How I chained my girlfriend

The chains took me by surprise.

Three chains, very simple, very light, medium length.

Got them at PetSmart.

One links her wrist cuffs to each other, the other links her ankles together, like a horse hobble, and the third loops through her collar, and has a padlock dangling at the end between her breasts.

I kept her in them for the evening, that first time, and took her to bed in them. I could easily control her body as I played with her, by holding the chains, and found her easy to arouse, and found myself actually indifferent to her pleasure or pain. A very different feeling; I’ve always thought of pleasure and pain as ways to control her, but in the chains, I found little desire to ether give her pleasure, or pain.

Hard to explain, but her pleasure and pain didn’t matter – she was just “there” to use, to fuck.

I talked to her about it a little bit, then I fucked her like she was a stranger, some beautiful woman bound and placed in my bed that I would never see again, a woman I had no relationship with, a woman who didn’t matter. Just a pretty body to use for pleasure.

Disconcerting. No reason, then to hurt her, and none to pleasure her.

I fucked her at a different angle, the ankle chains keeping her thighs closer together than usual, and she responded to the new sensation of this penetration with obvious pleasure. Of course it didn’t matter.

I had told her I would not let her cum. I fucked her, and took her chained and aroused body in my arms. She wanted to cum, but I wouldn’t let her.

We talked after, about the emotional disconnect from each other, and how it made her seem more owned and helpless, and yet more distant. Closer, and yet further away.

I think it is that the chains amplify how I am feeling, rather than simply bringing in a whole new set of feelings.

I am sure I will want to hurt her while she is chained. We will see.

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Am I a slave?

A year ago, I didn’t know about BDSM.

I had fantasies about being controlled, of being owned. But lots of women have those fantasies. I knew that people have fantasies that they would not really want to happen in real life – like rape fantasies, for example – so I assumed that this was the case with my fantasies. In fact, saying I “assumed” this suggests that I gave it more thought than I actually did. I just masturbated to my fantasies and let it go at that.

It boggles my mind that I am now in a 24/7 D/s relationship. And it’s getting more D/s-ish every day. And sexier.

When Richard and I started talking together online 6 months ago, I had been exploring BDSM online for a couple of months, reading erotica, visiting online communities, checking out blogs, etc. I thought I’d figured things out. I was a bedroom submissive, which meant that I found it erotic to be dominated sexually. Outside the bedroom, I was and expected to continue to be very dominant and outspoken in my work and personal life.

This pattern of submissive in the bedroom and dominant outside seems to be quite common. I’ve seen many online posts and discussions about successful career women who submit only to their romantic partner and only sexually.

I was just thrilled to know that there were men who wanted to dominate me! I had thought, and apparently this is quite a common misconception among submissive women, that everybody *really* wants to be submissive. I assumed I would have to “take turns”, if I were lucky enough to find a partner who was open-minded and willing to experiment in the bedroom. You cannot imagine the thrill I felt when I realized that I could be in a relationship where I got to be the lucky one (ie the submissive) every time!

Anyway. Neither Richard nor I were interested in a Master/slave relationship, each of us for different reasons. In his experience, M/s relationships tended to devolve into the M being a “service top” to the s. In other words, the alleged Master was actually serving the sexual fantasies of the alleged slave. An example of this would be a slave being sassy or disobedient, to manipulate Master into “punishing” her/him in some delicious way. A little of that, as light-hearted roleplay, might be fun. But it’s kind of the antithesis of slavery for the slave to control the relationship dynamic so blatantly, yes?

To me, as I said before, it seemed unrealistic for me to be anything more than a bedroom submissive. Furthermore, I had a lot of trouble with the word “slave”. Slavery really happened, and continues to happen in some parts of the world. It’s not sexy for the real slave. I would NOT want to be a real slave.

In contrast, how I feel about Richard is very real. I love him, I adore him, I worship him, and I feel extremely submissive to him. I want him and only him to control me. I want him and only him to dominate me. I’ve never felt this way about someone before. I don’t want to put a fake label on these very real feelings.

But what kind of name can I put to our relationship? What am I? I am now comfortable saying Richard owns me. But am I a slave?

The word is becoming more and more comfortable to me, as my submission becomes deeper and deeper and as his control over me grows. I wonder… where we’ll end up, who I will be, as the journey continues.

Talking about your BDSM lifestyle with others

I’m pretty comfortable with the various toys and implements around bdsm. I’ve been involved in play and as a photographer for a while, and the sight of bondage cuffs, a whip or a riding crop are fairly standard for me. Plus, I’ve been out about my involvement in it for a long time, so I’m fairly casual about these things.

Not so for Amy.

A newcomer to bdsm related activities, it’s only been in the last year that she has discovered a personal interest, and has no experience in dungeon settings, for example, and still feels quite shy about her own involvement. And yet she’s got to be one of the boldest, bravest women I know in almost anything else. It’s like she’s got this one, and only one, shy spot.

On the way to our first meeting, I picked up a few things to play with. Nothing too shocking, wrist cuffs, riding crop, nipple clamps – all quite simple and standard play items,

On the first morning, Amy discovered them on the desk, and very sweetly tidied up the room and moved them to a drawer, so that the cleaning staff wouldn’t discover them when they came and made up the room.

I noticed that the thought of the cleaning staff finding these items disturbed her, although it would never have occurred to me to put them out of sight. I mean, it’s the cleaning staff, they’ve seen everything already, I’m sure, and who really cares if the cleaning staff sees your stuff? It’s not like they are going to call your parents and rat on you.

bdsmcouple-socks-bed
Amy on the bed

I got the stuff out late one night, the night of the photo shoot, and the evening stretched, as they all did, far into the night.

The next morning, we headed out for breakfast, without giving much thought to the disarray in the room. After breakfast, we went back to the room to pick up the camera, ad the cleaning lady, who we had talked to previously a few times, was in there vacuuming. As Amy waited in the hall, cheerily greeting the cleaning lady, I gathered up the camera and talked to the cleaning lady briefly as well.

We returned a half hour later, and Amy slipped into the bathroom, while I wandered into the room. I noticed the box the Astroglide came in empty on the table, and thought that was an interesting thing for the cleaning lady to have encountered. Then a thought struck me, and I looked about the room.

Ah.

The Astroglide itself sat on one bedside table, on the other the nipple clamps, and on the floor the bed a 30-foot rope lay half untied. The riding crop laid along side the wardrobe. It occurred to me that this situation might be distressing to Amy.

The bathroom door opened, and I remarked to her that the condition of the room was rather unusual. Amy stood for a moment just inside the door, trying to understand me, then suddenly, without looking into the room, her eyes went wide and her mouth dropped.

With a shriek she ran back into the bathroom, and hide betweenthe door and the wall, “No no no no no no no,” she wailed, her hands over her face.

Well.

I had judged correctly, the situation was indeed distressing to Amy. I found her behind the door, and comforted her the best I could while trying so hard not to laugh. For the next few minutes I heard nothing but horrified sounds from her, mixed with shocked laughter and disbelief that such a horrible, horrible thing had happened.

 

Finally, she collected herself enough to finally leave the bathroom, and go back out into the room. Upon seeing the offending articles, she threw herself onto the bed and buried her face in her hands, keening quietly about the unfairness of life.

Being the helpful kind of guy that I am, I began painting out loud the actual scenario under which the cleaning lady had seen the items, and what she had thought as she had discovered them. Oddly enough, this just brought on more horrified exclamations, mixed with anguished laughter.

Amy remembered that we had walked in on the poor cleaning lady, blocking her terrified flight from the room, as I helpfully pointed out. “And who knows, even now, what she is telling the people at the head desk, and other workers?” Apparently not a calming thought.

Eventually, she calmed down, seeming to think that maybe the cleaning lady hadn’t known what the nipple clamps were, and a rope could be anything, and the riding crop was lying by the wardrobe, not in a place where she would vacuum. At least, she hadn’t seen the wrist cuffs, because those left no doubt as to their purpose.

I noticed a towel lying on the floor, and wondered why our usually fastidious cleaning lady had not picked up this one, stray towel. What possible reason could there be for leaving this towel in the room alongside the bed? I picked it up myself, and shared the good news with Amy. No doubt, the cleaning lady had indeed picked up the towel, and then replaced it.

Hidden underneath were the wrist restraints.