Just another boring cocktail party. Nothing to do all day except spend
Daddy's money (as quickly and as pointlessly as possible) and maybe find a
waiter or barman and take him out into the kitchens and give him a taste of
how the other half lives. Even the invitation seems to have lied, no sign of
the modern performance art. Which is all pretty boring anyway. Nothing to do
but sip the inferior vintage wine, listen to the bored wives jangle their
jewellry, and hope against hope for someone good looking to turn up.
Not like this scruffy bloke. Ropes and chains from the belt, Pu-leeeze!
That's SO 1970's. Not even the cool fake disco sort of 1970's, even. Yuch!
Oh god, he's coming this way. Reptile at 10 o'clock alert!
"Hey dirtball, don't you know about personal space? Get away from me you
reptile! Get your hands OFF!"
"Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present our featured guest artist, Eduardo. As
you can see, Eduardo specialises in living performance art. He calls this
work 'Conversation Piece'. I think you'll agree that her conversation is
much more interesting than the self-absorbed drivel she usually spouts, and
furthermore her wriggles show off the artistic curves she's so fond of
teasing with. Eduardo invites you to study the work at your leisure; this is
an interactive sculpture and your suggestions will be incorporated as the
Interactive sculpture! Performance art! Bastards! Her outrage only grew as
the first addition to her predicament was a ball-gag. What made it worse was
that it had been by popular acclaim. Not just your few suggestions after a
minute's uncomfortable silence, either. They'd all started to shout ideas at
once. But "Gag her!" was certainly the most popular chant. So in went the
ballgag, and the drooling started.
(By the way, I had thought that no human being could possibly dribble more
copiously than Rachel Paine. Oh boy, was I wrong. Chanta Rose wins the title
of "Drool Queen" by about a gallon a minute over the previous holder.
Eeeee-ugh! I'll try to remember to wipe your face BEFORE wiping up the
puddle of slime on the backdrop next time though, Chanta :-)
In fact, she drooled so much they had to ungag her again to make sure she
could breathe. Eduardo tied her in a different position, after removing her
skimpy cocktail dress. Flat on your back with wrists and ankles cuffed
together isn't one of the most ladylike way to greet the guests at a
cocktail party. It is even more difficult to retain your Swiss Finishing
School composure when some bright spark suggests the addition of some
clothespegs on your nipples, then goes back to quaffing her champagne.
But she noticed something. The men were looking at her and there was
something in their eyes. The women were looking at her, and there was
something else in their eyes. A certain green tinge of jealousy. Beaus
weren't paying much attention to their dates. They'd start a conversation
about the weather in Cannes this week, and their man would look a them and
answer some trivial crap. But their eyes kept darting and dodging to the
corner of the room, to the naked girl on her back on the table. The naked,
bound girl. The naked, extremely beautiful, bound girl. She as starting to
enjoy herself, to play up to it. The clothespegs tingled a bit coming off,
but when she saw the bitch who'd suggested them get red wine spilt all down
her white dress because her husband was looking at the naked girl rather
than where his feet were... she laughed out loud. Not because of a rival
getting humiliated, just because it was funny.
When Eduardo came for the next act of the performance, she whispered her own
Eduardo flipped her over onto her stomach. She started pulling at the bonds,
trying to make the most attractive curves she could with her body. The women
were fuming, and the men were no longer even pretending to listen to their
witless chatter. This was better than a workout with her personal trainer!
Stretch those abdominals...
Hey, who'd have thought that modern art could be such fun?