On Display to Thousands · Part 8

On Display to Thousands · Part 8 (8/10)
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, and we leave the dungeon, heading for the first floor. There I have a second jacket put on and zipped up, having no arms in the sleeves as they are secured still to my waist.

There is a party bus waiting for us outside. It's larger than the one we came in on yesterday. I board with a little help. There are many of Master D’s friends already on board. All the club members are there too. We find seats about three quarters of the way back. A few more enter and we are off.

Chapter 25: Folsom Street Fair “You have any idea where we are heading?” I am asked by Master D. I shake my head no. “You know anything about the Folsom Street Fair? Again, I shake my head no. “Well, you are in for a treat. Its an annual event, this is the 42nd one. It celebrates the leather, kink, and alternate sexuality communities.”

He continues, “Its enormous. Famous. Thousands and thousands and thousands attend. My best description would be a huge party of crazy kinksters that covers several blocks on Folsom Street between 7th and 13th street. There are seven stages all with distinct themes such as drag, live music and of course bondage. You’ll like that. People wear all kinds of clothing from full drag and heavy leather to latex, pony wear and nudity. There are plenty of vendors selling food, gear, sex toys, you name it. All kinds of entertainment, many genres I’m sure you’ve never seen. We’ve been going for years and years.”

Very proudly he boasts, “It's a fundraiser too. It supports all kinds of LGBTQ+ organizations. That’s where you come in, you’re going to help us raise some funds. You’ll see later how that works. I have friends here that have a vendor’s booth who will be helping us. The whole fair is run by volunteers, many of which are close friends. Some even fucked you last night and are here with us on the bus. They’ll be working at the fair. Your tight free ass was my thank you to them.”

“We will unload the bus about a block from one of the entrances. I’ll take off your hood and put you in sunglasses while we walk in. We will head to my buddy’s booth where we will do more to hide your identity. People come here from all over the country. They all have phone cameras. I want to make sure your anonymity is preserved.”

We arrived. My mind is a basket case. I know how I am dressed. I’ve been told we are headed for a gigantic public fair attended by all kinds of people. They are going to use me to raise funds. Crap. I’ve been in public once before with Sir Michael in San Diego. That seems so tame now. This has made me so nervous that I am trembling.

It is a short walk to the gates. The fair opens at 11 am and goes to 6 in the evening. We are here right at the opening, so it’s not very crowded yet. Entry is free, but they solicit donations. Master D says to me as we walk in, “I’ve got your donation” as he gives two twenties to one of the volunteers. I nodded with thanks, having no wallet and no hands to contribute with.

Our group beelines it to the friend’s vendor tent. Introductions are made all around with me simply refer to as their ‘Sissy’. I’m brought into the booth where my jacket is removed and snap pants pulled off, boots untied and slipped off my feet as are the socks. They are replaced with white men’s ballet slippers. Pink ankle cuffs that match my wrist cuffs are buckled on and locked and a connecting chain of about eighteen inches is secured between them. My skirt is fluff back out and I’m told I look pretty. My sunglasses too are changed out. They are replaced with a pink full lace up the back tightly fitted head and neck hood. The neck has a lockable collar with a D-ring in front. The mouth opening and eye openings are both fitted with side snaps to attach gags and blindfolds if desired.

Instead of a blindfold, a pink wrap-around pair of sunglasses is placed over my hood. My face recognition is well concealed while still letting me see. Sight but no voice. An inflatable butterfly gag is stuffed into my mouth and snapped in place over the hood mouth hole. It is pumped up just enough to fill my cheeks and hold down my tongue, nothing excessive. A matching pink braided leash is snapped onto the D-ring.

They then spread suntan lotion over all my exposed skin which amounts to my legs past the stockings, privates, butt, upper back and chest. Grateful for the protection and horrified at what is exposed. Yes, the hood and glasses should hide who I am, but still… To myself I say “They wouldn’t take me out of the booth this way, would they? Didn’t they say there would be thousands here? They did say people may be naked. Oh my God, they are going to expose me!”

“Let’s take him for a walk before the crowds swell. I want him to see all there is here,” says, Sir Michael. Of all the people with us, Mike, my best friend would have been the last person I would expect to be leading me out for exposure to the world, dressed as a ballerina, as a sissy.

I’ll be able to walk without much difficulty; the chain has enough length to allow small steps. A prepared sign is shown to me then hung around my neck. It states: ‘TOUCH SISSY ONLY WITH MASTER’S PERMISSION’. The leash is taken by Master D, I am tugged and we are on our way.

Horrified. Mortified. Humiliated. Not sure how else to describe it. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to be here. Stupid pride is the only thing stopping me from calling out safe words to end the trip. I walk along behind Master D and two of his unnamed friends. Dr. D, Sir Michael and one of the other stag Club Doms are behind me. They walk me down the street like we are a family out for a fun day at the State Fair.

It is still early at the festival, but there are ample numbers of people already in the streets. Some in far-out costumes, a lot in leatherware of all types, most in comfortable yet revealing clothes. Almost all men. They are joyful and happy to be here. The exception is me. No one is the wiser, as my face is hidden. I’m convinced everyone is looking at me; I feel I am a spectacle. I am drawing looks, but not as much as I think. There are many competing sights walking around to gawk at.

This is, as they said, a big fair. Lots of activities already. Each of the side streets seem to have their own theme and crowd. There are performers dancing on pedestals. There is a drag stage with a show of sorts already started. Live music is being played from another. There is a wrestling stage. There was a playground specifically for women, trans and non-binary people attending the fair. When I was paraded through there, I got applause, I’m not sure what they thought I was.

Then there was the bondage venue. This was just getting started, but there were various contraptions that masters were showing their different techniques for tying, suspension, and disciplining their submissives. These subs seem to have more clothes coverage than me, interesting. Some ‘performers’ were artful in their presentations, some educational, others exhibiting discipline at their best.

Most of the theme areas have sponsors. There are a lot of vendor stands and other booths too. Many cater to bondage and BDSM. Our entourage seems hell bent on visiting all of these, the boys making ongoing suggestions, bordering on threats, of how they were going to use the toys for sale on me, and I was to pay for them. Occasionally one of them would pick up one of the whips, paddles or floggers and try them out on my exposed ass or cock. Lots of food and beverage stands too. It smells great, just like any other fair. Some booths support specific groups or lifestyles.

The gathering is growing. My sign is read by many, a few act on the offering. Typically, the request is to fondle my balls, stroke my cock, play with my nipples or pinch my butt cheeks. A quick size up is made and permission is usually granted by Master D. I don’t know and I am not consulted on the approval criteria.

The very first request was a ball and cock fondling. I was in absolute shock and mortified the first time a complete hairy male stranger dressed in leather shorts, boots and harness reached under my tutu and for a good minute stroked my dick with one hand and squeezed my balls with his other; all happening in the middle of a public street with others standing in a circle around me watching with glee. I thought I would die of embarrassment. I did my best not to react. My dick betrayed me a bit.

Requests to suck me, fuck me, kiss me or have me blow them were always denied. I thought it was for my protection, it wasn’t. While nudity is allowed at the fair, open sex acts like those are illegal in public and therefore not permitted. The volunteers working at the fair are the first line of enforcement. Many of them are friends with Master D. He doesn’t want to lean on those friendships. Regardless of the reason, I’m relieved and happy.

We take a second stroll by the bondage forum before heading back to our base at his friend’s vendor booth (I’ve been instructed by Master D during editing review to remove the actual name reference to the store associated with the booth. They want anonymity too.)

After about the tenth encounter I lost count of how many times permission was granted to be touched. I never enjoyed it. Of these meetings, the worst was when on two occasions, different fellas took the liberty of digitally penetrating me as they fondled my balls. For health reasons it scared me. I was also photographed constantly. Sometimes with permission, usually without from afar. Close ups often came with a request for a pose, either a selfie or of a group groping me.

Chapter 26: A New Display The group got me back after about an hour walk around the fair. My feet are sore; the slippers aren’t designed for street wear. I think the worse is over, my public exposure completed. I am wrong. The show is just getting started.

There is a general discussion going on between those that went with me and the boys left behind to set up for my next adventure. With some minor tweaks I’m told they are ready for me. And there it is, a ‘One Bar Prison’. I have suffered on one with these guys more than once before and each time I was exposed to the public, but never in a venue like this. If this is for me, and it is, this location will expose me to more people than I thought possible.

Not that this journal is meant to be a tutorial, but if you are unfamiliar with this kind of bondage restraint, let me explain. A One Bar Prison (OBP) is a specific BDSM related sex toy for restraining submissive partners. It is made in such a way that anyone using it is unable to get off of it by themselves, instead needing assistance from their Dom. This is accomplished by penetrating the anus or vagina (girls are subjected to these more than boys) from directly below with a single rod that is fixed onto a base on which the user will stand on. The rod is tall enough so that the person using it can't get enough traction against the ground or upper stretch to step off it and walk away on their own.

The pole is a tube with an interior cylinder that slides upward allowing adjustable penetration. It then has a locking method to hold the cylinder up in place after elevation. The top of the cylinder that enters the ass or pussy is sometimes a rubber dildo but more often is a stainless-steel torpedo shaped weapon or an increasing sized stack of stainless-steel balls.

The OBP is sometimes used simply by itself to frustrate the impaled who think they have enough freedom to escape but cannot. However, each time I’ve been subjected to being penetrated by the staff, my legs have also been secure to the flat base. My hands were then secured behind my back or to my sides. Escape was impossible.

Of note, here the OBP is sitting on a raised small rectangular platform about seven feet in front of the booth, placing it about a foot and a half above street level. The stand has enough room to walk around someone on the pole. The staff is about three inches in diameter and is topped with an oversized metal torpedo tip. It must be at least an inch and a half in diameter and a good seven inches tall. Menacing, but its size isn’t my fear. I see wires descending from it and plugged into an electro control box sitting on the platform. I’m going to be fried as I sit serving my time.

The pole is in its lowered position at the moment, waiting for me to straddle it. As I stare at it, they make my final preparations. I watch as the torpedo is heavily covered with Electro Lube. The chain is removed from my two ankle cuffs. My legs are spread and they put an ample coating of Electro Lube up my canal and around my anus.

They deflate and remove my gag, only to replace it with a pink ball gag. During the change, I am given a bottle of water via a straw. I also take the moment to say I need to pee, to which I am told to hold it, I can pee after I’m on the pole. I’m again not happy.

It's time and I am moved to the stand, lifted up, positioned and penetrated. It goes in deep, more than enough to accomplish its job. The Allen-bolts on the shaft are tightened, my ankle cuffs locked to rings welded to the OBP base and I am there till they decide to let me go. The plug was as it looked, large. Taking it was painful despite how much I’ve been stretched by cocks all weekend. Steel is unyielding.

Chapter 27: Let the Show Begin Looking out, there must be twenty to thirty people watching me. My bondage, my costume, my exposed cock and balls; they are taking it all in. And I am dying of embarrassment. It doesn’t matter that they can’t tell who I am.

Master D is up on the stand with me. He speaks to me, “Sissy, let me tell you about what is about to happen. First, as I told you we raise funds at the Fair. You are going to help. We are going to allow people visiting the fair to have fun with you in exchange for donations. Our goal is $1,500. We have a sign suggesting different donation amounts to do different things to you. For instance, we suggest a gift of $5 for each hit on your butt with a paddle. Hitting your cock with a riding crop $10, your balls $20. We have ideas for increasing weights on a ball stretcher, clothespins on your nipples, stripes on your back. You get the general idea.

To keep your mind off it, your butt is on a timer. You’ll be at rest for five minutes, then we will make you dance on your pole for two full minutes. I promise you it will feel longer than that. Your electrification will be both pleasurable and painful. Like I said you’ll be dancing, your body bouncing up and down on its unyielding perch, shaking, trembling, on the edge of convulsing, then rest. It will entertain everyone watching. If like past years, from two to three o’clock this place will be jammed. So many eyes watching the Sissy help us reach our goal. Don’t disappoint me. If you do, I’ll simply add ‘giving control of your electro plug’ to the crowd to add donations.”

Nothing, absolutely nothing, that I have just been told makes me happy or fulfills a fantasy that I actually have dreamed about before or sexually excites me. I’m sure my dick is limp beneath my tutu, “Oh yeah, you need to pee. Let’s take care of that or you may piss yourself once the electro show starts up.”

More humiliation, in front of all these people my dick is placed in the mouth of a plastic urinal bottle, and I am told to pee. Even though I need to go, it takes all my concentration and effort to get it done.

I am on show more than anything else, crowds are moving by as we are on somewhat of a pedestrian thoroughfare, traffic wise. The slightly raised platform certainly helps me be noticed. I am pointed at, people laugh, some change their direction and come forward to me. Their facial expressions are across the board as I am sighted, I have become a small part of a very big show.

Then it hits. My first shocks. As promised, they are filled with both pain and pleasure, intense, very intense. I am bouncing up and down as they said I would. Its good and bad. I’ve had similar shock treatments in Las Vegas. I had survived. I hung on to that thought as I took the ride. Roller coasters could never match this. I find myself holding my breath, then gasping for air. The contractions of my muscles migrate throughout my body. My feet and toes are arching up as high as they can, trying to dislodge me from this tormenting rod to no avail, it’s in me too deep. Soooo good, soooo bad, soooo good.

And off. Only the first round and I am already beat. There is some applause. I am a show. Now I hear my barkers shouting out my availability and conditions. It will be a slow start. There is enough background crowd noise to mute out negotiations around me, but I find the first contribution has been made as my butt is hit three times, moderately hard, nothing excessive. I’ve been paddled much harder by my own wife during home bondage play. I have a mild wave of relief that I might survive this.

My next donation puts more in the kitty as my dick head receives a slap, once from the right and once from the left by a riding crop. I hadn’t seen the approach and therefore was surprised by the hit. More surprising was when I looked down, I saw the riding crop being handed back to one of the masters by a woman dress in black patent leather, and I guess in her mid-forties. I wasn’t expecting that in this male dominated crowd.

Donations begin to pick up. My cock and butt both seem to be big fund raisers. The masters keep a close eye on the contributors, making sure no one is sadistic. Some playfully hit me, others hit me for real, but all are lighter than what my own masters and friends have done to me.

And of course, every five minutes I give a two-minute show jerking around on my stick. My whole body has the ability to move around and it does uncontrollably. Once, zaps had just started, causing me to unexpectedly bend forward hard at the waist just as someone was swinging a flogger at my cock and balls. Instead, I got it full force across my mask. The leather insulated me from any pain, but they did knock my sunglasses off. Master D waited until my whole dance was done before replacing them. Then he gave my flogger two free hits. I think Master D thought he was hot and therefore worthy of special treatment.

Chapter 28: The Second and Third Hour of Fund Raising At the end of my first hour on the pole, my pink ball gag is removed, I am given another full bottle of water to drink, before the silicone inflatable butterfly gag is put back in my mouth. This time it is not pumped up. The water is to hydrate me during my long day out in the sun. The airless gag is there because they are now going to seek donations for pumping it up.

It doesn’t take long to sell enough pumps to expand my mouth so that my cheeks bulge, held in check by the leather hood, forcing the gag to no other choice but towards my throat, nearly causing my gag reflex to kick in. I am well muted, my tongue compressed to the bottom of my mouth. They must have bought at least ten pumps. Five or six would have sufficed. I was made to endure this unnatural expansion for at least fifteen minutes. Not sure how many donated to the cause, but the inflation bulb and valve were handled by two women.

During the second hour, groping of my balls and cock were also on the menu of choices. Only men took advantage of this opportunity. It’s the first time I have been handled by Bear Community gays. My world is expanding. One cupped and held my dick the entire time I was performing one of my pole dances. He almost brought me to climax. Unintentionally on my part, I assure you.

Striping is also an offering. This creative work will be delivered by an expert from our Vegas social club, but each stroke will still be a paid donation from the crowd. They are all to be front shots to my chest so they can be well seen by all as they are laid down and puff up in a rose-pink color, complementing my ballet outfit. The crowd cheers as I flinch with each slash. Verbal assaults are also hurled, attacking my manhood. I am here dressed and labeled as a sissy after all.

I will say that my two minutes of electro shocks has become my respite. Although it is exhausting to my body, the combined euphoria and pains it causes allows my mind to forget the humiliating crowd exposure I am enduring. They will be less enjoyable when in the third hour I am outfitted with a ball stretcher sling.

Weights to the stretcher are added by donation. It gets heavy and while I can’t see them, I’m sure my bag is well stretched and hanging low. When my shocks hit, they sway fiercely, causing unexpected agony. Hits to my balls with the riding crop seem to sell better while they are stretched this way. Admittedly, it hurts a lot more with the bag elongated.

The boys do control the crowd. I was very fearful that I would be in constant agony, yet it is only an occasional donor that gets his jollies by hurting me for real. They do let them take real swings, just not multiple harmful ones that would leave long lasting welts, bruises or cause bleeding.

I didn’t often hear the requests and bargaining. I did hear one. It was coming from a large gay man. His privates were covered, but he left nothing to the imagination, you could tell he was huge. So much so one might question if it was fake. His large frame convinced me otherwise. He wanted to fuck me. He was offering a big donation, $250.

I could tell Dr. D wanted to accept the offer. There was a conference, with Master D prevailing with a firm ‘No, not here’. His arguments against included he didn’t want to free up my plugged ass (minor), and it would break the Fair’s rules which could affect his stellar reputation with the Fair’s organization (his main concern). He offered a counter proposal, our new friend was welcome to come back to the ‘After Party’ at Master D’s home, where he could freely use both of my holes to his heart’s content for his kind contribution.

This guy is decked out in heavy leather. He is packing a cock surely larger than Sir Michael’s mammoth. He could tear me apart or fill my mouth and throat so tight that he’d suffocate me. I am in a mini panic. I listen for his answer, and just as he gives it the damn electro shocks hit again and I don’t hear the reply as I bounce about. I see a handshake but nothing else. Now I have another thing to fret about as I am abused on my stand.

By the third hour my legs are fatigued. The pole is holding me up as much as my limbs are. A few times when I’d be dealing with the electro shocks forcing me up on my tired toes and convulsing my body, I’d close my eyes and drift into Lalaland, when suddenly, I’d be jerked back into consciousness with a hard smack to my ball sack or some other vulnerable body part.

This would cause my exhausted legs to give out. I’d crash down on the dildo driving it deeper into my rectum canal till I bottomed out at the wider pole to which it was affixed. That pain was compounded by the electrified dildo now touching fresh rectal tissue, intensifying the electro-assault till I could resettle myself back up on my legs.

Gee, this is fun.

Chapter 29: Final Hours on the Perch, Goal Exceeded Like before, my gag is removed for a rest at the top of the hour, and I am again given water along with an energy bar. I’m grateful, but with my regular watering and my system being jarred into remission every five minutes, I need to pee again. I know they are not going to let me down, so I resign myself to peeing in front of hundreds of people walking by and others watching exactly what

On Display to Thousands · Part 8 (8/10)
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