The Initiation 1

by Jezziebelle

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© Copyright 2006 - Jezziebelle - Used by permission

Storycodes: M/f; bond; cons; X

AMY

They were just sitting there on the coffee table when I came in from work, dumping my coat and bag on the sofa and freezing the moment I spotted them. Just sitting there, as if every home accessorises its coffee table with such things…

Glancing around to see my fiancé was home yet, I reached out a quavering hand and picked them up, standing in my work attire to examine them. Cold, shiny, and metal… an authentic looking pair of handcuffs, but, I soon discovered, with a release mechanism instead of a key. Possibly, or possibly not, capable of being opened by the wearer.

When Rob’s key sounded in the lock, I jumped guiltily and dropped them on the table. From my reflection in the mirror above the fireplace, I could tell I was blushing with excitement and nerves. Half running, I slipped out of the door and was standing under a hot shower by the time his comic ‘honey, I’m home’ rang out from downstairs.

I decided to wash my hair to give me more thinking time, and through the herbal scented suds let my mind wander.

What on earth was Rob doing with handcuffs? He’d never shown the slightest interest in such things before… more’s the pity, since I’d been having these strange daydreams for a while. Well, more than a while. To be honest, they’d crept up on me longer ago than I could remember. I’d once had a boyfriend who’d occasionally roped me to the bed, but Rob had never done anything similar. When my subtle hints had failed, I was too embarrassed to ask explicitly.

After my shower I put on a dress, because it was Friday night and we usually cooked something nice together and ate at the dining table. Rob was in the kitchen in his shirtsleeves, frying onions and garlic and generally preparing to cook up a storm.

‘Welcome home,’ I murmured in his ear as I slipped my arms around him. We kissed, and exchanged pleasantries about the day. After a few minutes, when I judged I had waited long enough to not seem suspiciously keen, I forced a casual tone of voice and asked what the handcuffs were doing in our living room.

‘Oh, right,’ he replied abstractedly, chopping peppers. ‘They’re from Geoff’s stag night.’ Rob had been out the previous weekend with his old friends, celebrating Geoff’s impending nuptials. ‘You understand I can’t tell you anything about what happened,’ he continued jokingly, ‘but by the end of the night James happened to have them in his pocket and when he stayed over here on the sofa he must have left them behind, because I found them this morning. Probably chuck them out in the morning. There’s no other stag nights on the horizon.’

A hard lump of disappointment settling into my stomach, I laid the table in silence. Rob didn’t notice anything. He produced a divine pasta dish, and we ate companionably.

Several glasses of wine and a canoodling-full washing-up session later, we settled down together in the living room and turned on the comedy show we usually watched when we could.

I couldn’t take my eyes off the handcuffs. They glinted in the firelight, and drew my gaze to them every other minute. Eventually, I stretched out a hand and picked them up, fiddling casually with them as if they were any other object.

Rob jerked his hand away as I playfully tried to trap his wrist in one of the cuffs. ‘Don’t,’ he said, focusing on the television screen. I stopped for a moment, frustrated, but couldn’t stop myself from talking.

‘So you don’t want me to handcuff you and have my wicked way with you?’ I asked teasingly, broaching the subject backwards, that is, not mentioning it was me who wanted to be the handcuffee. But roundabout routes never work…

He glanced at me, and took the handcuffs from me. ‘Wicked way sounds good,’ he replied, ‘but we can leave the handcuffs out of it.’ He dropped them onto the floor, and put his arm around me.

I mentally cursed all men for the damned lack of perception. Subtle as a brick, and he hadn’t shown the slightest interest when I’d offered him kinky sex on a plate… but then, I remembered that blatant to a woman is often simply incomprehensible to a man, and stopped blaming him. If I hadn’t the guts to ask outright, it was my own stupid fault.

Tense and frustrated, I slipped upstairs at the first commercial break and climbed into bed.

ROB

Sometimes I wonder at why women change so quickly. One minute Amy was all come-hither and the next she disappeared up to bed in a huff and all because she couldn’t bloody handcuff me. She knows I hate being confined. 

I flick the channel and sigh at the rubbish that is late Friday night TV.

Oh well, to bed as we have the wedding tomorrow and I am best man. It’s the last one for a while as it’s been wedding season among our friends and I wonder when we will have our big day as our lives are so busy at the moment. Life is good and I love my Amy.

But I just wish she would get over these moods - she smells great, cooks, err… well  maybe I will not go there, I think, smiling to myself and putting the old-fashioned fire guard in place climb the stairs.

She has done the usual Amy and taken the centre of the bed.  “God I love her” I think as I slip into the bathroom and turn the shower on.

She has this soft dreamy look when she is sleeping and I can tell when she is annoyed with me as she sleeps on her front. “Access denied.”

Deciding to talk to her in the morning I dry myself off and applying all the crap men are expected to use nowadays I make myself smell nice and go to bed. 

Morning comes and I awake to find myself alone in bed. And hear someone, hopefully Amy clattering in the kitchen.

Hoping she is going to bring me a coffee in bed and we can have a nice Saturday morning lie-in, I roll on my side and drift off. Opening my eyes later I look at the clock and think “SHIT!”

Amy is dressed and looking at me in annoyance. She has a look that I only see when she is really pissed at me and I look at the clock.

Oh dear. No time to think now so up, slip a kiss on her cheek and avoid the ice stare I get in return. What the hell is she upset about, I think as I dash in the shower and dry myself off while shaving.

By the time I am out of the shower I am getting a little bewildered about her mood and although I have been with Amy for quite some time I’m now a little concerned.

Oh well. Grabbing the handcuffs, my wallet and the car keys I smile at Amy and we leave the house.

“What have you brought them for?” she points at the handcuffs I have thrown in to the centre console of my Volvo company car.

“To give them back to James. Why?”

AMY

I had to admit I’d been a little chilly towards Rob since last night. I couldn’t help it, even though if I don’t tell him what is wrong, there’s no way he can start fixing it.

I had to smile to myself as I made breakfast, wondering why women always make it so hard for themselves.

My mood lightened for a while, but when he overslept and made me stand around like a lemon while he got dressed, the small annoyance really drilled into my brain. I ran downstairs first to the car, trying breath deeply and calm down, and had almost succeeded when he jumped in beside me and flung those damn handcuffs into the central tray.

I guess he thought I was ignoring him when I sat silently for the entire journey, but that wasn’t it at all. I closed my eyes, and succumbed to the images that had tormented my dreams all night… cuffed to the bedposts, being teased to orgasm; hands behind my back, on my knees…

By the time we arrived at the small medieval church, the sun had come out, my knickers were wet and I was more stressed than ever.

Stepping from the car I managed a warm smile, by way of peace offering, and gave him a twirl for him to appreciate my outfit. He’d been too rushed earlier to notice. I’d chosen a knee length green silk dress that swirled around my thighs, and a cream shawl. Rob looked pretty fine in his morning suit. I guess we both had the same thought just then, picturing what our own wedding might be like. With a brief kiss, we entered the church.

Everyone says it, but it was a beautiful ceremony. Afterwards, the colourfully dressed guests gathered in the garden for a champagne reception. It was one of those weddings where there’s kind of a hiatus in the programme at about 4 o’clock. The bride and groom were busy with the photographer, whilst the guests sat around in the shade waiting for the wedding breakfast (though why it is a breakfast at 6pm, I don’t know). A couple of people slipped off for a lie down in their rooms in the nearby hotel.

I was tired, and thought maybe I would have more fun in the evening if I had a little rest now. Telling Rob I was going to check in (we’d booked a room for the night, so Rob could drink), I left him with his friends as I went to collect our things from the car.

It was the devil in me that picked up the handcuffs and slipped them into my overnight bag.

Upstairs in the pretty hotel room, I dumped the bags on the floor, sat down on the edge of the bed, and stared at the handcuffs in my hands. They glinted in the warm afternoon sun. Slowly, I slipped one hand into the metal bracelet and closed the ratchet. Double checking the release mechanism (it released by pressing an inset button with a fingernail), I placed the other side round my right wrist and locked it shut.

Breathing heavily, I pulled at my hands and the sensation of being securely cuffed thrilled through my body. With a gasp, I lay back on the bed, lifting the edge of my dress and, with cuffed hands, gently started to stroke the material of my knickers. The effect was electric, and I had to stop before I overtook myself. I sat up again, light-headed, and pressed the release button.

Maybe… maybe I could lock them behind my back. I could then indulge in a few fantasies, and release myself in time for a quick orgasm before I had to rejoin the guests. That would probably set me up for the evening better than a nap.

Hesitating for a moment, I put my hands behind my back and locked the cuffs.

I lay back, pressing my arms beneath me into the mattress, staring at the ceiling and moaning softly. I closed my eyes, and let myself daydream of damsels in distress.

A sound that rose above my quiet moans suddenly roused me. The door. I froze, then tried to reach for the release, but with my hands beneath me I couldn’t do it in time. I raised my head in panic, hair disarrayed; cheeks flushed with arousal and fear, and stared into the eyes of Rob, who stood at the doorway wearing a puzzled frown.

ROB

I have to admit I like weddings. All that promise and all that hope and maybe a 35 percent chance of it working. So I know I am cynical but I am also a bloody lawyer and get to end a lot of marriages. 

But after a chilly car ride and a gentle warming of the atmosphere during the church stuff Amy and I had seem to work past our, err, well her tiff and she had gone all gooey during the I do’s. So when she suggested a lay down I thought oooh! Good afternoon nookie in a hotel bed.

So three whiskeys later I make the old excuse of needing to have shower and things and winking to the chaps wander back to our hotel. 

The one we had booked had a four posters and Amy as most women seem to do, thought it would be so romantic and different. 

I on the other hand, being just a man, wanted a mattress, 4 soft pillows and a good shower.

Hoping she would have forgiven me for what ever I had done, said or thought I got our extra room card and take the stairs hoping that the love of my life may just be wearing that short nightie that we bought in Paris for her birthday. The things it does for her breasts are stunning and adjusting myself I slide the key card into the lock and gently open the door wondering what I am in for.

Amy is moaning and softly sighing in that slightly pre-orgasmic way she has. I wonder if she has started before me and gently edge round the door and stop.

I don’t get it – she’s fully dressed although her dress has ridden up and shows the bottom of her knickers, skimpy. And her arms are behind her back. Weird! 

She moans and moves her thighs as if using the friction she is bringing herself off.

Her eyes snap open.  She looks scared, horny and like a school girl who’s being caught wearing her mum’s clothes.

AMY

Adrenaline is pumping through my veins but all it does is make me feel even hotter, I’m so far gone already.

Rob steps into the room and closes the door behind him. I sit up, and wait for the inevitable as he circles the bed and catches sight of the handcuffs for the first time. There’s no point in trying to release them, as he’d see them anyway. I turn my head to watch his reaction.

‘Are they James’s?’ he asks, and glances round the room as if expecting to see him there.

‘I brought them from the car,’ I burst out, desperate to nip the thought in the bud right away that there might be someone else here. ‘I –’ my voice falters, ‘I wanted to see what they felt like.’

I can’t imagine what he’s thinking. He must be confused as hell, but perhaps seeing me so flustered has aroused him anyway because I can see a telltale bulge in his trousers.

There’s only one thought on my mind. ‘I want you inside me,’ I whisper as he steps in front of me. ‘Please. Right now.’

What gentleman could resist such a plea? He kneels between my legs, unzipping his trousers as I slide forwards on the edge of the bed till we meet. He pushes my knickers to one side. I’m ready for him and he slips inside me easily, wrapping his arms around me and holding me tight. He buries his face in the crook of my neck and I tip my head back and moan out loud as after just two minutes I come like a hurricane.

The sensation of having my arms cuffed behind me is – intense. When we’re finished, I lie back, speechless.

‘Well,’ says Rob, finally, after rising from the floor and sitting next to me. ‘I wasn’t expecting that.’

Slowly, I sit up and after some fumbling release the cuffs. I put them in my lap and massage my wrists. I find it hard to meet his eye.

‘We’ll talk, tomorrow?’ I suggest, and he nods. He’s looking a little dazed from the fast, furious sex and from the bizarre situation. I try not to hope that it was the helpless and handcuffed element that helped to turn him on.

I stand up and rearrange my clothes. ‘Shall we go back down?’ I ask, and he says yes. We pause at the doorway to kiss, just to make everything normal again. Then we descend the stairs arm in arm and head for the reception.

ROB

To be perfectly honest I am worried. Amy seems to have some sort of mind game playing in her head that goes against all our past life together. 

Here is a woman who hates sexism, racism and any type of bigotry, enjoying being handcuffed and made love too in a vigorous way and although the sex part is fun I am perplexed as to what she is up to.

We have done the old quickie thing a few times but our normal way of making love is a long, soft evening of love, cuddles and massage and a lot of tenderness. This was a little more basic and I wonder why, while we walk down to the night do hand in hand. 

Her promise of a talk in the morning has me really worried and I wish I could guess what she is thinking. We dance and joke with my boss and some friends but all the time I am wondering how our love life is lacking. Am I not enough for her? 

She does look radiant tonight. The thought of her dancing with my sperm in her makes me feel as if I am honoured but that also I am about to lose her. The look in her eyes as I pounded her on the bed made me see a different Amy.

And as we wandered up to bed I decide to see if I can find out more as to how she feels. Maybe it is me…

I am awake as the sun comes through the window. I have left it open so I can look out over the woods to the back, and have sat on the large settee so I can have a better view.

Amy looks up from the bed and sees me sitting wrapped in a duvet from the single bed in the corner of the room.

“What you doing over there, Rob?”

“Just watching the sun as it comes up; it’s quite beautiful!”

“Penny for your thoughts,” she says after a moment, with a wry smile, then lies back down again.

As she nods off back to sleep I wander over to the bed and climb in, snuggling into her back and laying an arm over her, cup one of her breasts and gently drift off.

Breakfast is over by the time we wake up.

I have to admit at looking at Amy as if she was a stranger and we still hadn’t had our talk.

Dinner time and we are in our local. It’s a village pub where as in the “Cheers” theme everybody knows your name. We have a quiet table well away from the rest of the locals and have just been served our Sunday lunch. Amy is a little quiet and seems to be thinking a lot.

Looking round I ask “So do you have something you would like to say to me?” 

As she snaps out of her dream she looks a little nervous and finally out it all comes.

AMY

I can tell he won’t be happy till we talk, so I look down at my napkin and begin.

‘When I was little, I used to play all sorts of games with my friends. Pirates, cowboys, ladies of the manor, everything.. I have a vivid memory of this one time when I was about 6 years old. We were in the big back garden of my best friend and they had their tent up, a large family sized one that you could stand up and walk around in. My friends’ brothers had some kind of game going on, and we were drawn in. I don’t remember what it was. All I remember is that we were taken into the tent, where it was hot and dark, and made to sit back to back. They roped our hands together behind our backs and left us prisoner.

‘It must have made a big impression on me, because it kept flashing back into my mind for years. Then I slowly forgot about it. It wasn’t until I was in my teens that it started to come back – when I started to get interested in boys. I didn’t sleep with anyone till I was at university, and my first boyfriend there one night took my dressing gown belt and tied my hands to the bedstead. I was totally freaked out, but so excited… 

‘It went downhill after that. It turned out he wanted me to be subservient to him in other ways, and I rebelled. You know that I don’t take any nonsense in real life. You must think I’m really inconsistent. I mean, I’ve ranted on so often about how my friend Natalie should leave her boyfriend because he treats her badly and makes her feel humiliated all the time. That’s because he has no respect for her and hurts her to make himself feel good. But to have someone who loves you and respects you dip into your deepest fantasies…’ I take a sip of water, and glance up at Rob. He has a serious but attentive expression. We hold hands across the table, and I continue.

‘Anyway, that guy messed me up for a while and the two men I went out with after that were straight down the middle. No kinks at all, but very kind and caring men. Vanilla. They were like vanilla ice cream, basic and clean and clear. But vanilla ice cream never quite hits the spots deep inside.

‘And then I met you, and fell in love with you. No matter what, I know I want to spend the rest of my life with you. And I love how we do things at the moment, so tender and romantic, because I need that too – I’m not just into one thing. But being so secure with you made my old thoughts come back, for the first time since my bad experience at university. If you’re worried about hurting me… well, all I know is that if you fulfil my fantasy, it will be the greatest love anyone has ever shown me. I want you to…’ I pause for a second, then forge on, eyes closed.

‘These thoughts have plagued me for weeks, even months. I want you to tie me up, tight, with rope or tape so I cannot get free, or even move a muscle. I want you to blindfold me so I don’t know what you’re doing. I want to be gagged so I have no say in whatever you plan on doing to me. I want to be tied in positions where you can take me easily, like I exist for nothing but your pleasure. I want to kneel in front of you with my hands tied behind me and take your cock in my mouth. I want to feel your hands spank me, hard, and squeeze my nipples till I cry out. I want to be tied up and left alone till you’re ready to deal with me. I want you to lace me into a stiff corset, bind my breasts and fill me full with a dildo and plug, then take me out wearing normal clothes on top so I have to act like everything is OK. I want to you control every inch of me. And I want you to know that every second gives me intense pleasure and reminds me how much I love you. It’s only you I want. I just hope you still want me, now that I’ve confessed all this.’
 

The story continues in Part 2

 

01.06.06

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