huge tits. He could not hold back any longer and his cock slowly rose as he turned. Now his neck and face were completely red as his hard-on pointed out from his body like a thick stick of wood. After the fourth turn she said "Excellent! You vill do, get dressed."

Ian stood for a moment dumbfounded, then quickly stepped down from the platform and hurried over to the locker that held his clothes.

"So many gay-boys, it has taken a while to get a real man. The shaved balls are a plus. I will be in ze front with ze contract"

Ian barely heard what she said, but he realized that he had been selected for the performance. He also realized that the performance included him getting an erection in front of a roomful of people and he wasn't sure that he wanted to go that far.

When he went out into the front she was sitting at the desk with the paperwork. "Diseses ist der contract. You vill perform from 10 until midnight, then be paid $500 in cash. Sign here."

Ian looked down at the paper and then stammered "I don't think I want to do this," he said, forcing out the words.

"What? Don't be zuch a baby, you vill do fine. Besides, you vill wear a mask."

"A mask?"

"Yah, no one will know it is you."

"Oh, well in that case, where do I sign?"

"Here," she pointed. "Be back at 9:30 to prep for za performance."

Ian left the gallery and headed to his office. He didn't get much done for the rest of the day, thinking about the evening and his exhibition. He left the office at five, riding the elevator down to the ground floor with Fran.

"Do you have a big night planned Mr. B?" She asked sweetly.

"Not really," he replied, smugly lying. Fran was a cute girl, twenty-six, exactly ten years younger than he. Ian had not hesitated on occasion to get a good look at her bending over to retrieve files in the back end of the alphabet. He knew she kept U through Z in the bottom drawer, so every time he felt alike a shot of ass he'd ask for the Zettle file and make sure that he waited in the doorway of his office as she fetched it. He thought she knew of this little game because it seemed that she lingered and wiggled a bit as she pulled the file. He suspected she was a bit of a tease, but you would never know it from her general behavior--just little hints here and there. One thing that turned him on, and he often thought it was strange, was the fact that she had the cutest hands, tiny, soft and with deep red nails that she kept immaculate. Unfortunately, there was a strict policy in the office when it came to the mingling of management and staff, so it just wasn't worth the risk to ask her out.

He arrived at the gallery at 9:15 to see Helga standing at her desk yelling at what he assumed were the caterers. Seeing him, she said "Ach, Ian, you are early, gut. Come with me, we vill get started." He followed her again to the back room of the gallery. Now there was a large rectangular pedestal like the kind used to display sculptures sitting in the middle of the floor. It didn't take Ian more than a second to figure out that he would be spending the greater part of the evening on it. He wondered if he'd get any breaks. "Get your clothes off, ya?" She said, pointing to the lockers.

After he had undressed, Helga approached him with a glass of something. "Here, trink this, it will calm you." Ian hesitated and then thought it would probably be best to drink whatever it was. He figured it couldn't be very powerful or he wouldn't be able to stand on the pedestal all evening.

"Now put this on, ya?" Helga handed him what looked like a hat, but it turned out to be the mask she had promised. He pulled it over the top of his head and adjusted it so that he could see out of the eye holes. It was made of leather and covered his head to just above his ears, with a fitted piece that covered his nose. At that point he was feeling lightheaded and Helga guided him to a chair.

"Max, give him the pill." Ian looked up to see a large-muscled man wearing a tight fitting T-shirt come towards him. Ian raised his hand to ward off the blue pill that Max was holding between his thumb and index finger, but Max pulled Ian's jaw down roughly and shoved the pill towards the back of his throat and then held a glass of water to his face. "Trinken Depp!" he ordered and Ian complied, swallowing the pill.

Max then held Ian's hands together above his head as Helga secured his wrists with a strap of some sort. Max then pulled him to his feet.

"Up on the platform Depp!" Max ordered as he pulled the chair close to the side of it. He helped Ian step up and onto it. "Now squat". Ian did as he was told as Max pushed down on his neck. Helga then used heavy straps just above his knees to secure him in the squat. The straps were fitted with rings and she used those along with a pair of heavy cords to pull Ian's knees apart, spreading him out and putting him in an exaggerated squat position.

Max then pushed the pedestal, which was wheeled, out into the gallery. Max positioned it a few feet in front of the double doors towards the center of the room. He then went to the wall and pushed a switch after which the whirring sound of a motor could be heard. Ian then felt something brush his shoulder. Max walked over and pulled a cord from behind Ian, it had been what he felt touch him. Max tied the cord to the strap that bound Ian's wrists together and then went back to the wall and touched the switch. When he did so, Ian heard the motor again and then felt his hands and arms being pulled up. When Ian's arms were stretched tightly above his head the motor stopped.

Ian was now secured in a completely vulnerable squatting position on a pedestal in the center of an art gallery. The performance would start soon and he knew that he would be the star attraction. Max fished something out of his pocket and Ian could see that it was a thick metal ring. Max slipped the ring over Ian's dick and then roughly poked each of his nuts through as well. "Owww, jezus!"

"Quiet Depp," Max ordered, "or I vill need to put something here to keep you quiet!" As he spoke he pushed a thick and calloused thumb into Ian's mouth. Ian decided that he should stay quiet lest the huge German make good on his threat.

Helga came over and gave a look of disgust at Ian's limp cock that was held out with his balls by the metal ring. "Ach, this vill not do." She started pulling on his dick and tickling his balls and Ian squirmed as his erection grew. It did not take long for it to reach a rock hard state. "Yah, the Viagra it is verking."

Ian realized with dismay that the pill Max had forced on him was Viagra. He was going to be keeping his hard-on throughout the entire performance. Just then he heard a whoosh sound, the front door had been pushed open.

"Max, the guests are here, go get dressed."

Ian heard talking and laughter from the front as people came into the gallery. Then there was the pop of a champagne cork, the tinkle of glasses and the first viewers of the performance drifted into the main gallery.

A man about Ian's age was the first to come through the door along with a smartly dressed brunette. She gasped as she took in the sight of Ian bound and squatting on the pedestal, his stiff erection pointing out from his body with his balls pulled up tightly at the base of his dick.

"Wow, this is something!" she exclaimed as she dropped her escort's arm and approached Ian. Her eyes scanned him, settling on his blood-engorged member. "I'd like to get you in this position, Jack" she giggled as her boyfriend came closer to check Ian out. "Nah, I don't think so, I'm not into this sort of thing." They moved away as more people wandered into the room to view the spectacle.

From what Ian could tell, there were close to twenty people talking, drinking and taking hors d'oeuvres from a tray that Max, who was now wearing a tux, was offering.

"Mr. B, is that you?"

"Ohmigod!" Ian thought, "It's Fran. What the fuck is she doing here?"

"I'm not who you think I am miss," he said quietly through clenched teeth.

"Oh yes you are, I would recognize that tattoo anywhere. You're my boss, Mr. Byrne."

Ian's heart nearly stopped as he realized that the tattoo on his shoulder clearly gave him away. It was a Celtic symbol that had been in his family for generations. She had seen it at a company pool party just last month. Fran had commented on it and he had explained the history behind it and how unique it was.

Fran moved closer, putting a hand on each of his thighs and standing on tip toe so that she could whisper in his ear, so close that he could smell her perfume. "Don't worry," she breathed, "your secret is safe with me."

As she dropped down her hands gently brushed his inner thighs. Ian groaned and his erection bobbed wildly.

"Ladies und Gentlemen," Helga said loudly while clapping her hands, "the performance is about to begin." The group turned to face her as she explained. "Dieses man vill be brought to climax this evening, but not until the stroke of midnight." As she spoke Max wheeled a large grandfather clock over to where she was standing, addressing the crowd. Ian could see that it was only 10:30, an hour and a half to go.

Fran had turned to hear what Helga said, but now turned back to face Ian--or at least face his crotch. She stared at his cock, then reached out to touch his balls. "So soft," she said as she caressed his taut scrotum which looked like a huge peach. Ian gasped, then could not help but bob up and down as her fingers delicately stroked his balls.

"I have always wanted to do this," she said.

"Oh you have?"

Fran startled at the voice coming from behind her and turned to see a man standing there that she did not know. She blushed, saying, "Well, you know. To a man secured like this."

"I know what you mean, my name is Don, and you?"

"Fran, nice to meet you."

"This is quite a specimen, isn't it?" Don asked, looking approvingly at Ian. From the way he acted, Fran suspected he was gay and his comment confirmed it. Don reached out and touched his index finger lightly against the front of Ian's penis. "Here," he said confidently, "is one of the most sensitive places on a man. I should know," he winked at her and chuckled. Ian groaned as Don lightly massaged his frenum. Don knew just when to pull back, and then push forward, rubbing lightly and then firmly.

Within a minute Ian was bobbing, breathing hard and straining at his bindings--desperately attempting to maintain pressure on his cock. Precum had begun to leak from the tip and Don knew exactly what to do with it, using it to lubricate his finger and pushing Ian to a higher level of stimulation.

Fran was mystified. As Don worked the head of Ian's dick, she went back to caressing his balls. As the two of them worked Ian's gonads, he slowly moved towards orgasm.

"Now Fran," Don explained, "what we are looking for is his balls to pull up. You may think they are tight in the sac now, but we need to be very careful, we don't want to let him cum."

After another minute Don paused and then pulled Fran's hand away. Ian felt them stop and pushed upward as far as his bindings would allow, desperately trying to continue the massage. Then he let out a deep groan, sweat pouring off of him. He wanted to beg them to continue, but the thought of his secretary and a gay man giving him a hand job had pretty much capped the humiliation.

"Wow!" exclaimed Fran, "that was something."

"My dear, that was nothing and we still have quite some time to go."

Don was smiling and then said "Let's go around to the back." The two of them moved around to the rear of Ian's pedestal. Suddenly, Ian startled as he felt something brush his anus. Then he felt his balls being grabbed.

"I'll hold on to these while you press and rub here," he heard Don say. Then Fran said, "OK" and he felt her rub his asshole with her finger, then lightly scratch against it with a nail. Again he groaned, partly from the sensations and partly from his intense embarrassment brought on by a gay man groping his balls and his secretary rimming his bunghole with her finger. The other people in the gallery were watching and talking, but Ian was now beyond caring.

"Here, hold these for a minute."

Don released Ian's balls and then Fran grabbed them gently. She continued to rub his anus as he bounced against her finger.

"Here, let's try this." Ian nearly jumped off the pedestal as Don pressed an ice cube against his hole.

"Now, that's cooling things off a bit."

Don forced the ice cube up into Ian's ass and followed it with his finger. Now the cube was chilling Ian's prostate while Don's finger searched for it.

"What are you doing now?", Fran asked, it looks like he is getting soft. "Just wait," Don told her.

He found his mark and pressed hard against Ian's gland. Again, Ian jumped, but this time his cock jumped as well, shooting back to stiff attention.

Fran stared at Ian's raging cock, again bedazzled by the spectacle. Don pulled his finger from Ian's butt and said, "Let's go rinse off and let him calm down a bit."

Ian didn't know if he should be relieved or not. His dick ached and it had turned a dark purple as it throbbed in time with his pulse. He looked over at the clock, thirty minutes to go. The others were just milling in front of him, nibbling on the hors d'oeuvres and sipping champagne.

When Don and Fran got back, Don turned to Fran and said, "I am going over to speak with Helga about a future show, so why don't you stay here and keep him hot until midnight and then I'll show you how to get such a blast from him that it will shoot across the room."

"OK, sounds good to me."

Fran looked up at Ian and he stared at her with pleading eyes.

"I know what you want Mr. B, but we can't do it for another half hour, you'll just have to manage."

She placed her hands against the inside of his thighs, the tiny hands with the perfect nails. Ian's cock bobbed more quickly as she delicately massaged him and he said hoarsely, "Please, please rub my cock."

"I will, don't worry, but not now."

As she continued her massage, she would allow the back of her hands to lightly touch the sides of his taut balls. She was experimenting now and observed that each time she did this would elicit a groan or a sigh. After a few minutes she moved upwards with her hands and then suddenly dragged her nails lightly up the sides of his dick.

Ian made a yelping noise as she did this, "Please, please," he begged.

The crowd of guests had moved closer in front of Ian's pedestal, watching Fran work his body and nodding approvingly as he moaned and begged. Ian didn't care anymore, his world was defined by the touching and caressing she was performing on him. He realized then that the performance was hers and he was just the instrument that she played.