Bondage.
Or, to put it another way, restraint play.
It's also the pinnacle of SM play.
There are all sorts of ways to restrain a person's body.
Handcuffs, shackles, tape... and so on.
But there was always one that reigned supreme.
Rope.
The reason rope is probably the most popular is that it allows for the widest variety of play.
With just a 3-4 meter rope, you can suspend a person's body dangling in mid-air.
Yet bondage, like SM in general, tends to provoke strong aversion in those unfamiliar with it.
Tying someone up with rope? And getting aroused by that?
Isn't that just too perverse and irrational?
...Well, sure, it's perverse, but if you set aside the rope itself, restraint as a concept is actually a hugely popular genre.
Think of scenes where someone gets stuck in a wall that their shoulders and chest can pass through but their hips can't, getting pulled from behind.
Or those foreign porn clips with the contrived skit of someone pretending to be trapped in a giant washing machine, struggling and groaning.
And beyond that, getting caught in window frames or elevator doors.
Add in tentacle play or time-stop scenarios.
At the root of it all lies an instinctive arousal toward someone who can't move a muscle.
So, SM bondage isn't some completely alien genre to everyone.
The problem ultimately boils down to the rope.
Rope feels unfamiliar and can trigger rejection.
So why insist on rope when you could use other gear without the aversion?
...Because no one does it well!
Depending on the knotting technique, properly binding the body with rope can accentuate the figure like wearing shaping underwear.
A cinched waist. Hips and breasts that look fuller. A neck that appears even more slender...
...Anyway.
I, too, had high expectations for bondage.
Preparing the rope while thinking of Cheongwol...
...I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like when that wildly independent Cheongwol was rendered utterly immobile.
How would she endure the humiliation of the ropes with what expression?
Just you wait.
Plus, restraint play with rope often involves poses that humiliatingly expose the genitals.
Whether I could go that far with Cheongwol... just imagining it gave me a satisfying sense of revenge.
But that was the fun part—up to there.
Everything else was my homework.
Making SM rope requires a lot of preparation.
Regular straw rope has too much fuzz, making it unsuitable for contact with skin.
It's a material that tears and chafes skin all too easily.
Straw rope is also stiffer than you'd think, so it easily snags skin while binding.
Thus, preparing SM-grade straw rope requires essential steps.
First: Boil it.
For this alone, I had to trek to the back mountain, chop firewood, and haul it back.
Submerge the rope in boiling water, and when the water turns brown, pull it out, rinse under running water, and dry it. To prevent shrinkage, I hung heavy weights from the ends while drying. This alone took about a day.
Second: Oil it.
This is where the oil from the market comes in. Don't just soak it—coat your hands in oil and massage it into the rope from top to bottom like lotion. Even for 3-4 meters, it takes considerable time, especially since it has to be thorough.
Third: Burn off the fuzz over a flame.
The finishing touch. People get uncomfortable from a single tiny burr inside their sock. Since the rope could touch anywhere on the body, this removes every last bit of lint.
Once done, you end up with rope so soft it's hard to believe it's the same thing.
The result of tremendous effort.
...No wonder they say SM is the sadist serving the masochist.
It's fine, though.
There's a reward waiting for me.
I'm curious.
What expression will Cheongwol make when I've immobilized her?
Can she really stay still in front of me with her legs spread?
“...Hmm.”
...But thinking about it, some buildup might be necessary.
If I just haphazardly tied up Cheongwol's body, there's no way she'd accept it.
I need to dig some kind of trap.
****
Among masochists, perfectionists abound. That's why so many high-status figures possess masochistic tendencies.
Success inevitably brings pain and suffering. And masochists endure that process far beyond what's necessary.
They're not immune to the pain, though.
An obsession with perfection relentlessly torments them.
They tolerate no mistakes, no matter how great their achievements, and never praise themselves.
Even without fault, they always feel somehow lacking, endlessly self-flagellating toward an unattainable ideal.
Ultimately, they become their own harshest torturers.
Over time, their pain deepens.
The mounting pressure between reality and ideals.
Anxiety and doubt ready to devour them at the slightest slip.
Despair and self-loathing at never measuring up,
Relentless self-criticism.
This is no different from carrying a lifelong unfinished homework assignment.
And the one who can complete that homework is singular.
The sadist.
The ruler the masochist appoints for themselves.
They hand over the whip they'd used on themselves to the sadist.
Not pursuing their own standards of perfection, but perfectly obeying the sadist's.
Not judging and whipping themselves, but wholly surrendering to the ruler's commands.
In that process, the masochist finally sets themselves down for the first time.
A moment when they don't have to chase perfection.
Permission not to stab at themselves.
This liberation granted by domination delivers a profound shock and satisfaction no sexual orgasm from penetration or thrusting can explain.
They are freed from the torment that gnawed at them their whole lives, thanks to the sadist.
And only in that moment of release does their suppressed sexual desire—repressed by survival instincts—slowly raise its head again.
.
.
.
“...Or something like that?”
Before digging Cheongwol's trap, I was writing a book in the basement.
As I delved seriously into SM, I wanted to organize the information swirling in my head.
No smartphones or books here... If I just lived thoughtlessly, I'd forget important details eventually.
It was embarrassing for a sadist like me to write something like this, but I couldn't not do it.
Whether the content was right or wrong, I honestly didn't know.
SM theory varies wildly; it's hard to definitively say what's correct or incorrect for each person.
Still, among what I'd read in the past, this piece had stuck with me as the most plausible at the time.
...But now, it makes me click my tongue a bit.
...Is Cheongwol in this psychological state too?
Even knowing it's just theory, Cheongwol somehow doesn't quite fit it.
Maybe because that horrific future version of her... no, that horrific sight from the back mountain haunts my mind.
Would a perfectionist slaughter someone like that?
...Something feels off. Or maybe she was cornered that badly.
The word "sexual desire" suits no one less than her.
Strip away the killing, and she's a nun through and through.
Might even like men, who knows.
My thoughts spiraled, but no answers emerged.
I skipped the complicated parts and flipped back to the front.
I reviewed the sketched knotting methods, mentally simulating if they'd work in practice.
And writing this book brought back various plays dormant in my memory.
“...Tch.”
The pity was, the tools for those recalled plays weren't made of leather.
Ring gags that force the mouth into an O-shape, collar locks, and such... all required metal.
Far-fetched, but... could I get my hands on such tools someday?
I wondered.
****
Cheongwol drew in a deep breath.
Amid the scents of green trees and flowers came an alien fragrance drifting on the wind.
Those with deep inner energy detected it first, naturally straightening their postures.
Cheongwol moved with them, reaffirming she was a cut above some of the elite disciples.
A sharp medicinal aroma mingled with a heavy metallic tang riding the breeze.
The aura of poison and iron symbolizing the Tang Clan of Sichuan.
“They've arrived.”
Muwol Satae's whisper prompted the Emei Sect disciples to smartly realign their formation.
As they took position, the watching villagers raised their voices in anticipation.
Soon, footsteps and the creak of carriages sounded.
Green banners appeared one by one.
At their center, bold black brush strokes spelled a massive character.
Tang (唐).
...Seeing that character made the Tang Clan of Sichuan's arrival feel real, and Cheongwol let out a sigh.
She knew without experiencing it.
The coming days would be nothing but annoyances.
Leading them was a tall, upright young man. His black hair neatly tied up, secured firmly with a red leather belt.
Dang Jiun (唐之雲), second son and eldest of the Tang Clan of Sichuan.
The moment he faced Muwol Satae, he dismounted and clasped his hands in a solo fist salute.
Muwol Satae nodded, and he led his horse and group forward.
At a set distance, even the carriages halted.
Several figures emerged from them.
Among them was the Poison Phoenix, Dang Soran.
Cheongwol quietly clicked her tongue at her presence.
Finally, one last person stepped from the carriage.
A middle-aged man with black hair streaked in white, tied like Dang Jiun's.
A physique that might seem ordinary at first glance.
But the energy encircling him was anything but.
Pale left eye, lips hardened in cold severity.
Villagers seeing him for the first time swallowed nervously at his dangerous air.
In contrast, the middle-aged man, upon spotting Muwol Satae with his one good eye, surprisingly offered a gentle smile.
A smile utterly at odds with his icy demeanor.
He descended the carriage, faced Muwol Satae, neatly clasped his hands, and bowed softly at the waist.
“The world's foremost sect, Emei Sect, honors us with its welcome. I, Dang Jeokcheon, patriarch of the Tang Clan of Sichuan, bring my household retainers to pay respects.”
The Tang Clan retainers unison fist salutes rippled outward in an intimidating wave.
A few villagers clapped reflexively, then awkwardly withdrew their hands.
Muwol Satae responded with a graceful fist salute.
“Great labors on your long journey. The Emei Sect welcomes Sichuan's premier clan.”
Now the Emei Sect nuns saluted in unison with Muwol Satae.
Only then did the crowd offer smiles and cheers, blessing the meeting.
The stiff atmosphere gradually softened.
Patriarch Dang Jeokcheon approached Muwol Satae and spoke.
“Are you well? You seem even more beautiful with time.”
“The patriarch's silver tongue has only deepened with the years.”
Laughter passed between them.
Dang Jeokcheon exchanged brief words with the elders next, then greeted Soun, the top elite disciple, before smiling at Cheongwol.
“...Thousand-Year Flower.”
Likely meant as praise, but even that weighed on Cheongwol.
“How have you been?”
Cheongwol blinked demurely.
“Our Soran missed you. I hope you'll look after her well on this journey too.”
Cheongwol fell silent a moment, then quietly replied.
“...Yes. I'll do my best.”
Sure enough, hearing that, Dang Soran quietly stepped forward.
****
“...Wow...”
Hidden in the crowd, I watched Cheongwol and Dang Soran meet.
Was today the day?
I knew the Tang Clan of Sichuan would visit Mount Emei someday.
A major incident unfolds at their meeting.
Cheongwol's heart demon flares up severely.
I'd spent my whole life resolving to be wary of Cheongwol from this point onward.
...Though my misstep was that she'd already been afflicted before then.
But it's not certain yet.
Whether that incident erupts at this meeting, or later when the Tang Clan visits Mount Emei again—I can't be sure.
Please, not this time.
I've been getting involved with Cheongwol lately!
I scanned the crowd again.
This was my first time seeing Dang Soran in person.
The martial artist who claimed the "Phoenix" title at the famed Dragon-Phoenix Assembly of promising talents.
In other words, this era's phoenix. Regardless of the future, right now she's greater than Cheongwol.
Neither tall nor short.
Slender yet balanced build. Even from afar, her flexibility was evident.
Smooth, pale skin that wouldn't warm under sunlight.
Her black hair, faintly tinged green, was neatly trimmed to her nape, the bob ends swaying softly in the breeze.
Narrow, elongated eyes gave a relaxed impression, but the gaze beneath shone as it met Cheongwol's.
The moment she saw Cheongwol, she smiled softly.
Deep dimples formed on both cheeks.
As expected of this world's leads and supporting cast.
...Unbelievably beautiful.
The thought had barely crossed my mind when Cheongwol suddenly looked my way.
I ducked my head, hiding from her.
‘Look here, Wol-ah.’
That slow, soft, somehow seductive voice drew Cheongwol's gaze back to her.
Having competed in the Dragon-Phoenix Assembly, the Poison Phoenix was older than Cheongwol.
By the age of this body I'd possessed, she was my senior.
Cheongwol at twenty. Me around twenty-two. And the Poison Phoenix at twenty-four.
‘Have you been well?’
Dang Soran greeted Cheongwol with the cozy air of an eldest daughter.
But Cheongwol's expression didn't look good, even as empty flattery.
I alone watched their meeting from afar, breaking into a cold sweat.
Even if I tried ignoring martial artists, witnessing such a nerve-wracking clash firsthand was tense.
I knew.
The supporting character Cheongwol would one day chase over a hundred li and kill... was this Poison Phoenix, Dang Soran.
Perhaps their ill fate was already building.
No helping it.
Both were the next-gen stars their sects pinned hopes on, unable to reach martial peaks without surpassing each other.
Right now, a wordless battle of wits was unfolding.
...Watching like this, the emotions hit differently.
I even felt pointless sorry toward the Poison Phoenix.
Wanted to tell her to stay away from Cheongwol, but I couldn't.
...Watching their conversation keeps scaring me.
Please.
That incident won't happen this time, right...?
If it does, forget bondage—I'll just run—
‘—Wol-ah. Shall we spar?’
“...Ah.”
...It's this time.
...
Cheongwol's breakdown spar is happening now.
‘A spar?’
As Cheongwol replied coldly.
“...Haa...”
...I let out a deep sigh.
...
Can I truly escape unscathed from Cheongwol's hysterical collapse?
Content warning: This chapter contains explicit discussions of BDSM themes, including bondage and sadomasochism, presented in a narrative context.