Real Time Bondage 2009 09 18 Head Games Marina
Sheron Kernan
This First Person column is the experience of Marina Commanda Westbrook, an Anishinaabekwe who lives in Ottawa. It was originally published in January 2022. For more information about CBC's First Person stories, please see the FAQ.
As I took the decorations off my artificial Christmas tree and put them away, I found myself mulling over new year's resolutions. At this time of year, we are called to reflect on life; how we can improve or be a better human in some way. I've been inspired by this tradition, but lately it's been more about how I can leave Mother Earth in a better place than I inherited it, like the one my ancestors thrived in for millennia.
Four years ago, my daughter convinced me that we could enjoy the season much longer with a pre-lit "pretend" tree. Honestly, as I'm sure others can relate, I've vacuumed up tree needles in July, so ... the tree came home with us.
That first year, the tree shone in all its artificial, glowing glory. There were about 500 lights on it, but I found myself still missing the spirit of my real tree. I kept that to myself for the sake of a longer sparkling season.
Three Christmases later, the tree didn't seem so happy and neither did I. After hours of trying to find the elusive bulb that was causing most of the lights to not work, I caved. I strung new lights around it, added the decorations and tried to overlook the unlit bulbs and wires for the season. The no-longer pre-lit tree would have to sadly make its way to the curbside at the end of season.
But when it came time to toss, I just couldn't do it. In the past, I've tried to do something meaningful with my new year resolutions. I've given up buying any kind of plastic packaging. Admittedly, that was a big life adjustment, but with some thought I replaced the plastic wrap, baggies and containers with wax paper, glass containers and paper bags and I haven't looked back.
"What else can I do?" I pondered, as I took the decorations off my tree, which was still tightly production-wrapped in wires and broken lights. Admittedly, I felt it was such a waste that this otherwise decent tree's fate was to lay in a landfill site for the next 500-plus years.
Carefully handling each branch, I snipped away at the wires and started feeling for this tree. With each snip and painstaking unwinding, I recognized that I was releasing the tree from the bondage of appearance and glitter. Even as I thought I got them all, a closer look showed wires that still refused to let go. In the end, I was left with what I estimate to be 30 metres of wire and broken bulbs.
This line of thought led me back to my childhood. Fifty years ago, our family had a shiny, silver aluminum tree wound with lights that my dad carefully checked and replaced, year after year. Even though the tree I'm attempting to rescue is bigger and has far more lights, it doesn't compare to the memory of my childhood one. I'm not sure what happened to that tree, but my guess is that it's resting and forgotten in the earth somewhere.
How many other pretend pre-lit trees face the same fate? How many owners would take the time to remove the bondage of wire and let the branches free? What do they give back once their glittery lives end?
Some may think that replacing a natural tree with a pretend one saves the natural ones from an early unnatural death or is better for the environment; however, the teachings of my family name have helped me to understand otherwise.
The experience of freeing my pretend tree from the wire bondage that held it made me reflect on this custom and has led to my new year's resolution: Instead of buying another artificial tree pre-bound in the wires that have come to represent to me the bonds of colonization, I will welcome my mitig relatives into my home and dress them honourably and brightly.
My pre-colonization family name is Mkishinaatik, meaning "Rotten Wood." When I first learned the meaning of my family name, I wondered, "Why was my family known by this strange name that sounded so unpleasant?"
I carried this question for many years before a kind and knowledgeable Kokum explained the importance of my name. My family became known as nurturers and healers because, without the rotting wood, nothing would ever grow again. The medicines given up by the wood as it returns to the earth allows the next generation to flourish. I was filled with pride when I received this teaching and I say "Chi miigwetch, Kokum" for this truth.
And so, I will put away my now unbound tree, branches relieved from their burden and give it another season to honour its natural peers. But the time will come when I will once again welcome my mitig relative home and dress her in the memories of my family. Then I will celebrate her return to the earth after the season of celebration and allow her the opportunity to give medicine to the generations to come.
There is nothing quite like a BaRs live Sexuallybroken show, and Angel Allwood is finding that out the hard way. We bind up her breasts and belt her down onto a sybian on wheels, essentially turning her into a movable mouth hole. Can she deepthroat multiple cocks while being blasted with orgasms? We wheel her around for a while, swapping her off the dick like a party favor, until it is time to amp it up even more. Depositing our dazed blonde into a leather straightjacket, we proceed to hang her upside down from the rafters. The inverted suspension puts her face pussy at the perfect height for yet more throat training. Which is exactly what we do.
In most shoots a girl has a bit of time to relax between scenes, but not this time. With a live show the action is completely non-stop. It means Kay Kardia and the decoration London River are going to be going through intense positions, humiliation, and corporal punishment, back to back.
There is a special suspension rig that we have been looking to try. It has her soaring in the air with her body perfectly arched to suck or fuck, which ever we decide. This device gives us total access to beat her ass until she is black and blue. We make the best use of it while she is sucking cock. Any time we want our cock to caress the back of her tender throat we deliver a few sharp blows. When she opens wide to scream we fill the void with dick. Most people that take our electrical torments do it sitting down. Poor Hazel his hung up by her ankles. The means are truly insidious, too. The current runs in through her ass and out through her nipples but she is not grounded.
The members had some questions for Hazel Hypnotic during our pre-feed but now that she is lashed down to the interrogation chair the real probing can begin. She is not being judged on whether or not her answers are true or false. Instead they are going to look into her life and grade her decisions. If they like her answers then she will have a moment of relief. But for every time she has strayed she can expect a few surges of electricity.
Hazel Hypnotic has the kind of pale skin that shows marks right away and PD has no intention of letting an opportunity like that pass. He can lay that cane across her ass with enough energy to raise a welt on a rhino. Her skin turns red at first but before long the black and blue bruises start to show. How well she can endure that, and all of the other torments our members can devise, determines how much we are willing to reward her.
Our members have a few questions for Hazel Hypnotic so that they can get to know her before the live feed begins. Some of them seen innocuous and others are more probing but they are all designed to peel away her defenses, layer by layer, until her psyche is exposed. When we understand her fears and her desires we will know exactly how to torment her. And when she is laid bare, physically and mentally, then the real fun begins.
Sara Jane Ceylon is hot blonde and she is all ours. We can do whatever we want to her. We have more than a few twisted ideas for how to spend our time with her, but honestly, the best part of doing bondage in RealTime is the ideas that the members provide for us. Everyone gets a turn at making her suffer while Lavender hangs in a cage, watching and waiting for her turn.
Catherine de Sade knows what she likes. Tight bondage, intense pain and public humiliation are all buttons that she loves having pushed. The entire RealTimeBondage team is there and ready to fulfill her dirtiest, most masochistic fantasies! She will be whipped, caned, slapped around and fucked up.
Pop quiz, Star. What is the capital of Arkansas? New Jersey? Idaho? How do you spell cunnilingus? And while we are at it, tell us more about yourself; your dreams and your nightmares. This is RealTimeBondage and our members have lots of questions. Every time you are wrong or you lie you can expect some pain to coax you toward the right answers!
Taming cougars is a tag team business, and we start of with shackling this slut over a cage. This position leaves both ends wide open and ready for access. The finishing touch is our back up bitch Darling waiting her turn in the cage.
The first thing we notice about Holly Wildes? Her stunning chest. Our members are just as interested as we are. Her whole body is hot, but those magnificent tits really stand out. When we interview our girls before the fun begins it tells us so much about them.
She usually wore hairpieces for her role as Troi. Sirtis' real hair was slightly shorter and, although curly, was not as bouffant as her character's. However, Sirtis' real hair was used in the pilot episode, and also in the first six episodes of season six, in which Troi sported a more natural looking pony-tailed style. She was also asked to create an accent (described as a mixture of Eastern European and Israeli)[14] for her character, although her natural accent is Cockney. Over time, the accent was adjusted and became more Americanized.[citation needed]
Sometimes you feel like your love affair with this city is turning into
a bad marriage. It was so wonderful at first, so promising. You chose
San Francisco 15 years ago on a whim, because it is a city full of
people with whims. You had been traveling for a year after college, and
when your money ran out you knew you had to land someplace where there
was a real city with real nature nearby. You were lured by San
Francisco's improbable terrain, its old-worldish charm and its history
of bemused tolerance for all kinds of misfits. You figured it was a
place where you could settle and still have the sense of traveling, of
wandering well-known streets and always being surprised. So you drove
someone's else's big Buick Riviera all the way west, and when you
finally saw the Golden Gate Bridge you had a giddy sense of
amazement that you had found what you were looking for. That you were
finally home.