That Time We Broke the Handcuffs

A night of intense emotion — and ultimate pleasure

Have you ever experienced sex that was so passionate, so physical, so wildly animalistic that it seemed to become an entity unto itself?

Have you had an adrenaline-pumping, high-intensity, ultimately explosive sex session that makes you forget who you are for a second? That leaves both you and your partner sweating and dehydrated and gasping for breath by the end of it? The kind of raw, hard sex that makes you sore the next day and gives you pleasure flashbacks for the foreseeable future?

I’m referring to the type of lovemaking that doesn’t happen every day. The kind where he pounds me mercilessly until he has to cover my mouth with his hand so that my uncontrollable screams of ecstasy don’t alarm any passersby on the street.

Slow, gentle, quiet sex definitely has its appeal. Both Yael Wolfe and Graham I Am have written fantastic pieces about the exquisite pleasure of achingly slow sex with a skilled lover.

I don’t disagree with either Yael’s or Graham’s assessment. Sometimes a girl wants it nice and slow — a gradual build-up from glowing embers to a white-hot blaze. If a man takes all the time in the world gently massaging my clit with his fingers as he leisurely glides his rock-hard cock in and out of me, I’ll be on cloud nine for a good long time until the gradually building pleasure eventually pushes me over the edge of a billowing orgasm.

What a fulfilling, satisfying, nourishing type of lovemaking that can be with a partner. It’s flat-out HOT.

Like most couples who’ve been living together for ten years, my partner and I have had a LOT of sex. We have our natural ebbs and flows of falling into low libido phases or same-old sex routines where we simply focus on efficiently getting off.

Most of the time, our sex is mutually beneficial and pleasurable. It’s just straight-up good sex, and you can have that without having to do anything too creative, like swinging from a chandelier.

But there are some occasions with him that really stand out. Boy oh boy, do they ever.

In this case, the session in question was the first sex we’d had after our break-up. Pure, raw, and passionate make-up sex.

Breaking up was hard to do, making up was sublime

This was the only time in our ten-year relationship where we went through a break-up. It was short-lived, but it rocked both of our worlds.

I had fallen for someone else, and doing so was completely my fault.

When I broke the news to my partner, he was crushed. He was also sure our break-up wouldn’t last. I thought it could be permanent.

I thought I was making the decision I needed to make, but I woke up every morning fearing I was wrong. When I realized I was indeed wrong (very wrong), my partner was there for me.

He could have been the one I forever regretted losing. The one I let get away. But he forgave me. He understood why I did what I needed to do.

It’s a risk I wouldn’t recommend to anyone, putting someone’s love and feelings in jeopardy like that. Breaking a heart like that. But he took me back, and our relationship was stronger.

Especially sexually.

The make-up sex in question involved handcuffs. That’s all. Simple, yet effective. No ankle restraints (though I do love those), no gags (ditto), no crazy rope play that you need to take a class for just to avoid injuring someone — just some good, hard, metal fun.

I’m most definitely a bondage enthusiast. Being restrained while being fucked enhances my sensitivity and pleasure. Being tied up and gagged can be as stimulating to me as nipple play, for whatever reason. In another story, I explain how I have a passion for bondage, and though I didn’t start getting into it more until I’d been having sex for years, it’s always felt natural to me.

When my partner and I were at our low point and about to break up, I spoke up and told him that I wanted more exciting, passionate sex. I wanted him to dominate me. I wanted us to meet not only his needs, but mine as well.

After we got back together, it was apparent he had taken these notes seriously. Hence, our first sex session with a pair of cuffs.

Some of the best sex we’ve ever had

At that point in our relationship, this particular night was the best sex I’d ever experienced. There have been plenty of occasions since then that could steal the trophy, but I’ll always remember the adventure of trying something new. The intensity. The incredible orgasm that seemed to go on long enough to outlast the Energizer Bunny.

When we started, I was in a black lacey bra and matching thong. (I love wearing lingerie from time to time. He loves sliding it off — it works.) He was shirtless and wearing jeans.

We began without the cuffs, and he kissed me slowly. He took his time, moving from my mouth to my neck as he groped my breasts and rubbed my nipples through the lace material. We dry-humped like a couple of teenagers, and the friction of his hard-on pressing against his jeans did wonders for stimulating my clit through my flimsy thong.

When our breathing became more rapid, he paused things to put the cuffs on me. No fur. No soft leather bands. Just bare metal cuffs he’d ordered online.

Once I was properly chained to the horizontal bars of my cast-iron headboard, he stripped down and let his erection spring free. Then he propped my ass up on a pillow and removed my thong before settling himself between my legs and wrapping his hands around my thighs.

He started by lapping at my sex slowly at first, giving love and attention to my inner and outer labia, my vaginal opening, my perineum (that smooth surface between the vagina and anus), and even those sensitive areas between my vulva and my inner thighs. Basically, he was hitting every zone but the clit, and the teasing was working me up into an ultra aroused, sopping wet mess that yearned for more.

But with my hands cuffed to the metal frame, I had no control of his head. I could tilt my hips to try to get his tongue where I wanted it — and I certainly tried to — but he’d pull back and smirk at me, grab my hips, and put me back where he wanted me, telling me to stay still.

Knowing he would pull back again if I moved, I stopped trying to get his tongue to hit where I wanted, moaning in half pleasure, half impatience.

Finally, finally, he decided it was time to part my folds with his fingers and expose my clit, swirling his tongue slowly around it. Then he zeroed in on it, giving me the direct stimulation that I desperately craved.

Chained to the bed as I was, I couldn’t press his head down any harder.

“Harder, please,” I begged. “Fuck!” I gasped, grabbing on to the metal bars and moaning as I spread my bent legs wider, opening them as far as they would go, which always tends to highten the pleasure.

He made an affirmative grunt and increased the pressure of his tongue, keeping it pressed against me hard as it moved frantically against my sensitive, swollen bud.

After a short while of this increased pace, when I started feeling my muscles tighten and clench in a way that told me I was close, he sat up suddenly so that he was kneeling on his knees and lifted my ass off the pillow.

He kept my dripping wet cunt to his mouth while shifting position, not breaking the connection for even a second. I hiked my legs over his shoulders and crossed my ankles behind his back, opening myself to him even more and feeling that much closer to climax.

As he worked his tongue furiously, he grabbed my ass and yanked my torso closer to him. My arms straightened out completely, and I lost all slack in the chains of the handcuffs. The metal edges digging into my wrists hurt just enough to dance that delicious line on the edge of pleasure and pain.

This was my very first time with handcuffs, and it was exceeding all expectations.

He shoved my lace bra down below my breasts and played with my nipples while he ate me out — until I was a squirming, moaning mess. As I felt myself about to come, I used my legs around his shoulders to thrust my hips, essentially fucking his mouth and encouraging him to increase the pressure.

When I climaxed, it crashed into me harder than it ever had, and I let myself come as loudly as I desired, wailing in ecstasy as the force of my orgasm hit home.

He kept his tongue wriggling against me for another second or two before he dropped my ass down onto the mattress and entered me with his hard cock in one fluid motion.

My wail broke off for a second, but I continued to cry out with each intense thrust. It was some of the most intense orgasmic pleasure I’d ever felt in my life. And in the handcuffs, I was literally held captive to it.

I don’t think I can convey enough how glorious it feels when a man starts to fuck me after he’s made me come through oral sex. Stimulate my clit with your tongue, lips, and fingers until I come, then fuck me — hard — while I’m still coming.

The way my body is wired, those pulsating orgasmic contractions are enhanced once my partner’s dick fills me, and it makes the pleasure I’m already feeling oh-so-much better.

The pain in my wrists was still mild and not at all unpleasant as our continous thrusting caused a back-and-forth tugging on the short chains. I alternated between gripping the cast-iron bars of the headboard with my hands and clenching my hands into fists so I could pull at the restraints. In this way, I was able to control how much I wanted to feel them against my skin.

I knew he was close when his slow but deliberate thrusts began speeding up. He became more vocal, grunting in pleasure as he slid in and out of me harder and faster, his fingertips digging into my hips as he pushed and pulled at my body for leverage.

It was on the sliding out part that the chains broke.

The noise and sudden jerk of movement surprised us both, but we didn’t miss a beat. I threw my hands around his neck and met him thrust for thrust until he came, calling out in pleasure as he emptied himself into me.

When we were finished and he was catching his breath beside me, we observed the handcuffs — each one now a bracelet on my wrist with a dangling broken chain.

“Holy shit,” he said in awe, observing his handiwork.

“Wow…” I whispered back as he kissed my neck softly. “That was…wow.”

A stronger bond

For me, this type of sex is fueled not only by intense, physical attraction — but an emotional connection as well. For those like myself, physical pleasure is enhanced when I share an amazing emotional bond with my partner.

Our break-up was rocky, and I hurt the man I love. But it’s made our bond stronger. No, he didn’t deserve that pain. Yes, I still feel guilty about it to this day. And it could have gone the other way. He could have rejected me the second I crawled back. He didn’t want to though, and that’s his right to choose. Our relationship was tested, and we’re stronger for it.

And we’re definitely more sexually adventurous, too.

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