Pink Fluffies: My First Journey into BDSM
Fluffy, pink handcuffs. Those were my first encounter with BDSM. My first sex toy, in fact—even before dildos and vibrators. I didn’t know the term BDSM, would have frowned if someone mentioned sadomasochism, and would deny doggedly if someone asked if I masturbated.
I bought those fluffies for the guy I was seeing back then—more than ten years ago—as part of a present. I just knew that I wanted to try something more. Something wild, exciting, maybe forbidden, and I sure hoped he wanted it too. But those cuffs turned out to be more of a present for me than for him.
I really wanted him to use them on me, but he just didn’t get any of my many hints, and shy as I was about it, I couldn’t make myself say it out loud. So I ended up putting those handcuffs on him, hoping he’d return the favor.
It went against my very nature to put him in cuffs. I’m submissive at heart. I’ve encountered male subs who thought they saw some dominance in me and tried to encourage me to top them. But it has just been my playful, slightly bratty nature they have seen. I love teasing and having fun, and boy, did I have to tap into that energy to make myself put those cuffs on the guy.
I laughed and giggled like the teenager I was when I had him in those cuffs, and I think he laughed too as I teased him, nibbled and tickled—and whatever else my silly mind could come up with. But neither of us was turned on by it. And when the guy finally got the clue and put me in the cuffs, it was an anticlimax. I didn’t feel trapped, at his mercy, or any of the other things I’d hoped for. I could just flick the safety lock and nudge the metal off if I wanted, and that thought was as exhilarating as the guy putting me in them.
The fact is, I probably wouldn’t have gotten more excited from a real pair of cuffs that can only be opened with a key. Because the guy didn’t have a dominant bone in his body, and after that first experience and many more like it, I slowly learned that you can be tied up, held down, gagged, and all kinds of fun things, but if the guy doesn’t have his heart in it, he might as well take me missionary style all night long.
Today, those pink fluffies are long gone, replaced by my master’s red and black leather cuffs that he has made himself. But if my master were to put me in a pair of pink handcuffs and tell me—with all the intensity of his very dominant gaze—to keep my fingers off the safety switch, I sure as hell wouldn’t dare touch it—not for the life of my sensitive nipples.
