Bondage Enema Outcry
I think she thinks she’s at maximum capacity now:

From a 2002 Japanese DVD possibly named 凌辱の連鎖.
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I think she thinks she’s at maximum capacity now:

From a 2002 Japanese DVD possibly named 凌辱の連鎖.
Elsewhere on Bondage Blog:
Young people these days, sometimes they just have to learn hard lessons the hard way. I told her and told her never to get in the van:
Photos are from the most recent photoshoot at Helpless Teens site, which is in the Fetish Network family.
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She’s lashed to the dungeon wheel of torment, and it looks like she’s about to lose her panties:
From the cover of a De Sade magazine.
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Violet Monroe looks so calm, resting there shackled to that BJ bench. Not a care in the world, nowhere to go, nothing to do except suck on whatever cocks may come along:
Pictures are from a recent bondage-and-rough-sex liveshow at Real Time Bondage.
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I really like this sort of bondage cosplay. I wonder what sort of ruffian this vintage fellow is supposed to be dressed as?
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Holly Hendricks woke up hard. Groggy. Feeling like something died in her mouth. Utterly disoriented. “Where am I?” She tried to move. Something rattled. “Whuh?” Just as it dawns on her that she’s chained on a smelly mattress, in a basement, she hears the noise of a metal door closing. Then, footsteps on a metal stairway. Getting lower, getting closer:
These scenes are from the beginning of The Debt Collector, the latest from Sex And Submission (now part of the Kink Unlimited offering).
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Hipponax was a Greek poet who lived 500 years before the Christian era. You think the Marquis de Sade had a dirty mind? Well you’re right, but Hipponax was right up there with him. Supposedly he was so offensive he got thrown out of Ephesos and wound up begging for a living in the city of Klazomenai. Here’s his The Miseries of Poetry, as translated from the Greek by Alexandra Papaditsas and Kent Johnson:
In Lydian tone she said, “Come hither, I will plug up
your tight asshole.” And she beat my egg sack with a sprig
of lilac as if I were a satyr. I fell backwards, breathing
heavy, and caught there by writhing vines I suffered
torture times two, and then some: A dried rose stem
lashed my man-tits; someone smeared me with cow’s
shit, and then my ass started stinking like Hades.
Dung beetles came, sucked there by the fetid
gook, like roan-filled flies. Bugs with their alphabet-eating
sounds: They covered me and shoved inward, burrowed
deep, filing their teeth without pity on my bones.I hurt so bad, I might as well have had the Pygelian plague.
It might have been a fun date, right up until that bitch Poetry brought out the dung and the beetles…
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