Nureki Chimuo Archive

I’ll continue the story of “Nagai Natsu, a beautiful girl.” It’s about a girl, who when bound by me, responds honestly and intensely, feeling so deeply that she’s on the verge of fainting. First, we took still photos for packaging and promotional use by the distributor. However, when I tied her up and stood beside her, she became too overwhelmed to follow the photographer’s and producer’s posing instructions. The pose they instruct, to my eyes, is an utterly stereotypical, commonplace, and utterly unremarkable to put it harshly - “dead pose.” Yet for those who believe such photos are essential to make the “product” sell, it remains a crucial “standard pose.” However, when I watch up close, she reacts more than necessary, or rather, instinctively, and can’t hold the pose. All the strength drains from her body and the pose collapses. In that pose, crumbling as it loses its true form, I feel a raw, visceral reality and cry out in my heart, “How wonderful!” I think to myself, “If they used a photo like this in the packaging, it would absolutely sell to the fans!” But the producers who have long believed that packaging photos must be a certain way, commanded her into the usual, formulaic pose. However, as I just mentioned, when I watch her up close, she becomes too overwhelmed to hold that pose. She just can’t help but writhe. I moved far away from her. Far, but still in the same studio. At most, seven or eight meters away. Then she could maintain the pose as directed by the producer and cameraman. This was a rare experience even among many photo shoots, so I decided to record it here. (But honestly, anyone who isn’t into this stuff probably won’t understand a word of it and won’t find it the least bit interesting. It’s a world of specialized senses and sensibilities themselves, after all.)

Director Kawamura personally handled the camera for the drama shoot, which began after everyone moved to the fourth floor of the studio. Before me, seated on the sofa, appears Nagai Natsu, a beautiful girl who desires to be bound by me. From here on out, I’ll be the one talking to her, delivering all the lines, and keeping the conversation going. No one else gives me orders. The dozen or so staff members surrounding us never interfere. They know that when dealing with a girl like this, letting me do exactly as I please makes for more interesting footage. I’ve appeared in countless videos for this production company. Even when my face or figure isn’t shown, I’m part of the staff as a bondage specialist. I wish I could write down each and every one of her fresh, innocent, honest, and erotic reactions to my rope from here on out, but I lack the ability to express them. Watch the footage directly and enjoy her wonderful reactions, her expressions, her body language, and the tantalizing sound of her voice. Well, it’s no exaggeration to call this the pinnacle of bondage realism. Not a single second of it is staged. During a break in filming, Director Kawamura said something to me that was incredibly heartwarming. “How’s it going, Director? Is the pace okay?” In response to my question: “Oh, it’s fascinating. What makes it interesting is that I have absolutely no idea how she’ll react to your movements, what kind of pleasure she’ll show. There’s an element of surprise. Even when I start rolling the camera, I get so excited I can hardly contain myself, wondering what kind of wonderful expression she’ll make next and how her whole body will react,” he said, eyes sparkling. “Even with the run of the mill SM story, you can see the incredible drama within her mind and body, right? Her mind and body, drowning in the pleasure of ropes; that itself is the drama. When she lets go so completely, immersing herself in pleasure, just as she feels it, simply filming her feels like capturing the essence of human drama, a true depiction of the soul,” I said, getting carried away myself. Then the director’s face grew even more delighted, “You’re absolutely right, Sensei. It’s more dramatic than any skillfully crafted drama. Somehow, it stirs a trembling emotion. That a single rope could deliver such incredible pleasure; it’s a drama beyond imagination. Though it’s a documentary, it’s unlike any ordinary documentary. I feel the power of your artistry, drawing out and expressing her unique personality.” The director praised me even more, but I’ll refrain from writing that here because it’s embarrassing.

After a slightly longer break, the producer instructed them to strip her completely naked and tie her up. She showed little hesitation in removing her clothes and displayed no shame. She really is a girl of this generation. “Aren’t you embarrassed to get naked in front of so many men?” she was asked, replying, “yes, I am.” Her pale, flawless, luminous, clean-shaven body draws murmurs of admiration from the staff. “How beautiful.” Her buttocks are youthful and plump. Her slender, long neck flows smoothly into her shoulders, forming a beautiful line. It is extremely rare for male staff members, accustomed to seeing well-proportioned women nude, to utter remarks like “how beautiful.” However, the flesh from her shoulders to her arms is a bit thick. Not only thick, but to the touch it’s muscular and firm. As an arm fetishist, I’m particular about the shape and texture of a woman’s arms. “Do you play any sports? Swimming?” When I asked, it turned out she’d been an ice skater in high school. I thought swimming would be a problem, but ice skating should be fine, though it gradually became clear that wasn’t the case. I tightly bind her hands behind her back, leaving the rope ends long and and securing them high. This pose will be used frequently in the latter half. The rope slung over her upper arms digs in deeply under her own body weight, gradually becoming unbearable. “Ah, it hurts, it hurts!” she let out a small cry. Moderate pain naturally becomes the pleasure of masochism, but when it goes too far, the pleasure vanishes, leaving only the sensation of pain. The way ten women who like rope feel pain is different. But each has their own unique personality. They may look the same, but there are differences. I always gauge the other person’s pain while tying them up so it doesn’t hurt. (What kind of sadist is that? I’m unfit to be a sadist.) I don’t understand the logic behind how arms thickened by sports become more sensitive to pain, but I know it from experience after doing this kind of work extensively for a long time. It’s common among women who are swimmers. That’s why I don’t like broad-shouldered, thick-muscled women who used to swim. But why does ice skating make your arms tough? Isn’t that a sport that doesn’t require arm movement? I didn’t understand. However, by chance today, while eating breakfast and watching TV, that question was answered. A woman who used to be a snowboarder was appearing on a talk show. Sure

enough, her shoulders and arms were abnormally thick and stiff, and she was explaining the reason why. The reason is that at the start, in order to get ahead quickly, you bend your arms and tense your entire body, repeatedly practicing that posture. This causes your arms to become stiffer and thicker. I see, that’s how it is. Today, my question was finally answered. But since I tied her up yesterday, I still don’t understand why her arm hurts. The strain on her upper arms had increased significantly in the latter half. “There’s a way to tie the hands behind the back without letting the rope touch the arms, let’s do that” I said, threading the rope from her wrists behind her back, under her armpits, around her chest, and securing her hands behind her back. I wouldn’t let her complain about her arms hurting anymore. Who would have known? This beautiful girl’s erogenous zones, stimulated by the ropes, were generously hidden from her armpits to her chest. After finishing tying in that manner, “Ahh, it feels so good!” she cried softly, bending her knees and nearly fainting again. Falling would be dangerous. But this time, the rope’s end was already tied to a beam near the ceiling, so she couldn’t collapse. With her feet still on the floor, she dangled loosely. She was suspended in that pose, exaggerating the beauty of her naked form. It became a well-shaped, erotic suspension pose that even I found mesmerizing. Finally, I looped ropes around both arms to adjust the shape. Since the ropes were merely wrapped around, they didn’t dig in. Visually, it’s a harsh, gruesome suspension, but the person themselves feels no pain. Not entirely none, but the pain should be minimal. I observe now, she is all pleasure. I was so entranced by the breathtakingly beautiful, magnificent scene of her suspended in midair that I forgot about work and gazed at it (this is what self praise is all about). Director Kawamura crawled right under her suspended body, lay flat on his back, and shot relentlessly; her ecstatic expression drenched in pleasure, the eroticism of her entire body writhing and twisting in agony from the digging ropes. She kept moaning in a low voice, “It feels so good, so good,” and the young naked body suspended in midair grew increasingly white and luminous, radiating light. Hmm….. What’s going on? As I wrote this scene of tying her up and pleasuring her, it gradually started to feel dull. My enthusiasm waned. Why? I paused my writing.

I don’t know why. Maybe I’m getting bored. Maybe I’m tired. Maybe my mind and body are both tired. No matter how detailed my descriptions get, I just can’t seem to get the point across to readers. I find myself wanting to say, “Director Kawamura shot this footage with such passion; just watch the footage.” That would be quicker. Well, I suppose my own lack of expressive skills is part of it. My own descriptive abilities frustrate me. “Imagine two boys you like standing in front of you,” I said to her. I don’t remember if it was before or after I started the suspension. “Yes, like identical copies of the same boy?” she replied, a bit witty. “One is a boy who’s good at sex. The other can’t have sex; meaning he’s impotent. But he’s strangely skilled at tying people up. If you had to choose just one, which would you pick?” Before this question, I’d asked her if she liked normal sex. “I do,” she answered clearly. She pondered for a moment, “I’d choose the boy who’s good at tying,” she said with a cute smile. I wondered if it was flattery or a compliment meant for me, but it didn’t seem like it. When it comes to playing along, I sometimes deliberately move far away from her so the director holding the camera can shoot freely. In other words, I position myself outside the camera’s frame. Then she searches with her eyes for my figure, now out of her sight. When she spots me standing in the dark corner of the studio, a look of relief and joy flashes across her face for just a moment. (Though this is probably just my imagination. Probably an illusion.) “Why did you start liking being tied up so much? Do you know what caused it?” I always ask this question to women who enjoy being tied up at photo shoots. But not a single one has given me a clear answer. Most pause for a moment, then reply, “I don’t know.” I truly believe they don’t know. I myself have absolutely no idea where my own rope fetish (I’m the one playing with ropes) comes from. Honestly, I have no clue why I became this kind of rope-obsessed guy, and I don’t understand the reason. Sometimes I wonder if it’s genetic, but there’s no clear evidence for that either. There’s no way to investigate it.

“When did you first start having this kind of desire to be tied up?” To my question, she replied, “Hmm, probably since elementary school.” “Even back in kindergarten, there were girls who, well, not exactly pleasure, but felt kind of good when their bodies were restrained. Quite a few of the girls who I have tied have said that.” When I said that, she looked serious and said, “Hmm, come to think of it, maybe I’ve been like that since kindergarten too.” Let me clarify; she possesses a sharp mind (she’s a student in the economics department at a certain prestigious university) and is a beautiful girl with common sense. There’s not a trace of any dark shadow about her. After lowering her from the suspension, I laid her pleasure-drenched, nearly-unconscious body directly onto the concrete floor. I untied the ropes binding her hands behind her back. After resting a little and regaining presence of mind, I threaded a rope between her thighs. She remained lying down. I placed the rope in her right hand and had her grasp the other end, which I led around to her rear, in her left hand. Then I said, “Now stroke this rope with your own hands. That’s right, move it back and forth.” This was the first time I’d ever done this kind of direction. She obediently and faithfully performed that “rope masturbation” as I instructed. She rubbed the rough hemp rope back and forth against her sensitive crotch. Right before her eyes, I deliberately made three knots in the rope and showed them to her. This too was part of my staging. She instantly let out a low moan of pleasure, her young hips writing in agonizing ecstasy. “Ahh, it feels so good, so good!” Her lower body twitched and her buttocks stiffened slightly before she came immediately. I had been carefully observing her expression, so I could clearly tell she had reached the peak of pleasure through this “rope masturbation.” I made her repeat it over and over. She moved her hands left and right as I commanded, stifling her voice, and came again and again. What an obedient girl, I thought, feeling something hot welling up inside of me. “I’ll give you that rope later,” I whisper in her ear.

After a short break, we moved on to the final “enema” scene. Her fresh, innocent reactions gave me a precious experience, but I’ll save the details of that moving moment for next time.