A Small West Shinjuku Park

In the little urban park in the West Shinjuku district, there are no more than three or four benches, a brightly painted swing for children, a few trees, some of which are hidden by thick bushes. A little concrete building hosts a public toilet.

In the crisp, cool air of a spring early morning -- the sun has yet to rise -- a young woman, more than twenty, not yet thirty, enters the park, walking with nonchalant grace.

She wears a dark blue raincoat with a large blue belt, made of the same fabric of the coat, blue high heel shoes, and carries a large, rigid suitcase made in black leather.

She is petite. Long black hair, parted in the middle, arrives below her shoulders, her small but fleshy mouth shines of a glossy light pink lipstick, curved in an imperceptible smile. Her large, almond-shaped black eyes look ahead, with self-assured calmness. She sits on a bench, the legs slightly parted. The rim of the coast arrives just a little below her knees, leaving visible the curve of her well-shaped calves.

The little park is deserted. It is one of those neighborhoods in central Tokyo that do not seem to belong to the largest city in the world.

She looks like she is relaxing after having enjoyed a morning walk, just before leaving for work, probably for one of the large corporations typical of the Japanese business landscape.

A few minutes later a man arrives, walking briskly. He wears jeans, a white T-shirt and a black leather jacket. He is much older than her, surely beyond forty, maybe already fifty. However, he has none of the worn-out expressions and mannerisms of the middle-aged white collars that live in the city. He is still fit, the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth worn like a badge of honor; they make him more attractive, rich of manly experience.

They exchange a brief greeting, the girl smiles a little more; the man looks at her concentrated as if he is weighing some possibilities. He opens the suitcase and extracts a coil of steel wire, a plier, and a smaller leather box, which could contain a musical instrument, such as a flute or an oboe. The man walks around the bench and places himself behind the girl. He quickly cuts two pieces of wires. He takes from behind one of the wrists of the girl, and pushes it against the rails of the bench, widely detaching it from the rest of the body. Then he secures it to the rails through the wire, twisting repeatedly the extremities, until it is impossible for her to free herself, or even to move it. He repeats the same procedure with the other wrist, and then he checks that the wire does not eat too deeply into the flesh, such that the blood is still free to flow to the tips of the fingers.

He walks in front of the girl. She looks at him, and she seems to be testing the bonds that tie her to the bench. Of course her attempts to free herself are futile. He looks at her wrists. From this point of view, they seem nothing else than thin, shiny, silver bracelets. Silently, he goes on working, as if she is an inanimate object. Carefully he pulls a little the coat's sleeves, to cover the wires: nobody can guess, without a careful inspection, that she is not free. Then he unbuttons the coat. Even if she guessed that this was going to happen, still she is blushing furiously. She is thinking that she is naked under the coat and she is now helpless for him to do as he pleases.

But he does not touch her naked flesh, just unbuttons the coat and leaves it closed through the firmly secured belt. Finally, he parts the lower sides of it, such that the inner part of her white thighs becomes visible, yet he does not open it so much that the eye of a casual passerby might catch a glimpse of the point where the thighs meet and the black hair of her pubis grows.

However, she is immediately aware that the equilibrium by which the coat covers her is precarious: a little distraction, a careless movement, and the slides could slip and she could become on display for anybody to see, her tied hands unable to protect her.

He gets the suitcase and places it on the ground in between her feet. It will be impossible now, if she ever wants, to close the legs. She will have to endure, for as long as he will decide, to be accessible and vulnerable.

Holding the smaller suitcase he walks a little farther to look at her. Her face is still pink of shame; however, to the passerby, she still might look like any other girl, resting on the bench, maybe unwilling to stand up and face the day that starts, maybe a little careless in the way she is sitting.

He doesn't say anything; if he is satisfied by his job and by her docility he doesn't betray it. He just says: "Look at me." She is happy to comply, raises her eyes, and looks at him, smiling. He just says: "I have to piss."

She did hope not to be left alone, but she knows that she can't object. She sees him disappearing and remains there, feeling the rays of the sun that slowly rises.

In the next minutes nothing happens. The park remains deserted; she is left with her thoughts. Very simple thoughts: she is contemplating the idea of trying again to test her restraints and her possible degrees of freedom. But she is afraid that whatever would happen could remain irreversible until he comes back. So she chooses to stay as still as possible, waiting patiently for his return. At a certain point she becomes aware of how her torso is stretched, her breasts pushed against the coat and feels her little, pointy nipples brushing against the slightly rough fabric. For a moment she loses control of her breath -- she is not sure of what is happening -- but quickly she regains her composure and calms down.

She returns to be aware of the silence around her, then suddenly she hears the noise of steps approaching, first very faint, then closer. Together with regular, rhythmical steps, she can hear the sound of more irregular movements, shaking the gravel of the park's foot walk.

Shame and fear mix in her head, she would like to scream, but she knows that it would be an irrational, unjustified reaction, what's more, utterly silly.

If she shouts, she likes to think he will understand that she is in serious danger and will come to rescue her. But then their relationship, whatever the reason for it to be, would end and she would never know where it could have taken her.

Remaining cool proves to be the right choice. It is only a little dog, running aimlessly up and down. A few moments later his owner comes. It is a woman only a few years older than her.

Probably every morning she takes her pet for a little walk before going to work.

The dog, a furry little spaniel, white and brown, continues searching for something, then he looks up to her owner and then, reassured, continues exploring the surroundings.

The lady, elegant and perfectly groomed, hardly pays attention to him. She is absorbed by her mobile phone, which she checks continuously, typing quickly from time to time emails or messages.

The dog passes in front of the girl, without noticing her...but then stops, returns on his steps and stands just in front of her, looking at her curiously, with the head slightly tilted.

She looks at him, trying to read his mind, trying to send the most reassuring message, hoping that he will continue his walk and forget about her.

But, maybe challenged by her look, sensing something wrong, he starts barking furiously.

The girl gets anxious: there is no reason to be afraid of this little dog; the owner is there ready to take charge if anything shall happen. Still, she starts imagining things, she imagines that he might try to assault her, that he might scratch her thighs with his paws.

Distracted by the idea of this threat, she has a small, imperceptible movement, an automatic reaction to protect herself.

It is already late when she realizes that the coat has opened a little more between the legs, and looking down she can see that she has uncovered a large portion of the dark hair on her pubis, for anybody to see.

She tries to close her legs, but the suitcase blocks any useful movement, actually the simple trial achieves the unwanted result to help the coat slip further down her thighs.

In the meanwhile the dog keeps looking and barking until he achieves the result of distracting her owner from her phone.

She comes, half hurrying, half annoyed" What is it?" then she sees her and adds:" Excuse me, he is adorable, but he is a little..." here she stops, because she has finally taken a good look at her and she understands that what has called her dog's attention is a half-naked girl, dressed only in a blue raincoat, showing casually her private parts.

Now she thinks that her dog's reactions are more than right, his surprise, expressed by his barking, quite natural.

The two women look at each other, the bond girl cannot help blushing and hopes in a little sympathy, even if it is too complicated to explain what got her in this predicament, still she hopes that the dog owner will understand her, help to readjust the coat and leave.

The dog owner gets closer to her dog and put the leash on him. Then, leading the dog, come close to inspect her.

"It is a beautiful morning."

"Yes it is"., replies the bond girl.

"Do you live around here?"

"Not really.."

"Otherwise I should have noticed you before, I guess..." comments the dog owner, smiling.

"It seems that I am not the only one to take out my pet in the morning...where is your owner?"

She understands now that the lady will not help her: she is enjoying her humiliation.

"I am nobody's pet and I have no owner..." she replies, indignant.

"Of course...then you are alone...but you are perfectly fine, right?"

"I am." She says, hoping that by now she has satisfied her curiosity and will leave her alone. But this woman seems ready to play a larger role in this story, and she is not ready to go so easily. She gets closer; the dog is silent now, stares at the girl with his large, humid eyes The woman now gets so close that she stands now in between her parted legs.

"I don't know why you are so shy," the woman says suddenly, opening the coat wide with both hands, uncovering her breasts, her belly and the carefully trimmed hair of her sex.

Now the blue belt is just a marker sign, separating the upper and the lower part of her body.

"Maybe you needed help ... or maybe you are ashamed of your little boobs and tiny" she adds, maliciously, pinching the dark nipples with the tip of her fingers.

It is a small but sharp pain, she is used to enduring much more. The woman releases her grip and of course the nipples remain standing, caressed by the light breeze that keeps them awake.

"Open your pussy for me, I need to see." The woman says. "Only another woman can truly look and appreciate the fine details and differences, the beauty of it " she adds.

The girl looks at her, suddenly unsure if she will meet the stranger's expectations. It's clear that she is a woman different from her, used to give orders, to say no. She speaks in a way that makes her eager to please.

She starts to open her legs, slowly. The woman just looks and says: " Yes...a little more..." She can feel her body opening, she can feel rivulets of air insinuating in her lower little mouth. She wonders if the woman will like her and will be satisfied.

"It is like if the petals of a flower are unfolding," the woman says smiling, and the girl actually feels the outer lips blooming. She focuses on this delicious feeling and closes her eyes to enjoy it even more. At that very moment, she hears a click. She opens her eyes and, sure enough, the woman is pointing her phone to her inner parts and snapping pictures.

The girl is shocked by this violation of privacy and trust.

"It is better if you smile, you will appear less pathetic," the woman says coldly.

The girl cannot help looking at the camera, she cannot hide, and she cannot control her expression, maybe the curves of her lips will be read as a smile, maybe she will look like a shameless slut, a proud woman, or really just a pathetic pet girl.

But the dog owner does not feel she owes her even to share the pictures she stole. After a few further shots of her full figure, she returns to insist on the details of her exposed sex, of her exposed breasts.

Then, suddenly she looks at her watch.

"I guess it's time to go. You have made my day...interesting."

She turns when she is almost at the park's exit and snaps a few other shots. It is like she wants to keep the idea of where and how she found her, the bench, the trees, and the gravel.

Then the woman starts to play with the phone, the girl realizes that the pictures will not be confined to her phone and her eyes, but she is sharing them with her lover, or maybe even with her friends. When they will meet, they will look at them together and they will laugh at that silly exhibitionist of the park.

But now she is alone again. The wait is unbearable. She looks at her exposed body, now very little is hidden. She looks at the tense muscles of her stomach. The sun is warmer now, she feels it caressing her naked skin, like a hand following her curves.

She looks around. She understands that is getting later than she expected. She starts being truly afraid that the next person might not be as detached as the dog owner. She does not understand why he is not back.

She still thinks that in any case, she will be safe, that if anything bad is going to happen, he will come and rescue her.

Yet, they never discussed such a possibility and they do not have an agreement even on what should happen next.

Maybe he has decided to abandon her here, as an unwanted cat, until somebody will come and will decide, in the best case, to free her.

It is taking too long for a simple pee. Now she starts thinking that she might be late at work, or will not be able to show up and that she will need to inform her boss. Inwardly she laughs thinking that she could simply say:" I spent the morning naked tied to a bench in a park, not too far from the office."

The comic interlude is short, she goes back to feel the silence and the solitude. The quietness of this park starts to feel eerie.

She reclines her head and closes her eyes. She might just try to sleep and forget everything, maybe she will wake up and this is just a dream.

With the eyes closed, of course the sounds become more intense. Far away, at the very periphery of her hearing, she perceives the sound of a quiet movement that remains there, for a while, until she realizes that is moving slowly toward her.

She opens her eyes: it's him, walking slowly toward her.

She sighs with relief.

"Sorry -- he is smiling -- I found an interesting tree and I could not resist preparing it for later. Did anything happen here? I see you could not resist flashing your pussy..."

The smile has turned into an ironic smirk -- she would like to protest, make it clear that she wanted to resist but could not, but all she can say is:" A woman with a dog passed by and took a few pictures..."

"By now you should be famous on the internet then -- he insists, with the same ironic tone -- but now we have to go, we are running out of time."

He walks behind her, unties the steel wires from the rails, but he binds them together, such that she remains handcuffed with the hands on her back.

He makes her stand and without further notice he starts walking quickly toward the side of the park, where he came from, where the vegetation is thicker. She has no better choice than following sheepishly.

Of course he doesn't mind that the dog owner has left her disheveled; he didn't readjust her clothes, so she has to hurry clumsily behind him, the spilled breasts bouncing, the equilibrium made unstable by hands tied on the back, by the high heels.

She starts wondering what he meant by preparing a tree, but this becomes clear when they reach the broad pine, partially covered by the bush. Multiple loops of a thick rope are secured at mid-height through the trunk.

The man takes from her the coat with her docile help, folds it, and puts it on a patch of grass. She looks around, timidly, she is aware that, apart from the shoes, her white, slightly opaque body is fully exposed in a little park in central Tokyo. She looks intently at the apartment blocks around and wonders if the windows are far enough or if somebody is peeping at her behind them.

Now the man unties her and secures the hands to the tree, suspended at the sides of her head, such that she is facing it and offers him her back.

With a piece of steel wire he crudely ties the ankles, leaving between them maybe a meter. She can actually close her legs, but at the same time the cable will make some resistance, pressing her to leave them open.

He takes advantage of her white buttocks: she reads, in the hands that explore the softness of her skin and the roundness of her curves, his desire. She is proud of her small, yet high and firm ass.

He takes a white handkerchief from his pocket, folds it, and places it in her mouth, such that she can bite it.

"You will need this. We don't want to make a scene and draw unwanted attention."

She nods, can she escape now? She is his willing victim. All that she knows is that she will be whipped, beaten, or slapped, as long and as hard as it pleases him.

It is will be the latest test of her endurance; she wishes it will not be the last.

What he will be using this time? He is exactly behind her, invisible, she tries to turn her head, but this does not help.

She hears a whirl in the air, a compact, buzzing sound. She knows he has swung his weapon of choice.

Then, while she is tense by the expectation, the blow arrives and strikes a large portion of her right buttock.

She understands it might be a stick or a paddle, covered by rubber, such that it adheres perfectly to her skin for a short excruciating moment.

Her guess is close: it is a common table-tennis racquet whose surface has a royal blue coating.

The blows arrive, one after the other. The first ones land casually, with medium strength, yet they make the ass crimson red.

Initially, she tries to take them bravely, she tries to deny the pain, focusing on the fact that she knows that this ordeal will be over.

But suddenly the strength of the blows increases, the hitting becomes more methodic, starting from the upper quarter of her right buttock, then to the left, and then going to the lower quarters, continuing relentlessly, until he is satisfied and pauses for a very short moment, before setting to the next task.

It seems that he has an aim in his job, and indeed her ass is now almost uniformly becoming a dark purple.

He focuses on the few remaining spots where the flesh maintains a pinker color, addressing new strong, inexorable blows to these parts.

She cannot hold back the tears. She is grateful now for the handkerchief, that she is biting, almost chewing, such that it has become soaked with her saliva.

He stops and grabs the left cheek, spreading the flesh around her rear entrance, still white, until it does not crease and turn brownish around her anus; an area which the plump shape of her bottom has protected.

Of course he does not stop. With accurate strokes he hits also here until he feels that his job is complete and stops.

"Your ass is beautiful" he admits. She is relieved now -- it was not as bad as she thought. She has handled herself well.

She releases the tension in her body and the pain of course does not go away, but reaches her center, soaks her completely, and makes her feel alive.

It is when she savors this sensation that the new blow arrives, intense and precise like the sting of a very poisonous wasp.

She has no time to think or react: new blows arrive, quickly, one after the other, in rapid succession.