The Art of Silk Surrender - Part 3
In part two, I was left posed in the first art class, bound naked to a padded post awaiting my state to be revealed to the unseen, unknown members of the erotic exploration project.
As the silk drapery which had been covering me as if I were a marble statue fell away, I presumed at the hands of my teacher Joanna, I felt an incredible wash of sensations flow through my entire nude body and radiate outward across the stunned students. Despite them being briefed as to what they should expect from the class, I felt the vision of my erotically imprisoned circumstance plow through them as a tidal wave of shocked emotion, leaving them literally gasping for breath. I, of course, was still totally blindfolded, so I was forced to project my hearing and my feeling for the energy of the room out into the darkness of my world as I tried to envision who they were, what they looked like, and how my bound form was confronting their sensual repressions.
At just the right moment, I heard the musical but firm and commanding tone of Joanna’s voice overwhelm the chaotic sensations as she began to teach.
“Class, I want you to pick up your charcoal and begin to draw. Draw, people. Draw. Don’t think, don’t judge, don’t analyze. Just let your fingers draw what you see. And, don’t put labels on what it is that you are seeing. I realize it is a naked man, bound to a post with satin scarves, and that he is obviously extremely aroused by what he is feeling, but that is irrelevant to what I want you to do. You see light, you see shadows, you see lines and curves, you see textures and colors. Draw what you SEE!”
I felt her soothing tone break through the shock, and the students were able to begin to draw.
“That’s it. That’s it. Don’t think. Just draw it. No labels. No morality. Shapes, shadows and light. Very good. Very good. Don’t stop. Draw. Draw!”
As I listened to her voice wash over the group, I began to let it soothe my jangling nerves as well. I realized that I had been holding my breath ever since the satin cover had been slid away from me, and I emptied my lungs as silently and softly as I could, trying not to disturb the work Joanna was doing to get the artists to stay focused on their work. My thoughts drifted back to the way she referred to me as a naked man bound to a post and being extremely aroused by it, and was finally brought back to the awareness of my straining cock, bobbing and waving in the air in a desperate and fruitless search for anything to contact. My entire body flushed at this knowledge. Despite my having been a nude model for several years, this was the very first time anyone had ever seen me in a public situation with a raging erection, and I have to admit it was more of a shock to me than I had anticipated.
I tried to breathe softly and deeply, letting my jangled nerves be soothed by the constant, lilting of Joanna’s voice as she exhorted her charges to stay focused and to draw me without judgment. I felt, slowly, able to get control of my embarrassment, and noticed that my stimulation was calming down in equal measure. Gradually, I felt my penis soften and sink down, until it was resting, still semi-hard, skimming the surface of my upper thighs.
Suddenly, Joanna shifted gears, and sang out in a very firm tone. “That’s time! Right, now, you all see your easels have been numbered at the top vertex. Number One, I want you to take your pad and go sit on the edge of the platform. Everyone else, start a new sketch and begin again. Number One, as will be required of each of you in turn, you are to focus on a specific part of the model’s pose and draw it in the same manner as before. We will switch every three minutes, and when I call time, go back to your easel, and begin a new sketch as the next artist moves forward. Begin!”
I felt my entire body stiffen, and my penis of course also came back to life, as I sensed the unseen art student slide their body nervously onto the edge of the platform just inches from my feet.
Joanna continued. “Draw. You are here to draw, keep drawing. By the end of the class, I want you to have drawn this pose so many times you could reproduce every curve, every line, every shadow with your eyes as blinded as the model’s are. Keep drawing!”
I could hear the student’s breath fighting their nerves at my feet, and I desperately tried to assess some character from the sounds, but it was utterly hopeless. It might have been a woman, a man, young or old, their shallow, edgy panting mere inches from my exposed, straining erection gave me not a single clue to their identity. I felt my head instinctively turning as much as it could, as my unseeing eyes tried to penetrate the darkness for any information about the soul so close to me, yet separated by the chasm of my bondage and my role in this sensual exploration. What had I gotten myself into?
It had been one thing, one magnificent experience, to be bound and caressed by the masterful, assured touch of Joanna herself, but now that I was trapped and awash in the chaotic, struggling emotions of the entire group of repressed artists, I found myself absorbing every molecule of their wrestling match, and yet knew I was literally bound and without any capacity to control the situation on my own. I would feel what I would feel, I would experience what I would experience, and there was not a single thing I could do about it. And what I was feeling, experiencing, unable to escape from was the tense, bottled up erotic repression of the group’s inner battle with what the sight of me was provoking in them. And, as thoroughly gagged as I was, I couldn’t cry out or even moan in a way that would be interpreted as anything but excitement.
“Time! Number Two, come forward.” Joanna was firm, calm and efficient. Number One and I both let out a heavy breath as they got up and escaped the forced intimacy of our shared confusion, and immediately I was aware of Number Two sliding in at my feet to take One’s place.
As they did, they let out a bit of a gasp which sounded particularly female, and this conclusion led my penis to bob even more enthusiastically. It began to dawn on me that, as Joanna had described it, this one rotation would consume the entire allotted time for the class session, so I was left to conclude that there would be no touching involved in this first encounter with my naked presence.
As this fact began to sink in, I became overwhelmed by the desire for exactly that to happen. There I was, nude, bound to a satin covered post by rich, silk scarves, blindfolded and gagged in front of what must have been two dozen strangers, with one of them, a woman of unknown characteristics, directly at my feet, and I began straining at my bonds, aching with every muscle for this creature to reach up and give me enough stimulation to let my passions explode in a thundering orgasm of blessed relief.
But, this was not to be.
“Time. Number Three.” Joanna’s voice penetrated not only my darkness, but my desperation as well. She somehow was able to find a perfect balance between soothing, musical flow, and the detached, professional command of a highly seasoned director. As the next artist slid in at my feet, I began to stop aching for information as to their identity, and started to reach out with my feelings to create some sort of emotional connection with them. I slowly found my focus slipping away from the state of my penis, and began caring more about what they were thinking and feeling, and how they were translating those sensations and observations of our relationship onto their sketchpad.
At last, I managed to fully embrace the familiar sensation of being a model. I let my breath calm fully down, and stopped caring at all whether my cock was hard or soft, or calm or dancing its desperate, insane strivings. I was a model, they were artists, and they were just drawing shapes and shadows, just as Joanna had been instructing them to do.
I slipped into a more meditative state, and allowed the procession of students at my feet to carry on, almost like the presence of soft, white puffy clouds on a pleasant, summer afternoon. Drifting in, drifting away, as the sun still shone and warmed my naked skin.
I found, as in my audition session alone with Joanna, I was able to find a way to refocus the intensely erotic stimulation in my groin and spread it evenly through my entire body, as if slowly, inexorably building to some future, unimagined transcendent orgasm involving every cell of my being all at once. It was as if I was floating on a sea of erotic joy, and I felt I could sustain it as long as required without that sense of urgency overwhelming it anymore.
Was this happiness? If it wasn’t, it might have even been something better.
Drifting in my own sightless world, floating on the musings of these thoughts and feelings, I almost didn’t hear Joanna as she called the session to a close and gave her final instructions for the students to digest the class. I listened to her siren song without caring what words she was using. She was reassuring them. That was all. The words were unimportant. She was saying what needed to be said that the students would touch a tiny bit of the astonishing vulnerability balanced with utter safety that somehow had become my entire world.
I mused on this happily for some long moments, until suddenly, I felt the satin drapery slide across my naked skin. My whole body jumped in sensual shock, as I felt Joanna’s expert hands guide the silk all across my body, yet somehow managing to avoid my bobbing penis completely. I felt the cocoon of satin settle down surrounding me once more, and I knew the class was over.
I communed with my thoughts for a time, sniffing in the heavy air warming up around me underneath the cover, until I reached out my feelings, and felt that I was alone in the studio. I assumed Joanna was out in the waiting room, sending off the class with final instructions for the next session, and I allowed myself to sink back into the satin padding of my post, in an odd way utterly satisfied.
I felt rather than heard Joanna’s footsteps approaching me at last out of the darkness, and did hear her slip off her shoes again and step up toward me on the platform. My satin shroud was slid carefully away yet again, and I felt her glorious essence engulfing me once more.
Her perfume flooded seductively into my lungs as she bent right in and whispered into my right ear.
“You were wonderful.”
With these three words going off in my head like depth charges, it all went out the window in a flash. The sudden, desperate urgency flooded back into my groin, and my penis sprang back to attention and began its frantic searching yet once more.
Her laughter sang out like a flock of nightingales as she obviously registered this development. I felt her silky fingers enclose my penis confidently, and she gave it a couple of soft caresses.
“Yes,” she giggled. “You were wonderful, too, my pretty young friend. Utterly captivating, and yet extremely well-behaved.”
She released me again, and I felt her soft breath right in front of my gagged, blindfolded face.
“Do you trust me, Danny?”
I nodded softly, trying to focus on her voice rather than the renewed fire in my groin.
“It’s very important that you trust me,” she continued. “However much you might think differently from time to time, this is an art class, not an orgy. I am completely sensitive to what you are going through, but I am utterly committed to my professional goals for the program. And that means . . . I am not crossing the line. Do you understand me, my sweet young man?”
I believed that I did. She was going to use my feelings, all of them, for her students, and it was not for me to expect that I would be relieved of the frustrations raging in between my legs. At least, not by this goddess of a creature suddenly dominating my every thought as well as every cell of my body.
I nodded softly again.
“Trust me, Danny,” she went on. “I’m not here to torture you, either. If you can continue doing as wonderfully as you have been doing, all will be revealed in the proper time. Can you do that, Danny? Can you give everything to me, into my care, your heart, your body, your passions? And know that I will not let you down?”
I smiled nervously behind my gag, and nodded yet once more.
I felt her fingers behind my head, and suddenly my blindfold was removed. After hours of darkness, it was a moment as my vision adjusted to see her radiant face gazing into my eyes, full of a kind of love I had never imagined before. Our eyes locked together, and her fingers continued their work, releasing my gags, and finally unpacking my mouth, giving me back the power of speech at last.
Before I could say a word, however, Joanna bent in the last few inches and nestled her warm lips onto mine in a kiss of trust, kindness, devotion and encouragement. We remained in a communion of lips for a timeless moment, then she slowly broke away and moved behind me, trailing her fingers across my cheek as she slid across the silk of the stage. I felt myself being released, bond by bond, belt by belt, scarf by scarf, until all that remained was the original binding of my wrists behind the post. As that final scarf fell away, she moved forward again and faced me.
She pressed her satin clad body into my naked one, and wrapped her arms around me in a very soothing, and admittedly highly stimulating, embrace. She held me a moment, then broke free again, and ran her soft, silky fingers all over my body as if somehow switching on my every muscle, giving me control of my body back to me after such a long time helplessly bound and under her spell.
Stepping back at last, she turned back to her office, slid her shoes back on, and strode away. “Be a dear and fold all the materials away into the wardrobe on the left, would you?” she tossed gaily over her shoulder.
What else could I do? And anyway, that was where she had hidden the burgundy robe, so I was eager to slide back into it as I remembered the fact. I gathered up all the satin paraphernalia, and padded over to the wardrobe.
Opening it, I was presented with an astonishing collection of silks and satins, some folded on shelves, some hanging alongside my robe. I wanted to dive into the ocean of the lustrous fabrics and drown myself in their sensuous glory. It was all I could do to force myself to delicately, sensually fold up each scarf or belt, one by one, and return it to its probable home. I saved the satin drapery for last, and took extra care to let it slip and slide all over my naked skin as I gathered and folded it up into a neat bundle for storage. Done at long last, I reached up to get the robe, but found my fingers pulling out an emerald green gown instead.
As I realized my mistake, I suddenly felt a sharp smack on my naked bottom, and jumped in shock to find Joanna standing right behind me.
“Naughty boy! Did I say you could touch that?” she chided with a gorgeous grin from ear to ear.
I smiled sheepishly, and for some reason, handed the gown to Joanna.
“You silly boy. If you like this so much, I just might make you wear it home tonight, hmmm?” She caressed my chin with her now characteristic pet greeting, and laughed again.
Without further prompting, or possibly to escape that embarrassing fate, I grabbed the robe from the cabinet, and, not even bothering to put it on, dashed naked across the studio to the changing room, to the accompaniment of her musical laughter the whole way.
I hung up the robe on its original hanger, threw on my clothes, and emerged once more, only to find that Joanna had retreated into her office again. Apparently, I had been dismissed for the night.
I called out a soft goodbye politely, and neither expected nor received a response. As before, I ushered myself out into the night, and, upon encountering the cooling evening air, used my erotic frustration to power myself into a mad dash all the way home. I must admit, to nobody’s surprise I’m sure, I tore straight to my bedroom, ripped off my clothes again, wrapped on my own blindfold and stimulated myself to the thundering orgasm I had been denied all evening. Collapsing into a euphoric afterglow, I drifted off to sleep, and dreamt of Joanna. All night long.
The week until the second class literally flew by, as I could not get the sense memories out of my head, or the anticipation of what might happen next out of my stomach. As you can imagine, I arrived well early again, and found this time Joanna waiting for me inside.
She emerged from the inner studio, with a heavy screwdriver in her hand. It seemed so utterly out of place when compared to her outfit of a pale green satin dress with flowing skirts, and a blouse that had a vaguely military style, with epaulets and pockets and a high collar that she wore open to show off her glorious collarbones. Her blonde mane was again pulled back into a soft but well-ordered ponytail, and it was tied off in a bit of satin belting that matched her dress. Her eyes shone with warmth as she realized it was me, and she saw the heavy tool in her hand and laughed.
“Oh, just doing a few final constructions for your pose tonight. I’m glad you’re early. I wanted to coach you on it a bit before we ran out of time.”
“No problem. I’ll do whatever you want,” I said, trying not to show my unbridled eagerness. “Do you want me to help set up before it’s too late this week?”
“Oh no,” she giggled. “It’s all done. I try my best to plan ahead.”
She set the screwdriver down on a shelf and took my hand. Without another word, she led me back into the studio and let me digest the changes that had been made.
The platform, my platform, had been shifted into the very center of the main space, and twenty four easels – I counted them to be sure for once – were surrounding it like in an old Western where the Indians had lain siege to a group of wagons circled in defensive terror. As well, my padded post had disappeared once more, only to be replaced by two four by four posts, one bracketed on each side of the stage. Also, they stood in harsh, bald contrast in their raw, unfinished glory to the soft, satin draped platform I had been used to. I couldn’t help but notice as well there were two heavy steel rings bolted into each post, one at each top, and the other about six inches above the satin stage covering.
Joanna watched me take this all in for a moment, then finally spoke. “I’ll bet your imagination is doing backflips, isn’t it, Sweetie?”
“Kind of. It seems a lot more severe than last week. I really enjoyed being bound so firmly to the padded satin post.” I was regretting the loss of that feeling already, trying to re-form it in my mind, as my naked body struggled and caressed itself against the satin prison of the previous week.
She pressed on, unheeding my sense of loss. “Well, there’s a lot to be done. Off you go and get changed.” She patted my backside assertively, and I scurried over to the change room. As I was removing my clothes, I suddenly noticed that my robe wasn’t hanging on its usual place. Once I was naked, there was nothing to do but step nervously out into the starkly lit studio and approach Joanna tentatively.
“Um, the robe wasn’t there, so I . . .” I mumbled by way of apologizing for my nudity.
“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, I just thought it was such a wasted step, having you put it on then take it off two seconds later. I know you love it, but I think the added sense of exposure will put you in a better place to give me what I want in this pose. Come here to me now.”
Her voice was not so soft, and had an edge I had not heard before. I let her guide me up onto the platform, and was positioned at the center of the stage right in between the two upright posts.
Without any further ceremony, Joanna took my right wrist and looped a long satin belt around it, leaving several feet of silk on both ends of the loop. I thought, as she proceeded to do the same with my other wrist and another belt, that it would mean there would be no knots anywhere near my potential grasp. Little did I know how right I was.
I watched with a rising sense of dread as she bent down and did the very same thing with each of my ankles. As she encircled my last limb, I felt a palpable chill run up my spine despite the warmth of the studio air. Satisfied, she patted me on the inner part of my calves, and commanded, “Feet apart. Far as they can go.”
I scooted my feet about three feet apart, and she grabbed the loose ends of one belt and guided them over to the lower ring of the adjoining post, and firmly lashed them through it. Working quickly, she slid over to my other side, and proceeded to do the same with my other foot, stretching me apart almost another eight or ten inches before lashing me in tightly. I was now standing with my legs almost four feet spread wide, and was helplessly trapped in this unstable, very uncomfortable position.
“Okay?” she mumbled as she stood, not really expecting anything other than an obedient, “Yes, Ma’am.” which I dutifully supplied. Taking my wrist belts, she did the same with each arm, leaving me stretched completely wide and taut, and feeling more naked and exposed than I had ever done in my life.
“Test it, please,” she commanded. I did. I was trapped. There was no way I could even shift around a bit. The most I could do was wobble a bit forward or backward, but, now that my arms were secured, I was not only not going to tip over, I was not going anywhere until someone released me. The loops fashioned around each of my ankles and wrists were soft and smooth against my skin, but that only served to make their grip all the more inescapable. I could gain no friction to work them, I was held in their soft, yet utterly merciless grasp. I looked longingly at the knots which were my only release, and they were several feet away from my wriggling fingers.
At last, I spoke. “This is intense. Much more than last week.”
“As I said.” She was as unyielding as the bonds. “Can you handle it?”
“Yes,” I found myself blurting out. “Whatever you need. I trust you completely.”
She laughed. “It’s not as if you have much to say about things at this stage even if you felt differently, hmmmmm?”
“No. I guess not.” I was a bit chagrined at her tone.
She reached up and caressed my chin. “There, there, my pet. You’ll be fine. Your muscles will adjust and you’ll learn to love it as much as the others.” I found myself wondering if she meant the other poses, or if she was referring to other pets she had tied up this way. I didn’t want an answer.
Her voice softened even further, and I was more reassured. “Oh, my darling boy. I know I’ve given you a bit of a start, but I need you to have a bit of an edge to your passions this week. I can’t have the students thinking it’s all about you and your guilty pleasures, can I?”
Not sure at all what she meant, I just shook my head. She sensed my confusion, and continued. “I mean, tonight, they will be touching you. I want you in a strenuous enough pose that it won’t seem that it’s all about how aroused you can get. It’s about you and your naked truth. You are utterly, totally helpless and exposed. They can, and will, see, draw and touch you from every angle. There will be nothing that is hidden or held back. Your muscles will ache, your body will sweat, and they will know a deeper reality than simple erotic excitation. It is the next step for them, and for you, and we will all move forward together. Tonight.”
I swallowed hard at the thought of being suspended this way all evening, but I nodded to her, and tried as best as I could to ease the strain on my shoulders that was already developing.
She picked up a black satin scarf, and began to roll it. “Ready for the blindfold?”
I nodded and closed my eyes and felt it slide across my face and grip my head as she tied off the ends behind my head. “Open, please, Danny.” I accepted my gagging without further ado, and I felt that my surrender was again complete.
I heard her rustling about all around me, and then my heart leapt as I felt the familiar caress of the satin covering being dragged across my stretched, naked body. I both loved its soft, luxurious touch, but also I knew it signaled that my work was to begin very, very soon, and a part of me dreaded it more than I had imagined. Only a week ago, I had stood on this stage and, had I not been gagged, would have begged someone, anyone to touch me, just to touch me. Now that I knew it would happen in a few short moments, I was worried. Strangers would be touching me, poking me, kneading my nude flesh, caressing my straining muscles, massaging my most private areas. And not only strangers, but unseen, unknown beings.
Women, perhaps elderly ones, perhaps gorgeous, young fashionistas or plain, bookishly gawky ones. Or all of the above. Did it matter, when all I would feel would be their probing, testing fingers?
And men. There would be men. How would a man’s touch be different than a woman’s? Would he be sympathetic to my plight and not torment my frustrations, or would he boldly grab me as if I were his own self, and feel the devilish desire to watch me explode in a burst of half passion and half humiliation? And, how did I feel about letting a man have this potential power over me? I had never felt the desire for a man’s touch, certainly not bound, naked and helpless in the face of it. If I knew it was a man’s hands, his firm, roughened fingers, or even tender, gentle, considerate ones, would it excite me, or would it turn me cold?
And, what of my rear? Would that be left private, or was anything, everything available for exploration? I had never let anything up my anus before, and now I was positioned such that it seemed almost inevitable. Would I lose my rear virginity at the hands of some unseen soul merely investigating my reactions to their probing?
All perfectly sensible questions. All of which were likely to be given answers in a few short moments from right now.
I felt the satin cover settle around me, this time stretched across the expanse of the stage like a theatrical curtain rather than a statue covering. I tried to calm myself in the thickening air underneath the sheeting as I mused on how such a simple tie with only four thin satin belts had left me so utterly exposed and so completely trapped.
I felt Joanna move in to me and press herself against my helpless body.
“Remember, my sweet boy. Trust me. You must always, always trust me.”
I tried my best to chant those words to myself as I felt her descend from the platform and heard her footsteps move out into the waiting room. Again, I attempted to find some way to contort my body into a more comfortable angle, but again, I realized that it was hopeless.
Suddenly, I remembered that she had said that we had much to go over before class, and that she had proceeded immediately to tie me up and leave me. What was going on? As I felt a pang spasming in between my shoulder blades, I figured it out. She had needed to do me up so quickly because she wanted me to be already in significant distress from the strain before the students even arrived. I calculated that I had come over an hour early, and she had taken perhaps ten minutes to trap me this way. Allowing for settling in and prep time, it would be at least another hour before I would even be unwrapped. Figure on two hours for the session, and then more time to pack up, I would be stuck like this for upwards of four solid hours without relief. Any sort of relief. Or . . . . . . . ?
My fingers instinctively panicking, they searched and grasped at the slippery silken belts for any sort of grip, some slim possibility that my Joanna had overlooked, some tiny window of hope for my flagging spirits to latch on to. But, there was nothing. My freedom had been erased as if it had never existed. I kicked at my ankle straps, but they held firm, even tightened a bit as if just to spite my desperate struggles. I groaned into my gag, but the sound merely echoed in my mind, never penetrating the soft seal that held me perfectly speechless. Could I shake my blindfold loose? Would that compromise the session and force her to release me? It held fast, and I felt that she tied the blindfold and gag layers in such a way as they couldn’t possibly slip no matter how hard I thrashed or shook or trembled. So simple. So fast and quick. And I was hers, hers to be used for purposes that were never meant to satisfy me, only others. How would I escape? How would I survive? Did I even really want to escape? Her touch, her power over me seemed absolute, and absolutely seductive in its exotic, erotic grip over my deepest, most unknown and untouched passions.
I swallowed hard against the silk packing of my gag, allowed myself to sag quietly against the inescapable grip of my satin bonds, and prepared to await my fate.
story continues in The Art of Silk Surrender 4
o0o