Performance Artist - Chapter 3

The chains around my neck gripped my throat like they were trying to rip my head off. I could feel my face turning purple and my fingers gripped them like I could do something about it. Try as I might, I couldn’t pull the chains from around my throat, and they were getting tighter and tighter by the second.

And then my feet left the ground.

Not in a spiritual way. Not in the way that I felt like I had transcended. Clearly, my career didn’t have a lot of upward mobility, at least at this juncture. No, my feet had actually left the ground. Sharon had slowly, sensually, lifted me off the ground with one of her fat but clearly strong arms. If my life wasn’t on the line, I may actually have been impressed. To her, it was nothing but a fancy party trick; to me, it was my legs dangling and the oxygen leaving my body and looking for somewhere else to live.

Her husband cheered her on as she did this, and they began making out. She lifted me higher and lower, up and down, showing just how much control she had over me. They chuckled to each other as they kissed. It was as if this whole situation had ignited quite the spark in their relationship.

“Is he your little bitch?” he asked her between kisses.

“Yes, honey,” she said softly.

“Is he your little bitch toy?”

“Yes, he is.”

Without warning, they began to make out more intensely, to the point they needed both hands. I subsequently crashed to the floor, landing hard on my butt. They didn’t seem to notice, but I was still trying to get the feeling back in my legs. As air returned to my body, I took the moment to gasp and get as much as I could back into my body. The world, once swimming and spinning before me, had returned to its steady position.

As they continued to kiss, I inched away, not wanting to interrupt their love session. I felt like I had played my part in this salvation, and I guess, to that end, I felt like I had been successful. I just wish it didn’t have to hurt so much.

But I didn’t get a foot away when I felt a tug on my neck. The chain had tightened slightly, and I looked back. Sharon was holding both ends of the chain with one hand, and she had a stern look on her face.

“Just where do you think you’re going… bitch?” she asked, not sounding very confident.

“That was good Sharon, but you have to use action when you want to make a command like that,” her husband said to her.

“Oh… Bitch!” she yelled, and she yanked the chain sending me careening off the floor and into her leg. I hit the floor hard, and was still reeling from the impact when I felt her hand gripping my hair and slowly turning my head up to look at her. I could barely see her, with her belly and even bigger breasts blocking my view.

“Pick him up by the chain,” her husband said, though I wasn't going to take my eyes off of Sharon. “Use both hands, I want to see him squirm.”

Placing either end of the chain in either hand, she lifted me in the air, as if she was looking in a bag of groceries. My body rose, until eventually I was almost eye level with her. Realistically, I was more eye level with her massive chest, which rested mere inches from my comparatively tiny head. I tried my best not to stare, but it was hard not to; quite frankly, there was hardly anything else to look at. They took up most of my view. I began to realize that if I didn’t suffocate from the chain, I might from her breasts.

“Do you want me to pull, Honey?”

“Yeah, give it a good tug.”

She pulled either end of the chain out, tightening the chain around my throat and causing my eyes to bulge out. If last time was painful, this could only be described as excruciating. I felt like if she pulled any harder, my head would simply pop off of my neck.

“Were you trying to run away, my little bitch toy?” she asked.

I shook my head.

She pulled a little harder. She was now beyond shoulder width and I’m pretty sure I heard one of my bones pop.

“Tell the truth.”

I nodded, assuming that would mean she would stop strangling me with the chain. I wasn’t trying to run away, just give them some privacy. Clearly I misread the situation, but I didn’t want her to think I was trying to flee. But I realized this whole thing was about what she WANTED to hear, not necessarily the truth.

She loosened the chain.

“Good little bitch,” she said.

“What if you asked him some more questions?” her husband asked. “If he doesn’t agree with you on things, just squeeze him harder. It’ll be fun!”

Boy, if I could have him murdered…

“Good idea!” she chirped, still holding me up like I was nothing. “Okay, let’s see… How about an easy one! Do you like funny movies?”

I nodded.

“Oh me too!”

“Honey,” the husband said. “Honey, you’ve got to ask questions that are a little more… you know… sexual, in nature. Dirty, gross, mean. You know? Something that might turn you on more?”

“Oh, right,” she said. “Okay. Hmm… I’m not good at this, can you ask?”

“Okay,” he said. “Do you like my wife’s big tits?”

She gave them a little shake. I got the feeling I knew what the right answer was. I didn’t want to piss off the husband, I knew technically HE was asking the question, but I felt like she was looking for a compliment. I knew that if I answered negatively, that would be rude and mean in any context, so if there even was a right answer, it had to be in the positive. I didn’t have a lot of time to respond, and I couldn’t speak, so I just nodded. I could tell there was fear in my face when I nodded, but I did it as best I could.

“Good answer!” she cheered me on, bobbing up and down. Her giant tits looked like they were going to smack him in the face. I took it by this reaction and by the fact that the chain wasn’t tightening that I had answered correctly.

“Are you afraid of her big tits?” he asked.

Now this was a different question altogether. Liking them was a compliment. That much was easy. Did I fear them? The truth was, yes, I did fear them. They were gigantic. They actually looked like they had some real heft. If she were to slap me with them, I felt like I would be badly bruised. They bulged out from her chest like a weapon. But did I want to say that? Would I be mean to say I was afraid of them? Or did they WANT me to be afraid of them? I was playing the role of a subservient. If the intention was to be her, using her terms, little bitch, then maybe I SHOULD be afraid of them.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized I WAS supposed to be afraid of them. If I said I wasn’t, that would be a state of defiance, me standing up to my kind oppressor. And that could never work for this role. I now had confidence in my choice, in the role I was playing. I knew the correct answer.

“Yes,” I said proudly.

“Yes what bitch?” he asked.

“Yes, I am afraid of her big tits,” I said.

Boy was that weird to say with such an air of confidence. I meant what I said, but I probably shouldn’t have said it in that tone. Sharon and her husband looked at each other for a second, and he nodded. She looked back down at me, a sly smile painted between her fat cheeks. I could tell the wheels were turning.

“What makes you so scared of them?” the husband asked.

“Well… um…” I thought out loud, not taking my eyes off of Sharon. “I mean, they’re so big, it’s like, they’re each bigger than my head. I-I think if she hit me with them, it would hurt. P-Probably really bad?”

“What else?”

“If she shoved my face in there, I’d suffocate I’m sure. And I don’t think I’d be able to fight my way out of them.”

“Well maybe she should.”

“Oh no, please don’t,” I said, actually meaning it. “Please don’t, I’ve been a good little bitch. Don’t suffocate me with her huge tits.”

“Sharon, go ahead,” he said.

She yanked the chain towards her, bringing my face with it. I landed right into her cleavage, my face burying into her soft breast flesh. I used my hands to try and push away, but my efforts were completely in vain. All I was doing was pressing them further into her tits. I could hear her laughing as I struggled.

“Is this good, Honey?” she asked.

“Oh god yes, Baby. You’re smothering this little bitch so good. Look how little and pathetic he is compared to you.”

“He really is a tiny little thing,” she said, still smothering my face with her tits. “How long do you think he could last in here?”

“Oh, I’d give him about two more minutes. Look, his arms are already dropping to his side. He’s weakening!”

It was true. The lack of oxygen had left me going limp. The two continued to laugh and I think I heard them kiss. This must have really turned the man on. I couldn’t really tell if Sharon was particularly turned on by this or not. She just seemed happy to get a rise out of her man. I would almost commend her if she wasn’t almost simultaneously killing me. There was something oddly sweet about the whole thing.

It could have been the lack of oxygen though. I had always heard that when someone is suffocating, their last moments are oddly serene. Maybe that was happening to me. It wasn’t until I heard a faint ringing sound, maybe a doorbell, that I was let go and fell to the floor. As my eyes adjusted to the light, a yellow figure strolled into the room…