Tokyo bondage
I twist, and feel the rope bite into my elbows. I count the heartbeats throbbing away, fading slowly, softly. If it weren't for the sound of blood's rush in my ears, I would not know if it existed. My eyes are taped shut, but so long ago that I have come to accept that my eyes no longer open. I faintly remember my discomfort, my mouth straining at an object that filled my mouth from within yet still touched my lips. Once this caused me to salivate uncontrollably, much to my owner's dismay. Hanging me by the spreader bar caused the spittle to back into my mucous membranes, stinging, burning. But my mouth is now dry, and I have no sensation of fighting an object that gave yet does not tear. Occasionally, I would feel the slightest of breezes on my skin, the most sensitive part, the ones constricted by clothing by day. I know not what is their cause, nor do I feel them on my face. I hear nothing, and have heard nothing for an eternity and then some. What once was warmth, and the soft tendrils of lambswool that encased my head have become soaked with my sweat, the salty juices of excitment and anticipation. After time, a concept that now exists only in my mind, the water and the wool have warmed and now are my skin.
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