Tied To Trees
The art is The Daughters of El Cid by Ignacio Pinazo Camarlech (1879):

The art is The Daughters of El Cid by Ignacio Pinazo Camarlech (1879):

When you’ve got a blonde slave this hot, she needs frequent reminders of her status. Volunteering her services to mop out the men’s room at your local dive bar is not a bad way to accomplish this:
From the November 2010 Hustler’s Taboo magazine. People who join Hustler Network can access a digital edition of this magazine along with a large archive of other issues.
Elsewhere on Bondage Blog:
If you had a tiny woman in a cage, would you feed her nothing but sugar cubes?
From here.
Elsewhere on Bondage Blog:
This beautiful panopticon outdoor girl prison is for snotty students, according to this page. These are scenes from the 1998 movie Learning Curve (also called Detention) featuring a substitute teacher who took extreme measures to redress a lack of respect in the classroom:
My girlfriend is emphatic that I am not permitted to possess cages of this sort. She assures me that through some mishap or other, the authorities would eventually become involved, and my freedom? Inevitably compromised. I say “Bah!”
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New month, new Friday, must be time for some bondage links:
Elsewhere on Bondage Blog:
The following is from a print interview Ernest Greene did with BDSM artist Gary Roberts (click here for Roberts art on Bondage Blog) in the second issue of Taboo Illustrated:
Humanity is at least a hundred thousand years on this Earth, probably much more. I view forced sex as a completely natural occurrence. I’m sorry to tell assorted feminists and guilt-ridden “sensitive guys” this, but civilization as we know it is a minute tick of the clock in historical terms, maybe 13,000 years at most. Before then, and quite often since, men have been busily full-tilt murdering, hacking, warring, conquering and, yes, capturing and raping their way across this planet with glee and reckless abandon. For most of human existence on this planet, a man made his reputation through the force of his own will and hand. And powerful men have always collected women, whether by attraction or sheer force. This so-called civilization we proudly hold up and cheer is a temporary aberration. A fluke. I don’t glorify sexual violence. I don’t advocate mounting up to go off and pillage the countryside. I simply tell an uncomfortable truth that recent thinking would rather deny.
…
Men and women will always have a conflicted relationship. You can’t breed it out. You won’t condition it out. It’s genetic. However, consenting adults can choose to act out these desires and instincts in safe sex-play, which is hugely gratifying for both parties. I encourage this completely. Let the beast out to romp. Satisfy those most ancient urges and instincts. It’s best we take responsibility for this behavior, because all the laws passed by Congress won’t stop it, and repression only breeds madness and revolt. Repress these instincts and you end up with Ted Bundy or Jeff Dahmer.
I think women understand this better than men. I hear the same things from all my female fans. Women have powerful rape fantasies. Why do you think romance novels are so hot? Look at the cover illustrations:powerful, handsome men holding their conquests bent backwards in submission, bodices torn. Female readers know these men will rip those dresses off and have their way. I just don’t waste time drawing the dress.
Image credit: Black Van 4: Home Invasion from Dofantasy.
Elsewhere on Bondage Blog:
They’ve put tightly-stretched clamps on her nipples and clit, and this is her sentence:
“We’ll be listening upstairs. Watching. When you’ve been silent for fifteen consecutive minutes, we’ll let you out.” He grinned. “Then, the real fun begins.”
He and Lin turned, walked out of the room arm in arm.
Brandy gritted her teeth. She could do this. She could stand the pain for fifteen minutes. Couldn’t she?
There was a clock on the wall. She resisted the urge to watch it. She turned her head.
The glass cabinet stood against the wall to her right, so she began studying its contents.
Bad idea. The first object that jumped out at her was a metal instrument with a serrated wheel attached to it. The second looked like a rounded vent brush, but it was made of stainless steel, and the short “bristles” were stiff wires. She turned away quickly.
Which jostled her shoulders, which shook her breasts, which pulled against the clamps, which caused her to cry out.
Shit.
She closed her eyes.
That was worse, because then, all she had was the pain. It thrummed through her, like some great beast’s heartbeat.
Brandy whimpered.
Her clit burned. She shifted, trying to create slack in the lines. Screamed as the chain at her groin pulled even tighter. This was “mild” punishment?
“Get the hell down here!” She screamed. Everything was so delicately poised, even speaking jostled her tortured clit, bringing tears to her eyes. “Let me out, damn it! I changed my mind!”
No one came. Brandy sobbed, each shake sending a fresh wave of pain through her nipples. She screamed inarticulately. Screamed again. Drew in great, sobbing breaths and screamed again.
And again.
And felt tension draining from her trussed limbs. She shrugged her shoulders, wiggled her hips, let the tears flow with each fresh pang, and felt tension ebb.
She screamed again, long and loud.
Laughed.
Laughed again when she realized that even that hurt.
She was becoming hysterical. That wouldn’t do.
From Branded by Rachel Bo.