Tie Me Chicago XI

The Highland Park mansion of Tie Me Chicago is easily found and recognized, depicted on the home page of the website. It’s large and majestic, built at the turn of the last century, no doubt by some wealthy industrialist.

Though a retail establishment, there is limited signage, no gaudy neon. A large brown wooden plank hangs from the porch, routed within and painted in gold are the letters ‘Tie Me Chicago’. It’s slightly before 7:00 p.m. and I note my hand somewhat shakes as I reach for the doorbell. It is then that I note a small sign, suggesting entrance without the need to ring. 

My arm moves to the door, hand twisting the knob, I step within. Somewhat assuaging my anxiety, I enter the parlor of what could be considered an opulent residence. There is nothing to suggest that risque and exotic artwork is both fashioned and sold in the premises. Instead the dark wooden paneling and rich dark red carpeting project a hominess. Only a reception desk, turned toward the entrance to greet visitors hints at the house being a commercial facility.

As I step inward, a pretty young girl hastily steps from an adjoining room, coffee cup in hand.

“You have an appointment?” her voice timid.

“I’m Matt, from the county fair,” gazing as the girl looks into a large notebook opened on the desk.

She appears familiar. Placing her is difficult until I realize it’s the clothing that proves troublesome. I have before seem her... on the Website, helplessly dangling from the ubiquitous circle of metal, her nakedness festooned with hemp. If I recall, a sizable full color print edition of her captive form... her submission to the skills of the Nawashi... was priced at over $1,000.

“Oh yes, Miss Midori has made a note here in the appointment book. You have not before modeled for her... not here. She has suggested there may be a miscommunication... that the atmosphere for Saturday evening modeling is rather... libertine. That you should be forewarned.”

Before I can reply, the front door opens. In steps a very well dressed middle aged gentleman, attire not surprising considering the surroundings and the upscale neighborhood. But with him is a younger male... collared... and on a leash... and not so much dressed as summarily covered in only a shawl... hands and arms not to be seen, the bare legs and feet telling.

The debonair gentleman simply nods and proceeds into the adjoining room, collared companion heeling as would a dog. When the gentleman snaps firmly the leash, the lad lunges, the hem of the cape fluttering to briefly expose a parcel of smooth rounded buttock flesh. The scene makes no impression on the girl receptionist.

“Mr. ah... Mr. Matt,” the girl drawing me from my stunned silence.

“Well, my intention was to meet... and talk. I’ve only met Miss Matsumoto once... and it was briefly,” my composure finally returning.

“She does have a certain attractive savoir faire, does she not?” the girl beams in apparent admiration.

I nod in agreement, though ‘intriguing’ would be the word for my characterization.  

“Well, why don’t I have you prepared and afterwards you can discuss your evening’s participation with Miss Matusumoto. She’s tied up until eight,” the pun comes once again as the girl presses a button.

Have me prepared? Curiously forceful phraseology.

“Please have a seat, Mr. Matt. The clinicians will take you shortly.”

The girl points to a straight back chair to the left of the entrance door. Somewhat bewildered, the sight of the leashed man, possibly more aptly described as a boy, still lingers.

In thought, I sit. Needing to calm, my mind returns to Eve... Miss Eve...