Nureki Chimuo Archive

I got an email from Rakka-san saying, “I read it, and tears of gratitude welled up.” My heart skipped a beat. I knew I was in trouble. I did wonder if I wrote that bed scene too explicitly. But while the expression might be explicit, I didn’t write a single lie. Not a single line of it. No, in reality, it’s far, far more lewd and persistent, taking my time to lick and fondle every inch of her body. Even that is written with restraint. There’s absolutely no exaggeration whatsoever. However, readers who only read this bed scene might misunderstand Rakka-san as just another common fetishist; a woman whose sole desire is to be bound by my ropes. That would make Rakka-san angry, I think. (I also have a deeper and more complex inner self.) I handed the manuscript I had written to my manager, R. R read it and gave me the okay. So I figured there was no helping it if Rakka-san got mad at me. But still, I really didn’t want to make her angry. I was worried, but she wasn’t angry. I’ll share the email next.

“--I read the 8th entry of your Talking Theater. While reading, I kept nearly burying my face in my desk or getting flustered, so I forced myself to keep a cool expression and moved to the reference section, a bit away from the girls in my office, to read with a serious face. After feeling thoroughly embarrassed for a while, I shifted my mindset and read it thoroughly and earnestly. It was incredibly interesting. (Writing like this may seem strange, but thinking it strange is also odd, so I’m writing it properly as my impression. Adding such a note feels like making excuses, which I dislike… but scaring you would be even worse…) I definitely feel it’s different from the bondage diaries written under ‘Nureki Chimuo’ during the “Shooting” sessions, or the previous ‘Private’ bondage diaries. It feels like it’s not the ‘reality’ depicted before, but something much, much more raw. Every single description feels like it’s been distilled from digging deep into Sensei’s own self and elevated into expression. In a way, I suppose it really is pure literature. Not only are the characters and situations realistic, but beyond that, the indescribable ‘sense of happiness’ and the ‘welling up of emotion’ depicted there felt terrifyingly real. I found myself feeling and overwhelming, almost unbearable tenderness towards ‘Rakka-san.’” The above text is original as is. I felt relieved. She wasn’t upset. I felt reassured. I imagined the scenes of Rakka-san reading passages where she herself appeared and acted, squirming with embarrassment, and while it reassured me, I couldn’t help but grin. (This kind of psychology could be called mild sadism.)

Rakka-san read the description of the woman named “Rakka-san” that appears in my writings, objectively. “I found myself feeling so deeply fond of Rakka-san that it was almost unbearable.” That part struck me as particularly interesting, and I wondered. (What kind of psychological state is it when you become so fond of yourself that it’s almost unbearable?) So, feeling reassured and emboldened, I will now write about the latter part of that day’s activities inside the room of a love hotel named “Paradise by the Pond.” With my left hand cradling and supporting her swaying body, I grabbed another rope and this time secured it tightly beneath her breasts. It was a takate kote using two of my favorite special ropes reserved solely for Rakka-san. Rakka-san has a slender, long neck, narrow shoulders that slope gently downward, and to top it off, her body is supple, creating a wonderfully sexy, masochistic sight. “Lovely! How beautiful!” I was entranced and mumbled without thinking.

I even thought that anyone who doesn’t understand this eroticism is a stupid, insensitive, miserable person! Grabbing her shoulders to turn her face forward, her fresh breasts rose plumply and beautifully between the two straps, a deeply beautiful and masochistic sight. Her bra was still on, pushed up higher. The slightly rough way it was pulled up, distorting it, creates a sense of painful realism. It’s really good. Driven by lust, I grasp her breasts, breasts that breathe tantalizingly between the straps, firmly with both hands. I knead them, roughly. I pinch and pull her nipples. After savoring the sensation to the fullest, I laid her body on her back. Since she was lying on the bed’s duvet, her wrists shouldn’t hurt even when she was on her back. Even if her wrists were pressed into the bed by the weight of my own body, that pain would surely be a pleasant ache, tinged with masochistic pleasure. I straddled her, pressing her knees together and pinning them down. Her pubic hair is visible before my eyes. It is a beautiful, precious sight. But if I describe Rakka-san’s pubic hair here, it would amount to praise once more, so I hesitate. (Hey, hey, are you seriously complimenting my pubic hair? Give it a rest, would you?) I can just hear someone saying that. But it truly has a beautiful shape, slightly slender, emits an elegant fragrance, and grows with a refined grace. Some might think there is no such thing as vulgar or refined pubic hair, but believe me, there is. I like that there is no hint of the grooming model women often do. That’s not the sort of thing Rakka-san would do. I’d like to continue describing her pubic hair that breathes at the end of her beautifully rounded, fleshy white lower abdomen, but I’ll stop here because I don’t want to embarrass her more than necessary. The near-perfect eroticism of the line from her waist to her hips is something I’d love to describe further, but I’d just end up stringing together compliments, so I’ll refrain from that too. There’s a saying that when you’re in love, every mole becomes a dimple, but that’s absolutely not the case. I am a writer, after all. I observe everything calmly and with a critical eye. When I praise her, it’s not out of any “mole-as-a-dimple” sentiment. Her navel’s shape is perfect too (ahh, I’ve praised her again. I must stop praising her.) I lean over and press my lips against her navel, sticking my tongue out and pressing it inside. I curl the tip of my tongue sharply and lick around. Uhh, uhh, uhh, she moans low, her white flesh

in her lower abdomen twitching tantalizingly. Those twitches transmit through to my face as I lick and suck her navel. My tongue slowly moves from her navel to her pubic hair, tracing the curve of her lower abdomen. She twitches the soft flesh of her inner thighs, twisting her legs together. “Ahh, ahh, ahhhhhh…….” She was breathing in short ragged gasps. But it wasn’t a voice of refusal or disgust. It was still a voice of shame. Even as she twisted her thighs, pressing the flesh together, the resistance wasn’t particularly strong. My tongue burrowed further down, from the base of her pubic hair. “Now, spread your legs. Relax and spread your legs.” I say. It’s a bit theatrical. It’s a line meant to further tease her sense of shame. But I never use those vulgar lines they make them say in porn. If I uttered such dirty, crude dialogue, it would kill the mood for both of us. I pressed my face tightly against the warm, soft crotch of her thighs pressed together, extending my tongue further to lick. I pushed the tip of my tongue deeper and deeper into the folds of her thighs. My nose is crushed, and I struggle to breathe. My eyes are closed, and I see nothing. What a blissful suffocation. From her pubic hair, I smell my own saliva. I am already a masochist. When it became too painful, I lifted my head, gasped for breath, and licked her naval again. I thrust my tongue inside. She writhed, gasping. Next to the belly button comes licking the breasts. Grasping the breasts with my hand and kneading them while sucking on the nipples. Licking the nipples in turn, biting with my teeth and pulling. Forcibly sucking the entire flesh of the breast into my mouth, licking it all over with my tongue. Then I kiss her lips again. I don’t stop at times like this. I slip my tongue into her mouth, entwining it with hers and twisting it around. She doesn’t dodge my frantic advances. She doesn’t try to escape at all. Yet she shows no sign of actively welcoming them herself. It’s as if she’s simply letting herself drift away in a man’s lust. This kind of reaction is strangely stimulating for the one doing the teasing. For her, it’s an unconscious response, like letting herself drift with a river’s current. Yet within that unconsciousness, her soft, quiet gasps become exquisite eroticism for me.

I shifted my position, facing the opposite direction from before, and cupped her thighs with both hands. Now her ankles were right before my eyes. In that position, I bury my face between her legs. I pressed myself tightly against her. My crotch covers her face. In other words, we’re in the 69 position. Lick me, lick me, I beg as I force my crotch against her face. “Lick it, open your mouth and lick it, suck me” I plead. She listens to my wish without hesitation. With unbelievable ease, she does it right away. I’m enveloped by the warm sensation inside her mouth. A feeling of happiness pierces me right to the top of my head. Bound in a takate kote, she lay on her back. She opened her mouth to take my cock between her cheeks and lick it, but I couldn’t see. Before my eyes was her crotch. I knew she was sucking it. It felt good, oh, it felt so good! I spread her crotch wide with my fingers, then thrust my tongue inside. Licking. Sucking. Biting with my teeth. Gently tugging. Inside my mouth, I deliberately make slurping noises as I suck on the stretched, soft flesh. Sucking firmly. Sometimes biting. The slurping sounds feel like my sign of gratitude to her. I press my nose deeper into her pubic hair, extending my tongue to penetrate her depths. Soft. I swirl the tip of my tongue. Her breathing grows ragged. My own breath catches. I lift my face from between her thighs to catch my breath. Her mouth grows warmer and warmer, tender on my penis. I feel tenderness in the devoted movement of her tongue. Occasionally, she lets out a soft “gulp” from her throat as she continues sucking. She sucks even my heart. Her earnestness suddenly makes me want to cry. She’s the kind of woman with an elegant, intelligent beauty that makes men think she’d never do something like give a blowjob. And yet, that beauty is sucking a guy like me. My pleasure level rose. Inside her mouth, I was erect. If I pulled out now and immediately thrust into her labia, it felt like it would work. Most men would do that. It felt like if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be fulfilling some kind of “duty” or “pride” as a man. What should I do? I ponder, rocked by waves of pleasure. What expression does she have now? I cannot see her face as she sucks me. My eyes are blocked by her fragrant thighs. “Use your tongue more…. swirl it around to stimulate me… gently bite with your teeth… harder, harder, a bit harder.” I gasped as I begged.

But I don’t ejaculate from oral sex alone. I need to be stroked by hand at the same time as oral sex to ejaculate. (Ahh, is it really okay to write something like this in a place like this?) While Rakka-san has an excessive sense of shame, I have lost mine entirely. Her tongue and lips were soft, and the stimulation was gentle, but after prolonged, continuous friction, it inevitably started to hurt. She kept moving her tongue until I said “that’s enough.” Come to think of it, the moment I initiated this kind of act, she fell into a state of absolute submission to me. She never refused my requests. She would do anything. She would keep going forever. At the office, she gives the girls such crisp, clear instructions, sometimes in a stern tone, yet when I grab her wrist and give it a little twist, she obediently does as I say. That’s enough, I said, pulling myself out of her mouth. There was a popping sound. I laid with her face to face once more. I held her body close with both arms. The sensation of wrapping my hands around her slender waist and pulling her tightly against me felt good. When I touched her wrists, bound in a takate kote, they felt cold. It was time to release them. I sat up halfway, lifted her upper body to sit her up, and we faced each other on the bed, kissing. I kissed her again and again. No matter how many times I kissed her, I never grew tired of it. Since I hadn’t ejaculated, my stamina didn’t wane. If I had ejaculated, I would have instantly lost all my energy and strength, becoming limp and useless. The reason I could keep sucking and licking for two or even three hours, in a word, was because I hadn’t ejaculated. Facing each other, we embraced and kissed as I slipped my left hand around her back and began undoing the takate kote. It had been a long time since I tied her up. It can be untied using only the left hand. That’s how it’s tied. Both hands should be free, yet she remained bound in the takate kote position. Having been tied up for over an hour I worried that her arms had gone numb and she couldn’t move them. I wrap my arms around her back and take hold of her wrists, and gently guide them back to the front. “Did your hands go numb? It was a long time after all.” I ask. She doesn’t respond. Only a smile. She never has once answered this type of question. Perhaps she finds even these questions embarrassing.