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From: Foxbat <foxbat00@gmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} The Handcuffs (Mf, bdsm, flash) by Foxbat
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Date: Mon, 05 Mar 2007 19:10:02 -0500
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The Handcuffs (Mf, bdsm, flash) 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-mirror.org/files/Authors/foxbat/www/ where
you can find all of my work as well as some recommendations.  All
the content is also available via ftp at www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/foxbat/


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





The Handcuffs (Mf, bdsm, flash) 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 steal.  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.


---


Thanks, Dominique.


- Foxbat

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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