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
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