She #6

She didn’t know who she was. She had been an actress for as long as she remembered. Always performing for others. Since she was a baby, she put on a show just to get more attention, more care, more love. And from the time she started talking, all she did was question things, specially herself. Then she went to school. And all she wanted was to know more. Her curiosity made her fearless. She always wanted to get out of bed early, go further, reach higher, make something, be somebody, specially if she could be somebody else. Her make-believes were so believable all her friends started treating her differently depending on her characters. One day she was she the smartest girl on earth, the other she was the dumbest. One day she was the most athletic, the other she couldn’t run without tripping over herself. One day she was the most outgoing, outrageous and adventurous party girl, the other she was the most innocent, introverted and prude child. More than pleasure, this gave her perspectives. The people who were most captivated by her different characters gave her different reflections of herself. She could see the impact of her different actions, postures, words and attitudes from people who would empathise more with each different character. And that was fascinating. She felt like an alien studying the human behaviour. She was an outsider. She was special. She was more than she even thought she could be. And then she went to acting school. And then she felt like an alien back in her home planet. Suddenly there was nothing special about her. She was a character in a world of characters. She couldn’t fit because there was nowhere to fit. So she started searching for something she had never searched before: her true self. The truth became her obsession. The true feelings, the true emotions, the true reality. But she didn’t know what truth was. Everything can be true if you believe in it, she thought. But then anything can be a lie if you don’t believe in it, she also thought. And that was unacceptable. There had to be a definition of what was true and what was not. So she decided to test her own reality. And for her, there was nothing more truthful than pleasure and pain. The most intense pleasure and the most intense pain. So for her final academic project, she proposed to explore those subjects through an artistic performance. Her teachers where worried. They knew she had the tendency to be extremist, to live life to the fullest, to be ruthless and relentless. But what can we do, they thought, she’s going to do it anyway, so it might as well be under our supervision. So they agreed and she started thinking. What could be the most intense experience she could ever have of pleasure and pain? And then she had an idea. She was going to be buried alive, on a wooden coffin, for at least 12 hours, and in that coffin there would be made a hole, where people could have access to her vulva. Then, anything could happen. Pleasure or pain. Pleasure and pain. It was out of her control. So she was put on a wooden coffin with a hole in it, strapped with a chain and locker, in the school’s main yard. All the other students where invited to make their schoolmate’s experience the most intense they could. No shame. No guilt. No rules. And so they did. Boys and girls went to the coffin and put their hands, their cocks, tongues and many objects inside that hole. She felt everything, not knowing what it was. She felt all kinds of things touching her and being put inside her. Her pussy was scratched, licked, penetrated, stimulated, violated. She felt orgasms thought pain, and pain through orgasms. She came so many times that she almost ran out of air. She was asphyxiated, in panic, screaming in excruciating pleasure. For several moments she felt like she was going to die. Her vulva was the only thing that made her stay in contact with the living world. Her heart was beating so fast she almost didn’t felt the heartbeats. It was one constant beat. Her chest was gasping for air. Her breasts were twirling inside that box, rubbing their hard nipples against the hard wood. It was too much. To intense. She wanted out. She wanted it to end. And so it did. Her screams where not heard anymore. She didn’t react to anything. The teachers noticed something was wrong, and so they broke the locker and opened the coffin. She was still. Pale. Sweating. Eyes closed. Burning skin. She had collapsed. Someone called an ambulance. Someone covered her body. Someone cried. Someone tried to wake her up. She did. She smiled. She tried to talk. No one listened. Someone got closer. And she asked: “Who am I?”