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Shackles and Cuffs…
Excerpt from the novel Spontaneous Combustion by Lizbeth Dusseau,
© Copyright, 2014, all rights reserved. Ebook
I never thought much about shackles, though I’ve always loved that word – shackles. Better than ‘cuffs’ which doesn’t have that Old World feeling about it that shackles do. There’s something romantic in that word that makes me think of them fondly – reason unknown. And yet, it’s not the word I’ll use today when talking about my recent experience with my master. While shackles sound romantic, cuffs is a no-nonsense kind of word. And since he’s a no nonsense kind of master, I’ll call them cuffs for now.
The name doesn’t matter, it’s what he does with them that counts.
When he first talked about putting me in cuffs, I worried that my thin wrists would slip through the bands, as they often do with most wrist restraints. He was unfazed by my concern, and I soon saw why. He already had the issue covered; these cuffs were adjustable and could fit tightly around my small wrists with no room left to slip my hands from their confining grasp. How clever of him to understand the versatility of his choice when he ordered them – must have been years ago.
He’s a practical man, cuffs for any occasion, any slave. And now me, like I’m another in a long line of submissive females taken in by his unique authoritative charm.
Let me not forget to mention the ankle cuffs of the same design as those for my wrists, these just slightly larger. I feel doubly bound with hands and feet both locked in leather. The minute I put them on, I become aware how fully tethered I could be were I to be lashed to a tree, tethered to a cross or laid out on a bed with my body spread wide, and every part of me vulnerable to the master’s plans. I’ve never wanted this. Oh, maybe in a fantasy or two or three, perhaps. But those fantasies took place in real dungeons, with dark lords, despicable brutes masquerading as country gentlemen, or urban financial warriors with enough cash to have women panting, ready to be their sexy chattel when they take a break from work and need a place to slake their pent-up lust.
But never in a real time, real life sexual relationship with a man on top and me, a lifestyle submissive below, has this cuffed and shackled reality been something that particularly turned me on. It’s never been part of my kinky DNA. At least that’s what I thought not more than a few months ago.
Now’s different. Now cuffs are part of my reality, a permanent fixture in the master’s bag of tricks. I’ve had to reconsider a lot of pet beliefs about myself since being introduced to this man.
I’ve been turned into a play toy, my body naked – yes, of course, I’m naked. Is there anything other than a naked slave? Shackled, fettered, retrained, restricted, any of the adjectives will do since all of them take me down a rung to something elemental inside myself. A place behind a door, a secret passageway, a realm so obscure in me that until this master entered my life, I never knew it existed. I’m dizzy with the splendid truth that there are still mysterious places left in me to explore.
The experience is more than I expected. The locks clatter when I move, and the weight of them is not something that I can dismiss. The look of them, the feel, the sound, the smell of them, takes me into an altered state of arousal without his saying a word.
Once fitted properly, their noisy clatter works on my mind with every rash or subtle movement, with every jiggle, with every time a heavy lock hits hard against my flesh. Heat rises inside my crotch. Desire creeps into me from every angle.
I never imagined myself shackled for sex, that something so uniquely in tune with the strange set of sexual practices that, in general, I embrace, would become a regular routine with me. I always figured that cuffs were the province of those lifestylers more driven by the symbols of their kink than I have been. Never seemed all that important to me. And yet, I know that when our first sex date was over, and I had his permission to remove the cuffs, my mind instantly rebelled. I didn’t want them gone; and for several seconds, I couldn’t fathom what my life would be like without them, their smell, the feel, the heavy, awkward weight. Damn! It is uncanny what they do to me!
In his absence tonight, I took them out of hiding according to his orders, gently fondled the stiff leather and the hardness of the steel. I drank in the pungent aroma that I love then listened as the metal clattered when I put them on. The memories of our first hours together ran through my brain, all sexually charged. They collided inside my sex where it was wet, hot, wanting. I know he’s preparing me for this next arrival, when I imagine that the sex will once again stir up more unrestrained passion. Ah, but there’s a method in this master’s madness. I know that when I put them on, I’ll feel as I did that first time, and as I did tonight, that I have arrived in the place where I belong.
Oh! Why do I make so much of them? I shake my head in wonder. They’re just a toy… END