wrongonesin: The gallery opening had been fabulous, if grotesque. The invitation had come as a surpr
wrongonesin: The gallery opening had been fabulous, if grotesque. The invitation had come as a surprise - I’d never heard of the artist, but the gallery was in the old docks - just on the bleeding edge of the revitalization zone where old warehouses were becoming rich loft apartments. The great blank white space held about 15 works spread evenly around the four walls of the great room. Each of the life-size paintings was of some freakish nightmare monster. These were things from no myth or fairytale that I knew of, but each was more freakish and hideous than the next. Yet… even though they each seemed to threaten invoking a flight reflex, some of them were… strangely sensual. I wandered between them, sipping my champagne. The six armed, drooling thing in scarlets and purples was something like a cross between a werewolf and a spider. I shuddered and moved on. Pallid stubby limbs and glowing ochre effluents of the next one almost turned my stomach, but I found myself staring at it for a while. A third was a mass of snakes, or worms, that seemed to move in the parts of the canvas I wasn’t watching. By the time I was viewing the last one, I was tired. So much so that I half stumbled while taking in the furry mound with too many mouths and eyes and teeth. I found myself sitting on the floor, champagne flute tilted on its side. Then I was on my side. The last thingI noticed from my angle looking up on the floor as my eyes shut was that the vicious-looking fur pile on the painting was sporting a massive, erect cock. My fading mind realized that each of the creatures in the paintings had possessed some kind of phallic member. Some very prominent. I didn’t even have time to wonder why I hadn’t noticed earlier when the white room went black. When I woke up, I found I couldn’t move. I was naked and bound to some kind of wooden contraption. Metal bands around my neck and wrists held me in place to wooden boards. I was lying inclined on my back, with my legs bent toward me. My rear end was stuck through a hole in the board to which my hands were bound, and I couldn’t shimmy out, because some kind of bar at my hips held me trapped. To my right, unlit, a single bare lightbulb stuck out of the board under me. My legs stuck up over me were strangely free, though I could do nothing with them. Groggily I looked around me. A number of other women were bound just like me - all of us arranged in a circle. I realized we were still in the gallery. The great room was still all around us. And many of the opening’s attendees were still there - men and women finely dressed, some of whom I’d talked to, in couples and small groups. Looking around, I realized that I recognized some of the other bound women as well - all of them had been alone like me. Screams and cries of panic started to ring out around me as the rest of the women woke up and realized their situations. The brunette to my left started cursing and threatening those watching. I was one of the few who stayed quiet, though I was no less scared. It was a nameless dread that filled me and stole my voice, though I almost shrieked - as several of us did - when the contraptions we were on started moving. Our circle expanded, fanning out from the center of the room, and I soon realized that each little platform was taking us toward one of the paintings on the wall. Frantically, I tried to free myself, but it was useless. The lithe black girl two over from me was the first one I saw reach the wall, under the bird-like creature with sideways beak and bone-white feathers on four jagged wings. Her platform touched the wall, then pushed into it. enveloping her lower body until the board she was stuck through was flush with the wall. Her heels now rested on the wall itself, just below the painting’s frame and she stared up at it balefully, shouting to be let go. The same thing was happening to the rest of us. There was more terror in the voices now and some open crying. I felt the wall press against my rear end, and then give way, until I, too was locked in below one of the paintings. I didn’t even want to look to see which one it was, but I couldn’t stop myself. It was the hideous amoeboid. The yellows and oranges of its glistening body looked even more gross than earlier. And now, from this angle on the painting I could see much more clearly the oozing, translucent shaft dangling low from it. The worst part about it was that however horrific it was, the image held a strange eroticism I couldn’t shake. Far to my left and behind me I heard a piercing scream above all the others, and craned my neck to see. A petite blonde was struggling valiantly in her bonds. The light on her little platform was on. Her voice was shrill and beyond panic. “No! NO! STOP! OH GOD! AHH! It’s- IT’s FUCKING MEEE!” Her voice devolved into incoherent screams - joined by one after another of us as more lights went on and the trapped women next to them jerked and lost all composure. Nothing else was visible however. Just women screaming and shaking under their paintings. The light next to me flashed on. And the butterflies in my stomach lurched as one. I couldn’t stop the scream from escaping my lips as a warm jelly-like wave washed up against my rear end. I found myself staring up at the painting, at the fat, oily glistening shaft of the creature in it as I felt something hot press against and stretch my pussy lips open. My scream rose in pitch as the pulsing shaft forced its way into me and began fucking. Staring up, I knew with sick certainty what was happening. I also knew that this one had been chosen for me, or I for it, because of the repulsion-attraction I felt for it when I first looked at the painting. I knew this thing was going to make me cum. I knew every one of us was going to be taken that completely in that way, each by her nightmare. I could already hear the husky overtones in some of their cries. As a second writhing, disgusting worm-like appendage started pressing against the pucker of my asshole, I heard my own sounds change too. No less fearful, perhaps even more than before, but this thing had me. This monster had me. It was just a matter of time. The gallery crowd watched on as we were taken by nightmares. -- source link