The Whipping Girl.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, you have all heard of the whipping boy in our language
but for you tonight as the centrepiece of this exhibition I would like to unveil
a most remarkable living sculpture. This is a collaborative piece The Whipping
Girl!"
The lights dimmed and a single spotlight was trained on the silk curtain that
shimmered and undulated under the light. The man reached up and tugged the
fabric that slid away revealing the framework underneath. There were gasps in
the quiet, then someone began to applaud, then more until the entire whole
audience was applauding.
Earlier.
She had been forbidden entry to the studio for nearly a week now. Her Master
had been working hard on his final centrepiece of his exhibition to be opened
tonight. A few days before the men from the gallery had come to collect the
other pieces to be hung. She had been chained to the tree in the garden, and
had heard their comments and seen their interest in her nudity. Deliberately
she had not cowered for cover or moved to a more modest position. She was his
slave and proud of it. She did not care if the whole world knew. When he worked
like he had this past week in the studio he liked to have her chained in the
garden where he could see her. On the day the men had come she had not been
restrictively chained but simply shackled to a long chain under the spreading
branches of the old apple tree. Cushions and rug spread out around her. A
cooler held the lunch she had prepared when she had risen that morning. Yes she
was a convenience for him. Like his lunch or something equally prosaic. She
liked that, being his belonging.
But this morning instead of chaining her in the garden he had instructed her to
prepare herself thoroughly as if for a session. Telling her he wanted her ready
in two hours promptly and waiting for him downstairs in the kitchen, or else.
First she had showered and washed her long hair, then wrapping it in a towel she
had filled the bath with water and scented oil. He did not like her wearing
strong perfumes at all and preferred this method of applying fragrance naturally
to her body. Sandalwood and ylang ylang oil. She soaked in the warm water for
nearly an hour, mentally blessing her Master for instructing her to go to the
laser treatment clinic months before and having her pubic hair removed
permanently. It did save her a lot of time and as he had pointed out that was
time she could spend devoting herself to him and not to maintenance. Stepping
from the water onto the timber mat she had towelled her body dry and then began
to work on her long hair. The long damp strands fell over her shoulders and
breasts. Picking up the brush she shook it out loose and began to brush the
tangles from it. Her Master hated her straightening the waves in her hair so
she dried it with the hairdryer by shaking the locks through the hot flow of
air. She pinned it out the way and sat down on the small round stool in front
of the dresser and picked up the bottle of moisturiser and smoothed some on her
face and neck. The body oil was next the plain, sweet almond oil in the bottle
had a twig of sandalwood in it, to infuse it with the scent. Starting at her
feet she rubbed it into her skin with deliberate strokes, up her long legs, her
mound, her belly and back, standing up to rub some over her backside. Then her
breasts and shoulders and arms.
Then the simple cosmetics he allowed her, her eyelashes were tinted regularly so
no mascara and only the faintest tinge of natural shades of eyeshadow, he hated
heavy make-up. The lipstick. Lining her full lower lip with a pencil and
brushing in the deep rose colour he had chosen on their last shopping trip
together. No other colour was applied. As always the ritual of preparing
herself for him was deeply arousing. Her nipples stood erect now, turning pink
as they hardened. She looked in the mirror and as always was slightly shocked
by her appearance of wanton innocence.
Pulling the pins from her hair she shook the locks loose, catching her breath
slightly as they brushed over her breasts and shoulders. Setting up a further
tingling as she tidied up and began to descend the stairs. Each step seemed to
bring her to another plateau of stimulation. From the simple act of breathing
and feeling the air caress her lips to the way her breasts moved as she walked.
She felt the way her movements slowed, became more sensual.
He was waiting for her and her eyes flew to the clock. She was two minutes over
the time limit. Biting her lip she sank to the floor at his feet and bent
forward until her forehead touched the floor. He said nothing, his silence began
to unnerve her and she swallowed. A deep quivering began to grip her as she
waited for his verdict.
From where he stood he looked along the length of her back, she had a delightful
back. Her pale skin was unmarked, he had not whipped her for over a week even
though he had kept up her bondage training schedule during that time. Her pale
skin gleamed from the oil she had applied and the cleft of her ass was depicted
in a play of light and shadow that delighted his artistic eye. He never tired of
the play of light on her fair skin. In his painting or his pleasure. The sweet
curve of her ass in this position enchanted him. She hated her ass, thinking it
too big but that round feminine fullness of her ass balanced her bustline
beautifully and he loved it so she had to be content with it.
"Get up," he said in a quiet but firm voice.
She stood up, her eyes wide but she said nothing and simply followed her as he
indicated her to do so.
The studio was a converted barn at the end of the garden, large windows had been
installed to fill it with light and the scent of oil paint and turpentine
lingered in the air. It was one of her few domestic tasks to keep the studio
tidy. Some days he would encourage her to paint also and her work was improving
in leaps and bounds. Both of them had noticed that after a particularly
demanding training session or a punishment her work took on a whole new depth of
feeling. Her moody pieces were small but intriguing to him. Her preferred
medium was textiles and he had ordered her to paint him several lengths of silk
the previous week. His brief had been for her to create serene pieces. She saw
them as she entered the building hanging from a square frame. Frowning as she
watched them fluttering slightly in the breeze from the larger doors that opened
on to the driveway. She looked at him in surprise but said nothing but he could
see her mind beginning to work overtime.
"You were late being ready, should you be punished slave?" he asked as he leaned
against the bench next to the frame.
She licked her lips and nodded as she replied in a low voice, little more than a
whisper.
"Yes Master,"
His mouth curled into a faint smile and he indicated the cleared space on the
bench. She moved forward silently and took up the position he had prescribed by
his choice. Flat across the smooth surface with her hands holding the far side
tightly. Spreading her legs wide so her ass presented him with a clear target.
Her heart was racing, this meant the cane and that hurt. If she let go or moved
he would simply repeat the punishment she knew from experience. Her heart was
beating rapidly now.
He watched her as he picked up the cane, resting it on her and watching the
tremor that passed over her as he lined it up. The whistling sound it made as
it cut through the air hung in the room then he felt the shock through his hand
as it struck soft flesh. Watching the way her flesh moved as it hit and hearing
her choked cry. She was rigid for a couple of seconds, then her body loosened
again and her panting sobs hung in the warm still air. The breeze had died down.
He waited for her to start breathing normally before he struck again, lining the
cane a couple of centimetres higher than the first swelling red line. She
drummed her palms against the surface of the workbench but otherwise did not
move except for tightening her body in response to the jolt that shot through
her. Again he waited until she calmed before applying the third cut. This time
she howled like a wounded animal, shaking her head but still not trying to
escape the cane. He paused this time and moved to her and placed his hand on
her curvaceous ass. Feeling the heat from the lines that marked her skin so
fiercely. Care had to be taken with the application of the cane not to mar her
skin permanently. He had no taste for scars, the perfection of her skin would
be marred only by the welts. She whimpered as his fingertips traced the now
swollen red line. A shudder passed through her and he lowered his head to run
his tongue along the gradient now apparent on her skin. Her soft sound was part
pleasure part distress and he saw her thighs contract slightly. Three more
assaults of the cane to her round ass left her sobbing on the bench, her head
rolling from side to side. He left her for a moment and walked across to the
frame where the painted silk hung and drew one panel aside.
"Come here my slave," he said softly. Watching as she stood up stiffly and
walked towards him. She made no move to wipe the tears streaking her face but
came to stand in front of him meekly.
"You are going to be my prize piece tonight my darling," he indicated the
interior of the silk curtains and she looked at it and gasped.
She had heard the welder and angle grinder working over the past few days while
she had been banished from the studio now she saw the result. A simple cube
frame of steel was hung with her panels of silk. On closer examination it was
not so simple she discovered. It was spectacularly worked with designs. But it
was the appendages that he had welded to the interior of the cube shape that
drew her attention. Across the top and bottom were bars of steel from the
bottom about midway was a sort of T shaped bar that she discovered as he nudged
her toward it reached her hips. But the arms of the bar was curved and
burnished so that when she bent forward they wrapped around her hips in a
strange metallic embrace. She had to slide in slightly sideways and then the
bar from the T was joined to another set of projections that became apparent.
Round rings were at the level of her breasts, with smaller rings suspended from
a set of tracery wires that she realised were for her nipples. Each bar was
forged and wrought with designs of leaves and vines wrapping around her body.
But it was the section for her head and neck that shocked her the most. A face
plate, not dissimilar to those worn by gladiators covered her features. Below
the plate was welded a cylinder of only a couple of centimetres depth that her
lips closed around. Her eyes and her mouth were visible but most of her face
was hidden she realised. She could hear clicks and rattles and felt the frame
vibrate a little. He pulled her arms back and high, she felt metal closing
around them and heard more clicks. It was not a comfortable device but it was
not too demanding. His last task was to lock her ankles near the base and
adjust her breasts so that the rings of metal closed around the base and her
nipples protruded through the smaller rings.
He stood back and admired his work, he had worked hard on the wrought iron of
the frame. Then burnishing it so it was dark bronze and contrasted with her pale
skin spectacularly. He had long fantasised about a setting for his special
jewel and now it had come to fruition.
With her long chestnut hair falling around the face plate she looked like a
vanquished warrior. Trapped in entwining vines and leaves. Her dark eyes
glittered behind the faceplate and she gave a moan as he caressed her still
burning ass and a moan that rose higher as he said softly.
"Now what price do I put on this piece?"
The sound of a truck pulling up made her shiver and he stepped out the cubicle
he had constructed and lowered the silk.
Back to the present
"The Whipping Girl is not for sale I am sorry to say friends but she is
available for close examination and please feel free to use the whips provided
to try out your techniques,"
A silence fell at the words and the moan of the young woman could be clearly
heard, the crowd moved closer. Soon forgetting she was a human and commenting
on her body, the marks and the artistry of the metalwork.
She quivered and moaned as hands touched and fondled her displayed body, the
whole time her Master stood in her line of vision, watching her while she
watched his reactions closely. Her cries alarmed several women at first as a
young blonde woman took up the flogger hanging from the frame and applied it to
the captive's ass but they soon lost that alarm and drew closer to listen to the
moans and whimpers. Each of them to a degree envying the artist's model.
The Voice
Arts Page February 25th 2003
The talent of Andrew Linden reverberated around the room at The Crossing Gallery
last night. Unveiling a piece that was both sculptural and performance the
artist managed to knock his blase audience for a loop and create a real sense of
tension in the room. The juxtaposition of female flesh and metal, albeit forged
into organic shapes, was at once confronting and titillating. This critic had
thought he had seen it all until he saw this last night. Bravo.
FIN
