The folks at The Upper Floor explain these photos thusly:
Gorgeous babe slave Yhivi is ready to hand her ass to The Upper Floor as property, but her grasp on the House Rules is tenuous and her bratty attitude distracts from her perfect bouncing butt. Luckily Syren De Mer is on hand with an electrical cattle prod and a sadistic smile to keep Yhivi in line…
Yhivi certainly is gorgeous, I’ll give them that much!
Elsewhere on Bondage Blog:
Here’s another classic bondage story from The Kristen Archives. It starts well:
Janie was lost. She had been wandering up and down the little alleyways of this infernal city for hours now. She had been pawed at by scab covered beggars lying in the streets, robbed by a little street urchin of her purse, which contained her wallet, passport and Visa, AND she was hot, thirsty, and very tired. If she could just find a main street and ask someone who spoke English where the Embassy was, she’d be happy. Turning a corner, she almost walked into a man dressed in exquisite colorful silks.
“I beg your pardon!” she exclaimed.
“No, let me beg yours,” the man replied in perfect English. “You appear to be lost, my lady.”
“Oh thank god you speak my language!” Janie said, relieved. “Yes, I’m dreadfully lost! Can you tell me where the American Embassy is?”
“I can take you there myself,” said the man bowing. “But first, please come into my shop and have a glass of refreshing cold tea. You look tired and hot, and the Embassy is a good walk from here.” He pointed to an open doorway that seemed to lead into a small carpet shop. Janie nodded, and followed him in.
Needless to say, she shouldn’t drink the tea.
But she does. Before she knows it:
The courtyard was full of Arabs, milling about, waiting for the next bidding to start. They whistled in appreciation as Janie was led up upon the stage. Her hands were pulled up high above her head and fastened of a metal bar that was built up out of the stage.
She saw the greedy looks on the faces around her and closed her eyes, her body shaking with shame and revulsion. Then the bidding started. Rashid egged the crowd on, pulling at her nipples to demonstrate how supple they were, pulling her legs apart and letting the bidders tug at her pubic hair, and poke their dirty fingers into her cunt.
After about a half hour of demonstration and bidding, a final bid was reached, and Janie was untied from the bar, and led down off the stage, and off into a small room with her purchaser.
The man who had bought her was fat and smelled of spice.
But of course he has a skinny and sadistic son with a taste for raping slavegirls:
Hessian stood up and walked over to her. He threw off the cloak, and unbound her wrists. He ran his hands over her breasts, and then down across her flat stomach. Without a warning, he thrust his fist into her stomach. Janie cried out in pain and doubled over onto her knees. Hessian laughed, and slipped out of his silks. He came around behind her and knelt on the floor. Forcing her head down to the ground with one hand, he guided his hard cock into her cunt with the other.
She screamed at the penetration, and struggled to get free. Hessian just drove in deeper and harder. He released her head and groped under her for her breast which he squeezed hard. She lunged upwards and managed to throw Hessian off her. Then, sobbing, she tried to crawl away. He grabbed her by her hair and pulled her to her feet. His cock was still rigid, glistening with her juices.
“Little spitfire,” he gasped as he brought his hand down hard across her face. He pushed her against the wall and managed to get her hands secured in the fetters that hung there. Now chained to the wall, Janie could just kick, which she tried to do. Hessian caught a leg, hoisted it up, and chained it to a third cuff hanging on the wall. Now her cunt was exposed. He stepped back to observe her.
Janie struggled but finally stopped, panting. She felt so vulnerable with her wrists high above her head, and her leg chained as high as it would go.
“You, bastard!” She hissed.
Hessian pulled a short riding crop from it’s place mounted on the wall. He walked over to her and rubbed it against her open cunt. “Does that feel nice, bitch?” He raised it above his head, and brought it down on her tits. The crop left a thin vibrant red line across both breasts. Janie screamed. He hit her again, across the stomach, then again across her cunt.
From Arab Slave by “Kinara In Thorns”.
From the Japanese tabloid Mainchi comes this quasi-interview with the proprietor of an “SM bar” in the notorious Roppongi district of Tokyo:
“Marico,” the female proprietor of D403, was originally a photographer by trade; which may explain why her bar not only serves food and beverages, but also serves as a set for recording the “art of perversion” onto celluloid.
“Actually, when I was a kid I used to get really turned on by certain type of TV scene,” Marico relates. “It involved a hero coming across a bunch of people who had been abducted by villains and tied up. And I guess that instilled an urge to tie up people myself.”
“Of course, I realized this wasn’t exactly normal,” she continues. “But I realized I only have one life to live.”
Fortunately, upon reaching adulthood, Marico was pleasantly surprised to learn there were lots of people in Japan just as infatuated with bondage — both active and passive — as her.
Marico and her assistants then proceeded to string up a long-haired lovely named Sayuri from a reinforced hook on the ceiling, and the interview was put on hold while Sayuri was artistically suspended, prodded, whipped, and otherwise humiliated.
“I am obsessed with the curvature of the female form,” Marico admits. “Like from the jaw to the chest. Or especially around the small of the back. I also love women’s strong perspective. You might even say my fetish is really about its visual power.”
…
“Frankly, I can’t stand being around those hysterical sadistic types,” she asserts. “People who depend on sadistic behavior to relieve their pent-up stress are a big turnoff. I don’t harbor any malicious feelings toward my ‘M’ partners. In this day and age, I’d like to see those who engage in SM enjoy a warm and fulfilling experience. That’s why I opened up this shop — so there could be a venue for all of us to communicate.”
“I don’t want to photograph SM merely because it’s a unique world,” Marico tells Asahi Geino. “And I don’t just want to shoot scenes with shock value. My idea is to heighten the sensation through the gorgeous portrayal of fetishes.”
As the shooting wound down, model Sayuri was gently lowered from the ceiling and, still wrapped in her rope bindings, placed on a leather upholstered sofa where she could unwind, so to speak. As the tension dissipated, her visage became swathed with a voluptuous expression.
Reflecting on the just-completed shooting session, during which Sayuri’s agonized contortions were recorded for all posterity, Ms. Mori opines: “While I did feel a desire to prolong the sight of Sayuri suffering cruel mistreatment, on the other hand, seeing her hang there served to remind me of the fragile and transitory nature of human beauty.”
I really enjoyed Sassy Girl’s account of her nipple training and bondage figging. Hot!
Well my friends, let’s give a loud round of applause for Dr. Love’s Nipple Training Kit…this handy dandy collection of two different shaped suction squeeze things, and different shaped round plastic rings make EVERY day a D/s nipple torture day!! And who doesn’t love THAT?!
For women like me who have never had a child, our nipples are rather smallish in size. So, to “train” them to perk up and point outward, thereby also enlarging them, while also enjoying the slight pain factor, is simply MAHH-VELOUS…it’s the best toy I’ve bought so far!!
And, for each woman, the experience of these things is different, depending on your body and endorphin levels, and pain tolerance. For me, I have paid close attention the past two days of wearing them off and on, and I’ve come up with my usual pattern. The first five minutes after putting them on, really don’t feel like anything’s different. I don’t feel them at all, until about 10 minutes go by. THEN I feel a slight tugging, a little twinge of a pinch going on, and once that begins, the endorphins start to rush.
After 20 or 25 minutes of my wearing these nipple rings, THAT is when the searing pain starts, and lasts for about 10 excruciating minutes. I just ignore it, and try to focus on other things, which becomes increasingly difficult as the minutes tick by. But then again, I enjoy that form of anxiety, so I just grit my teeth and force myself to take it, and do other things to ignore it as best as I can.
Then I noticed a rather miraculous thing happen…after 30-35 minutes wearing these, the searing pain suddenly becomes a rather NICE and ENJOYABLE feeling, it’s like I’ve somehow risen above and past the pain aspect, into this whole different plane of existence, where everything in my mind is crystal clear—it’s a sense of pureness, of clarity like you’ve never known before, and the CONTENTMENT that comes with it, is mixed in with absolute PLEASURE. It is like the whole world within and around you, transforms into this blissful place of PEACEFUL warm fuzzy happiness…and a slight aura of fogginess surrounds everything…I feel myself floating into myself and seeing things so clearly and understanding complex issues and problems in a clear, straightforward frame of mind.
I don’t really know how else to explain this wonderful experience, but that’s the best I can do. When the 45 minute mark is reached, however, I am almost at the point of whimpering to get them removed, because by this time, the throbbing in my pussy is beyond my control and if I am not ravaged and used sexually very soon, I’ll climb the walls and scream like a cornered beast…I suddenly transform into the wild uncontrollable animal-demon inside me…
It’s truly an amazing transformation, folks, and if you think all that “Hulk” comic book character stuff is hokey, well, lemme tell ya, that type of transformation might have been based on an anger management issue for THAT guy, but for women, we can and do turn into a sex-crazed maniac after we get to a certain point of sexual teasing and torment…believe me, every woman is capable of it, I’ve seen even the most quiet, mousy and shy women turn into wild banshees of lust after some nipple torture…so there is an element of truth to that whole Hulk thing, trust me…no anger needed, just endorphins and sexual stimulation to the point of ROWRRRR!!!!
…
Peter had introduced me to the idea of “figging” many months ago. He told me to go look it up online and read as much as I could about it, and then write him an email about my thoughts and opinions on whether I would be willing to try it or not. My answer, then, was a resounding NO WAY, YOU SICK, TWISTED FREAK-OF-A-MAN. I was always reluctant to trying it because I just didn’t find the idea of stuffing FOOD up my POOP-CHUTE to be all that great, ya know?? It kinda grossed me out, and made me think that sort of thing should be left to the really super flaming gay men who enjoy feeling intense pain in their poopers.
If you didn’t Google the word “figging” yet, (you lazy slob), then I will go ahead and ENABLE your sorry ass….THIS TIME….what that IS exactly, is taking a GINGER ROOT and peeling it down to the wet ripe part, which then gets inserted into your backdoor, and it’s just left there to do it’s thing. And what it DOES, is tingle like an Altoid mint, and eventually it BURNS LIKE FIRE. (Side note: Altoids in each cheek are great for giving a tingly blowjob).
…
A good Dom likes to push his submissive’s limits from time to time, and so this was one of those times, and it was also mutual consent. I mean, what could a poor subbie like me DO anyway, with my nipples a raging inferno wearing those happy round pinching rings, my wrists tied tight above my head, and my sex-craved “Hulk” level at the point of massive monster-demon-slut-beast-from-hell…oh woe is me…! Happily, there was nothing I could do to protest.
He also happily clued in on the fact that I wanted to be kept right on the edge of orgasm as long as possible, being denied the release over and over again, and for this I kiss his toes and thank him with all my heart. So, as I was tied tightly, legs spread, taut and uncontrollably rocking back and forth on this torturous pole-device tied way up high between my legs, which was rubbing lightly and agonizingly against my swollen clit, with fire in my nipples, hulk-endorphins raging, my juices starting to drip down my leg, I watched as he carefully peeled the ginger root. He made me wait like this for several minutes, as he carved out a notch around the thicker end of it, as a base (so that it doesn’t get all stuck up inside the booty, because people, take my word for it, that would be a BAD BAD THING), and then he made sure that it was not too large or painful, so he whittled it down to a smaller thickness towards the top. A homemade butt-plug.
I think realistically this whole process with the ginger root took about 10 minutes, and that doesn’t sound like very long, but when you have a pole-thing between your legs rubbing and you’re on your tiptoes but need to get OFF your toes and the thing rubs even MORE when you lower yourself, it’s like this constant torture of your arms stretched tight so you’ve got no choice really but to raise up on your tiptoes, but then after a few minutes, your toes are hurting and so you lower yourself down to stand flat, and your arms are hurting, while your cunt is burning from the now heavier pressure and rubbing of this pole on your clit….back and forth, tiptoes and flat, up and down, tortured and agonizing—-believe me, 10 minutes of that, and you’re at the point of insanity…it felt like FOREVER…I was starting to scream in my head, “HURRY UP WITH THAT THING DAMMIT I’M GONNA LOSE IT…” but of course, all I could do was moan.
Then he slowly and carefully inserted the ginger root into my ass.
It starts out like a tingling sensation, and then it mixes in with your own bodily juices inside there, and once that happens, well, if you were in a “predicament” like I was, all you can do is “suck it up” and take it, and hope that the flaming hot sensation dissipates soon…it truly packs a whallop, so you don’t need much…and yet, at the same time, you almost kinda WANT more of it at the same time as you’re trying desperately to squeeze it outta ya. A very odd sensation that makes you sweat all over, it’s definitely a searing burn, but then it plateaus and either comes out naturally from your body saying, “get that fucking thing OUTTA there,” or it can be removed manually when you’ve reached your limit.
After a short time, my body said, “get the hell outta there bucko.”
Or, if you have a VERY sadistic Dom, (which Peter isn’t), then the ginger root might just be tied to the rope around your thighs and made to stay IN for a very long time, which, I think, would make me pass right the hell out. I am a woose sometimes. And I tell ya folks, if I had passed out or if he had left it inside me much longer, I would have clawed his eyeballs right out of his head. Never mess with an endorphin-addicted, sex-crazed, wild beast Diva goddess from hell.
Sooooooo get yourself some nipple rings, and a ginger root, and go have some naughty fun!!
Ginger of course you can get at any good grocery store, and you’ll find all the details for using it at Figging.com. As for the nipple kit, I think she’s describing something like this so-called Universal Nipple Enlarger Kit from The Stockroom.
Elsewhere on Bondage Blog:
Fun idea from Brett and Hiromi:
Brett: His and Hers hoods is kind of a funny idea, especially if we wore them at the same time. Like the way gay guys joke about two bottoms in bed, bumping butts. I know — we could move the furniture out of the way, put on our hoods, and stalk each other with canes.
Hiromi: Sadistic Blind Man’s Bluff?
Brett: Yeah. Or “Buff”, since we’d be otherwise nekkid. Not a bad game for two non-submissive types like us.
Hiromi: What if one of us cheats? The other wouldn’t know.
Brett: I know what would happen: we’d come upon one another cheating at the same time and both feel offended. Much caning would ensue.
Only, it seems to egalitarian too me. Brett, why not just put the hood on Hiromi and then chase her around the house with the cane?
In all seriousness, I’ve long thought that a similar game would make an entertaining televised sport. Take two lovely women, give them full-head hoods, and rope their left wrists together with about six feet of rope. Put leather straps (safer than canes) in their right hands, and throw them into the ring. The loser is the first girl to drop her strap, and she suffers an additional strapping at the winner’s hands for the delight of the audience. I’d buy the DVD….
