Her long fingernail traces the grayscale handcuffs tattooed on my inner forearm. The word 'Free' is inked inside one ring with 'dom' inside the other.
"Baby, you're free with me," she whispers in my ear, making sure her lips connect with my sensitive skin.
Click.
Drip.
Click.
Drip.
Endorphins fire as the cold steel pinches my skin. I try to jerk my wrists apart, testing the restraints, needing reassurance they are doing their job. All these feelings harmonize – peace, arousal, need, submission, trust.
There's no need to slip her fingers between my legs to test my wetness; she does anyway.
"I'm gonna take such good care of you, baby," she whispers, then kisses my cheek and squeezes my dangling hands.
"I know you will," I whisper back, yanking on my handcuffs once more. God, I love that sound.
My eyes stick to her slender fingers fondling the key to my cuffs ... flaunting her power. She drops the key attached to a long chain hanging around her neck. My gaze falls with the key, watching it nestle between her fleshy breasts.
Acknowledging my need, she leans forward and rubs a nipple against my parched lips, allowing me a few brief tastes.
Balancing with my cheek and shoulder pressing into the sheet, I tuck my knees underneath me, presenting my bottom to her. My nipples are trying their hardest to poke holes in the mattress. Devious fingers slide up and down my crack before spreading me open...
~~~
Five years ago...
Tears streaked my made-up face and my heart tried to pound out of my chest as he jerked my arms behind my back and restrained me in handcuffs. Ouch! My first feel of metal against flesh. Restrained. Helpless. Vulnerable. All those words flooded my young brain, eliciting fear. Using his hand, he ducked my head for me as I climbed into the back of the police car. Desperate to escape, I struggled and the cuffs ratcheted tighter and tighter.
I was sent to juvenile detention for ten days for stealing and fleeing from a police officer – not my first offense. Having watched too many crime dramas, I pictured myself sleeping in a rat-infested hellhole with other locked-up degenerates doing an assortment of horrid things to me. Being a pretty girl may not work in my favor this time. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine what would happen next ...
I walked into a freaking country club – compared to where I lived with Mom and Asshole. My "cell" more resembled a dorm room and was pretty big with an inviting bed. Its sheets so white they almost sparkled. Not quite believing it to be true, I mashed my nose against them and inhaled – nothing. There was no hint of smoke. In my home, the air tasted of tar and everything smelled of sour staleness. Asshole smoked a couple of packs a day.
In detention, my door was locked at night, but I was assured that was for my protection. Unfortunately, my bedroom door at home didn't lock. I guess Mom was too passed out to hear my cries after he slithered into my room at night. Slapping my head helped shoo those memories back to their dark corner. I'm still not sure if I was born gay or if Asshole turned me gay. Didn't really matter. The point was I would never be attracted to a penis.
Another plus to staying here was the food. Cafeteria-style dining was the way to go, picking and choosing what I wanted. A clean bench and table awaited me with no sign of a cockroach scurrying to crawl across my toe. Believe me, I checked ... out of habit. I don't remember the last time I ate three meals in one day. At home, the fridge was packed with beer and not much else.
The contrast was stark and it didn't take a rocket scientist to see that juvenile detention was the better option for me. Since you had to get into trouble to get here, I followed that path. Over and over and over. For me, the click of handcuffs meant freedom from the abuse and neglect I suffered at home. As soon as I felt their pinch, my mood lifted and excitement welled up inside me.
This was my life until I met Lauren.