I first saw the handcuffs lying closed in the middle of the flea market table. The sight awakened, as I now realize, E, my erotic persona. My throat went dry and I was filled with an absolutely uncontrollable desire to possess them. This desire swept away my natural feelings of reserve and I lifted my gaze to the unshaven face of the man sitting behind the table. Seeing that he was watching me, I indicated the handcuffs and said, in a voice thick with emotion, "How much for -- the handcuffs?" I could barely get the last word out.
"Five dollars," he replied. I would have given all the money I possessed for those handcuffs, so I fumbled nervously through my pocket book for a $5 note. As I handed it to him he said, looking me in the eye, "And 25 cents for the tax." I found a quarter and gave it to him. He dropped the handcuffs into a wrinkled brown paper bag and handed it to me. "Be careful," he said as I left.
I walked back to my car filled with an indescribable joy of ownership, and of overpowering eagerness to touch them. I opened the car door, sat down and reached into the bag to touch the metal. The feel was electric. I closed the car door, drew out the handcuffs and held them in my hand. My vagina had become very wet and I felt like I might have an orgasm right there just holding them.
R, my rational mind, took control for a second and I checked to see if the keys were in the bag. They were. I experimented with the cuffs. They were the American type, and the cuff tightened with a wonderful clicking sound. When fully tight the cuff would swing right through ready for use again.
I put one on my right wrist and clicked it shut. My heart started racing with excitement. I clicked it close about my wrist and felt the wonderful embrace of steel, far more sensual than any gold bracelet. I wondered if I could put the other cuff on and still be able to release myself. I carefully placed the open cuff around my left wrist with the keyhole pointing towards my fingers. Bending my right wrist, I persuaded myself that I would be able to unlock them, so I closed the left cuff with my right hand, and clicked it tight.
My feelings exploded. I had an instant and major orgasm. As I tried to pull my hands apart, my whole being gave into the sexual rush. The strong embrace of the handcuffs, the feeling that I was a helpless prisoner, and the deep thought that I might not be able to release myself, all combined into what had become the emotional climax of my life.
I calmed down. Experimentally I tried to get the handcuffs off without unlocking them. There was no way. This failure excited me again, and I almost had another orgasm.
I decided it was time to leave. Someone might have seen me playing. I reached down with both hands for the paper bag, which had fallen to the floor. Even this excited me, the realization that I could not reach down with one hand but was forced to use both. I found one of the keys and managed to insert it into the keyhole without much difficulty. But turning it produced no effect; no click like a normal lock. I was trapped! I felt helpless and began to panic. The feeling of panic triggered another orgasm; almost as intense as the first one. When the waves had subsided and I had calmed down a little, I tried the key again. This time the cuff seemed to move. The key, I realized, merely undid the lock; I had to move my wrist to actually open it. I removed my left wrist then opened the right cuff. I removed the cuffs then closed them both, eager to hear the clicking sound again. I sat and fondled the closed cuffs in awe of their power and their potential for complete control over me. After a few minutes I reverently put them and the key back into the paper bag.
The handcuffs lived in that brown wrinkled bag for about a year, until it finally disintegrated with age and use. Years later I realized that the man who had given it to me had also given me the best advice I ever received. It was well worth that extra quarter.
END CHAPTER 6
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