21. Orgasms. Freedom

Oh, I can feel the excitement flooding through my body, bringing every nerve in me to life. My thoughts are filled with anticipation as the thought of being part of this conceptual artist's controversial artwork fills my core. The mere idea of presenting my naked body to the world makes my pulse race and my heart beat against my chest. I am gripped by a mixture of fear and excitement.

My skin tingles with heightened sensitivity, as if preparing to catch the artist's eye. His eyes that will devour every inch of my body. A pleasurable shiver runs down my spine, a delicious mixture of fear and lust. My breathing quickens as I inhale the tantalizing scent of my own arousal. The air is charged with electric energy, crackling with forbidden pleasure. My nipples harden under the fabric of my clothes, longing to be freed from their restraints. The fabric of my briefs becomes damp, a clear sign of my growing desire.

Images of the artist's hands exploring my curves flood my mind. His touch leaves a trail of goose bumps on my heated skin. I imagine his cool fingertips gliding over my bare skin and drawing delicate patterns on it. The thought of his gaze fixed on me, his eyes full of desire, makes my insides throb with longing.

Oh, how can I stop myself? Even at school, I couldn't resist showing the boys a little more of myself. I was embarrassed, but at the same time it gave me this very special thrill that made me tremble inside.

I remember this one scene when I was changing after gym class. I had made sure the connecting door to the boys was open and pretended not to notice. I could feel their curious glances on my body. I felt my cheeks flush as I slowly lifted my shirt and revealed my breasts. I could literally feel the heat in the air as they couldn't take their eyes off my youthful tits.

But that wasn't enough for me. I wanted to go further. My fingers slid to my waistband and I slowly lowered my gym shorts so that the boys could catch a glimpse of my skimpy briefs. I could see their eyes resting greedily on my exposed private parts and it drove me wild.

It was a mix of shame and excitement that spurred me on. Every look I received intensified my inner frenzy. I loved feeling her desire, her soft sighs and the twitching in her pants. It was a dangerous game I was playing, but I just couldn't help it.

My heart beats with excitement as the artist leads me naked into the room. My feet are in seductively high heels that are far too high. A feeling of submission permeates my body, intensifying the sizzling desire that fills me.

The room I am led into is large and white. The walls are clean and purist, while the floor is smooth beneath my feet. In the middle of the room is a round pedestal that looks like an altar of pleasure.

The spotlights shine warm light on me, their intense glow creating an aura of sensuality and voyeurism. The light envelops my naked body and highlights every inch of my skin. I feel like a muse in the spotlight, ready to reveal my deepest desires.

The heat of the spotlights on my skin creates a pleasant tingling sensation, while my senses are bewitched by the intensity of the light. My feet are being chained to a plate in the middle of the podest.

I'm suddenly horny from standing on a platter like this. My legs are spread slightly to expose my shame. Every inch of my body is exposed to scrutiny and it fills me with a mixture of shame and lust.

My breasts swell with excitement, their sensitive nipples hard and erect. I imagine how the onlookers will look at them later, how they will admire the curves, the firmness, the sensuality of my breasts. The thought that they can imagine what it would be like to lay their hands on my shapely curves ignites a fire of passion in me.

The pressure of the restraints around my ankles, which restrict my freedom of movement, gives me the feeling of being at their mercy, of losing control. It's an intoxicating mix of helplessness and desire that drives me mad. I can literally feel the heat between my thighs as my desire builds up there and takes on a pulsating rhythm.

I can feel people's eyes on me as they are let into the room and examine my breasts, my ass and my exposed shame. Their eyes wander over my body, taking in every detail, and it fills me with a mixture of shame and lust.

I don't let my hands wander to my breasts to cover them. Why should I? After all, I have made a conscious decision to present myself here in this situation. It is an act of freedom, self-determination and pleasure. I want to give visitors the opportunity to experience me in all my nakedness, without restrictions or coverings.

The shame I feel is part of the game, part of the provocation that takes place in this moment. It's like a rush that I enjoy while I fuel the visitors' fantasies. The idea that they desire me, that they imagine what it would be like to touch me, makes my insides quake with passion.

Here it comes, the rod between my legs, a metal dildo that gives me the opportunity to rub my clitoris against it. Another step in this exciting game of lust and devotion.

I feel my heart beat faster as the artist positions the dildo. The smooth, cold surface touches my sensitive skin and creates a tingling desire inside me. My gaze wanders to the visitors, who are eagerly waiting to see how I handle this toy.

He pushes a button. Inexorably, the metal dildo slowly enters me. An intense sensation permeates my body as I feel it filling me bit by bit.

The smooth, cool surface of the dildo glides effortlessly along my wet opening and gently stretches me. I can feel the intense tightness as it pushes deeper and deeper into me, penetrating me and surrendering me to the will of the artist and the visitors.

Standing there impaled like this is a loss of control that overwhelms me at this moment. The dildo fills me completely, stretches me, creates a deep longing inside me.

The movement of the dildo is slow but unstoppable. It pushes deeper and deeper into me, hitting every sensitive spot and creating a firework display of sensations. I can feel the friction, the pulsing, the urge for more as it inexorably approaches my cervix.

The intensity of the penetration increases. The heat rises inside me, my muscles tense up and I can literally feel the visitors' desire as they imagine being in my place, feeling like me. The dildo stops. The artist explains his work. It's called "21. Orgasms. Freedom." The artist explains with an almost stoic composure that I will automatically regain my freedom after 21 orgasms. Then he leaves me alone with the visitors.

I can literally feel their anticipation of the upcoming spectacle.