The Exposition of Modified Women

 

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The Exposition of Modified Women, Part 5 - Smoking Section

by Benfan

 

 

For probably the ten thousandth time Yelena sighed ruefully, realizing that she'd gotten exactly what she'd asked for.

A gangly, flat chested and homely girl from a farm outside Minsk, she'd never had much hope that she might catch the eye of some Prince Charming in a white Mercedes who would whisk her away to a life of luxury. She knew that if she wanted to escape the drudgery that seemed to be her destiny, she'd have to make her own way. So one day she'd braided up her lank brown hair and made the long walk into town to see a man who advertised for girls seeking work as domestics in the West. Her parents had warned - and she'd heard rumors herself - that he was a gangster who picked out the better looking girls for consignment to the sex trade. But Yelena expected that her homeliness would protect her. She was sure that if he - or any man - did want to hire her, it would be for cleaning and washing and little more.

Her knees knocked a little as the well dressed, slick haired man welcomed her into his office with a gold-studded grin. She felt uncomfortable when after a few perfunctory questions he looked her up and down searchingly, then asked her to turn around so he could see her from the back. She shivered when he asked her to lift her skirt to the thigh so that he could see her long, slim legs. His eyes were dark and cold, and she believed suddenly that the rumors might be true - that he was looking for prostitutes, not maids. For a moment Yelena hoped that after the humiliating inspection he would say she was unsuitable.

But a young girl's dreams don't die so easily.

"I know I'm not the prettiest girl," she'd said, biting her lip, "but I work hard. I'll never be a movie star but maybe I can clean the house of a rich old lady. Don't you have some job where I can work hard and no one cares about my face?"

To her surprise when the man completed his examination he'd clapped his hands and smiled.

"I have just the job for you. In America!" he'd said. She'd clapped too and even done a little hop, thrilled as she was at her good fortune...

Now, two years later - of which the first several months had been filled with demanding training and a terrifying journey, packed together with dozens of other young women in a dark, nearly airless cargo container, like sardines in a can - Yelena busied herself about the job she'd begged for.

Bent double at the hips, she stared down at concrete pavement directly below her face. A tall, stiff collar that projected well under her chin forced her neck back, so that she always faced straight down toward the floor. Her homely face was hidden by a rubber mask that protected her eyes and lungs from the dust and ash that she was constantly stirring up, inches below her nose.

Yelena's extreme, jacknifed posture was enforced by a cylindrical sheath of stiff black leather that bound her thighs tightly to her torso. Above the sheath her wide, white buttocks were naked to the air, and to the touch of many hands that swatted or groped her as she went blindly about her business.

Blindly, because where the sheath ended at the level of her knees and armpits a wide conical skirt blossomed. Made of translucent white fabric and draped on the outside with tiers of fluffy white taffeta, the skirt hid her calves, arms, and shaved head. The wire hoop that gave the skirt its conical shape scraped along within an inch or two of the ground. The delicate fabric allowed enough light to pass through to illuminate Yelena's work area, but her vision was limited to a three foot wide circle of floor.

Under the fluffy skirt Yelena's arms were covered in long latex mittens, her elbows cuffed and linked to her boot tops by short chains that prevented her from reaching the hem of the skirt while still allowing her enough range of motion to do her duties. The tall, stiff boots featured towering heels that forced her feet nearly into a ballet position. Learning to move about in the extreme heels, while bent completely double and hobbled by the tight leather sheath, had taken up several weeks of the girl's training. But with the frequent encouragement of a stiff crop across her bare bottom she'd mastered it at last, and now fairly glided about with quick tiny steps a few inches long.

Yelena's mittened hands were bound by rubber straps to the tools of her trade: a small hand broom and dustpan. The latter featured a hollow handle that served to hold the dirt and bits of trash she swept up as she glided too and fro across the concrete floor of....wherever it was this time that her handlers had unloaded her and set her to work.

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Stepping out of a booth, Mark almost bumped into the upturned bottom of one of the faceless sweepers that kept the exhibition floor tidy. He watched for a moment as it glided surreally down the lane. The naked, disembodied buttocks appeared to erupt magically from a shiny black cylinder that in turn rose out of a ground-hugging cloud of gauze. Whenever the white cloud passed over a cigarette butt or scrap of paper, it would stop and move quickly to center itself over the rubbish. There'd be a brief ruffling of taffeta - caused, Mark imagined, by the busy action of hidden hands - before the apparition glided off again in a slightly different direction. Whenever it encountered the tape line that marked the edge of the lane, or some other obstacle, the upturned, anonymous ass would back up slightly and spin about, then set off again on some random course.

The spectacle reminded Mark of a toy car he'd had as a boy, which would run blindly into walls and furniture only to back up, turn, and motor off again with equal enthusiasm. This programmed object was slightly more sophisticated in that it could also be commanded to change direction by a slap to either butt-cheek. As Mark watched several Expo-goers walking in the lane demonstrated this feature with smacks that varied from a light pat to a full-armed spank, sending the sweeper spinning this way and that. Not because there was any trash waiting wherever they directed it - in fact and thanks to the sweepers' tireless efforts, the lane was close to spotless - but simply because the men, like Mark himself, enjoyed the sight of a creamy round buttock set a-quiver by a firm hand.

------

Most of the exhibits at the Exposition used sight or sound to draw attention to their displays, but the next booth caught Mark by the nose. As he watched the busy sweeper scuttling zig-zag down the lane, a warm, sweet, exotic scent filled his nostrils, and he turned his head until he could guess from where it came. A few steps down the row of booths he came upon a colorful tent. Hanging curtains concealed whatever was within, but the odor was stronger here. As he touched the heavy fabric Mark noted the style was quite different from the Persian tent he'd visited earlier. This one was decorated with stripes instead of floral patterns, and the colors were deep and earthy, more masculine to Mark's eye than the bold pinks and purples which had surrounded the full-bodied Persian beauty who'd held him spellbound earlier.

Pushing aside the flap that served as the tent's door released a waft of flavorful smoke, confirming this was the source of the scent that had gotten Mark's attention. At first he could see little, as only a hint of the bright overhead lights of the exposition filtered through the thick canvas. Most of the light within came from a trio of tall candle stands, one located along each of the tent walls. Mark could just make out small groups of people inside, some standing and others sitting in small groups on the floor.

Seeing him in the entryway a tall man approached, dark, exotically dressed, and beckoning with a smile.

"Come in, sir, come in. You are most welcome." Curious, Mark obliged. A step forward placed his feet on the huge patterned rug that covered the tent's floor. Reaching behind him the tall exhibitor helped the tent flap to close, darkening the space within once more. As his pupils dilated Mark saw that several of the figures inside had turned to regard him, some still squinting against the intrusion of fluorescent light.

"What can I interest you in, Sir? We have many fine tobaccos and other smokes as well, all for the asking."

"Is it all right if I just look around for a moment?"

"Certainly, sir! My name is Salam. I am at your service, and my tent is yours. I hope you find its poor accoutrements appealing. I will attend to some of my other guests, and if you require a smoke or anything else just speak my name. I will not be far."

"Thank you very much," Mark answered, and the tall man made a little bow and moved off. Despite his host's hospitality Mark hesitated to intrude on one of the small groups, and moved instead to investigate the nearest of the candle stands.

As he approached he saw that it was in the form of a shapely standing woman, wide-hipped and narrow-waisted with full, pear-shaped breasts. The statue was nude except for two small panels of real silk, which veiled its lower face and pubic area. The curvaceous brown figure was collared and braceleted in brass that was darkened by age; more bands of the dark gold metal bound its waist, biceps, and forehead. Each of the bands was adorned with complex engravings and beads of colored glass, which passed for jewels in the dim light. The statue's nipples were represented by ornate golden disks, between which a chain was slung. Chains were slung also between the various bands, and many short segments dangled here and there, suspending a constellation of cut glass beads that caught and reflected the light of the candles that the statue supported. The candles were large, heavy cylinders, three in number: one on a plate secured with brass bands to the top of the figure's head, and two more in its palms which it held upturned at shoulder height, arms bent at the elbow.

Attracted by its bright, shiny eyes, Mark leaned closer to see what the statue itself was made of. Painted wood, he guessed - at life size bronze would have been too heavy. The eyes must be glass, they were so lifelike - they even blinked.

So intent was he on the artistry of whoever had created the figure that it took Mark a moment to understand that it was actually alive. He smiled again, broadly now at himself for having been fooled despite his long experience in the creative restraint of women. Stepping to the side to look behind the candle stand, and brushing aside the long dark tresses that hung behind it, he saw that the many bangles and bands were joined behind the shapely limbs to a framework of sturdy cast iron. What from the front appeared to be heavy antique ornament was in fact a cunning and rigid system of restraints. Looking up and down Mark saw that it extended from rings that encircled each of its prisoner's fingers all the way down to the wide, heavy stand on the floor, with bands at knee, ankle, and even rings around the big toes. The stand held the young woman locked within at tiptoe, presenting her long, sensuously curved legs and delicate feet to best advantage.

Stepping to the front of the figure again, Mark glanced left and right before briefly lifting the upper veil. The restrained girl's lips were parted by a hinged brank that clamped her tongue; metal arms that had been hidden by the veil curved back under her ears and joined the framework behind her head. He let the veil fall again, and saw the dark eyes had widened at his boldness in peeking under the veil. But the brank prevented any hint of an audible alarm.

Mark next walked the perimeter of the tent, inspecting the other candle stands. They were like the first: though each of the women bound within was different in face or details of figure, their overall measurements and body types were very similar. They seemed to have been chosen to fit the candle stands, rather than the latter adjusted to accommodate their occupants. Examining the third stand closely Mark guessed that his initial judgement had been correct, and that the patina of age that darkened the brass was authentic. He wondered how old these antiques might be, and how many young women had felt their grip over the many years since unknown masters had crafted them.

Impressed with the quality of Salam's exhibit Mark turned to see what held the attention of the several small groups that huddled here and there in the interior of the dim tent. Nearest him were a pair of gentlemen who stood with a female figure between them. One of the men nodded to Mark as he approached, and offered the brass tipped end of a slim hose. Mark replied with a smile and shake of the head: "No, thank you."

The other end of the hose was connected to a large bottle-like object that the nude female held before her. The bottle was fashioned from many pieces of colored glass, all bound with brass and studded here and there with semiprecious stones. The wide round belly of the bottle rested against the girl's tummy, hiding her privates in shadow while her hands supported it from beneath, as a very pregnant woman might cradle her heavy womb.

The upper part of the bottle tapered to a cone that disappeared into the bottom of the girl's cleavage. Her large breasts were clamped by a sculpted brass device that functioned like a shelf bra, leaving her puffy brown nipples exposed while pushing the twin latte colored mounds upwards and together, trapping the neck of the bottle between them. From her cleavage the bottle's stopper emerged, in the form of a flower fashioned of ancient pewter. At its center was a little bowl, the size of a tablespoon perhaps, where a lump of brown tobacco smoldered.

While Mark watched the man who had offered to share a smoke raised the nozzle to his own lips and took a long drag. Water bubbled within the bottle as the burning weed glowed orange. When the bubbling stopped, streams of fresh smoke rose from the flower-bowl to curl about the beautiful face of she who held the houka in her hands. More than a mere caddy, the girl was virtually part of the elaborate water pipe. Beneath her tiptoed feet another heavy-legged metal stand was visible, and Mark could see that as with the prisoners of the candle stands this beauty was bound to her task by many bands of age-stained metal that encircled every limb.

Her exotic, un-veiled face intrigued him. Between gaudy multi-tiered earrings, under dark lined eyes and painted cheeks, her burgundy lips were drawn into a wide, mysterious smile. The lower lip was pierced in the center and adorned with a golden ring; more gold glinted at the corners of her mouth.

"Do you mind?" Mark asked the men, pointing to her lips. They indicated that they did not, and carefully Mark slipped two fingers between the soft lips, then peeled them back. The glint of gold confirmed his suspicions: the girl's jaws were clamped shut from within by a hidden device, the presence of which was revealed by the golden bands that gripped several of her bright white teeth. Blunt-ended hooks of golden wire curled around her back teeth and out to the corners of her mouth, where they pulled her lips back into their fixed grin.

Withdrawing his fingers Mark marveled at the cunning work, and its effects. The beautiful, bejewelled houka-girl smiled back at him, while fluttering her long dark lashes against the pungent smoke that must have stung her eyes.

Thanking the two smokers, who graciously excused his interruption, Mark moved on to where several figures sat in conversation, sitting crosslegged on plump tasseled cushions. The centerpiece of this little group was another, very different houka-girl. As shapely and attractive as the last, this one knelt back on her heels with knees spread wide and head tipped fully back so that she stared up at the apex of the tent. Her hands were held at shoulder height with elbows bent and fingers spread; between thumb and forefinger she pinched the mouthpieces of two houka-hoses. These snaked up from the front of a wide brass cylinder that projected from the stand on which she knelt and passed up between her lower lips. Her mound had been shaved, affording a clear view of the penetration.

One of the guests who sat beside her, absorbed in conversation with a companion, reached out and took one of the mouthpieces from the houka-girl's grasp. When he raised it to his lips there was a muffled bubbling sound; this time the orange glow appeared in the girl's upturned, wide-open mouth. Taking a step closer Mark could see the bowl of the pipe between her gaping red lips, held there by curved bars that wrapped around her cheeks and disappeared beneath her long, dark hair. The impression created by this installation was very striking: from the front it looked like the smoke was passing right through this beautiful girl, from top to bottom, then out through the hoses.

But Mark was the inquisitive sort. He needed to know how things worked and seldom accepted such impossibilities at face value, no matter how aesthetic. At a magic show he would be the one watching from as far to the side as possible, trying to see behind the curtain and learn the secret of the trick. Now he walked quietly around the chatty little group and behind the kneeling girl, where he saw that at the nape of her neck the curved bars that held the pipe-bowl-gag joined a heavier vertical member that descended behind her back to the floor. This bar formed the trunk of the restraint system, with branches here and there reaching out to the various bracelets and cuffs that enforced the houka-girl's position. It looked sturdy and massive but Mark guessed that this dorsal bar, and the thinner curved bars that held the girl's head back and the pipe bowl in her mouth, were really hollow. Smoke from the bowl departed not down her throat, but out through these tubes and down, drawn eventually between her round butt cheeks and into the wide brass dildo from the rear. The dildo must be the water chamber, Mark thought, recalling the muffled bubbling sound. Most of it was hidden inside her but he wondered how voluminous the metal penetrator must be, in order to fulfill its smoke-cooling function effectively, and how long must have been the training necessary for the girl to accommodate it.

Mark stared down in contemplation for some moments, into the wide, dark eyes of the rigidly fixed houka-girl. She gazed back at him now, her face appearing upside down as he stood behind her and wisps of smoke curled from her gaping mouth. Then Salam appeared again at his elbow.

"Enjoying yourself, sir? Is there anything I can do for you? I see you appreciate our lovely antiques and objects d'art. All of the pieces you see are available for purchase, and our skilled artisans also do custom work in this style if you would like them to create a unique piece just for you. We can supply either all of the components or only the metalwork, as you prefer."

"Thank you," Mark demurred, "they are beautiful and really remarkable in execution. Thank you for allowing me to browse. But I'm afraid I don't have the space..."

"Not all our offerings are so large as these showpieces," Salam interrupted. "Perhaps a more delicate and portable example, like this - you, come here!"

He beckoned to the shadows and Mark saw a figure rise from its knees and advance slowly into the light. It was another pretty young woman of classically feminine form, her light brown skin mostly bare. Her privates were hidden by a wisp of fine silk that hung from a chain about her waist; her naturally full breasts were poorly concealed by a bikini-like garment of translucent silk and fine golden chains, through which her dark, pointed nipples showed clearly. Her bare feet were chain-hobbled, with dark-painted toenails and bells at the ankles that tinkled with every tiny step.

Like the other houka-girls she was braceleted and bangled with many bands of decorated metal, but there was a fluidity in her movement that revealed these were, for the most part, truly ornamental and not disguised restraints. Except for the bracelets at her wrists: these were joined by shiny chains to bands that circled her upper thighs, compelling the girl to keep her hands at her sides.

The most striking element of the girl's ensemble was a ponderous and intricate headpiece, in the shape of a foot high cobra. It was a water pipe, of metal-bound glass like the others, bound above the girl's forehead by a set of bejewelled and delicately engraved bands that passed over and around her raven-tressed head. A small pipe bowl projected from the base of the houka, above her brow. From the snake's head a pair of shiny silver tubes emerged, tracing the fringe of the cobra's hood as they arced downwards. From the base of the water pipe the tubes continued, following two of the headbands to points just above the girl's ringed ears, then curved forward along her cheeks before turning upwards to enter her nostrils. Golden studs through either side of the exotic beauty's nose held the tubes in place.

When she reached them Salam produced a small pouch and, reaching up, placed a lump of tobacco in the pipe bowl above the girl's forehead. Striking a wooden match and holding it above the bowl, he smiled at Mark and motioned to her mouth. "Please."

After a moment of doubt Mark understood, and lowered his face to the houka-girl's. She parted her full red lips as Salam set the flame to the pipe bowl, and putting one hand on a soft, silk-wrapped breast and the other behind her head Mark covered her mouth with his in a tight, open-mouthed kiss.

Deeply he inhaled, tasting the sweet, cool smoke that bubbled through the houka-bottle, down the snaking tubes and through the girl's head. When his lungs were full he held the embrace, exploring for a while inside her mouth with his tongue while the tobacco delivered its brief but powerful rush to his brain.

Finally he withdrew, his hands holding the houka-girl close while he watched wisps of smoke curl out of her still open mouth. Her wide dark eyes, which had shut tight during their smoky kiss, fluttered open now and looked up at him with an expression of demure innocence. After a long moment, and softly, he exhaled the rich smoke back toward her face.