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...

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