Chapter 1 – Ankle cuffs
I had been going through a period when the thought of chains dominated my sexual yearnings. I go through fetish phases, and this was my phase of chains and steel bracelets, ankle cuffs and leg irons, perhaps a steel collar with a chain attached thrown in for good measure.
It had all started innocently enough; I had been flipping through images on Tumblr and had somehow been presented with a photo depicting the lower half of a pair of ladies legs; shapely and slender, each ankle was cuffed by an elegant silver anklet and then they were linked together by a short hobble chain. The image was actually very tasteful; the model’s feet were sexy (did I ever tell you about my foot fetish phase?) and her toe nails were manicured and painted a vibrant red; an elegant pair of strappy, silver, high heeled mules were suspended by her toes.
It was the ankle bracelets that did it for me; they were narrow yet artfully designed: shiny silver rims with a brushed steel inner ring. The image was classy with no hint at all of the tawdry side of bondage. Silver anklets against toned and slender ankles, comfort without freedom, fetters without shame.
I loved that image and stared at it for ages, wondering what would have been going through the model’s mind and body while she wore that unusual ‘jewelry’. Was she as turned on as I was by the harshness of the steel attached firmly against her delicate and very feminine ankles? Was she energized or subdued by her loss of freedom? Did the chains express unwelcome captivity or were they rather the ultimate expression of her voluntary submission?
I was aroused by it, and wanted to be her, to feel the physical restraint that she felt, to experience the submission that she may have offered.
I surfed and searched, looked at images and read erotica. One Internet session at a time, I became obsessed by chains. I looked at photos of models wearing wrist cuffs, ankle irons, collars, nipple clamps joined by silver chains.
I think it was the unforgiving nature of chains that really got to me; once they were on, there was nothing short of a key that could really get them off. When you submitted to a key-holder, you really were at her mercy; the chains would stay on until it was at her pleasure when they got to be removed. She decided when they could come off; she decided when you would once again get your freedom. They couldn’t be cut off like a leather cuff; they couldn’t be sliced like a rope or a plastic zip-tie.
In my mind, there was more to the key-holder’s role than just a route to freedom: she would decide how long the chain would be, how restricted my movement would be. In my mind I imagined orgasm without the freedom to stretch and flex, without the ability to tug at my nips, without the ability to adopt a position of my choice. I thought of the key-holder’s power to make me pee in a bucket rather than in the loo, to lock me in position in order to receive a punishment of her choice.
I found it all very arousing, fodder for countless day-dreams and yearnings. Through it all, there was always the stark contrast of cold, hard steel against warm, female flesh; that erotic contrast drove me on to look for an experience that was deeper than the imaginings which my mind could create.