If we're going to make love, we're going to make love my way, except for the color of the handcuffs.
by Ben Joffrion
***
I have certain needs in sex, and those needs can only be fulfilled by strict compliance with my well formatted design. If we are to make love, you will conform to my amorous script. However, I am not made of stone. You may choose the color of your handcuffs.
Do not interpret this lassitude to manacle hue as a sign of weakness in loveplay. That would be a mistake. I know what I want from you, and you must comply. However, in the interest of democracy, I surrender all powers and authority over the tint, tinge, and shade of the shackles which shall bind you helpless. That is all you.
The mink that shall be slaughtered so that a furry glove of sensational skin arousal may be made? Of my choosing. The caloric quantity of the whipped cream I lick off your body made feckless by your yet unknown cast bonds? Entirely up to me. It is axiomatic that the natures of the whips and feathers I use to prepare your earthly husk are well within my discretion. Indeed, as are the other standard tools I routinely use to reach personal satisfaction except those tools that bind your arms. If you think about it, this is not really a restriction at all Given the dozens upon dozens of chains, fetters, sex bracelets, irons, freedom hampers, ligatures, duck tape, and worn ties I display before you, you could exhaust your free mind, even surfeit your cravings for liberty, by spending five minutes choosing your slave accessory while I charge the car battery and prep the midgets.
You have enough on your plate- I'll take the reigns, darling.
To be sure, I have played this role so many times that I Grok Sir Laurence Olivier playing Hamlet. In all the thousands of ego satiating performances, I remain the only lowest common denominator to the production you shall soon be bound, except for two of the midgets- leave them to me. All that remains is the pigmentation of your fastenings.
You should set your mind to your nuanced task. It is no small matter for you, given it is the only matter over which you will have influence once I initiate my pleasuring. You should think in absolutes. When your arms struggle in vain and your head lashes back in pleasure(or, of course, pain), what do you want to see around your wrists? Cold steel in a veneer of pink fluff? Traditional cop cuffs? Strips of leather? Reinforced and redesigned crab claws? The possibilities are limited only by the number of hand restraints I own. It's all up to you, angel, because I want you to be happy. For the next forty-eight hours you are absolutely free to dictate, to me, what you want me to confine you with. I trust you so that I will obey your ever word regarding the coloration of your forced vulnerability.
Except not the purple cuffs. I use those only for my regular Saturday night thing. -WBJ
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