Bondage Blog

At the age of twenty, Barbara is being sent off by her family to a kinky finishing school for rich young ladies. The matron sent to escort her does not believe in brooking any nonsense, nor risking any escapes:

Mrs. Merridew held up a jumble of polished leather, at sight of which Barbara could not restrain a wince. “I’m glad you’re wearing just simple things, Miss. If you’ll just turn ‘round now… won’t take a minute.”

It had to be a dream, a nightmare, an hallucination! Dazedly and with averted eyes Barbara obeyed the motherly injunction.

“They’re simple and effective, M’lady.” Mrs. Merridew was anxious to assure. “Don’t ‘urt the dears at all, but keeps ‘em snug and tight. And with the cape… there ain’t a soul wot can ever know.” Her practiced hands were deft and strong.

The enforced penitent stood. The urge to strike, to scream, to run was strong. But, passively, Barbara allowed her waist to be circled by a broad and shiny leather band. With laces at the back Mrs. Merridew was ensuring that it became punitively tight. The captive of the leather understood now the earlier admonition that she wear no corset. She flushed as a sturdy knee at her bottom was employed to counter the tugging of stout hands. Inconsequently she considered that someone had spent a tidy sum upon the harness. It looked expensive. It had contracted her middle to a dimension both flattering and frightening. “Good thing I brought the small one. Lovely waist you got, Miss.” Mrs. Merridew was panting. “Now if you’ll just let me ‘ave yer ‘and…“

Once more the inconceivable. It was not until the soft strap was snug about her wrists, buckled and its end deftly inserted into its waiting loop that Barbara fully comprehended the actuality of her restraint. A laced belt holding on each side a wristlet by which a hand was made captive sufficiently at the rear so that its reaching fingers could touch nothing other than the costly leather to which it was irretrievably anchored. Never, never could a hand touch its twin or reach the laces knotted behind the waist. “Miss Amory calls it an ‘ensemble,’ ” said Mrs. Merridew eyeing her work complacently. “Lovely bit O’ work it is for sure. Try and get your ‘ands free, dear. Show ‘er Ladyship wot I mean.”

Barbara’s own curiosity prompted compliance. She was aware of the flushing of her cheeks as she tugged and twisted to no avail. She was utterly and completely helpless. But there was no pain, no true discomfort. She had been neatly converted into a package for disposal. She looked from one to the other of her audience in mute dismay.

From Barbara by F.E. Campbell.

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Of course I hope you are going to be far too busy in your home dungeon tomorrow to have any interest in kinky porn. But if that’s not you this year, perhaps you’ll appreciate finding out about the Kink.com “Love Sucks” Valentine’s Day sale:

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Every day at feeding time she’s let out of the cage (if she’s been good) but she’s never allowed the use of her hands. The pet-mittens stay on!

Artwork is by Lucy.

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What if bondage tape, only it said “crime scene” on it? Surely that would be somebody’s fetish! However, these images are from a German campaign of advertising against domestic violence about twenty years ago:

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Have you ever seen a woman who seems happier about a scarf tied around her wrists? (Well, actually, I hope and expect you have.) This bondage newbie from a 1978 issue of Sex Games magazine certainly seems to be enjoying her light bondage experiment:

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I’m not convinced that the President’s Guard in this particular mythical post-colonial African country is what we’d call a professional military organization by any stretch of the imagination. But they sure do take a stern line on punishing resistance to sexual harassment:

For Trudy Ramsay the day promised to be long.

She suspected it was no more than half done. She longed to scream at the injustice of what was being done to her. But she had been warned about screaming. It would be wiser to suffer in modest silence, with perhaps just an occasional moan.

The flat top of the post was about the same diameter as her bare bottom. Obviously they had been made for each other. The post was in the middle of the Barrack Square. Naked, she sat astride it for all to see. She had disgraced the guard uniform, so it had been taken from her. She would not have sat upon this four-foot-high perch had it not been for the ankle clamps. They were metal. At a cunning angle they fastened one of her feet to each side of the post, bent so that her knees stuck out and all her weight rested on her bottom. To complete the ensemble of penitence her wrists were unkindly tied at the small of her back. Trudy Ramsay was most definitely a fixture.

But, this being Zindawba, there had to be more. Unhappily she recalled her first sight of the coarse sandpaper glued to the circle of wood on which she must sit. It would have been bad enough without Sergeant Galla’s dictum. “Sandpaper’s better with a tender rump, love. Lie over my lap.”

The spanking had been shaming and hurt more than she would have supposed.

When the sergeant was breathless there was another girl proffering her knees and the impacts of her palm. And another, and another… In all, nineteen. By the time they were through with spanking her, Trudy’s bottom was ablaze and a fiery red. There had been no animosity in any of the slaps but they had hurt just the same. They had then all helped hoist her up on the stub of timber and fastened her ankles in the clamps, tightening the bolts with a spanner. It was all very efficient, and most unkind.

Sergeant Galla had summed it all up succinctly: “You shouldn’t have bit the warrant officer’s dink, love.”

“He shouldn’t have tried to shove it in my mouth.”

But that had all been gone over at her trial. It was generally conceded she had got off lightly. W.O. Ringbolt had demanded she be flogged. He had been conciliated only by the sergeant’s insistence that she was very new to Zindawba and would probably be a more obedient girl next time she was so honored.

“We have to, love. Al of us. He’s a terror, he is! But it makes a change from getting it up the other place below.”

Trudy had gained no solace from the sophistry.

With her blazing seat solidly planted on the sandpaper, and quite unable to move it an inch, she saw no solace anywhere. The day stretched endlessly. After it there would be others. Making the best she could of her plight, she mentally reviewed her life, so far, in the President’s Guard…

From Beloved Bonds by F.E. Campbell.

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Pillory blowjobs are a staple of BDSM fiction and illustration, but they turn up in actual photographic bondage porn rather less often than you would think. But this one from Pleasure And Praise at Kink.com is worth celebrating:

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