More Orgasms Than You Can Count on One Hand

The four extra orgasms are the icing on cake!

Going through my hard-drive is often like panning for gold. I sift down into things deeper and deeper and suddenly I see something glisten. Could it be? No, don't get your hopes up. Many things are shiny, and you've been fooled before. It is worth a closer look though, so lets double-click on that file. Holy shit! I forgot I even had this. I can't believe my naming scheme back then was so cryptic, no wonder I missed this for so long.

Such is the way with some of my releases. I capture everything I shoot. I archive everything I shoot. Sometimes though things get lost, misplaced, hidden beneath a crowd of bound and gagged women. I can overlook them for days, weeks, months and even years. They always have a way of percolating back up to the surface though. My brain interprets things just right one day to look at a file on my drive and look at it. It becomes immediately clear that I haven't done anything with it. Something I forgot I even shot becomes just as new to me as the day I filmed it. Three years hiding on my drive and now bursting forth with bondage awesomeness.

That happened with my most recent update. I was looking for a file and stumbled upon another. The name made no sense, but the size and extension told me that there was something on it worth looking at for a moment. I ran the file, it loaded up into my player and I see Angelique drooling all over herself and moaning like crazy as the first hitachi I ever owned pounded multiple orgasms out of her. She played the sassy damsel. I played the masked villain. She gets taken down, tied up and writhes in chair bondage with open legs that beg for a vibrator. First I let her drool all over herself. Then I grope the hell out of her. Finally she gets a vibrator tied tightly against her crotch buzzing orgasm after orgasm out of her.

How can something like this stay lost for so long? How can the world be so cruel to let something like this do little more than take up space on my H: drive? I don't know. I do know though that I'm ecstatic to have found the gem!

Image courtesy of Struggling Artist's Roped, Groped and Drooling Orgasm Hell with Angelique Kithos. Available at http://www.clips4sale.com/38048/10844389.

Nylon + Duct Tape + Angelique = Tasty Strict Bondage

Like smooth and shiny damsels? Try nylon encasement!

In my early days of shooting I learned a valuable lesson: get a model naked early and film that material as soon as possible. Is this because I like naked girls? No, although I love naked girls. Is this because I'm a huge pervert? No, although I am a huge pervert. Is this because I enjoy the idea of just meeting a model and having her stripped down and helpless on my carpet? I plead the fifth on that one.

Models today almost never bail on a shoot or even a position. There are so many people who will accept being made into a human pretzel, that will endure having their mouths stuffed to overflowing, that don't even blink an eye when the magic wand turns on and turns into an erotic jack-hammer that the field of competition is very level. This wasn't always the case. There was a time when I would send out 25 emails and hope for one model to accept my oh-so-strange offer of tying them up and filming it. Many of these girls had never experienced bondage and if they had it fell far short of the tightness I put them through. The number of shoots I had end early or even after the first set far outnumbered getting all the material I had pain-painstakingly planned for in the days before the shoot. Don't feel sorry for me. I knew full well that most girls could not or would not deal with the Ted Michaels experience. I took the risk willingly because compromise on strict bondage is like negotiation with a hand grenade. I have no interest in it and the result is something blowing up in my face.

The answer came out of pure economics. I learned that many models could not deal with my bondage. I knew I would not compromise on my restraint. I accepted that some would leave early. This is a good place to add that my rate included partial or full nudity. I was shooting a lot but getting no nude work from my collaborators. The answer was simple. Open the door, greet the model politely, explain the shoot and then tell her to put on the birthday suit. In those days this usually resulted in a little surprise because after all getting tied and gagged by a complete stranger but having him see you nude after knowing him five minutes was another. They always stopped worrying about the awkwardness though when the ropes started going on. Funny how your elbows touching for the first time totally takes your mind off of sitting naked in a strange man's living room.

The first time I worked with Angelique she wasn't shy about being nude. She was already an accomplished fine art model. It seemed natural to get her nude right away and then cover her with nylon and duct tape. I haven't done the position in a long time, but I called it the hogtie trainer then. Model's like to cheat on hogties by grabbing the ropes with their hands. The trainer taught them to endure a hogtie without their hands to take away any strain. Models will also dip their head down when tired prevent those wonderful face shots. The trainer holds their head high for everyone to see. Oddly I chose to blindfold Angelique because showing her gag works just as well. We really need to do this one again. I wonder if she will agree?

Image courtesy of Mummified and Vibed with Angelique Kithos. Available at http://www.clips4sale.com/38048/3814980.

Organic Bondage ... Strict Bondage On-The-Fly

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I Saw Ludella in the Window and Just Had to Have Her ... In Strict Bondage!

Bound, gagged, helpless ... alone.

I'm an oddball in many respects, one of them being my use frequent use of negative space. It can show just how helpless and alone a damsel is during her plight. It can emphasize the vastness of a space and how tightly constrained a captive is to her surroundings. I could get right up into a damsel's face, and I do often, but if I do not pull back to show just how alone she is with her helplessness then I am denying the viewer of her perspective.

Negative space is the area around and between subjects in a composition. I tied Ludella very tightly the shown set. I packed her face full of panties, and I taped them in without any yield. I folded her into a strict, little bundle and poised her three feet off the ground. Of course I am going to show tight shots of her struggling, the shine of the light off a her gag and the furrow in her brow as her struggles dig tight ropes even deeper into her porcelain skin. Of course I am going to capture fully body views of her beautiful form in ultra-strict bondage, wriggling and moaning away as she fights her captivity. I am however doing an injustice to not pull back for a wide shot at least once to let the viewer see just how alone she is with her plight.

I isolated Ludella with her restraint. I made her helpless, uncomfortable and unable to move. I then balanced her precariously on a pedestal higher off the ground than any bound and gagged model would care to be teetering. What better way to showcase this than with a nice use of negative space. The viewer now sees how small Ludella is in the full scope of her surroundings. They see just how little she can move and that she has no chance for escape. She can barely struggle and even if she could she would not for fear of toppling to the ground. The door is so far away. There is no way to reach a phone, get to any scissors or make enough noise to reach the outside. She is small in comparison to her surroundings and this smallness showcases her extreme helplessness. She is made even more helpless by devoting less of the frame to her, almost as if she is just another item in the room. Her is my furniture,  rug, lamp, television, and oh by the way, have you seen my new Ludella? I really think she brightens up the place but enough about her, I want to show you the other rooms.

Image courtesy of Bound, Gagged and Sitting Pretty with Ludella Hahn. Available at http://www.clips4sale.com/38048/10273401.

The Strict Hogtie Is Her Arch-Enemy

Bondage pilates requires frequent arching!

I remember my very first professional hogtie. I say professional only in the respect that it was with a model, it was a paid shoot and I was actively trying to generate bondage material. I had a series of shots that I wanted to capture, and I ran the model through all of them repeatedly until I was happy I had what I needed. I repeated this for each set until the last set, the hogtie. I always saved the hogtie for the last set. They tended to be super-tight, super-strenuous and for the bondage-uninitiated a real eye-opener.

I ran through each angle with precision invariably saying, "big arch." The model looked at me like I was from another world. She could barely move, and any movement that was possible resulted in levels of discomfort that prompted eye rolling, muffled sighs and the occasional raising of a middle finger. She arched meekly and plopped back down almost instantly. I told her that I needed longer to get my focus. She shot me a look that questioned my sanity, grunted, arched, held the position for a half second and plopped back down again. I lowered my camera, told her I knew it was hard and added that when the flashes went off she could relax. She looked at me wondering why I was not taking pictures having her trussed up like a holiday goose. She wriggled in discomfort, crinkled her forehead and flexed her hands. The wheels were turning, and she was questioning if her choice to model was the right one. I readied my camera. She arched, held it and began to tremble slightly while I got my focus. I said almost there in a supportive voice, and her forehead pinched into that lovely damsel expression. I pressed the shutter button. The flashes went off, she collapsed to the ground and groaned in relief. I told her that was great, and her eyes looked like she would be smiling if her face full of ballgag would allow it. I told two more. The look she gave me then was almost asking if I was joking, but she knew I was not. She arched twice more for shots, each time holding the position until her face shifted from "come on and take the damn picture" to "what the hell have I gotten myself into?" Imagine her surprise when she learned I had six more angles, and they all needed arching.



Image courtesy of Packed Mouth and a Jacked Hogtie with Angelique Kithos. Available at http://www.clips4sale.com/38048/10578825.

Bondage Bluff Becomes Strict-Restraint Tell

Um, you can just wrap it instead of pulling it so tight!

Bondage shoots are like a poker game where the damsel has to deal with the hand the producer deals her and play it until the end. Folding is always a possibility, but most models only tap out under the most unpalatable circumstances. They play their cards, no matter how poor the hand, until the winner rakes in the pot. Of course the win for the model is release. Any number of bad cards find their way into a damsel's hand. Her arms might go numb up to the point of tingling and stay that way. She may shift just enough for the blood flow in her hands to return fully bringing "the fire." Her shoulders and jaw might ache, but she plays her hand like it is a winner. The viewer sees what she wants them to see. They see distress and sensual struggle. They hear moans and groans that could just as easily say, "let me go" as well as, "my panties are getting wet despite my shame!" The model shows the ultimate poker face, the face that the viewer needs to see to believe the scene.

One expects the model to bluff with the viewer. One does not however realize she also bluffs with the producer. She wants them to think she is made of iron. She needs them to feel confident that she can be bent but not broken. She assures them her mouth can accept almost anything to silence her for the audience. Most models though have not played poker with such high stakes before though. They know the basics and have enough skill to pass for the viewer, but they have not played a pot through with a really bad hand. Even worse they have no idea what to do with such a bad hand. Their bluff is betrayed by a tell, a subtle hint that they are not longer playing the hand. It is the hand that is playing them. Every damsel has their own tell. It is a reflex, an anomaly, an action that goes against the normal script they play out during a scene. It is subtle and easily missed but knowing the model it becomes glaring.

Angelique showed her tell on our first shoot. She talked about how she could handle any gag. She had been gagged with almost everything, had seen it all and was ready for anything. I strapped a ballgag into her mouth, a huge ballgag. She did what most damsels do and locked her molars into it, preventing it from going all the way into her mouth as I fastened the strap. I then crushed her elbows together. She was flexible even at that point in her bondage career but had never experienced the shoulder-wrenching sensation of having her elbows rubbing against each other. As she mentally tried to process this new feeling I took the strap on her ballgag and pulled it two notches tighter. She gasped. The huge red orb was now deeply locked into her mouth, and her jaws pried open. I was not done though. I took out Microfoam tape and began wrapping it around her face. I pulled each wrap as tightly as possible without snapping the tape before laying it over her mouth. The tape squeezed her face and pushed the ball in her mouth even deeper into her face.
Her tell was obvious at this point. A crease emerged between her eyebrows. Models hate that crease and avoid it at all costs. It is the kind of crease that millions of women try to remove by injecting Botox into their faces over and over. Once set in place, it is there forever. Angelique would never purposely use that expression. In the poker game that is a bondage shoot her bluff had become a tell. Her cards now laid bare she could only ride the hand out until the end hoping beyond hope that I would not raise and even worse, go all in!

Image courtesy of His Dreams Became Her Bondage Nightmare with Angelique Kithos. Available at http://www.clips4sale.com/38048/10177341.

Nyxon Learns How to Furrow Her Brow, the Jacked Hogtie Way

Strict bondage: Furrowing brows since 1978.

When you do strict bondage there is always a point where a scenario shifts from a model acting like a damsel to being a real damsel in distress. This in no way implies any danger to the model, only that the restraint is real as well as the predicament. A tight, immobilizing position is not comfortable, allow escape or is easy to endure. There are ways to make things less strenuous, but when everything is finally cinched up into a jacked position model's are not entirely playing a part. Their skin feels the bite of tight ropes digging in, and their muscles tire and ache from being stretched and compressed. Their jaws start to throb as they try to focus past the tickle in the back of their throat or the increasing amount of saliva they cannot swallow or get past a tape gag wrapped around their head five times. Their grunts and moans become real. The furrow on their brow results from the ropes and not any acting experience. The look of distress on their face is from knowing they are at their limit but still have more time to go. Seven to ten minutes is not a long time in most circumstances, but it is an absolute eternity while in strict bondage. They only want to lie there until it is over, but they know that struggling and struggling hard is the only avenue to release. They are uncomfortable and movement makes this worse, but it is the only way they can reach an end to the scene. That is the true predicament.

Image courtesy of That Sucked and You're an Asshole with Nyxon available at http://www.clips4sale.com/38048/9565387.

Whitney is taped up tight!

I changed my mind, I will tell you where it is!

She sat helpless on the couch taped into immobility and silenced with both a huge ballgag and tight wrappings of tape. He made it clear that he only wanted to know where she hid the stolen money. He made it even more clear when he forced her to strip down to her underwear. He made it crystal clear when he taped her into complete immobility. Her legs were already taped together so tight she could not stand, and her arms and chest were completely crushed with the the same. The stocking over her head hid her pleading features and a face full of shut-the-fuck-up silencing her attempts to tell him what he wanted to know. He approached her to finish the task at hand as she feebly and unsuccessfully tried to negotiate. No amount of gag talk, wiggling or distorted facial expressions could prevent. This type of negotiation does not stop until complete. She was ready to now, but she may change her mind after he removed her gag. She would never change her mind though after experience the full measure of his sticky coercion. Only her feet, hips and head remained uncovered and long minutes of tight pulling of tape remedied that. She was soon completely mummified, only her nostrils left open to strain for air through the nylon over her head. She lay on the ground crushed by tape for minute after minute. He was not even in the room. She was alone with her torment. She would tell him anything he wanted to know, anything as long as he made this horrible predicament go away!

Whitney tried out a mummification with me. I do not think I have taped up anyone tighter. Every wrapping was pulled as tight as I could manage. She still managed to struggle, moan and make it to the end. She was not a happy girl, but I think she enjoyed having defeated the challenge.

Image courtesy of Whitney Mummified Beyond the Ability to Struggle with Whitney Morgan.

Always stretch before you shoot

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No dignity for the struggling

Putting your best foot forward

She knew that he was watching the entire thing. She could not see him, but she sensed his was there ogling her and waiting for those moments when her struggles revealed a glimpse of tit or ass. She had little choice though. He tied her securely with rope at first. Large bands of thin cord pinned her legs together and welded her elbows behind her back. He even made sure that her heels could not fall off by tying them to her feet. "We cannot have you hopping away now can we?" he joked as he knotted the rope. Her gag was just as brutal. He had stuffed a huge pair of panties in her mouth and secured them deep in her face by wrapping tape around her head. She only wore thongs, so it disgusted her to even think where he had gotten the undergarments packed into her mouth. He finished her bondage package with duct tape around every rope. Her hands started going numb almost immediately but on the off-chance her fingers still worked the tape covered every knot and made sure not ropes would be cut by the wriggling damsel. She was totally screwed. Her only option was to kick, arch and thrash as much as possible in the hope that something would miraculously come loose and allow her to start freeing herself. That had not happened yet though, and she had diminishing hope that it ever would. Her blouse had come open, her skirt has risen up and she felt his eyes on her, soaking in all her exposed glory. Her struggles had tired her, and sweat glistened off of her porcelain skin. Still she struggled. Her arms ached, and rug burns covered her shoulders and hips. Still she snuggled. It was all she could do. She was helpless, exposed and sure he was watching. Only the smallest of thong panties protected her most private dignity from his spying eyes, and he had told her that if she stopped struggling he would take those panties down to her knees. Her current state was shameful enough, she could not bear the thought of having to go through completely exposed!

It is always a blast to work with Nyxon. She knows exactly what to do when you tell her what the scene needs. All I had to do for image above was tell her that it was about high heels, long legs and but shots. She did the rest!

Image courtesy of Tied, Taped and Taken - Part Two with Nyxon available at http://www.clips4sale.com/38048/8872157.

Couches Are Not Alway Comfy

Try that on for size!

Her struggles had reduced noticeably since the beginning of her ordeal. At first she thought it was a typical burglary, the type of thing you see on television all the time. He was obviously only interested in money, so she did not feel too threatened as he began to tie her up. She would give him her widest eyes and plead for mercy. He would apologize for having to having to restraint her and then leave her to wriggle free of the loose ropes he bashfully applied. He was not bashful though, he was brazen. His confidence became clear after her hands were already tied. She thought the next rope was for her ankles, but he tied it around her waist. He then pulled it through her crotch, pulling it uncomfortably deep. She protested and received a huge ballgag strapped into her face as a reward. As she began to drool all over herself she began to think this man was no gentleman robber. The realization sunk in more as he pulled her arms together behind her back and tied them in place. He seemed far to skilled at this for just a bungling thief. Her hopes for etiquette ended when her tore open her blouse and fondled her bared breasts. She began to struggle now. It was not longer a game, it was all too real. She was already too helpless at this point to fight much let alone prevent her wrists from being drawn sharply to her ankles.  She felt concerned for the first time as she writhed helplessly on the couch, but he was not done. He pulled a stocking over her face and tape it in place. Before she could even wonder what they hosiery was for he pulled her head back to her elbows and tied the stocking off. She really started to struggle now. This was not lounging on the couch in a few ropes. This was not waiting demurely until someone arrived to help her free. This was true helplessness and extreme discomfort. She could already feel her fingers being to tingle and the stocking was crushing her nostrils. She could barely breathe. She could barely move. She should have resisted more in the beginning, but she misjudged his intentions entirely. He did not want her money. She struggled less and less as she tired and strained to breath. She could hear noises and knew he had no left her. She could not bear the thought of being left alone like this and actually felt a little relieved to know he was still around. Her relief faded though when she saw him pull in a four-wheel dolly with a platform about the size of a hogtied damsel. He indeed did not want her money. He wanted her, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it!

A component of predicament bondage that I enjoy is finding a point called "the suck." I first heard that term working with Nyxon, and I have used it ever since. There is a part of many restraints where things go from, "I can handle this" to, "holy shit, hurry up and get some footage." The model starts her timer and does whatever internal meditation they choose to get them through the next 5, 10, 15 or more minutes. It is literally a point where the model starts to hate the position and would want out right away if not for them being so damn awesome. I used to think it was when I tied the elbows, but this is not often the case. So many people are so flexible and mentally durable these days that they can go a long time after their elbows are tied. I have discovered though that a stocking on the head always brings "the suck." Most people do not like having their vision obscured. Even less like having the stocking against their nostrils. It just really puts someone into a much more helpless state. 

Image courtesy of Give Me the Codes PLEASE - Part Three with Illustrious Rouge available at http://www.clips4sale.com/38048/8432435.

Hannah's Lost Bondage Bet

Ten more minutes?!?!

How the hell was she going to get out of this? It had already been 20 minutes of struggling trussed up like a holiday goose, over an hour counting when that bastard start meticulously applying rope to her naked body. What kind of rope was this anyway? If felt like it had sand glued to it, like little saws were digging into her skin every time she moved. She could deal with it in general, but those ropes he pulled tightly into her crotch were becoming very difficult to deal with. There are just some things that you do not want prickly rope dragging back and forth against. She had precious few options though. The ropes held fast despite all of her efforts, and the numbness in her hands made her fingers useless. She was little more than a lump of glistening flesh and taught rope at this point. The ball from the harness gag was still deeply wedged into her mouth. It pried her jaws opening and the strain was cramping her jaw muscles. She could not even prevent drool from flowing freely down her face let alone form anything close to a coherent word. Her throat was hoarse as well. She tried periodically to attract attention to herself, but her noises became less and less noticeable. She doubted anyone in the next room could hear her at this point let alone someone passing by outside. The worst part was the blindfold. She had no idea where she was in the living room. The sensory deprivation made minutes seem like eternity. There were scissors and a cell phone only yards away, but she had no idea where they were. Even if she did she had no way of making her way to them. The only thing she could do was wiggle less and less as each minute passed. There was always a chance that her motion would loosen a knot or make a rope slip. Miracles happen right? She would arch or twist or kick her legs, and a flaw in this torturous restraint would surface. That minor flaw would be her chance to begin working her way to freedom. Just because the first 20 minutes had result in nothing did not mean that it could happen. Right, all of that active and fervent wriggling produced no results and her barest of motion now would make all the ropes unravel. She had lost. She had 40 more minutes to go, and she could do little more than rest on her side and wait for him to come back and collect his reward. All of her bragging about being able to escape anything meant nothing. Was he even still there? He had won the bet before the timer even started, and he probably just left his prize on the floor alone, helpless and waiting for collection an hour later. She had 40 minutes to go and no energy left. All she could do was curse herself for such bravado and contemplate agreeing to model for him free for the next five shoots. She had 40 minutes to wait and then 40 hours of free jacked bondage waiting for her. She was never going to make a bet ever again.

I started making my own natural fiber rope out of jute a while back. I try to rotate my hobbies to keep up interest and things that need physical dexterity are a form of meditation for me. I decided to try my hand at home-made rope-making, and I am very pleased with the results. As with anything new some poor girl becomes the test model for my new hobby. I had already used the rope on Angelique, and she described the rope as having "tiny knives" all over it. It was time for another "Hogtie from Hell" in the rotation, so Hannah received the full treatment. Fully nude there were no barriers between her skin and the scratchy rope. After hundreds of feet of prickly rope and a crotch rope pulled in tight she struggled non-stop. Every movement dragged against the rope, but she knew the rules. If she stopped moving I would add a minute every time until we reached an hour. Unfortunately for her I needed 20 minutes instead of my usual 7 for the challenge because of a custom request. Hannah was up to the task. She never stopped moving and thanks to a secure harness gag she never complained once ... at least not that I could make out through all that grunting and drool!

Image courtesy of Hannah's Hemp Hogtie Hell with Hannah Perez available at http://www.clips4sale.com/38048/8395541.

Heeled, Hosed and Helpless

My Nose Starts Itching Now?!?

The poor girl did little more than lie on her side and grunt into her gag since she managed to roll over. The ropes were too tight, and the position was too restrictive. All she wanted was a few drinks and some relaxing fun at the hotel bar. He seemed nice enough but after several rounds he pulled the inevitable, "let's take this up to my room" routine. She gracefully excused herself to check on a "sick friend" and headed upstairs. He followed her into the elevator though and before she even realized what was happening he was shoving her into his hotel room. She tried to get away, but he physically outmatched her. His hands squeezed her breasts and slapped her ass as she writhed in his grasp. She gasped as the first ropes starting sinking tightly into her flesh. Each knot meant escape was that farther away. By the time her hands, feet, chest and ankles were tied she had only one shot at freedom, but he took that away by shoving a huge ball into her mouth and strapping it in place behind her neck. She began to drool immediately as he bared her huge breasts and began wrapping rope tightly around them. They ballooned and shifted shade to an angry red. She had never felt such discomfort, but he kept winding the rope until her tits were hard and sensitive balloons. She could hardly believe it when he wound rope around her elbows so tightly they touched. Her shoulder ached, but there was no escape from the helplessness and discomfort. He removed her gag, and she pleaded for mercy. He responded by shoving a huge pair of panties into her mouth and tightly taping them in place. It squeezed her head and pushed the panties deeply into her mouth. She had no time to reflect on gag's severity as he pushed her to the floor. He pulled her ankles to her chest forcing her to sharply arch. Her huge breasts barely touched the floor. She grunted from the strain as he cinched things off, but he was not finished with her. He pulled stocking over her head, taped it in place and used it to pull her head sharply back. He told her he was going back to the bar for a couple of shots of whiskey. She was alone. She could barely move but needed to relieve some of the pressure from her aching breasts. She mustered all the energy she had and starting rocking back and forth until she fell to her side. She was a motionless, panting, grunting and moaning bundle of flesh on the carpet, and all she could do was endure. The position was too secure. The ropes were too tight. She had no option but to wait. She shifted every so slightly in her bonds and groaned. All she had to do was wait.

Image courtesy of Bound to Serve His Every Wish with JJ Plush available at http://www.clips4sale.com/38048/8350887.

A Girl, A Couch and a Jacked Restraint

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Nyxon Lies Down on the Job

How are you lighting this? I want you to get my good cheek!

She had already worked at the bonds for two hours sitting on the carpet, an effort that had chaffed her bared buttocks to a rosy red and uncomfortable state. The carpet fibers felt like needled with every movement, and the skin on her ass felt like it was on fire. Her arms were tingling, numb and of no use in changing her position. She looked at the floor a couple of feet down, but it might as well have been 20 feet. She took a deep breath, tensed every muscle she could and let herself fall to her side. Time slowed as she rolled over and began moving towards the ground. She lifted her head away from the rug, grit her teeth into her gag and waited for the eternity it took for gravity to suck her to the ground. Her shoulder drove into the rug with a loud thump as she yelped into her gag. She saw stars, and pain shot down her arm. The jolt stopped at her elbow. Everything below the ropes holding it against the other had no feeling anymore. The initial shock faded, and she began struggling again in earnest. She lifted her ankles and kicked them at the air. She could feel the ends of the rope hitting her calves as she did, and it renewed her faith that escape was possible. Although she could not feel them her fingers wiggled ever so slightly, and she continued to kick. Her ass cheeks glowed hot and red from rug burn, and her shoulder ached. She chewed into her gag, and spit drool from her mouth as she cried out in help. She kicked and wiggled and moaned and fought with all her might, and it amounted to ... nothing. The knots held. The ropes still dug deeply into her soft flesh. The gag silenced her just as cruelly as before. A coil of rope fell by her face and she yelled out in surprise. He was back, and her plight was not over. A second coil, a third and then a fourth fell to the ground by her. Her predicament it seemed was just beginning.

In a world full contorted cuties it is refreshing to do a four-point restraint every so often. Ankles, knees, wrist and elbows is a staple of any rigger's toolbox and often leads up to the much-loved hogtie. There is just something about a simple but tight restraint that gives a girl enough wiggle to let you know sterner measures may be necessary. Nyxon is a great example. Left to her own devices she will pick at any knot, test every rope and find some way to turn your clever restraint into a pile of ropes on the floor that she stands over smiling at the camera. This is what gets her into so many predicaments at my place. She just has to force my hand. Lifting her ankles off of the ground and wigging her buns for the camera is never enough. She just has to try and escape, and I just have to bring in more rope to put her to the test.

Image courtesy of Tied, Taped and Taken - Part One with Nyxon available at http://www.clips4sale.com/38048/8232245.

Some Hogties Are Harder Than Others

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Gigi Learns She Hates Being a Mummy!

The door? That son of a bitch is leaving!!!

She had no idea how long she had been like this. Seconds seemed like minutes, and minutes seemed like hours when one is blind, almost deaf and unable to move. Her fervent struggling had long since ceased, replaced by a battle just to endure the increasing tightness of her predicament. The electrical tape squeezed her like a vice now that she had no strength to fight. She could only manage short breaths anyway, not enough to fuel meaningful struggle. The heat was unbearable. He had encased her in nylon before taping her. It seemed a kindness at first, a measure that prevents the tape from sticking to her skin. The double layer of nylon and tape kept in all her body heat though. It built up, and sweat drenched her body. Her neck was stiff, and she lifted her head to stretch it. She was afraid to roll on her back again. There was so much drool in her mouth, and it triggered her gag reflex when she rolled from her side. She could not afford another coughing fit like before. She almost blacked out the last time, and breathing took all her concentration. First one breath, then another. She focused on her breathing. She forced the air in and out despite the tape crushing her chest. In then out, steady and sure she kept telling her self. First one breath, and then the next. What she would not give for just one pillow at this point. Her neck was so sore. There were pillows about the room, but she had no idea where she was at this point. They might as well be miles away instead of mere feet. She could not roll anyway. The predicament had defeated her. It forced her to stay silent and immobile. She could do nothing but breath and wait for the return of the man that had done this to her. Anything would be better than this though. She welcomed his return despite what could be in store. She would hear the door at any moment. He would make things worse, but he would release he from this. That was all she cared about. What came next was no concern. All that mattered was an end to this. He was not a villain. He was going to be her savior. He would end this predicament, and that is all that mattered. She breathed in and out, and waited.

There is a subtle satisfaction to a restraint that wears a girl out instead of just defeating her. Anyone can make a damsel tap out of a position. It is much harder to create a scenario that slowly wears them down to the point where they can barely move anymore. They want to keep going. They want to struggle and moan and keep the film rolling. They cannot though. Their bonds have sucked all the energy from their limbs and all the spirit from their heart. The only thing they are left with after ten minutes is the ability to lay there and hope their lack of movement does not result in an addition to a position that is already made its point.

Image courtesy of Mummified and Freaking Out with Gigi Lynn available at http://www.clips4sale.com/38048/8157811.

Rubbed the Wrong Way

The only rope that did not hurt!

She tried to contain the mass of spit in her mouth. She curled her lips around the large ball and breathed steadily through her nose. She worked against the ropes hoping just one would slip or just one knot would start to loosen. It was an effort in futility that she had repeated for almost an hour. Her body ached and her fingers tingled. The more of her that went numb the more other areas began to throb. She continued desperately to try to free herself, but discomfort was the only reward for her fervent struggles. She grew tired, but she had to keep going. Each minute drew her farther and farther from the hope of ever freeing herself and ever closer to a shameful surprise she could never expect. She gyrated in the ropes and tensed against their tightness. Fingers without feeling flexed. Arms on fire swayed back and forth, and shoulders bucked against ropes that would never yield. The struggles were taking their toll, and the sweat glistening on her body grew heavier with each movement. She began to notice a familiar sensation. It was those damn ropes between legs, pulled deeply inside her and up against her womanhood. They rubbed with each movement. They stimulated her. She paused from her struggles to let the rising subside, but the clock caught her eye. Her hour was almost up. He would be back to take her away. All would be lost without escape and so she struggled again with renewed fervor. The sensation grew but still she struggled. She writhed and moaned, and the sensation grew. She pushed her hips into the tight ropes over and over, and the sensation grew. She needed to get free, she fought the ropes and the sensation grew. It grew and it grew and it grew and then ... she was out of time. The flood came over her and waves of sensation flooded her body. Her entire body shook with spasms. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and she opened her mouth wide. The drool drained from her face, flowed from her chin and ran down her chest. She screamed into the ball as saliva bubbled and sprayed into the air. She panted, and tried to catch her breath. She still had time to get loose. She could still be free. It was then that she heard soft clapping in the shadows. He emerged still applauding her show. He had been there the entire time hidden behind the bright lights. The bastard had watched every movement and witnessed the agony of her predicament. Escape would have to wait. She knew this little show was far from over.


Crotch ropes are a necessary element of predicament bondage in my opinion. I correct myself, tight crotch ropes are necessary. They add a certain element of helplessness for sure because the damsel cannot even prevent a rope from going between her legs. The predicament comes into play because struggling will always remind a girl that there is a rope between her legs. It might hurt. It might chafe. It might feel like awesome times twenty, but a girl will always know it is there. That is the essence of a predicament for me. The damsel needs to struggle, but the struggling will always let her know there is a crotch rope and just where it is rubbing!

I Can't Be Found, Not Like This

At least he left my panties on me!

She struggled against the tight ropes, but her attempts grew increasingly feeble. The position and strictness of her bonds drained her energy quickly leaving her dangling from her wrists and whining into her gag. All she would have to do is scream when the doorbell rang, but there would be no rescue at this time of night. It was already far too late for visitors or packages or cherub-faced girls selling cookies. She was not even sure she wanted to be found this way. It was not enough to bind her so securely and uncomfortably. He had to cut off her expensive dress as well. She dangled there practically naked, her body beaded with perspiration and drool flowing from her gagged mouth. If only she could reach a knot, just one knot, but he made sure none were near her hands. Her fingers were useless anyway. They had gone numb ten minutes ago. Her struggles exhausted her, and she focused her remaining strength on not falling over. She feared dislocating her shoulders if she fell. The ropes crushing her shoulders together pulled her shoulders back so sharpy. Kerri did not even know that was physically possible, but she hung there a very pained and helpless proof of her own physical flexibility. She heard him upstairs again rummaging through her things. Panic suddenly overtook her. What if he wanted more than her valuables? She hung there ready and on display, and the only thing between her and his advances were a very skimpy pair of panties. He came downstairs with a pillowcase full of her things over his shoulder. She looked at him wide-eyed over her shoulder as he put down the sack and moved in behind her. Slowly he pulled down her panties as she cried into her gag. He slid them off of her ass, down her thighs and left them hanging off the ropes at her knees. Adrenaline overtook her exhaustion, and she thrashed in her bonds despite the pain. Then he laughed and smacked her hard on the ass. "What kind of creep do you think I am?" he asked. He told her that he would call the police to free her in an hour, and he wanted to make sure the boys at the precinct got a good show. Then he left after whispering something into her ear that haunted her for years to come. Then he left her to wait, pained, tired and knowing full well that in an hour she would become the most traded evidence photo in the history of the precinct.

A fun storyline for me focuses on the shame that a damsel feels at the thought of rescue. The bondage is brutal, and they naturally want release. The cost of freedom though is discovery in a very shameful state. The villain stripped ur heroine naked and left her contorted into an exposed position. The contrast of a need for release against the fearful anticipation of being found in such a state is a true mental predicament.

Try Not to Move Too Much

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