Would y’all mind if we talked about one of my kinks? That was rhetorical. We are going to talk about it. Sorry. Not sorry. LOL.
I’m sure 99% of the folks on here share a bondage kink with me. And there are lot’s of different bondage kinks. There’s encasement. There’s tape bondage. There’s bondage sex. There’s rough bondage. There’s cheesecake bondage. I mean, the list goes on and freaking on. Now, in my case, and I admit that I’m still figuring this shit out about myself so these are unproven theories, but as I was saying, in my case, I think the bondage is more of a mental thing than a physical thing. Hang on, hang on. YES! Tina loves bondage sex. I’m not saying I don’t. And since I’m doing it with myself instead of Dom/me, that’s pretty dang close to 100% physical. But if that’s ALL that it was, I’d just get tied up and get off and go eat a sandwich. I wouldn’t spend all of the effort and time making my little remote controlled fantasy bondage world where I can do extended scenes, use multiple positions, a variety of toys and most importantly, transport people from anywhere else in the world with WIFI into the room with my where they can plug my holes and rock my world with me in a helpless state of heaven.
See, it’s not just physical. It’s mental and emotional too.
And on of the subcategories of bondage that I’ve only just barely ever caught a taste of is PUBLIC bondage. But I freaking love it. I’m going to tell you about it, with the help of some of my favorite artists (THANK YOU ARTISTS!!!). And I think you’ll be surprised at the ‘why’ behind my public bondage kink.
Here’s the first image by my dear friend whom I love @JohnTzee
Amazing, right! Fuck yeah, I’m right. When he made this image, it was actually going to be part of my probably never to be finished Tina’s Infinite Submission story. In the story, I’m a virtual reality AI “character” that is spawned and downloaded and used all over the fantasy post-nearly-apocalyptic world that I set up. So that standing spread eagled Tina is actually one of billions of copies of Tina that gets used by most of the global population in VR fantasies suited to their tastes. I guess that is a little grim when I write it all out like that. Maybe mom was right about me all those years ago….but any-who! The point is, I’m set up and displayed, like an advertisement. The bondage is minimal. It’s effective. It’s actually oppressive in it’s fortitude and in its sterility. Notice also the nods at automation, as if the restraints are on a moveable frame of sorts and I’m set out and put away for business hours like inventory.
Kind of chilling when I put it that way, yeah?
Add to that the woman who’s story we don’t know, but who I would guess is an upper class woman of means and leisure who just paused casually as she strolled by a shop window. She’s not alarmed or really “moved” in any way by the sight of my naked, exposed, and treated with callous, robotic indifference. This is an important concept to my kink, but I’ll come back to it.
So, here’s the thing about this scene. Something is off. I mean, of course something is off. It’s a post-apocalyptic fantasy with sci-fi tech and way-too-close-for-comfort class divisions. THAT’S not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about the cruelty. Look, it’s one thing to have the merchandise exposed, naked and restrained, ready to be inspected by potential customers. That’s not personal. It’s only business. But look at my wrists. See how my palms are turned up? Hold you own arms out-stretched like mine and now roll you arms up like that. It’s uncomfortable, isn’t it. It’s like a freaking arm bar. Also, what about that gag? A ball gag would be much more comfortable. OK. Maybe the customers want to see inside my mouth? Fine. Whatever. Then used a ring gag. This dental torture device is totally unnecessary. It’s like the worst kind of gag you can lock into a damsel’s mouth.
Unless you’re trying to hurt her. Not damage her, mind you. But HURT her. Yeah. A gag like that could do just that.
OK. So this is some cruel evil shit, right? But now imagine instead of that being an AI that looks like your favorite Deviant Damsel, it’s the real girl. Well, she loves it, right! Yeah…but still, the pain part still hurts. And here comes the mental part. That woman, who maybe wants to buy me, so she’s fucked up too, but still, she has power to a certain degree because she isn’t on the damsel side of the glass, and she’s looking right at me, and she can see that some of this shit is unnecessary, and she’s not doing a blessed thing.
Callous. Indifferent.
And what does that do to me? I’ll tell you. It reduces me. I’m the next season’s outwear hung up on a mannequin. I’m available by the pound, tell the butcher how you want me sliced. I’m just a thing. I don’t have thoughts. I don’t have feelings. I only exist to serve whatever function my owner needs me to serve. That point is made absolutely clear by the public display of it all. It’s more than the restraint. Much more.
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Now for another one by JohnTzee. This is another one from the Infinite Submission stories.
Check it out. Once again, we have a HEAVILY bound Tina, naked and exposed in a sterile display case. Check out how THIS time, I’m visibly struggling. You can see how my fists are shaking and my knees are buckling. There is anguish on my face. I look frustrated, like I’m confused. Maybe I’m trying to get the spectator to help me and she isn’t listening. Maybe she’s oblivious to me, and I told understand why. How can she just be looking at me and not doing anything? How is that possible? It’s like hyper gaslighting, y’all. That goes on long enough and my brain is going to start accepting it.
“Nobody cares because I’m something that belong like this.”
Oh, but that’s the punchline. It takes a long time and a lot of struggling before slipping into that sweet state of blissful numbness. It’s hard to let go completely of the power you feel inherently as a human being.
I need to point out another detail about the equipment in play that makes a big difference. Once again, check out the gag. Not only is it a harness gag, it’s a clear plastic harness gag. Those sticky plastic straps feel like a violations written all over your face. They aren’t natural in feel or scent like leather. And they cling to your skin and make your movement uncomfortable. There’s just no reason to gag me like this from a business point of view. It’s cruel. It’s punishing. It’s a subtle and delicious way to shift a little more of the power off of my plate and onto that of my captors.
Finally on this image, the spectator seems a little more “typical” than the upper glass women in the last picture. Privileged, still. But closer to a normal person’s status. Close enough to where she might have been on the wrong side of the glass herself if some small change in events had taken place. But like the first woman, this woman also is disengage, disconnected and does not care at all about me. My now impossible to miss suffering does not even register.
And making it even worse, look at what’s on her phone. It’s ANOTHER image of me bound and gagged and on display. Here’s the image from the phone (bravo on the detail John!!).
Maybe this is a screen saver because in the story, I’m kinda famous. Maybe it’s an advertisement and she’s comparing the real me to the ad. Whatever it is, it’s crushing and demoralizing that she is casually glancing at that instead of calling 9-1-1 to report a crime in progress.
Just how fucking powerless am I? Yeah, the bondage, but even more….
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Let’s move on to this one by @AILoveBondage
Oh my God, this one give me all the feels. The damsel is hot as fuck. The bondage is one of my favorite types of rigging. The cinching is tight. That waist rope/crotch rope is applied like a second skin. Look how vulnerable she is. Look how exposed she is. Anyone could touch her anywhere they wanted. All see can do is mingle around that busy room of people ignoring her. It’s nuts. It’s crazy. Nobody notices. Nobody cares. In fact, eventually, the security-looking guy comes up and appears to be correcting her or redirecting her firmly for heaven-only-knows what. He easily moves her where he wants her with his touch, treating her like an object.
She’s just an object.
She’s a drone. You’ve heard that expression, I’d sure. Biologically she’s a human like all of the important people in the background. But not her. Things have happened, things have been done to her, and now she’s just existing. She’s neither content nor wanting. She just is. All of her power, all of her personality, all of her problems have been extracted. And a hot, tight, obedient shell is what remains.
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And here’s another great one by @PufWick
I used this image to write one of my favorite short stories, by the way. Check it out if you get a second.
This public bondage is different in that the setting is more contained. It appears to be something like a slave auction. It’s probably invitation only, so maybe not exactly, truly public. But I’m including it because of my expression. Look at that gorgeous stunned disbelief! I’m asking the same questions as above. “What’s going on?” “What’s wrong with these people?” “Why is no one helping me?”
And then, eventually, like a defense mechanism the brain uses to makes sense of things that defy understanding, I’ll slip into acceptance and become the object they see me as.
Public bondage ramps up the power exchange so much.
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Here’s one that’s a little bit different but equally brilliant by @RachWrites
I think this one tells a very different story. This time, the Damsel is not close to broken. But dang that skin tight hood and extra tight-buckled bondage harness is going to break her damsel ass good! I like to think that even though she’s in a sensory deprivation cocoon, she’s aware of the fact that she’s been strung up in an opaque cube on a busy sidewalk. See the silhouettes of everyone gathered around? In this case, the torment is not the indifference of bystanders. The torment is being separated from rescue by just a thin piece of plastic. She’s surrounded on all sides by rescue.
All see needs to do is be noticed. Do you exist when you aren’t even noticed? She may as well not.
Insider this vacuum of a world, she struggles in total despair, desperate and dangling, exhausting her body and her will, both being drained by gravity and by crushing frustration. Oh, and the rigging is SO fucking mean to give her enough tether on her collar to lift herself up slightly but only just slightly. It snaps her back to center every time she tries to swing herself to be noticed. Arms and legs folded away and useless like blades in a Swiss Army knife. She’s an object, made that way by a screen, set out in public, surrounded by what she needs but impossibly removed from it at the same time.
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Here’s one last beauty by @Amasorbet
In this one, the public bondage is not subtle. This is a prescribed punishment. She is strung up and helpless and forced to endure humiliation. Her neighbors go about their days beneath her struggling body. Nobody looks up. Nobody cares. Her shame is overwhelming. It’s smothering is symbolized by the spherical hood encasing her entire head.
The sign on her body labels her as a whore, and it that were me, I would be feeling most whorish indeed. And desperate in my lust.
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Unlike a lot of my articles, this one didn’t have much of a point other than to share some different takes by some great artists on this specific fetish that turns me on like nuts. In case you’re wondering, I’ll go ahead and share a description of what I think would be my ideal take on a public bondage situation…
First, I’d be strapped up and hooded and helpless like the damsel in RachWrite’s image. But even more so. My hands would taped up around hard rubber balls so I could not open or close them. I could wiggle a finger and make a tiny gesture. I’d be in public but disguised somehow. Not in a screened box. Something more claustrophobic. Maybe stuffed into a cylinder barely wide enough for my shoulders and hips. Or maybe disguised as a mannequin in a bondage shop. I’m actually partial to that scenario. People would browse the shop and see my writhing. It would not be much movement because I’d be wired to a concealed steel spine. “Wow, is she supposed to be cumming? That’s so life like?” I’d hear every conversation. My cries would be completely muted by a massive gag soaked in a numbing solution that would completely prevent the use of my tongue to vocalize my terror. That terror borne from knowing what the store owners will do to me after closing. What they’ve been doing to be me each night after closing since they tricked me into going back into a changing room, weeks ago. The hood conceals my agonized tears. Hope all but expired when the police came into the store looking for me, moving around me, even touching me, never suspecting I was right there, all while the shop owner held back his grin and lied, “No Officers, I think I’d remember a girl like that.” The toys and the torture are applied to different regions each night. And then each day, I’m set out again as a demonstration to sell this devil’s inventory.
Until it settles in. There is nothing I can do. I can’t believe it. But people see only what they expect. They look right at me and only see an object. A thing that can be owned. Something to be used.
So thrilling. So powerful.
I want it so bad. 😊
Hope you all found this interesting, and I’m sure you enjoyed all the great art. Love all of you!
XOXOX