The Art of Silk Surrender- Part 12
My parents got home fine, and they, of course, fell in love with Aurora almost as quickly as I did. We were embraced as a couple as if we had been together for decades. It was such a comfortable family time, we both actually forgot what we had been through the past five days. The four of us had a fun, relaxing meal, and then took a quick, naked dip in the pool to take advantage of the last few remaining days of weather conducive to such things. At last, Aurora and I said our goodbyes and bundled our bags into the trunk of Sue’s car, and headed home.
Home. What a magical word. We were home. Only days previously, it had been Aurora’s apartment. Now it was our home. We tossed all the bags in a corner, and jumped into a long, hot, steamy shower together. I helped Aurora wash her armloads of black, satiny hair, and we felt the stress of the gargantuan changes we had been through the past week slowly disappear down the drain with the waves of sudsy water.
I wrapped her up in soft, thick towels, and we snuggled deep into the couch in the living room, and watched some mindless romantic comedy I’m sure neither one of us could remember the name of five minutes after it was finished. We laughed and cuddled at the silly ways the film tried to tug at our heartstrings, and when her hair was finally dry, we crawled into bed and fell asleep in the afterglow of some very vanilla, and yet deeply sweet and satisfying, lovemaking. In our very own bed. Home.
Monday passed almost without us noticing. We laid in bed until mid-afternoon, laughing, catching each other up on details of our lives, and letting our passions rise up and overtake us as the mood comfortably swung in that direction. Finally dragging ourselves up, suddenly ravenously hungry, we each slipped into a long, silky nightgown and padded around the kitchen together, preparing and eating a full, satisfying meal as we went along. A long walk around the neighborhood to a nearby nature trail completed our day, and we both noticed the autumn chill creeping into the air, and were grateful that we had dressed for it. We both had satin camis on under light, fall jackets, and we each tossed a silk scarf loosely around our necks, allowing us to keep the jackets cheekily open as we walked, then bundle up more tightly when we grabbed a park bench to rest from time to time.
At last, it was Tuesday. Our one-week anniversary, we roared in utter delight. We spent the day rehashing our seven days of bondage together, and getting back into the mood for the trip to the art studio that evening. We took turns tying each other to the bed completely nude, and ran satin sheets across our naked flesh to luxuriate in the pleasures of the silk massage. We went back and forth all day long about how we were going to present ourselves to Joanna, and how we planned to ultimately thank her for bringing us together. We finally put the larger issue on hold, and decided for tonight that Aurora would wrap me up and offer me to Joanna, since Joanna had more or less left Aurora to me at the end of the previous class. Turn about being fair and all that, I agreed.
After showering and drying off cozily, Aurora had me slip into my emerald green, long silk nightgown, and then grabbed my wrists and drew them around and rested them on my satin-covered backside. With two quick applications of silk scarves, my wrists and my elbows were firmly welded together, and I exhaled deeply into my sudden helplessness. She turned me around to face her again, and double-knotted a long, silk twill scarf, stuffed the thick knot between my lips, and tied the ends off behind my head. She went into her closet and produced a long, flowing hooded cape that was a warm, heavy black wool on the outside, and was lined with a deep, crimson satin to caress against the wearer’s skin. She drew it over my naked shoulders, and tied the neck shut and reinforced it with another rich, thick twill scarf. She clipped the two front buttons closed, but they were at breast and navel levels, so from above the waist on down to the floor, the cape was quite able and even likely to flap open and reveal my nightgown underneath.
She had me model my new look for her and then guided me in front of a full-length mirror so I could see myself. The thick folds of the cape managed to disguise the fact that my arms were firmly bound behind my back, but no matter how carefully I moved, the front always found a way to flip open and expose my legs in their emerald green satin-clad vulnerability. Satisfied that I was aware of how I would present myself on the journey to the studio, she decided to take one more scarf and run it across my eyes, totally blindfolding me. I felt her draw the hood up and tuck it tightly around my head. I felt the soft, rich satin lining caressing and pressing against my face, and I turned my gagged, blindfolded head around inside it to further savor the luxurious fabric against my skin. I had no idea whether or not the hood disguised the fact that I was blindfolded and gagged, but I figured that the look was not exactly going to let me “blend in” regardless of small details such as those.
Aurora guided me to a chair and sat me down in it while she got herself dressed to go. I waited patiently in my satin draped bondage, and amused myself with imagining how she was going to dress herself. After what seemed like about thirty minutes, I felt her slip sandals over my naked feet. Her firm, determined grip on my upper arm through the cloak’s material stood me up and guided me toward the front door. I swallowed hard into my gag as I realized I was about to go out in public in completely helpless bondage. True, my legs were not bound, but the fact that I was blindfolded combined with my nervousness about showing off my nightgown made dashing to safety an utterly impossible activity. I had to trust in Aurora’s discretion, vision and operational expertise to get me to the car and buckled in without creating any more “life-changing” moments than we had already had for one week.
She guided me out into the hallway, and locked the door. The point of no return. I was locked out, away from regular clothes, totally at her mercy as to what would befall me. She led me down the hall and then carefully, stair by stair, down to the ground floor and to the door to the small parking area where she had left Sue’s car. I felt and heard her open the door, and after a moment presumably to check if the coast was clear, she dragged me, admittedly with some genuine reluctance on my part, outside into the open air. There was no mistaking it. I was now outside. Bound, blindfolded, essentially naked under the heavy cloak, I was out in plain public view in the late afternoon sun. I tried to relax and keep breathing deeply, but with every tiny sound that penetrated the thick, satin lined hood, I was like a soldier hearing gunfire on the battlefield. I winced and slumped my shoulders a bit instinctively with every rustle of leaves, chirping bird or barking dog. At last, I felt her firm hands slide me into the passenger seat of the car, and she quickly belted me in, then lashed my ankles together. She eased the door shut, then I felt her slide into the driver’s seat beside me, and the engine roared to life.
It was about a twenty-minute drive to Joanna’s studio from the apartment, and I just lay back in the seat and tried to keep my face forward. Aurora helpfully gave me a running commentary on where we were, how much traffic was around us, and made a special note of anyone in a car or on foot who took an extra moment to admire my lovely caped presence. I wished I could have reclined the seat all the way down and hidden myself from view, but of course I was so thoroughly bound and strapped in, I was forced to just remain frozen in humiliated shock.
We arrived at the studio, but that was anything but reassuring since there was no such thing as the luxury of a parking lot. Aurora slid the car to a stop, and tried to comfort me that she had managed to find a spot on the right block, “not too far” from the studio building’s front entrance. I had no idea what that really meant, and my mouth went totally dry behind the knot of my gag as it finally sank in what I had let myself in for by agreeing to this. I heard her get out and close her door, then, a moment later, there was cool air on my right as the passenger door opened by my shoulder. I felt her crawl across my bound body as she reached down and untied my ankles so that I could stand up and walk. A second later, the pressure of the seat belt and shoulder strap vanished from my waist and chest, and I felt her fingers digging for my arm through the folds of the heavy cloak.
I was eased out onto the hard, rough surface of a sidewalk, and stood up as best I could, fighting off a wave of nerves that kept pressing me to double over and hide my satin swathed face from view. “Just let me guide you. Follow me, Honey,” I heard my angel hiss quietly. I heard her shut the car door and waited for the pressure on my arm to tell me what to do. My ears strained for any sound of shock or surprise from any strange voice out of the darkness, but there was thankfully nothing.
A tug on my arm, and we were off. I tried to count paces, but lost my place after one hundred and something. Apparently, “not too far” was significantly more than “right out front”. At last, I was directed to the left, and I felt the air temperature and pressure change as we went inside the building. We picked up the pace as we both became more adept at her shepherding me through my darkness, and I was quickly led to the rear stairs and up to the studio floor. I was tugged through across the threshold, and as I heard the door close behind me, I found myself sighing deeply as I let all the accumulated tension fall from my body. We had made it to the relative safety of the outer studio.
Perhaps what made me relax more than anything was Joanna’s familiar rich perfume drifting into my nostrils, and I tried to imagine what her satin outfit was this week. All the images of her danced through my head for a moment, and then, she was there.
“Oh, my. Isn’t this a very special gift?” Her soft, firm hands suddenly pressed against my chest in a warm, confident greeting, then slid up to my neck and released the twill scarf around my neck. I felt four loving hands unwrap the cloak and hood from me, and I stood bound and blindfolded in front of my Mistress and my Angel in nothing but my gloriously silky green nightgown. “Isn’t this an inspiration?” Joanna exclaimed, full of pleasant surprise. “I knew he would love this sort of thing. And looks just as sweet as I imagined he would. The color is simply stunning.”
I felt her turn me around and survey my bound body, much as she had done the very first time she had me standing naked for her at that fateful interview. She and Aurora went on and on, evaluating and analyzing my bondage, my comfort in the silk, and, of course, my rising erection underneath it. Joanna made her describe in excruciating detail our journey from home, and they both seemed a bit disappointed that it went so uneventfully. I, however, was utterly happy over that apparent fact.
At last, the women were satisfied, and I was led into the inner studio. Joanna made a quick comment to Aurora to get me changed and put me on the platform in a tight hogtie, then she would need her help for a moment in her office. I sensed her perfume drift away with her quiet footsteps, and Aurora pushed me forward in compliance to the instructions.
In a moment, my blindfold was finally removed, and I saw my bound, silk clad form staring back at myself in the mirror of the changing room. Aurora untied my gag and then gave me a deep, full kiss and hug, proud and quite turned on at how well I had been able to endure my first real test of public peril. Even before our lips parted, I felt her fingers releasing my arms from the scarves that had held them prisoner for a good hour or more now of mostly public bondage. My arms sprang forward and were finally allowed to participate in the embrace with my sweet, sexy, devilishly captivating angel.
She herself was clad in a simple satin blouse and those marvelous black leather pants. I assumed she must have had a light jacket which she had removed already. The scarf around her neck was, I figured, one of the ones that had been part of my bondage.
Her fingers slid up my chest to my shoulders and flicked the straps out so that my gown slipped by its own weight down to the floor, revealing me utterly naked and still pressing close to her warm body. I felt the cool, smooth silk of her blouse against my nipples, and my penis popped forward and rubbed happily against the warmth of the leather gripping her muscular thighs. She laughed that throaty, sexy laugh that always seemed to turn my knees to jelly, and then spun me around and pointed me toward the studio. Pushing me from behind, I was marched out and over to the waiting platform. I marveled at the feeling washing over me that I was actually less embarrassed being naked than I was while dressed in my nightgown. “Thank goodness, I’m naked.” Imagine yourself thinking that and really meaning it!
This evening, the platform was simply an open, flat, padded surface, draped in the deep, rich blue satin that seemed to suit my skin coloring so well. She sat me down on the edge and quickly bound my ankles together with the scarf from around her neck. Patting my knees pleasantly, she smiled and said, “Just to make sure you don’t run away on me with Joanna not here to supervise.” As if I had any intention or even willpower to do such a foolish thing.
Grabbing more bonds from the silk supply cabinets, she quickly returned and had me lay on my stomach across the glorious blue silk. In a flash, my wrists were once again firmly lashed and cinched behind my back, and my elbows drawn together and tightly wrapped. Tying my knees together, she spun me around on the padded satin surface so that my head was facing the main open area of the studio space. She carefully pulled my feet up and bound them to my squirming wrists, and the hogtie was complete. She took a moment to admire me in my naked predicament, and I smiled up at her. “I hope you’re joining me in this tonight. It’ll be such a turn on to imagine you all naked and hogtied right here beside me all evening long.” As an afterthought, I managed to add, “For the students, I mean.”
She just smiled enigmatically, and reached for another scarf. I opened my mouth, expecting to be gagged, but then Joanna’s confident voice wafted into the room with just a hint of urgency in its tone. “Aurora, dear. Do please come here, would you?” Aurora set the silk down beside me, shrugged her shoulders and grinned as she caressed a finger across my cheek and rose to go out. I watched her beautiful ass disappear out into the outer room, and marveled at how much she really moved like a panther, especially in those tight black leather pants, with her dark hair cascading and wafting in counterpoint to each slinking stride.
And suddenly, I was alone. I took a moment to take stock of my situation, and my feelings about it. I realized that for the first time, I was naked in the studio and completely helplessly bound, but I had not yet been gagged or blindfolded. I felt almost silly as I imagined some stranger happening in and seeing me like this. I had, particularly over the past week of one astounding bondage adventure after another, become utterly used to the fact of being helplessly tied up, but, lying there alone with all the art equipment around me felt somehow quite ridiculous. How can you explain the exquisite feeling of being so exposed, so naked, so utterly helpless? A couple of sharp noises from the other room broke me out of my reverie, and I gazed toward the door in expectation of either or both Joanna and Aurora to come bustling in and finish the preparations for the evening’s class. But . . . nothing.
I did a quick time estimation, and figured that there was still a good thirty or forty minutes before students would start arriving, but for some reason this did little to reassure me. What were they doing? Didn’t they know what time it was? Had Aurora not mentioned to Joanna that I was as yet un-gagged and not in the least blindfolded? I imagined some artist arriving a bit early and throwing the whole scheme and dynamic of the course into utter chaos. I found myself mumbling under my breath that one of them, either Joanna or Aurora, I cared not which, would hurry up and finish me up. Even laughing to myself over the idea that finishing me up meant adding to my bondage rather than giving me some sexual gratification didn’t seem to help. At last, I heard another noise in the outer room. I sighed deeply, and blurted out, “It’s about time!”
A strange, timid female voice managed to respond softly, “I’m sorry?” And at that, I nearly melted into the platform, and turned beet red with shock and embarrassment. Accompanied by the soft clicking of her shoes on the studio floor, a pink-faced woman of perhaps thirty-five poked her face in, and our eyes locked in sheer panic.
“OH!” she sputtered. “My goodness! I’m sooo sorry!” The face disappeared in terror.
I swallowed hard, and managed to choke out a reply. “Wait. Please. Come back.”
The face, even pinker, reappeared and spoke barely above a whisper. “I don’t think . . .”
“No. Please. Come in. It’s very important.”
With that, she emerged fully into the room, and stood about two feet from the doorway as if being called into the Principal’s Office. “Are you sure?” She was a pretty brunette with a nice figure, healthy but not especially toned or muscled. Perhaps 5’6” I guessed to myself from the odd angle I had to study her as she stood frozen in shock.
“Are you a student in the art class?” I mumbled. She managed to nod as if admitting to having been caught smoking in the bathroom. “I’m Danny. What’s your name?”
“Trish,” was all she could say, and even that took a supreme effort. “Well, Trish,” I continued. It was odd, but it seemed we both felt as if she were the one who was caught naked and helpless, and I was the one who was empowered to act. “It’s nice to meet you, even though I’m sure we aren’t supposed to be doing so like this tonight.”
She nodded, befuddled, and still said nothing. “Joanna seems to have been called away, and as you can tell, I haven’t been gagged or blindfolded yet. If you’ll just come over here a moment, it would be great if you could help me out.” She remained frozen in place. “Please. It’s all right. I won’t say anything. There’s scarves right here by my shoulder. Just come and sit down here and I’ll tell you exactly what to do. Please. Before any more students arrive and the whole session is ruined.”
This appeal to think of the other students must have broken through her shock, and she slowly edged forward as if approaching a chained tiger, but suspicious of the strength of its tether. A long, excruciating moment later, she finally reached the edge of the platform, and took another moment to talk herself silently into perching her bottom down on its edge.
I smiled up at her as reassuringly as I could manage. “I really appreciate this. And I really apologize for breaking the anonymity for you. I had no idea . . .”
“What’s it like?” she suddenly blurted out.
“Hmmm?” I replied in confusion.
“What’s it like? Doing what you do. I mean, this.” Her fingers touched the scarf next to her as if it were some strange, exotic creature.
“You mean, what’s it like to be naked? I’ve been nude a lot all my life, and I’ve been posing for classes for years. It’s totally natural to me. I don’t mind it a bit.”
This seemed to spur her on to dig deeper. “Don’t you feel . . . exposed? Vulnerable? Terribly embarrassed?”
“Oh, sure. A bit. Sometimes. But, it’s just like public speaking, or singing a song. You realize you’re taking a risk, revealing something about yourself, making yourself open to rejection or disapproval or being judged . . . but, you get used to it. What gets left over is a nervous desire to do a good job and be what the audience, or in this case, you artists, need me to be. Hopefully, it helps me do the best I can do for you.”
“That makes sense, I suppose. And you do.”
“A good job. You do a very good job. We all think you’re wonderful.” She blushed again at this.
“Well, thank you. I really appreciate that.”
She cleared her throat nervously. “What about . . . what about the other . . .?”
“You mean being tied up? Or . . . you mean being excited in front of you? Or, do you mean Aurora, the other model?”
She nodded shyly, and my heart just melted for her nervous curiosity. I felt she was both thoroughly embarrassed at sitting there talking with me while I was bound and naked, but I also felt she was oddly drawn to delve deeper, to really understand what it felt like to be in my place. To be the one helplessly nude.
“Yes. That. I mean, both. Or, well . . . . it seems being tied up is very erotic. What’s it feel like?”
“Well, it’s hard for me to explain. It is definitely erotic. I love being tied up. And Aurora does, too. I’d actually never been tied up before meeting Joanna last month, and now I can’t imagine a life without it being a significant part of it.”
She looked at her watch nervously, and I remembered my own need. “Please,” I repeated. “If you could just blindfold me and put my gag on. The others will be arriving soon.”
“Where’s the other model? I thought she was supposed to be part of the class from now on.”
“I don’t know. They were here, but they seem to have disappeared, and I’m really not in any position to find out what happened.” I wiggled around a bit to confirm my helplessness.
This elicited a sudden giggle from Trish, and she turned all red and then went utterly still and quiet. After a long, contemplative moment, she picked up one of the scarves, and just let it trail across her fingers and wrists distractedly. She looked at me, then looked around the empty studio as if desperately looking for something.
“What if . . .” she started, then stopped herself. Unable to resist, she started again. “What if they don’t get back in time?”
“I really have no idea. But, if you at least put my blindfold on, we won’t compromise anyone else’s identity to me. Hopefully, they’ll get back soon. The class can at least draw me for a while until then.”
She was clearly wrestling with something as if her life depended on it. “But . . . what if . . . I mean . . . We should do something.”
I was puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“We should do something. What if they don’t get back at all in time? You should always have a plan “B”. Just in case.”
“What did you have in mind?”
She dove in at last. “I think I should do it.”
“Be the second model. I think I want to do it. If I can really feel what it’s like to be . . . . as you are . . . all . . . . if I’m nude . . . I think I need to know. I . . . need to know.”
“Are you sure? I certainly don’t think you have to. We can have a good class drawing me as I am. Just blindfold me and leave my gag off. I can talk to the class. Tell them what happened.”
“No. I think I have to. Yes. I do. I have to. How does it work?”
“What do you mean?”
“How do I get . . . . naked?”
I bit my lip, trying not to giggle at this. I nodded my head in the general direction of the changing rooms. “I just go into one of the changing rooms and remove my clothes. There might be a robe to put on, but lately, I’ve just come out nude and waited to be tied up.”
She jumped at this. “But, if you’re . . . you’re like this . . . how do I get tied up?”
We stared at each other and mused on this. I was utterly dumfounded at this bizarre turn of events, and she seemed more frustrated than anything else at this point. At last, I had an idea. I silently thanked Sue for her lesson in creative bondage exercises. “If you have some paper and a pen, just write down on slips of paper various body parts and put them in a pot of some sort. If you finish me up, then you can go change, and tell the other students what happened. You can have them each in turn draw a slip of paper, and then for their turn, they have to tie up that part of your body. Then, everyone draws us, and then the next person takes another piece of paper, and adds another bit to your bondage. At the end of the class, if Joanna still isn’t back, they can untie you. You can wait ‘til they all go, then get dressed and before you go, you can release my hands so I can let myself loose and close up. That way, you’re perfectly safe with your classmates, and I still don’t know anyone else in the program. And . . . you don’t have to worry about me . . . doing anything, uh, inappropriate with you.”
She giggled like a schoolgirl at this, and said nothing else besides, “We should hurry.” She pulled a small notepad from her purse, and we spent a minute or so writing down various things like wrists, ankles, knees, gag, blindfold, elbows, breasts (!), waist and hogtie, and she eagerly folded them all up, slipped off her shoe and stuffed them inside it.
Taking a quick look at her watch again, she suddenly panicked, jumped up and ran into one of the dressing rooms. I tried to call her to blindfold and gag me, but it was too late.
She apparently threw off her clothes in a mad rush to overcome her last bit of shy resistance, because it was less than a minute later that she reappeared before me stark naked. She looked very soft and round compared to Aurora and Joanna, whom I have not actually seen naked of course, and she reminded me a bit of Linda, only less toned. I was still thinking she was about thirty-five, but she seemed suddenly remarkably comfortable in her own skin under the circumstances. Her natural cuteness was exponentially magnified by the heady battle of excitement and nervous guilt raging in her gently heaving breast. Had my heart been available at that moment, I might well have been lost.
She slid her naked bottom onto the satin beside me again, and I watched her close her eyes for a moment, clearly enjoying the rush and the caress of her suddenly naked state against the soft, smooth fabric. She opened her eyes and looked down at me gazing up at her nudity, and she shivered a bit in embarrassment, but then smiled at the thrill of our shared adventurousness.
I tried one last time. “Now, Trish, please. For goodness sakes, would you please blindfold me. You can get more scarves and belts from the cupboards over there for your own bondage. But, I’m begging you. Blindfold me before it’s too late.”
At last, this seemed to penetrate through her processing of all the myriad sensations overwhelming her, and she nodded and picked up the scarf again. I stretched my neck up to give her the best angle at my face, and she carefully folded up the scarf into a triangle, then over and over until she had a smooth, flat roll. She held it to my face; I closed my eyes, and finally felt the soft, silken scarf tighten around my head, and I was able to relax again. She knotted it reasonably firmly behind my head, and I relaxed forward again to take the pressure off my neck.
“Thank you. Now, do you know how to pack my mouth with the gag?” I realized she must’ve shook her head, then slapped herself for being so silly. She giggled and spoke, ”No.”
“Just take one of the scarves and bundle it up so there are no loose corners that can get caught down my throat. Stuff it into my mouth by pressing down my tongue, then packing it to each side so my cheeks get filled. Then, take another scarf and put it across my mouth just the way you blindfolded me. So I can’t push the packing scarf out with my tongue, or it doesn’t fall out by accident.”
“Okay.” I felt her fingers on my lips, and I opened my mouth for her. She actually did quite well packing my mouth, and I tried to stretch my body arching up to help her get a good angle while she wrapped and tied off the over-the-mouth scarf. I had just time to sink back down with my chin on the platform as I felt her body go all tense beside me. There was a noise in the outer room. Students were arriving. I felt the familiar sensation of the heavy satin cover being thrown hurriedly over my hogtied nudity, and adjusted myself to await my unveiling again.
Trish jumped up, full of nervous energy, and it felt like she rushed over toward the studio door. She must have felt the best thing to do was to greet everyone as they came in, and explain right away exactly why she had no clothes on.
As I processed the rising tide of excited voices in the other room, my thoughts drifted to a real concern for what had happened to Joanna and my Aurora. As I lay there in my, finally (!), blindfolded hogtie, listening to the emotions rise and fall in the next room, as the students slowly drifted into the studio, and saw my satin-draped form on the stage, and felt Trish’s thrilled hyperactivity, it finally dawned on me that this was exactly what Joanna had intended.
I hadn’t thought to ask her at the time, but I suddenly was sure that Joanna had requested Trish arrive a tiny bit early to “help out”. I was suddenly certain the eager student was under the impression that she had volunteered to be naked quite spontaneously, but the whole thing had Joanna’s fingerprints all over it. And the way I had been primed to beg desperately for a complete stranger to make me, already naked and bound tightly, even more helpless! My voice echoed in my mind, “Blindfold me! For God’s sake, blindfold me, please!” It made perfect sense at the time, and yet suddenly I felt so utterly, unabashedly silly.
I smiled into the packing of my gag, marveling at how Joanna was such an expert at guiding people to revealing and embracing their innermost passions, and then I settled in and awaited the beginning of the class.
Where was the evening headed? I admitted to myself I had absolutely no idea. And, it was a wonderful, strangely reassuring feeling. How odd, how truly odd indeed.
more in part thirteen if people like it . . . . .
story continues in The Art of Silk Surrender 13