"And for our lucky winner tonight, Francine!"

On the small stage, a single trio of spotlights shone down onto the named woman and her predicament. The short-haired woman was sitting in a wicker chair. Her legs were tied to the front legs of the chair, her arms to the arms of the chair. Another rope looped over her stomach and around the back of the chair, and again under her shoulders. Her neck was locked in place by a metal collar, the lock itself a common one from any hardware store. Her mouth was stuffed with cloth, and thick black band circled her eyes and ears.

From behind, Monica emerged into the light, carrying a large bag with many tools in it. She had her multi-coloured hair tied up behind her while she wore a yellow two-piece bikini. "Well, it's less of a winner," she emphasized as she set down the bag beside the throughly bound Francine. "And more like the poor girl hasn't gotten lucky at all! So, tonight, while the rest of us lovely ladies are doing our thing, we're going to leave her out where anyone can get at her!"

She proceeded to do just that, dragging Francine and her chair out into the middle of the audience. She took the bag and held it up for all too see. "Everyone is allowed to use the tools in this bag," she opened it up to display some of said tools, "and her body as you see fit. As you can tell, she has no way to know what's coming, nor any way to protect herself - though why she would is beyond me!" She set down the open bag. "And after the show is done, we're afraid that we're going to have to deny the winner the pick of us ladies, and simply leave Francine in your care!"

Monica then retreated to the stage. "And with that, our show begins!"

*  *  *

Francine volunteered for this after a month of not being picked. The Club Head naturally agreed, and this was the mutually agreed upon set up for this particular performance. She wasn't afraid of what was coming, but the deliberate lack of knowledge and her vulnerability combined to make her more sensitive than she would have been.

The bonds kept her from moving, and from speaking or seeing or hearing. She could still feel.

She felt herself being moved, placed on display, and could feel the slight vibrations of the bag hitting the floor beside her. After that though, she would only wait and hope and dread.

The first touch was better and worse than she expected. Someone with rough fingers put their hand on her arm, running up and down as though assuring themselves she was real. She was. She had to be for the rest of this to work out.

After that, other hands touched her. Some, her cheeks. Some tested her bonds, but those would not give way. Someone kissed her on the breasts, licking their tongue over her nipples, hardening them for all to see. Even then, her legs were spread wide, and someone built up the courage to make sure she was a woman. She was, and though she could not speak, she could reward that person with a soft moan from her throat.

There was a gap, where she was sure the audience was distracted by what was going on on the stage. She waited in suspense for the next gap in the performance, and for her to be the center of attention. She didn't have to wait too long. Or perhaps it was too long, and she simply willed it to not be so?

The second round started with no hesitation at all. Someone plucked her left breast, pulling it out, then she felt pinpricks around her nipple. In her minds eye, she saw herself with needles running through her sensitive spot. Then, things escalated when she was stabbed between her breasts, the sharp knife now separating her twin mounds on display.

Someone tried to cut her bonds, but that wouldn't happen. That would defeat the purpose of them.

Her arms were stabbed, and her legs, she could feel being cut from all sides as people experimented with her extremities.

There was another gap in time, and she focused on counting what had been done to her so far. Her right leg had been sliced up, and she knew that if it wasn't for the magic, it would be in pieces. Her left was still stabbed through, with some daring soul putting many needles through her thigh and down through the wicker bottom of the chair. Her arms were much the same, cut and stabbed.

Aside from that first interaction though, the rest of her was pretty much untouched. She suspected something from the Club Head, but wouldn't bet on it because the intermission started up again and she was the center of attention.

There was no waiting this time as she felt something sharp against her neck above the collar. She tilted her head back just a little, and embraced the cut that should have taken off her head, but while the knife went through her, it didn't remove anything, much like her leg and arms. So someone left the knife in her neck instead.

Then someone figured out the real trick to her situation. No, it wasn't that her womanhood was on display thanks to her legs being tied open. It was that the chair was wicker, and thus she could also be manipulated from behind. Or more importantly, from under.

She felt the first point enter into her ass, curving inside her as the long blade - and it had to be long she hoped and pleaded in the privacy of her mind - was levered into position. She gave a muffled sound of approval and relaxed a little as the impalement stopped inside her chest.

Then something odd changed. Francine felt her loins being touched by cold metal, but its nature confused her as her it seemed to ... encircle. She knew that there were tools like that available, but to be sitting there, strapped into place as someone used not a straight edge, but a rounded one, to separate her from her pussy. She could feel the metal being drawn out of her body, but her flesh stayed inside it, a small tube of herself that... that...

She sincerely hoped that the winner tonight was a man. Even as sharp objects went into her, and sometimes out, as her face and head were finally penetrated. Her eyes were stabbed, her mouth filled even through the cotton in it, and she had the weirdest sensation as something went in one ear then out the other.

Finally, it was all done, and was alone with her thoughts as the act on stage finished up.

She felt a cloth being thrown over her, the signal that the public portion of the show was done, and now was the time for the private one. She would be restored to pristine condition, and that would be....

Francine could see. She blinked against the hard lights around her. "Ah," she said, working her jaw. "That was something else."

"I'm glad you see things that way," someone masculine said from outside her view. "Because I never had the chance to interact with you during the show."

Francine could not turn her head thanks to the ring around her neck. She couldn't see the man. "Well," she said instead. "Why don't you start catching up? I have an itch that needs scratching, and I can't seem to move my hands."