Bondage Blog

Now this is really a bondage offer he can’t refuse:

Though I’m no longer in the intensive BDSM lifestyle, I still love a hard spanking sessions, having my ankles and wrists bound with my ass sticking up in the air, my face pressed to the soft sheets. It makes me the best la petite possible, its sort of like the “Refresh button” for my sex drive.

Last night as I lay on my bed with Gadget talking about his current issues with his work space, I interrupted our serious chat with some well-reasoned thoughts:

I really would love for you to press my shoulders to the bed and spank me until my bottom is red. Maybe I can stand in front of you after and thank you by doing that thing you love, the dance thing.

He laughs in that way that isn’t really laughter but shows his amusement and interest. I hear him fumbling through the dresser drawer as I rip off my tight tee and kneeled on the bed in my white and blue polka dot panties. I can feel the air pressing on me; warm, heated by expectation and lust.

When he stands next to me, as I kneel, I’m shorter than he, like always but now I feel a smallness, a need to do what he wants, what he needs. The cold metal of the black steel handcuffs presses to my delicate wrists, the tightness of it as the little clicks tighten against me, denting into my flesh. His voice surrounds me:

You’ve been so naughty. Naughty girl.

He holds the chain of the cuffs as he uses his other hand to tilt my face up to him, his mouth wet and hot and as kisses me with renewed passion…

Mistress Matisse has written a great column on the distinction between wanting hot BDSM sex and “being a slave”. When people tell her they want to be someone’s slave, she asks them why:

The word “slave” is not just a generic term for any kinky person who likes to be the one wearing the handcuffs. But the answers I often get indicate to me that this is not well understood. Most of the time, people respond to my question by telling me about their desire for sex and intense stimulation. It’s the erotic fantasy of the bondage, of beautiful, threatening people in sexy outfits wielding nipple clamps and dildos.

Those are all hot things. I like them myself. But wanting to experience those things doesn’t make you a slave. I do BDSM with lots of people, but I would not call any of them “my slave.” (Nor would most of them want me to.)

To BDSM people, being a slave means undertaking an ongoing relationship of voluntary servitude to another person—a master or a mistress. The key word here is “relationship.” Saying you want to be a slave so you can do BDSM all the time is like saying you want to get married so you can have hot sex all the time. It’s not that it never works that way, but just as marriage is about much more than just sex, being a slave is about more than just doing BDSM scenes. And just as not everyone who has sex wants to get married, not everyone who wants to get tied up and spanked really wants to be a slave—no matter how hot the idea seems right before an orgasm.

Read the whole thing, it’s worth your time.

With apologies to Mother Goose:

He gave her some broth
without any bread
then spanked her quite soundly
and tied her in bed.

No really, he did:

I was put to bed the night before with wrists cuffs on, ankles cuffed together and a gag in my mouth. A gag was always a part of my little ‘tie myself up nice and quick’ sessions, usually a scarf or two with a piece of towelling to go inside the mouth and stop the drool from coming out. I’ve never found a lot of body fluids exciting and a wet spot made of drool was something I definitely didn’t want on my bed.

Ball gags seem to be made for humiliation- there is no way to stop the drool. I was lying there in bed prodding the thing with my tongue, trying to find a position that was comfortable. My bum was still smarting from its workout and on my side, with head tilted a little down to get some slack in the strap and take the pressure off my jaw -that was how I finally fell asleep.

If girls want to be slaves, there’s no harm in that. How could there be? Wonder Woman herself says so:

I don’t normally use words like “boobie” — that one is sort of third grade, y’know? — but alliteration is fun and sometimes — as in the case of extremely-well-endowed Hogtied.com model Jada Fire, it just seems appropriate. She’s well-endowed, and in a lot of boobie bondage:

If the cross ropes don’t strike you as pretty, here’s a more conventional breast tie:

And here’s evidence that the ol’ meanies at Hogtied.com are pervs first, and pornographers second. What sort of evil mind does it require to give this young lady bricks for breast pillows?

Here’s a front view, in case you missed it:

Not, not, not nice at all.

Still don’t believe me? There are more pictures and video.

Elsewhere on Bondage Blog:

• A Belt Around Her Boobs
• Helpless Breast Bondage
• Roped Slavegirl With Enormous Boobs
• Really Big Breast Bondage
• Flexible Slavegirl, Hogtied

Bondage on the bed, a strapping with the leather belt, some rough sex — these are the rewards of the slavegirl with the attitude problem:

For the last several days, I have been getting warnings from Master that I need to watch my mouth, that I needed to cool the attitude. I knew he was serious in his warnings but still, I didn’t really stop.

He told me Monday morning that I needed to be reminded of my place, and advised me that I would be getting 15 lashes w/ the belt… I was also advised that IF i didn’t cool it then it would get worse. Well, as of last nite it was 20.

I was told by Master that he would be over, so I came home to the apartment, cooked, straightened up, took a bath, et cetera. Aand when he arrived he had said several things to me and well needless to say my attitude was less than plesant and most certainly not slave-like. Finally he shot me a look and I knew I was in trouble.

He undid his belt, took the strings from his boots and proceeded to tie then around each wrist. He led me to the bed and removed my shirt, my bra — and I was pushed facedown on the bed, my wrists spread to either side and tied to the bedframe. Then he went to the other room. I could hear him in my drawers, the closet. When I asked what he was doing I was told not to worry about it. He returned w/ a blindfold and 2 other belts, placed the blindfold on my eyes — and jerked my pants off.

He then proceeded to tie my feet spread eagle to either side of the bed frame. I whined, moaned that it hurt. His responce was: “aww.. is the baby uncomfortable.. now we wouldn’t want the little baby to hurt would we?”

…

He shoved his hard cock in my mouth and I sucked until I couldn’t breathe. I got 3 smacks with the belt while I was taking his cock, then more. I was expected to keep count — and thankfully I did.

He buried himself inside of my dripping wet pussy many times, but always stopped to smack a few more times. I cried — so hard — I was so loud that he put his hand over my mouth, told me to be quiet.
He then climbed on top of me again; while fucking me in the ass he remined me that I was not in charge, that I was his, that I needed to remember to start taking my frustration and attitude on those who deserve it. And yes: he IS right.

We both came, so hard. After he came, I got the last lashing with the belt. My Master so painfully reminded me that it is HIM who knows best for me.

He then got into the shower. I got in with him. He told me to wash his cock, and I did with so much love. I was bowed before him and knew this is where I belong. He then picked me up from my knees and proceeded to bath me, washing my hair, my face, my body, my ass that he had just smacked. He held me under the water and kissed me so sweetly, so full of love — it was a moment that I will forever cherish.

I’m not a huge slash fan, but I do enjoy CSI, so this Gil/Sara story amused me deeply. Sara annoys the entire lab, and gets lured to Lady Heather’s for a bit of revenge, including bondage waxing waxing and piercing as a spectator sport:

Gil grinned and went into the other room. She could see him starting to undress. SLOWLY. Gil undressed where Sara could see him. She was spellbound. Grissom’s undoing his shirt. Oh this is better that what I could have imagine. He’s stripping so I can see. I’d rather do that myself…then again I might be alittle too fast. He’s doing it so slowly. Oh yes, yes. This is nice! He’s putting a show on for me. Now if these whores would just leave and let me enjoy this..

“This way, come now!” Lady Heather snapped the riding crop. “You are not ready for Mr Grissom just yet“.

“Lady Heather use the silk rather than the satin. It’s stronger!” Gil stated from the other room.

“As you wish Mr Grissom. Ladies”.

Four girls started to wrap Sara’s wrists and ankles with silk ties. She wobbled in the heels. She couldn’t balance well in this deep pile carpeting. If someone knocked into her, she’ld fall over like a lead balloon. Sara was so intently looking at Grissom stripping in the other room. She didn’t pay much attention to what the girls were doing. They were backing her up to a table, which was tilted vertically. Before she realized it, they had fastened her silk ties with leather straps. The girls worked very swiftly to pull the leather straps tight and swing the table back to a horizontal position. Whoa! I’m losing my balance here! She soon found herself laying spread eagle the table. Quite unable to move much but her head. She kept trying to look into the other room. Grissom was wrapping a heavy silk robe and tying it. Damn missed the best part.

Sara looked around the room. It was getting dimmer. Click. A spot light. I can’t see anything. What the hell is going on here? This is what Grissom wanted? Yeah, I wanted him to pin me to the wall but….he sure wouldn’t want people to watch us, would he? Why is he doing this? What is he thinking?

“Relax Ms Sizzdell, Mr Grissom wants some nice beauty treatments for you. He wants your night to be one you will never forget” Lady Heather cooed, “One that he will ever forget. He’s paid quite handsomely to make sure you are well taken care of”.