Performance Art

Everything hurts. My feet, my legs, my arms, my cheeks. Just everything. I am stiff as a board. How long have I been standing here? No idea, no idea of time. A few hours I think, it must be. I have to pee like mad. Is it still not time for a break? I can't even wiggle my legs to help me hold up my pee. Voices, I can't hear what they say. Too muffled. There are changes in the air flow, people walk by me. Footsteps stop. They must love the view. At least I hope they do. A girl giggles, did someone say something to her? Is she laughing about me? Bite down a little harder. Don't lose concentration. I can do this.

A month or so ago a friend contacted me on behalf of an artist friend of hers who was looking for female nude models. My friend said she couldn't do it herself, as she has no nipple piercings, and this performance called for a model with just that. Affinity with BDSM was another requirement. It was a one day gig at a body art festival and conference. As I had the day available I made an appointment with the artist to learn more.

The artist explained to me the basic concept of this art performance. "People tend to hang on to things, even when it hurts, because they are so afraid of the pain of letting go. This is a form of self torture, inflicted by the person on him or herself. The current state often has to become unbearable before a person finally decides to leave the situation, to go through the inevitable pain of the change, and move on to what is hopefully a better future."

The artist explained, "the installation is simple, but in the process your endurance is tested. To do well, you must be able to endure pain. The installation is art, but the performance is very real. It will induce pain in you. The audience will be able to see your pain, and smell your sweat as you fight the discomfort, to be able to continue the performance. Of course if it is too much for you, you can always bail out. You are however encouraged to continue the performance through the day."

Careful now, don't fall again. I have to move, my muscles stiffen up and lose strength. My legs shake, they feel like jelly, almost making me fall. OK, arms. Pull. I can do this. If I pull myself up, I can release my legs one by one, maybe shake some life back into them. I can do this. Pull, pull. It hurts, my arms hurt. I can do this. Pull. Ow, the pain, it's too much. I can't lift myself. A waft of cool air touches my belly. Why do I shiver? It's not that cold. My bladder is full, I need to pee. I didn't drink that much, did I?

"What is the performance, exactly?"

"Sorry, I can't tell too much about it yet. It is at a fetish fair, so eroticism is part of it. You will be naked except for six inch heels and a blindfold, and bound to restrict your movement. You will be fitted with a self torture type of device, the centrepiece of the performance. Naked, in a vulnerable position, you're in the end doing it to yourself, like so many people in a bad job, a bad relationship or otherwise bad situation, they feel vulnerable and unable to get out of it fearing the pain of breaking out of it. You have nipple piercings, right?"

"Yes, I do. Little rings."

"Perfect. Those are key to the contraption. You will go through a physical exam, to make sure you and your piercings are in good health for this performance."

The artist continued with a range of questions for me, including making sure my husband knew I was doing this and was OK it. I also received a ticket for him, to come and see me perform on the day. Part of the reward for the day included an overnight stay for my husband and me in a pretty nice hotel near to the performance venue.

Try something else. How about if I push my foot onto the toe... then I can wiggle maybe... careful now, almost lost my balance. That's bad. Can't have that happen again, hurts my arms way too much. Bite down. Don't let go. Maybe I can wiggle my knees a bit, that should be safe. I can do this. Oh, I'm drooling again. It runs down my chin, it'll drop on my chest soon. There's got to be a whole river between my boobs. What a sight I must be. All my naughty bits fully exposed, a very simple, obvious and effective restraint, a river of half dried spit running down my chest. Ow, my nipples. Note to self, don't move head up. Gotta remember that.

The weeks before the exhibition I was very excited, and also a bit afraid as the artist had not told me many details of the day. My husband was also obviously looking forward to visit the fair and see his lover on public display, it's been a while since I've seen him that horny. I mean, of course it was for looking at me, not for the chance to check out the other scantily clad girls at the conference. That was at least what he told me, and I take his word for it. Even though I am quite sure he was secretly mostly interested in ogling the other girls. After all, me he can see every day already.

The chain of the mouth piece rubs over my chest as I wiggle. Hold on to that rod in my mouth, ignore the pain it causes. I can do this. Not going to drop it, that's just way too painful. That demo of the artist was painful enough, and that was from well below my nipples. From my mouth it's at least four times that, so the pain will be four times that. Or was that sixteen times even? I forgot my physics. Double the distance dropped was that double or quadruple the energy? No, not interested in trying that one out. One way it just hurts even more than the other. Either way it hurts too much. More than I can handle. Just hold on. I can do this. Gotta be break time soon.

On the event day I had to arrive a few hours before opening. A beautician took care of me, not just my face but my whole body got a once over. Of course she did make me look my best, and I really liked the result. I looked like a decade younger again, even though she could of course not do anything about the sag of my breasts. That is just nature, and I'm not 20 any more.

The exhibition would last for about six hours, and I would have two breaks in between. An hour before the start of the event I was taken to the booth, where the last details were taken care of. It was only now that I learned the full details of the installation that I was going to be part of. It was simple yet very efficient.

On the stage I put on those massive heels, which are pretty hard to balance on. My legs were spread a bit and a bar attached to my ankles with short chains, severely limiting my leg movement and ensuring a good view of my pussy. Next, I had to raise my arms above my head, where my wrists were tied together and attached to a rope that went all the way up to the ceiling. This rope prevented me from putting down my arms, but if I were to trip, I would be hanging off it.

A thin metal chain was attached to my nipple rings, with a larger object halfway. As it hung down I could very well feel its weight pulling down my nipples. I am quite used to feeling such weight, my husband loves to let little weights swing from my piercings. My nipples are very sensitive and I am easily stimulated that way, which is one of the reasons I got those nipple rings to begin with.

Fully exposed, the heels forced me to hold back my butt and push my chest forward, having my arms pulled over my head lifted my breasts a bit. I knew I looked hot, and I knew I'd get lots of attention just for this pose. I was getting a little excited, and could easily feel the slight wetness of my exposed pussy. I was in for an interesting day, that was sure.

Can I now have my break, pretty please? I can't keep this up forever. I constantly hear voices, close to me, probably commenting on me. Do they like what they see? Do they like my body? Drooling over sexy me as I'm drooling on myself? I don't want to let the artist down, I want to continue the performance. I can do this. But it hurts. Everything hurts. My next break should be really soon now, it must have been a few hours since my first break. I can do this. I want to get off the stage, get out of those heels, stretch my muscles, and most of all have a pee. My bladder hurts. I have to squeeze harder, can't let go here, too embarrassing. My legs hurt, I can't control the shudder. They're painful, painful jelly. No, I can do this. My lunch break and relief must be due soon. Oh yes, I'm hungry as well. Doesn't matter. I can do this. Just stop thinking about it.

The artist held up the weight a bit and explained, "this is the thing you are to hang on to, with your mouth. As I explained, you will be hanging on to it even though it hurts, as if you let go, it drops down pulling your nipples hard," then dropped the weight without warning.

I gasped as the little weight jerked down my breasts, stretching my nipples a bit, and sending a wave of pain through my body, soon followed by a wave of excitement. The shock caused my muscles to contract and I almost lost my balance. I felt my pussy react instantly to the stimulation.

"Ow, I really felt that," I said after a while, smiling.

"You can imagine how that feels if it falls down all the way from your mouth."

The working of the contraption quickly dawned on me. Simple and devious, I was to hold this weight in my mouth at all times. Dropping it would be very painful on my nipples, but without dropping it I would not be able to say anything, including my safe word. I was to stand there, in a not all too comfortable position, exposed to the world, and the only way to get out of it was to go through a lot of pain. Pain that would of course not last all too long, yet a prospect that's painful enough to make me not wanting to change the status quo. Plus of course my moral commitment to the artist to do this performance today.

How many people have seen me by now? They must see me suffer, what will they be thinking? Do they see me as a piece of performance art, or just as a hot naked chick? Do they see why I am holding on to that thing in my mouth? Or do they just look at my tits and ass? The drool on my chest? Nothing to be ashamed of there, I'm in good shape, always been, always been pretty happy with my body. I can do this. The drool is not nice. But it's not why I'm standing here, of course. Does the audience understand the art? Do they know why I have a hard time keeping my legs straight? Do they just look at my tits? I can do this. Just breath. A few puffs maybe, get some air in. Careful now, don't let it drop. Oh, great, more saliva coming out. I just can't swallow properly with that thing in my mouth.

The artist held the mouth piece in front of my mouth. "Please open your mouth and chow down as I'll let it fall in five ... four ... three ..."

I quickly opened my mouth and grabbed the mouthpiece with my teeth. It was fairly small and not uncomfortable to hold. A blindfold completed the setup, covering not only my eyes but also my ears so I could not hear well what was being said around me, unless the speaker was rather close to me.

After that it was silent for a long time. I occasionally heard voices, the rattle of a cart rolling by, and the thump of other booths being set up. These sounds quickly disappeared as the public opening was due soon.

The blob of saliva drops off my chin, onto my chest. There it goes, the cold liquid runs down between my boobs towards my belly. It doesn't seem to reach my legs. Maybe it's just getting stuck in my pussy hair. It was looking so nicely trimmed this morning, I wonder how it looks now. Soaked in spit? Anyhow, it must be quite a sight for the visitors. It's probably the part of me they're most interested in anyway, art or not.

The whole position I was put in was not uncomfortable. It did not give me much mobility, and definitely put me on display. Legs slightly wide, chest thrust forward to balance myself on those heels, arms raised. I knew I looked pretty hot that way.

It did not take long for the first blobs of saliva to leave my mouth. Having the thing in my mouth activated my saliva production, and due to my position I could not swallow properly. The chain was too short for me to tilt my head up without pulling my breasts up by the nipple piercings, and that was seriously uncomfortable to do.

I could hear the distant rumble of voices, many voices, slowly becoming stronger. The fair had opened to the public. Many people, men and women alike, would be checking me out, likely without caring much about the artist's intentions of setting me up like this. At the same time the blindfold prevented me from seeing anything. My husband would come as well, but when? I had no idea.

What will the visitors think of the smell I put out? Sweat, excitement, saliva. That should be about it. My stomach rumbles, oh yes I'm hungry. It must be several hours since the first break, and I was promised a second one. Will I make it? I can do this. Can I hold my pee long enough? I can do this. I have to. I promised the artist I would do this performance. I can do this. Just stop thinking about it.

Many people were expected to visit this fair. Many people that came to see me naked, vulnerable, with my nipples very obvious tied together. I started to like the idea, that all those anonymous people would be looking at a sexy me. I hoped I would at least stir them up a little. Make some men hard, some women wet. That is the ultimate goal of a fetish fair after all, to arouse and be aroused. I thought of my ultimate reward, tonight in the hotel. I started to feel aroused as well, a little tingling in my pussy. I was more than ready for the performance.

Concentrate, lock out all the thoughts. Don't think, concentrate on my breathing. Ignore all the sounds around me. I can do this. I have to continue, my pride is on the line, as are my nipples. Of course I can bail out, I can open my mouth, endure the pain and tell the artist I'm bailing. But I won't. I'll just squeeze my bladder and wait for the break. It can't be long. I can do this. I just have to zone out, ignore everything. Breath in ... breath out ... breath in ... breath out ...

Maybe an hour into the exhibition disaster struck. I had been quite comfortable so far, feeling a little stiff from the standing but otherwise pretty much OK. Lots of people visited the booth, I heard lots of different voices. Some wanted to talk to the artist about the work, others just had a look at me. Suddenly though I felt an irritation in my nose. Some dust made its way in maybe, it is hard to say what really happened, but it was inevitable. A sneeze was building up. I did what I could to suppress it, as I was in no position to sneeze properly, but of course that is impossible.

So I sneezed.

Not a big one, it was highly suppressed, but it was a sneeze. Now try to sneeze with your arms held up in the air, legs forcibly spread, all the while balancing on some mega heels and holding something with your teeth. The wave that went through my body made me lose my balance, and there I was, hanging by my arms, trying to find secure footing, all the while desperately holding on to this mouth piece with my teeth.

Hanging from my stretched-out arms I tried to regain my footing. I was all sweaty and panting from the shock and the pain, groaning loudly, the only sound I could make without dropping the mouth piece.

After I was wiggling and struggling for a while I felt a pair of hands grabbing my waist, stabilising me. This allowed me to firmly plant my feet down on the podium, and a bit of wiggling with my feet later I was standing again. The hands lingered for a moment, then slowly loosened their grip and disappeared again. Was it the artist? A random passer-by? It is impossible to tell who helped me back up. I was just thankful that they did. I was panting, I felt the sweat running down my back. It was not particularly warm in the exhibition hall, so now the shock was gone the lingering sweat started to cool me down quickly. I shivered.

Huh... what's that touch? Is that the artist? Coming to help me down to take a break? No, just some stronger wind. How long have I been standing now? I don't know. I do know that I'm awake again. All my physical discomforts are back, with a vengeance. I really need to pee now. Still no break. How long do I still have to wait? Oh that trance was so comfortable, I really was out for a while. No idea how long, I have lost all sense of time. The pain of my full bladder is spreading through my legs to my tortured feet. Standing on high heels for several hours straight is so painful. Should I just lift my feet? Hang on that rope? From my arms? That could give some relief. All I have to do is slowly relax my legs, let my arms take the strain. Slowly. I can do this. This shouldn't hurt too much.

Following the sneeze I managed to just stand, and relax. My feet were quite OK, those heels were pretty comfortable, as far as high heels go. The sweat evaporated, and with it the chill disappeared.

After what felt like another hour, a wholly uneventful hour, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I heard the voice of the artist next to me.

"It is time for your break. I'm going to release your feet, then your hands. Do hold on to the weight in your mouth as I do this, and guide you backstage."

Unable to actually answer I just nodded slightly. I felt a touch on one ankle, then the other, as the spreader bar was released. A moment later my arms were freed. I rubbed my stiff muscles as I moved my arms down.

"Be careful. Turn around, then two steps forward are the steps down. I will support you as you walk down. The blindfold must stay on, to not break the magic. You may take the mouth piece out and hold it in your hands if you prefer."

I took the mouth piece down and held it in my hands, careful to not tug my nipples. After making it down the steps I was guided to a seat, and sat down.

"Anything you want? A drink, snack, toilet?"

"All of the above, please," I answered.

The artist took really good care of me, but insisted the blindfold stayed on. As a result I had no idea how the day progressed. No chance go get a feel of the time, or how many people there are, what they look like. It was just me in my little bubble. After taking off the high heels I was led to the toilet, drank some water and had a few cookies. Ready to go back on stage, back on display.

Just hang on my arms for a bit, it's going well. I can do this. The weight on my feet is less now, a little more and I can lift my foot. Damn, almost lost my balance there. Ow, my arm hurts. Bad idea, girl. Bad idea. Feet back on the ground, stand up. I can do this. Ow, ow, that hurts big time. My feet hurt even more now I put my weight on it again. I can do this. Everything hurts. I'm sweating. I can't let go, it hurts too much. I can do this. The audience must be able to see the pain on my face, everything hurts, but I have to wait for my break. Just have to. I can do this. Breath in ... breath out ... breath in ...

Suddenly I felt a strong wind at my pussy. Surprised, I jerked back a little bit, almost losing my balance. Some quick corrections with my feet and disaster averted. I breathed quickly from the shock, feeling afraid, afraid of falling myself, afraid of dropping the mouthpiece and the pain it results in.

A moment later I feel a gentle breeze of warm air, as if someone is breathing on my pussy. Are they trying to smell me or so? I have no idea what is going on. There is a strict no touching policy, so I'm not afraid of them doing anything unwanted to me. The attention to this sensitive region does strongly arouse me.

The warm breath moved to other parts of my body. It started to feel like my husband, he often does just that to me. He knows I'm rather ticklish, and that air blown just right can set me off. This air was blown just right. He was teasing me, trying to make me aroused while I was in no position to do anything about or with it. If anything, it worked. I felt really naughty, knowing that there must be a good number of onlookers. No doubt these onlookers noticed how my nipples had grown already, how my face reacted to the stimulation, how my breath became faster.