Yes, that’s a hot branding iron she’s being menaced with. I guess enemies of the people must have their buttocks clearly marked so that no loyal party members accidentally have rear-entry sex with a politically unreliable woman:
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From the golden age of Western pulps, this Lou Feck cover shows a cowboy securing himself some commpanionship:
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Bondage porn producer Dan Hawke of BestBound.com, who got his start before the internet was a thing, reminisces on a forum about the history of bondage porn production and distribution:
The younger [members of this forum] have no idea what a golden age they are living in. I bought some of my earliest 8mm loops back in 1971 or 1972. They cost $25 each for 8 to 15 mins of content. I actually discovered HOM before Blakemore! Although pre-Blakemore HOM was a very brief period. HOM and Harmony and Tao were all producing the same fairly tame tie-em-up and let them struggle bondage. It was weak, but it was all there was. These mags were in the $3-$5 range.
Adjusted for inflation the loops were like $80-$100 bucks in today’s dollars and the mags easily in the $15-$25 range. My first part time job paid minimum wage. I think minimum wage was about a $1.35 back then. Of course comic books were $.12 and candy bars (really big candy bars) were a nickel.
Today the amount of FREE bondage material to be found on the web is enormous. And if you consider the paid sites, they are nearly free if you join them only when their archive of material grows vast, you can get an hour of bondage video for about $.15 or so. I paid $99 for the first HOM/Blakemore VHS video, ‘Bittersweet Revenge’. And that price was still north of $60 for this type of content for years to come. At least with Blakemore you got really good content for pretty much the entire running length of the tape. Other companies may have had one or two five minute scenes that appealed.
So we are living in a golden age of porn in general and bondage porn in particular.
There’s much more. You should read it all. I find his take on the current state of the business to be spot on:
I was not the first private producer bondage web-site, but I was still pretty damn early. I wasn’t alone for long. There were dozens, if not hundreds of small bondage producers who popped up all over the web. Some of them were good, some of them were not so good, but they all made enough money to keep producing. At the first NY Bondcon I attended, in 2000 or so, there were a ton of small producers.
But today they are almost all gone. The membership model was largely a patronage model. You would vote for producer X to stay in business by becoming a member. And more critically for the smaller producers, remaining a member. Every update I put up would be a product I would have paid $50-$100 for twenty years ago. Every site that updated weekly had an archive of material that would have been valued at thousands if not tens of thousands of dollars a decade ago. Now it was all available for a monthly membership fee and some time to download it.
…
Membership may still be the primary economic model, but it has cheapened the product to the point where your only product is your newest product. Once your material went up on the web, you quickly lost control of it. Kink.com figured out how to make theft of material work for them, and began giving content away. They were an early adaptor of the affiliate program. And armed with large profits, they slowly began to buy up the affiliate sites that sent them lots of hits. Thus the proliferation of Kink content on the web began.
Insex bucked the trend against memberships via a ‘community’ of members who watched their live shows, live. (These were stripped down to archival content later, but it was not the same as the live shows.) But others soon did likewise and when Insex closed down (to be re-launched as Hardtied) the efficacy of live shows was reduced. It is still a factor, but less valuable than it was for the genius who pioneered it, PD.
But the devaluing of inventory; through constant theft and re-posting of material, began to create a new barrier to entry. You had to have a strong marketing push, to maximize return. You had to spend money and time shooting content that became devalued the day it was posted. And you had to shoot, aggressively and continuously as you only value added content was what you put up that week.
Some small producers railed against piracy as did some larger ones, but it is the reality of how the web functions. Things posted to the web are out of your hands once posted. People expect to get everything dirt cheap. You can go crazy chasing those illicitly posting your stuff, but it is a game of whack a mole. For every one you whack a new one appears. And it is the world wide web. I mean I can perhaps shame a US based thief to pull my illegally posted stuff. But someone running a site out of the Balkan countries, or Nigeria? Good luck with that.
So I didn’t let that stress cause me an aneurysm, I simply accepted that it was what it was, and there wasn’t much I could do about it.
To some degree, this collapse also reflected a consumer judgment of my product, I realize that. But with the theft and the collapse of patronage membership, very few producers were able to survive. In fact all of the remaining producers work in a production house, with large staff, large resources and lots of capital behind them.
My site lingers as do a few others. But the independent small bondage producer is a thing of the past.
Other masters and mistresses bring their unruly slaves to Miss Olivia for punishment, because she is cruelest of them all:
Miss Olivia turned her attention to Shonda, who had stood in place with her eyes downcast, waiting. She hoped a strong show of obedience would help temper the bad report her mistress had given to Miss Olivia, and that her punishment wouldn’t be too severe. She didn’t know Miss Olivia.
Without preamble, Miss Olivia barked, “Remove every stitch of your clothing.” Shonda complied without argument; even though she felt vulnerable, this was a typical request. She unzipped her skintight black latex minidress and let it fall, revealing lacy thong panties and nothing else. Her full, juicy breasts jiggled as she pulled the panties down, revealing a silver ring piercing her labia, and Miss Olivia took stock of her round, perfect ass as she bent to remove her shoes. She straightened and awaited further orders.
“Walk straight ahead,” Miss Olivia commanded, planting the tip of her riding crop against the small of Shonda’s back. Feeling the leather switch make contact with her bare skin spurred the girl forward hastily. She kept her eyes down but raised enough to see several feet ahead. She walked about 12 feet, with Miss Olivia’s crop at her back all the while, until she came to a small platform about three feet square and about four inches high.
Fastened to the platform with clamps on each leg was a plain, straight-backed wooden chair. Unsure, Shonda hesitated.
“Step up,” came the brusque command, accentuated with a sharp flick of the crop on Shonda’s ass. She stepped up quickly. She thought Miss Olivia must want her to sit in the chair, so she started to turn in order to seat herself, but she was swiftly redirected by a sharp blow from the crop.
“Assume nothing! I did not say to sit. Follow orders only.” Olivia’s voice was perfectly modulated, but very severe. “Face the chair. Now, bend over and put your hands down on the seat. Slide forward until your belly is on the seat.”
Olivia used her crop to direct Shonda’s movements on the chair. When she was positioned correctly, Shonda found herself with her knees on the platform, her belly on the seat of the chair, and her upper body extending out through the opening in the back of the chair — her arms were forward and down, and her pendulous breasts dangled heavily off the back edge of the seat.
“Hold your position,” Miss Olivia directed. As Shonda lay face-down on the chair, she noticed several things on a table nearby: half a dozen lengths of rope, a pair of single clamps, each on a steel chain about six inches in length; and a cat-o’-nine-tails whip with a thick, 10-inch dildo as a handle. As she was registering these items in her mind with growing horror, Miss Olivia had already exchanged her riding crop for a length of rope, and pulling Shonda’s arms up and behind her head, lashed them firmly to the top rung of the chair back.
As Shonda trembled at the sight of the cruel whip, Miss Olivia secured her further to the chair by tying another rope tightly around her waist, pinning her to the seat. As Shonda cringed at the size of the black latex cock that served as the cat’s handle, Miss Olivia tied the slave’s knees to each of the chair’s front legs, lifting her ass and spreading her open to whatever the mistress wished to do. As Shonda wondered how the evil-looking little clamps came into play, Miss Olivia used the last of the rope to bind her generous breasts, squeezing them cruelly. Miss Olivia then took each clip and clamped it tightly onto each of Shonda’s already-throbbing nipples. She then pulled the chain down so that it would loop securely around each chair leg below the wooden cross-support, which prevented the chains from sliding upward, thus keeping Shonda’s nipples stretched painfully downward.
Her tortured nips were already screaming in agony, but Shonda tried to keep her mind off them, knowing she could be in this spot for a while. She closed her eyes and started to fantasize about Mistress Althea, knowing the more turned on she was, the more pain she could take. She’d gotten about 30 seconds into a hot scene with her tongue up Mistress Althea’s ass when the cat-o’-nine-tails slashed across her back, snapping her out of her reverie and definitely taking her mind off of her aching breasts.
Over and over the whip slashed down on the helpless slave girl, in no regular rhythm and always in a different spot so that she could not really steel herself against the blows. Miss Olivia never drew blood, but she was an expert at administering the longest possible beating without causing damage, but plenty of pain, by spacing out her blows in this way. The mental cruelty, after all, was the most important part of one of her sessions with disobedient slaves.
Shonda’s pale skin pinkened quickly, then reddened, as the blows from the cat covered her ass, back, and thighs. Sometimes the knotted tips of the cat’s “tails” flicked her exposed pussy lips, and the sting of this was worse than the broadest lashes across her ass or legs. She cried, then begged, as her skin turned redder, then, as Miss Olivia began to raise painful welts, she screamed. There was no response from the mistress to any of Shonda’s screams for mercy — she stayed silent and let her implacable whip speak for her.
Finally, the slash of the whip stopped, and the screams diminished to anguished sobs. Between hitching breaths, Shonda cried out, “Thank you, thank you, Mistress.” Olivia let her cry for a while, then asked in her smooth, dark voice, “Who owns you, slave?”
“You do, Mistress,” whined the slave girl.
“Incorrect,” Miss Olivia growled, then delivered three vicious slashes directly to Shonda’s pussy. The girl screamed louder than ever, and wailed, “Mistress Althea! Mistress Althea owns me!”
Miss Olivia stilled the cat again. “I’m sorry,” blubbered the slave girl,” Mistress Althea owns me.”
“That is correct, yet the first answer you gave indicates you are just saying what you think I want to hear.” She slashed the whip against the tender labia again to punctuate this. “You must continue to take punishment until you learn to stop manipulating and speak the simple truth.”
“Oh, no, no, please! I’ll tell the truth, I promise! I’ll tell the truth!”
But Miss Olivia had already returned to her silent state. She did not continue to whip Shonda, though; she had something else in store. She walked over to a supply shelf and retrieved an accordion bottle of lubricant, then returned to the chair on the platform. Shonda, facing the other way, could not see what she had gone to get, and cried and moaned with terror, imagining all sorts of dire things. She had no idea what Miss Olivia was capable of!
She felt a cool blob of lubricant squirt against her asshole. Then the plastic nozzle, about two inches long, slid into her rectum. This felt good, and she enjoyed the sensation as Miss Olivia filled her ass with the entire contents of the squeeze bottle. Even so, she knew the lube could only mean she was going to get something up her ass.
Miss Olivia had turned the cat-o-nine-tails around and was rubbing the end of the huge dildo against Shonda’s tight, slippery anus. She had seen the evil whip-handle and knew that she could never take anything that large up her butt. She cried and tried to struggle, but she was tied up so tightly that all she could do was a ridiculous little wiggle of her ass. This was enough to piss Miss Olivia off, though, and without any further preliminaries she shoved the huge dildo up the slave’s ass in one go.
Shonda screamed again as she was impaled by the huge cock. Miss Olivia sat astride Shonda’s back as though she were simply sitting in the chair the slave girl was bound to. She had one leather-clad leg on each side of the slave and faced her ass so that she could plunge the giant dildo into the wailing girl
with two hands. Miss Olivia was a small woman, but her tight muscles rippled with strength as she violated Shonda’s ass over and over. The beautiful Asian mistress was always very much in charge.Shonda’s screams subsided after a while; she was too exhausted to do much more than gasp and sob as the tears ran down her reddened cheeks and the dildo ravaged her throbbing ass. Finally, Miss Olivia pushed the dildo in extra far and left it. Shonda uttered a moan when the huge cock went deep into her bowels, but she didn’t try to beg or bargain with Miss Olivia any more. She just lay helpless, pinned under the body of the mistress, bound inescapably to the hateful chair, her body blazing, crying miserably. She was completely helpless and she knew it.
From Miss Olivia’s Chair by Redhawke.
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Can a girl give herself an orgasm by fucking herself in the ass? It sounds like a challenge, but her master thinks she can do it:
Via Kinky Delight.
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Sent to a women’s prison by a vengeful and powerful politician, our heroines get in trouble for slacking off on the hard labor, and are punished with a little extra humiliation:
Continuing the motions of hoeing, Gail frankly watched Emma grasped Grace’s hair and pulled forward and down. “Bend well over, honey,” she invited.
The unfortunate girl had no choice but to obey. A moment later her head was between Emma’s ample thighs, her neck held as in a vice. Her bottom was reared, her legs were rudely kicked as wide apart as their chain would allow. Gail began to guess what was in store.
But she had underestimated the resources of the Prison Farm. From the bag, a gleefully grinning Thelma produced a huge tuft of what appeared to be ostrich feathers spouting from a sizeable rubber prong. She also produced vaseline.
Grace struggled and protested. But to no avail. She was held. The operation that would degrade and render her ludicrous before her fellow prisoners went competently forward. Admittedly, it was done with reasonable care. The ugly protrusion entered its warm sheath under skilful guidance and practiced hands. But to a girl who had never been spread it would be agony. Its frontal knob would ensure the sphincter muscle’s firm retaining grip upon the mockery of a bird’s plumed tail. But it would be bitterly painful to the girl within whose rectum it found refuge. The beastly work was concluded when Grace’s handcuffs were removed so that the sack could be discarded to leave her nude, and then locked back on her wrists with an extra tight grip. Scarlet faced, she stood in her plumed nakedness, uncertain what to do.
“Reach round and pull it out if you don’t like it, sugar,” Thelma suggested cheerfully.
For a moment Grace stood, undecided, off balance, not knowing. Then, following a natural instinct, she did the wrong thing. She reached back to tug the intruding alien thing from her body.
The laughter was not limited to the merriment of the wardresses. Most of the captive girls found it hard to keep a straight face. Even the agonized Gail could appreciate the comic absurdity of what she beheld. No matter how she tried, Grace could not reach the thing she sought. The handcuffs tight upon her wrists defeated her. She could touch a fingertip to a feather. But could grip nothing with sufficient force to achieve her purpose. With or without permission, she would have no choice but to wear her badge of shame.
Blushing vividly she picked up her hoe. Tears of chagrin bedewed her eyes…
Excerpted from Strange Captivity by F.E. Campbell.
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“Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s got the tightest tied tits of all?”
From Titty Blog, where they ID the model as Petra Morgan.
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