Chapter 79 – Paris is put on display

When the lady in the grass skirt helped me stand, I figured she’d take my leash and lead me off to some private area for Art to enjoy. So, when she turned me around and started fiddling with the zipper to my dress, I had to fight the panic rising in my chest. I can count the people that have seen me dressed up in sexy lingerie on a single hand and I don’t even need my thumb. Not even Mal has seen me down to my lingerie all at once. Darnell did, but only that first time. And even then it was in the dark. Now, in this fairly well let room, Art was going to get to see me presented to him in practically see through lace bra and panties and fishnet stockings. Art and a dozen or so people that were still milling about.

The only tool in my arsenal to keep calm is the fact that I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t run, I couldn’t hide, I couldn’t cry out. I couldn’t even move enough to object. Plus, it would only be momentary. Once she had the gag off, I’d have Art take me someplace private. I could deal with him later alone, but I’d get him to let me put the dress back on until we were alone.

And that might have worked. There were plenty of people enjoying the show of the Aunty disrobing the Handmaid and she was making a show out of it. She’d expose a little bit of my skin, then move on to something less erotic. Unzip the front of the dress just enough so that the people could see my cleavage and the color of my bra, then move up to untying my hair. Unzip down to my belly, then pulling the sleeves apart and letting them hang empty. Unzipping the rest of the way and flashing a quick peek at my lace underwear before turning me around and gently pulling the dress from my shoulders. The oohhs and aahhs were genuine as she exposed the severely tied arm binder.

When she turned me back to face Art and the rest of the table, I could practically feel their eyes crawling over my mostly nude flesh. And while I felt my cheeks enflame with embarrassment and shame, I couldn’t blame them in the least. I’d admired my own devastatingly beautiful body in the mirror plenty of times and know that it’s difficult to NOT look at it. And that’s just when I was nude out of the shower, these people are seeing me dressed up in a high-end call-girls bra and panties.

I took a deep shuddering breath through my nose so that I could be ready to start talking when the Aunt put her hands on my shoulders and turned me around again. I clenched my eyes closed for a moment in frustration as of course, she’d have to show off the thong. But my assumption proved wrong when she started backing me up. My eyes opened just as she was directing me back down into Art’s lap. With my arms still bound. With my neck still collared. With my mouth still gagged. And with this facial covering obscuring my silence with a character trait.

Art’s trousers feel smooth against the bare skin of my ass and thighs and while I could feel his growing hard on beneath me before, I can feel its clear definition now. Where Art might be small in stature, he certainly didn’t copy that to his privates. He’s not Mal or Darnell big, but he’s packing enough in his pants to make him bigger than most of the guys in the office.

God, is it always going to be second nature for me to now gauge and compare cock sizes?

As the Aunt is saying her goodbyes Art resumes his hand hold on my hip while his other hand openly starts stroking along my inner thigh. Subtly certainly wasn’t a tool in Art’s skill set as I had to take a sudden intake of breath through my nose when his fingers found the front of my panties and he started to stroke me there. My arousal was already half cocked with all the stimulation from the toys, the experience with Darnell in the copy room, and having all those men touch and feel me up on the stage so it didn’t take much for Art to get my engines revving again.

Leaning in close to me Art whispers, “Jeez Paris, I didn’t know you were this kinky!”

I close my eyes and try to push out everything around me. We’re not in some big ballroom in a private mansion. We’re not surrounded by dozens of guests and staff. I’m not practically nude sitting on the lap of a billionaire, gagged and bound and giving every impression that I am into this type of activity. And I even try to push out the sensations coming from Art’s fingers. Mal could use his fingers to get me off, but he’s… well, I can’t even try to deny it, he’s a master of getting women off. Art’s arousing me almost by accident. He’s pressing too hard in places and not hard enough in others. He’s not focused on where a clit should be, where I’d get the most stimulation. And he’s not avoiding it as in a teasing way, he’s just outright missing it.

When Art pulls his hand from in between my legs, I pray that he’s done and wants some more action in private. But instead, I hear him say, “Oh, I forgot about these!” my eyes flash open and I try to scream into my gag. I think a sound might have come out of my mouth, but even if it did it didn’t sound like an objection. I can’t look down to watch, but I can still feel Art pull down my bra cup and pull off the nipple stimulator. I can hear the vibrating motor turn on and recognized the sound as evidently the stimulators turn back on at the same setting they’d last turned off from. In other words, full blast. My whole-body jerks as Art presses the vibrating stimulator back over my engorged nipple and repeats the action on my other breast. As soon as I’m being vibrated and stimulated fully Art drops his hand back to my lap and started back where he left off, clumsily fingering me.

The next hour was torturous. Being almost nude in front of a crowd is humiliating and demoralizing. Being presented that way while bound and gagged is even worse. Being lazily and incorrectly fingered by a ‘friend’ while nipple stimulators do their worst is just about as close to mental hell as I can imagine.

Forty-five minutes after Art got the stimulators going, I figured out how it could get worse. Cumming in the lap of said friend when he and the stimulators just barely get you over the orgasm edge making it the most humiliating and least satisfying orgasm you’ve ever had. The bondage has me held so damned tight and the gag has me so quiet I’m not even sure Art knows I came on his lap. He didn’t react, he didn’t respond, he didn’t speed up or slow down, he didn’t try to length and enhance the orgasm, and he didn’t stop to let it peter out by itself. And as the last pathetic waves fade through me, I can’t even slump down. I’m still held up on full display for everybody here.

Eventually the public portion of the night wraps up. Art stands up, helping me to my ballet booted feet, and shakes hands with his fellow table guests before wishing them well. When one of the staff walk over, a lovely woman of course wearing less than me but still more covered up, tells Art she’ll take him to his room.

We’re guided to a small but luxurious elevator and taken to a bedroom on the third floor. I note, as we walk in and the staff member gives Art the tour, that there’s only one bed. When they return to this main room the staff member wishes us a fun night and backs her way out, closing the doors along with her. Art stretches his arms wide and grins at me, “Well, that was a fun fun night. I’m so glad that you wanted to join the festivities directly. It really brought me out of my shell as everybody saw me as the luckiest man there. And you can drop the role now, did you have fun?”

I stare at Art for several long seconds trying to figure out if he’s seriously unaware of the predicament I’m in, seriously believing that I volunteered to be this immobile sex doll all night, or if he’s playing some game like Mal would. Rubbing in the fact that I can’t dispute what he’s saying, letting him write my reality even though I know it’s a lie. After a bit with Art still looking at me expectantly, I make a show of looking downward toward my facial covering then back up to him. I open my eyes wider and do the same motion again since I honestly don’t have any other expressive way at my disposal to try and get him to take this bondage gear off. Or at least to turn the damned nipple stimulators off.

It takes him several long moments but Art eventually gets the message and jerks to action, “OH! You want me to take that off? Umm… okay.” He continues chatting while working his way behind me and feeling the straps and ties to the mask/collar and arm binder, “I just assumed you could slip out of those things. Hmm… uh… ah, here’s the clasps. Wow, these are really really tight. Are you able to breathe okay? What am I saying, of course you are, but… oh my, this portion is stiff. Could you even move your neck?”

Art gets the posture collar and facial covering off. Instead of continuing with the straps for the ring gag and penis gag combination he moves to start playing with the straps for the arm binder. The more he works at it though, the more I can hear the realization building in his voice, “Okay, let’s get this part off. There has to be one trick pull, right? Hmm, is it down here by your hands? Hey, while I’m down here, I just have to say this lingerie is beautiful on you. Umm, could you at least tell me where the slip is? Surely you weren’t really strapped into this thing. I guess, well I guess I’ll just have to take it off the hard way.”

I can’t help but listen quietly and roll my neck from side to side, feeling like that little bit of freedom is almost worth the humiliation of having Art paw at my near nude body trying to unbind me from an obvious professional bondage artist, “Uh, Paris? I can feel how tight this is. I mean, there is no play for your shoulders. I can’t imagine being put into this thing, let alone staying in it for hours. But, um, how do I get it out without at least temporarily making it tighter? I don’t want to hurt you.”

I still don’t have enough communication tools at my disposal. I can’t convey something as complex as ‘Go ahead and do it, getting out of the bindings will feel far better than the little bit of stretching you will make’. I’m not even sure that nodding or shaking my head would convey what I want. Instead, I decide that this isn’t the time for subtle. I just need him to get me out of this. It still takes effort to spread my legs as much as the hobble will allow and a moment to make sure I don’t just fall to the floor with this move, but once I’m ready I lean back and just press my bound arms forcefully into Art’s chest.

As I hoped, the move took Art by surprise. I connected both with his chest and my hands swinging back got him right in the groin. I hear him whoosh out all the air in his chest and take a stumbling step back, but he got the idea, “Oh, sorry, okay I’ll just get it, uh, I’ll just do it.”

My hope is that once Art has my arms free, I’ll be able to reach up and get the damned gag off myself, but I’m even thwarted there. Art gets the arm binder off strap by strap, but when it finally falls to the floor I can barely swing my arms to and fro, let alone move my hands up to my head. I can tell that it’s going to be an intense few minutes as I feel the sensation coming back like pins and needles all the way from my shoulders to my fingertips.

Not being able to get the gag off myself doesn’t stop me from moving faster though. Turning so that I’m facing Art, showing him for the first time that I’ve been gagged for hours, I barely turn my hands, which remain stubbornly at my sides, so that I can point up to my face as I shake my head side to side aggressively and angrily. I add some shouted sounds, but even in my angry agitated state it still comes out as a mere mumble.

Just a half hour ago, sitting almost nude on Art’s lap while he lazily strummed the front of my panties and had the nipple stimulators going, I was afraid he’d be demanding in the bedroom. That he’d be cruel and leave me bound but free my mouth for a blow job. Or worse, toss me on the bed and try to fuck me. Even if he just freed my hands and asked for a hand job, I was in such a state that I’d have done it. But the look on his face clearly says that Art is not going to be forcing anything. He’s probably not even going to ask or hint at anything sexual. My signal of anger and agitation came across clearly as Art now looks nervous and scared.

I finally turn back around and lean my head back, pointing the straps for the gag right at him. Without a word this time I feel his hands working at the straps in my hair. He could have moved faster, but the fact that his hands are trembling slows him down.

When I feel the straps finally pull free I try to push the gag out with my tongue and find out to my great dismay that my mouth being held open that long has made them as weak as my arms. Turning around again I lean forward and do the eye motion again. Look down, look up into Art’s eyes, look down.

His hands are at least a little steadier this time as he works at the penis gag. His only verbalization is a whispered “oh what the fuck is this” when he pulls it out of my mouth and sees just exactly what I’ve been dealing with. Thankfully Art doesn’t need more encouragement to keep working and get the ring gag out of my mouth. With as weak as my jaw is it’s easy for him to pull it open a little more and slide the metal ring from in between my teeth. When I’m finally free, I don’t wait for permission, and instead move slowly to the bed, turn around and sit down.