A Conversation Piece [Femdom] [Objectification] [Public Humiliation] [Electrostim]

His heart beats no more loudly than usual, but without any perception of external reality, it is decidedly engrossing. A metronome in the void. His every breath dragging a bow along the strings of a violin only he can hear. Occasionally, his joints creak and crack, accenting the soundscape with the randomness that gives it away as a distinctly human enterprise.

There are synesthetic sounds besides. Without your ears, it's sometimes possible to *hear* vibrations through your skin. From within his plexiglass prison, he feels footsteps across the floor in his hands and knees. He feels glasses of wine and trays of meticulously prepared finger foods set down on the tabletop, the roof of his cage.

The headphones come to life, the voice of his owner pouring through and reminding him of his reality.

"Tonight, my pet, you are decoration. You do not react, you do not speak, you do not think. While you kneel there in darkness, know that I'm watching you. Know that my guests are watching you. And they have questions."

He attempts to swallow the lump in his throat, but finds it ever-present despite the effort. He feels the vibration caused by someone bumping into his cage, purposefully or not, he can't tell. Her voice continues.

"Their questions are not yours to answer. The furniture does not explain its reasons for being furniture. Those questions are answered by the owner of the furniture. All the furniture needs to concern itself with is the fulfillment of its purpose."

He is suddenly aware of his vulnerability. His nudity is on display, his body entrapped like a preserved butterfly, wings pinned to showcase their splendor. The shame burns his skin from the inside out, but the pride of being *worth* displaying soothes the itch. The shame wins out, however, when he is reminded of the bit of entertainment attached to his genitals.

---

"So," she says to a rapt audience of friends, "when I press this button, it delivers a small shock to his penis."

She demonstrates, and gasps and giggles are had by all as he visibly shudders inside the coffee table.

"Is it painful," a female guest asks, her grip tightening on the knee of her increasingly uncomfortable boyfriend.

"It can be, but I keep the setting low. Just a reminder that I'm watching and holding the reins."

---

After the first jolt, he is on high alert. They'd discussed how things might play out, and he knows that at least one person in attendance would be sadistic enough to demand an encore with increased voltage.

They don't disappoint.

When the second shock comes, it's quicker than anticipated. He jerks slightly, his head bumping into the roof of his cage, rattling the glasses perched atop the surface. He steels himself for the ramping up that is sure to follow.

Several increasingly intense shocks later, he is panting and tense, but handling it with more grace. He knows that a reaction is expected, but he also knows not to do her the disservice of seeming weak. It's a fine line to walk, but he's well-practiced.

Time passes in the void, a few more stray jolts to keep him present. Eventually, the vibrations die down, the jolts stop. His only metric for time passed is the ache in his hands and knees, which is considerable. The voice in his ears brings him back to reality after an unknown stretch of time.

"You did well, pet. The door is unlocked."

He pulls down his blindfold, reaches for the handle and pushes the side door of the coffee table open. He crawls out slowly, his limbs sluggish in their cooperation after so long in uncomfortable stillness. After a few moments, he is able to kneel at full height, and while his knees still scream, his back rejoices. He looks up at her, her radiant smile sending a wave of triumph through his body, and he smiles.

---

She looks down at him with the fond satisfaction reserved for a tool which performs its function admirably. For a pet who both cuddles lovingly and does tricks on command. For a boy who knows his place. She steps toward him, palming the back of his head in her hand.

Her fingers running through his hair, affectionate and possessive, she speaks into the app on her phone which feeds into the headphones he still has not removed.

"You missed a hell of a party," she says. "Meet me in the bedroom when you're done cleaning up this mess and I'll tell you all about it."