Dr. Guillotine.
Graphic horror.  Get into the mind of a serial killer who builds his own guillotine!
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Sex Object
By DX

A woman transforms herself into the perfect bimbo for the sake of art!

A teaser.
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Copyrighted 10/2001, 2016, 2023 all rights reserved.

 Talia stood at the rear of the theater, shrouded in darkness.  The small, round room, ringed with over padded seats, was packed to capacity with all eyes on the brightly lit platform.  It was warm, at the brink of being uncomfortable, and the men, stuffy upper crust and proper, dressed in tails and canes, had already done away with their silk jackets, starched collars and strangling ties.  The women that dotted the crowd could sense the tension in the air.  Their blouses unbuttoned beyond respectability, and the tops of their breasts, gleamed in the dim light.  

 They were unaware of what was happening.

 Talia could taste it.

 The white roving shaft of the spot light appeared and cut the thin mist of cigar smoke.  Carefully, avoiding highlighting the faces in the audience, it scanned the archways.  Talia stepped deeper into the shadows and let it slip past her, somehow knowing its seemingly random pattern.  She didn't follow it, but instead watched the shadowy faces, the white sparkle reflected in their eyes.  She had performed the show a hundred times before, followed its progressing evolution.  Everything was planned, controlled, from the expensive cigar tobacco to the humidity and temperature, all calculated, recorded, and perfectly scientific.

 Everything was planned to entice the neither regions of the mind, a direct hardwired link to subconscious sexuality.

 They were already horny and didn't know it.

 They were here to see a show, performance art.  Little did they know they were to be the show and they were to do the performing.  The previous audiences through persuasion, or extortion, were sworn to secrecy, and would only share scripted hints and clues as to what the show was all about, so each new group with teased curiosity would be completely surprised to find themselves in a broiling, soul cleansing orgy of Bacchanal proportions.  

 Now, they were primed.  All they needed was a spark.

 On cue, Mistress entered the stage.

 The white disk of light crawled slowly up the wall and fixed on the curtained archway.  Royal purple folds parted to the gentle probe of Mistress’ delicate foot, painfully yet elegantly arched en-pointe, the shoe almost non-exist, provided only a spiny heel.  Her leg, longer than law allowed, was ivory in the harsh light.  She stepped forward and emerged fully to the gasp of the audience as the pungent, yet erotic odor of latex filled the room.  The women panted in sympathy at the corseted waist no bigger than a hand's breath resting atop her callipygous hips.  Her breasts dominated her presence, each one as big as a zeppelin, somehow suspended over her tiny frame, threatening to snap her in half.  Her nipples were shroud in heavy gold caps.  Titanium bolts pushed through the caps and pierced her delicate nipples, and then welded shut to insure her nipples were forever locked away. 

 Her neck, shrouded in steel, was stretched like an African Queen, her regal head rising majestically from her shoulder-less body. 

 Mistress had no arms.

 Her bemused smile took in her audience as her enchanting eyes flashed and spilled diamonds down her cheeks and cast her spell on her unsuspecting worshipers, lifting their attention from her body to pay homage to her incredible beauty.  Full sculpted lips, high carved cheeks, a near invisible dimpled chin, cascading scintillating wet tar hair and eyes that captured her audience and held them in their tiny prison.

 Mistress’ skin was flawless, smooth as porcelain and unbeknownst to them, completely made of rubber.

 From the special stage hidden fans gently blew puffs of air and spread her enhanced pheromones across the audience.  The audience was trembling, perspiring, squirming in their seats and she had yet to begin.

 From the darkness, a Romanian violin began to play and Mistress began to dance.  Slowly, stiffly yet fluid, her expression unchanged, and yet her eyes cast spears of fire.

 From the darkness, Talia nodded to Sacha and the young woman activated her video camera.  Its invisible inferred light took away the crowds anonymity and their eyes glowed like demons as their lust took possession of their bodies.

 Suddenly, a man climbed up on stage.  His shirt was stripped away and hung from his belt like a tattered sail.  He paused as he stood before Mistress, his shoulders rolled back, his head jutting forward with his square chin in the lead, his chest obscenely puffed out like a fighting rooster.  Mistress turned and danced for him, her breasts undulating for him, her eyes calling for him. 

 He yelped like a wolf when he grabbed her.  

 His hungry mouth sought hers and her breasts crushed against his chest.  From behind, another man grabbed her, his hands groping handfuls of her breasts for purchase, his mouth clamped like a vampire at the uncovered nape of her neck.  Talia recognized the man's wife.  She had stripped off her bra and crawled up onto the stage.  Her hands reached for her husbands pants.

 Backstage, Talia smiled as she watched Mistress.  Everything was going as it should, and it was going to be a good show.  She glanced at Sacha and nodded with a knowing smile.  It was important for Talia to show Sacha what it all should look like when everything clicked just right. 

 It was Talia's last show. 

 "I am an artist."  Mistress announced the first time Talia met her.  She moved delicately, like a dancer, around the exotic plants of the green room.  She pounced on the squares of falling sunlight like a child playing hopscotch.  Her arms outstretched for balance and her tiny breasts, only the size of bowling balls, jiggled tauntingly.  Her impish nose crinkled and her expansive eyes became glistening slits as she smiled. 

 Talia smiled weakly, a little embarrassed.  Her eyes respectively averted from Mistress' nude form.  "Yes, your husband mentioned that.  I have my references..."

 "He's not my husband." Mistress said quickly.  "He's my benefactor and the financial backer for my latest artistic endeavor.  Although he will sign your paycheck, your job will be to tend to me."  Mistress turned and leapt, spinning quickly.  Her foot suddenly caught and she stumbled ungainly forward, threatening to fall.  Talia quickly reached out to catch her, but Mistress pranced back like a ballerina.  "Ha! Made you look!"  She smiled.  "Come on, you're a nurse, you've seen naked women before."

 "Never at a job interview."  Talia said curtly, a little miffed.

 Mistress's eyes sharpened like a cat's.  "You must have had boring jobs. Would you hand me my robe?" 

 Talia looked at the rubber cape draped over the chair.  She picked it up and held it open so Mistress could turn and slip her arms into the long flowing sleeves.  Mistress turned, leaving the robe open and her breasts exposed, creating a contrast of shiny black and white skin.  "The job of an artist is to solicit an emotion from the audience.  In you, I have so far gotten embarrassment, fear, anger and possibly a little desire."  Mistress pulled the hem of her robe and stretched it tight across her heaving bosom and let her thumb thick nipples poke through.

 Talia blushed scandalously.

 Mistress winked.  "Am I good or what?"  She released her robe.  "I am going where no other artist has gone before.  I want to not only drag a reaction out of someone, I can do that in my sleep, but I want that response to leap out of them.  Control them.  Unfettered, unstoppable and primal."  Mistress sat down and crossed her legs.  "Fear is easy.  I had you leaping to save me from a fall.  But what is the most repressed, raw human emotion?"

 Talia shrugged. "Love?"

 Mistress smiled devilishly.  "Lust!  We all want it, but we steel ourselves from it.  Deny ourselves the one thing we want most.  We have walls and minefields around our libido.  Well, I plan to break those down."

 Talia's eyes were wide with wonder. "How?"

 Mistress smiled; her spell cast.  "Your job will be to care for me.  Feed me, clean me and put me to bed.  You have to care for all of my needs."

 "All?"

 "Except sex.  I plan to be raped several times a day.  In the name of art, of course."

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Payback

By DX

A woman is given a choice for her infidelity, permanent chastity or divorce.  Which will she choose?  A Chasti-Permalock tale!

Copyrighted 02/2005 7/2023 all rights reserved

 Marilyn admired the pool boy's tight, six pack abs as he hosed off the deck.  She caught him stealing glances, longing glances, at her long, shapely legs, whisper slim waist and massive, battleship breasts.  Marilyn delighted in the attention as she shifted in her lounge chair to give him a better view.  As she did, the sunlight sparkled off the mirror steel disk at her crotch.  Marilyn was naked, save for metal plates at her pussy and nipples that locked her sex away. 

 You may look, she thought, but you can't touch.  She sighed as she stood up, stretched and made her way pool-side to do some laps.  She figured her husband Michael would be home soon and decided to ambush him with a slow blow job when he walked in the door.  The idea amused her.

 She noticed the pool boy look up.  Marilyn turned and looked where he was looking and noticed Barbra make her way from the house.  She was carrying a valise in one hand and a tissue with the other.  She was distraught.

 Marilyn sighed and sat back down.

 "He found out about Eric!"  Barbra shrilled.  "I don't know how, but Oscar found out!"  Barbra dropped the valise on the lounge.  "We were so careful!"

 Marilyn looked at the case and the breath chilled in her lungs.  It was from Chasti-Permalock, makers of chastity devices that once secured, were unremovable.  Marilyn knew them all to well.  It had been a year since her introduction.  Her husband had caught her cheating on him and gave her a choice; a life of chastity, or divorce without a penny.  Marilyn chose chastity.

 "What am I going to do!" Barbra whined.

 Marilyn soothed.  "You're going to calm down."  She motioned to the other lounge.  "Sit, I'll have some daiquiris sent over."

 Barbra wiped her tears.  "I don't want a daiquiri. I want to know how he found out!"

 Marilyn caressed Barbra's shoulder.  "Oscar is not an idiot.  He found out just like my Michael found me out."  Marilyn smiled sadly.  "I was so careful, I thought Michael would never find out.  But he somehow did."  She glanced at the case. "So Oscar gave you, the choice?"

 Barbra nodded.  "Chastity or divorce."  She sobbed.  "I can't give up sex!"

 Marilyn touched her knee.  "Then walk away.  Take the divorce.  The Chasti-Permalock Company will not allow anyone to force you to put it on."  Marilyn looked at the valise and sniffed contemptuously at it.  "Divorce him."

 Barbra dabbed her tissue to her eye.  "If I divorce him for infidelity I get nothing.  No credit cards, no cars, no alimony.  I'll be penniless."

 "So? You're smart.  You don't need his money.”  Marilyn scoffed.  “Let the lawyers duke it out.  I’m sure you’ll get something.”

 Barbra glared at her.  “And when that’s gone?  What then?  I have never worked a day in my life. I can't start now."

 Marilyn shrugged. "Marry again.  What about the guy you were sleeping with?"

 "He's married." She blew her nose.  "Who will marry me?  I'm forty-four!"

 "You're a beautiful woman.  Guys will be all over you."

 Barbra let out a mirthless laugh.  "But not as rich as Oscar.  I had it all and I threw it away!"  She looked at her reflection in Marilyn's nipple shield.  "Look at me. I'm old!"

 Marilyn covered her shield with her hand.  "No you're not. Now stop crying, you’re making your eyes all baggy."

 Barbra grew horrified at the idea and shielded her eyes. "Oh, no!"

 Marilyn set her lips.  "Now just stop it.  You're beautiful and many men will want you."

 "Oh, easy for you to say."  Barbra scowled.  "You look like you're eighteen."

 "That's the nanites.  Little machines which not only bind the chastity to my body, but also repair everything in my body.  They will make me look this young for a very long time."

 Barbra blinked away a tear. "Really?"

 Marilyn gestured at herself.  “Oh, with nanites in my system, I can have a hundred daiquiris without issue.”  She nodded, laughing gently.  "You think these boobs stay up by themselves?"  Marilyn turned and gave Barbra a profile view.  She relaxed her pose and faced Barbra.  "Do you remember a year ago when I said that I would die without sex?"  Marilyn shrugged.  "I'm not dead!"  She said happily.  "It's funny.  The thing that keeps us apart, have made Michael and I closer.”  She tapped a nail on lower chastity.  "We went from having sex once every six months to sex three times a day."

 Barbra was surprised. "You can have sex?"

 Marilyn rocked her head side to side.  "Not in the conventional way.  I don't have sex.  My pussy and ass are locked up.  But I use my mouth, my hands..."  Marilyn shrugged, making her blimp sized breasts bulge.  "Before, our sex was plain, boring.  Now it's sensual, passionate.”  She shrugged,  "I keep him coming home... if you know what I mean.”  Marilyn winked.

 "But what about you? Your orgasm?"

 Marilyn smiled, refreshed.  "I don't orgasm, per say.  I have these mental thrills that run through me when I feel that hot splash on my neck when Michael comes between my boobs, or unloads deep in my throat."  Marilyn sighed sweetly, her eyes closed.  "We merge together then.  I become in tuned with his passion.  I can feel it."  She opened her eyes.  "I call them, 'Me-gasms'."

 Barbra's mouth hung open. "Are they as good as a regular orgasm?"

 Marilyn looked her in the eye.  "The nanites in my body detect if I tell a lie and hit me with excruciating pain.  So, I can say with all honesty I am addicted to my me-gasms."  She held out her arm.  "Look, I get goose bumps thinking about them!"

 "wow," Barbra said softly.

 Marilyn nodded, and looked at Barbra carefully. "Being without sex is not the hell I thought it would be."

 "You make it sound wonderful."

 Marilyn smiled deeply.  "When Michael and I go to parties, I am the center of attention."  Marilyn leaned in.  "I am a total flirt. It super charges me.  I have to take Michael into the broom closet and suck him off just to keep me until we get home."  Marilyn sighed dreamily.  "I wish he were home now."

 Barbra nodded at the pool boy sweeping up.  "What keeps you from taking the pool boy?”

 "One, I can't lie.  Two, if my body comes in contact with anyone else's sexual fluids I'll have an allergic reaction.  Three, Michael has promised to add more Chasti-locks if I'm caught."  She shrugged.  "So, I'm a good girl."

 Barbra shook her head. "But Oscar is eighty. I don't think he can even get it up anymore."

 "When was the last time you tried?  I mean, worked it?"  Marilyn asked.  "It's like a muscle, the more exercise it gets... Plus, Chasti-Permalock has nanite packages that will keep Oscar humming for years."

 Barbra nodded.  "So you think I should do it?"

 Marilyn shook her head.  "It's not about what I think.  It's your life."

 Barbra sighed.  "I can't give up the money."  She said sadly, then laughed breathlessly.  "And who knows?  Perhaps I'll learn to love the old codger."

 Marilyn dismissed it with a wave of her hand.  "I'll order us some daiquiris and you can think it over."

 "Let's do it now.  Before I change my mind."

 Marilyn shook her head.  "What's the hurry?"

 Barbra stood up and pulled her hair back.  "What's to decide?  I can't give up the money, the cars, the yacht.”  She looked up wishfully at the pool boy picking up towels.  "The massages in the afternoons..."

 Marilyn turned and signaled the pool boy, dismissing him.  "It was the afternoon massages that got you into this."  She stood up and looked at her friend.  "Are you sure you want to do this?”

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