Kink interests are like a garden. Takes patience, hard work, some creativity and some luck. Sometimes, unexpected surprises come up too, and you decide to try something else, or even take it in a new direction.
Generally speaking, I like restraints to be comfortable enough for both short and long scenes. I prefer any discomfort to come from the desire to stretch out and move after being in bondage for a long time, rather than deliberately inflicted from a piece of equipment, or poor judgement or planning. Therefore, I tend to like padded leather restraints, and larger diameter ropes.
Handcuffs of course, being designed for short-term confinement of unruly prisoners, were therefore never a priority or serious interest, aside from the occasional roleplay where they were appropriate. See I also believe that there’s a time and place and scene for everything. So all was well in my kink collection of leather and ropes. Until something new began to take root.
This was almost a decade ago, I was 19, fearless, and ready to get in on some real kinky action. I’d had a recon profile for about a year, and had met up for some fun. One day, I had a message from a Swiss businessman looking to schedule some play during his upcoming visit. So we chatted, discussed the things we liked, etc., and planned to meet in his hotel room when he visited. When the time came, we met and headed up to the room where he’d layed out all the gear he’d brought with him. Several leather cuffs, a few hanks of rope, a leather hood, several nipple clamps, and an assortment of cloth, tape, bandanas, locks, and straps. He had been thoughtful enough to keep the rubber items away, due to my allergy to it.
The scene we did initially was great. I was roped to the chair with the leather hood over my head, and struggled while he teased my nips and the growing bulge in my shorts. But he decided I needed something more secure than the “flimsy cotton ropes” he had. A pair of handcuffs was clicked onto my wrists, and the rope was removed. I was prepared to hate it after about ten minutes, when cuffs really start to dig in. Even as I had the thought though, I noticed these cuffs were not ordinary. They were comfortable, even though they felt like any other handcuff I’d worn before. I wondered what the secret was. I was driven to a horny frenzy with my captor’s teasing, tickling, taunting, and physical attentions, getting close, but denied every time.
I was a sweaty panting mess, so I was untied, stripped down to my trunks, and layed face down on the bed. “For a rest,” my captor told me. Of course, he wanted to be sure I wasn’t going anywhere, so he brought out what sounded like a handful of chains and shackles. A thick, heavy metal pair of cuffs were secured to my wrists, and an even thicker heavier pair was attached around my ankles. My feet were then brought up behind my back and with the click of a padlock, I was hogtied. I could hardly move, with my limbs all within a few inches of each other. I loved hogties, and this one was by far the tightest I’d yet been in. Again, I expected the metal cuffs to be a problem before too long. Boy was I in for a surprise.
To ensure that I rested and stayed quiet, I was gagged with a soft sponge ball that was secured in my mouth with a long strip of t shirt wrapped around my head a few times. I was also blindfolded with a padded leather mask. And there I stayed for three-quarters of an hour, occasionally being checked on with a squeeze of my hands, a tousle of my hair, and a pat on my butt. My host informed me that he had business to attend to that evening, and he hoped I was rested and ready for a little more fun before we went our different ways. I nodded with a moan.
“Good boy,” He said. I felt him climb on the bed next to me, and he began his tickle assault on my helpless feet and sides. I bucked wildly, but thanks to the soft hotel mattress, I wasn’t getting anywhere with my struggles. With my mouth gagged, blindfolded, and in locked metal restraints, I knew I had no choice but to endure the torment. My cock was hard the whole time, and finally I felt one hand slip under my hips and take hold of it. Gently stroking me with very subtle, small motions. His other hand and tongue continued to tickle me elsewhere, causing me to continue to squirm and buck and gasp for breath between my laughs and yelps.
It didn’t take long for my hose to spray. I shot a big sticky load into His hand, soaking my trunks as well. He only trailed off on the tickling once I was completely spent. We cuddled for a spell, then I took a quick shower. As he was packing the gear up, I asked if I could see what we had used during the session. Aside from the ropes, blindfold, hood, and gags, were three very unusual handcuffs I never would have imagined. The first he said was a double-locking, police-issue handcuff made by Rivolier in France. He liked them for their lightweight and comfortable elliptical shape. Finally, the shackles I thought I had been hogtied with? Turned out to be giant handcuffs. He said they were German. The Number 13 had been on my wrists, and the enormous Number 15 had been on my ankles. I thanked my host for his time, and for a great scene, and we said our farewells.
Handcuffs had kept me in the tightest yet most comfortable hogtie I’d experienced, and my wrists weren’t all marked up. Handcuffs. Metal fucking handcuffs! I made my way home, my underwear damp with the load I’d shot, and a big stupid grin on my face.
I added those novel European handcuffs to my shopping list, and jerked off again.
Epilogue: I previously didn’t think much of handcuffs. Thanks to a visiting Swiss businessman who planted the seed — and to years of reading stories on the MetalbondNYC site that fostered and cultivated that growing sprout — I don’t exactly have a green thumb, but I find myself trussed up in the tendrils and branches more often than not!
Metal would like to thank Cutieboy90 for this story! To see more from Cutieboy90, check out his page on Pornhub.