Out of film.

Throughout it all I'm helpless to stop, feeling near exhausted by the end from all the complicated positions I've had to perform, my muscles sore and tendons aching. Finally, Ming Zhao appears to struggle with the camera in confusion, before looking up at my puppeteer and wordlessly indicating through gestures and mime-talking that there's no film left in the invisible camera.

Raquel frowns and sighs exaggeratedly, like all her fun has been spoiled. Despite not appearing overtly muscular, evidently she's more impressive than I thought, as she's not even out of breath. She rests her arms at her sides and I feel my arms get set free.

I immediately take the opportunity to dash away, but an unbelievable gust of wind hits me. No one else seems to be affected by it, but it's keeping me from moving forward even a centimeter. I struggle against it, trying to move forward and squinting my eyes as I'm pummeled by what must be 70mph winds. That's when I see my personal mute tormentor fighting the wind beside me, slowly and inexplicably making progress as she manages to make her way beside me. Being the only other person in the whole square who seems to feel the wind, her face also bears the expression of one fighting a gale, her arms raising up and around me. She moves her hands like she's tying a knot, and suddenly the wind stops, in an instant.

I crash forward onto the pavement, having still been leaning forward quite a lot, and when I look up she's waving her hands over me-- no, she's moving her hands over something... the invisible outline of a box. She walks away to my crush, who is miming removing photos from a Polaroid. I stand up, immediately hitting my head on something, although when I look it's just open air.

Meanwhile, the mime Raquel and the businesswoman Ming Zhao are fake-leafing through the unseen pictures, reacting as though they can see what must be horrifyingly embarrassing images. My attention is drawn from them by more whoops and hollers from the restless crowd, and I realize that my boner, while no longer at full **** (most likely thanks to the typhoon scale winds) is still waving like a flag at the top of a pole. I look around, cheeks inflamed like a tomato, and see a statue nearby. I make a beeline for it, hoping to hide my body from the leering voyeurs, but I smack right into the wall of my transparent prison.

Finally, on the other end of the court, the performer and her volunteer seem to reach a consensus, holding out their hands as though they're showing off a chosen few portraits of my modeling. With a devilish grin and wild eyes, the black-and-white-striped busker appears to toss the snapshots over the crowd.

Every cellphone in every pocket of every member of that massive audience gets an alert tone. Almost in slow-motion, I watch as one by one, every woman in that crowd takes out their phone, and stares in confusion, followed by realization, followed by elation. The looks I see are aroused, verging on frighteningly lustful, several of them looking down at their phone, them up to me in my invisible cube, then back to their screens.

A roar of laughter is all I hear as Raquel finally walks back over to me with a sway of her hips, miming opening a door in the box and leading me out by the binds still attached to my penis. I walk forward, a shivering and blushing mess. I still don't quite realize what happened until I look back at the audience, a few women pointing at me and laughing while swiveling their phones around so I can see. A high-quality image of me in my numerous poses has appeared in their photos, my cheeks beet red in each of them, my cock fully erect in half of them. I'm horrified, and I grow light-headed, feeling like I might faint.

The woman I've pined after for so long notices my swaying, and swiftly glides to my side, holding my shoulders protectively and steadying me with a concerned expression. Raquel has a look of confusion on her face, which morphs into comprehension, and she smiles, offering the rope attatched to my nethers to Ming Zhao. She looks surprised, but accepts it, rubbing a hand through my hair affectionately before whispering in my ear, "Looks like I've got the reigns now~"

The amazing Raquel gestures to us and the dozens of women watching give a thunderous applause. Raquel herself then bows, and her dog takes the cue, dragging a basket labeled 'donations' to the forefront of the square, and within seconds the basket is filled with coin and dollar.

As the receiver of my affections leads me away from the crowd, she says quietly so only I can hear, "Don't worry. She assured me that those pictures will disappear in an hour, no matter where they're posted." That eases my anxiety by a truckload, but I'm still shaken up, still blushing deep crimson, and most worrying to me, still tied tightly in these invisible binds.

I mumble to Ming Zhao, "Um... c-could we go back, please?" She looks at me in disbelief, before I go on. "I... still need to get this um... lasso, off of me..." She widens her eyes and laughs out loud, quickly covering her mouth to silence the outburst, which only made me blush deeper. She calms down a little, going to my side and goes through the motions of untying something. I feel my arms loosen, and I rub them, stretching slightly to get the feeling back.

"U-um, how did you...?" I begin. She interrupts, "She made me an honorary mime when I volunteered. And don't worry about that other little bind... I'll handle that later~" I swallow hard. Her gaze is at my crotch, and I'm not sure if 'that' refers to the bind, or my dick. She holds the end of the bind and pulls, leading me out of the square as the cheering dies behind us.