Bondage Blog

There’s a great post at Bitchy Jones’s Diary called What it Feels Like to Hurt a Man Until it Makes You Have an Orgasm. Including a riff on the power of handcuffs:

Sex is a very simple transaction of fun for fun. Or it should be. Even the way I do it.

This is what I like to happen first in amongst the many riffs and variations:

Handcuffs.

I have five pairs of handcuffs. I like to use handcuffs. My intense love of every sensory aspect of handcuffs is probably edging close on a genuine fetish – certainly, I can tick the box marked obsession. But also, I can’t tie knots very inescapably-well and handcuffs solve that problem for me. They’re so quick. He doesn’t have to hold still while we both whistle and pretend nothing odd is going on and we hover half in role, half out as he lets me tie him up. Handcuffs are the job of moments.

O-helpless in seconds.

Handcuffs also scare me. Just a little bit. Handcuffs can do damage. They can tighten if you don’t put the double lock on. Rope can come away with scissors. Handcuffs can’t. I don’t have any bolt cutters. I always put the key somewhere particular and then find myself staring at it a while like I’m trying to make extra double sure it doesn’t just pop out of existence (- whilst sporting that neurotic badge I like to wear.) Handcuffs are my hardcore.

And there’s a little cruelty about using handcuffs rather than well-executed rope bondage or those soft leather cuffs that buckle and lock. They say: I care about my convenience more than I care about you not getting very uncomfortable in a little while. They say: I’m not going to waste any time on making your bondage nice or easy. Handcuffs are the quick and dirty way to get to where I want to be – which is the point where you’re getting hurt and I’m getting wet.

Selfish cruelty turns me on. (Surprised?)