Bondage Blog

It’s bad enough for a curvaceous girl to be exposed in the stocks in the public square — how soon are those pretty knees going to start hurting? — without some lecherous citizen running his creepy hand up her leg:

As soon as I saw the picture of this lovely piece of stainless steel, I imagined my sweetie tied in a spread eagle on the bed, and me pulling this thing out of a bowl full of water and ice cubes:

From JT’s Stockroom, of course.

Elsewhere on Bondage Blog:

• Do You Need Some Shackles?
• Butt Hook
• Steel Nose Hook
• Prickly Kiss
• Wrapped In Steel

Here’s a fairly standard tattooed girl wearing a spider gag and some heavy chains. The look of apprehension on her face is a nice touch, but the real ominous bit is the visible IV bag hanging behind her:

You can get a better idea what’s going on by viewing the rest of the promotional materials for the shoot, but I’m not sure the purpose of the IV ever becomes clear without becoming a member. (It’s also possible that it’s actually an enema bag?) From Wired Pussy.

Elsewhere on Bondage Blog:

• Dr. Bondage And Nurse Sin
• More Toilet Bondage
• Bondage Enema

There’s a long essay at Pillowbook about two bad real-life bondage experiences, one teen-aged and one adult. I liked the bit where she gets tied up by some lounge lizard channeling the ghost of Dean Martin:

He stuck his tongue fair into my slit while i was standing there, and he started licking away at me like there was something inside my cunt that he needed to get into him in order to survive the next five minutes. his breathing got more and more laboured, and he started to sweat with excitement.

no kidding, he started to sweat visibly in the few moments that we stood like that. well, that i stood like that, and he knelt like that, licking at me.

beads of sweat popped out on his shoulders, forehead, back… it was like he was a frosty cold glass of hairy iced coffee, placed on a bench in a humid room, and condensation was forming on him as i watched. except, of course, that condensation is just pure water, and this was his salty, filthy, body juices, oozing from his pores.

it would be ungracious for me to say that it was at this point that he went from being dean martin, to pepé le pew.

so i won’t say that, even though that was what happened.

and i figured that was what the ropes were for. to stop me squirming away when the body odour hit.

well, i thought to myseln, and to any mind-readers who may have been listening, he’d better get those ropes working pretty soon, or it’ll be too late…

how about, he gasped, taking his tongue out of my cunt for a moment so he could form words, we use the ropes now?

i wondered for a moment if he could read my mind after all…

ok. would you like me to tie you up face up, or face down? i aksked, all sweetness and innocence. in my mind i added, ‘, you hairy fokken gorilla’, just to see if he *could* read my mind.

he didn’t react to the gorilla comment, but he did laugh when i suggested that it was to be him that got tied up.

i’ll tie *you* up, princess. here, lie down.

with the possible exception of russia’s anastasia, and maybe neverland’s tiger lily, i couldn’t think of any princesses who had been tied up, and i suspected that one or both of them was fictitious anyway. nonetheless, i lay down on my back, on his slippery bed, and submitted.

without too much messing about or delay, he tied each of my four corners to the four corners of his bed. it was one of those awful white enamel beds with brass knobs and flower decals on the posts.

he did, of course, a lousy job of tying me up.

i knew that at any moment, whenever i felt like it, i could get out of the ropes. i wondered if i was sposed to feel that, or if i was sposed to be feeling all overpowered or something.

the only thing overpowering me was his body odour.

standing dangerously on the oil-slick bed sheets, he looked down upon me, subjugated at his feet. with a flourish akin to a particularly lame shopping mall magician producing a startled pigeon from his sleeve, he produced his half-hard penis from the flap in his scungies.

From alt. binaries. pictures. erotica. cartoons, this great “tie her up and tickle her silly with the wing of a bird” illustration:

(We’ll just try to ignore the ominous appearance at the bottom of the drawing of an enema syringe and a bedpan.)

I suppose it’s not suprising that, on the set of a Water Bondage photo shoot, they’d have plenty of plumber’s tape (you know, that rolled metal strapping that comes pre-perforated with screw and nail holes). But I don’t think I’ve ever seen it used for bondage like this:

If you like BDSM fiction that tends toward the non-literary variety, but is still printed in an actual book with actual paper pages, one of the better imprints out there in recent years has been British publisher Silver Moon Books. Their books, alas, aren’t widely distributed in the United States, which makes them tricky to find.

Content varies widely, but tends to remind me of the old House of Milan titles in the sense of featuring lots of bondage, lots of spanking and whipping, lots of sex, and lots of severe scenarios starring unwilling women who manage to have fun anyway.

To give you the flavor, here are a few paragraphs from the first chapter of Desert Discipline by Mark Stewart:

The final straw came just after Suzanne’s eighteenth birthday. Her uncle informed her that she was to be married to an old merchant in return for a lucrative business deal. The thought of this horrified Suzanne; she threw caution to the rind and informed her uncle in no uncertain terms that she would not be ‘sold off’ to increase his already considerable wealth.

“If you think I will marry that old decrepit crow, you had better think again” she had shouted at the top of her voice. To make matters worse, the ‘decrepit old crow’ was in the next room and heard every word.

“You will do as I order” thundered her uncle.

“I will not and there is nothing you can do to make me,” Suzanne brazenly retorted.

“We will see about that” her uncle replied and stormed out of the room.

Suzanne was left with her aunt who stood glaring at her, her face crimson with anger. Suzanne prepared herself for another meeting with the vicious birch rods, determined that no matter how hard she was beaten this time she would not give in.

It was some five minutes later that her uncle returned accompanied by the merchant and the butler. “Have you changed your tune?” he demanded.

“NO!”

“Right then. On your head be it.” Then turning to the butler. “Do as I ordered.”

The butler grasped Suzanne’s arms behind her back and she was frog marched from the room, the others following close behind. To her consternation she was not taken to the study but out of the house towards the stables.

As the procession entered through the stable door, Suzanne began to tremble with fear at what confronted her. A heavy wooden table had been put in the centre and the head groom, whose advances Suzanne had once rudely rejected, stood there a long riding switch in his hands.

“You had your last chance girl. Now you will get a sound lesson in obedience and respect for your elders. Take off your clothes.”

“I will not.” Suzanne replied, her face red with embarrassment.

“Obey my order this instant or I will order the groom to do it for you.”

Realising that resistance was useless, Suzanne removed her garments one by one until, her face bright red with shame she stood naked before the gathering. She was pushed over the end of the table and her wrists and ankles tied to the legs.

“Carry out my order, Jacques.”

The last thing Suzanne saw before she screwed her eyes tight shut was the sadistic smile on the groom’s face as he took a practice swing with the switch.

Swish. Crack.

The stroke curled across the centre of her taut bottom raising a streak of fire far worse than any the recipient had dreamed possible. A shrill scream echoed around the stable.

Swish. Thwack.

A second line of fire rose in her cheeks as again Suzanne screamed.

Swish. Thwack.

This was far worse than any beating she had received before. It felt as if the switch was biting deep into her flesh. She had only taken three strokes yet she was writhing and screaming as if she had had a dozen with the birch.

After the sixth stroke Susan felt her head pulled up and she looked through her tears at the angry face of her uncle.

“Are you ready to change your mind yet?” he asked.

“No, and I never will” sobbed his niece through her tears.

“Carry on Jacques,” Suzanne heard her uncle order, “and lay them on harder. The ungrateful wench will learn to do as I say.”

To the accompaniment of her screams and sobs, the groom satisfied his revenge on Suzanne’s bottom. Twelve, fifteen strokes he delivered, the effort making his face run with sweat.

Suzanne lost count of the times the switch lashed across her raging buttocks. Her determination not to give in outlasted her body’s ability to absorb the beating and, after the eighteenth stroke had burned another path across her writhing body, she sank into welcome oblivion.

She slowly surfaced through the mist of pain to find herself laying face down on her own bed. Her uncle stood beside her.

“You have until tomorrow to think things over. If you haven’t changed your mind them you will be taken back to the stable for a further whipping. This will be repeated every day until you learn obedience to my orders.”

So saying he stamped his way from the room. Suzanne heard the key turned in the lock and she was left alone with her pain.

Elsewhere on Bondage Blog:

• Two Punishment Enemas