Thinking Aloud on Bondage

Thinking Aloud on bondage.

I have been stretching my horizons so to speak and thought that writing everything out would help me examine myself better. Comment if you like, but walk lightly.

I took a few art classes in college. Our instructor asked us to define art. How do you know what is good and what isn’t. Well, truthfully I’m not satisfied with the definition, but one point has stuck in my mind. If it moves you in any way…it’s art. Every time I think of that, I envision a black piece of plywood with fur traps nailed to it. Inside the jaws of the traps, where naked baby dolls, with red paint dripped all over them. It was such a powerful and ugly image; I couldn’t walk down that hallway for weeks. I suppose that was art.


I have been doing some internet research on bondage. Just reading the word is titillating to me. I have never really been bound. M and I have a pair of handcuffs that we haven’t used in years. Bound the ex-girlfriend a couple of times. I would do it very differently if I had to do it over again. So while I have a fascination, I have little actual experience.

It is a different thing to look at the pictures. They make me very uncomfortable. I suppose that’s the idea. Maybe I’m more a soft-core kind of gal? Maybe not.

I like bondage art. The symmetry of it. Clean lines and beautiful knots. I see it and want to immediately know how it was done. I could amuse myself for hours with a fine piece of rope. “Here honey, hold still”.

I also like bondage for it’s more practical side. To have M tied off to the 4 corners of the bed, so I can have my way with him for as long as I want…yes, very pleasant indeed. I do love to tease him until he begs for it.

There are times I wish I were also bound. M is not into knots like me, he is not the person to bind me. But still I wish I were. Sometimes in sex play, some times in a rage.

Sex play is an easy one to understand. I have already mentioned that I am a dominate with submissive fantasies. Some people will understand why…the rest of you will just have to accept that I am both. I think that if M would just bind my hands, the orgasm at the end would be mind blowing and it would save his ass a weeks worth of healing from all my nail marks. Don’t get me wrong. I like that he has the nail marks too. It gives me great satisfaction that he can’t sit without remembering me and why his ass is on fire.

Rage is something different. I don’t get into many any more, but they are still a part of me. I don’t know that I can adequately describe what it is to me. A loss of control. But not a complete loss. Although those that have had the experience first hand might disagree. I can easily obsess about my anger until I no longer see. I want pain and suffering at my feet. I want blood and tears. I want to be begged for mercy and to give none. I want to bite, scratch and beat. I want battered and broken with a dying breath. I see it all in my mind and I want it to be real. My control is that, I do not make it physical, for the most part. There are always tears.

These are times where I wished to be bound. I can fight and rage against an object verses destroying a person. I can shift my hate and release my energy into the struggle against the knots. I will know that I will not physically explode into nothingness, that the straps will keep me in one piece. I can battle with myself until exhaustion. And then come out whole. And without guilt.

So again, why do the pictures bother me? Is it because it’s I don’t know the people, and so it’s not personal? Could it be that I’m not the one in control of the binding? I think it might be something different. I know that I bind the ones I love/trust, and would only allow myself to be bound by the same. To be bound and then put on display for everyone to access would be too much. Yes, I think that is it. I prefer a private audience; with those I know I can trust.

Now I must exam public display.