Bondage Blog

Here’s another classic bondage story from The Kristen Archives. It starts well:

Janie was lost. She had been wandering up and down the little alleyways of this infernal city for hours now. She had been pawed at by scab covered beggars lying in the streets, robbed by a little street urchin of her purse, which contained her wallet, passport and Visa, AND she was hot, thirsty, and very tired. If she could just find a main street and ask someone who spoke English where the Embassy was, she’d be happy. Turning a corner, she almost walked into a man dressed in exquisite colorful silks.

“I beg your pardon!” she exclaimed.

“No, let me beg yours,” the man replied in perfect English. “You appear to be lost, my lady.”

“Oh thank god you speak my language!” Janie said, relieved. “Yes, I’m dreadfully lost! Can you tell me where the American Embassy is?”

“I can take you there myself,” said the man bowing. “But first, please come into my shop and have a glass of refreshing cold tea. You look tired and hot, and the Embassy is a good walk from here.” He pointed to an open doorway that seemed to lead into a small carpet shop. Janie nodded, and followed him in.

Needless to say, she shouldn’t drink the tea.

But she does. Before she knows it:

The courtyard was full of Arabs, milling about, waiting for the next bidding to start. They whistled in appreciation as Janie was led up upon the stage. Her hands were pulled up high above her head and fastened of a metal bar that was built up out of the stage.

She saw the greedy looks on the faces around her and closed her eyes, her body shaking with shame and revulsion. Then the bidding started. Rashid egged the crowd on, pulling at her nipples to demonstrate how supple they were, pulling her legs apart and letting the bidders tug at her pubic hair, and poke their dirty fingers into her cunt.

After about a half hour of demonstration and bidding, a final bid was reached, and Janie was untied from the bar, and led down off the stage, and off into a small room with her purchaser.

The man who had bought her was fat and smelled of spice.

But of course he has a skinny and sadistic son with a taste for raping slavegirls:

Hessian stood up and walked over to her. He threw off the cloak, and unbound her wrists. He ran his hands over her breasts, and then down across her flat stomach. Without a warning, he thrust his fist into her stomach. Janie cried out in pain and doubled over onto her knees. Hessian laughed, and slipped out of his silks. He came around behind her and knelt on the floor. Forcing her head down to the ground with one hand, he guided his hard cock into her cunt with the other.

She screamed at the penetration, and struggled to get free. Hessian just drove in deeper and harder. He released her head and groped under her for her breast which he squeezed hard. She lunged upwards and managed to throw Hessian off her. Then, sobbing, she tried to crawl away. He grabbed her by her hair and pulled her to her feet. His cock was still rigid, glistening with her juices.

“Little spitfire,” he gasped as he brought his hand down hard across her face. He pushed her against the wall and managed to get her hands secured in the fetters that hung there. Now chained to the wall, Janie could just kick, which she tried to do. Hessian caught a leg, hoisted it up, and chained it to a third cuff hanging on the wall. Now her cunt was exposed. He stepped back to observe her.

Janie struggled but finally stopped, panting. She felt so vulnerable with her wrists high above her head, and her leg chained as high as it would go.

“You, bastard!” She hissed.

Hessian pulled a short riding crop from it’s place mounted on the wall. He walked over to her and rubbed it against her open cunt. “Does that feel nice, bitch?” He raised it above his head, and brought it down on her tits. The crop left a thin vibrant red line across both breasts. Janie screamed. He hit her again, across the stomach, then again across her cunt.

From Arab Slave by “Kinara In Thorns”.