Nureki Chimuo Archive

I’ve received messages from several readers who follow this “Talking Theater” series regularly, saying, “You should write about your reunion with Hide Ishitani more carefully and in greater detail. I want you to write about it.”

This request is this; even though we met so frequently and shared such passionate moments back then, simply stating “we reunited” after two years feels far too cold and distant. As readers, we can’t help but feel this is unsatisfactory.

You’re absolutely right. If I hadn’t written about that, the structure of this long novel, “The Talking Theater,” wouldn’t hold together (and last time, it exceeded 900 pages of 400 character manuscript paper.)

Looking up “structure” in the dictionary gives: “The overall composition or mechanism of a building, text, etc.”

That’s what it says.

Well, to put it simply, it’s about “form.” The form of a long novel.

However, the “Reunion with Hide Ishitani” I’ve been writing lately primarily consists of “shooting notes” addressed to Ako.

In this context, “notes” essentially refer to the practical arrangements and schedule at the actual filming location.

It’s essentially a simple script.

I, that is, Nureki, appears, kidnaps a young, beautiful married woman, binds her in a locked room, and then subjects her to all sorts of lewd torment. I’m writing the specific schedule for this film production, which has just a hint of a story. Essentially, the concrete plan for how things will proceed.

This memo serves to help expand the imagination of Ako, who is both the producer and the camerawoman.

I personally hope Ako will be the camerawoman for this project, but realistically, it will likely be another male cameraman.

The role of producer-and-cameraman is something I rarely hear of (director-and-cameraman is common these days), and it would be physically and mentally overburdening. Unrealistic in practice.

There’s a reason I keep writing “Ako, Ako” when referring to the cameraman.

When Ako holds the camera, she stays calm and quiet at crucial moments, carefully aiming at her without rushing or moving about frantically.

She concentrates her mind, stares intently, and captures the very best parts of the bound female body.

Professional photographers, when faced with a bound woman with large breasts, tend to aim solely at her breasts. If the woman writhes her lower body, they immediately change the angle to focus on her butt, or fixate excessively on her crotch, failing to properly capture the “rope” itself.

Well, it’s their job, so I suppose it can’t be helped. But when I take the trouble to apply “good rope” that sinks into the woman’s smooth skin and soft flesh with exquisite precision, and they don’t focus on that rope, instead concentrating all their attention on her breasts or lower abdomen, watching that happen right beside me makes me truly sad.

“Hey, could you film that part where her wrists are bound, twisted, and pulled up tight for a bit longer?” I can’t help but blurt out, losing my patience.

Then the director says, “Focusing on the woman’s crotch persistently boosts the product’s value more than filming the ropes.”

When he says that, I have no choice but to shut up and back down.

But the kind director senses my feelings and carefully films the “ropes” properly on set.

In return, during editing, the “rope” scenes get ruthlessly cut out.

Well, it is “rope,” so getting “cut” is inevitable. This is my bittersweet pun.

Ako the camerawoman, though, gets it. She captures the painfully tender beauty of a woman’s wrists tightly bound behind her back, and the masochistic eroticism that arises from it, with real passion.

She even shows consideration during the editing phase after filming.

So, it doesn’t really matter if it’s Ako or not. As long as the cameraman understands this is footage for rope bondage enthusiasts and carefully portrays the rope, I’m fine with anyone.

But there’s still a significant difference in the final footage between a cameraman who understands rope and one who doesn’t.

This isn’t about logic, it’s about sensation. So, really, it can’t be helped.

When the photographer has little interest in rope, their passion for it inevitably fades, and the rope I place on the female body stops breathing.

It dies. Even rope can die, depending on how it’s photographed.

Huh?

You mean, isn’t the rope I tie dead from the start?

Ugh!

If you put it that way, I’m completely lost for words.

But it happens often. Rope that’s lively, well-tied, and intense loses its vitality, loses its charm, and dies when you see it on film.

The “bondage artist” is the one who truly understands the life and death of rope.

If you don’t understand this, you can’t be a “bondage artist.”

To be blunt, you can become a “rope master” without understanding the life and death of rope, but you can’t become a “bondage artist.”

(Ah, my pen slipped, R-san, if you think this part’s too harsh, please delete it when you type it up.)

I’ve gone off on a tangent again.

Uhmmm….

I’ve forgotten what I was writing about.

Right, I was writing that Ako’s camera work suits bondage footage.

I’m writing this text now specifically for Ako, to make her work easier on set.

Both Ako and I will proceed with the shoot while looking at this “memo” I’m writing right now.

So, then (and here I’ll bring the conversation back), if I start explaining my psychological state during the “Reunion with Hide Ishitani” in detail right here, the theme becomes vague, and the mood to energize the shoot gets neglected.

By the way, I should mention that the video I’m planning to make next stars Hide Ishitani, but “Hide Ishitani” herself won’t actually appear.

Hide-san will play the role of a married woman other than “Hide Ishitani.” (It’s a bit complicated. I should have written this part more clearly and earlier. My explanation was insufficient.)

I’ll just note that the following conversation took place between her and me.

“Hide-san, please appear in the video this time. Not as the Yokohama noblewoman, Hide Ishitani, but as another married woman. I’ll appear too, as a lecherous kidnapper and I’ll tie you up tight.”

“If it's you tying me up with your own hands, then playing another married woman is fine. Actually, that’s even better. But can I do it? I can’t say lines.”

“You can. First of all, you’ll be wearing a gag with a stuffing in your mouth from the start, so speaking lines is out of the question. You’ll just be tightly bound in a closed room and subjected to various torments for the perpetrator’s pleasure, so you absolutely can do it. This film focuses on the reactions of the tormented wife, so there’s no way you can’t do it. If your reactions seem dulled by awareness of the cameraman or others, I’ll shake you loose. I’ll torment you relentlessly, hard, deep, and with all my strength. I’ll tie your nipples with fishing line and hoist them high.”

“That’s scary. But I understand. I’ll do it.”

But honestly, I still don’t have confidence this project will actually happen.

I have a feeling something will come up and it’ll get canceled, ending up as just my own dream after all.

(Just like two years ago, when I wrote such passionate “shooting” notes for Fuji Planning to film Hide Ishitani, but in the end, nothing came of it.)

For these reasons, I’ll write about the slight psychological exchange that occurred when I reunited with Hide Ishitani later.

Truthfully, it’s difficult to write about, but I simply cannot avoid writing it.

Huh?

You’re asking why it’s difficult to write?

Huh? Huh? Huh?

Don’t you understand?

This writing of mine is being read by Rakka-san, who lives along the Saikyo Line.

And of course, Hide Ishitani-san must also be reading this “Talking Theater.”

She must be reading it, yet Hide-san says nothing.

She doesn’t say, “I’m reading it, about this person named Rakka-san.”

Actually, when I timidly asked, “Are you reading it?” Hide-san just smiled faintly with her lips and tilted her head slightly to the side.

Even when I asked if she was reading it, she didn’t shake her head up or down, or side to side.

She just tilted her chin slightly to the side.

No, not really tilting it, not really nodding either, just a slight sway of the chin.

When her chin wobbled, I felt like her lips parted about three millimeters up and down, as if a smile had slipped out.

Men just don’t understand how women like this feel.

Not even I, who has bound five thousand women, could understand.

Though I’m now approaching six thousand, even having tied up six thousand women, it was just work, just doing that job. So there’s no way I could understand a woman’s true feelings.

Or… or perhaps, Hide-san, who learned about Rakka-san and me through this “Talking Theater” (and I’m sure, no, absolutely certain she knows), felt some kind of emotion stir within her, and that’s why she agreed to this shoot. Couldn’t that be it?

Ah, ah, ah….

No. My writing like this will instantly reach the eyes of Hide-san and Rakka-san on the Saikyo Line.

Terrifying.

Could anything be more terrifying than this?

I don’t own a computer or a cell phone (I leave everything to R-san), so I can’t truly grasp the horror of it, but it’s terrifying.

The internet is truly a marvel of civilization.

A “tool” (利器: riki) refers to a sharp blade. A sharp weapon. Or, as the dictionary says, a convenient device.

Terrifying!

That’s why I hate computers.

If it’s terrifying, then I just shouldn’t write.

That’s right. That’s why I won’t write about the intricate psychological patterns when I reunited with Hide Ishitani. I’m too scared to write it.

“Well, it’s been a while. How have you been?”

“It has indeed been some time. I trust you are well, Sensei…”

It was nothing like that.

If something like this were to cause me, say, to never be able to meet Rakka-san again, I’d be in trouble.

Haven’t I confessed many times before that I’m a cowardly person?

But my true profession is writing, so even if I’m cowardly or a coward, I can’t avoid writing about it someday.

Even if one of my arms were cut off, I couldn’t avoid writing. It’s like the fate of a writer.

Not writing, being unable to write, that would be the same as me already being dead.

“You’re already dead!”

No, I’m still faintly alive. I’m trying to live.

Still, Mika Suzume is sharp, isn’t she?

I can’t hold a candle to Mika Suzume’s sharp mind and rich vocabulary.

She occasionally pinpoints and clarifies the core of SM, something that’s actually elusive and difficult to express.

“...the task of creating specific notes for the filming of ‘Hide Ishitani’s Top-Secret Footage’ that Nureki Sensei undertakes, I imagine that this very task is precisely when the Sensei experiences his SM bliss. Therefore, I believe the sensei is now in a highly elevated state, feeling excited like an elementary school student before a field trip…”

That is precisely correct.

Exactly right, Mika Suzume-san.

My heart remains elated, dancing round and round.

Just now, sensing my unusual aura, R-san told me, “Write, write! Don’t even eat. What you write in that excited state is the most interesting.” That’s exactly what she said.

Writing these “shooting notes” for Ako and stringing together these dreams right now is, just as Mika Suzume-san said, my time of “supreme bliss.”

Is there any pleasure in this world greater than fantasy?

When this becomes reality, all sorts of mundane, foolish troubles come sludging up before my eyes, ruining the precious fantasy.

To find pleasure in SM, in the end, there’s nothing left but fantasy.

Ako, I’m sorry.

For this reason, the continuation of the “shooting notes” has been postponed until next time.

The notes stopped right at the point where I forcibly stripped Hide Ishitani’s underwear, rolled it up, crammed it tightly into her mouth, and then tied a white cloth gag over it, fitting it snugly up to her nose.

Now, it’s time to get serious with the young married woman I kidnapped, not Hide-san, twisting both her arms painfully behind her back and binding her with rope so tightly it makes a sound!

I’ll show you the true power of Nureki Chimou’s rope!