Jean - The Birth of Venus Ch. 21

My dress was soaking wet, and the bottom was still gathered around my waist. The top was ripped down the middle exposing my lower abdomen. Somehow, the flimsy straps were intact and still tied around my neck. Thankfully, the excited Italian had pulled outward rather than down, and I could cover my cold, wet breasts with the tattered sides of my dress.

I lay back on the seat and wondered if today was a preview of my future. Was every man I encountered going to sense my nymphomania and take advantage of my vulnerability? The two Texans had all too easily gotten me so aroused that I had willingly fucked every man on the flight to New York City. Maybe I could blame that bit of insanity on the ecstasy my aunt had given me. However, a man I considered a family friend had gone berserk soon after I got in his cab. I wanted to blame it on the skimpy dress my aunt had made me wear and the underwear she didn't let me have, but I was scared of my passionate response. After he'd overcome my feeble defense, I'd enjoyed one powerful orgasm after another.

Chapter 57

The sun had broken through the clouds when Joey let me out in front of my childhood home. I could hear the roar from Ithaca Falls only a half-block away, but mist obscured the hundred-foot high waterfall. I tugged the bottom of my wet dress down and clutched the torn halves together to hide my sore breasts.

Joey yelled a parting message. "Call me when you get the money for your fare. You can meet me at the picnic spot in Stewart Park, and I'll give you the check. Wear something sexy."

He laughed and drove off. I turned to go up the walkway to the front door. Old man Barrett, our next-door neighbor, took advantage of the break in the rain to check his mailbox. He grinned and waved hello as he tried to start a conversation. I ignored him and hurried up the steps of our front porch. I bent over and lifted a pot containing a plant my mother had killed and found our front door key. The old man whistled at the sight of my exposed ass. I rushed inside and locked the door behind me. I inhaled the familiar smells of home. My mom always kept the furnace set to eighty degrees, and for once, the heat felt wonderful. Thank God I was home.

My mom wouldn't be finished at the high school for a couple of hours. I had time for a shower, a snack, and maybe a short nap. By the time she got home, I would be dressed in warm wool pants, a long sleeve blouse, and a comfortable sweater. The scores of hickeys and bite marks would be hidden from my mother's scrutiny.

I heard sounds of excited yips and scurrying claws trying to find purchase on the hardwood floor. Felicity, my toy poodle, came flying around the corner to greet me at the front door. I knelt, and she jumped into my arms. Her body squirmed in my arms as her tongue rained kisses on my face. My mom had gotten me, Felicity, to cure my fear of dogs. I loved my little poodle, but I never got over my uncontrollable fear of larger dogs.

I decided my baby needed a treat and carried her around the corner into the combined living room and dining room. I let out a squeal when I saw my mother sitting at a cluttered dining room table. Why was she home at this hour? I was almost as surprised by her appearance as by her being home on a school day. My mother was always meticulous about her dress and makeup. Today she was wearing an old bathrobe, and her face lacked even a trace of foundation or lipstick. Her usual carefully styled hair was a tangled mess. In front of her was a half-full bottle of Crown Royal Canadian Whiskey an old boyfriend had given her years ago. My mom never drank the stuff. I remembered stealing an inch of whiskey from the bottle when I was in high school.

My mom raised a glass with some ice and a couple of inches of whiskey. "Sit down and have a drink with me. I'd like to hear about your summer vacation."

I swallowed hard. I remember my mom asking our Senior English Composition class that same question as a writing prompt. I felt like I was walking up the steps to the king's gallows as I approached the table. My mom lifted a heavy half-full shipping box from my chair and moved it to the far side of the table. As I sat down, she added ice to a glass and poured a healthy splash of whiskey with a shaky hand. How long had she been drinking?

She pushed the glass in front of me and said, "I don't know which is more hideous, your short spiky hair or that orange and purple rag you're wearing. Is that the latest style in California?"

My mom never held back on expressing her opinions. Why did I expect the day I returned home from a long, exhausting summer would be any different. I couldn't handle my mom's intense gaze and looked around the table. My stomach dropped out when I realized the table was covered with a collection of memorabilia from the Santa Teresa Art Exposition.

In front of me was an open coffee table book that I knew was filled with gorgeous color photographs and descriptive narration. The deluxe gilt-edge book had sold for two hundred dollars in the gift shop. The embossed cover featured a picture of me posing as Botticelli's 'Birth of Venus.' The book was open to a page featuring the president of the Exposition. My uncle had signed his name with a message expressing his appreciation for my performance.

Well, I knew keeping my visit to my aunt and uncle a secret was impossible. I knew that the book presented a view of the Exposition at the beginning of the summer before my uncle turned it into a modern-day version of Sodom and Gomorrah. Thankfully, I could still tell a somewhat innocent version of my involvement with the Art Exposition.

My mom clicked her glass against mine and said, "Well, I'm waiting to hear about your summer."

I took a long swallow of whiskey. "Mom, I had a long flight, and I'm tired. I'd like to take a shower and catch a nap. Maybe we could talk later this evening."

"Sweetheart, I haven't seen you in months. We have a lot of catching up to do. Maybe you could start by explaining why you visited my sister and her husband without telling me?"

I stared at my mom for a moment. She was like a dog with a bone. Once she got her teeth into some perceived failure of mine, she didn't let go until she'd ground it into powder. I had no resistance left.

"It started when I was looking for some clothes in the attic. I found a box of letters from your sister. I never knew I had an aunt and uncle. I couldn't understand why you never told me about them. In hindsight, I should have talked to you as soon as I found the letters, but instead, I just kept thinking about them. While I was visiting Steve, my curiosity got the better of me. I gave my aunt a call, and she invited me to visit them in Southern California."

I took another gulp of whiskey, and my mom refilled my glass. I went on to explain how I'd been blackmailed into performing as Venus. I gave her a brief description of my role in the Art Exposition. I left out the obscene details that came later in the summer. My mom was a conservative Christian who sang in the church choir, and I doubted she even knew what a dildo was. I'd often wondered if she had ever had an orgasm. Since she had two children, I assumed my mother had only had sex twice in her life. I quickly wrapped up my description of my summer activities with a half-truth.

"So, I came home as soon as the judge released me from my community service."

My mom smiled and shook her head. She reached over and turned on the projector that she often borrowed from the high school to preview movies for her classes. I shuddered when I saw an empty film can bearing the label 'Venus at the Art Exposition Gala.' There was another can beside it, labeled "A Day in the Life of Venus.' I'd never seen the film about the Gala, but I knew what had happened at that event was far worse than the film produced at the beginning of the summer.

I felt doomed and sat back in my chair, clutching my glass of whiskey. I shuddered as I took a healthy gulp of the amber liquid.

My mom said, "I've watched this film a couple of times since the package arrived on Saturday. I'm hoping you can explain a few details."

The film's title was displayed over an image of the ornate front of the large hall housing the Santa Teresa Art Exposition. The camera slowly zoomed into a large banner showing me posing as Venus in Botticelli's 'The Birth of Venus.' At the top of the building, the Art Exhibition's theme was displayed as 'Erotic Art Through the Ages.'

The camera moved into the foyer, where people were lined up at a dozen ticket booths. In the center of the room was a six-foot-high replica of the Venus of Willendorf. The original is a 4.4-inch tall stone carving discovered in Austria. Archeologists believe it was crafted between 30,000 and 25,000 BC, making it one of the world's oldest known artworks. The crude statue portrays an abstract female figure with pendulous breasts and a gaping vulva. Archeologists believe the piece depicts a fertility goddess, and it was the first of dozens of Venus figurines found from that prehistoric era. It is one of the earliest pornographic artworks known.

The camera moved through the doors into the long exhibit hall. Around the walls were dozens of 'tableau vivant' displays in which actors and actresses depicted famous works of erotic art. Glass partitions separated the presentations from the teeming crowds. Along the center of the hallway were two circular rotating platforms. The nearest dais exhibited a pair of nude ballet dancers who danced gracefully for a couple of minutes before freezing in an erotic pose captured forever in a statue by Harriet Whitney Frishmuth, titled, 'The Dancers.' After a brief pause, the gorgeous pair resumed their dance.

The hall was packed with volunteers and sponsors for the Art Exposition. The Gala was a chance for the hundreds of them to celebrate the end of months of hard work. Open bars and tables heaping with drinks and appetizers were scattered around the room. A band played music as the crowd enjoyed the fruits of their labor. Many of the attendees wore elaborate costumes from previous years. Almost everyone wore a decorative mask.

A dubbed voice speaking English was giving what was essentially a docent tour of the displays, just like you would expect in a real art museum. The camera moved from the dancers to the exhibits. When I had played Venus, I had only been able to see a couple of the displays from my booth. The movie gave me a different perspective on the Exhibition. I had never seen the less risqué works of art enacted by willing volunteers closer to the front of the long hall. The movie didn't spend a lot of time on these more innocent works, but it did focus for a moment on the captions describing each of the original artworks.

My mother couldn't hold back a scathing remark when the film showed my aunt as one of the actors in Edouard Manet's 'The Luncheon on the Grass.' The painting depicts a female nude and a scantily dressed female bather on a picnic with two fully dressed men in a rural setting. My aunt was the plump nude in the foreground.

My mom said, "Cathy always had a problem with her weight, but it looks like she's given up trying. I can't believe how fat my sister has gotten since I last saw her."

I don't know why I came to my aunt's defense. Maybe it was because my mom and I always argued. Perhaps I was just angry that her keeping my aunt and uncle a secret was the reason I'd gotten into trouble. If I hadn't gotten curious, I would never have ended up being blackmailed into playing Venus, and I wouldn't be a pregnant nymphomaniac.

"Mom, fleshy women were in vogue when the artist painted the piece. Cathy put on weight so she could play the part. She'd already dropped twenty pounds when I left."

The film moved to the more erotic works. Almost all these actors and actresses had been blackmailed into performing just as I had been.

My cellmate and night time lover, Sonya Ramirez, played 'The Naked Maji.' She was the daughter of the Santa Teresa District Attorney who had prosecuted all of the unwilling actresses. Her exhibit was a recreation of a painting by the Spanish artist Francisco Goya. His famous work portrays a nude noblewoman reclining on a bed of pillows and was one of the first paintings showing pubic hair. Her brown naked body was gorgeous. You couldn't see the wires controlling the vibrating eggs in her vagina and ass.

Lanuola Tatupu, the daughter of the Samoan Chief of Police, portrayed a nude Tahitian girl in Paul Gauguin's 'Nevermore.' Again, the wires were concealed. Her moist thighs glistened with her arousal as her nectar flowed out of her engorged vagina.

Amani Okazaki, the daughter of the judge who threatened me with eighteen years in prison, portrayed 'The Dream of the Fishermen's Wife.' I felt incredibly sorry for the young girl. When I had been posing, I couldn't see Amani's exhibit from mine, but every day I had heard her cries and moans as a mechanical octopus thrust one thick pulsating tentacle into her pussy and a second into her ass. Its beak was buried in her moist slit, sucking on her abused clit. A second smaller octopus had its beak nibbling on her mouth and one of its tentacles wrapped around her breast.

The cute Japanese girl was the only actress besides me who had large thrusting vibrating dildos assaulting her pussy and ass. All the other girls only had to endure the stimulation of vibrating eggs.

My mom commented as the camera moved in close to the thrusting tentacles. "That is the most disgusting thing I have ever seen. How can anyone consider that art?"

As if to answer her question, the camera moved into a closeup of a plaque describing the woodblock print. The famous early nineteenth-century piece by the Japanese artist Hokusai was considered a classic example of shunga erotic art. His erotic artwork has inspired modern hentai animations that often feature tentacled creatures assaulting naked maidens. The artist is more famous for his landscape print of Mount Fuji, 'The Great Wave off Kanagawa, which is commonly sold in college bookstores.

Hanna Schmidt, the mayor's daughter, was on display in 'The Origin of the World.' By on display, I mean her wide open pussy was on display. My uncle had insisted on having her dark pubic hair thinned so her vulva wasn't concealed. The vibrating egg in her vagina kept her aroused for the crowds. The camera zoomed in until the screen was filled with her wet flowering pussy. Her widespread thighs were trembling as the display on her controller counted her fourth orgasm of the morning.

Mary McDonald, the Art Professor's daughter, had a unique role in the Exhibition since she wasn't acting out any classic work of art but instead was engaged in a piece of erotic performance art. She spent her days with a collar tied with a short leash to a stake on a rotating island. The naked girl was on display in the middle of the hall at the complete mercy of a black porn star who couldn't keep his hands and lips off the timid young woman. Several times a day, everyone in the Exhibition Hall turned to face her island as she screamed first in pain and then in pleasure as the porn star's enormous black cock penetrated her tight pussy. At the beginning of the summer, Mary had been a virgin and a devout Christian. By the end of the summer, the pair were engaged to be married.

Finally, the camera panned over to my exhibit that still had the curtain closed. The displays' start times were staggered, so all of the artists weren't on break simultaneously. My booth was always the last to open. The narrator suggested we go inside to watch the finishing touches of my preparation. He knocked on a locked door, and the cameraman and narrator were let inside. I already had on my makeup, and one of my handlers was holding my long blond wig. My chief handler, Maggie, said something, and I bent over at the waist. I moaned as she shoved four pills up my ass.

My mom said, "What the hell did she give you?"

"They gave us tranquilizers several times a day to keep us from moving while we were on display. It also kept us under control. One of the pills was a stimulant to keep us awake."

While I was answering my mom, the film showed my wig being placed on my head. Maggie pulled on a ribbon between my legs and removed a large battery operated vibrator that had been inserted earlier to prepare me for the larger one I would ride all day. A couple of men picked me up and carried me to the stand that provided support while I played Venus. I heard my mom start to say something when she saw the big two-pronged black dildo attached to the waist-high frame. The men held me over the dildo while a woman handler guided the tip into my heavily lubricated vagina. I moaned as they slowly lowered my body until my anus touched the tip of the shorter prong. I heard my mom suck in a labored breath. I expected her to comment on the size of the dildo. I was wrong once again.

"What happened to your pubic hair? You look like a pathetic little girl."

"They gave me laser treatments so they wouldn't have to shave me every day. It's permanent. All I have left besides the hair, on the top of my head, are my eyebrows. At least, I'll never have to shave my upper lip again."

I turned back to watch the movie. Once the woman handler was satisfied with the alignment, my body was lowered until my perineum was resting on the support crossbar. My feet were strapped into bindings concealed in the seashell Venus was riding into shore. The bindings kept me from dismounting, which could lead to injury.

The Engineer connected a wire to the gold ring he had fastened around my clitoral hood earlier in the summer. A gold band around the dildo in my vagina pressed against my G-spot. When an electric current was sent to the dildo, the shock hit my G-spot first, then passed through the hidden and more extensive parts of my clitoris before reaching the gold band around my sensitive nub. The carefully controlled shock, combined with the dildo vibrating and thrusting into my vagina, produced overwhelming sexual stimulation. The intensity was managed by an electronic controller designed by The Engineer. Once everything was in place, he pushed a test button. I moaned as the dildo began thrusting into my eager vagina. I jerked when the first electrical shock hit my clitoris.

My uncle had had a brilliant financial idea when he asked The Engineer to make the controller coin-operated. The price of the tokens had risen since their introduction. Now, a five-dollar token barely kept the device running for a minute. They were so popular, the dildo wildly thrusting into my dripping vagina was never allowed to pause even for a second during the nearly hour-long sessions.

When my handlers were finally pleased with my preparation, the curtain was opened. Every day, I was greeted with a roar of approval from the massive waiting crowd. At first, when I was fresh, my pose closely imitated Botticelli's Venus. One hand crossed my breasts, and my other hand clutched the end of my blond braid and covered my sex.

Almost instantly, someone shoved a token into the controller, and the dildo began vibrating and thrusting into my moist vagina. My mouth fell open, and I moaned in intense pleasure.

Sexual stimulation affects the brain like a drug and causes hormones to be released that produce a sexual high. Like any drug, the brain becomes used to the repeated stimulus and requires increased amounts to achieve the same degree of pleasure. In response to my vehement requests, The Engineer had gradually increased the size of the dildo, the speed, and power of its thrusts as well as the strength of the electrical shocks. A week before the Gala, I had asked him to increase the stimulation levels higher. He had refused since he was concerned about the possibility of injury.