Nureki Chimuo Archive

While writing about our time at the love hotel called “Paradise by the Pond” with Rakka-san, I somehow drifted into talking about my regular “photography” work. I’ve written about two-thirds of what happened with Rakka-san that day and shared it with everyone, but the remaining third is left. I have to write it. Lately, while writing about several recent “shoot” experiences, I’ve occasionally found myself thinking, “I still haven’t finished writing about that day with Rakka-san. I really need to write it soon. I want to write it soon.” When I tie up Rakka-san, I always start by placing the rope over her clothes. If I walked into a love hotel room from outside, and said, “Alright, get naked so I can tie you up.” Even if I said something like that, she’d be too embarrassed and refuse to take her clothes off by herself. Even for me, tying someone over their clothes feels more sensual. If they were suddenly stripped naked, how utterly deflating that would be. That’s not what deep, pleasurable bondage play is about. She wears the same clothes she had on when walking outside with me. Yet the very casual attire of that everyday world instantly transforms into an utterly extraordinary, otherworldly fetish garment the moment I bind her hands behind her back with rope, though I prefer to use a special cotton cord when restraining her. It begins to radiate a dazzling, bewitching glow. I twist her arms up behind her back. Crossing her slender wrists, then grasp together with one hand.

Though Rakka-san never takes off her clothes by herself, she doesn’t resist much when her hands are tied behind her back. She obediently brings both wrists behind her and places them together. When it comes to performing “bondage play” as realistically, pleasurably, and diversely as possible, tying someone up over their clothes is stimulating. If a woman suddenly strips naked, there’s no room for emotion or anything else. The great pleasure of “bondage play” lies in slowly lifting the hem of a woman’s skirt, her hands bound behind her back, rendering her helpless. But in Rakka-san’s case, she doesn’t undress for that effect; she simply does it because it’s embarrassing. For bondage enthusiasts, the greatest joy and delight lies in her simply blushing without overthinking it. A woman who’s not embarrassed about being tied up is actually the worst thing when it comes to bondage play. Once again, I’ve written something unnecessary. In short, I just wanted to say that my play begins when I enter a love hotel, tie her up over her clothes, and kiss her. I just wanted to say that it’s more stimulating when she’s still dressed than when she’s suddenly naked. Grabbing her hair roughly, I forced her face up, sucking her lips, sucking her tongue. I twisted my hand into the nape of her neck, grasping her breast, kneading it, pinching her nipple between my fingertips and twisting it, sucking that nipple, sometimes biting it lightly with my teeth, pulling on it while biting. Then I slid my hand into her panties, probed her crotch, pressed with my fingers, inserted just a little, moved them, then sucked her lips again, sucked her tongue, sucked her nipples again, bit them, biting while reaching my hand down to lower abdomen and moving my fingers. When I slide her shorts down to her knees, she lets out a low gasp and twists her thighs together tightly. They were pressed so tightly that not even a finger could slip between them. Yet she offered no further resistance. The shape of her tightly clasped thighs was unbearably beautiful. It was intoxicatingly sexy. I press my face into her crotch. Her soft thigh flesh covers my eyes. I extend my tongue to lick and suck. I too shed what I wear below the waist. I lay on top of her body, her on her back, wrapping my arms around her thighs. I pressed my face against her crotch again, licking thoroughly. Then I placed my crotch on her face, my hardened member pressed against her mouth. She opens her mouth and takes it in. I push my tongue deep into her crotch. My nose and mouth become coated in my own saliva and the viscous fluid seeping from her body. I repeat this act over and over again. I never tire of it.

She kept letting out short shrieks, her whole body twitching in tiny spasms, clearly “feeling” it, but she never let out that final, high-pitched shriek. And I, too, never ejaculate. As long as I don’t, desire continues unabated. No matter how aroused I become, however, an old man no longer possesses the animalistic power to ejaculate with the fierce intensity of a young man. Therefore, as long as their strength holds out, the desires of the elderly persist relentlessly and without respite, never ceasing, pleasure never ending. I selfishly interpret it in the best possible light, that this old man’s phlegmatic temperament might, by chance, perfectly match Rakka-san’s sexual sensibility. Or perhaps, while enduring my relentless onslaught with lips, tongue, and fingers, Rakka-san remains bound in a takate kote. The pleasure of that restraint, combined with this old man’s slow, teasing caress, might subtly harmonize or intertwine, creating just the right degree of pleasure for her. That is my hopeful conjecture.

“Gentle, teasing caress” means not obsessively pounding away at a woman’s crotch like a young man, nor ejaculating. “Gentle, teasing caress” encompasses the entire female body, reaching every corner of her form, even between her toes. Even so, she, possessing a young body, should be able to show me the sight of her reaching the peak of pleasure, sometimes crying out as she climaxes. Responding to the varying pressure of my caress and breath, her entire body trembles in tiny spasms; there’s no way she isn’t feeling it. I know, but I pretend not to. She finds it embarrassing when she makes a sound. When it comes to matters concerning her own sexuality, she possesses an almost abnormal level of shame. She also has a strong sense of self-respect. Therefore, I simply conclude that no matter how good it feels, she cannot openly make a sound, and everything comes to a climax. I understand. But regarding this matter, I don’t want it resolved, I don’t want it to come to a climax. I don’t want to understand. Once you’ve climaxed and satisfied, isn’t everything over? As long as you remain unsatisfied, there’s no stagnation. Once you understand everything about the other person, stimulation and eroticism vanish. Ahh, I’ve written yet another endless bed scene. Readers must surely be bored stiff. For me, though, as I write, I’m ruminating on the pleasure I shared with her a few days ago,

replaying it in my mind. So I’m not bored. The pleasure with her comes back to life. I get hard as I write. Her figure, bound tightly in a takate kote, was so incredibly beautiful, erotic, and stimulating that it remains etched in my memory, refusing to fade from my mind. What remains seared into my memory is not the sensation of her body’s sexual parts, but the entire pose of her bound, lying on the bed. Her wrists bound high behind her back, her body glistening with shame, the eroticism of her form sends my heart into rapture. For a time, I gazed at her body without touching it. Just looking at her never grew tiresome. At that moment, she too must surely be lost in ecstasy. Even when I ask, “Does it feel good, even with your wrists tied high behind your back?” she never answers with a “Yes” or “Mm-hmm.” She remains silent, her eyes closed. I ask again and again, but she never has once responded. I interpret her silence as being simply too overwhelmed with pleasure to speak. Even without a reply, her body, turned away from me, laying down, expresses the ecstasy brought by my “restrain” (or so I believe.) With a light touch from my hand, she reacts sensitively, transforming her entire pose in a variety of ways. I slowly make contact with her breasts, abdomen, thighs, and crotch, launching a sexual “onslaught.” It’s because I want to see her writhing on the bed, her clothing erotically disheveled, her hands bound tightly behind her back, and her ever changing form. I touch her genitals because I want to transform the allure of her, bound so cruelly and lying before me, into an even more agonizing, bewitching, and sexy body. Our desires lately are easily understood by fellow enthusiasts with the same inclinations, but it seems utterly incomprehensible to other,“ordinary” people. No matter how much we explain, they just don’t get it. Even if it’s inevitable that people can’t grasp it intuitively, they also don’t agree with it conceptually or theoretically. What’s truly sad is that even the editors of “SM magazines” and the producers of “SM videos” don’t understand. They continue churning out products labeled “SM” without ever grasping the true feelings or genuine desires of enthusiasts. They simplistically believe that

bondage enthusiasts tie up women’s bodies simply to restrain their freedom and have access to their genitals. Enthusiasts are not that simple or straightforward. Why do they refuse to acknowledge that the world of enthusiasts exists as a distinct realm? So, we’re just a “minority” after all. Oh, somehow the conversation has gone off on a tangent again. That day, I went to Rakka-san’s office on the eighth floor of a building along the Saikyo Line, and then entered a love hotel I have been frequenting lately. I had planned to “experiment” with the method of applying the “peasant rope” described in Dr. Itatsu’s book from the photos titled “Ancient Rope-Tying Techniques,” using Rakka-san as my model. For that purpose, I had specially prepared several thick hemp ropes. However, after watching a rather dull DVD with Rakka-san at her office, I somehow lost all motivation and gave up on the “Ancient Rope-Tying Techniques.” I sat Rakka-san on the bed, twisted both her arms behind her back, and began our usual bondage play. I had already written and published two-thirds of the evening, so I intend to write the remaining third. (That day, I spent five hours in the room of a love hotel.) After stripping her completely naked, I tied her hands behind her back, in a takate kote, intending to record both my feelings at the moment and her reaction. But before I got to that nude scene, I got carried away and wrote too much. I’ve run out of time. I have to go to rehearsal again. “Bondage play” is fun, but “acting play” is also fun. No, since acting is already acting even when called “acting,” calling it “acting play” might be strange. “Play” already means “acting.” What I’m currently rehearsing is a one-man show I wrote and performed myself. This is what is fun. Work you don’t get paid for is always fun. Since it’s a play where I’m the only performer, it suits me perfectly. I can do anything freely. Since no one else will say it, I’ll say it myself. I’m actually quite good at acting. When I perform alone, I become intoxicated with my own performance, falling into a state of ecstasy.

“Bondage” is called perverted, but even if you’re completely absorbed in acting, you won’t be called perverted.

I wonder why. I suppose it’s because bondage is still more of a niche than acting. In terms of pleasure, though, it doesn’t make much difference to me.