I don’t think this New Jersey law is aimed at your girlfriend’s pink-and-fuzzies, but it’s still a bizarre law:
Any person who knowingly has in his possession handcuffs under circumstances not manifestly appropriate for such lawful uses as handcuffs may have, is guilty of a disorderly persons offense. (New Jersey Code, §§ 2C-39.3(k), 2C-39.9.2.)
From here.
Every time I’ve seen the Watchmen trailer in the theater, it’s been obvious that the character in latex was costumed with the sole intent of drawing in the bondage/latex/rubber/fetish crowds. All I can say is, it’s working:
Elsewhere on Bondage Blog:
There’s a scene in an old Victorian strokebook called The Adventures of Lady Harpur where a pretty maid on a West Indies plantation is sent around for a whipping from an aging overseer who is used to taking full advantage of such situations:
Snigger took the note from the girl, read it with a grin and commenced tying her hands.
‘Oh, Mr Snigger, this is the first time I was ever sent here, won’t you be good and not uncover me?’
‘Well, I must place you here at all events.’
He secured her as usual, leaning over the beam, but when he attempted to raise her petticoat, she screamed and kicked with all her might.
‘Ah, my lady, I will soon stop that,’ and taking a long flat piece of wood, he fastened her feet to each end, thus fixing them at their widest stretch. Then, not heeding her cries, he threw up her clothes and passed his lecherous hands deliberately over her belly and bottom and the inside of her thighs, then opening the lips of her cunt, he looked in and poked his finger up. She threatened him at the highest pitch of her voice, but her abuse only seemed to add zest to his pleasure, for he laughed as he took out his prick and placed its rubicund head between the thickly covered lips of her cunt and slowly drove it up.
…
Meanwhile, Snigger, having discharged, had taken out his tool and after wiping it said, ‘Now, my lady, I will pay you off for all your hard names and abuse; how do you like that, and that?’ each time giving her a cut across the bottom with the cat.
‘Oh, Mr Snigger,’ another cut, ‘Oh, have mercy,’ another slash.
‘You vile strumpet to call me a dirty black nigger,’ and down came the cat harder than ever.
‘Oh, Mr Snigger, I will never call you names again.’
‘Won’t you? What else will you promise?’ Cut – slash – cut.
‘I will let you fuck me whenever you wish.’
‘And how am I to fuck you again?’ he said, lashing away.
‘Any way you like.’
‘Oh, yes, fuck your arse?’ Slash, slash, slash.
‘Yes, my arse or anywhere, only stop whipping.’
She had now received about a dozen and a half and he drew back to observe the effect of his work.
Her bottom was all marked across with red streaks, while a few more appeared on her thighs.
‘Oh, Mr Snigger, pity my poor bottom, unfasten and let me go.’
‘I am not done with you yet, you want me to fuck you again, don’t you?’ he asked raising up the cat.
‘Yes, my bottom is all in a glow and my cunt is just burning; you may fuck me as much as you like, I would really enjoy it now.’
He went up to her and having moistened two fingers in her cunt, he pushed them into her bottom; when she started he cried, ‘What, do you want more of the cat?’
‘No, I want your nice prick, dear Mr Snigger, in my cunt.’
‘What?’
‘Well, in my arse or anywhere, only let me down.’
‘That’s right, now push out your arse, I will fuck your cunt first.’ She poked out her behind as much as she could; he took off his pantaloons and shirt, and after rubbing up his tool with his hand, he drove it up her cunt.
‘Is that good?’ he asked with a grunt.
‘Yes, dear Mr Snigger, it is delightful.’
After a few long deliberate strokes, he drew it out and holding open the cheeks of her bottom, he thrust its head against the little round hole. ‘Open,’ he cried, ‘open your arse, I say.’
She groaned and let in the head. He then pushed the whole prick up into her bottom and clasped her round the waist; then drawing it all out except the head, he plunged it in again and so went on till the paroxysm came and he spent.
Here’s a wonderful old “French Postcard” style bit of lesbian bondage porn, complete with a toothed chastity belt:
(Click the image to see a much larger version.)
I’m fascinated by vintage fetish gear, the sex toys that were once lovingly hand-crafted for sale in discreet European shops. Thus, a closeup on that chastity belt:
I like the idea of shrinking the hinged pillory/stocks concept down to a heavy wooden bondage collar, as displayed in this bit of Japanese bondage art from alt. binaries. pictures. erotica. bondage:
The black strap iron and rivets are a nice style touch.
Elsewhere on Bondage Blog:
The gender roles may be reversed from the usual Bondage Blog fare, but I think this column by Mistress Matisse does a great job of explaining the seeming contradiction at the heart of BDSM. How is that that sadism and love can so often coexist so happily?
His passionate pleas rose in volume as I brandished the stapler again. He’s really scared, I thought. I’ve never injected heroin, but I do believe the pleasure I felt in that moment could not possibly be rivaled by anything in a syringe. I felt high—and on the heels of that, I felt a surge of tenderness toward him. And then I put another staple into his nipple.
Now, I cannot be this mean to just anyone. I can slap and tickle a stranger, but to be really cruel to someone, I have to love him. If that sounds weird to you, this next part will seem even weirder: The very act of being sadistic to someone in a BDSM scene often creates feelings in me I can only call love while I’m doing it.
I’m measuring my sadism by the intensity of the reactions of my play- partner, not by any external scale. So what I actually do to create the most intense sensation he can handle isn’t that important, as long as I see his breath coming faster and feel his heart pounding in his chest. Just as in traditional sex, that triggers a mirroring response in me. Emotional and physiological arousal, combined with sexual energy—well, my animal brain thinks that’s love.
I’m sure this is one of these movies where the bondage on the poster is better than anything in the movie. But, still. Why do so many rich girls go so wrong?
Paris? Anybody?
