How To Make A Chest Binder 소설 & 이야기

"Get up, and hands behind your head." She follows my instructions promptly with lithe motions, and I set to work quickly. I start off with creating the chest harness we'll be centering all other restraints around. It's very basic bondage, just rope above and below her breasts wound around her torso several times, the tie completed with more rope to secure the two 'bands' between her breasts and at her sides to add some restriction to her tits but mostly to give us a well fitting and secure anchoring point at her back, once the ties are completed

“I’m not finished preparing you.” My breath shuddered. He turned away for only a second - long enough to take something from the cabinet. When he faced me again, he held several long straps of leather, each one smooth, dark, and meant for binding. My pulse kicked hard against the collar. “Arms down,” he commanded. I obeyed, letting them fall to my sides. The first strap wrapped around my upper arms, pinning them tight against my ribs. He pulled it until my breath caught, then buckled it without a hint of hesitation.

I listened to her take several deep breaths for air and control. I let go of her ear, then held her by the waist with my left hand, but not exactly to support her, but to keep the dress from falling off completely. I used my right hand to pull down the straps of the dress and finally free her breasts. I brought her hard against me, causing her boobs to be pressed against my chest. I made sure to place my left hand on her back, higher up, to keep her against me.

He gestured for her to collect the dangling chain between her knees. She lifted them and found the loops at the end. Tugging one nipple out, she threaded the ring through it. Moving to the other, she did the same. Then rounded and let her arms hang as he took the remaining chain and cinched it around the indentation of her waist to hook around her back.

I was already growing slick, my nipples tight and aching. He set the camera down briefly and picked up two leather camera straps. “These will help you feel the restraint of your upbringing. Arms behind your back.” My breath hitched as he wrapped the straps around my wrists, binding them securely but not painfully, the leather cool and smooth against my heated skin. The binding forced my shoulders back further, my breasts even more prominently displayed. Another series of clicks captured the moment — the way my bound arms made my body curve invitingly, the subtle tremble in my thighs.

Arms and legs are usually the quickest way to suspend someone, but that method carries a lot of pressure. And with her, that kind of pressure might be too much right now. She’s never done anything like this before. Her muscles aren’t used to the strain, and I’m not interested in hurting her in the wrong way. So I shifted the tension, distributing it with a chest harness. That way, her arms and legs carry less of the load, and the strain spreads more evenly. The ropes across her chest aren’t just practical either. They frame her beautifully, pulling her shoulders back, lifting her just enough, holding her like she belongs there.

I expected him to pull back, to erase the blurry line between us and draw a clear boundary, but instead, his large hands moved through the front of my upper body. His fingers caught the loose end of the binding cloth. With a slow, agonizingly deliberate tension, he began to unwrap the tight bindings from my chest. He didn't rush. He peeled back the layers one by one, his knuckles lightly grazing the swelling bruises and the burning heat of my skin. As the constricting fabric unspooled, my chest heaved, my lungs finally expanding to draw in a full, deep breath of air.

rope, whatever that meant, and four carabiners. That night we Skyped and she taught me how to tie rope cuffs (hold the ends together and then loop them through the middle to create a slip knot and showed me how best to secure the chains to the chaise. Of course I was naked for this call, but I must have been doing something right because she let me get on my hands on knees facing the camera. She didn't have me bind myself or use any toys. She only let me reach between my legs with one hand and play with myself. Using my other hand to steady myself, I began masturbating.

I took off the tuxedo and I started unwrapping the bindings and the fabric fell away layer by layer. Red marks covered my chest from the top of my ribs down to my upper stomach. They were deep and the skin was raw. It hurt badly. It hurt to breathe and it hurt to move. I blinked back the tears that were threatening to fall because I did not have time to cry. I did not have the luxury of crying. I stood under the warm water for several minutes and I let it run over my aching body. I dried up slowly and I was wrapping my chest again but not as tightly this time because I would be sleeping in my hoodie. The fabric was loose and comfortable.

The coarse jute rope hissed as he wrapped it around her upper arms, binding her wrists together before weaving the cord across her chest, securing the knots across her sternum. The Takate Kote instantly pulled her shoulders back, forcing her breasts forward and thrusting her spine into a sharp, arched posture. Without breaking his rhythm, Elijah took a second length of rope and began the Futomomo. He looped the rope around her upper thighs, pulling them wide and securing the knots behind her knees, binding her legs so her center was permanently, brutally exposed. It took a few minutes of silent, highly skilled work. The tension of the knots was firm, precise, and expertly tied to avoid cutti