Tie Me Chicago IX

As I sit back, eyes transfixed on the blank computer screen, the image of Eve appears. Always recalled as tall, a head taller than my growing frame. Blonde hair short, her numerous athletic endeavors obviating anything more stylish. Her posture is perfect, transformative years spent in training... gymnastics until her height precluded... later swimming, rowing, there were also stories of special classes in kick boxing, augmenting her aura, further alienating her from possible romantic interludes with boys deeming her to be physically daunting and superior.

The recollections resume where my mind turned off the memory tape, standing in a suds filled bath tub... naked... erect... hands obediently placed on my head.... blushing. Yet there begins the strange joy as surprisingly soft and gentle hands lave. My penis bobs... in celebration? In greeting? In invitation?

Eve laughs... a vengeful laugh? One of mirth? Is she enjoying me... or her new found power?

I want to lower myself into the water, cloak my nakedness in the foam of the scented bubble bath. But then again I don’t. My young mind is conflicted. So I stand and let Eve have her way, sensing the warm softness as her hand works, methodically but caringly, moving a little lower on my torso after each dunk of the wash cloth.

“You’re remaining nicely hard for me,” Eve notes.

Is it a taunt? Does she want me to soften? I just blush even more.

“That means deep within that you enjoy this, Matt. Despite your meanness, your sarcasm, your truculence, you enjoy pleasing and serving women... women like me. You need an authority figure, Matt. You want to be subservient, you just don’t let yourself.”

She lectures, her tone even, somewhat soft.

And her words give rise to thought. My father had died when I was a toddler, barely to be remembered. Initially I was helpful about the house, assisting my grieving mother, amenably performing household chores with little objection. Then came the hormonal changes of puberty. Yes, I discovered myself, down there, and when not stroking, I wished I was able to. Mood swings became quick and considerable. I became Matt the brat.

But now Matt the brat stands totally under the auspices of this woman of strength and determination. And stands naked... and stands erect... and stands relishing her touch... wishing that instead of the humiliation ending... that it continues... that her hand would lave lower. I so much need to be touched. Need to touch myself. Yet my hands remain in place, not to move, not to disobey.

Why?          

Reaching to my thighs, the free left hand playfully grasps a large tuft of my right buttock, squeezing firmly. It is a test, I realize, inviting me to protest as her fingers slowly tighten. I do not. I want that and the unspoken message is received. The soapy cloth of the right hand moves to work over my globes. Then there comes a pause as Eve reaches for a bar of soap. My gluteal cleft then becomes the center of attention, Eve smiling as with soap she lubricates between my cheeks. My penis bobs about with fervor.

“I know some things about boys... young or old, Matt. First that there is some nasty stuff that needs to be expelled. And second there’s a special place to be pressed to assure of its riddance. And afterwards, a boy becomes very calm, very docile, very eager to please and be good.”

With her words, I feel the thumb of her left hand press my anus. I am both alarmed and pleased when it slips inwards, the soapiness facilitating penetration. Then I find that indeed Eve knows some things, for the free fingers of the left hand slide forward and grasp my testicles.

I gasp with both the sensation and the sense of placing myself and my developing male organs under the control of a woman.    

She diddles and kneads, dropping the wash cloth from her right hand and reaching for the bath tub’s spray hose. Her penetrating thumb begins to caress as well, finding my prostate. With the intensity of the pleasure my knees begin to buckle and there is further tribute to her impressive strength as she holds me up with one arm, my weight shifting to my perineum. 

“This is going to feel very good, Matt. So good that I think you’ll want to show off for me... want to offer me that nasty stuff which makes you into a bad boy. But you’ll not spurt until I tell you. Be good. Obey me. It’s best for you.” 

With that, Eve turns on the flexible spray hose and adjusts the flow... slight and delightfully warm. She smiles, aiming the spray to douse my pubes, knowing of the ecstasy, knowing of the helpless but wonderful sensation in being penetrated... of having my little balls diddled... by a controlling woman!

When the warm wetness flows, circling about my pubes, avoiding direct contact where I most covet such, something within surrenders. More... please... at my penis tip!

Yes, take me, make me spurt, my mind reeling, silently beseeching. Instead her right hand just applies the spray, maneuvering about up and down, left and right, wetting my modest penis, but never the tip, glaring at my face, judging from my expression where my system is in the slow stultifying process of being masturbated by a spray hose.

“Want to come for me?”

I close my eyes and nod.

“No, no Matt. Open your eyes. It’s important for you to watch, fully understand what I am doing to you... for you. So on the count of three, I want you to thrust forward your hips, clench those little muscles, those used when you pee. And I’ll want you to squirt for me. You’d like that wouldn’t you? Present me with that nasty goo. Give it all to Miss Eve?”

As I nod again, she counts ‘one’. The thumb abrades with more vigor, the fingers squeeze my little balls, the warm spray is now directed at the underside of my upturned penis. It is divine.

Then comes ‘two’ and a teasing pause. I disobey, thrusting with my hips. I cannot help myself.

“No, no Matt, I am in control, you’ll come for me only when I decide.”

There follows an interminable interlude of silence. Finally comes the word ‘three’... and with it the quick withdrawal of her left hand and the misdirection of the spray hose. I am aghast, the pleasurable input summarily curtailed. But I also spew my seed into the bath tub, the mass making a hissing sound as it hits the suds. There comes a second less formidable spurt then a drool of clear viscous fluid.

Eve, now Miss Eve to me, smiles in satisfaction, a look of Schadenfreude in having me masturbated with no penile contact... no direct manipulation. The supporting left hand lowers, allowing me to finally submerse my naked form in the warm soapiness.

I am drained, my young organs giving all. I enter a state of ennui... cleansed, emptied. I have been a source of great entertainment I come to realize, the humiliation intense.

But it feels so good... and Miss Eve knows it feels so good.

“So Matt, you be a good little boy for me. And good little boys get a nice hot bath. Every Friday afternoon.”

Eyes closed, I feel her hand slip under the water, tweaking my nipples.

I am owned.

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.

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.

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...

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.

“Ouch!”

“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.”

“No!”

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.

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...

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...