Kiri had signed up for the art project without knowing the details. The title was “Sexual Bondage and Release”, and the prospectus had her at the first line, “A volunteer will be exhibited…”
Now she was an art installation at the local mall. Her lower body from the ribs down was encased in a steel box. Her upper body was beautifully naked. Bystanders and passersby could see her panting and gasping, could see her hard nipples and her heaving breasts, could see her hands clenching and unclenching, desperately searching for something to hold on to that was not smooth metal or her own skin.
The steel box, so smooth and passive on the outside, had a lot going on within. A large array of devices were busy massaging, probing, rubbing, sucking, and vibrating Kiri’s most sensitive places. Mostly around her crotch, but also at her sides, behind her knees and at the soles of her feet. Her legs were shackled to the walls of the box so that she couldn’t close them to protect herself; she was forced to be open to everything the machine did to her. A set of tubes plugged into her kept things tidy.
The only thing missing was penetration. The artist had taken one look at her and removed the dildo attachment, explaining “You don’t deserve to be filled.” Kiri had blushed and nodded, determined to accept whatever was in store for her.
None of this was visible to the onlookers; all they could see was the effect on Kiri, who writhed and moaned nonstop. Sometimes she pounded on the box with her fists in frustration, but the top of the box was tightly sealed around her and nothing she could do could reach or affect the constant torment within. It was like her lower body was in a different world and all she could do was endure.
Endure, and wait. There was a countdown timer on the box. It was on the back where she couldn’t see. Below the timer were two buttons. One increased the remaining time, the other reduced it. Visitors were welcome to use these buttons. Many just pressed one on their way past; some stayed to interact with her a bit first. Kiri had no way to know which button they chose.
When the box was first closed around her, the artist had explained that it could only unlock from the inside. Short of a blowtorch, she wasn’t getting out of there until the timer had counted down. Well, there was one shortcut: the machine would open if she managed to have an orgasm while trapped in it. “Good luck with that,” the artist had added sarcastically.
The machine had been carefully programmed to stimulate her relentlessly without giving her any release. It monitored her heart rate, skin moisture and muscle tension to make sure it never pushed her over the edge. Whenever Kiri got close, the devices would slow down or back off, or switch to tickling to distract her. In extreme cases it resorted to electric shocks. Once Kiri had calmed down a bit, the stimulation would ramp up again.
The machine had a learning circuit. As time passed, it got more and more accurate at predicting Kiri’s reactions, becoming able to keep her hovering just at the edge for longer and longer without ever letting her come.
Most of the audience quite enjoyed the spectacle, and several were glad to take advantage of Kiri’s desperate requests for stimulation in her hope of obtaining release. An elderly man who worked in the ice cream shop around the corner spent all his breaks deep kissing with Kiri and fondling her breasts and nipples. He always pressed the “more time” button when he was done, because he wasn’t about to give up such a nice toy any sooner than he had to.
Some people just came to talk to her. They would perch on the box at her side, or sit in the chair in front of her that someone had thoughtfully placed there. Many of them petted and stroked her while talking, while others just watched and enjoyed her desperation up close. A few lonely men just hugged her trembling body while nuzzling her hair and kissing her neck, thinking of faraway loved ones.
One young woman visited several times to ask Kiri about her darkest, sickest fantasies. Which button she pressed depended on whether she thought Kiri had been creative enough. She later revealed that she worked for the local paper and was doing an article on the art piece.
A particularly cruel spectator came by a couple of times to tell her that he would reduce the time if she could hold absolutely still for two minutes. He often got the audience to chant along with the count to 120. She never made it, though, and he would shake his head in mock sadness while pressing the other button.
Some groups of young men organized competitions to see who could get her to do the lewdest things using just her breasts, fingers and mouth. Of course most of them took pictures and video to remember the event. Soon Kiri was a big hit on various image sharing sites on the net.
The informational posters around the installation referred to her simply as “the volunteer”, but it did not take long for word to spread among Kiri’s friends and acquaintances. Several of them came to visit, to snap some selfies, or to indulge their long-repressed desire for her. Some just came to see if it was really true. There was also an open guestbook nearby. Kiri couldn’t see it, but she often heard people giggle while turning the pages. Apparently it was very popular, with people adding poems and drawings or just writing what they thought.
A shy girl came to ask Kiri a lot of questions about what it was like: how did it feel? (overwhelming) how did she bear it? (no choice) was she looking forward to it ending? (she didn’t really believe it would) would she like to have her nipples rubbed? (YES PLEASE)
The girl’s last question was whether any more volunteers would be needed; then she blushed and ran away.
Kiri didn’t know how long the machine had been set for initially, and she had no idea how much time was being added or subtracted by her audience. People being what they are though, the “add” button saw the most use and the timer only really went down at night when the mall was quiet. Hours turned into days; the artist occasionally came by to feed Kiri and fondle her a bit and take some professional photographs.
One enterprising lady organized a trivia game every evening. The audience would shout out questions and Kiri would have to answer them; if she got too many wrong the timer would go up. More and more often the result would be “no answer due to incoherent moaning”, but no one seemed to mind. More time was added anyway.
The artist was getting a bit worried about the installation. The permit was only for one week and it looked like this was going to go over time. Well, perhaps it was still possible to apply for an extension.