At Suki's Ch. 04

One picture has haunted my fantasies for as long as I can remember. It was of a beautiful Japanese girl, no more than eighteen or nineteen, naked and bound tightly like a mummy with her arms behind her back, wrapped from her neck to her ankles in coils of rope, sandwiching her breasts, crushing them, squeezing them into flattened rectangles.

I couldn't see this picture without getting turned on. I can't even count how many times I masturbated looking at this picture, sometimes imagining I was playing with her pussy, forcing my way in through the ropes, and sometimes imagining I was the girl, and thinking of how anybody could just do what they wanted with me; they could suck on my nipples, or shove a cock in my mouth, or throw me off the Williamsburg Bridge.

First Suki dressed me in a see-through white bra with lace filigree, a well-fitted blue and white striped blouse, a short pleated skirt, a garter belt with pale silk stockings attached to them with suspenders, and black high-heeled pumps. Of course I wasn't wearing any panties.

Then she sat me in a chair, and she began to tie me down to it, wrapped a series of coils right around my waist, which made it a bit hard for me to breathe. I gasped, but Suki ignored me. She had opened the blouse and adjusted the bra so that my left breast was totally exposed but the other was covered. Now she ringed the rope around my exposed breast, squeezing it into a cylinder. It wasn't long before it began to purple. She tied one of my legs to a chair leg, binding it so my knee pointed in toward my body. My other leg she extended completely so that my vagina was open to full view.

As Suki circled around me, repositioning my ankle or my wrist, adjusting a detail of my open blouse or my skirt, I had time to drink in her beauty anew, and appreciate yet again its power to enslave me, to make me comply with any of her commands. She had chosen this occasion to look both amazingly glamorous and innocent, even as she was binding my semi-naked body.

As she was applying deep red lipstick to my lips I noticed her perfect face, so flawlessly smooth, so symmetrical, comprised of so many concentric circles, of her eyes, her cheeks, her moist mouth, and accentuated by the curve of her lashes, the curve of her brow, the pucker of her chin. Her deep black hair, short and shaped in waves across her forehead, framed her face perfectly. She moved with such efficiency and grace, the way I never could with my oafish body, my breasts and ass always jutting out, in the way, making me feel like I was spilling all over the place.

No, Suki's body was a slim, continuous line. Today she wore a beige knee-length skirt that belled in at the knees before a few inches of lacy trim, and fully fashioned white fishnet stockings underneath, and shiny black leather pumps that seemed to vintage from the 50s, the kind of shoes I'd seen in black and white movies. She took a sip from a twenty-ounce Top Pop bottle of orange soda. I could see a trace of red from her own lipstick on the bottle's mouth.

As she circled around me, a breeze of cool air tickled my naked and exposed inner thighs, raising goose bumps. I strained for a moment to cover myself, only to realize how tightly I was bound. the best I could do was contort my arm slightly, which prompted Suki merely to position it back how she wanted it.

I had become her living work of art, and though I knew that this meant that I should feel anything, that those who looked at me would assume I felt nothing, that I was a kind of breathing statue, still I felt more aroused

than I have ever felt, aware of how sexually prone every inch of my body was capable of feeling, even the ends of hair, which Suki was now styling carefully -- every brush stroke she made through my hair made me wetter and wetter.

When she was finished, she took a few steps back from me and looked intently at me. God, I was so turned on at that moment, I thought just the caress of her eyes could make me come. My arms were tied behind my back and my legs were spread wide open and my cunt was swollen and wet. "You are so beautiful," Suki said. "Like a piece of art. A great big piece of American art."

Several hours later, a party began. I was there, but I wasn't. Men and women, mostly Asian, dressed elegantly and conservatively, all admired me the way they would an interesting knickknack on a mantle piece, and then they mostly ignored me. One woman flicked my nipple once, just to hear me grunt, just to make sure I was alive.

Unable to move, unable to act, I was free from desire in a way, and I experienced nothing but pure sensation. I wanted for nothing, but I felt everything; God, did I feel everything. The slightest touch on my skin would send infinite ripplings of warmth and pleasure through my body, echoing endlessly in my body with nothing to prevent the feeling from expanding and expanding.

Time became meaningless. I don't know how long I was tied in that position. Perhaps it was hours, perhaps it was days. I was so thoroughly objectified it was like I had become pure body, and there was no mind to fathom things like time, space, extension. I was simply there, being, experiencing, and I understood of the first time the ineffable, unspeakable, limitless joy of simply being, the divine pleasure of merely being alive and nothing more. What more could we want than that?