Saturday, February 6, 2016

Tie Me Chicago VIII

Late Saturday morning, having slept in,  I find myself returning to the provocative website of Miss Midori Matsumoto. The mystery of the unlabeled link button continues to intrigue. Is the casual viewer supposed to notice? Or is it there only for those apprized of its presence... its possibilities... that with a click of the mouse, Shabari depictions well beyond the artistically erotic, tasteful prints and photographs of the main page will glare forth... filling both the screen and the mind with evidence of feminine power... Miss Midori Matsumoto’s feminine power.

I am to arrive an hour early in Highland Park... having feigned awareness of the need for preparation. It’s curious. I needed not preparation at the Macon County fair. I extended my hand and that began the loss of self esteem... a temporary loss. From that point I was owned, a captive, lengths of rope enveloping both my form and psyche in the culture of ancient Japan.

Though the crowd of brawny farm workers was greatly enthused, I strangely becalmed. Ownership, capitulation, the realization came quickly that I was to succumb to she holding the free end of the rope. I became transfixed, attentive, focused... on she in charge. Bizarre, but the tent became empty... and I eager to perform for she with the power.... to release... conversely to keep me.

So the secret tab is again clicked. I further explore, suddenly realizing that as I scroll there are videos. How could I before miss such?    
More clicks and I find that the offerings are teasers, short clips of less than a minute, longer obviously more complete editions for sale... the price considerable. And such is conducive, correlating with the prices commanded for the masterful scenes of beautiful female models. After all, Miss Midori Matsumoto is a Nawashi... an acclaimed Nawashi... her work to be treasured.

I choose a scene. I click. There is a dark studio like room. Over head lights beam to project Miss Midori, attired in tight leather, and a naked young male obediently standing at attention. As the smiling Nawashi begins, reams of rope unraveling, I note that above is a large circle of metal, dangling from more rope of course. It is evident, the lad is to be suspended.

The mastery is also evident, nimbleness, quickness, exacting loops, placed perfectly symmetrical. With the torso encased, strands of hemp strung between the thighs, Miss Midori tugs at a free end in her hand, establishing her control. Her mouth moves, no doubt uttering a command. It is then that I have the wherewithal to reach forth and turn up the sound.

There comes shock. As Miss Midori leads the captive naked male to a stool resting under the large ring, through the speakers of my computer come the sound of voices, murmurs of approval... excitement... enthusiasm. And more shocking, the resonance suggests males... many... there is an audience... just as that observing me at the Macon County fair.

As the camera lens zooms inward, indicating there is also the presence of a photographer, the genitals of the captive male fill the screen... shaven... sizable as expected... and rapidly engorging.

The screen then slowly turns to blank, the teaser ending, and there comes the sound of cheers, indubitably male. 

I am apoplectic, staring into the blankness, the mouse held stationary as my homophobia rages. Realization that the priapic young male is to be put on display, made to perform for an audience of men... discerning... appreciative no doubt of the art form... but men! It galls. And I have an 8:00 p.m. appointment!

I need to calm myself. And for some reason thoughts of how many years ago the Amazon Eve trained this truculent boy, relieving him of belligerence, flash back into memory.

Saturday, January 30, 2016

Tie Me Chicago VII

I suppose when one is some 13 years of age, teens fully grown are by rote imbued with the esteem and respect of an adult. It’s more or less the blind leading the blind, one realizes upon reflection many years after the fact, but the hierarchy is ingrained.

And so I stand naked, my sister having ceded my supervision to her friend Eve, my mother having anointed Eve, empowered Eve, with this regimen intended to still my hyperactivity... and my annoying antics. 

Hands on head, the bath tub slowly fills.

‘Damn Eve, get on with it,’ I think but dare not say, hands remaining atop my head.

“So now you’re quiet... a quiet little boy,” Eve badgers. “And I have yet to begin bathing you. Seems this is good for you, Matt. Your Mom plays bridge every Friday... so every Friday may become your bath day. After all, as you so often callously point out, I’m unlikely to have a date. So we’ll spend some time together. And you can show off for me,” her eyes shifting to rivet on my upstanding penis.

Yes, I am quiet, the humiliation intense and intensifying as the steamy water rises at such a frustratingly leisurely pace.

I am relieved when Eve finally turns away, uttering the command ‘stay’ and opening a cabinet. She searches, peering at various labeled bottles, then grasps one of purple, smiling.

“Bubble bath. Yours?” dangling the gaily colored liquid before me.

“My sister’s. It’s for girls.”

“Good. And now it will be for you,” releasing the cap. “Smells sweet. Just the thing to change your attitude,” the room indeed wafting with the scent of flowers.

“No,” my protest notably meek, standing naked before the fully clothed and well muscled girl in charge.

“Yes,” comes a very tranquil rejoinder as her arm extends, pouring gobs of purple soap into the bath water.

Eve smiles with my discomfort. Ironically my concern over the sweet scent is mitigated as I watch the rising bubbles. Covering... at last.

She stows the bubble bath then stoops, testing the water. She nods, suggesting the temperature meets approval.

“Step in,” the command coming with such sang-froid.

Yes, she enjoys. Is it my naked hairless form? My discomfort? My comeuppance? Probably all, I conclude.

As I move to step forward, I feel my stiff penis bob with my motion. This brings a giggle and another command.

“Cute. But hands on head, Matt. You needn’t touch yourself or move your arms.”

With that, I step into the warm sudsyness. It soothes... physically... and emotionally in knowing the blanket of foam offers covering. Eve gathers a wash cloth and bar of soap.

“I can wash myself,” beginning to lower to finally veil my nakedness.

“No, you will stand for me in the middle,” another command. “I’ll give you a thorough gentle scrub, then you can lay back for me, soak and soothe yourself. Be a good boy.”

I am. Why? Having spent weeks verbally tormenting the handsome giantess, I now find myself obsequiously compliant. What is happening?

And then my bath begins. And I better understand... what is happening. The touch of the Amazon is gentle... and caring... and comforting in its firmness. I am in her grasp, totally under her control. As the warm soapy cloth grazes my shoulders, swathing with tenderness, I sense goose bumps despite the heat. She smiles, noting my reaction.

“You see Matt, good little boys don’t need spankings. Instead I can be very nice to you,” the sweet scent for some reason no longer found objectionable.

I remain silent, immersed in her custody. For some reason my erect penis waggles. She giggles again, finding the moments to be equally joyous.

Rush hour traffic distracts me from my thoughts. Though close to my apartment my concentration diverts.

Saturday, January 23, 2016

Tie Me Chicago VI

My thoughts are suspended as I reach my car in the parking garage. I unlock. In sitting I place my brief bag on the passenger seat, the action reminding me that within is the phone number of ‘Tie Me Chicago’. It’s a retail place of business, according to the website... an art studio more or less and no doubt open on a Saturday. Deep within I know I am going to visit, why not focus more on the logistics? Should I make an appointment? Call in preparation? To perhaps once again hear the commanding voice... found to be sultry when thinking about the photos in the clandestine section of her website. Naked males. Fully bound naked males. Fully bound and erect naked males. 

I succumb to my secretive urgings... all the thoughts of Eve bringing a strange need. I open my brief bag, find the notepad and press the phone number into my cell phone. In starting the engine, the blue tooth connection activates. I drive as the dialed number rings.

“Tie Me Chicago.”

I pause, expecting to hear that voice. It is not Midori Matsumoto.

“Ah, Miss Matsumoto please.”

“Miss Matsumoto is tied up right now. May I take a message?”

I ignore what I am sure it is a professional pun.

“Yes, can you please tell her Matt called... from the county fair last weekend. Just curious to know if your shop is open tomorrow.”

“Can you be reached at this number, Mr. Matt?” caller ID apparent.

“Ah... yes.”

“We’re open for browsing on Saturdays, but Miss Matsumoto is usually busy with customer appointments. If you need to talk to her, she’ll have to call you back.”

I pause in thought, her Saturdays no doubt spent with prospective buyers of her exotic and pricey photography. It’s brash of me to makes an appointment with no intent of purchase. Yet she did extend an invitation... do stop into my studio in the city.

Well, I’ve taken the first step, I reason, why not continue the journey?

“Yes. Please have her call at her convenience.”

“For modeling? I can place your name in the book now. There’s been a cancellation. Tomorrow night.”

I gulp, knowing precisely of the nature of the modeling. Events are going a little too fast. Yet my psyche urges me onward, something within finding a need to once again be with the impressive woman of exotic skill. And it seems the most direct route is to have my name in the appointment book.

“Yes,” my voice faltering in shyness. “Tomorrow night,” instantaneously regretting my words.

“Good. I’ll put you down for 8:00 p.m., Mr. Matt. I don’t believe you’ve modeled for us in the past. If not, you should be here an hour early for preparation.”

“Yes of course, 7:00 p.m.”

Blue tooth deadens the phone. With the excitement, this odd need to arrange what will be a most curious rendevous, I try to calm myself. And for some reason, that equally odd encounter from years past reflashes, the memory embedded deeply in the hippocampus. 

I return to Eve... giantess Eve... puissant Eve... Amazon Eve... she without male companionship... she who has me... she who came to own me...

Saturday, January 16, 2016

Tie Me Chicago V

“You’re being annoying again, Matt,” Eve threatens with a smirk.

On Fridays mom plays bridge. At age 13, it is deemed that I still have some supervision. And the task is assigned to my sister... who in turn invites the Amazon Eve to the house. There are some chores, but also favorite movies to watch. And I annoy as always, insisting the selection be something completely without interest to teenaged girls... a cowboy movie as I recall.

Petulant, my demand grows boisterous. Despite the spanking of weeks before, I feel on this occasion I am in the right... my house... I am to be entertained, deeming compliance to my wishes the deign of he being watched over.

As my tone of voice rises, there comes the exchange of glances, sister and friend Eve. On the last occasion, sister left me to the caprice of Eve. And since the resulting bare bottom spanking is not to be forgotten, there comes an instant brisance of fear and concern.

Have I overplayed my hand?

My sister arises from the den couch.

“I’ll make some snacks,” leaving me alone again with Eve.

I have not insulted, no jibes, no references to her barren social life. But as suggested it seems I have again annoyed.

“Your mother talked to me, Matt, about your behavior. I have her permission to modify... calm you when you’re belligerent.”

Though there is apprehension there is also renitence. It is my house. Eve is a visitor. The movie of my choice should be the afternoon selection. I so state, reiterating, it is a cowboy movie to be shown.

I am to find I am wrong. There will be no movie.

The giantess also arises from the couch, reaching swiftly and grasping my ear.


“Quiet, Matt. Enough. You’re too agitated and you’re getting a bath. Your mother’s idea and I must agree. You get more and more excitable.”

“I take showers. Baths are for children.”

“And for boys who act like children,” the words coming as she steps from the room, towing me by my ear.

Yes, Eve definitely flung that coxswain well into Lake Michigan, I recall thinking at the time. For when she reaches the stairs, she picks me up, carrying me up, taking step after step without strain. 

In reaching the bathroom door, I begin to negotiate... attempt to negotiate.

“Alright, alright I’ll take a bath. Just shut the door behind you.”

“I’m too aware of the antics of pubescent horny little boys, Matt,” Eve indeed shutting the bathroom door... from the inside. “The things you do to yourselves when left alone.”

She strips me... again... this time completely. Relatively powerless against the strength of the giantess, she summarily tosses aside every scrap of clothing. And since she had not yet to run any water, the interlude of my exposure to her is long... and without potential for relief... and embarrassing... very embarrassing.

Yes, she stares... gloating... reveling in my comeuppance... laughing as my small hand lowers to attempt to shield my hairless pubes from her mirthful gaze. Powerless again, she pulls it away.

“No, no. Don’t be so shy. You are so much enjoying yourself Matt, blushing like a little girl. Are you going to have it stand for me again? Have it grow for me? Show off your little thing?”

I am chagrined when her words indeed bring twinges. As both my wrists find their way into her amazingly potent grasp, my penis slowly rises. The demonstration and feel of her power seem to foster more and more hardness. Under her watchful gaze, within moments I am fully erect.

“I’ll tell you what, Matt. If you’d like, we can skip the bath. Just let you prance about the house naked and stiff, in front of your sister. Maybe we’ll watch that cowboy movie after all.”


I protest, but her words bring more... more... however is described the catalyst for erection.

“Then let’s get you a nice soothing hot bath. You’ll feel better. I’ll make sure you feel better. And you’ll thank me... and we’ll become friends. I know what little boys like... little boys with stiffies like this,” nodding to that pointing now to the ceiling.

With reluctance, I nod. Sudsy water would offer covering.

“Good. Now place your hands on your head like a good little boy. No playing with your little thing. It just wants to show itself to me.”

Gratefully, Eve releases my arms. As I humbly raise my hands she steps away to begin running the water. But she turns the valves for a minimal flow, the tub to be filled slowly. I feel my pulse pound. It seems my display will be unending.

Saturday, January 9, 2016

Tie Me Chicago IV

Naked from the waist down, my buttocks glowing and on fire, I dashed up the stairs from the basement in shirt and socks. As I suspected my older sister was obviously in on the conspiracy, concurring in letting her friend Eve have her way with me, vengeance for my annoying comments, questions and suggestions.

Yes, she laughed as I trotted by her, tiny erection no doubt bringing amusement. It seemed like a long journey to my room, there to replace the underwear and pants not to be relinquished by Eve.

Later, when my mother returned home, an afternoon of bridge concluded, I was determined to take action, inform, apprize my mother that an older girl had taken advantage, taken my clothing, spanked me, my penile reaction not to be divulged. I expected not only sympathy and understanding but some form of action... reprisal. The Amazon Eve not to set foot in the house... the events to in turn be related to her parents for punishment.

It was not to be.

‘A spanking! And what prompted Eve to do such a thing Matt? You weren’t needling her were you?’

Of course I was. Matt the brat annoyed many, my mother at times equally exasperated. So there was more empathy for Eve then for the pain and embarrassment endured.

‘You need to be less aggravating , Matthew,’ my mother always using my Baptismal name when being stern with me. ‘You get riled up, exciting yourself in being a pest. There are times when I think a soothing hot bath is needed. Yes, that would calm you.’

I protested, at the age when baths were considered only for toddlers.

‘Yes, the more I think about it, the more a long hot soaking would do you some good when you become pesky. And I know just the person to supervise. So beware...’

I dared not further the discussion, even at that age understanding that when you find yourself in a hole, stop digging. But I knew things did not bode well, particularly when my mother asked my sister for Eve’s phone number.

The hour late, I stow my thoughts, turning off the computer. But not before writing down the address... and phone number... Tie Me Chicago.

What is this attraction?


Though accounting work is tedious, the week passes quickly. Late Friday I realize I have no weekend diversions in mind. Normally I find something adventurous or a quaint place to visit. I suppose I should find a date, take a young lady to dinner. But after many years of bachelorhood such has become blase. Two years ago I woke on a Sunday morning, a headache from too much wine, my money depleted, my credit card well worn... and little satisfaction. 

I’m not good with women... in a social context... always getting the feeling that I am the entertainment director on a cruise ship... undue pressure to offer constant amusement. I’m more cerebral and introverted for that role.

At 5:00 p.m. I begin packing things up for the week. When I open my brief bag, there lies the notepad... the notation... Tie Me Chicago, a Highland Park address, a phone number.

Images of the regal and commanding Miss Midori Matsumoto unfold... me falling to the stage like a roped cattle. And each time my psyche flashes back in time as well. Why is it thoughts of interaction with the termagant Eve are triggered?  There is not the slightest physical similarity. Eve was large, blonde, muscular in a feminine manner, attractive as stated... but for her daunting strength.

There was an often repeated story of her single handedly tossing the coxswain of the eight man shell into Lake Michigan, a traditional undertaking after a victorious race, but normally performed as a team effort. The distance the slight freshman was thrown grew with each subsequent telling of the story. The boy was quite embarrassed and Eve thereafter was afforded respect... but not the respect desired of a girl yearning for male companionship... perhaps the term fear a better description.

So it was not only brazen of me to taunt but calloused, picking at her emotional wounds. Yes there was no dating for Eve. But there did come interaction with the male... oddly satisfying interaction... with me.         

As I grasp my brief bag to depart, the memories flow...

Saturday, January 2, 2016

Tie Me Chicago III

 Happy New Year to All


Arriving in my apartment I find myself firing up my computer, going to the internet. I do a Google search... ‘Tie Me Chicago’. How can I resist learning more?

Well, it seems ‘Tie Me Chicago’ is not technically in Chicago but instead located in a staid old suburb, Highland Park on the north shore. There is a website, a picture of a turn of the century mansion. The business is purportedly a retailer of art and photography. As expected, Midori Matsumoto, appearing even more alluring... in a sinister manner in my mind... is the owner and master artist.

Examples of her work are displayed, photos of the human form restrained in what appears to be yard after yard of imposing hemp... rough and wiry. The depictions bring horripilation, for though there are no graphic displays of genitalia, beneath the many strands it is apparent the models are all sans clothing The feeling of gruff rope must mentally overpower, one must quickly conclude. I know having just hours before succumbed to the woman’s mastery.  

Most thought provoking are the facial expressions of the models. There is surrender, yet there is peacefulness, as if there has been a long struggle ending in both mental and physical capitulation.

I read. The so termed Shibari is more appropriately known as Kinbaku. That the Nawashi... rope artist... transforms the human body into a dynamic living sculpture. Being immobilized, thoroughly restrained, is a shared meditative practice, deep relaxation for flexibility of mind and body, expression of power exchange... intimate erotic restraint.

Indeed, in certain photos, Midori the Nawashi stands next to the model, her gloating look that of a big game hunter standing over a mammoth fanged and clawed beast which has fallen to her proficiency as a huntress.

As opposed to the embarrassing afternoon escapade at the county fair grounds, most of the models are very attractive girls... and in most depictions the nakedness, genitalia cleverly concealed in knots or by a folded limb, is suspended from large ring, or limb, or some other overhead fixture, enhancing the portrayal of the sense of helplessness.

The photo reprints are large... and expensive... the talents of Miss Midori Matsumoto not to be procured cheaply. I picture her work tastefully adorning the livingroom wall of some wealthy epicure.

As I click, I learn. But something seems amiss. At the county fair, Miss Midori Matsumoto specified that her artistry was to be demonstrated on the male. I recall her words... I’ll tie up any man and have him restrained within five minutes.    

Yet the website is rife with female models. Curious. Plus, she invited me to visit, suggesting more intricacy... hemp on bare skin. And in viewing the delicate flesh of the website models, the skill does seem impressive. Bound by the dilettante, the hemp can obviously leave burns and ligature marks, and the girls are professionals, no doubt needing unblemished skin for continuing assignments.

Then I note on the screen a very small tab. It’s unlabeled, as if the web designer deliberately desired it to be overlooked. I click of course, having fully explored the main pages of quirky erotic art and photography.

Males! Young, muscular, physiques chiseled... as if from stone. All in bondage... all displaying that serene look of surrender. But most notably, as opposed to the depictions of the female forms, Miss Midori Matsumoto stands with each one, her look tauntingly triumphant... having taken down the fiercest beast in the jungle. And she wears not hunting apparel, but leather... black, tight, perfectly outlining a wondrously proportioned physique, the breasts no longer cloaked by a loose blouse.... glands firm and upstanding as suspected.   

Most shockingly, as I view photo after photo, there is no attempt to modestly cloak the genitals as with the female scenes. And many of the male models are erect, particularly those in suspension, the tension no doubt intended to foment stiffness. Yes, erect and of size. In one or two the Nawashi Midori gloats, male virility fully under feminine power, it both excites her and amuses, and she veils not her enjoyment.

My reactions are many and contrasting. I sense rage... for some reason desiring vengeance... the leather clad conqueror should in turn be vanquished. But then comes empathy and calm... the tranquility sensed after a hard fought battle lost... and with that more recollections... of my youth... of the taunts and subsequent comeuppance of Matt the Brat... of Eve... Amazon Eve... imposing Eve... she who stripped and spanked...   

Saturday, December 26, 2015

Tie Me Chicago II

It’s a three hour drive from the fair grounds back to Chicago. Lots of time for thought. And of course repeating in my mind are the afternoon events, the raucous laughter as the crowd of brawny males watched my 220 well muscled pounds succumb. The Matsumoto woman was agile, knowing and used her notable strength to counter mine, though no doubt inferior.

But my thoughts mostly focus on the somatic reaction below, her grazing hand seeming to know exactly what was to be found beneath my zipper. I try to convince myself that such penile tumescence is normal, every male responding to certain pressure and tension at points on the spine and perineum.

But then I reflect on her words... ‘You have enjoyed, Matt. Women of authority excite.’

So my stiffness... more then just taut rope judiciously applied?

I think back some 15 years, to days of adolescence... and an older sister. She was brash. But even more brash was her friend Eve, a girl of size, or so it seemed. At 13, my growth spurt had just begun, though sexual development was well under way. And at 17 Eve was not only fully grown but heavily into athletics. Though a handsome girl, her strength was a more impressive attribute and this gave rise to troubles in dating. I suppose no teenaged boy is comfortable with the notion that his date can physically overpower.

And so Eve had problems relating to the opposite sex at a time when hormones raged and drive countered reason.    

Matt the brat, as my sister teased, of course stepped into the situation, adding to Eve’s frustration with pert questions, asking about her latest Friday night date... which of course was at home with her mother. I otherwise taunted, a brat indeed, I suppose my own burgeoning hormones warping any sense of decorum.

Well after many weeks of my stupid remarks and questions, Eve had had enough. She and my sister were in the basement doing laundry. I called out from the top of the stairs, invoking the name of an idolized high school senior whom I knew Eve esteemed but had zero chance of ever dating, suggesting he was on the phone asking for her.

Well, Eve just looked at my sister who nodded concurrence, hinting at some kind of silent conspiracy.

‘Come down here Matt. Take the laundry upstairs,’ my sister wriggling her finger most authoritatively.
Why did I choose that moment to obey, I often ask myself. As a brat I usually ignored such sisterly requests. But I descended the stairs and should have been concerned when my sister passed by me quite quickly to leave me alone with the Amazon Eve.

To shorten the story, with sister abandoning the basement, Eve grabbed at my waist, lowered my trousers, shaking my slim youthfulness about like a rag doll. Moving to sit on a stool she gripped my frame with convincing force, lowering my underpants, and spanked... and spanked... and spanked... relieving herself of many weeks of pent up vitriol and me of any urge to again taunt.

Worse was her masterful grasp... the specifics. With the pain I lurched about most paroxysmally. After some half dozen smacks Eve found it more effective to enshroud my scrotum with her free hand, lessening her efforts to hold me in place and assuring that my futile attempts to free myself would result in more agony.

My little plums captured by a woman! Such ignominy!

The humiliation mounted. And when finally freed, adequate punishment applied, I was summarily pushed from her lap... with a hard on! 

So there I stood, dungarees and underpants at my ankles, buttocks smarting, erect penis, limited in size, pointing to a smirking Eve.

"Ha, ha, ha," the derisive laugh lingers so vividly in my memory, "you’ll not be dating much either with that useless little thing... Matt the brat."

I stood, stunned. Eve reached down, grabbing the bundle of loose clothing at my ankles. Stripping me more fully proved to be facile, my shoes parked as always by the front door. Yes, with her quick grasp and a powerful snap of her hand I was deprived of the ability to return myself to cover. And she pulled so vigorously I toppled to the floor.

I now looked up at the girl whom I so brazenly taunted.

“I know what boys your age like to do, Matt. Want to do it now? Want to make that tiny thing spurt for me? You little pervert!”

I was appalled. How was it she knew... how was she aware of my furtive late night penile manipulation? And most disconcerting, this imposing girl... really a woman in the mind of a 13 year old... knew I indeed wanted to make it spurt for her.

She quickly and aptly exposed my charade. Taunting, mocking, exposing her as undesired... sexually unwanted... and suddenly with her hands and words I melted. I indeed wanted to perform for her... amuse her... entertain her. My thoughts and emotions were many and conflicting.

My memories are put aside. Interstate 57 ends. I must guide the car into the urban traffic of Interstate 94. There are more recollections concerning Eve, curiously spurred by the provocative words of Midori Matsumoto. Such will need to wait.