As Svetlana stood waiting for her Master's next command, a cameraman wearing a cumbersome SteadiCam rig, crabbed around her, the camera he was holding roving over her body, its unblinking lens eying her loveliness. Tonight's performance would have been bizarre enough on its own, but the fact that Norma X and one of her side-kicks were constantly prowling around her with their video cameras made it distinctly weird. A weirdness reinforced by all the other film-making paraphernalia strewn across the stage. Svetlana particularly disliked the jib-and-boom device that suspended a camera high over her head. It was like being in the middle of a film-set.
Which, Svetlana ruefully reminded herself, was exactly what the stage in So-UnReal-Ism had become.
As video productions went it was remarkably light on props. All there was by way of set decoration was an oddly shaped leather stool set in the middle of the stage. The stool was perhaps two foot in height, the top was curved and sculptured to resemble a saddle for a horse, whilst around its base were screwed a series of “D” rings. The stool itself was bolted to the floor of the stage. It was a very peculiar piece of furniture, but the fact that the Master motioned Svetlana to stand beside it indicted the stool's importance to the video that Norma X was hoping to shoot. The Master took Svetlana by the shoulders and turned her to face the audience. “Tonight this woman offers herself to you all,” he announced in a loud voice, “to be used and abused as you will, to sate your hungers and appetites on her flesh, and to live out your more prurient desires through her body.” There was a ripple of urgent whispering from the audience: So-UnReal-Ism had a history of dissolute, wanton behaviour, but this degree of sexual recklessness was unprecedented. The hands that rested on Svetlana's shoulders flexed, and with surprising strength took hold of the straps of Svetlana's dress and ripped downwards, tearing the material from her body. Such was the suddenness and savagery of the action that she was caught off-balance and staggered for a moment, only to be saved from falling by the strong hands of the Master. Naked, apart from her white leather mask, she was presented to the stunned audience, each person in the crowd lost in their gasping contemplation of defiling that wonderful body.
The Master nodded towards the side of the stage and Little Su walked out from the wings carrying what appeared to be a bundle of leather and steel straps. For a few moments, the Master considered the restraints and then selected a posture collar, perhaps two inches thick, and buckled it around Svetlana's neck. Next, he buckled manacles around her wrists, and, then, nudging her thighs apart, strapped larger manacles around her thighs to sit just a little above her knees.
"As you have begun to understand, Svetlana, from your previous visits to So-UnReal-Ism, erotic torture is not, as it is so often portrayed by a prurient, sensationalist media, simply a matter of a frenzied psychopath slashing away with a whip at the defenseless body of some poor unfortunate. It is rather an art-form, where martial stimulation is used with intelligence and sensitivity to amplify and to prolong the wonder that is sexual arousal and climax. Adepts in flagellation and submission have come to appreciate that the process of erotic discipline can be elevated to a higher level of consciousness, that it can be rendered ... beautiful ... artistic ... even ineffable. This search for the sublime has become the goal for all who profess to be followers of the darker side of eroticism. There are techniques of erotic torture which can make sexual discipline as pleasing to the eye as it is to the flesh and to the soul."
As the Master lapsed into silence, from the side of the stage strode a squat wide man clad only in a loincloth. He seemed to Svetlana to be as broad as he was high, and his rolling gait made him look almost comical. But the length of rope slung over his shoulder and the sparkle in his eyes communicated the fact that his mission that evening was most certainly not to amuse. The whole of the time he walked across the stage his gaze never left Svetlana, and although he was masked, she could see that the man was undoubtedly oriental. For some strange reason this made him even more sinister. The Master nodded a greeting to the man and then continued his explanation, “This appreciation of the aestheticism of the lash and of the restraint is nowhere more refined than in Japan. Tonight I would like to introduce you to Yamada Taro, who is a nawashi, an expert in the art of kinbaku, the Japanese art of rope bondage."
Hearing his name, Yamada Taro bowed deeply towards Svetlana, and then towards the welcoming applause of the audience. In a strange sing-song voice that was oddly at odds with the massive frame from which it came, Yamada Taro continued the Master's explanation, “Kinbaku means ‘beautiful bondage', but as with many beautiful things it has its origins in the darkness. It developed from hojojutsu, which was an ancient form of rope torture. Today though it has evolved such that it is used to embellish and make more pleasing to the eye the prosaic elements of submission.” He bowed once more to Svetlana, “My aim, beautiful lady, is not to hurt you or to visit pain on your body. Rather, it is to make your helplessness, your surrender a thing of splendour and of artistry, and by doing so to make the pleasure you obtain from your submission more profound. Please,” he asked almost apologetically, “please raise your arms above your head. We begin with breast bondage."
The Japanese man uncoiled the rope from his shoulder and then with amazing confidence and dexterity traced it around Svetlana's upper body. All the while he kept up a commentary, “This is my own adaptation of the ushirode tasaki, the traditional chest harness tie. It will, my lady, involve you having a rope strapped around your torso just above your breasts,” the thin rope snaked across Svetlana's pale chest over the first swell of her breasts, “and another rope strapped just below them,” this time the rope cut tightly under her breasts. “When these two ropes are pushed together your breasts will be squeezed from the top and from the bottom making them jut out most enticingly.” With surprising strength, Yamada Taro made an adjustment to the knot he had created in the small of Svetlana's back and the ropes contracted, squeezing Svetlana's breasts just as he said they would be.
It wasn't painful, but it was a decidedly odd feeling to have her breasts squeezed forward, and the sensation in her nipples was quite extraordinary. It was as though they had suddenly become much, much harder and much, much more sensitive.
"If now, my lady, you would lean over the stool I will tether your upper arms in a form of ushiro takate kote. This is a type of arm box tie which will leave your arms locked together from shoulder to elbow."
Svetlana knelt in front of the stool and bowed over it, flinching as her naked stomach touched the cold hard leather. “Please, my lady, bring your arms as far behind your back as you are able.” Bemused though Svetlana was by this development, she could not fail to be amazed (and reassured) by Yamada Taro"s skill as he used the rope to pinion her upper arms together behind her body. By doing this, he simultaneously pulled her shoulders back and forced her breasts forward even harder. The pressure on her nipples increased. “Do not worry, my lady, we Japanese are most respectful of ukes—Bottoms—such as you, and of the trust a Bottom graciously invests in nawashi such as I. We are most careful to ensure their safety.” As he rambled on, Svetlana could feel him twisting and twirling the rope around her arms and her body as he wove complex bondage patterns. “The design I am recreating is one of my own: it is a variation of the traditional ebi, or shrimp pattern, which will leave you so exquisitely vulnerable to all forms of pleasure play.” Finally, he stood away from the supine Svetlana and admired his work. He bowed to Svetlana, “My work is completed, my lady, and you are ready to commence your journey towards the nirvana of total obedience.” With that, he turned to bow to the audience, who applauded enthusiastically as the master of the art of kinbaku exited the stage.
Svetlana was much less enthusiastic. With her arms tied together so tightly and so immovably, the strain on her tethered breasts was enormous. And this, coupled with the extreme vulnerability of her position, leaning as she was over the leather stool with her bottom thrust high into the air, made her feel very uncomfortable. The fac
t that Norma X and her crew were recording every facet of her submission didn't help either. She could only imagine some of the close-up shots they were taking.
Svetlana heard her Master's voice in her ear, “You look wonderful, my dear Svetlana, the classic submissive, the classic bottom, the classic uke. But there are still further refinements needed to create perfection,” and almost before the words were out of his mouth, Svetlana saw him dangle two nipple clamps in front of her eyes. “Elbow bondage, as you realise, makes the breasts thrust forward. This is, of course, visually most appealing, but it has a more important physiological effect. The restraining ropes cause a reduction, albeit a limited one, of blood-flow to the breasts, making them very sensitive to the touch.” He slid his fingertips across Svetlana's taut and now hyper-sensitive left nipple. Immediately a shiver of painful pleasure vibrated through Svetlana. “This enjoyment can, of course, be amplified by the stimulation of the nipples through the use of nipple clamps.” The Master stooped down and with nimble fingers gently attached a nipple clamp onto each of Svetlana's straining nipples, winding the screw until he saw the first wince of pain on Svetlana's face. He smiled and then gave the screw on both clamps a half turn more, wringing a scream from Svetlana.
"Excellent, but before we continue, I should tell you that you may stop your submission at any time, simply call out “Dada” and immediately the session will be over. I hope though that you have the fortitude to enjoy all of the dark pleasures you will be subjected to. Now if you will lean further over the stool..."
She did as she was asked, her tortured breasts hanging pert over one side of the stool and her arse raised high on the other. Satisfied, the Master moved to shackle her. First, using a thin chain, he tethered the posture collar Svetlana was wearing to the front base of the stool, thus ensuring that she could no longer raise her head much above the horizontal. Then, moving around to the reverse of the stool, he parted Svetlana's legs and clipped each of the thigh manacles to D-rings on the side of the stool: now her legs were secured wide akimbo. The wrist manacles were similarly clipped to rings, which, together with the rope strapping at the top of her arms, meant that her body was tethered fast across the saddle.
"You look so beautifully vulnerable. And now for another minor, but important, addition to your ... pose.” From his pocket, he took a heavy steel ring—perhaps an inch or so in diameter—which he clasped through the end of her pigtail. Then taking hold of the end of the pigtail, he pulled back hard, yanking her head back as far as it would go and in doing so wrenched her mouth open. Satisfied, using the steel ring he'd fastened in the pigtail, he clamped the rope of hair to a second ring that Yamada Taro had plaited into Svetlana's arm bindings. Now Svetlana's head was pulled and tethered tight back in such a way that she was barely able to move it.
If Svetlana had felt exposed and vulnerable before, now her position had been made ten times worse: her sex and her anus were made open and visible by her spread thighs, her clamped nipples swung free and defenseless, and her mouth was shocked open by her hauled back hair.
"One final touch,” crooned the Master, and, unseen by Svetlana, he signalled to the lighting technician. “In the darkness we dream, and tonight you are entering a dream, you are living a dream, so it is appropriate that you live out your fantasies and the fantasies of the audience in darkness.” Cued, the technician eliminated all the lights in So-UnReal-Ism but one, a pencil spotlight that sent a tight, sharp halo of illumination down over the supine form of Svetlana. It was a tiny island of light in a sea of darkness.
"So, Svetlana, you are now ready for your final trial, and, as your Master, I claim the first use of your body. I had thought to taste the carmine lips of your cunt, but that would be far too banal a defilement. But ever the indulgent Master, I strive to make all things easier and more pleasurable.” She felt a heavy, syrupy unguent thick with the smell of “I Submit” being poured over the swell of her arse, and she flinched against its cold, feathery touch. Then long, strong fingers began to work the oil into her flesh, delving it into and around her anus and spreading it over her oh-so-tender nipples. Immediately her senses were assailed by the heavy, almost intoxicating, smell of the oil: so powerful was it that for a moment she thought she might faint. But, even as her head began to droop, so the tug of her tightly tethered pigtail snapped her back to consciousness.
That, and the nudge of a very large penis at the entrance of her anus.
She had never been taken anally before, but now there could be no demurring, there could be no coyness, now there would just be...
The penis stabbed into her, forcing back the shocked ring of muscle that protected her darkest place, demanding entrance, oblivious to the objections of her affronted body. She felt as though she was being rent asunder, that it was impossible for her body to accommodate this huge thing that was invading her. The pain was enormous, and her body screamed in protest. And her soul too screamed in agony, her yell of torment slamming out into the pitch darkness of the club. But if it were a cry for help there was no help to be found: all her screams seemed to do was encourage the Master to plunge into her with greater wantonness, his hard body fast against hers, his pelvis pistoning in and out, his grunts of effort heavy against her cheek, his weight flexing on her back...
But suddenly the pain seemed to mutate, to become not so much a feeling of anguish but one of contrary pleasure. Her body began to relish its violation, to rejoice in its enforced debauchery. She felt herself beginning to glow with sexual arousal, her skin to stretch in erotic expectation and her sex to dampen with thrilled anticipation. Now her screams were transformed into murmurs of lustful pleasure, and, though bound and clasped as she was, she moved her arse to emphasise each stroke of her Master's penis, to hold him in the tight, smooth confines of her body and, in so doing, to amplify the dissolute pleasure of the fucking.
She would have come...
She was on the brink of climax...
He withdrew, to leave her gasping with disappointment, marooned in her island of light. Then to her astonishment she felt him writing across her arse, “What?” she gasped.
"Just a little idea of Norma X's. She's requested that everyone fucking or using you tonight writes the words “I Submit” on your body. She seems to think it'll be an amazing piece of performance art, and will, of course, tie the product in with the video."
Stunned by this, Svetlana waited for her next lover. And as she waited, expectant, fearful, almost sobbing with unfulfilled passion, all she could hear was the sound of the free-jazz wafting over her; that and the excited chattering from audience.
Suddenly a large erect penis was presented to her mouth. With the body of the man whose penis it was standing outside the penumbra of light and hence swathed in darkness, the cock seemed almost disembodied, almost as though it was floating in a void. Tied and shackled, Svetlana had no alternative but to accept the cock into her mouth. She felt it being shoved deep into her, until its sleek tip slammed at the back of her throat. Gagging, she tried desperately to use her tongue and her lips to persuade the cock to relent, but just as she was on the brink of succeeding, she was assailed from behind by a second cock sliding between the slick lips of her sex. Whoever was fucking her there wasn't a subtle lover, but he was certainly an effective one. He heaved his thick, stiff tool into her with an abandon, all the while leaning his soft body against her back and reaching forward with his arms so that he could tweak her nipple clasps as he fucked her. Her body responded eagerly to this brutal lovemaking, encouraging her to suck and lick on the prick in her mouth with renewed vigour and to tense the muscles of her vagina to better ply the cock that banged into her sex.
This time her body was rewarded: she came, shaking and shivering to climax, and had the satisfaction of knowing that the men she was servicing came too. The cock in her mouth jolted hot seed into her which, tethered as she was, she was obliged to swallow, whilst the cock thrusting into her sex juddered and jerked in climax.
Again she f
elt her body being scrawled upon, one of the men writing along her left thigh whilst the other had the impudence to crouch down before her and write the words on her mask. Now everyone looking into her eyes would see the words “I Submit” written in black Pentel across her forehead.
She was hardly given a moment to consider this: as soon as the two men who had been fucking her withdrew so she was assailed by a new pair of lovers. The first of this duo was a woman, who presented her sex to Svetlana's mouth, and then, placing a hand on either side of Svetlana's head, hauled herself forward until the stiff nub of her clitoris was only a fraction of an inch from Svetlana's lips. The fact that her head was tethered one way by a chain and the other by her pinioned pigtail made servicing the woman's cunt difficult, but Svetlana did her best and her best seemed, judging from the reaction she provoked, to be quite good enough. Roiling her hips, the woman ground her sex around Svetlana's tongue, smearing the cream of her burgeoning arousal on Svetlana's face, mixing her scent with that of “I Submit” to create a cacophony of aromas that were both salacious and exciting.
Once again, Svetlana was not allowed to concentrate on one act of love-making. She felt two hands drop onto the cheeks of her arse, and hot breath on the damp lips of her labia. Now as she nibbled and licked at the sex presented to her mouth, so an unseen woman—Svetlana could feel the woman's breasts nudging at her thighs as she worked her mouth—nibbled and licked at Svetlana's sex. It was an educational experience: as her own sex was teased and tickled, tested and tasted, so she was able to apply the same techniques to the sex of the woman she was servicing, and as the woman behind her was an undoubted expert ... so, by default, Svetlana instantly became an expert.
Svetlana orgasmed, but this time her climax was, if anything, more intense and certainly more prolonged than her first. It was almost as if the number and intensity of the fuckings, and the fact that they were being done one-after-the-other, was preventing her body from relaxing, that the residual ripples of one climax were able to amplify the ripples of the next.
Phaze Fantasies, Vol. VI Page 31