Shortly after I started this blog, I found Kinkerbelle and her master, Atlanta Bondage. I’ve never really been into bondage, and I can’t say that I full understood it, but between the two of them, it becomes a lot more clear. There’s a real thrill in power, both taking and giving.

Because we enjoy the pictures that Kink posts so much, we decided to try and create some of our own. It just so happens that one of the boys got a pair of real metal handcuffs for Christmas. Somehow, he managed to misplace them, and somehow, they wound up hidden under various things in my nightstand. Is that wrong?

Our first chance to use them came this weekend while we were playing around taking pictures of me in stiletto heels. In contrast to our first shoot, M worked mostly in silence. At various points during the shoot, he stopped and looked at me over the camera. He finally just put it down, walked over, and cuffed my hands behind my back. At first, I was a little taken aback. The cuffs were a little tight around my wrists, and made it difficult to pose. He moved them a few times, locked my wrist to my ankle, and contorted my body into various positions.

I soon forgot what we had originally set out to do. My attention focused on nothing but being bound. I wanted them to be free. I began to panic a little as my fighting against them dug the metal into my wrists. It wasn’t that I had a fear that M would do something that would hurt me; I trust him. It was that dreaded feeling I have of not being in control.

Finally he reached down, touched my face, and told me to relax. He moved his hand from my face to his pants, and slowly unzipped them. He was hard. Apparently he really likes photography. Still lying face down on the bed, I lifted my head, and looked up at his face while he stood in front of me, cock in hand. When he started to stroke it, I began to relax and became lost in the moment. It wasn’t a moment of pure sexual pleasure, but a moment where all of my worries of the day disappeared. I wasn’t thinking about the piles of papers strewn across my desk at work or the baskets of laundry waiting for me down the hall. None of those things mattered. What mattered was his orgasm. I maintained eye contact with him the entire time, staring into his eyes as he worked his shaft. It didn’t take long before he quickened the pace. He pumped his cock furiously. The moment his orgasm hit him, he grabbed my hair and shot his come all over me.

After he had fully unloaded on me, he grabbed a towel from the bath and gently wiped my face clean. He leaned over, freed one of my wrists from the restraints, and left the cuffs hanging from the other. I crawled up next to him in the bed, curled up in that spot right under his arm, and rubbed my clit. Once I brought myself to orgasm with my cuffed right hand, he leaned over, kissed my forehead, and told me he loves me. We lay there in silence before drifting off to sleep.

Maybe it wasn’t real bondage, but we tried, Kink. We tried.