Mom and Dad, you’re not gonna wanna read this one.

Early on in my sexcapades with B_, we shared quite the memorable morning. We woke up early — early enough for a lil sumpin’ sumpin’ before I had to leave for work. I honestly can’t remember how the paddle made it off his wall, but somehow or other, it did. I had never been paddled before, but something told me the time was now. And I liked it. I liked it. Who knew?

When the paddling was over, I got handcuffed to the bed, lucky me.

Now, I am no stranger to handcuffs, and have long enjoyed being restrained and restraining others, but B_’s handcuffs were actual real-deal police officer issued handcuffs. Somehow, this didn’t surprise me at all. Somehow, he’s just the type who would have real-deal police officer issued handcuffs.

So, the usual handcuffed to the bed behavior ensued, and when we were through, B_ told me he was going to brand me. I laughed. He then extracted a branding iron with the letter B on it from his closet and told me he wasn’t kidding. I said “Okay” in an Eeyore-like voice, and he went into the kitchen, where I heard the click-click-click of the gas stove turning on. I reassured myself that he wasn’t the branding kind.

He came back in the room, teased me a bit, yadda, yadda, and after a few minutes, he returned to kitchen and turned the stove off, saying thing like “Oh, yeah. You’re gonna love this,” and “This is what I do to my bitches. You’re joining an elite group of women.” I laughed and reconsidered how well I knew him. Really, it hadn’t been that long. I knew he was a gentle person despite his gruff appearance, and he’s hilarious, so of course this must be one of his jokes. But, it also didn’t surprise me that he had real-deal police officer issued handcuffs. He was the kind of person who had a paddle hanging on his wall, all decorative-like, for fuck’s sake! How far behind could branding be? Why the fuck else would he own a branding iron?

Why the fuck didn’t it surprise me that he owns a branding iron?!

When he returned from the kitchen with the branding iron, I began to take things far more seriously. I said, “You better not.” I started squirming, my handcuffed wrist tethering me to the possibility of having to explain my “B” brand to anyone in the world, ever! He told me holding still would make it less painful and it would look better that way. Flopping all over the bed like the fish in that Faith No More video, pillows a flyin’, I started yelling, “You better fucking not!!!” He stood over me, holding the brand ever so steady, then plunged, pressing the “B” firmly onto my bare skin.

Of course, I screamed. He started laughing, and I realized that the branding iron was room temperature, and that I would not be part of an “elite group of women branded with the letter B”, afterall.

We had a good, long laugh, and by then, it was about time for me to get ready for work. So he went and got his handcuff key, and started to unlock me. We heard a click, but not the unlocking kind of click, and he withdrew a stub of a key, the crucial metal tooth missing. We looked at each with ‘Doh!’ faces, and he said, “Don’t worry, I have an extra key. I actually have two pairs of these handcuffs.” Not surprising, somehow.

So he went and got the second key. Second key breaks.

Now, you have to understand, being a nonchalant, can’t phase me kind of guy is B_’s way. He laughs at his own dry humor, and at me, and while I definitely brought out a softer side of him, he’s otherwise a pretty stone-faced guy. Not after the second key breaks, though.

For the rest of this lil’ S&M interlude, tune in next week…