The kingdom of constraints

Don't move!

Tie me up! - Contentions for contortions

What's the point of struggling? Last beacon before mutation, here is the immobile voyage, the dry dock of ropes or belts, a cocoon of plaster or cellophane, surrender to a strapped straitjacket,
the constraint of a body that lets the spirit sail or, on the contrary, moors it, here and now, to its anchorage point: a bondage table, a chair with hooks, a St. Andrew's cross or me,
I'm willing to let you become a piece of furniture, a deckchair, a stool, a pedestal table, a footrest that I can (ab)use as I please.
Believe me, there's a deep joy in being a passive, an object, a puppet, a prisoner, a stranger to the chaos of the world, while inside, everything settles.
Wonderful ankylosis.
And when I set you free, perhaps you'll beg me to keep you...

To me, that's the essence of BDSM: that you're free, absolutely free, to move, but that you give it up, totally,
because I want to.

Prison break

• I have taken (and am still taking!) shibari/bondage classes. I attach to the floor or semi-suspension.
• A professional tyer can join our session. Please ask.
• Notice to prisoners: no confinement beyond 6 a.m. Le Cruel Boudoir does not become a hotel.