By Peter B. and Art Intelli
Peter had always been a curious man. Not just about the world — though he devoured books on history, science, and myth — but about the more obscure corners of the human experience. Of all his peculiar interests, one obsession stood out above the rest: bondage. Specifically, the cold, metallic click of handcuffs locking into place. There was something elegant in the restraint, a mechanical intimacy he couldn’t quite explain.
When he heard that The Amazing Argento, a legendary escape artist rumored to have broken free from the most impossible traps, was performing in his city, Peter bought front-row seats without hesitation.
The show was mesmerizing. Argento, draped in sleek black, challenged padlocks, chains, straitjackets, and submerged cages — each escape more impossible than the last. But what held Peter’s gaze was not just the spectacle, but the tools. The gleam of cuffs, the clink of chain, the artistry in control.
After the final bow and a thunder of applause, Peter lingered by the stage exit. A few words with a bored usher, a flash of charm, and soon he found himself backstage amid trunks of equipment and the sharp scent of machine oil.
Argento appeared from behind a curtain, wiping sweat from his brow. He was older than Peter expected, maybe in his forties, with clever eyes and a voice like silk.
“I saw you watching,” Argento said, smiling. “Not the escapes. The bindings. You’re one of those, aren’t you?”
Peter flushed but didn’t deny it. “I suppose I am.”
Argento chuckled, gesturing to a nearby bench where a case of restraints lay open like a jeweler’s display. “You have a good eye. These aren’t just props. They’re custom—stronger, smarter.”
Peter leaned closer. The craftsmanship was exquisite. High-grade steel, intricate locking mechanisms. “May I?”
“Try them?” Argento grinned. “Of course. In fact… I think I’ve got something special for a man with your tastes.”
Before Peter could respond, Argento was behind him, speaking softly. “Wrists, please.”
There was a thrill in the command. Peter offered his arms. The first cuff snapped shut, snug and final. Then the second. Smooth, practiced, inevitable.
“Now the ankles,” Argento murmured, kneeling. The leg irons locked into place.
Peter tested them. Firm. Heavy. Perfect.
“These,” Argento said, standing slowly, “are one of a kind. Modified locking cores. Once they close… they don’t open.”
Peter blinked. “Wait, what?”
Argento smiled. “No keys. No releases. They’re built for containment. A true test of devotion to the craft.”
Peter’s breath caught. “You’re joking.”
The escape artist stepped back, folding his arms. “Oh, I never joke about locks.”
Peter tugged, twisted. The cuffs didn’t budge. The shackles clung like they were part of him.
“You said you admired bondage,” Argento said, voice velvet-smooth. “Now, you’re living it.”
“But… how do I get them off?”
Argento turned away, already vanishing into the shadows of the stage. “That, my curious friend, is your next great escape.”
And then he was gone.
Peter sat on the bench, heart pounding, shackles gleaming under the flickering lights. Panic flirted at the edges of his mind — and yet, beneath it, a deeper feeling stirred.
Satisfaction.
Curiosity had finally caught him.
And it wasn’t letting go.
Metal would like to thank Peter B. and Art Intelli for this story!
