Oh man. I didn’t even need to see this girl naked, much less tied up … one look at Sensi Pearl’s lovely face smiling over the Sex And Submission caption and I knew it was going to be a sizzling photoshoot:
The free trailer movie is too short, but definitely enough to give you the idea. The only thing I can’t believe is the moment where he puts a bag over her head … would you deprive yourself of that smile?
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Friday bondage links time again!
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Obviously not a modern military organization, if this is the standard of prisoner treatment that’s prevailing:
Art is by Grundig, and this is from a comic called La Tsarine Noir.
Or, why spelling is important in BDSM:
Someone emailed me asking if I’d make him my collard slave. I have to refuse. I just really prefer kale.
Yet another excerpt from The Green Door:
Tara’s struggles made no progress against Betsy’s full weight pressing her against the wall. Betsy pulled first one arm then the other behind Tara’s back. The strap pulled them together above the elbow. Betsy held Tara by the dripping hair with one hand and grabbed the “glove” with the other. Slipping onto Tara’s arms was quite easy. The straps criss-crossed over her breasts and buckled securely under her armpits. Three more straps attached laterally along the glove. One above the elbows, one below, and a third just above the wrists. Betsy cinched these as far as she could. Tara’s elbows touched within their leather confines. The gag was next. She held it up to Tara’s gaze.
“Forget it Betsy.”
“Oh come now, be a good girl.”
Tara turned her face to the wall. “Fuck you, dear.”
With no hesitation, Betsy spun Tara around, back to the wall, and smiling grabbed a handful of her dark pubic hair. The leather pear slipped easily into Tara’s mouth. The tapering strap was just narrow enough in front to let Tara’s lovely lips protrude over the top and bottom. She moved Tara to face the mirror. Betsy wiped the steam away with her hand. “Now tell me you don’t look lovely.” Tara didn’t say a word. Betsy placed a wide strap around Tara’s waist. A second strap hung from the back of the waist strap, which was threaded through Tara’s crotch and buckled firmly in front. A leash was attached above Tara’s mound, and she was led to Robert in this fashion.
Robert still sat behind his desk. He looked up from his book when the two women entered. “Tara, is that a new outfit?”
“See, I told you he’d like it. Now kneel for him.”
Tara shook her head adamantly. resorting to the pubic hair again, Betsy coaxed her into a kneeling position. She threaded a long strap through the back of Tara’s gag and secured it to a strap at her ankles. Another strap went through the ring at the base of the glove and then around her knees. Tara knelt obediently, her face toward the ceiling.
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Good old Alebeard, the cruel creative genius behind Pain Toy, has a far darker perspective on BDSM than I do. He plays harder and his fantasies are darker and he has a lot more courage than I do when it comes to talking about the uncomfortable edges of the scene. Sometimes when I read the riffs on his blog, I’m thinking “Dude, go whip somebody and mellow out, you’re gonna scare the horses!” But, nonetheless, he often has insights I value, like this one:
We often find BDSM filled with protocols and rules, with little badges and foolish leather hats. What often gets lost however is that raw and powerful urge that brought us here to begin with.
It is less to me about balance than awareness, less about moderation than determination. We choose to explore dark places and in doing so we do not seek the light, we do not seek completion or honor, romance nor some higher path, we seek pain-filled filthy degrading terrifying fun for its own sake.
We far too often cloak this in romance and artistry for me.
We are monsters and prey who understand no.
I don’t think my urges are so dark and powerful as his, but like him, I can sometimes grow weary of the protocols and funny hats. Yet do I understand that for some people, these are the safety lines, the hard hats, the protective gear that helps ensure nobody forgets to understand “No.” And I’m a big fan of people enjoying kink at whatever level works for them, whether it’s party play so stylized you could be forgiven for confusing it with English country dancing, or dark screaming basement whip-extravaganzas of welts and tears and snot.
I’m not gonna back down from the joy I take in BDSM romance, though.
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