Beautiful Bondage

And that’s exactly what they did. After the master and three of his prized art students had arrived and settled themselves in three different areas of the periphery, the two young men representing the East began to regain the dignity of the East by putting it to the bound West. Shinjuto was sitting cross-legged, in an elegant heavily brocaded vermillion kimono behind a sketching easel. Beside him sat a younger man, of maybe nineteen or twenty, and achingly beautiful—but with a melancholy aspect. He handed implements and inks to the elder Shinjuto upon command, and, when not doing this, he was sketching with rice paper pad and charcoal. Every time I looked at him, I found him slack jawed and watching me intently. I knew he wanted me. But I equally knew that he wanted me to fuck him.

Another of the students was busily moving around the garden, snapping photos and switching now and then to video—and always checking and scowling at the light sources. The third young man, the one Shinjuto had identified as his son, was sitting as his computer, doing whatever one did to adapt what was happening in real life to the Hentai world.

But I hardly noticed the actions of either of the latter two; I had my mouth and ass full with the two painted models. I was sucking one off, my head pulled back by the “beautiful bondage” so that he could just pump his cock inside my mouth by standing above my head, his fingers busy worrying my nipples. And the other one was between my legs and fucking my ass, while his hand was moving my “missile” to lift off.