tagLetters & TranscriptsA Letter to Mary

A Letter to Mary


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.

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