Nope, she's in the museum forever

The displays are always different.

Sometimes, Susie is posed in an old-fashioned Emily Dickinson dress, maybe with a book in her hand. That's not so bad. Until somebody takes the dress off, which always happens sooner or later, and finds out she's not wearing anything underneath.

The room fills with people, men and women, total strangers, and if she's not naked at the beginning she's usually been stripped before the first hour is through. Sometimes people flip the dress up, peeking at her bare bottom, and sometimes they tear it into little pieces. She's never sure where they are. The only clue is the accents. One day it's the South, then California, then England, then maybe somewhere in Mexico. She doesn't know, and she can't ask.

She's gotten to know the other girls by sight. She doesn't know their names, or where Trickett got them. Boudicea is a strong-looking redhead, Cleopatra a curvy black girl, Helen of Troy a suntanned Mediterranean with dark curly hair and rosebud lips. Sometimes a new girl will be added, or one will disappear. Whether they're released, sold or put to use elsewhere in the carnival, Susie doesn't know.

There are temporary exhibitions, as well. Trickett caught a whole ballet troupe in France, a women's soccer team in Brazil, a dozen nuns in Portugal. They're stripped, put on display, their fans and critics and enemies invited to the show. There are props involved. The soccer team had their breasts oiled, the nuns were left overnight with nipple and clit vibrators set to maximum volume. Susie was given the vibrators as well, just for fun.

And she's teased, of course. Sometimes, when business is slow, Trickett likes to line up her girls in a row with their legs spread and go from one to the next, spreading their labia and gently stroking their pussies with a paintbrush. The guests all know she's alive and conscious and helpless, and Trickett puts out wooden spoons for them to paddle her bottom with, or peacock feathers to tickle her tits. The hypnosis keeps her orgasm in check and it slowly builds up inside, driving her mad by staying out of reach. Then Trickett invites thirty people to see how wet her pussy is, opens Cleopatra's mouth and forces her tongue between Susie's legs for the next hour of display.

Or she puts things up Susie's bottom. A bouquet of roses, or a greased carrot, or the wrong end of a feather duster. Maybe, if Trickett is feeling particularly evil, a peeled ginger root. The guests aren't allowed to fuck her, but sometimes a cucumber or a big pink dildo or an unpeeled banana is slid into her soaking pussy, an overripe tomato in her mouth.

But mostly it's the nakedness that's the ****. Standing there, in front of hundreds of total strangers, bare from top to toe, all of them drinking her in.

Maybe, if she's very, very lucky, one day it will end.