Chaste By His Demand

This is Pupett, who had a kinky little boutique website about twenty years ago. I wonder if she ever got that chastity belt off?

masked and chained woman wearing a chastity belt

Elsewhere on Bondage Blog:

Leashed And Collared By The Duke

In The Incorrigible Annelle Spencer by Louise Taylor, our heroine is being courted by a duke. The duke has already figured out that Annelle, though sexually innocent, has read a great deal of inappropriate literature and is a dirty girl indeed. So he is courting her with kinky carnality, and it’s definitely working:

As soon as Ellen had left, Annabelle jumped out of bed and peeled off her nightgown. A quick check of her wristwatch by the light of the banked fire revealed that there were only ten minutes to wait before the duke would arrive, so she settled herself into a kneeling position at the foot of the bed. Excitement kept in her in position for the first few minutes, but boredom soon set in. She was sitting awkwardly, and she shifted about, trying to find comfort in a difficult position. She could feel the itchy wool of the rug underneath her shins, and a persistent draught from under the door made her shiver. She was on the verge of standing for a few moments to break the monotony of waiting when she heard a soft click, then a quiet creaking sound.

Ellen had pulled the curtains across the windows, but Annabelle had drawn one set back, allowing faint moonlight to enter the room. This allowed her to watch a section of the wall by the fireplace swing outwards and the duke step through it. Her heartbeat quickened at the sight of him; this man was not the same as the one who had shown his vulnerable side in the Italian Gardens. This was the dominant, controlling man who used his knowledge of her body to drive her insane with pleasure. He did things to her that no decent gentleman would dream of doing to a lady. Her body was there for his use, and he demanded her utter surrender to his wishes.

She liked and respected the honest vulnerability of the man in the gardens. She desired the painful attentions of the man now standing in front of her. How lucky for her that both of these men existed inside the same body.

“You are ready for your punishment?” the duke asked.

“Yes,” Annabelle said breathlessly, beginning to rise.

The duke’s hands shot out and caught her shoulders, pushing her back down to the floor.

“No,” he commanded shortly. “You are being punished. You will not stand until I give permission.”

The poor light in the room had hidden the fact that he was carrying something in his left hand. Now it was revealed to be a stout leather collar, the sort that a large dog might wear. It was buckled around Annabelle’s neck in a trice, the leather stiff and heavy around her slender neck. The duke had not buckled it very tightly, but it was tight enough to remind Annabelle that it was there.

A metallic noise alerted her to her next indignity; a length of chain was slipped through a ring attached to the collar and gathered up in the duke’s hand.

“Come,” he ordered, tugging on the chain.

That, in turn, pulled on the collar, which made Annabelle scramble to crawl after him. He led her to the opening of the secret door set into the wall. A lit candle sat in a simple holder on a small shelf. It did not offer much light, just enough to expose the long, dark corridor ahead of her. It was quite narrow, not wide enough for her to crawl at the side of the duke. She would have to crawl after him, she realised, as a good dog would follow at his master’s heel.

It was quite the most humiliating thing that had ever happened to her, and she could not understand why the knowledge of that sent a thrilling series of sparks down her spine, all landing in the pit of her stomach.

The duke shut the door to Annabelle’s room, leaving them both in the small, enclosed space with only the one candle to light their way.

“All along this corridor are the rooms of the ladies of the party,” he whispered to her, crouching down to get close to her ear. “You must be silent as we pass them. The walls are thin, and you can hear every word someone utters.”

Annabelle nodded her head, and the duke seemed happy with her compliance. He stood, jerked the chain, and started to step softly down the corridor. They moved as quietly as possible until they came to a staircase. The duke dropped the chain and walked down it before ordering her to come down on her knees.

Annabelle awkwardly turned around and began to climb backwards down the stairs, aware of the fact that the duke’s gaze never once left her as she scrambled down the stone steps as best she could, the chain slithering down her body like a cold snake. The duke picked it up again as she reached the bottom of the stairs, and they made their way down another corridor.

She had no way of discerning where they were headed. She barely knew her way around the huge house when she was walking the main corridors. Here, tucked away inside the walls with only a solitary candle and a few small windows dotted here and there to let the moonlight in, she was completely lost. She became afraid that the duke would suddenly drop the chain to her collar and sprint away down an unseen corridor, trapping her in the walls of the house for the night as her punishment. She crawled as close to him as she could, scared that he might do such a thing. A hand dropped to her hair, ruffling it, as if he sensed her fear.

He led her on for a few minutes more, before stopping and placing the candle on another small shelf. There was a handle set into the wall. He pushed on it, and an unseen door swung inwards. He jerked the chain again, and Annabelle shuffled after him into the room.

“Stay there,” the duke ordered, dropping the chain and walking away from her side.

He moved around the room, lighting candles in heavy candelabras sitting on solid, heavy-looking furniture. The light was enough to let Annabelle see that she was in a very peculiar room, indeed.

There were no windows that she could see, although there was a large fireplace built into a bare stone wall, uncovered by the pretty wallpaper found in the rest of the house. There was no fire laid, which was a shame because the room was cold. Large pieces of furniture sat about, although they in no way resembled anything Annabelle had seen in any drawing room before. They were solidly built out of heavy wood, and well polished. Some had small half-circles of metal sticking out of them at various places; others had loops of leather dangling from them. Some had sections that were covered with leather, kept in place by brass studs.

As the duke lit more and more candles, more of the room was revealed. Racks were hung the wall, holding implements that looked suspiciously paddle shaped. Some resembled riding crops, and others looked like nothing Annabelle had ever seen before. Rope sat in neat coils on top of a long bench pushed against one wall. What looked like a large sideboard contained many drawers of varying sizes. In the corner of the room was a bed.

The duke, finished with the candles, came back to Annabelle’s side again.

“You may speak now,” he informed her. “We are deep within the house, and nobody will hear you no matter how loudly you raise your voice.”

“What is this room?” she asked suspiciously, looking about her. “This cannot be your bedchamber.”

“No,” the duke said, shaking his head. “This is a very special room I discovered a long time ago, a relic of one of my more unconventional ancestors. He enjoyed quite particular amusements, and must have had this room built to satisfy them. Some of the implements needed replacing, but most of what he left behind was in good order.”

Elsewhere on Bondage Blog:

Puppygirl With Teeth

Moronic_Mouse may be (she is!) an extremely cute puppy girl, but if you misbehave with her, she will put you in a fucking cone:

Now go and play!

Elsewhere on Bondage Blog:

Vanilla Bondage Sex?

Can bondage sex be vanilla? I don’t know, honestly. I mean, it’s not missionary in the dark. But this anecdote from Letters To Penthouse XXXXV tells the story of some wedding-night bondage sex that’s literally just bondage (handcuffs and scarves) and sex. There aren’t any BDSM behaviors except the fluffy bondage — no domming, no stern talk, no impact play, no edging, not even a serious tickle. It’s tie, kiss, finger, fuck, orgasm, untie, sleepytime!

Most people think that wedding-night sex should be simple and romantic, very traditional. But Will and I aren’t exactly a regular couple, and we couldn’t let our special night be anything less than perfect—perfectly kinky, that is.

Like other brides, I packed my overnight bag with white, lacy lingerie and pristine stockings, all brand-new and only for Will to see. And underneath the wedding-night lingerie were silk scarves—all black, in stark contrast to my ensemble—and a pair of silver handcuffs. As I mentioned, my husband and I aren’t exactly your run-of-the-mill couple.

As soon as we entered the honeymoon suite in the hotel that night, I had Will unzip my dress, and I ducked into the bathroom to quickly change into my lingerie while he stripped himself. My wedding-night outfit consisted of a garter belt and white stockings, and a white, ribbed corset. I pulled my hair down and let it cascade over my shoulders, checked my makeup in the mirror, and went back into the bedroom to join my husband. He was sitting on the edge of the bed with the silk ties in one hand and the handcuffs in the other, clearly ready to get down to business.

He stood up when he saw me, and I saw his dick twitch in his boxers. It was obvious my ensemble aroused him, and I smiled, glad I’d at least taken the traditional route in dressing up for our first night together as husband and wife. We shared a deep, passionate kiss, and I could tell how much he wanted me from that simple gesture. As I leaned into him, I felt his dick growing against my body, and I knew I’d be enjoying more than his kisses in a minute.

Will dropped the handcuffs on the bed and slipped his free hand between my legs, letting his fingers probe my pussy. I got wet fast, his ministrations bringing me quickly to an aroused state. As he fingered me, he guided me toward the bed, his body moving this way and that until I fell onto the mattress. I moved toward the middle of the bed and got on my back as soon as Will let me, and that’s when things went from average to explosive.

My husband locked the handcuffs around my wrists first, the chain between them looping around a slat in the headboard. The hard, cold metal felt incredible in contrast with the delicate garments I’d been wearing all day, and I couldn’t wait for him to start tying the silk scarves.

With my hands pulled up over my head, Will ran his hand down my body, teasing me as he moved to the foot of the bed, where he fastened each of my ankles to the bedposts. As he pulled the scarves tight around my limbs, I felt my entire body tingle, and my cunt began to throb. I could feel the wetness of my pussy as my juices began to dribble out of me, and I wondered if Will could see my arousal between my legs. Not that he needed to see my dripping pussy to know how turned on I was—my moans made it pretty obvious.

As soon as he’d secured my ankles to the bedposts, Will climbed onto the bed with me and started to crawl up my body. I wanted to grab him and pull him to me, force him to kiss me—to fuck me—but I couldn’t. The most I could do was writhe under his touch and beg for more, and I certainly did both.

“Please, Will, fuck me!” I begged. “I need to feel you inside me!”

But he wasn’t going to give me what I wanted so easily. Instead he straddled me, his boxers still on, and teased me. He traced lines over my corset with his fingertips, and he leaned in to place featherlight kisses on my face. I was breathing hard, my breasts heaving against my corset’s boning, and my pussy was practically gushing as I waited impatiently for my new husband to start fucking me.

I struggled against my bonds as I tried to get closer to Will—to no avail. He’d tied me up tight, and there was no way for me to gain the upper hand. But the struggle made the silk ties tighten around my ankles and the metal of the handcuffs press against my wrists, and feeling that resistance turned me on even more. There was no way for me to get my mind off of what was happening now. If Will didn’t take off his shorts and fuck me soon, I was going to go crazy.

Will lay on top of me, and I felt his hard shaft pressing against me through his boxers. I wanted him more than I ever had before, and he could feel it. He still wasn’t going to give in to my pleas for his cock, though, and instead I felt one of his fingers work its way between my wet folds. His digit thrust right up inside me, and my back arched as he pleasured my pussy. Each time he wiggled his finger, my body would respond, twisting this way and that to get more, and every movement caused my bonds to pull me back into place. It was an impossible struggle, but my heart pounded as it aroused me more and more.

By the time Will took off his shorts, I was already on the verge of an explosive orgasm. He slid easily into my wet cunt, and he finally started to fuck me. With each thrust, I was reminded of my bindings, and waves of pleasure washed over me every time I tried to move. Bending my knees pulled at the silky ankle bonds, and reaching for my husband made the metal cuffs tug at my wrists. Even the corset I wore seemed restrictive, and I relished the pressure it created.

My husband was still on top of me, thrusting deep into my waiting pussy, and I pumped my hips in time with his, needing to be closer to him. The more we moved against each other, the tighter the handcuffs and ankle ties seemed, and it felt delicious. I didn’t want the sensations to stop, and I worked myself into a frenzy of passion as I fucked Will enthusiastically.

I’d been on the edge ever since Will had climbed into bed with me, and finally I went over it, crying out happily as I climaxed. It was the most explosive orgasm of my life, and I bucked against my husband—and my bonds—as the feelings of ecstasy rushed through my body. Will came a minute later, thrusting into me one last time before filling me with his cream.

Even after he untied me and stripped me of my corset, I could still feel the lingering sensation of my bonds, and I loved it. I fell asleep with my husband’s arms wrapped around me, and I dreamed of all the kinky sex games we would play on our honeymoon. As far as I was concerned, it was the perfect start to our marriage.

—Ms. Jasmine K.

It’s probably worth noting that the “letters” published in various Penthouse publications over the decades are a genre of erotic fiction, commissioned by the word from professional smut writers and packaged as “reader letters” as a sales gimmick. There’s not a thing wrong with that, of course, but when you see a “genre” fetish letter that doesn’t push very many of the usual kink buttons, it helps to remember that the author may not in fact know what those buttons are.

Elsewhere on Bondage Blog:

Dumpster Girl

What’s it like to be left all tied up and gagged in a dumpster, only to be rescued — or at least, removed from the dumpster — by some horny fratboys on a scavenger hunt? Deedee finds out in Dumpster Girl: Part One, a 2005 story by Trystl that that was posted to (If subsequent parts survive in some archive somewhere, Google refuses to admit it.)

Well, this is certainly another fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into, I thought, as the door of the dumpster slid open and instead of seeing Carlos, as I had half hoped and half feared, I saw an unfamiliar male looking down at me as if he was looking for something.

Even now I could feel the deep blush that not only made my face burn, but also traveled down through my nipples, across my stomach and into my crotch. If he’d slipped his fingers between my legs it would have come away wet.

How can it get any worse?

At least it wasn’t someone Carlos had sent, or he wouldn’t have looked so surprised; but the way he was looking at me, I wasn’t sure if that would turn out to be a good thing or not. I couldn’t really blame him. I must have made quite a sight—hogtied and gagged—and laying naked inside the dumpster.

I squirmed with embarrassment. The ropes dug into my flesh, while something hard and pointed pressed against my back.

The fellow looked over his shoulder and called out, “Hey, Tom, Randy. Come here! You guys are never going to believe what I just found.”

Oh, great. He wasn’t alone.

“It’s not the jacket?” a deep male voice asked.


“Well, that rules out the used panties,” said the deep voice. “It’s only worth 15 points.”

I heard footsteps. Someone kicked a can and it rattled down the alley. They’re getting closer, I thought; and the idea made me tingle all over with anticipation and dread. I couldn’t help it. I’d always been a major exhibitionist, or perhaps more accurately, I was a risk taker. It was the chance of getting caught and the anticipation of waiting to see what would happen to me when I was that really turned me on, much more than having someone look at me while I was in a compromising situation.

“It’s not the panties,” the guy looking at me agreed, his smile getting bigger all the time.

“Right, Jack. What could be better than the Jacket?” Another male voice asked.

“Take a look.”

The guy looking at me moved back a little to let the others in. Two curious and then shocked faces looked down at me.

“Holy shit, Jack” said the deep voiced male, who had long blonde hair and pale skin and wouldn’t have been bad looking without his glasses.

“He found the person who used to be wearing the panties before someone else took them off her,” said the other male, who was a taller, athletic looking fellow with brown hair and an earring in one ear.

“This is definitely better than the jacket,” said the blonde.

“So what are we going to do with her?” Asked the athletic one, and something in his voice made me suspect that he already had some ideas that I might not like.

Still, nearly the same question was running through my mind. What did I want them to do with me? I certainly didn’t want them to leave me in the dumpster. More than likely, Carlos would come back for me, which would no doubt be very bad—or he wouldn’t, which was likely to be fatal. I didn’t relish the thought of being picked up, dumped into the back of some truck, and smashed together with a bunch of garbage, which, from the pain in my lower back, I already knew contained at least one hard and sharp object. Nor did I like the thought of slowly starving to death at the dump, while my limbs went numb where the ropes cut off my circulation. And that was assuming that I didn’t die from exposure, or being eaten by some wild animal.

“Well, whatever we do, Randy, we can’t leave her here,” said the blonde, who, by the process of elimination, I figured had to be Tom.

“Right,” Jack agreed.

Randy rolled his eyes for a moment, as if he thought he was dealing with simpletons, unable to grasp the most obvious of concepts. He looked at Tom then turned to look behind him at Jack. “Has it occurred to either of you that somebody put her in this dumpster? Unless, of course, she crawled in there and tied herself up. And maybe, if they put her in there, they’re going to want to find here there when they come back for her.”

I’d been thinking of that a lot, but I’d been hoping that none of them would.

I held my breath when I saw the expression on Tom’s face as he began to realize the implications. I closed my eyes. The dread of waiting to see what they would do was a delicious torture. The moment seemed to hang in the air.

Finally Jack spoke up from behind them and his voice broke the mood. “If they wanted her back they wouldn’t have put her in there in the first place.” He pushed his way back to the front of the group. “Hey! Finders keepers, I say.”

“Maybe Randy’s right,” Tom said, as he moved back to give Jack room. “They could come back any minute. The kind of people who would put her in here aren’t likely to just let us walk away.”

“What? You’d have us just leave her here? What if she ends up dying because we didn’t pull her out? Would you rather live with that?”

“We could call the police,” Tom said. “Let them deal with her.”

“No way! You can’t turn me over to the cops,” I said. Or rather, that was what I tried to say. Instead it came out as a mousy little squeal and moan of protest—but at least it got their attention and gave me the chance to move my head in that universal sign that means, Come on guys, will you get this fucking gag off of me?

“She speaks,” Jack said, with a smile that told me he’d know the best way to use the fact that I didn’t want to be turned over to the police against me.

“She’s trying to anyway,” Randy agreed.

They stood looking at one another for a moment longer.

“Fuck it,” Jack said with a shrug. He was already climbing up the side of the dumpster. “I’m not leaving her here. If you guys want to duck out on me I’ll give you cab fare home, but I’m going to get her out. We can figure out what to do with her later.”

The rest of part one is downloadable here.

Elsewhere on Bondage Blog:

Goblin Revenge Sex

The goblins and the elves have an ancient enmity. When the goblins capture an elf woman, it usually means a rough time for her at the next goblin carnival:

tied to a hard table at a public fair to be fucked by her goblin enemies

Artwork is by Rosselito.

Elsewhere on Bondage Blog:

Leashed Blowjob

There’s a school of thought that if she doesn’t have at least a couple tears running down her face, you aren’t face-fucking her hard enough yet. For this leashed blowjob slave, apparently it’s hard enough now:

kamitora leashed blowjob slave with pretty blue eyes and a few leaking tears

Art is by Kami Tora.

Elsewhere on Bondage Blog: