Saturday: Tortures of Edo Japan

February 9th, 2015

It started in the room… no, it really started weeks ago. Him dropping hints, having secret conversations, building things in private. He had Plans for our weekend. Saturday, he said, the monster was coming to play.

Then it started in the room. He wanted consent, so he told us his plans. Showed us a picture. Pulled out the kneeling “mat” he had made (omg that looks horribly painful… but I’m curious), and the beating stick – bamboo wrapped in burlap and cotton rope. He hit us with it a few times, she tried kneeling on the mat (I don’t want to start the pain so early, so I don’t). He showed her the pole he wanted to suspend her from. What else did we want to try? I like the shrimp tie (ebizeme, she corrects), and I’d like to try the mat, and yes, please hit me with the stick. It’s a really great stick, so deep and thuddy. We finalized our plans and head downstairs.

We find a spot, he goes to settle himself as we stretch. He returns, shoos people out of our space. Grabs me first, spinning me around, I assume the position – arms crossed behind my back. She pipes in, asking him for me, to put the blanket down before I sit, he agrees. He wraps the ropes roughly, keeping me tight against him, as I sink quickly in to rope space. Breathing in the scent of him, and the brand new rope, as we go. A simple box tie, just one wrap at the top, and two kunukis. His hand going behind the center of the chest wraps feels like it is crushing my chest, wtf, but it is gone just as quickly as he finishes the tie.

He sets out the blanket now, forcing me down, and I cross my legs. He ties the ankles quickly, wrapping up and around the back of my neck, pulling me down tightly, hooking in so the cinching lines are tight up against the sides of my neck. I keep breathing, it’s okay, I tell myself, it’s not against my windpipe. Relax. And then he shoves me back, up onto my talibone, head and shoulders against the wall. WTF? Oh, this’ll be interesting. No relaxing here. And then the burlap sack goes over my head (ooh hood, I like hoods) and I close my eyes to settle in as he goes to start her scene. Occasionally rocking and scooting tiny bits, trying to get further up my back to relieve the pressure.

He comes to me now and then, smacking with a small piece of bamboo, causing squeals and more scooting. I think he has her kneeling now, as the hits are coming more frequently, and I can hear her reacting, too. Voices murmur nearby, commenting on our scene, both famliar and not. Cracks of the bamboo have me squealing and yipping. Thuds of the stick make me moan. Stabbing with the far end of the bamboo have me screaming until he pulls it away. Long, hard screams as he digs it into my flesh.

Wait, I can’t breathe, I start to panic, gasping, no I can, it’s just thick, calm down. I get my breath back just before he starts hitting me again. Screams and squeals and moans. When he stops, panic sets in again as I try to take deep breaths. My eyes are open now, just to prove to myself that it’s just burlap over my head. Hole-filled burlap, plenty of space. I calm the panic, deep breaths. It’s okay. More hits and screams and moans. He’s gone again, replaced by panic. Stop it, you’re fine, I tell myself, squirming at the bag, scooting down the wall. My arms are on the floor now, so much better. See, look you’re fine, I tell myself. Deep breaths. More hits, more stabbing pain, more squeals and screams. I don’t know how long this goes on (I find out later that after she was tied, it was 25 minutes), but the cycle keeps repeating.

Until the panic wins. Until it doesn’t go away, even when he’s hitting me. And I start sobbing. Hard wracking sobs take over my body. And he pulls the burlap away. Oh gods! Fresh air! Lungfuls and lungfuls of fresh air. He pulls me down to sitting again, and quickly unties my and chest. I lean against him a little bit, and then he goes to get her off the mat and untied. Returning to me to finish.

People are talking at me and I’m responding, but I don’t remember what was said. I am shaking, and hugging myself, they are bouncing with energy. Ready to go on to the next. We have to wait though, for a point to put her up on. So, we talk. He tells her how long she knelt. I tell him about the chest, and the burlap, someone comments on watching me panic. We move our stuff over to near the point as the scene comes down, ready to go again.

He has to focus on her, so he’s going to put me down, and then I can get up when I need to. Okay, I’d like to try the bamboo gag, I tell him. We start with a simple box tie again. Then the gag, I forget to grab it with my teeth and he pulls to hard. I made sounds of protest as it pulls my lips to breaking, and he lets up. Bite it, he says. And I do and he finishes tying it off. He puts me down on the mat, and I glance up at her, standing nearby. Damn, this sucks. She nods. He ties a blindfold around my eyes and reminds me to get up when I need to. Then heads over to start the suspension.

My upper lip and teeth are bone dry already. I start to drool – oh yeah, that’s the other reason I don’t like gags. Dammit, nothing to be done, though, drool is the least of my problems. Man, my shins hurt. Pointy triangular slats poking the bone every couple inches. Thank gods he smoothed them down from sharp points. I lean forward, she’s right, the ankles are the worst, putting all the pressure at the top of my shins, head sitting on the floor support of the suspension rig. I hear him comment about it, but I cannot reply. Damn gag.

Then the real problem starts. My hips are on fire. Apparently the tie wasn’t the best lead up to this scene. Damn. I sit back up. Nope, that’s not any better. I try to relax into the pain, but this isn’t good pain. This sucks. I curl back down again. Trying to move the weight off my hips. No, this isn’t going to work. Back up, what happens if I kneel up? I only start to when I realize this will put my kneecaps into the triangles, no efing way. Back down again.

I’m frustrated now. I know I can stay here longer, if my shins were the only problem. He comments on me drooling, you know, someone else still has to kneel on that. I don’t make a sound, the gag keeps me from even grinning. Nothing I can do about the drooling. Stupid hips, stupid stupid hips. I try shifting my arms, rubbing my hips, trying to find a spot to make them feel better. To no avail. I know I cannot stay here, I know he doesn’t want me to injure myself, or endure bad pain.

So, I rock back and off. Sitting on the floor, I’d so recently asked a blanket to be put down on. But I don’t think about this just yet. I am mad at my hips. I just sit and fume for a few minutes. A scene is over, I want to kneel, but no, still can’t do that. Stupid hips.

Now, I remember that I don’t want to be sitting on this floor, and stand. I put my back to the wall. Stand there in the box tie, blindfolded and still drooling. I hear him put a third person on the mat. I know the suspension is up by now. My throat is so damn dry. I want to see the suspension, I open my eyes and can see some light at the bottom of the blindfold. I lift my head, but the bamboo pulls tighter on my mouth. I relax, sink into the ropes around me.

No, I really want to see, so I lift my head just long enough to catch a glimpse of how she’s tied and then drop my head again. Ow, but nice tie. I sink back into my ropes. Trying to ignore the drool dripping down my dress. Once tilting my head back to try and swallow some to wet my increasingly dry throat. I do like this gag, breathing is just fine, there is no moment of panic. But damn, the dryness of winter.

He finishes the suspension, and comes to let me out. Pulling the gag and blindfold and boxtie. You’ve drooled all over my new rope. I just smirk at him. Not my fault. I tell him that my hips are stupid and the shrimp tie was not my best choice leading into the kneeling scene. Then he unties her and I help put the ropes away. We try out the bottom side of the mat, the sharp pointy side. Damn, it’s such a good thing he sanded down the points on the other side. The tortures of Edo Japan are a huge success.

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