I date Alistair, a modern art dealer.

"I feel SO exposed!" you hiss to April. You are both in a limousine heading up the mountains to his house, where he's holding one of his, supposedly famous, 'art parties'.

You are wearing a $4,000 Amina Muaddi vegan leather catsuit, with integrated thigh-high boots with her famous kitten high heels built in. You look like a sexed up version of Diana Rigg right out of the Avengers.

"You look AMAZING," April says. "I wish I could pull off that look!"

"But.... my bulge! Everyone can see my bulge!" You are referring to your hard penis, which is clearly visible underneath the skin-tight leather catsuit. For some reason, your date asked that you NOT be tucked.

"It's what Alistair asked for," April said, shrugging. "These parties are pretty wild, is my understanding. I think you'll fit right in."

The limo arrives. You feel the catsuit deliciously stretch and pull over your body as you walk to the front door. It feels amazing on, especially pulled tight across your new breasts.

"Welcome, welcome!" Alistair says, ushering you into his home.

The party is in full swing and his massive living room / outdoor space is packed with people drinking, dancing and admiring the modern sculptures and artworks which seem to be everywhere.

You were expecting, perhaps, a British Butler type, but Alistair is more like an arty/intense Hugh Grant, with excited, interested eyes, glasses, a slim body and an impish smile which darts all over, observing everything.

"This house is amazing!" you enthuse. It is clearly an early-modern architectural marvel, with floor-to-ceiling doors and windows, long horizontal lines, and integrated stone and wood materials.

"Ah! A woman of good taste!" Alistair compliments you. "It's a Richard Neutra."

"NO WAY," you say, shocked.

"Who is Richard Neutra?" asks April.

You roll your eyes, and immediately agree to a tour of the house and its contents with Alistair.

As he shows you around, you are introduced to a variety of celebrities, basketball players, TV stars, industrialists and High-Tech entrepreneurs and you think how amazing it is, sometimes, to live in California.

"What's this piece?" you ask.

It's a series of three rings which are attached to rigid metal rods which rise up to the ceiling.

"It's for you, if you dare," Alistair says with a wicked grin. "It's an original Monica Bonvincini, but it needs a volunteer."

Your eyes go wide.

"What do you mean?" you ask.

Alistair unhinges the rings. The large one in the center is for your head, and the other two are for your arms. They exactly the right height so that you would be **** to stand, straight up, with good posture, fixed in place if you were to put them on.

"Do you want to become the center of attention?" Alistair says, with a wicked grin. "Do you want to become a living, modern art sculpture?"

You look at him, then at the rings, shackles, really, and then back at Alistair. You look for April but see that she is talking to potential future clients and completely ignoring you.

You think for one more second. After all, why not? Don't you want to be involved in more adventures? Aren't you interested in pushing your boundaries.

You take one more look at Alistair and nod. Stepping forward and gently putting your head into the first ring, then your hands in both of the others. Although metal, you discover they are padded on the inside with soft leather. Alistair clicks them closed.

You are now standing, in the middle of the room, with your head up and looking forward. The center collar is thick enough that you can't really look down - very similar to the collar for your posture training. Your hands are also locked, to the left and right of your head, your elbows making perfect 90-degree angles.

You are grateful for your Amina Muaddi high heels! If they were any lower, this would be extremely uncomfortable. You wonder if this was all part of Alistair's plan?

Regardless, you are a stunning, black-clad, captured goddess, standing in the middle of the room. Unable to move, your curves are taught and beautiful, your catsuit stretched tight over your entire body.

Alistair claps his hands for attention. "Everyone!" he calls out. "Jennifer has graciously agreed to be the subject for the Monica Bonvincini tonight. Now, unlike all of my other artwork, the rule for this piece is: Please touch."

You gasp in shock. "Alistair?" you ask, in a tremulous voice.

"Enjoy," he says, tracing a finger gently between your buns before stepping away.