Bondage a la Carte by Jurgen von Stuka
Things are never quite what they seem to be and here are nine different stories of domination to prove it.
In each tale, some poor, unsuspecting females encounter men who have really only on thing on their mind: to subjugate the females and to enjoy doing it.
However, in more than one episode, the women involved either know from the outset or soon discover that being a bottom is not necessarily a bad thing. While consent may be long in coming, the idea of being tied, chained, gagged and tormented while under someone else’s absolute control can be appealing, especially if your prior life was less than spectacular.
So, herein is a short tale about a young German model who apparently has plenty of Euros, but wants a very special session with an exclusive BDSM firm. She wants to be tied, strapped, plugged, gagged, blindfolded and sealed in a cocoon. She gets what she wants. Maybe more than she wants.
Here too is the tale of the American tourist who boards the wrong tram and ends up at the top of the erotica menu for a rather odd, kinky cult. Even if that situation was a surprise, what comes later is even more revealing for her.
Then there is the guy who has more money than he knows what to do with and discovers that in fact, money can buy almost everything, including his wildest B/S dreams. He just has to fly 5,000 miles to get it.
And meet the physician who enjoys entertaining a group of young women in his very special office while he creates living works of highly erotic art. He enjoys it. The women don’t.
There’s a lot more here. Read and enjoy.
Includes - Dildoes, corsets, gags, ropes, locks, hoods, double penetration, chains, chastity belts, stocks, female bisexuality, enemas, caging, nipple clamps, blindfolds, quirts
It was not a pleasant room. It was bright, but foreboding in its sterility and accompanying décor.
White. Everything was white.
Various chains and ropes hung from the overhead pulleys and winches. Bare white walls sprouted heavy iron rings mounted at different heights and accented the curved, polished, chrome clamps that reached out like grasping claws, waiting for wrists, thighs, ankles or necks to be placed in their cold, steel grip. Impersonal ceramic tiles gave the room a clinical, sterile look, vaguely suggesting something not quite right…something that might indicate pain, discomfort or perhaps some less than cordial scientific enterprise.
The floor was slippery smooth. Cool to the touch. Her bare feet arched slightly as she stepped through the open metal door and walked slowly to the center of the room. Her eyes focused on the bare, far wall, a minimal, indulgent smile on her slightly parted lips. She could have been entering the theater or a posh restaurant, except for her attire. She was naked. No clothes, no jewelry, no make-up.
I said “no jewelry”. But that isn’t quite true. On each wrist and ankle was a thick leather cuff, studded with small silver caps and locked with an embedded silver metal clasp. Expensive. Not some cheap item from the local porn shop. A single bright gold ring was well attached to the cuff itself. She put on the cuffs herself when she arrived, as soon as they stripped her and told her to stand still while each cuff was locked into place with the rings turned to face outward from the slim limb they encircled.
She projected an image of pristine elegance, highlighted perhaps with a quality usually reserved for royalty: that distinguished and quite confident personal image so many sought and so few attained. Even as she stood there, stark naked, nipples extended by the cold, fear or even by erotic anticipation, full breasts rising and falling regularly with her breath, her skin and facial color a bit pale, reflecting maybe a bit of trepidation about what was to follow, about her commitment to this place for an indeterminate amount of time.
Blond…well, dirty blond, but naturally blond as the small, carefully trimmed thatch of curly hair between her thighs verified.
Well cared for…with long, carefully trimmed bangs over the eyebrows and almost in her eyes. A center part on top. Rough, sassy, expensive, designer trim that was short in front and then angled down slightly behind her ears and to the nape of her neck, never touching her shoulders.
Gorgeous. Full, red lips without a trace of rouge or make-up.
The eyes were green, neither blue nor brown. Dark, lustrous green.
Tall…well, taller than most women, with a more than adequate figure that looked quite proper on her. Not voluptuous, but far from anorexic. Not too much meat on the bones, but enough to make it look attractive…more than attractive…hot. It was the kind of figure that could show off risqué clothing and still make observers either instantly jealous or sexually excited. She could easily show up at a business or social event in a gown cut from neck to navel, from short hem to hip, without looking extravagant or sluttish. Clothes were made for her. Her body was the showcase. Her legs, now spread wide, as if for better balance and as though she anticipated what was to come, were long and slim with only a moderate flare at the hips. At the apex of her thighs, framed by the edge of that precious keyhole triangle possessed only by women with the best figures, were two gold rings, one through each of the lower lips. They sparkled through the light blond hair. Above it, a nicely proportioned waist with a flat belly that said that she exercised often and was careful about what she ate and how much of it.
The breasts were a perfect match to the rest of the image. When she walked, they moved smoothly, evenly, with a fluid motion that said they were totally hers. When she jogged, her audience stared transfixed until she was out of sight. No silicone, no saline here. Just natural woman flesh of the highest grade. When you first saw her, no matter what your personal gender preference, your eyes went first to the face, then to the breasts. It was a natural thing to do. A glance at them said: “Not too big, not too small; just round and firm enough to stand on their own.”
For what they had in mind, she was, as I said, perfect.
Captured-Taboos.com Juergen Berktold, Munich