The Man’s Sadism and the Woman’s Love

Translation

PRIZE-WINNING CONFESSION

THE MAN’S SADISM AND THE WOMAN’S LOVE

By Itojima Hiroshi

Dear readers of Kitan Club, I hope you are well.

After the record-breaking rains, we have endured one sweltering day after another this year. While escaping the heat with a beer, please read my confession in a lighthearted spirit. Forgive the awkward writing and the portions that may sound like boasting about my happiness.

The question “What is happiness?” is philosophical, and different people will naturally interpret the word differently. For an enthusiast of sadism, however, surely no greater happiness can be desired than the freedom to bind a beautiful woman exactly as one pleases. Many people dream of such a thing, but few attain it in reality. Even in this age, when cruelty is fashionable, the sadist is still apt to be regarded with suspicion. Yet happiness will never arrive if one is discouraged by that. We must create happiness with our own hands.

I was born in Osaka in 1931, raised without hardship in a middle-class household, and now operate a wholesale hardware business. I am naturally optimistic, but perhaps there is no man as happy as I am today. In my childish prose, I shall describe the road of happiness that brought me here. Every line that follows is true.

Without telling her, I have submitted several bondage photographs of Emiko in order to provide evidence. I began writing while she was asleep. She would certainly object if she discovered it. I would then also be unable to write about Miwako, whom I shall introduce later.

It has been approximately four years since I first bound Emiko, but even now she has not become a masochist. She has never once tried to read Kitan Club. She dislikes being naked and dislikes being bound. Yet because of her love for me, she struggles against herself, patiently submitting to whatever I ask.

It is only because I am confident Emiko will not read Kitan Club that I can submit her photographs and even write about my infidelity. In that sense, I truly am a fortunate man.

Emiko and I first met in a bookstore in 1953. I was a fresh-faced young man who had only just graduated from high school. Emiko was a beautiful girl, tall and slender, with long black hair in two braids and large, lively, affectionate eyes. After approximately five years of courtship, we married in January 1958.

Even during our courtship I had relations with several women, but she quietly remained beside me, apparently believing that the final victory would be hers. She possessed a rather old-fashioned Japanese temperament, although she also had a remarkably competitive spirit. Being tall and slightly slender, she looked exceptionally good in kimono.

I adore women in Japanese dress, and even now I do not permit either Emiko or Miwako to go out in anything else. Emiko loved motion pictures, especially period films, which suited me very well because such films frequently contain scenes of people being bound or tormented. We always walked home after seeing a film. Conversation never failed us, and two or three railway stops passed quickly.

I had read that most women admire strong men and heroes because this is the transformed, outward expression of a desire to be mistreated. Using this fragment of knowledge, I would begin with light discussion, such as how the binding of a novice actress differed from that of a great star. Before we knew it, we would have reached the neighborhood of her home.

We held our wedding in February of that year, and our eldest daughter was born in December. My sadistic nature remained unknown to Emiko, and our sweet, peaceful, enviable life continued.

Two years after our marriage, when our child no longer required constant attention, I decided one summer to carry out the plan I had nurtured for years. I wondered what approach to take and whether Emiko could understand the psychology of a sadist such as myself. I was uneasy, but resolved to proceed with confidence.

I decided to provoke a quarrel with Emiko, defeat her, and bind her as the price of losing. That morning we made a wager. Unknown to her, I had arranged matters from the beginning so that I would win. By evening, therefore, I had officially won our bet.

That night Emiko sat before me wearing a red, tie-dyed nagajuban. The desire I had cherished for so many years was about to be fulfilled. No pen can express my joy at that moment.

Emiko looked uneasy.

“You have won. What is it you desire? I have belonged to you from the beginning. You may do anything you like.”

For a while I remained silent.

“Oh, I already knew,” Emiko said. “I noticed that you kept Kitan Club in the bookcase. I dislike it, so I have not looked at it since, but when I first leafed through the pages I was truly shocked. You are a wicked man. Still, I love you, and I am your wife. I shall endure anything that gives you pleasure. But in my heart, I am a little frightened.”

She glared at me from the corner of her eye.

Without speaking, I took a koshi-himo. Moving behind Emiko, I pulled both arms firmly backward and bound her wrists. With another sash I bound above and below her breasts, then connected the cord holding her wrists to the breast binding, producing a takate-kote restraint.

Flushed and slightly downcast, Emiko stared at me with resentful eyes. I had taken my first step toward happiness. I was so moved that I wanted to shout aloud.

Thereafter, I would use some insignificant offense as a pretext and bind Emiko as punishment.

Once, after I stripped and bound her on a cold winter day, she caught a cold, developed a fever, and remained in bed for two or three days. The koshi-himo gradually gave way to rope. Later, Miwako had a special cord about ten meters long made from silk satin patterned with polka dots, and since then I have used it almost exclusively. The rustling sound of silk when the cord is tightened and loosened satisfies my heart.

Perhaps because Emiko had studied dance, her body was flexible. Even when her wrists were bound behind her and raised high toward the back of her neck, she seldom complained. The midwife had also marveled at her endurance during childbirth. Her remarkable patience made her an ideal person to bind. She was most ashamed, however, when subjected to crotch binding.

There were other incidents. Once I stripped Emiko completely, bound her severely against the alcove pillar with rope, gagged her, and went outside. I intended only to buy fruit and return immediately, but a friend caught me and kept me talking for about an hour. During my absence our child woke and began crying, and that night Emiko reproached me for the trouble. It was fortunate that the child was still too young to understand. I broke into a cold sweat afterward.

On another occasion, just as I had finished stripping and binding her, her younger sister came to visit. I hastily concealed Emiko in the bedding and sent the sister away. Another time, we both fell asleep from exhaustion while Emiko remained bound. In the middle of the night, her hands became numb beyond endurance and she woke me, saying, “You are terrible. Please forgive me for tonight.”

Our eldest son was born in August 1962. We suspended binding for approximately six months before and after the birth, but have continued from then until today. Crotch binding two months before childbirth, for example, would ordinarily have been impossible.

We trained both children to go to bed shortly after eight. Occasionally we ask my mother, who normally returns to the house opposite ours, to remain with them while we go for a nighttime drive.

Recently I stopped the car along the way, used a cord I had prepared to bind only Emiko’s wrists behind her, and continued driving. I tied her so tightly that her wrists were purple when we returned home. Even when stopped at a red light, the binding could not be seen from the car beside us, yet I felt as though someone were watching and remember longing for the signal to change. I sometimes wonder what Emiko, who is not a masochist, felt at that moment.

Next time I am thinking of stripping her completely, applying a takate-kote crotch binding, putting a yukata over it, and taking her for a drive. I look forward to savoring the full pleasure of being a sadist.

This year I decided to photograph Emiko while bound. She was deeply ashamed of allowing her completely naked body to be seen and refused for a long time. Yet when she saw the anger in my face after a single command, she consented while seeming ready to cry. I have now photographed her on five occasions.

Seen through the camera’s viewfinder, Emiko writhing in takate-kote, crotch binding, or ebi bondage possesses an indescribable beauty. A nearly naked body wearing only a little clothing while bound is also thrilling.

However much I love sadism, our married life is healthy. To avoid excess, I bind her but have decided not to torment her physically. I do not intend to do so in the future. Regarding bondage itself, however, I intend to remain strict and tie her tightly. Emiko is not a masochist. She merely endures the pain and patiently cooperates because of her love for me. I wish to treasure and protect that touching devotion.

I am tempted to bind her every night, but I understand that if I satisfied only my own desires, the balance of a long marriage might collapse and bring disaster. In our home, therefore, Saturday is designated as my night of freedom. I sometimes manufacture a reason to increase the number of such nights.

Someone once said that husband and wife are like modeling clay: depending upon how they are shaped, they may become angular or round. I possess a harmonious household, with two children and a beautiful, modest wife who is faithful to her husband and envied by my friends. Yet by a small accident I also began an affair and eventually bound the other woman as well. I am therefore both a fortunate and a sinful man.

It is said that when a woman falls in love with a man, she will readily commit even a crime. I sensed this psychology in Emiko, but felt it still more painfully through Miwako, about whom I shall now write.

Before marriage I often danced, but afterward I drifted away from it. Because I had played baseball since my student days, I kept my name on the roster of another company’s nearby baseball club.

At Christmas in 1961, I went for the first time in years to a cabaret in Osaka’s Minami district for the baseball club’s combined year-end party and Christmas celebration. Miwako was the hostess assigned to me, and she was the woman with whom I danced.

She was older than I and had worked in the nightlife business for ten years. Among four hundred hostesses she regularly ranked around fifteenth each month and was regarded as a veteran. Yet she was also known at the club for disliking men.

That Miwako fell in love with me at first sight. Half believing and half doubting it, I began visiting the club from time to time. I took care to spend as little money as possible. After learning that I preferred kimono, if she happened to be wearing a dress when I arrived, she would rush to the dressing room and change into Japanese clothing. She ignored the laughter of her colleagues at this transformation.

As the new year passed, her father died in March. Without saying anything, I paid the funeral expenses. This became the occasion through which, without either of us formally proposing it, I began looking after Miwako. She had never missed a day at the club, but thereafter made Sunday her regular day off.

During a trip to Izu at New Year this year, Miwako expressed intense envy that Emiko and I had reached the present day without a single marital quarrel or period of weariness, retaining the sweetness of newlyweds. Miwako had previously failed in marriage. For that reason, she tried desperately not to be defeated by Emiko and made touching efforts on my behalf.

From her experience, Miwako could not understand the source of our harmonious married life. Naturally it was the fruit of Emiko’s efforts, but I explained that being able to bind her also had the powerful effect of softening my feelings and calming my anger. Miwako could not accept this explanation.

Whatever the reason, her competitive determination not to lose to Emiko led her to plead that night:

“If Emiko can do it, there is nothing I cannot do. Treat me in the same way, so that I too may have your love.”

It was an opportunity beyond anything I could have hoped for.

I ordered Miwako to strip completely. Although she worked in the nightlife trade, she was deeply ashamed of becoming naked or exposing her body. That night, however, she was different. Silently she removed her kimono and sat before me with her eyes closed.

I hesitated briefly, thinking she might be frightened if I bound her too severely at the beginning.

“Well, so be it. I have no shortage of cord. I shall give her crotch binding from the very first.”

I began tying Miwako. She allowed me to do as I pleased, but when the cord bit into her flesh, she cried out.

“Do you bind Emiko this way too?” she asked.

I nodded.

“You have terrible tastes. But you are a fortunate man. It hurts to be bound, but if it gives you pleasure, I shall endure it so that I do not lose to Emiko. Please never abandon me. But women are sensitive. You must make absolutely certain that Emiko never discovers me. That is what frightens me most.”

That night I felt profoundly what a fortunate man I was.

Since then I have enjoyed binding Miwako approximately twice each month. I have often thought of photographing her someday. When she had curtains made for her room, I took the remaining fabric and had it made into a cord. When I told Miwako that I intended to use that cord to bind Emiko, she cried and tried to stop me, saying divine punishment would fall upon her. I nevertheless took it home by force and now use it constantly.

I have written this long and difficult confession, but in conclusion I wish to tell my fellow enthusiasts that proceeding through everything with confidence and affection is, in my opinion, the shortest road to happiness.

Anyone wishing to contact me may leave a message at Café Grento, on the left after turning west from the Nipponbashi-suji 3-chōme tram stop. The telephone number is 36-2737. I am a regular customer who stops there at least once each day to enjoy a cup of coffee. Ask for Itojima or leave a message for me.

Hoping to converse at length with others who share my interests, I now put down my pen.