Her long fingernail traces the grayscale handcuffs tattooed on my inner forearm. The word 'Free' is inked inside one ring with 'dom' inside the other. 

"Baby, you're free with me," she whispers in my ear, making sure her lips connect with my sensitive skin.

Click.

Drip.

Click.

Drip.

Endorphins fire as the cold steel pinches my skin. I try to jerk my wrists apart, testing the restraints, needing reassurance they are doing their job. All these feelings harmonize – peace, arousal, need, submission, trust. 

There's no need to slip her fingers between my legs to test my wetness; she does anyway.

"I'm gonna take such good care of you, baby," she whispers, then kisses my cheek and squeezes my dangling hands.

"I know you will," I whisper back, yanking on my handcuffs once more. God, I love that sound.

My eyes stick to her slender fingers fondling the key to my cuffs ... flaunting her power. She drops the key attached to a long chain hanging around her neck. My gaze falls with the key, watching it nestle between her fleshy breasts.

Acknowledging my need, she leans forward and rubs a nipple against my parched lips, allowing me a few brief tastes. 

Balancing with my cheek and shoulder pressing into the sheet, I tuck my knees underneath me, presenting my bottom to her. My nipples are trying their hardest to poke holes in the mattress. Devious fingers slide up and down my crack before spreading me open... 

~~~

Five years ago...

Tears streaked my made-up face and my heart tried to pound out of my chest as he jerked my arms behind my back and restrained me in handcuffs. Ouch!  My first feel of metal against flesh. Restrained. Helpless. Vulnerable. All those words flooded my young brain, eliciting fear. Using his hand, he ducked my head for me as I climbed into the back of the police car. Desperate to escape, I struggled and the cuffs ratcheted tighter and tighter. 

I was sent to juvenile detention for ten days for stealing and fleeing from a police officer – not my first offense. Having watched too many crime dramas, I pictured myself sleeping in a rat-infested hellhole with other locked-up degenerates doing an assortment of horrid things to me. Being a pretty girl may not work in my favor this time. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine what would happen next ...

I walked into a freaking country club – compared to where I lived with Mom and Asshole. My "cell" more resembled a dorm room and was pretty big with an inviting bed. Its sheets so white they almost sparkled. Not quite believing it to be true, I mashed my nose against them and inhaled – nothing. There was no hint of smoke. In my home, the air tasted of tar and everything smelled of sour staleness. Asshole smoked a couple of packs a day.  

In detention, my door was locked at night, but I was assured that was for my protection. Unfortunately, my bedroom door at home didn't lock. I guess Mom was too passed out to hear my cries after he slithered into my room at night. Slapping my head helped shoo those memories back to their dark corner. I'm still not sure if I was born gay or if Asshole turned me gay. Didn't really matter. The point was I would never be attracted to a penis. 

Another plus to staying here was the food. Cafeteria-style dining was the way to go, picking and choosing what I wanted. A clean bench and table awaited me with no sign of a cockroach scurrying to crawl across my toe. Believe me, I checked ... out of habit. I don't remember the last time I ate three meals in one day. At home, the fridge was packed with beer and not much else. 

The contrast was stark and it didn't take a rocket scientist to see that juvenile detention was the better option for me. Since you had to get into trouble to get here, I followed that path. Over and over and over. For me, the click of handcuffs meant freedom from the abuse and neglect I suffered at home. As soon as I felt their pinch, my mood lifted and excitement welled up inside me.

This was my life until I met Lauren. 

"Why do you keep coming back here?" she asked me one day in our counseling session.

"It's better than my home," I answered.

Her question and my answer were life-changing. The angel named Lauren opened her wings, swooped me up, and flew me onto a new path.

Even though I now lived on the right side of the law, I bought a pair of handcuffs and hung them in my first apartment, often holding them when I felt scared.

~~~

Her nose buries itself in my crack and I hear her deeply inhale through her nostrils.

"Mmmmm, you smell good, baby."

Her tongue tastes my asshole. Oh my goodness! More clinks of the flexing chain follow, encouraging her to lick and lap with gusto. 

With hands held tight, I use my feet to clamp around her body. Pretty painted toenails scrape up and down whatever part of her body they can reach while she eats me out. 

"Like that, baby?" 

"Yes," I coo.

"How about this?" she giggles as her hand snakes underneath me to strum my clit.

"Ahhh, that feels good!"

She plays me like an instrument while I continue to test the strength of the steel. My wrist bones are bruising, serving as a pleasant reminder to enjoy later.

Nerve-endings ignite while she licks up and down my dripping slit. Her fingers have joined in, plugging both my holes. 

"I'm ... I'm gonna cum ..."

Immediately, everything retracts from between my legs. "Oh no, you don't. Not yet."

She unlocks my cuffs and I groan, "Noooo ..."

"Rollover on your back."

I obey but scowl at her.

Flipping over, I stick out my wrists, desperate to feel the handcuffs again. She doesn't disappoint and straddles my body, jingling the cuffs in my face. I find myself holding my breath until they are latched back into place. Oh my goodness, I purr as she tightens them with a wicked smirk. 

"An addition tonight," she says, reaching for a scarf on the nightstand.

Anxious to see what she's up to, my eyes roll upward as she raises my hands and uses the scarf to tie the chain between the cuffs to a spindle on the headboard. 

"I want your mouth and not your hands this time, baby."

I'm helpless in situating her pussy on my face. I stick out my tongue and she wiggles around until it hits her spot. Feeling her upper body stretching down my torso in our favorite sixty-nine position, I wish I could see her, but her plump, white ass cheeks blindfold me. 

As my tongue ignites her clit, she mashes down harder, hampering my breathing. Having my hands restrained adds another level of thrill to our lovemaking. Somehow knowing she could smother me if she wishes, and I would be helpless to save myself, trust is furthered.

An object circles the opening to my pussy. A dildo, perhaps? Silicon or glass? I can't decipher yet. I suck in her slick lips with my breath as she pushes the dildo inside me. Ummm, must be eight inches at least, stretching and rubbing.

At least my feet are free and my toes tap to the beat of her fuck. I'm relieved my toes can express what my muffled mouth cannot. 

The harder she fucks me the harder I lick her. We find our rhythms. Metal clinging against wood tells her what she needs to know. I feel good - really good. My face grows wetter. No doubt so does the dildo. She cums first, her ass thumping my forehead as her juices soak my face. A vibration hits my clit and I explode. She lifts her pussy to allow me my scream. 

After we come down from our climaxes, she unties the scarf and unlocks my handcuffs. Her lips kiss the tender flesh around my wrists. I watch as she hangs the handcuffs with the others on the nail on the wall. I like seeing them whenever I go to sleep at night and wake up in the morning. 

It's hard to explain ... she didn't understand at first. As soon as I'm restrained, my brain tells me I am about to receive care. I can let my mind go ... release the worries and stress ... and just give myself over to she who holds the key.

Of course, I realize it's a bizarre contradiction – handcuffs symbolizing freedom. But for me, that's what they'd meant to me in my life.