Armed and dangerous

When i discovered the art form of bondage (as opposed to merely the functional process i first identified it as), i realized i could achieve transformation with my subject in a shorter but also quicker fashion than say the permanence that body or mental modification achieved. A simple hogtie presents the female in a prone position where she can be used, transported or displayed in a dehumanizing fashion. However, a clumsily constructed tie, with haphazard knots, mismatched, unattractive rope types and sloppy joint wraps eradicated much of any interest i would have in images of bound females. Further expounding on the aesthetic craft found in shibari and Western ropework, as well as resounding with my frenetic attention to details, i resolved to pay as much attention to the precision of the bondage as i did to its rigidity. As a result, whenever i found extraneous leisure time, i drew out precise pose after pose in a notebook i perpetually carried with me. Though each pose differed, there did exist a commonality amongst most of them that demonstrated my tendency to obsess on one theme, riff, riff, repeat, and riff again. The girl's arms were bound behind her back, elbows touching in nearly every graphite sketch.

I've loved the armless look from the day i first saw it portrayed in a strappado on one of the damsels caught in the Marquis de Sade diorama of "Waxworks". The female forced on her tiptoes, lurched over, with the bulk of her weight relying on the fragile shoulders looked like a girl who had refused to show reverence, but now had no choice. I encountered "tamer" versions, and i was struck by how proud this position made the female form appear. With her arms pinned behind her back, her posture had to respond with tall erection, while her tits lifted in the air as if to say "please, take these from me". From behind, the elbows twisted in towards the spine, and the forearms neatly laid against eachother, making the optical illusion that they were designed to do exactly this. I experienced a further debaucherous epiphany upon first seeing the glorious innovation known as the armbinder achieving this same look.

The Armbinder.

I give that wonderful garment its own line just to show my admiration. Also called the mono-glove or single sleeve, i thought this was as attractive as some would think of the 1967 Mustang's front grill or the Star of India sapphire's rutile. Every photo i saw of a girl in an armbinder instantly ignited the sadistic furnaces within which meant i immediately thought only of my pleasure, and dismissed any of the model's discomfort. I soon discovered Ashley Renee, the queen of the armbinder. Photo after photo captured her venus-de-miloed in the most sumptuous way. I especially responded to those images where her eyebrows arched in high consternation at her unseen perpetrator. You could almost make out the liquid "myew" that leaked out of her tightly ball-gagged mouth. The armbinder launched to the top of my must-have list of torture devices.

I encountered a problem when i began searching for one to purchase. Those offered from both online and brick and mortar boutiques failed to pass the muster i'd demanded. They were designed primarily for the gay leather crowd, which meant big forearms, industrial buckles and almost exclusively unappealing black cowhide. These models served merely the functional side to dis-arming a submissive. What was so appealing about the version Ms. Renee wore was the delicacy it treated an incredibly strenuous feat. It accentuated the feminine tinyness of her wrists, her hands, her appendages. It extended the optical illusion that a girl's arms were meant to fold back like that, rather than appear just sloppily lumped behind her. I knew i was going to have to commission one, if i was to find satisfaction.

The search to find an outlet for my request lasted several years. When i finally took my idea to my girl's corsetiere, i didn't know if he made such a thing. You couldn't destroy the grin from my face with a battering ram once he agreed to design one for me. The following weeks, i waited impatiently for his sketch to land in my inbox.

He far exceeded my expectations. In addition to the femininity of the sheath for her arms, he incorporated a cupless bustier that would also be stringently boned, which could be removed and worn separately. I added additional straps from the bustier to her glove, another one that circumvented where her elbows would fall, and another that could be pulled around her torso, anchoring the latex device rigidly to her entire body. Through various fittings, we perfected the fit and look, and i was soon the proud father of a wickedly didactic contraption.

She has since worn it numerous times, for my sole pleasure, or for when we have company and she plays the silent barmaid. I however have to remind myself, as i buzz with supreme delight at my victory, that her arms do need to come out at some point.

Addendum 10/12/08
I had the good/mis fortune of catching the movie "Waxworks" that i refer to above.

Good fortune because it was nice to see the scene that captured me at such a young age (Although, i was mistaken in my remembrance. The girl was not placed in a strappado, but merely two steel cuffs dangling from the ceiling - i might add, she placed her hands in the cuffs a little too easily for my modern-day tastes).

Misfortune because i was reminded of the crappy cinema i had to watch all the time just to get glimpses of the way i felt and thought inside. My buddies never could understand why i had to leave the room at the end of this scene (below), even though we'd seen this movie well over 20 times.

For your perusal, i present the Marquis de Sade scene from "Waxworks"