This is from a 1982 issue of Breast Bondage magazine from House Of Milan. And, clearly, the photo was taken before the international hairspray shortage crisis hit later in that decade, reducing the size and volumes of all future hairdos:
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Predicament bondage is fun for everybody, right? I mean, sure, in practice you have to monitor any bondage stress position super closely for safety, but you should be doing that anyway. Here are “concepts of a plan” for eight rope bondage predicaments, by The Veterinarian:
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I can’t seem to find out much about the 1970 French art movie titled variously as Trap, Die Falle, and Piège, but sources seem to agree that the chained actress here is Bulle Ogier:
The best summary I can find edits down to “Bernadette Laffont and Bulle Ogier engage, with reckless abandon, in a flurry of senseless destruction in a house at night. Somewhere between a hallucination and a nightmare.”
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PaleSeaFoam asked for new jewelry and is delighted with the pretty chains he bought her:
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When she’s naked and on her knees, loving your cock, hands tied tightly in the small of her back, and you’ve got all the time in the world… what is better in life?
From Showing Hazel The Ropes at Kink.com.
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I always enjoy when I can find higher-resolution scans of bondage pulp art. Here you can click the Norman Saunders cover art from the April 1966 issue of Man’s Book for more lovely pixels of the evil Nazis and their bound blonde victims:
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I’ve never forgotten the scene in the first Toy Story movie where all the toys in the claw machine are worshipping the Claw of Heaven. “The claw decides!” they chant…
Well, there’s a scene in Vampire’s Choice by Joey W. Hill where a very special circus is in town, and the performers have a play night every so often once the midway closes and the guests are all gone. Now, the toy in the claw machine is a bound submissive:
The Circus had access to toys and equipment that most didn’t. In this case, the claw machine had been brought into the Big Top. On performance days, it was on the midway. A guest inserted a ticket, activated the claw inside, and tried to capture the stuffed toy or trinket they wanted.
The claw machine had a very different use tonight. The toys had been removed, except for a layer on the bottom. A woman was inside the box, bound to a pole that had been added to the space. Her feet and ankles were buried in that layer of colorful plush toys, but a spreader bar held her thighs apart. Straps bound her hips and waist to the pole, while another was cinched above her breasts, emphasizing the lush curves and tight nipples. Another strap was over her forehead.
Her upper arms were held to her sides at the elbows. Her wrists were cuffed securely together, no slack, and her hands were folded and tied around the handle of a vibrator, the tennis-ball sized head pointing downward.
Those watching were using tokens to move the “arm,” a control rod attached to the wrist cuffs. Ruth deduced it must have a dozen settings, because they could apparently rotate it against her sex, make it pump up and down, rub against her clit, or brush and tap it.
The woman had no control. They had it all. To keep going, the participants merely had to keep feeding the machine tokens. If they chose to have merely a “turn,” the length of that seemed designed to leave the sub panting and aching for what the next in line would do to tease her.
“There are different contests involved,” Merc said. “Who keeps her on the edge the longest,” he continued. “Or makes her climax the hardest. Or the most quickly.”
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