I think of this sort of facial distortion bondage (using some sort of dental or surgical device, plus a nose hook) as being distinctively Japanese. I’m guessing it’s a humiliation fetish at root:
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You, dear reader, can see this young woman’s mistake long before she does:
I kissed her, long, soft, and felt her melt a little. Best Italian restaurant in town and a few martinis afterward and she was just about as horny as I was. But still, the little matter of getting it all started, getting the ball rolling, getting the boat away from port. The handcuffs.
I dangled the pair in front of her eyes again and felt her body stiffen. Yeah, she was turned on, but the cold gleam and harsh reality of steel was maybe not what she thought would do the trick. I knew she considered herself a little experimental, but in her mind, a blow-job in a backseat of the bar parking lot was the limit. This would be pushing the envelope.
“I don’t know…” Her face scrunched up and I knew it was for my benefit. She was trying to divert to something more familiar. Something safe. Oh, she definitely was curious. But the cuffs scared her. As well they should. In the hands of the wrong person, such instruments could very well be a huge set-back to personal freedom. They spoke so much, those little circlets of steel. Once the final ratchet clicked they weren’t coming off without the key.
I grinned. “I’ll even give you the key.” I showed her the little key chain and the bronze colored key that dangled from it. As I clicked the cuffs shut and worked the key in the little slot on one of them, she watched with doe eyed fascination.
With a quick twist, I popped the cuff open and she shuddered. Whether that was for me or real I couldn’t tell. It sure was pretty fucking sexy. “See, nothing to it. I’ll give you the keys and if you get a little frightened you can just take them off yourself.”
She tentatively reached out and took the handcuffs. I could see her eyes widen even more when she held the full weight of the bracelets. Oh yes, these were the real thing – not the plastic toys they sold at Spencers. She moved one of the folding circles back and forth and finally clicked it home. Using the key she opened it back up.
“I don’t know,” she murmured and, God, I almost lost it with those three words. So innocent. So uncertain. So sexy.
I kissed her full lips again until she returned it. Pulling away, I whispered, “It’s all about trust, Teri. You trust me, don’t you?”
She hesitated just a moment and I could see she was weighing the month or so that we’d shared sitting next to each other on barstools, crying our souls out about how unfair the world was and how shitty our ex-lovers had been to us against getting locked up and helpless. But this was our first real date and I could tell she wanted to show me that she was appreciative of me being there for her in her hour of need. Yeah, to some extent
she thought she could trust me.“Ok,” she bit her lip. “But just for five minutes. I’ve never had anything like this on me before.” She delicately slipped her left wrist between the circles of steel and gently clicked the band shut.
God, what a sight. Nothing beats a girl with a set of handcuffs dangling from her wrist. She began to slip the other in and I grabber her hand gently.
“No, no, dear. Behind your back.” She stiffened immediately and I knew it would take another kiss. I leaned in and gave her the thousand dollar sell. When I pulled away, we were both breathing pretty hard and there was a hungry little gleam in her eye.
“Five minutes,” she murmured. I helped her find the cuff behind her back, directing her wrist to the waiting ringlet. She fumbled a little, but I wanted to make sure that she was the one that clicked her fate shut. Click. Now both her hands were locked behind her. She still held the little key in the palm of her hand and I could see she fought the urge to immediately try to get it in the slot.
I turned her around so she faced me and gave her a quick up and down. She looked gorgeous with her hands locked behind her. I gave her a long, deep kiss, pulling her into me and feeling her breasts against my chest got me moving. I only had five minutes after all.
I pulled away and reached down under the sofa. She was too busy experimenting with the feel of having her hands taken away from her to notice the coil of rope I brought out.
“This isn’t so bad,” she started to say, as I turned her back to me, then sucked in her breath sharply as I pulled her elbows together and quickly looped the rope around her upper arms. She let out an adorable little squeak as her arms were pulled tightly back and cinched tightly together by the rope. By the time she got any more words out of her mouth, her arms were lost to her completely.
“What the fuck-” I pushed her down on the sofa face-first and crawled on top of her immediately. Straddling her ass, I reached down under the sofa again and pulled out the fat rubber ball-gag. I could feel her fingers going to town with the key, trying to get it into the slot and I grinned. Pulling her head back by her shoulder length auburn hair, I slid the ball-gag in between those full, sexy lips and buckled the strap tight.
She was still fumbling with the little handcuff key and now shrieking, and I avoided her eyes as I rolled her over. To look into her eyes now would be like falling into a well. I would not be able to finish her.
I swung my legs around so now I sat on her tight little belly and, taking still more rope from under the sofa – it was a damn good thing she hadn’t looked under there before we got started – I caught her flailing legs. Two coils went around her knees, good and tight, and more around her ankles, so tight I would have to check her circulation later. I was a sucker for tight ropes. Actually, just about everything had to be tight with me. If it didn’t cut into the flesh, why bother.
Now I could step back and get my first real look at her. Teri, my date. Ball-gag crammed deep into her mouth making her cheeks puff out like a chipmunk. Arms tightly tied behind her forcing her breasts to jut out lewdly behind her sweater. Legs lashed together oh so tightly.
I reached down and pulled her to her feet by her shoulders. She tried to struggle but short of falling down on her face, a few ineffective twists of her torso was all she could muster. She was shrieking, of course, and her soft doe eyes had turned to raging, scared coals of fire. I turned her around and took the handcuff key from her fingers. This brought a wail from behind the gag.
“Now, now, dear, I said five minutes and I’m a man of my word.” I slid the key into the lock and popped one band off her wrist. Immediately she started flailing her free arm around, as best she could with her elbows tightly tied they way they were. It took a little work to get the other cuff off, but when it finally popped free, I dodged her little fists as I made one last trip under the sofa. She began to cry as I caught first one wrist then the other and quickly, methodically tied them together.
From Just Five Minutes by Toran.
Given the lofty clouds of pretension that sometimes seem to try and choke the life out of BDSM fun, especially on the internets, I found this from Bitchy Jones rather refreshing:
Sadism is not a superpower. Sadism does not maker you cleverer or better or sexier. Kinky people, in general, are not having a higher form of sex.
“Oh, BDSM is so much better than vanilla sex because it involves the brain an not just the body and the brain is the biggest sex organ, bleh-de-bleh”
*Fuck!* *Off!*
We are not having better sex. We are having stupider, expensiver, more time consuminger sex. That’s no kind of “better” that I understand.
Not better. Just different. Remember.
Mind you, having said that, I quite like it.
Following in the theme of Sex And Submission’s homage to Dolcett, now their props people (or, maybe, the Device Bondage grips, who may be the same people) have built a blowjob cart after the fashion of Pichard:
From here.
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I don’t know if this was intended to be an erotic bondage photo, or some sort of artistic commentary on the status or treatment of women. Whatever the intent, it’s edgy:
I’ve read about this game. Her ankles are bound so she can barely shuffle along, while someone with a riding crop encourages her to do so. Back and forth, back and forth along the knotted rope, friction building, the knots bumping her clit every so often, the rope getting damp and slippery as she lubricates it, orgasms making her weak in the knees…
Probably not for everyone, but as fantasies go, it has merit. Via Usenet.
Elsewhere on Bondage Blog:
This is classic police-procedural abuse-of-power bondage fantasy, but in the best tradition of the genre, it stars an unsympathetic victim who makes it worse for herself:
Stephanie was now standing in her white bra and a large pair of conservative white panties, that looked like they could have sailed a small boat.
“Now turn around and put your hands on the wall.” I managed, before a howl of protests drowned me out.
“Just wait a second, if I have to do this now, just to see my daughter.” She shrieked, as if the proverbial light bulb went off. “Then what did my daughter have to do?”
“Your daughter?” I said trying to choose my words for effect. “She had to strip, strip to the skin for us…Just like you.”
“You fucking pigs!” she screamed out. “She’s just a baby.”
(Geez…. Just how old do you have to be, to not be considered a baby anymore?)
The room was becoming almost unbearably hot, as the three of us stood there waiting for the other to blink. She wasn’t just gunna have my badge now, she was also going to sue me for sexual harassment and misuse of force. Well if there is one thing I’ve learnt so far its, if you’re going to get sued, make it worth it.
Finally, I had to help her into position. Now behind Stephanie, I pulled on the back of her bra straps and ran a finger under them, making my way over her shoulders. I ran a finger under the cups of her bra and just lightly over her nipple. Stephanie quickly spun around. Venom on her breath, as she raised her hand.
“Think about it,” I managed, before I felt the palm of her hand slap across my left cheek. The sounds of smacking flesh echoing of the walls, my eyes instantly glassy. I saw her hand raising for an other swing, but I caught it this time and spun her back around. Forcing her into the wall, while quickly finding my cuffs. I slapped them on her wrists and raised her hands over her head and hooked them into a hook that was bolted into the wall, for just this purpose.
While a stunned Kevin watched her, I went to the bathroom to wash my face and clear my eyes, while also trying to regain my composure. I spent some time typing up the paper work, before entering the processing room again. I read Stephanie her rights, over her cursing, as I explained how she was going to get to spend the night with her daughter, after all.
“Ok, now we can continue the search,” I said, as I felt around the back of her straps again.
“Don’t you dare fucking touch me!” She screamed, as she spun her head around and spat at me. Fighting my natural instinct to smack her one, (as that just wouldn’t be cool.) I went over to the large table and unlocked the lone drawer. I found the mask we use for “spitters.” Its like a doctor’s mask, but it’s made of leather.
“I’m glad you’re here Kevin, so you can witness this,” I said, as I strapped on the mask, despite Stephanie’s defiant actions. (I could also use the witness in court, although I knew that there wasn’t a Judge in a state that would rule against my father, or more importantly for me…his son.)
I went to the table again and found the medical scissors. I made sure she could see them, before I ran them under her bra strap, cutting a shoulder strap, and then the next. Reaching around her body, I ran the knife up her stomach. I cut the bra through the middle, right between her breasts. The large bra fell to the floor, revealing her two large slightly saggy breasts to our view.
Kevin, (making a simple rookie mistake,) bent down to pick up the bra, and received a knee to the head for his effort. It was now Kevin’s turn to use the bathroom to clear his head. While he was doing that I went to the supply closet and found the seldom used leather straps. I waited for Kevin to return, as I figured he would want to assist me in the next part.
When Kevin joined me, we strapped Stephanie’s kicking feet together and then un-hooked her from the wall hook and laid her face down on the dirty concrete floor. After removing the handcuffs, we strapped her fighting hands behind her back. We brought her legs up, and attached her hands and legs together, effectively hog-tying her.
I gabbed her by the arms, Kevin by the legs, and we carried her squirming body down the stairs to the holding cell in the cold basement. Opening the cell door, we carried her in and unceremoniously dumped her on the concrete floor. She shrieked out, under the mask. I must have been her red-hot body — hitting the cold floor.
From The Junior Deputy, by Deputy Duffy.
