While searching for something else, I found this bondage fragment on a search-engine-spam page:
…removing the handcuffs, they doubled her over the leather horse and fastened straps around her wrists and ankles. As Gloria spun a wheel beneath the horse, it began to rise. Copious quantities of sex-sweat bubbled out of the…
They had me until the “sex-sweat”.
Here’s a fantastic vintage bondage postcard featuring a pretty prisoner, from Usenet. This image would originally have been hand-tinted, but to my eye it looks like somebody’s been at the colors with Photoshop as well. Still, pretty:
Here we go: a nice shot of Xena, Warrior Princess, all chained up and being hustled along by two goons. Gabby, in foreground, looks determined as only she can:
When I first read the following as a young lad, it made a powerful impression on me. Most of the girls in my life were at least as verbally abusive as the lovely Aphris of Turia, and despite the obvious flaws in the plan, I was pretty impressed with the fantasy of stuffing them in a leather sack until their attitude improved:
“Do you not recall,” asked Kamchak, “the banquet of Saphrar?”
“Of course.” she said, warily.
“Do you not recall,” asked Kamchak, “the affair of the tiny bottles of perfume and the smell of bosk dung — how nobly you attempted to rid the banquet hall of that most unpleasant and distasteful odor?”
“Yes,” said the girl, very slowly.
“Do you not recall,” asked Kamchak, “What I then said to you — what I said at that time?”
“No!” cried the girl leaping up, but Kamchak had jumped toward her, scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder. She squirmed and struggled on his shoulder, kicking and pounding on his back. “Sleen!” she cried. “Sleen! Sleen! Sleen!”
I followed Kamchak down the steps of the wagon and, blinking and still sensible of the effects of the Paga, gravely held open the large dung sack near the rear left wheel of the wagon.
“No, Master!” the girl wept. “You call no man Master,” Kamchak was reminding her. And then I saw the lovely Aphris of Turia pitched head first into the large, leather sack, screaming and sputtering, thrashing about.
“Master!” she cried. “Master! Master!” Sleepily I could see the sides of the sack bulging out wildly here and there as she squirmed about. Kamchak then tied shut the end of the leather sack and wearily stood up. “I am tired,” he said. ” I have had a difficult and exhausting day.” I followed him into the wagon where, in a short time, we had both fallen asleep.
— from “Nomads of Gor” by John Norman
Elsewhere on Bondage Blog:
It looks like this bondage nurse from Wired Pussy is reluctant to open her mouth — do you think she doesn’t want to be gagged?
Not that struggling is going to do her any good.
Nipples that work? I like DirtyTalkinGirl’s definition of “work”:
Sometimes I wish I had those pencil-eraser nipples because I think men prefer those, but I don’t lose any sleep over mine. The main thing is, mine work. Indeed, they work too well. If you tied me down tight at wrist and ankle and attacked my nipples, and only my nipples, with your lips and tongue, you could force me through as many screaming orgasms as you liked.
Here’s an extreme suspension bondage, anime-style:
From alt. binaries. pictures. erotica. cartoons.
Elsewhere on Bondage Blog:
