Bondage Images

Although her wrist and ankle cuffs were still connected by chains to the pillars in the basement, she finally felt that she could truly breathe as her Master removed her new corset. Blindfolded, she could not look down her body, but she was absolutely certain that her skin would bear the markings of the ultra-tight corset for quite a few hours.

...as well as the myriad markings from His own hand, and from the paddle, and from the riding crop, and from the flogger, and from the bullwhip, and from the still-applied clothespins surrounding each nipple.

Even as the slave gasped for breath following the latest kisses of the bullwhip, she felt her Master wrap an arm about her waist and gently kiss her cheek. Then she felt the first of many tickling brushes of a feather between her pin-cushion breasts.....

*****

"And the capital of Belgium is...?"

Having realized that her knowledge of world geography was incredibly poor, He had devised a unique "game" of sorts. Bound face-up upon the large dining room table, her body had been initially tortured with ten clothespins, five encircling each proud nipple. With each correct answer, a clothespin of her choice was removed. With each incorrect answer, her Master added another clothespin to a location of His choice.

After numerous incorrect answers, forty-seven clothespins effectively turned her into a porcupine.

The pain was plainly visible upon her face, and equally audible in her raspy voice. Tears trickled from her eyes as her chest heaved despite her attempts to remain perfectly still in an effort to lessen the jostling of the forty-seven erect sources of pain.

"B-Brussels, Sir!" the helpless slave blurted out between gasps. Through tear-filled eyes, she looked straight up into the chandelier, as if perhaps future answers could be found within its many tiny lights.

"Very good, little one," her Master praised her, patting her thigh. "And since it has been quite some time since you last answered correctly, I will take pity on you this time and allow you to choose five clothespins to be removed."

"The four from my pussy, Sir!" she said decisively. "And one from my left breast, Sir!"

A clothespin from the left breast was removed first, and the slave quivered visibly and somehow choked back a pained cry as blood returned to those few cells of her body.

When the four clothespins clamping her labia were removed simultaneously, however, she screamed loudly and fought vigorously against the pain, her limbs flailing viciously against the bonds, which only served to increase the intensity of the sound escaping her upper lips as the forty-two remaining clothespins were jostled violently by her instinctive struggles. The hot tears cascaded down her cheeks like a rapidly-flowing waterfall.

With the assistance of her Master's gentle stroking between her legs, the slave eventually began to calm anew. As the pain lessened and became internalized, she could once again focus her attention upon Him, react to His voice, and answer His questions... hopefully correctly, as her tears nonetheless continued to flow unabated.

*****

she crawled through the thin film of snow upon the mountainside, her naked body shivering from the cold snow and the chilly air. As her Master sat on the back porch sipping His morning hazelnut coffee, she completed her fourth tour of the cabin, biting her tongue to prevent her punishment from being extended beyond the required ten slow rounds of the cabin.

*****

With a loud grunt past her ear, her Master poured His desire deep into her bowels. With His orgasm overtaking Him, His hands tightened painfully around her tender dangling breasts as He practically lay upon her back, His weight upon her making it difficult for her to remain propped up on her hands and knees upon the bed.

Yet, orgasm was still denied her, despite the thrill of the warm surges within her rear passage and the actions of the dual vibrating eggs in her forward passage. Groaning loud and long, despite her own sexual need, she tried to ward off her impending climax, her teeth clenched from her crumbling effort to maintain control of her own body as she was used for her Master's pleasure.

*****

Slowly, her Master peeled off the last of the wax from her chest. A good waxing had long been one of her favorite activities, so her reward for having survived a full seven days without the need to be punished was being bound to the table with hot candle wax dripping upon her chest as her Master ate her from orgasm to orgasm to orgasm. It was the first time that T/they had used the over-the-table candle rack He had made, allowing Him to focus on other aspects of the scene while she enjoyed the dripping of the wax upon her heaving feminine swells.

With the last of the wax finally removed, He bent down to kiss her, and she whimpered in response to her own taste still upon His lips and His tongue. When she heard Him unbuckle His belt while continuing to kiss her, she knew that there was even more pleasure to come.

...and she resigned herself to being much more obedient on a daily basis.

*****

With a soft grunt, she tried to keep her feet spread wide as her Master pulled the crotch chain tight before clipping it to the waist chain. The way that the crotch chain split her labia and fondled her clitoris was simultaneously wonderful and frustrating.

...and she had yet to take a single step in any direction.

"Now go get dressed," He instructed her. "It's nearly time to go."

A quiet whimper escaped her lips as she suddenly considered the long, five-block walk to the nearest Starbucks. Five blocks with the chain pressed snug against her most intimate of places. Five blocks of wonderful frustration. Five blocks of people looking at her with wonder as she clung ever so tightly to her Master's arm as T/they walked slowly.

But before those five blocks came the necessary journey to the upstairs bedroom, to the closet containing her few clothes...

*****

T/they sat at the table, slowly eating a great Sunday dinner as the sunlight shone brightly through the massive dining room window. As T/they ate, the conversation roamed freely – from the previous night's barbeque with friends, to the upcoming canoe trip, to the next car T/they might purchase, to a recently-received letter from her college roommate.

Everything about the scene was fairly normal, and would likely take place in many households on a Sunday afternoon. What made this scene different, however, was that she was completely nude, with dried, cracking splotches of white in her hair and on her face.

...just the way she preferred to enjoy a Sunday dinner.

*****

she watched as a video clip downloaded from the Internet plays on the laptop. The woman on the screen was suspended in a horizontal position by many thick, well-tied ropes. Facing the ceiling, more ropes formed a tight breast bondage (tight enough that her breasts were turning purple) and also secured her forearms together behind her back. The several dozen clothespins were very noticeably jostled by the force with which a man truly fucked her. The result of the stimuli is that the woman on the screen cried out loudly, continually.

...and as she watched, the slave considered whether she should mention this scene – one of her long-held fantasies – to her Master.

*****

Using the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door, she admired herself, admired the brightly-reddened parts of her anatomy. In particular, her Master had paid significant attention to her chest; between the whips, the hot wax, the thin pinching chains, the clamps, the ice cubes, and His own fingernails, her highly-sensitive breasts and nipples had been tormented quite nicely.

Despite the soreness, she smiled, having quite enjoyed the evening – as evidenced by her pleasure trickling down her thighs.

*****

Collapsed upon the hotel bed, she gasped rapidly for breath, fully aware of the thick layer of sweat covering her body and the seemingly-neverending stream of her Master's spilling from her body. Blindfolded, she had no clue what was about to take place until she heard the click of the shutter, nearly deafening to her startled ears. Suddenly, the redness in her face deepened as her heart shifted instantaneously from feeling thoroughly fucked to feeling thoroughly mortified. she shrieked with embarrassment and moved her hands to try to cover her most private areas, but in the back of her mind, she knew it was already much too late – with the click of the shutter, the dead had been done.

*****

The slave had received explicit permission to climax whenever she needed on this particular evening, yet her longtime training had so engrained into her mind the concept that an orgasm must only come after receiving permission for each one that she was instinctively attempting to hold back the dam of pleasure which was about to overflow and burst through her body. Impaled in both her passages, the Sybian caused such thunderous shockwaves to course through her being that her mind could not discern which movements were due to the Sybian and which were due to her reactions to the Sybian. she knew only that each movement jostled the weighted nipple clamps, adding delicious pain to the delectable pleasure filling each cell of her being.

Only later would she learn that she had screamed so loudly that it had hurt her Master's ears as He clutched her tightly from behind. All she would remember would be the overwhelming relief as the orgasm battered her, the feeling of floating upon a cloud yet tumbling without a parachute toward a sun-dried desert floor, and her Master's refusal to release her so that she was essentially forced to remain on the Sybian through a stream of orgasms so powerful that she truly feared she would pass out.

*****

Walking arm-in-arm along the wharf, Master and slave are simply part of the sunset crowd on this cloudless Saturday evening. Having toured Alcatraz earlier in the day, T/their discussion focuses on what it must have been like to live there, to be imprisoned in the island fortress and yet be able to see freedom just one long, cold swim away.

The tour of the famous prison had indeed been educational, and quite eye-opening as well. However, she could tell that it had sparked some ideas in her Master's mind. One of the things she liked most about Him was His ability to often surprise her with His originality. Nonetheless, the fact that the tour of Alcatraz had apparently inspired a new idea in His head was indeed cause for pause.

As T/they stood at an intersection, waiting for the traffic light to change to green, she looked up at His face. He had suddenly become unusually quiet, His expression one of deep thought. she could practically see the gears churning in His head as an idea suddenly evolved from concept to prototype in His mind.

Even though she had no idea of the thoughts flashing through His mind at that very moment, she found her legs becoming weak as she tried to guess what devilish fate awaited her once His new prototype was ready for use.