Bondage how-to no. 3 by Fulani – ‘shinju’ style breast bondage

Things at Castle Fulani have been a little hectic recently: new projects happening, some of which may sooner or later make their way onto here. Meanwhile, here’s something I wrote a while back about breast bondage.

It’s a version of a Japanese tie called the ‘Shinju’, which I gather means ‘pearls’. A pearl, of course, is a round and smooth shape found encapsulated in the shell of an oyster and the style of bondage gives, hopefully, a nice round and smooth shape encapsulated between ropes, so it’s not such a fanciful metaphor.


One of the fun things about bondage is being able to use ropes to compress skin, making it more sensitive while the ropes are on and also when they come off. This is particularly true of breast bondage. There are literally hundreds of possible ways of putting ropes on and around breasts, so what follows is a very basic guide to a simple and straightforward tie and you should feel free to improvise and adapt as required.

Obvious cautions apply, however. Don’t do breast bondage on someone who has had implants, or who has known medical problems with their breasts. In this case, since the ropes are around the upper chest area, it’s also highly inadvisible to do it on someone who has breathing problems. Yes, I’ve used it on people with athsma, provided their inhaler was handy. But yes, I’ve refused to do it on someone who wanted very much to be tied, told me they didn’t have any medical problems, and then managed to mention, as the ropes went on, they’d just been discharged from hospital after a bout of pneumonia!

Figure 1 shows the result of the first part of the tie. I started by folding the rope in two, so the middle of the rope was by the model’s spine and both strands went around the torso under the breasts; take the ends around the body again, back through the loop, and  around the torso the other way above the breasts. I then ran the ropes back though the same loop.but this time put one strand over each shoulder. They run over the tope of the upper strands at the front and under the lower torso ropes.

Figure 1

NB: when I say the mid-point of the rope, which becomes the loop through which the ropes feed and which will ultimately become the site of a knot, is ‘by’ the model’s spine, the point is that it doesn’t sit on the spine inself. This could press into vertebrae and become painful quite quickly, especially if the bondagee ends up lying on the floor with their body weight pressing down on it. It could also, obviously, cause nerve damage.

The next step is to pull the torso ropes together, compressing the top and bottom of the breasts. All I’ve done here is take the two ends of the rope and feed them around the top torso rope, back under the lower torso rope, pulled them tight and taken them back over the shoulders again – but with the left hand rope over the right shoulder and vice versa. Figures 2 and 3 show the degree of compression I’ve already been able to apply, and at this point I’ve tied off the system with a hitch at the back.

Figure 2

Figure 2 (front view)

Figure 3

Figure 3 (side view)

OK, so now you have the ropes coming one over each shoulder at the victim’s back. Taking both ropes together, I pushed a loop of each rope under a couple of the torso ropes, fed a second loop through the first one, and the rest of the ropes through that loop – in other words, I used exactly the same knot as you’ll have seen used on wrists in Bondage How-to No. 1.

Figure 4 shows the completed knot.

Figure 4

Figure 4

Something I didn’t do that is a variant on this pattern and often seen in Japanese bondage images, is include the arms inside the tie. It’s perfectly possible to do this, and then fold the victim’s arms behind their back and use the last length of rope to secure them in position. Again, many patterns and styles of doing this but you should aim to end up with the same loop-style knot that How-to No. 1 illustrated. If you do include the victim’s upper arms in the tie, though, there are two things to watch out for.

First, use a short length of rope to cinch the front and back segments of the topmost rope – or indeed all the ropes – together, between the body and the each arm. This makes it more difficult, if not impossible, for the victim to move the ropes by repeated shrugging of the shoulders – and means among other things they’re at less risk of accidentally strangling themselves by getting the upper wrap of ropes off their shoulders and around their neck.

Second, though, it significantly tightens the bondage so if you intend to do this, don’t go too tightly around the body to start with. And remember if it exerts too much compression on the upper arm can, after a comparatively short while it can create muscle and possible nerve damage. Be alert, periodically make sure the victim can still feel their fingers, move the rope by an inch or two on the arms every so often, and basically make sure you won’t be in the position of having to explain to a nurse or doctor how your victim got injured.

Depending on the size of your victim this tie shouldn’t take more than 5-6 metres of rope – though yes, I have done this once or twice on larger sized people and found I used a whole 10-metre length! If you have a longer length, options include: more wraps around the body to start with than I’ve illustrated, or using the remaining 4-5 metres to do something else, like put the victim kneeling or face-down and tie their ankles.

Which reminds me. Maybe sometime soon I should something on hobble ties…

Finally, if the tie is well-adjusted, not only will your bondage bunny be happy in these ropes for an hour or more, they may well look reproachful when you decide to take the ropes off. The sensitivity created by the tie, however, should last for some time after the ropes are removed…

As always, we are not responsible for the conditions under which you use your ropes, expect you to exercise due care and caution, and accept no liability for anything at all.


And finally: If you found this item useful or interesting, you may also like the following stories by Fulani which include some technical descriptions of bondage ties:

Sex, art and aromatherapy, by Fulani. Xcite Books

‘Zen and the Art of Bondage’, by Fulani, in the Cocktales: Kiss in the Dark collection. Xcite Books

Some erotic art links

You may have seen, yesterday and today, the media discussions around Holly – ‘An eight-foot high portrait of a naked model handcuffed to a rock’ which has been shortlisted for the National Portrait Gallery’s annual art prize. There’s a BBC report on it here and an opportunity for a closer look here.

I won’t bore you with thoughts on the significance of the painting here because I’ve already blogged about this over on my Fulanismut blog.

However, news about picture sent Velvet into a paroxysm of activity, gathering together her favourite sources for erotic art. And if you’ve ever seen Velvet in a paroxysm you’ll know that’s an impressive sight… Anyway, the result was a bunch of links to books available on Amazon UK.

The links, though, are all in Javascript and WordPress doesn’t support it. So if you want to know what turns Velvet on, artistically speaking, you’ll have to go to my Fulanismut blog post which fortunately can include links in this format…

Have fun over there, and if you have your own favourites let us know, either on here or over there, because we’re always interested in discovering new stuff.

Just as a PS – I was also hoping today to be able to update a lot of the links on here to things we’ve written for Xcite, but the publishers have somewhat unhelpfully started to use Javascript in some of their banners. So that’ll have to wait for another day. The links on the ‘Stories available’ page, though, do all still work.

Rhavaniel – new free erotic fiction from Fulani

Has it really been a week since the last post? Oh well. The next novel is coming on nicely, thank you, though the story that follows is nothing to do with it. Whether this eventually becomes the basis for a longer piece, sometime in the future… anything’s possible.


Writing a novel requires imagination and dedication.

It also requires time, freedom from interruptions, the ability to dive into a character and a situation.

Livia’s solution was a cottage, rented for the summer. A mile up a dirt track road, five miles from the nearest small town. It had its own generator for electricity, water from a spring, but no telephone and no cellphone coverage or WiFi.

It was perfect.

The first chapters ripened. The plot thickened, throwing out new strands. Characters developed. Outside, cloudless skies meant hot days. Inside, there was no air conditioning. Livia wore a loose, flowing dress. But with no one around, and the heavy air making even a dress uncomfortable, she found herself almost unconsciously wearing nothing more than panties. And then, after a few days, nothing at all.

Her central character was Rhavaniel, a name meaning ‘The Wild One’. She was half-elven and half-human, the offspring of a human male pleasure slave kept by an elven warrior princess, for that reason disowned by her mother and sent to live in the human world. In rediscovering her ancestry she entered into the elf world, where dangers awaited.

Livia followed the well-known rules of writing set down by Kurt Vonnegut, among them the injunction to be sadistic to her characters. This, she followed diligently. Rhavaniel, navigating a world she did not fully understand, was quickly captured by brigands and sold into slavery.

Livia began to imagine the ill-treatment one might receive as a halfbreed female slave among elven lowlife. There would be casual brutality and severe punishments, probably of a sexual variety. There would be frequent, rough couplings with any man who wanted her. Probably, with her heritage, many would be curious to fuck her. They’d be ruthless in their use of force and application of discipline, uncompromising in their demands. They’d humiliate her for their amusement. Loan her out to acquaintances.

The chapters moved on, but Livia found herself wondering more and more about Rhavaniel. About how she’d learn from her situation. Learn to please men. Learn to accept pain as a constant in her life. Would she resist, or find a way to manipulate the situation to her advantage?

Hot, sticky nights afforded little sleep. Naked and without covers on her bed, Livia rediscovered pleasure at the end of her own fingers. Tossed and turned in the darkness, with no need to suppress her moans for the sake of neighbours.

Heading for the nearest town next day Livia drove three-quarters of the way there before chancing to look down and see she’d forgotten to wear any clothing. Drove right the way through town anyway, identifying places she wanted to go. Next day, in a more rational frame of mind, she visited the mom-and-pop hardware store, the filling station, the tiny supermarket, the delicatessen. Found the only coffee shop in town and soaked up the sounds of human conversation. Found it difficult to communicate with people and only later realised she’d begun to use the grammar and vocabulary of elven speech. In town they probably put it down to her eccentric city ways.

Back at the cottage, Livia stripped off. She donned the thick leather dog collar she’d bought at the hardware store, the kind intended for a guard dog of about the same weight as her. She attached it to a long chain, the other end of which she padlocked to a piece of ironwork outside the front door. Ate her dinner on hands and knees from a dog bowl. Sat watching the gathering darkness. Finally, she found satisfaction in masturbating, lying splayed out on the warm earth.

Livia slept in the collar, found it comfortable and strangely comforting. Next day the writing seemed to go quickly. When she flagged, she tried another tactic: sitting at her desk, she applied clothespegs to her nipples, breasts, the inside of her thighs. Then, finally, to the lips of her labia. She became astonishingly aware of every movement of her hands on the laptop’s keyboard, yet astonishingly unaware of what she was actually typing. Until later, when reading it back caused her to seek out something to relieve the need in her. Scrabbled though her meagre belongings, dismissed the deodorant, finally settled on an outsize carrot from the kitchen. It was cool inside her, but it did what she wanted it to.

She slept that night spreadeagled on the bed, the chain from her collar fixed to the iron bedstead, a scarf wrapped around her eyes. Rhavaniel would find the bed luxurious, she surmised, and to be placed on a bed at all – rather than sleeping in a cage, or simply chained to a wall, would imply some man could be expected soon.

She relished to sensation of being chained and blindfolded. She’d left the front door unlocked. Anything could happen.

Nothing did. But that could be fixed.

The chapters moved quickly now, but seemed much more focused on Rhavaniel’s experiences at the hands of her captors, and then the underground slave market, the unscrupulous merchant who bought her as a decorative feature for his shop, the aristrocrat who claimed her as a prize when his forces stormed the city – after, of course, the soldiers had used her extensively. She spent almost all her time naked, except perhaps for high heels, and in cuffs and chains – or alternatively, tied to some framework designed to expose her breasts, buttocks and pussy for either flogging or fucking.

A gag was, Livia discovered, a path to an inner core of submission. She improvised one from a thin belt, a length of material wrapped around it to force her mouth open. After an hour or so it made her drool, but that in itself added to her sense of helplessness.

The next time she visited town, Livia remembered to wear a dress. She’d paid attention to the conversations she’d had, and the ones she’d overheard, on the last occasion. And she was grateful that many people had very free in their discussion of one particular young man. ‘Happy to sleep with any of the girls in town, but he won’t settle with any of them. Says they’re too narrow minded. And you should hear the stories about the things he likes doing in bed…’ This from the two middle-aged guys who worked in the garage-cum-filling station.

Her destination was the delicatessen, which doubled up as a sandwich bar and impromptu art gallery. The name she’d heard was the same one she’d seen on the paintings.

She looked again at the paintings. They were mainly of women, and displayed a sensual, almost harshly sexual, gaze. The models were in clearly provocative poses. They were the kinds of pictures that Livia thought might have been cleaned up for public consumption. The artist probably had the originals, and they probably showed the women in an altogether more naked state.

Livia bought a sandwich, asked about the artist and was unsurprised to find he was the young man she was talking to. Handing the bills over, she passed him a folded piece of paper at the same time. And walked out of the door without a second glance, feeling excited and nervous at the same time.
Back at the cottage, she removed the dress – and found to her consternation she’d been wearing the collar all this time.

Oh well. It had certainly underlined the point of the note.

She ate from the dog bowl again, naked on the porch. Imagined herself splayed out against its ironwork, chained to it. And, when it was dark, went to the bedroom, leaving the front door open. Collar locked to chain, chain to the bedstead. She wore the gag, the blindfold. And waited.

The sex was everything she expected. Rough, ruthless, uncompromising. Marks on her buttocks from the application of discipline. He’d removed the gag for the insertion of cock in mouth, but left the blindfold on the whole time. She’d been humiliated, but the experience had pumped adrenaline through her system, created a craving she knew she’d have to feed again. Soon.

He wasn’t there in the morning. But on her desk was a page torn from a notebook, a pen-and-ink sketch of her that captured her in her sexual bondage. The title above the sketch was the same name she’d put on the note.