The Handcuffs (Mf, bdsm) by Foxbat

Disclaimer: This story contains graphic sex should not be
read if such stories are illegal in your state, or if you are a minor.

Please feel free to distribute this, on the condition that the
disclaimer and author's name remain intact and unaltered.

For previous parts, or other stories of mine, please check out
my website (thanks to ASSTR) at http://www.asstr.org/~foxbat/ where 
you can find all of my work as well as some recommendations.  All
the content is also available via ftp at ftp.asstr.org/pub/Authors/foxbat/


Feedback, comments, suggestions, etc are always welcomed and
appreciated at foxbat00@gmail.com





The Handcuffs (Mf, bdsm) by Foxbat

   The box arrived via US priority mail, in standard box sold at post offices for mailing video cassettes or dvds.  There was no return address, no markings to identify it.  The box was surprisingly heavy for being so small.

   I opened it.  The inside was full of packing peanut, a crumpled packing slip which I discarded, and another smaller flat box maybe an inch thick and  roughly three inches square marked Smith & Wesson on the outside.  I frowned - I don't own any guns, and I couldn't fathom what this could be.

   I opened the thin cardboard of the inner box, and a brown-paper wrapped bundle came out.  And a small key.  With the first glint of recognition, I tore open the brown paper.

   A pair of handcuffs, gleaming dull carbon steel.  These were not like the party handcuffs kids get to play with, nor the cheap metal variety that are easily deformed and can be picked with a bobby pin.  These were the real McCoy, resplendent in their utilitarian aesthetic economy.  The unexpected weight of them made you feel the law pressing down on you, transmuting abstract guilt into physical burden.

   I turned them over in my hands, noticing my name engraved across the base of one of the cuffs.  I knew who had sent these to me.


* * * 

   I could feel her lips and tongue dragging across my skin, leaving a wet trail cool in the hot air, moving down my chest.  I ran my hand through her full hair, slowly gripping it for a moment, a vain and empty gesture of control I did not have.  

   She was sublimely good at this.  At first, the sensations were indefinite, discombobulated.  I couldn't tell what was finger, lip, tongue, breath, or hot breath, or where exactly the experience was coming from as the intensity overrode the normal circuitry of sensation in my brain.  After teasing me like this, I felt the wet warmth descend over my straining penis driven mad by the tantalization.  

   Her head bobbed, twisted, whirled; soft hair moved against my thighs; sensations intensified as if in some sort of tactile kaleidoscope.  

   She had come down earlier that evening, and we'd gone out with friends of mine.  No mention had been made of the package that arrived in the mail a few days earlier.  Although we had been together before in the past, this was new for us.

   I felt myself close, but I couldn't allow things to end here.  Summoning will power from the depth of my soul, reached down and drew her back up before sliding out from under her.  I moved like I wanted to enter her from behind, as I nudged her legs apart, pressing her back into the bed.  I straddled her ass, and pulled her hands behind her as I had done on previous occasions.  I felt her breath suck in, the surrender of control heightening the experience.

   I reached carefully under the corner of the pillow, drawing out the cold steel cuffs slowly and silently.  In a single smooth motion (I had been practicing all week), both her hands were encircled in the cold heavy carbon steal.  In the next instant, I entered her as I felt her go rigid under me, straining against the bondage and the invasion.  I brushed the beautiful blond hair away from her face, her eyes were closed and mouth open slightly, her face flushed red.  I wrapped my hands around her neck, kissing her, as I moved slowly in and out.  

   The control I had - to thrust hard and drive the wind from her lungs, to cease and feel her squirm, to tempt her with short strokes that held her on the edge - fascinated and enraptured me.  The handcuffs were a mere extrinsic symbol, an icon or totem for the real bondage.

   My grip tightened.  I wanted to invade, possess, fill her in every possible way, all at once, to push all of myself inside.  I slammed her forward, muscles clenched and taught with the effort, crushing her against me, grinding, as I came.  Then relaxation, release, relief.  Awareness returned as my head lolled over just in time to see her teeth release the pillow.  My hand flailed for the key on the nightstand to release her at first, but she snuggled close, enjoying the security that is the inverse of control.  

   "Happy Valentine's day," I whispered.  


---


About half this story has already happened; the other half will soon.

Thanks, Dominique.


- Foxbat
