Chapter 6: Didn’t Hurt at All

I had just come back from the storage room with the second set of restraints. I’d left them in the shipping box after inspecting them, planning to store them in that old wooden chest behind the counter—the decorative one that belonged to our aunt. It wasn’t really functional. I mean it didn’t latch anymore. But it would work well enough to hold the restraints. It would only be Susan and I back there anyway.

The idea was to keep one set upstairs and one downstairs. Just in case Susan wasn’t in her restraints. I’d be able to secure her quickly.

Trix stood by the table, staring at the items laid out, holding a pair of handcuffs in her hands and inspecting them closely. Jennifer was still perched stiffly on the couch, deep in conversation with Susan.

Jennifer seemed focused—maybe even fixated—on the sex aspect. The idea of being tied up. She was still gently pressing Susan for details, but not in an intrusive way. It felt more like she genuinely wanted to understand it. The appeal. The mechanics. And I think she saw Susan as someone who really got it.

I placed the small cardboard box on the table, and Bambi immediately leaned forward, rummaging through it. Her eyes widened at the tangle of metal and chain. The red padlock sitting on top probably didn’t help.

“They’re the chain kind,” I said to Trix, letting Bambi explore the box at her own pace. The conversation between Jennifer and Susan quieted, both of them turning their attention toward me now.

“Easier to move around in,” I added. “You can try them on, if you want.”

I walked over and gently took the handcuffs from Trix’s hands. I pressed one side open.

“See? You just push them through to open. Or you can use the key, too.”

I opened the other side and held the cuffs up, both hands raised, openings facing her wrists. I looked at her—an unspoken invitation.

“Might be best to wear them in front for now,” I said gently. “At least until you get more comfortable in them. You know ... before you ever need to wear them behind your back.”

She just looked at me for a moment, uncertain, I think, but then Bambi chimed in.

“They’d look super sexy with that suit,” she said with a grin. “Like ... a very, very hot secretary.”

Trix gave her a smirk while Jennifer giggled.

Trix then slowly lifted her hands, holding them out. I maneuvered the cuffs under her wrists and gently closed each one. Her wrists were so small, I was able to ratchet them down until none of the notches remained visible. Then I picked up the ring of keys from the table and carefully double-locked them.

“You just push this little pin into the holes on the side, and that’s it—they’re double-locked,” I explained, pressing each side down. “See? Now they won’t tighten accidentally and hurt you.”

She moved her wrists, tugging lightly.

“Is this your first time in handcuffs?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Okay,” I said, smiling. “Just think of them like bracelets or something. Like a fashion accessory ... but one that you need keys to take off.”

I stepped back slightly. “Go ahead. Try and get out of them.”

She gave them a good tug. Then, more thoughtfully, she tried to pull her wrists through—testing the give, checking for slack. And then she stopped.

I saw it in her face—that flicker of realization.

She couldn’t.

“Let me get Bambi into hers,” I told her, “and then we’ll see how you’re feeling in them. If you want them off, no problem—okay?”

She nodded again.

I turned to Bambi as Trix quietly sat down. She rested both hands on the arm of the couch to steady herself, then lowered into the seat. Once settled, she placed her cuffed wrists in her lap. I watched as she pulled the cuffs forward, as far as they would go against her hands.

“Okay,” I said. “Please stand up.”

Bambi did, smiling. I could smell her perfume. Her hair. I picked up the handcuffs and opened them, just like I had with Trix.

“These are like the ones Susan’s in. They’re hinged—really rigid.”

Bambi instinctively held her hands out. No coaxing. No instruction. Nothing. I gently closed the cuffs around her wrists, leaving one ratchet visible, just like I did with Susan. I then took a pen-style handcuff key from the box and double-locked them.

“Go ahead and try to pull them off,” I told her, as I reached down and began pulling out the waist chain, trying to separate the ends so I wouldn’t accidentally grab the connecting one.

I could see her from the corner of my eye. She was wiggling in the cuffs, smiling.

I stood up again, holding the waist chain and the lockbox, when she said, “I can’t slip them off.”

“Good,” I said. I held the lockbox in one hand, upside down, ready to slide it over the cuffs. “Hold out your hands. This box just slips over the hinge of the cuffs,” I explained. “You’ll need to bend your hands inward, until the angle of the hinge lines up with the box.”

I moved the box toward her cuffs, and she slowly turned her wrists inward until I could see the angle. I dropped the box into place.

“This will keep you from reaching the keyholes. It also keeps your wrists at that angle—which, like I said, should feel like a natural position ... well, once I have your wrists chained to your waist,” I told her. “It’s the same box Susan wears.”

Susan nodded. “It takes a little while at first to get used to it,” she said. “I mean, having your hands like that. It’s just your body adjusting,” she added. “But Anne’s right—the angle is comfortable.”