Chloe's Pen Pal

He lived close by and arrived soon thereafter. He had brought with him multiple lengths of red silk rope. I greeted him at the door, and he asked me, "You wready, Ms. Chloe?"

"Oh yes, Mr. Ling, this is something I have always wanted to try."

Mr. Ling was an elderly man, I would guess in his 70s, somewhat stooped over. He wore more of a traditional Japanese kimono and sandals, the gown tied at the waist with a white cloth belt. It was if he was preparing for an ancient rite, a ceremony of the beauty of a woman. When I first met him, I knew he would be perfect to introduce me to this ancient art. I handed him the 10 $20 bills we had agreed on. "Onwy cash" is what he had told me in his oriental accent when I left him.

I started to undress, and had no hesitation to exposing myself to Mr. Ling. I considered his status similar to a physician, and I had no embarrassment of my nudity in his presence. The only jewelry I wore was the ring engraved with a C. Mr. Ling dimmed the lights in the room. He told me it would take about an hour to complete his handiwork. He wanted me to stand, as he started the intricate design of the red rope over my torso. He pulled each rope tight, as this was a form of bondage, but not too tight that I couldn't move or was uncomfortable. Bisecting my torso was a series of elaborate knots. He created a pattern of intersecting diamond shapes over my back and chest. This was highlighted by a loop of rope tied around the circumference of each breast. The constricting rope only accentuated my firm breasts, extending them with an appealing plumpness, making them look at least a cup size bigger. He used a thinner rope and made a tight coil spiral around my neck, giving my neck an elongated appearance reminiscent of a model painted by Modigliani. He carefully tied the end of the neck confining string to the knotted rope on my chest securely.

He then extended his design below my waist. He carefully ran rope between my pussy lips, and buttocks, carefully separating my cheeks as he laid the rope between and secured it to the already anchored rope around my waist. Ropes were tight underneath my buttocks, raising them and giving them an especially inviting appearance, I thought as I looked at myself in the mirror. It accentuated the physical feature I always thought was my most alluring.

He took out a small bottle of cream, and applied it to each of my nipples. Immediately, they stiffened and a nipple protruded. He reassured me, "this herbal cream like Viagra for the nipples, keep them hard." My areola immediately contracted to a hard protruding brown nubbin that initially ached followed by numbness. He made a small circle around each nipple with his string, and gently tied a knot. He used the same string and tied it around the other nipple, connecting the two from which he hung a medallion with a Japanese letter. "That identify my work" he said. I recollected the same item in the bound women in the pictures he showed me a few days ago.

It took him about 45 minutes, and then he laid me on the bed.

"I now tie hands and feet." He said in his broken English, the culmination of the art of his bondage ropes.

I didn't answer him, I just extended my arms, and spread my legs apart, indicating to him the final position I wanted to be left, awaiting my lover. Giving myself to him entirely. Showing him my obedience to his desires.

Mr. Ling started at my knees, coiled the rope tightly over my calves, and then secured the rope to the bedframe. He repeated this on the other leg with a perfect symmetry.He took my two arms together, again coiling the rope tightly starting at my wrist and ending at my elbows.

"I leave now, you be awight?" he said, after he examined his artwork, clearly proud of his creation.

"There is a camera on my bed stand, please take pictures of what you have created for me." I instructed him. He took several pictures, and then showed them to me and I nodded. He had captured me perfectly in those images.

He then added, "I call at 8 o'clock, I know you okay." I appreciated his concern for my safety. "You just pick up phone then hang up. Ling know you safe." I gave him a smile, and I shook my head yes and then mouthed the words "Oh thank you, Ling" as if what he had done, the art he had performed, prohibited me from speaking in anything other than whispered tones. I could still wiggle, but no matter how I turned, the restriction of the rope was felt on some part of the body. I looked down at his work, and it truly was beautiful.

Precisely at 7 p.m., I heard the key open the lock on the front door. He had arrived, and my breathing became more of a pant. Mr. Ling had arranged me on the bed, it was a full moon, and the soft bluish light streamed from the sky light in our bedroom, bathing me in its luminescence to create a perfect erotic scene.

I didn't say a word. I could hear Greg looking for me in the kitchen, den, and living room, calling my name. "Hey Chloe, I'm home and I want you."

The last placed he looked was in the bedroom, probably not suspecting me to be there as the lights had been turned off. As he entered, I looked at him directly. He stopped, did not say a word but just gazed at what was before him.

"Happy birthday," I said and struggled against my binds.

It took him a several minutes to fully comprehend what I had given him for his birthday. I could see in his face a change from the initial shock of the bondage scene to contemplation of the possibilities. He walked slowly over to the side of the bed. He removed his shirt, pants, shoes and socks and stood in a pair of leather bikinis and t-shirt, as he had obviously planned for lovemaking activities. His thick manhood was clearly outlined by the supple leather, looking very inviting. The seductive aroma of the warmed leather was emanating from his bikini shorts, giving an earthy ether to inhale. A small zipper in the front of the bikinis was straining, begging me to release the package. The T-shirt was tight, accentuating his torso and firm muscles. There was a subtle shine to the leather, glistening in the ambient light.

"You are in quite a predicament, aren't you, Chloe?" he said in a sarcastic tone of voice, toying with me as he had frequently done in the past. "How are you ever going to get out of those ropes if I don't help you?" I did not answer him, but I gave him a forlorn appearance, as if he was my only solution and I would be willing to do whatever he wanted. In reality, I was already craving for any design he had on my body.

He started by straddling me, looking at the string that joined my two nipples, with the medallion of Mr. Ling still attached. He pretended to examine this emblem closely, but it was clear his intent was to tug firmly on my nipples, which had remained constricted but now much more sensitive. As the strings tensed, my nipples were pulled closer to his view. His eyes veered from the medallion to my breasts. "Are these ready for some attention?" he asked. "They look so firm, so ripe, so scrumptious."

As he untied the strings, the hyperesthesia of my nipples was almost intolerable, as if they were being manipulated with tiny electric shocks imbedded in his fingertips. Once unbound from the constricting strings, his mouth reached for the prize, as he bathed each tit with his warm, moist tongue. The sensation was intensified by that herbal cream Mr. Ling had applied. I made a fleeting mental note that I had to return to his shop and purchase this magical cream.

Greg dismounted me, and started to untie my legs from the bedframe. With his guiding firm hands, he repositioned me on my knees at the edge of the bed, and then bent me over so I was on all fours. As my arms had still remained tied, I had to hold up my chest with my elbows, causing my bottom to protrude over the edge of the bed. He pushed on my knees to widen the distance between them to the limits of my comfort. I felt him untie the thick rope that had been carefully placed by Mr. Ling between the most private area of my pussy lips and buttocks crack. That rope must be saturated with my sex was my only thought.

Greg then came to face me, and knelt in front of me. "Unzip my package," he commanded . With some difficulty, I was able to get my teeth on the small zipper tag, and gradually lower it, allowing his swollen, erect penis to be set free from its leather confinement. He had the rope that emanated my female aroma, and he put it to his face, taking a deep breath. I watched his turgid penis engorge from the aphrodisiac. I held his cock between my palms, my fingers wrapped around it, accentuated with my red nailbeds on his shaft, with my arms still tied together with the ropes. I took it in my mouth, and gently licked it as I hummed the tune of Happy Birthday. He smiled at this once-a-year variation of something I had done many times before. Tonight, I wanted to complete the act, swallow his fiery liquid and clean his rod thoroughly with my tongue. I wanted him to relish his birthday gift.

Suddenly and unexpectedly, the phone rang, and I remembered what Ling had promised. "Just pick up the phone and hang up." I had changed my tone of voice, as the phone would go to the answering machine after 4 rings, and Mr. Ling would appear soon thereafter. Greg looked as me quizzically, I repeated it and nearly screamed "Do it now!!" I watched as he went to the phone and he looked at me after picking it up, I nodded to make sure he put it back in the cradle.

I thought he was returning so I could complete his gift of my warm, wet mouth on his erect penis. I could no longer see when he was planning. Conscious of the fact I was very exposed, I was totally helpless to defend myself against whatever he was intending to do. But I felt so aroused in those confining red ropes.

By this time, every part of my body was aching to receive his attention. What will I feel next? His finger, his tongue, his cock? Every minute without erotic stimulation felt like an hour. If I was just untied, I could take what I wanted. Being restrained left me entirely to his agenda; I was unable to act on my passions.

Then, I felt it. It was a strange sensation, something I had never felt before. It was fleeting, but unmistakably it happened. We have never even talked about it.

First, I felt his warm breath on my butt cheeks. He introduced himself by blowing a stream of warm air at my anal dimple. Ohhhh, that feels good. His tongue, the very tip of his tongue, suddenly touched my tunnel. Not my pussy, but that tight tunnel, the forbidden passageway. And then it happened again, longer, more probing. What a sensation it gave. What is Greg doing? I knew, and I wanted it to continue. Don't stop, please don't stop.

"Oh god, Greg, do it," I encouraged him. I did not want him to feel any inhibition to what he was doing to me.

He paused, then resumed with even more attentiveness. His tongue playing with my dimple and that strangely ecstatic feeling it engendered. It gave me a rush through my whole body as I relaxed to receive his probing. My knees weakened. I strained against every rope over my entire body . There was an ecstasy, a dirty, naughty, corrupted ecstasy, unleashed by the most forbidden of sexual acts.

I was so close to an orgasm, but I sensed he knew that as his lingual probing slowed and stopped. He then stood behind me, grabbing the ropes on my flanks and inserted the tip of his rigid cock in my pussy. The firm head sat in the passageway, not moving for minutes. Without warning, it glided in effortlessly, my pussy nectar bathing his cock in a slippery liquid. As he pumped, using the ropes for additional leverage, the force and depth of his penetration reached new extremes. There was no doubt the ropes draped over my body had invigorated his sexual prowess tonight. Push that cock in me. Fuck me hard.

He moaned as the entered and reentered me, with each stroke entirely vacating my pussy, and returning to bury himself into me. The strokes were timed precisely, as if a metronome was on the bedstand, not fast, but each stroke deliberate. Maybe 30, or 50, I stopped counting. The result was a simultaneous orgasm. His, mine, together, indescribable rapture, ecstasy like never before achieved. I collapsed and he fell on top of me. We laid there for the rest of the evening, not speaking, as he slowly but deliberately untied the encasement of ropes over my body.

He finally spoke to me in his most seductive voice, the voice that entices me to drop my panties whenever I hear it. "Chloe, you never fail to surprise me, but tonight was a climactic experience like no other." He gave me a deep, tongue manipulating kiss. "I have to know how you carried this out. You took me to the top. A birthday present which was, how do they say- priceless"

"I'm not telling. It's a secret between me and ...." I didn't complete the thought, but Greg didn't notice. At that moment, I thought about the e-mails with Addicted, and how he had brought out my most hidden desires and encouraged me to follow my instincts, sexually that is. It was him. The ring only signified the ethereal effect of him on me.

After that night, I wore the ring on rare occasion. One day, I wore it to work. I was sitting at my desk and looked at it, remembering the pen pal who created the persona of C. I sat down by my computer, went to my e-mail account and started:

_____________________________

Hey, Addicted,

Guess what I did for my boyfriend's birthday...........

I finished by attaching a picture, a picture of me tied in those red shabari ropes, cropped to show just my body, just the artistry of the ancient practice of Mr. Ling. I paused for a minute or two, questioning the propriety of the email. Then, I looked at the ring and positioned the mouse to the send icon, and clicked.

"Your message has been sent" appeared on the computer screen.