Handcuffs, that is.
I read some lovely posts this week that discussed leather cuffs…which kind I do have and love, and even (when I am lucky, when W allows) occasionally sleep in, but what I meant when I posted the topic of “handcuffs” was the metal sort – you know, the kind that police use when apprehending a suspect. There is a very distinct difference between leather cuffs and traditional handcuffs, the psychology of which is exactly what makes playing with metal handcuffs so…
Well, just so. If you’ve played with them, you know what I’m talking about.
The first time W played with me he used handcuffs.
But that’s another story.
He’s used them a few times since. A couple of times because the glint of metal worked visually…
So to speak.
He doesn’t play with them in actual, dynamic, BDSM play very often. He doesn’t like them much because handcuffs – the metal ones, the ones that lock, the ones that people always say, “you’ve got the key, right?” about, real handcuffs – are brutal. Painful in the “not good” way. Dehumanizing.
But it’s when he plays with them like that…
That I crave.