I’m into BDSM. Bondage, shit like that. Some people might find that weird, but I’m sure those people are into things others might find strange, so let’s not judge. The company I keep and places I go revolve around my fetish. Does that give you a sense of who I am? The story I’d like to tell begins at a seedy BDSM club where I’m a regular.
It was last weekend, just past midnight. That night I wasn’t partaking in the fun, just observing. In these kinds of places, one sees all manner of exciting attire: latex bodysuits, zippers dangling from nipples, chains on everything and everyone. A man adorned in a red latex suit that looked as if it were painted on caught my attention. In a room of freaks, he immediately stood out.
Almost hypnotized, I walked over to him in a trance and stuck up a conversation. He said he’d seen me many times before. “I know you’re serious about this,” he whispered gently into my ear.
He spoke cryptically, and everything about his tone and choice of words made it seem like he was a BDSM purist. He commented on my piercings and tattoos, commending me for my commitment to body modification. “You’re ready to ascend to the future,” he spoke like a preacher.
He was fucking weird. But I like weird, so I was intrigued.
“The future? What do you mean?” I asked in response.
He spoke in riddles, saying that that the club in which we stood was a child’s playhouse, a diet, sugar-free version of where “I truly belonged.” Mind you, he said this as we stood in a room featuring a woman suspended from the ground, hogtied, having her stomach and legs whipped with a cat ‘o’ ninetails. I’ve never been particularly into the most extreme stuff, but again, I was intrigued.
The man in the red latex suit handed me a business card inscribed with an address and brief instructions.
“You’ve earned the opportunity to join the upper echelon. Don’t be late,” he muttered as he walked off, disappearing into a mass of writhing bodies.
Based on the card’s instructions, I was to recite the password ‘Omega’ when I arrived. I put the address into the GPS on my phone. The place was located downtown, not too far from my house. Had it been a rough neighborhood or the middle of nowhere, I may have been warier, but the address was to one of the largest buildings in the city, and for some reason, that gave me a little peace of mind.
I left the club and drove straight to the building. I pulled into the parking garage and went to the fourth level, per the instructions on the card. Once there, a valet opened my door and nodded as if he was expecting me. I strolled into the building and took the elevator to the 27th floor. I was deposited into a grand hallway lined with people posing in odd and uncomfortable positions, like some kind of live art installation.
I was led in a cordoned-off area, and I saw what I thought was the aforementioned “upper echelon.” It was no different than where I’d been a half-hour prior, only better lit, which wasn’t necessarily a good thing. There were maybe 60 people there, and they were all wearing the same sorts of BDSM gear as the club I’d come from, only these people had significantly more body modification work done.
I hadn’t been asked for a password, and I was beginning to wonder if I’d been dubbed. As I readied to leave, the lights suddenly dropped, and two bowls filled with a flammable liquid that sat upon waist high pillars were set ablaze.
A tall man stepped between the flickering flames. He wore a plain business suit, but his face was covered in tattoos, piercings, and extreme modifications. Most noticeably, the skin between his nostrils had been removed, leaving a gaping hole.
Holding his hands up in the air, he launched into a speech. He warmly welcomed the crowd, inviting them to have a good time. After several minutes, his features darkened, eyes turning to slits, and he turned directly towards me.
“There should be a few of you in the crowd that were given a password. I invite those special few to form a line at the elevator, and we will escort you to the main event. If tonight is your first time, you should consider yourself quite lucky. You’re going to witness the final product of Miss Bennett’s transformation.”
Light applause swept over the room.
“Password holders, please, to the elevator.”
I, along with about fifteen other BDSM enthusiasts, walked to the elevators. Before stepping onto them, we whispered a password to a burly guard in a suit.
Up to the 30th floor, we went. As the doors slid open, we were greeted with a makeshift hallway. We followed this path until we reached a large open area. At the back, there hung another sheet, blocking off a room. This one hung horizontally, reminiscent of a stage curtain.
We were led into the open space, and for about forty minutes, we stood around awkwardly, conversing amongst ourselves. I chatted with another ‘first-timer,’ and both of us were rebuffed when we asked more experienced participants what we should expect.
“We’ve shown you the most extreme of body modifications,” a voice boomed as the lights dimmed, “Holes where holes shouldn’t be, skin splitting in areas you thought impossible, and so much more. Well, we’ve got something new for you today. Something you’ve never seen before. Something that will amaze you, as it amazed us to perform on the lovely, the brave, Miss Bennett. In a few moments, you will be the first to see what will undoubtedly become the new rage in the body modification world. Welcome to ‘The Stretching Party.’”.
A drumroll echoed through the room, crescendoing to a frenetic speed.
“Ladies and gentlemen, prepare yourselves for a truly one of a kind woman,” a gruff male voice blared over a loudspeaker, “Over the course of two and a half years, we’ve performed nineteen procedures to complete Miss Bennett’s transformation. They–Well, you all don’t wanna hear me talk. I give you, Phase 24…of The Stretching Party…”
And with that, the curtains slowly drew back, revealing a wooden stage. The room grew deathly quiet. Then came the footsteps. Clunky, uneven footsteps coming from somewhere unseen,
Pat…patpatpat…pat pat…patpat…pat…pat…pat pat patpat…
The crowd seemed anxious as the steps grew louder. A shadowy silhouette came into view, and my heart sank into my stomach. She was skinnier than I thought humanly possible, towering over everyone else. Two spotlights flooded the stage as gasps and hushed whispers filled the viewing area. Ms. Bennett limped around the wooden beams on legs that were twice as long as my own. Braces embedded into her knees kept her upright, although she was wobbly as a drunk.
She hunched over, leaning hard to the left. Ms. Bennett’s arms, longer than my entire body, dragged against the floor and swayed as she stumbled across the stage.
Her jaw hung loosely, mouth wide enough to fit a soccer ball. Her nostrils had been stretched to the size of half dollars, and her earlobes extended below her neck.
Two stern-looking men helped her to the center of the stage, as she clumsily twirled in a circle. As she spun, I could see they had surgically implanted almost a dozen extra vertebrae in her spine.
The announcer’s voice crackled over the speakers, “Miss Bennett has dedicated herself to our community, becoming without question the most modified woman on the planet. In our opinion, she is the eighth wonder of the world, and you all have the privilege of being the first to lay eyes upon her.”
The room filled with roaring applause from the horrified crowd. A gurgle escaped Ms. Bennet’s gaping maw, her nine-foot frame swaying back and forth. A couple began aggressively kissing, another man masturbated, and others had orgasmic expressions cross their face.
It was at that point that I decided I’d had enough. I like weird things, but this was just disturbing. I silently made my way towards the exit, unable to break my gaze from Ms. Bennett. Before I could reach the elevators, I was stopped by two men who made me sign a non-disclosure agreement form; I signed it without hesitation. They accompanied me to the fourth-floor parking garage, staring at me even as I drove away.
I called the police immediately because…well, why wouldn’t I? Nothing about what I’d just seen seemed remotely legal or ethical. The police responded to my tip, but there wasn’t a soul in sight when they arrived shortly after. In fact, it looked like the 30th floor had been abandoned for years. The police threatened to arrest me for making a fraudulent emergency call, but they forgot about me in the end.
It’s been a few months, and I finally felt ready to put that disturbing night behind me. But just a few minutes ago, I received this text:
Congratulations! You’ve been selected as the guest of honor for our next Stretching Party. We will pick you up shortly. See you soon!
