Tag Archives: Femdom Bondage

BABOBA

A session with the Baltimore Bondage Babes (aka BaBoBa) can be life changing. Take Mr. Smith for example, who is now lying naked on the floor, gagged to the teeth and with enough rope around his body to rig a schooner. Drop dead blonde Nancy certainly knows Her way with ropes, that’s for sure. She’s sitting on the couch, heavenly legs crossed, eyes fixed on Her prey.
I’m not going to untie you, She says, because what’s the fun in that. Instead, I’m going to call the police and give them your address. How awkward and embarrassing is that, right? Your huge wet boner has a lot of explaining to do, Mr. Smith. Don’t worry, I will leave the front door ajar.
The poor man, in the meantime, is sweating like a turkey on Thanksgiving. He struggles with all his might, eyes as wide as frisbees. Mmmmmfffff, he gags, but without subtitles it’s impossible to know what he means by that.
God, it’s so sexy to see you in fear, Nancy says, placing Her High Heel on his head.
The police arrives 20 minutes later. And when we say police, we mean two beautiful Female Cops in shiny boots and fetish uniforms. They remove his gag, only the gag, and interrogate him. Because he’s not the victim, not to them anyway, he’s the culprit. They are absolutely merciless and Mr. Smith reaches a level of submission that he didn’t know existed.
The Baltimore Bondage Babes are different, adventurous and groundbreaking, what can we say.

GARBAGE MAN

COME HERE!!!!
Seriously, She could castrate a man with Her voice. He ran down the stairs as fast as he could.
Yes, sugar, he said with a honey-sweet voice.
Don’t sugar Me, Harold! Did you take the garbage out?
Now, that was a bit unfair, wasn’t it? She’d ordered him to clean the bathroom first and he was still busy doing that! But he was definitely not, repeat not, going to argue with Her, because he was too attached to his testicles.
No, I’m so sorry, I will d-
She hushed him with a finger and took him outside. She ordered him to lay down on top of the garbage that was already there and tied his hands behind his back and his ankles to his wrists. He was, one might say, a bundle of joy and happiness.
Night, night, tied, tight, She said, and left him there to rot.
It was still hot outside and the stench of the garbage was almost unbearable. Swarms of flies circled around him. Dreadful business. An old Lady walked by with a dog. She said She felt sorry for him, but that didn’t stop Her dog from taking a piss at him.
His Wife untied him at sunrise, took him to the garden and hosed him down with cold water. God, it couldn’t get worse than this, could it?
I told you yesterday to clean the bathroom, Harold, why isn’t it finished yet?

BONDAGE

I explained that Mark and I were playing a bondage escape challenge.
Tying someone up is not that easy, I said.
Nonsense! Give Me that rope.
That was Paula. Beautiful Paula with Her gorgeous, breathtaking, hypnotising legs. Not today though; She was wearing jeans. Damn you bloody jeans! Anyway, I quickly volunteered and She began to tie me up; ankles and wrists, upper arms- and legs and then She fastened my wrists and ankles together behind my back. It was sensational, like bathing in hot lava. I wriggled like a snotty eel, but the more I struggled, the tighter the rope seemed to get. Which caused some serious leakage between my legs, I must say. That was somewhat alarming, because I was twelve years old at the time, and certainly not ready yet to come out of the submissive closet. Not with a Biblical flood between my legs. So I stayed on my stomach and struggled for a long, long time. To no avail.
You win, Paula, I sighed.
Of course I win!
Shall I untie him? Marianne asked.
No, let’s get some ice-scream first. And you (pointing at Mark) don’t move a muscle. Understood?
Yes Paula, he squeaked cowardly.
And so She left me there to dry. Which was impossible, because my trousers were soaking wet. Again I struggled ferociously, but it was impossible to escape. Paula sure as hell knew the ropes.