Daydreams & Distractions ☼ Shibari

Shibari
A Daydream & Distraction by Redbud

  • This is a pure erotic fantasia. Almost embarrassing to post this after Ximena’s touchingly  straightforward eroticism or Monocle’s powerful brevity. Good grief.

Two men and a woman are in a room that faces the Atlantic. The walls and floor are thick stone. Starlight drifts warmly and quietly through an open window. The sound of waves come and go through the dark. A young woman is bound on the floor. Rope intersects and knots in an intricate web of knots. She is on her knees, hands and arms bound behind her. Her elbows touch but not her wrists. Her ankles intersect but her thighs are spread. Her ass is raised and her chin is pressed against the soft mat.

She is youthful, thin and her long black hair is tied into the rope. She faces the window that looks over the ocean. Her eyes are heavy with an inward heat. The older man, well into his eighties, uses a crop, intermittently now, almost as an afterthought. The younger man is the woman’s husband. He sits in the other chair at a small round table. He sweats as he watches his wife’s struggle. Struggling for what? He’s not sure. He loosens his necktie. He rubs his palms on his thighs.

“She compels you, doesn’t she?” the old man asks.

“Yes, Sir. Very much Sir.”

“Yes — well, she is yours. You’re young. This is to be expected but you must learn self-control beyond your years. Her body, her motion, her sounds, will call to your body in a way she has no way of controlling or an awareness of. Your body will respond. It is your discipline, not hers, that we seek. A woman is a woman. She is a creature of whims and mercies. She is so much more interesting and profoundly beautiful than we are. You see how every part of her responds to the moisture that spills from her. She is swollen with moisture – her fluids ready to receive and mix with yours. Her mind is swollen with emotion. She yearns for the rigid stability of a man’s cock. She is like a cloth tent without a central pole. She suffers. She is a woman. Her emotions are like a wind that aimlessly torment her. You are her husband. She calls to you. She seeks you. You see how her body desires you. You see how I’ve arched her for you. Her womb searches for you.”

“Yes,” says her husband, wiping his brow. “This isn’t what I was expecting.”

“I suppose not.”

“Sir? Oh. No. That’s not what I meant –.”

“Of course not.”

“No, Sir.”

“You asked me if I had ever watched American pornography?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Bloody shit is what it is. Bloody rubbish.”

“Well – I – ”

“Sure, I’ve seen it. Bloody Americans – artless, base, crude. I suppose you are aroused to see a woman amateurishly tied to a jungle gym and fucked by some electrical device. You are aroused when a vibrator is shoved between her legs. Bloody shit is what it is. Artless. They would make a Christly hummingbird orgasm with a dildo big enough for a mule. Americans. Garish. Bloody garish and artless.” He kneels and carefully continues to knot the loose rope. She moans as another knot applies its pressure. She’s beyond whimpering. She rolls her eyes until nothing but the whites are visible. She arches, trying to spread her legs. The old man gently pulls her knickers, knotting them aside with rope. They’ll stay.

“Only once – I mean –“

“Oh for God’s sake man,” says the old man, “don’t lie to me. Of course you’ve watched it and too many times.”

“Yes Sir.”

“Do you think you can make a woman come with pain alone?”

“No Sir. I mean, I don’t know, Sir”

“No woman will orgasm with pain alone.”

“Of course, Sir.”

“Do you know you can make a woman come without touching her clitoris or cunt?”

“No Sir.”

“Well, when I was your age I wouldn’t have believed it myself. I was stationed in China shortly after the Japanese had surrendered. I knew an elder Japanese man who was to me, in age, as I am to you. The Japanese, as you may know, strongly admire British culture, as well they should. They share certain proclivities – a taste for corporal punishment among them. He was greatly interested to know if I had any experience in the matter. What British schoolboy has not? Or at the very least has not seen it, heard it or had it described to him. He would be highly amused, were he alive today, to learn that we now mix our girls with our boys — or perhaps disappointed.”

“Sir, did you?”

“Did I what? Have the experience? Of course I did! I invited it. I became a favorite among certain instructors and, on occasion, had the opportunity to demonstrate my knowledge to underclassmen. But none of these childish trifles impressed him. He was a Master, you see. He was like the great Taoist yogin, the recluse, or the Zen Master. I’m sure you’re not entirely ignorant of such mysteries? But his Mastery was of a different order. You’ve heard of it, I’m sure. Kinbaku?”

“No, Sir.”

“No? Then how about Shibari?”

“Yes Sir. I’ve heard of Shibari.”

“The Japanese take nothing lightly and binding a woman, securing her in the most advantageous manner, is as much a work of art as any haiku. A rightly bound woman elicits arousal, admiration and contemplation. A rightly bound woman makes one believe there could be no better purpose for a woman. The genius of the master is knowing what combination of his own art and the woman’s natural beauty, her art, most masterfully reflects on both. But there’s a deeper art. You’ve seen Shibari?”

“Yes, Sir, I’ve seen pictures on the web, I have.”

“Then you know nothing about it. Nothing at all. What you find today is mere frippery – Kabuki theatre. You may be impressed by modern displays, but modern practitioners have no understanding of the purpose behind the art. You have eard of acupuncture?”

“I have, Sir.”

“Then you know that a Master Acupuncturist manipulates the energy that flows through channels, each like an axis or, rather, meridian, within the human body. By application of a needle to one part of the body another part may be beneficially affected. They call this energy chi. The ancient art of Shibari evolved in tandem with the art of acupuncture. Any scholar will deny it. Shibari was considered something like a dark art, a corrupted form of acupuncture.”

“I don’t understand, Sir, what has–”

“I’ll tell you,” the old man interrupted. “The knots. The greatest and most subtle practitioners of Shibari carefully applied pressure by way of knots, instead of needles. Observe. No. Don’t watch my hands. Watch your wife’s pussy. Watch what happens. This knot and pressure point, in combination with the others, is called the Morning Lotus.” The old man tied a final knot, passed the loose end under a taut rope-span aligned with her spine, then slowly, carefully tightened, pressing the knot into a divot above her tailbone. “Watch her pussy. This is one of the most beautiful, most difficult to learn, pressure points in the female physique. If done incorrectly, she orgasms.” As the pressure of the knot slowly increased, the young woman groaned and mewled, panting. She lifted her ass despite the obdage. All the while, her astonished husband stared as her pussy seemed to open as though it were a blossoming flower. Her clit stiffened and protruded like a tiny penis. She was panting. Her toes curled and her fingers bent and straightened, bent and straightened.

“Incredible.”

“Lovely,” added the old man. “Her duress calls to you. This position, the most basic, is simply called Yin. It is the most basic, receptive and symbolically feminine position. She is on her knees, bent, her pussy yields upwardly in supplication behind her.” The old man lightly palms her belly. “You see how her belly is bowed downward by the arch of her back. In this position her procreative womb is like a bowl, prepared to receive and, most importantly, to retain the creative seed without spilling. When she is bound like this, regardless of what thoughts may distract her, her womb answers only to the male behind her – will mix and conceive. Her head is down, lower than her hips. As human beings, our minds and intelligence take the highest place in our body, but when a woman lowers her head below her sex, she acknowledges the primacy of her womb and the masculine prerogative. She takes pleasure in that submission. The receptive, yielding posture is natural to Yin, and doesn’t shame her the way a man is shamed. Her arms are bound behind her, symbolizing the surrender of her will to the procreative will of life.”

“All that with just a knot?”

“The early practitioners of Shibari were like the tantric sects of India. The knot was Yang and the woman was Yin, impressionable and receiving the knot’s impression. The knot shapes her no less than a man’s cock shapes her womb. Solely with the use of knots, rightly applied pressure, one can control a man’s erection, a woman’s orgasm, when and if, and even her impregnation. Men and women were bound together to experience a oneness far exceeding the pale enlightenment of the lonely recluse.”

“Ah! Then that is how–”

“Yes. Indeed. But the Shibari sects were persecuted.” He fastens off the past spring of rope and gestures to the young husband. “Undress. Then kneel behind her. You can, of course, change your mind at any time, but, I warn you, do so before I have tied the final knot. You will no longer be capable of such a decision. Do you understand?”

“Yes Sir.”

“You are certain?”

“Yes, Sir. We have both decided.”

“Very well. Kneel behind your wife. She is prepared. She searches for you in her duress. Did you know, once you have made love, no matter to whom, your energies are inseparable. Your bodies are entangled. Do you understand what I mean? Do you know anything about modern physics? Your bodies will be entangled like two atoms – even if you despised your former lover. You see and feel your lover’s — your wife’s duress – as though it were your own. Her feminine void can only be quenched by the masculine, just as yours can only be quenched by her void.”

The young man kneels behind his wife. His cock is achingly hard and he’s embarrassed for the old man to see it. But the old master pays no attention. He already begins to bind the young man, passing jute between his thighs and over his shoulder. His motion is quick and purposeful. “The Shibari sects were considered immoral, but the persecutors weren’t blind. They saw to what uses the art could be put. They began supportint Shibari masters. The most beautiful daughters would be brought to a Shogun’s palace. Shibari masters were renowned. Young women would willingly offer themselves and still do. To be bound by a Shibari master was a mark of your beauty. A stunning woman, masterfully bound, was to be admired. She would be bound. She was lowered onto the Shogun’s prick and he would admire her. He might sip tea or play Go with another Shogun enjoying a girl similarly bound. They would not have move sexually. They would admire the beauty of the girls with their eyes, and the master’s artwork with their cocks. With eyes they admired the rope and knotting. With cocks they admired the artist’s mastery over the girl. They experienced what the girl experienced with their cocks insider her, her dark heat, her warmth and the wetness thickening her womb. When the moment called for it, they would lose a single knot, releasing the flow of the girl’s chi. The girl, otherwise still tightly bound, would orgasm. Her gasping, convulsing release would fill the Shogun’s palace like the music of a wild bird. Imagine how she would spin around from a single tether. Her gripping cunt exquisitely massaged the Shoguns’ cocks. As a final acknowledgment of the Master’s artistry and the girl’s beauty, they would themselves orgasm inside her,”

The rope knots tightened around the young man. He gasped as his muscles involuntarily surrendered to the will of the rope. He leaned back. Another knot pressed just behind his balls. He groaned. He could feel semen filling his cock, or he thought he could. He’s feels as if he’ll come but he doesn’t. “By the right placement of a knot, the tightened rope, the constricted muscle, arousal is controlled.” The old man grasps the young man’s cock and pumps it. “I could do this until morning and you wouldn’t come. Does it make you uneasy to have another man touch your cock?”

“Yes, Sir. Have to admit – Yes, it does.”

The old man presses the head downward, places his other hand against the young man’s ass, then presses him forward, guiding the man’s cock into his wife’s flowering pussy. She surrenders a long groan as its rigidity thickly settles inside her. The young man exhales. His wife’s womb is soft, dark, and moist.

“But I began by telling you about the old Japanese man. He was fluent in Chinese, Japanese and English. I used to visit Chinese brothels. Chinese women are among the most beautiful in the world. I was a young man. I was a soldier. I may be forgiven. Then one evening the master invited me on a walk. He must have known my erstwhile intentions. He led me straight to a brothel and asked if I needed to visit. He would wait outside. Naturally, once a fool, twice a fool. I denied I had any interest even as the women recognized me and called me by name.

“When I die, he said to me, a great art will die with me. Life is changing. I foresee my own death and the death of many traditions. The true art of Bakujojutsu will be lost to the Japanese. I offer it to you, to keep safe in Britain, and to save the life of someone whom you will love. We, the Japanese, and you, the British, are two great Empires. How sad, he said, that we found ourselves opposed in war. This was a great tragedy.

“Then he took me to a small house, part of a hillside, and climbing stepwise with a dozen other houses. An old matron answered the door and immediately recognized the Master. She immediately invited us inside and as her children to set mats and arranged a table with Tea and flowers. One of the children, the old woman’s daughter, stupefied me. She was petite, her long black hair was braided and she wore a Qipao. She also was affected. She could hardly bring herself to gaze at me. Her shyness exceeded politeness. When she bowed, shyly lowered her eyes, and so much as breathed, my heart and loins melted with a violent fire. I could say nothing but the Master must have known. He hardly glanced at me but the devil was in him.

“Before we left, he requested that the old matron deliver him a favorite dish.

“It’s beyond me to know how both the Master and the old woman read me. I must have been a young fool. Later that night, after the Master had brought me back to his own home, the old matron’s daughter arrived with the requested dish. Bring it in, said the Master. He scolded her harshly when she displayed the least awkwardness. The slightest departure in feminine grace exercised him. The girl’s face grew red with embarrassment. The Master approached her. Like this, he said. Move like this. He lifted her arm, he moved her hip, and as he did so he began to bind her. She soon hung from a rafter by a single rope tied between her shoulder blades. Her gasps, which had been surprised, changed. By the time he had finished, her mouth hung open and her eyelashes were heavy. The Master tore the Qipao, revealing one perfect breast. Her lifted her bound and perfect leg revealing her youthful pussy.

“She will orgasm, he said, if you untie this knot. She will be free. She will also orgasm, he said, by the feel of your semen inside her. The decision is yours. Then the Master left me alone with her. My heart beat in my chest, I can tell you. With every 12th breath the girl’s body contracted and stiffened as though with orgasm, or an orgasm that eluded her. If she could have hidden her eyes, she might have, but all was revealed. She was beautiful. Her feminine curvature transfixed me. I asked her if she wanted me to free her. I asked her in English and in Chinese. She refused to answer me. Her black eyes fixed on mine with an intensity that shamed me.

“Why was I ashamed? My pride fell away like a filthy rag. What did I know about eroticism? I knew nothing. I was a fool – witless and stupid. I wanted to understand what this man had done to the girl. I wanted to devote my life to this – this comprehension of the feminine, this understanding of a woman’s beauty, how to shape her, how to discover her – the sublimity!

“I didn’t want to touch her. I walked in circles, studying her and every knot. Spittle whetted her lips. A first glisten of moisture slid down her thigh. I touched her hip, unhindered. She closed her eyes and arched as I pressed her delicate nipple between by thumb and finger. I picked up the dish she had brought and I lifted rice to her lips. She ate, her eyes never parting from mine. I ate with her and I could not prevent our first kiss. She closed her eyes. Her taste was warm and moist. She was shaking.

“I tell you that I was blind. I threw the plate to the floor: rice, seaweed, peach scattered. It must have been midnight by that time. I remember the wedge of moonlight against the wooden floor. I remember the sound of crickets and the moist heat of the air. I tore off my clothes, literally tore them off. My hands were shaking. I was naked. I held my cock in one hand, hard as any of the knots that bound the girl, and pressed my thumb into her mouth with my other hand. She sucked. She was petite and my cock never felt larger. I spun her round and with one upward stroke I filled the flat plain of her belly.

“She gasped aloud. I was desperate. I was driven. I had never wanted a female so much in my life. I held her by the hips. I bruised her as I rammed her. Her answers to my thrusts weren’t those of girl. They were those of a young woman answering a man’s possession. I took her weight on my cock when I burst. I drove myself upward and held myself there. With the first touch of my semen inside her, she orgasmed. She was like a fish on a hook. She arched, spinning and convulsing on the thrumming length of rope. When I finally withdrew, she spun round and continued to spasm, lips parted, eyes sightless.

“I freed her.

“We made love five times again that night, there, naked, on the floor of the Master’s home. I still cannot fathom that such a slight woman could fully take a man’s cock. I impregnated her. Within a week’s time we were married. Within a week’s time a became a student of Shibari. I remained in China after my military service ended. I had a daughter but my wife and I were careful to have no more children. The terrain was becoming treacherous with the rise of Maoism. A studied for ten years before the red tide swept us in its waters. My wife supported Mao. I did not. We parted and she took our daughter.

“But the communists turned against my wife. My daughter was not a full-blooded Chinese girl. I received a letter and returned to China, resolved to rescue them. I could not have done so as a 20 year old man but by then I spoke fluent Chinese. I knew people. When I found her I can tell you that we loved each other, then, as much as the first day we met. The communists shot my wife in cold blood. They shot her in the back just as we were steps from freedom. I’ll never forget the border guard’s smile as my wife lay dying in a pool of blood.”

The old man knelt next to the young man, his eyes misting.

“I saved her life. She lived. The Master, long before his death, foresaw it. I bound her. I carried her across the border. There are ways to control the flow of blood, to slow the heartbeat and the functioning of the organs. The art of Shibari is more profound than you can imagine. I slowed her heart long enough to bring her to a hospital.” He readied one last knot. “This pattern of bondage is called the Morning Tide. When you see the sun rise, you will release your semen inside your wife. Until then, your cock must simply be inside your wife – she must simply feel it – its presence, without sexual motion. The presence of your cock, in her womb, will demand the release of her egg. The presence of a man inside a woman is powerful, Yang within Yin, and cannot be ignored. She obeys. As he pours new life into her womb, she orgasms for him.”

He turns his attention to the young woman. He readies a last knot at the small of her back, just above her tail bone. “This knot,” he says, “will allow her to orgasm when she feels your semen entering her from behind.” The old man gently lifts the young woman’s gaze with a palm under her chin. Her eyes still reveal some of her Chinese heritage. Her focus comes and goes with the pleasure of the thick weight in her belly.

“Infertility can be caused by many things,” said the old man. “But you will conceive – here, this morning. The most profound knot of all will be tied inside you. I have one condition. I don’t want your money. I want a student.”

“Sir–” The young man was dazed with the heat of his wife’s belly. “I–”

“Not you,” the old man interrupts. “Not you. Do you agree? Will you be my student.”

“Yes,” she breathes.

The old man kisses her forehead. He ties the last knot at the base of her spine.

She exhales, a deep guttural moan, and her belly dips into the shape of waiting – an empty bowl ready to be filled.

☼ William Crimson September 18 2011

Categories: Bondage, Consensual, Copulation, CP, Dominance & Submission, Erotica, First Time, Forced Orgasm, Impregnation, Insemination, RedBudTags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

11 Comments

  1. Will,
    wonderful, fascinating!
    I know a little about Shibari, I have seen pictures.
    Acupuncture and Chiropodists have been the mainstay of my treatment, so I do know a little about them, I have fairly recently heard about pressure acupuncture, though haven’t experienced it yet.
    So does Shibari have this sexual component, and connection with acupuncture, or is it purely a product of your imagination?
    If so, I envy you!
    Whatever you answer, this is brilliant, thank you.

    • “So does Shibari have this sexual component, and connection with acupuncture, or is it purely a product of your imagination?”

      Oh, I don’t know how to answer that. Let the answer be a tantalizing mystery [edit: a teasing mystery]. :-) Suffice it to say, acupuncture did not begin with needles, but with pressure points.

  2. Anonymous

    If you’re not already familiar with it, I highly recommend a movie called “Irizumi: The Spirit of Tattoo.” It’s a Japanese film (with subtitles), with an erotic premise that’s not unlike yours, and some of the most intense & erotic scenes I’ve ever seen.

    Your story made me think of it.

  3. ximenawrites

    What are you talking about, “embarrassing”?

    There’s enough in this to keep my imagination busy for days. It’s a banquet of beautiful imagery.

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