Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 A Letter to Mary

   by anon1940

   You and I arrange to meet at an airport to spend a weekend indulging our
fantasies.  When we meet, you are dressed demurely in a linen blouse and
skirt.  However, under that skirt you wear no underclothes, and under your
blouse you wear your hemp girdle but no bra.  On the way to our hotel, we
stop at a cafe, where we choose a secluded booth at which we can sit next
to one another with the table between us and the rest of the room.  Once we
are seated, I ask you to lower your skirt, unbutton the bottom buttons of
your blouse, and spread your legs to give me free access to your belly and
vulva.  When you have, I explore the region which you have exposed.  While
palpating your tummy and examining the details of your vulva, I tell you
what I plan for these portions of your anatomy.  Among other things, I tell
you how I will want you to display yourself for me and what I hope to do.
In particular, I describe how I will try to mold your body and mind so that
you cannot distinguish between the pain which I am inflicting on you and
the pleasure which I am giving you.

   When we get to our hotel room, I have you stand in front of the mirror
with your arms at your sides.  From behind you, I reach around your body
and unbutton the your blouse, pulling it aside to expose your front.  With
your blouse still dangling from your shoulders, I raise my hands to your
breasts and begin to strum your nipples.  I do not hold them.  Instead, I
press my fingers together and gently rub them against your rigid nipples.
By being careful not to exert too much pressure, I make sure that my
fingers touch only your nipples, but the pressure is sufficient to bend
your nipples back forth with each passage of my fingers over them.  While I
tease your nipples in this way, I ask you about the torment that I am
causing you, insisting that you make no move which would alleviate that
torment.  After several minutes, I have you undo your skirt and allow it to
drop to the floor, all the while continuing my strumming of your nipples.
When your tummy is bare, I lower one hand and borrow beneath the rope
around your waist to find your bellybutton, which I enter with my index
finger.  Pressing against the musculature which encompasses my embedded
finger, I coax you to perform a licentious but disciplined dance to express
your excitement and frustration.  With my finger probing your navel and my
other hand holding your breasts, you undulate your torso, alternately
thrusting your belly forward and then pressing your buttock back against my
groin.

   I continue playing your body like a fine instrument, denying you
consummation until the two of us cannot hold out any longer.  At that
point, I free you to exercise all your skills and savagery, including
taking revenge on me if revenge it what you crave.  We fall asleep in each
others arms.

   After waking, you take a leisurely warm bath, eventually emerging from
the bathroom, your hair in a pigtail seductively hanging over one shoulder.
Your skin suffused with a delicate pink.  While I am performing my more
perfunctory ablutions, I tell you to dress in the outfit, sans the rope
girdle, in which you met me, and when I too am dressed, we go out to find
breakfast.  Again we choose a place where we can be secluded, and again I
have you lift your skirt to give me access to your lower body.  During
breakfast, I caress the warm, miraculously smooth patch of skin at the
junction of your thighs, but I avoid your vulva.

   We discuss our plans for the day, and I suggest that we spend the
morning shopping for lingerie for you.  I admit to you that I am less
interested in the clothes that we might buy than in having you model them
for me.  In particular, I want you to experience the excitement and
humiliation of having your body exposed and examined by strangers at the
same time as you know that I am watching and enjoying your consternation.
The idea appeals to you, and we find a boutique where the management is
accustomed to having their female clients parade around scantily clad for
the delectation of the man accompanying them.  In fact, I am invited into
the dressing room while a sales lady has you try on various brassieres
which mold your breasts, some flattening them so that your body resembles
that of a boy, albeit a distinctly effeminate one, and some thrusting them
aggressively forward.  In the process, she takes considerable liberties
with your breasts and, when you try one which leaves your nipples bare,
even gives your nipples a little tug to center them.  The sight of you,
naked from the waist up, compelled to allow your breasts manipulated by
another woman is most alluring.

   We stay at the boutique for over an hour, having you try on several
corsets and ending up buying the bra which leaves your nipples bare.  By
that time we are both anxious to return to hotel.

   I thoroughly enjoy our walk back to the hotel.  As the clearly visible
pegs poking against your blouse make obvious, our visit to the boutique has
stoked the fire which I had ignited during breakfast.  However, as I warn
you during our walk, immediate gratification of your sexual appetite is not
the purpose of our return.  Instead, I intend to keep stoking the fire and
take advantage of your body's response, making it blossom in ways that I
doubted you knew it was capable.  In particular, I know that, at my
suggestion, you have worn a crotch strap which you had carefully knotted so
that it would apply pressure not only to your clitoris but also to your
anus.  I knew that you were familiar with the sort of stimulation the rope
provided your clitoris but that the anal stimulation was new to you. 
Nonetheless, you found that having the knot pressing against your anus
augmented your pleasure and contributed to the intensity of your ensuing
orgasm.  With this in mind, I tell you that I want to have you take the
next step toward full appreciation of the pleasure that you can derive from
that much maligned orifice.  In the process, you are to learn that it not
just your vagina that is capable of being, and remaining, opened for your
own and your lovers enjoyment.

   In preparation for the lesson I am going to teach you, I ask that you
administer yourself a mild enema.  Anticipating that it would be needed, I
had packed one of those pre-prepared enema bottles in my bag.  When we
arrive at our room, I hand the bottle to you, promising that this was the
only unpleasant aspect of your lesson.  With obvious reservations but firm
determination, you take the bottle from me and disappear into the bathroom.
Some ten minutes later, you re-appear and announce that your body,
including your bowels, are now thoroughly scrubbed.  It is clear to me that
the enema has taken a toll on you and dulled the edge of excitement that
you had had.  For this reason I postpone your lesson and stand you back in
front of the mirror so that both of us can watch your body return to its
former state of arousal.

   Once I see that the memory of your enema has receded and that your mind
is again focused on the sensations your body is receiving, I lead you over
to the bed and have you lie on your back with your legs drawn up and your
arms stretched on either side of your head.  I then take the sash from my
bathrobe and bind your legs in place by fastening the sash around the back
of your bent knees and behind your neck, drawing your supple body into a
fetal position.  As a result, your hips are tipped up and your buttocks
spread so that your entire crotch is thrust into prominence.

   Having trussed you in a position which allows me ready access to my
target, I fetch a tube of vaseline and a specially designed silicone dildo
from my bag.  I let you examine the dildo so that you will be fully aware
of what it is that will be lodged inside you.  When you see that, although
it is tapered and very flexible, it is adorned with a sequence of smooth
waves which rise and fall in larger and larger rings along its shaft, a
cloud of apprehension passes over your face, but you raise no protest. 
Reassured that I have your permission to proceed, I begin by carefully
spreading a generous layer of vaseline over your anus and the surrounding
region.  I then take the dildo and hold it so that its narrower end is
resting at the entrance to your bowels.  At this end, the diameter of the
dildo is less than half an inch and the tip is smoothly rounded.  I apply
continuous but gentle pressure and tell you that, once you have absorbed
the first wave, I will try to comfort you while your body learns how to
accommodate this kind of intrusion.  Slowly the shaft slips into your well
lubricated anus so that you have already absorbed a couple of inches before
you encounter the first ring.  When you do encounter it, I suggest that you
try baring down as you would when moving your bowels.  The ring begins
entering your anus, stretching it to about an inch in diameter before
sliding through.  Your anus can now close slightly but must remain about
three quarters of an inch open, with the ring that you have absorbed
pressing against its inner periphery and the next ring poised on the
outside.

   Pleased by your accomplishment, a smile appears on your face, and you
welcome me when I release my grip on the dildo and reposition myself so
that your head is resting on my lap.  Although I know that you want your
breasts to be the object of my attentions, I do not want to anything to
distract you from the stretching that holding the dildo requires.  I
therefore choose to concentrate on a less explicitly erotic portion of your
anatomy.  Namely, I run my fingers over the exquisitely smooth, sensitive
flesh of your armpits and upper arms that your position makes totally
available to me.

   I continue stroking the insides of your arms and armpits, occasionally
letting my hands drift to the outer sides of your breasts.  From the thin
film of sweat on the flesh under my hands, I can tell that the penetration
of your bowels by the dildo is imposing considerable physical stress on
your whole body, although it is clear that you are learning to accommodate
and even enjoy the invasion of your bowels and the distention of your anus.

   When I sense that you are ready, I return to my post below and again
renew pressure on the dildo.  With relative ease, you absorb the next ring,
but I do not stop pressing and force you to accept the following ring as
well.  By now, nearly three quarters of a foot of the shaft is buried
inside you and three rings are molding your bowels.  In addition, where it
passes through your anus, the diameter of the dildo is over an inch and a
half, and so you are being stretched in a manner and place that you have
never been before.

   Certain that the dildo is secure, I spread your knees and carefully
penetrate your gaping vagina with my penis.  As I enter you, I can feel the
dildo on the other side of the thin membrane which separates the two
channels which are being invaded.  The rings on the dildo mold your vaginal
walls into waves, and you seem to instinctively know how to mobilize your
vaginal muscles to make those waves to give both of us a massage like no
other.  In spite of, or maybe because of, the intensity of the sensations
we are both experiencing, our mutual orgasm is slow in arriving, but when
it finally does, it is protracted and thoroughly satisfying.

   After our strenuous morning, we take a brief nap followed by a long
shower before venturing out.  Rather than leaving your breasts free, I have
you wear your new bra under a plain white T-shirt.  As a result, your pink
nipples are showcased so that the anyone who wants can enjoy their turgid
state.  Your loose fitting skirt is held up by a wide belt which cinches
your waist and keeps your T-shirt stretched over your proffered breasts. 
Under the skirt, you are bare.

   During lunch I announce that we have an appointment at the studio of a
Japanese master in art of shibari.  I explain to you that, as distinguished
from a studio where one goes to view the creations of an artist, this
studio is one in which you will be the objet d'art.  More precisely, the
master will bind you with rope to mold your body into positions that
dramatize various aspects of your anatomy.  I assure you that you will
suffer no harm, but warn you that you will suffer nonetheless.  In
particular, you will have to endure having your body held for protracted
periods in poses which are designed to display its beauty.  In these
somewhat contorted positions, the contrast between the feminine softness of
your flesh and the well-toned musculature beneath will be deliciously
highlighted.

   I am pleased to note the look of apprehension and excitement that my
words produce.  To allay your fears and give you a taste of what lies
ahead, I reached beneath your skirt and squeeze your groin, in response to
which you gasp and clasp my hand between your warm upper thighs.

   After lunch, we head to our appointment.  Upon our arrival, we are met
by a petite Japanese woman dressed in a kimono.  When she bows to greet us,
her kimono reveals that she wears nothing beneath.  Indeed, when she bends
from the waist, her breasts are presented to us like two firm ripe pears
crowned by dark red nipples as large and succulent as your own.  When she
is standing up again, we see that she possesses that oriental beauty which
results from the juxtaposition of strict attention to perfection with an
equally disciplined sense of composure.

   Without further ceremony, she introduces herself as Yoko and leads us
into a large, well-lit but sparsely furnished room containing several
pieces of equipment whose purpose we can only guess.  Standing in the
center of the room is one of those Japanese men who exude a natural sense
of command without benefit of either large size or the need for props. 
With something between a smile and a frown on his face, he approaches you
and introduces himself as Shigeo Sato.  Making it clear that my role here
is at most secondary, he indicates a chair on which I am to sit.

   Sato then turns his full attention back to you.  Walking in a circle
around you, he carefully inspects the body that is the medium out of which
he will produce his work of art.  On the first circuit, he does not touch
you, but when it is completed, he stands directly in front of you and
unbuckles your belt so that your skirt falls and lies in a ring around your
ankles.  While you stand there naked from your waist to your feet, he makes
a second circuit, this time stopping to palpate your buttock and belly. 
When he is back in front of you, he drops to knees and examines your upper
thighs, one at a time clasping them between his hands and then spreading
them by pressing against their inner sides.  With your thighs spread, you
are presenting him an unobstructed view of your vulva.  Much like a shopper
testing the freshness of a head of lettuce, Sato separates your labia and
inspects the pouch from which your clitoris has begun to emerge.  Looking
up so that he can see how you respond, he flicks your clitoris with his
finger and seems pleased by the mixture of pleasure and anguish which his
finger provokes.  Returning to his feet, he grabs the hem of your T-shirt
and lifts it over your head.  Except for your shoes and bra, you are now
completely naked.  Sato seems amused by your bra and, before removing it,
takes advantage of the manner in which it presents your nipples.  With
obvious skill acquired through years of practice, he manipulates your teats
to make them expand until they entirely fill and are bulging through the
windows which hold them captive.

   Sato leads you over to a mat, where he has you kneel next to a pile of
ropes.  Sitting behind you, he has you raise your arms, straighten your
back, and clasp your hands behind you neck.  In this position, your breasts
rise and flatten on your chest.  Working swiftly but with practiced skill,
he wraps a rope several times around your ribcage, positioning it so that,
when your arms are lowered, your breasts will rest on the upper coil.  He
next uses another rope to circle your upper chest, again making several
circuits and making sure that each coil presses against the upper surface
of your breasts at the place where it emerges from your torso.  He then has
you lower your arms so that he can see how your breasts are cradled between
the loops above and below them.  Using short strands of smaller diameter,
he connects the upper loops to the lower ones and tightens them so that
your breasts are forced to protrude an obscene manner.  After having you
place your arms behind your back, he binds your upper arms together,
starting at your elbows and completely encasing them in circles of rope. 
Finally, he has you spread your legs so that you can cross your ankles,
and, when you have, he pulls your hands back and down before securing them
and your crossed ankles in a neat little package.

   Even though your arms and shoulders are now stretched behind you in a
way that would normally flatten your breasts and tummy, Sato's clever
binding has done nothing to diminish the presence of either.  If anything,
they seem to assert their presence more vehemently than usual.  Held rigid
by the ropes surrounding their bases, your breasts bloom.  Their color is
not only a livid pink hue, their surface has acquired a sheen which
reflects the intense light in which you have been placed.  At the same
time, your tummy has assumed a lovely, rounded contour that rises to its
apex just below your navel and then plunges into the shadows between your
spread legs.

   Sato, clearly pleased with his handiwork, moves to a sitting position on
the mat, between us and facing you.  Placing his hands on his bent knees,
he explains that his goal has been to transform you into an image of
fecundity and that to complete your transformation he will have his
assistant keep you suspended on the brink of orgasm.  Without further
instructions, Yoko kneels next to you, close enough to have easy access to
all your blatantly displayed assets but to the side so that she does not
block either Sato or my view of your body.  At first Yoko seems fascinated
by the size and fullness of your breasts, and she satisfies her curiosity
about them by spending some time running her hands gently over their
tightly stretched surface.  Then, as if she wanted to punish them for their
abundance, she starts slapping their outer contours.  Bound as they are,
they hardly jiggle as her slaps continue, but their color darkens so much
that the distinction between your areolae and the rest of your breasts
nearly disappears.  In response to your torment, you emit a low moan and
grimace.  When she hears your moan and sees your grimace, Yoko chides you
for your delinquency, reminding you of your role as a aesthetic object for
the enjoyment of others.  To emphasize her message, she scrapes her
fingernails over your swollen orbs, and then drives her point home by
turning her attention to your nipples, alternately pulling away from and
pushing deep into their moorings.

   Yoko continues her assault on your breasts for ten minutes.  More and
more her attention is concentrated on your nipples, which she seems
determined to persecute until they achieve their maximum length and girth.
Besides your nipples, her major concern is that your constrained writhing
or anguished countenance not disturb the image Sato has created.  Each time
that you shift your body or alter your facial expression, she administers a
viscous slap to the tender spot just below your bellybutton, a target that
is made particularly available by your position.

   When Yolo is finally satisfied that nothing more can be expected from
further attention to your breasts, she stands up and goes behind you. 
There, she first plaits your hair into a thick braid that runs down the
center of your back.  Then, she takes a piece of rope and weaves it into
the braid, thereby both securing the braid and creating a tether.  Lifting
your chin with one hand, she pulls on the tether until your head tips back
and you are staring at the ceiling, at which point she ties the tether to
the binding around your upper arms.  The resulting effect is dramatic.  I
am reminded of the figures of women that used to surmount the prow of
sailing ships.  Even the beads of sweat that now cover your body encourage
this image: they might be drops of water left by the spray as the ship cuts
through the waves.

   Looking to Sato for his approval, Yoko returns to her seated position at
your side.  With fluid grace, she opens the collar of her kimono and lets
its upper half drop into a luxurious silk ring draped around her hips.  As
I had noted earlier, her frame is diminutive, but this fact only draws
attention to her conically shaped breasts which, with hardly a dip, stand
out from her chest and are made especially enticing by her tawny skin and
her dark areolae.  The contrast between the freedom that her relatively
modest, pointed breasts enjoy and the severe restrictions to which your
own, more ample, breasts are being subjected is stark and wonderfully
erotic.

   Without a change in the calm expression that has been on her face from
the outset, she bends forward and reaches a hand between your legs.  Using
her fingers to spread your labia, she presses the tip of one finger on the
very tip of your clitoris.  Telling you that it is the final step in
completing Sato's image of female fecundity, she explains that she is going
to teach your clitoris how to reveal itself.  She tells you that her own
clitoris has had this training and that the lesson is hard to bear.  On the
other hand, she assures you that you will not only bear but even come to
appreciate the combination of vulnerability and accessibility that results
from knowing your clitoris is fully distended and totally unprotected.

   In spite of its falling under the shadow of your rounded belly, your
vulva is dramatically displayed and completely available.  It began to open
during your binding, and by now it resembles a ripe fruit whose succulence
has about to burst through its skin.  At its center, I can already see the
nodule of flesh whose education I am to witness.  Bathed in your
secretions, it glistens and, as Yoko's finger manipulates its tip, its stem
seems to grow and throb.  Bringing her other hand into play, Yoko captures
its stem between her index finger and thumb, preventing your clitoris from
retreating under its hood.  Like a good teacher, she attempts to bolster
your confidence and assuage your suffering by praising the progress you are
making.  In addition to her consolation, she offers you a vivid account of
the anatomical changes that she is trying to produce.  Namely, she says
that your clitoris is rooted to your vulva like the bud of a young plant
and that those roots must be loosened if it is ever going to grow.  In some
societies, that loosening is accomplished by draconian methods, by
comparison to which her methodology is an act of kindness.

   Perhaps because you are overwhelmed by the excruciating treatment to
which you most delicate organ is being subjected, you make no attempt to
move.  On the other hand, it is obvious that you are under enormous stress:
every sinew in your arms, stomach, and legs is visible through the film of
sweat that swaths your entire body.  Apparently out of sympathy for your
plight, Yoko does not reprimand you for your occasional gasps, but her
sympathy does not extend to your clitoris, which she continues to exercise
for a full five minutes.

   When she is satisfied that it has learned its lesson, Yoko finally
releases her grip on your clitoris and stops teasing its tip.  Rising to
her feet, she moves in back of your bent head and leans forward so that her
breasts hang against yours.  Shifting her shoulders in a sensual dance, she
drags her free hanging, pendent orbs across your rigidly bound ones.  Again
I am struck by the contrast between her small but lovely cones of tawny
mobile flesh and the beautifully rounded contours of your livid pink and
thoroughly incarcerated flesh.  After several minutes, she backs off to a
position in which the nipple of one of her breasts grazes your lips and her
own lips can capture one of your nipples.  By apparently mutual, albeit
tacit, agreement, you draw her proffered nipple into your mouth and at same
time as she draws yours into hers.  The two of you, one, with her pert
breasts dangling like ripe fruit, gracefully leaning over the other, with
her generous breasts securely bound and pointing toward the ceiling, create
a captivatingly beautiful study in harmonious contrasts, one that I will
cherish forever.

   I am startled from my reverie when, after several minutes, Sato rises
and interrupts your and Yoko's sensual communion.  Clasping Yoko by her
shoulders, he pulls her into a standing position and pushes her to one
side. He then drops to his knees and deftly divests you of the ropes in
which you have spent the last half hour.  Dazed, you are slow to respond to
your freedom and remain in the position that your bonds had been holding
you.  I marvel at the gentleness he displays while helping you to your feet
and guiding you over to me.  That gentleness disappears when, after
depositing you in a chair, he turns his attention to Yoko.  Approaching her
from the rear, he grabs the folds of the kimono ringing her hips and
unceremoniously completes its removal.  Now that she is entirely naked, I
can fully appreciate the delicate perfection of her figure.  Nothing about
it is ostentatious, but everything about it is in proportion to everything
else.  She has a lovely oriental face whose features are framed by her
straight dark mane of hair and accented by her dark eyebrows and high
cheekbones.  Her shoulders are thin but nicely padded, and they slope along
pleasing line to her arms, which have a distinctly feminine layer of flesh
through which a hint of the muscles beneath is visible.  Her breasts assert
themselves proudly in two pointed cones, and her waist looks as if it could
be spanned by my hands.  Below her waist, her small but rounded belly
swells between her hips, which are small but ideally suited to the rest of
her diminutive frame.  As for her legs, they are thin but have enough flesh
to give them a invitingly feminine appeal.

   Sato is not immune to her appeal, but he is intent on asserting his
authority.  He maneuvers Yoko until she is standing below a bar that is
suspended from the ceiling.  He stoops to tie one end of a long rope to her
right ankle and throws the other end over the bar.  Standing behind her, he
raises her leg by pulling on the loose end of the rope, not stopping until
her bound ankle is at the same height as her head and she has lifted
herself onto the toes of her unfettered foot.  Encircling her with his
arms, he closes the gap between her front and her suspended leg before
locking the two together with several loops of rope.

   Teetering on the toes of one foot with the other foot grazing her ear,
Yoko makes an enticing image.  In that she must be painfully aware of the
blatancy of her exposure, it is miraculous that her face maintains its look
of composure.  Although her right breast is partially concealed by her
raised leg, the nipple of her left breast stares directly at us like the
eye of some mythical beast.  Even more dramatic is the effect of her
position on her nether regions.  The stress of having one leg raised and
the other struggling to support her body has enhanced the rounded
shapeliness of her upper thighs.  At the same time, her pose thrusts her
vulva forward and reveals its interior.

   In view of your own recent ordeal, it is not surprising that you take
particular interest in the way that Yoko's clitoris peeks out between her
labia.  Noting your interest, Sato beckons you to come over for a closer
look.  Accepting his invitation, you approach Yoko.  Standing directly in
front of her, you run a solicitous hand over her features, brushing back a
few strands of her hair that have strayed from her otherwise disciplined
coiffure and then lowering your hand to cup the underside of her left
breast.  You seem fascinated by the shape and texture of her breast, which
you palpate with your fingers and then lean forward to suck its turgid
nipple deep into your mouth.  You suckle her teat for quite a while before,
leaving it wet with your saliva, you drop to one knee and begin your
intimate inspection of her vulva.  Using both hands, you brush aside the
curtain of dark hair that obstructs your view and then place your hands on
the sides of her mons with your thumbs in the crease between her labia. 
Like a gardener tending a nubile plant just emerging from the ground, you
caress the stem of her distended clitoris, testing its resilience when you
bend it and encouraging it to assert its presence.  Initially, your touch
is gentle, but as you proceed it becomes less so.  I suspect that, having
satisfied your curiosity about an anatomical structure which you yourself
possess but have never seen in such lurid detail, you are taking revenge
for the less than gentle treatment that Yoko accorded the same structure
when she had you at her mercy.  You relent only after you succeed in
cracking through her stoic demeanor and elicit a gasp of undisguised
anguish from her lips.

   When you return to my side, Sato releases Yoko from her bonds.  With
both her feet back on the floor, our view of her vulva disappears.  On the
other hand, she makes no move to obscure our view of her nudity, and,
standing next to her master, her beautifully sculpted body presents a
striking image.  Indicating that our session with him is at an end, Sato
asks whether he has met our expectations.  When we reply in the
affirmative, he bows and says that it has been his and Yoko's privilege to
work on as lovely and compliant client as you.  Then, with somewhat feigned
modesty, he suggests that there is more that he can teach you and asks if
you might want another lesson.  Understandably, a tremor passes over your
still naked frame at the thought of submitting yourself again into this
man's hands.  Seeing your reservations, Sato explains that his ropes can be
used in many other ways, among which is the presentation of the female body
for intercourse.  For instance, you can suspended in various positions that
leave you available for entry while literally floating in the air. 
Satisfied to have planted such ideas in your mind, he smiles, bows again,
and escorts Yoko from the room.

   In recognition of the arduous workout that you have just had, we take a
taxi back to the hotel.  Because they are still swollen and somewhat sore,
you have left your breasts free under your blouse, and during the taxi ride
snuggle them against my arm and ask in a hushed voice whether I do not find
them at least as attractive as I found Yoko's.  I assure you that I do.

   Even before I unlock the door to our room, you begin unfastening your
skirt, and by the time that we enter you are nearly naked.  Sato may have
released you from your bonds, but he did nothing to release you from the
desperate state of sexual excitement that he and Yoko systematically
provoked.  As a result, our lovemaking is tumultuous but brief, leaving us
both in a dreamy state of lassitude.  Neither of us has the energy to go
out for dinner, and so we order a pizza and take showers while we wait for
it to arrive.

   Hesitant to broach the subject but anxious to hear your version of the
our time at Sato's studio, I ask whether you have recovered from your
binding.  By way of response, you open your bathrobe to expose your front.
Even though they have returned to a more normal color and size, your
breasts and nipples are still larger and their color darker than normal. 
Otherwise, all evidence of its subjugation has receded from your body, even
the rope marks which had been visible earlier.  I am relieved to see that
you have suffered no physical harm, but I am less interested in the imprint
that Sato made on your body than I am in his residual effect on your
psyche. However, I am at loss when it comes to formulating the questions I
want to ask and therefore choose to see if you will volunteer the
information that I seek.  I could well understand if you chose not the
divulge the emotions you felt while the most intimate portions of your
anatomy were on display and forced to perform.  Thus I am surprised when
you close your bathrobe and spontaneously start telling me how you feel
about what was done to you this afternoon.

   You speak as if you were reporting on the lessons you had been taught
during a day at school, Sato being the head teacher and Yoko his teaching
assistant.  Sato's lesson for the day was that there is pleasure in ceding
control of ones body to another individual.  By choosing your breasts as
the first place to demonstrate his point, he immediately forced you to
recognize that even the most tender and traditionally inviolable portions
of your anatomy were to be subject to his will.  He emphasized his point
when he bent you backwards so that your breasts and vulva would look as if
they were being offered as sacrifice to some demanding deity.  When that
deity turned out to be a female, you were initially relieved, assuming that
any fellow female would have sympathy.  However, Yoko soon taught you the
fallacy of that assumption.  Knowing that she understood, far better than a
man could, exactly what sensations she was producing, you abandoned you
last hope and resigned yourself to accept whatever she chose to do.  From
the beginning, you knew that she would deny you an orgasm.  Exquisitely
exciting as you found her diabolically skilled manipulation of your
clitoris, you, like Tantalus, would be forced to strive toward a goal which
you would be prevented from attaining.  When she finally released your
clitoris and offered you her breast in return for her own, you were so
overwhelmed with gratitude that thoughts of revenge did not even enter your
mind.  It was only after Sato had reversed your roles and gave you access
to Yoko's splayed vulva that you became conscious of your desire for
revenge.  In fact, it was not until you looked up after examining her vulva
and saw her composed features that you became determined to undermine her
resolve and force her to acknowledge her vulnerability.  Hours later, you
now express some embarrassment about the pleasure you felt when you heard
her gasp and knew that you had succeeded.

   You hug your robe closer around you when I inquire into your feelings
about being relegated to the role of ornament for the enjoyment of others.
It is clear to me that you are still coming to terms with that idea. 
Nonetheless, you courageously try to convey to me what passed through your
mind during your time as an objet d'art.  At first your shock at the loss
of control over your body prevented you from thinking about anything else.
It was not until Yoko melded her own body to yours that you fully
appreciated the aesthetic and erotic potency of the scene Sato had
designed. After a moment of further reflection, you shudder and add that
relinquishing control and abandoning yourself to the will of others is a
terrifying but enthralling experience that you will not soon forget.

   Seeing the disturbance that these memories cause you, I refrain from
reminding you of Sato's parting suggestion.  We go our separate ways late
enough tomorrow afternoon to give us time to accept his invitation. 
However, the decision whether to accept it is yours to make, and, confident
that you have not forgotten the invitation and know, better than I, its
implications, I choose to wait until you have reached that decision on your
own.

   We retire for the night, and you have no trouble falling asleep shortly
after I turn off the light.  However, your dreams are filled with vivid
images of scenes from the day, and you wake early.  When I too wake up, I
find you deep in thought sitting with your back resting against the
headboard and your legs drawn up toward your chest.  Based on the look on
your face, I fear that your decision is to avoid another experience of the
sort you had yesterday.  Thus I am unprepared when, before I rise, you
announce that you want to return to Sato's studios and ask that I call him
immediately to make the necessary arrangements.

   As she had on our previous visit, Yoko greets us at the door and escorts
us to the room in which Sato is waiting.  Again he undresses you, but this
time I am to be naked as well, and so, while he removes your clothes, Yoko
removes mine.  When they have our clothes piled in neat piles on a chair,
Sato leads you to stand under the hanging bar to which he had attached
Yoko's leg the day before.  Trembling visibly, you follow him.  I am
impressed by the brave, if somewhat wan, smile on your face.  Once there,
he bids you sit on the mat.  Next to you on the mat is a heap of items
whose purpose you are destined to learn, and above you is a rope whose
purpose you can more easily guess.  Indeed, this rope runs over the bar and
its far end is wound around the drum of an electric winch.  Clearly, it is
the means by which Sato will achieve your suspension.  Not so obvious is
the role that will be played by a brass ring which circles the rope and is
itself connected to another winch via smaller ropes that follow the same
path over the bar as the main one.

   Kneeling behind you, Sato fastens a wide canvas belt securely around
your midriff.  At the place where this belt passes over your spine, there
is loop to which he ties the main rope.  Nodding to Yoko, who is standing
by the panel that controls the winches, he has her take up all the slack.
As a result, part of your weight is now supported by the belt, which has
reduced the girth of your already small waist.  He then turns his attention
to your legs.  From the pile, he chooses two straps.  At one end, these
straps flare out into canvas belts similar to the one around your waist. 
At the other end, they taper into ropes with clasps at their ends.  Working
on one leg at a time, he wraps these canvas belts around your lower legs,
positioning them between the your calf above and your ankle below and
locking them in place with a velcro latch.  Standing up, Sato reaches over
your head and hitches their clasps to eye bolts embedded in ring.  Again
nodding to Yoko, Sato has her use the second winch to draw up the ropes on
the ring.  As the ring rises, your legs have no choice but to follow suit,
and you soon find yourself sitting on the points of your pelvis, a position
which would be precarious if it were not for the support afforded by the
belt around your middle.  When your feet reach the level of your head, Sato
signals for Yoko to stop the winch, solicitously giving your leg muscles
time to adjust to their stress.  After about a minute, he has Yoko resume
their raising, this time stopping only when your legs are stretched
straight and form a V whose apex is your vulva.  Finally, Sato uses
diminutive versions of the straps on your legs to fasten your wrists above
your head to the sides of the triangle made by the ropes that hold your
ankles.

   Limber as your body is, it is nonetheless in pain.  Every tendon and
ligament in your legs and hips has been stretched to its limit. 
Particularly evident are your hamstrings, which protrude along the backs of
your legs, but they are not the only part of your anatomy that is
protruding.  Because the rod prevents your legs from coming together, your
breasts are clearly visible through the V.  At the same time, your vulva
has been drawn out of its usual shadowy residence and has become the most
prominent feature below your waist.  Your pose lacks the aesthetic
refinement of the one you held yesterday, but it lacks none of the drama or
erotic appeal, especially because I now understand how Sato intends to make
you float while we make love.

   With another nod to Yoko, your ascension begins.  Both winches are at
work this time so that your position is maintained as your body rises. 
When your vulva is a couple of feet off the mat, Sato has Yoko stop the
winches and has me join him in front of your suspended body.  My penis is
already fully erect, bobbing up and down in search of a welcoming nest. 
When I am standing directly in from of you, Sato signals to Yoko with his
hands, having her raise and lower you until your vulva is at the exactly
the same height as my penis.  As soon as he is satisfied that it is, he
bows and, followed by Yoko, decorously leaves the room.

   There is no doubt in either of our minds about what we are to do.  The
only question is about the details of how we are going to do it.  Before
entering you, I cannot resist the temptation to caress the beautifully
stretched sinews and savor the contrast between them and the pliant
softness of your breasts.  During my explorations, I discover that, in
spite of the enormous duress it is suffering, your body has made ample
preparations for intercourse: your nipples are rigidly erect, your labia
are gaping, and there are copious secretions at the entrance to you vagina.
You are ready for me to enter you, and I am more than ready to oblige.

   I step forward, grasp you by the hips, and guide your waiting sheath
onto my penis.  Because your position has pulled your vagina upward, my
penis is forced upward as well, slowing its progress and giving me a hint
of the stress that you are being made to endure.

   When our coupling is compete, we are locked together like rutting dogs,
and, like them, there is no way for us to disengage until our coupling has
been consummated.  I shift my hands from your hips to your breasts.  Using
your nipples as handles, I begin to swing your suspended body back and
forth.  You throw back your head and emit a moan each time that you feel
your clitoris rubs against my groin and your vaginal walls are stretched by
my deeply embedded penis.

   Our mating lasts for several minutes before I sense that you are
approaching orgasm.  As your orgasm builds, your vaginal muscles tighten
and grip my penis with a strength that I would have never anticipated they
were capable.  Finally, when your orgasm arrives, you completely abandon
yourself to it.  I have never witnessed such utter relief and satiety as is
evidenced by the expression on your face when, after it is over, you raise
you head and stare into my eyes.

   When we finally leave Sato's studio, we have only a short time to get to
the airport.  Our visit has depleted us both, and we hardly exchange a word
in the taxi on the way.  In fact, it is only when we are heading for your
separate flights that we speak to one another.  At the entrance to the
departure area, I ask you if you have any regrets about the past forty
eight hours.  With incipient tears in your eyes, you say that your only
regret is that they are over.  Grateful for your response, I give you a
chaste kiss on the forehead and whisper that maybe there will be a next
time.  With a pensive smile on your face, you nod your head and depart.