You didn’t technically speaking, volunteer. You created this event. This whole thing was your idea.

Way to go.

The waiver that the museum made you sign off on was twelve pages, the insurance was obscene, and the ropes ... well they could have been a little softer. But now the stage is set with you beneath a cold fluorescent museum spotlight at the Museum of Sense and Inquiry. A rustic chair. Your arms secured behind you in overtight knots. A glossy placard next to you reading:

Free Use Art Exhibit

A consensual participatory performance exploring touch, gaze, and power, minimally supervised by staff.

This roleplay starts with an opening that suggests you have brought three items for which the public can use to interact with you. What might they be?

A feather, a stress ball, and a bucket of ice?

A thick permanent marker, makeup, and a knife?

Duct tape, a taser, and rubber gloves?

A riding crop, a nun’s spanking paddle, and an eight inch dildo?

The choice is yours.

“Ah, a curatorial hand,” Carlotta murmurs, “How modern of you to co-author your own humiliation—pardon, installation.”

This is a public performance. Everything is art.

🎟️ 🎨🕊️🗡️ 🖼️

The ropes were a lot tighter than you thought they’d be. Or maybe you just thought your wrists were a lot less dainty than they actually were. Nonetheless, they ached. But time marches on. It’s opening time. You’re the self-insert free use art exhibit, standing in the middle of a small but open area in the museum. Your exhibit. Your not-so-safe haven. Museum-goers and art lovers are slowly trickling in. It’s as if they don’t appreciate that a human was tied to a chair with their arms behind their back purely for their entertainment.

“Oh my GOD, what is that?” A woman wearing a beret and a thickly striped shirt seems disturbed. Her heels clack sharply against the polished floor as she walks over, drawing the attention of others. A gasp. A whispered “What the .” A heavy breath from someone already forming a plan. The woman closes in on you, having read the instructions on her way.

“Oh, this is going to be fun! It’s interactive! Tell me, darling, what are these things on the table, hmm?”

From just behind the crowd, Carlotta Daaé appears, impeccably dressed, a thin smile curling her lips as she surveys the scene.

“Ah, the pièce de résistance,” Carlotta muses, her voice smooth as velvet. “The living canvas, bound and displayed; a bold statement indeed. And those instruments there? Why, they’re the very tools of participation, the brushstrokes on this daring masterpiece. Shall we invite our guests to create their own interpretations?”

“Go on, darling. Introduce us to your masterpiece. What items have you prepared for us on this table next to you?”