16th May 2012
I wonder what the cold sharp metal of the blade running across my thighs and belly would feel like. Just the thought of it makes my breath catch in my lungs and my heart thump just that little bit louder inside my chest. I imagine the gloved hand over my mouth to stifle my cries as the razor-sharp steel cuts through my clothes, the rough twist of the rope as it is coiled round my wrists and the pull on my shoulders as they are secured above my head.
The knife has an ornate handle and a big thick blade, this not any old kitchen knife; this one is special and was bought with a purpose in mind. Me. As he leans into kiss me he rests the body of the weapon across my face, the tip presses ever so slightly into the puffy flesh of my cheek and the bright silver metal catches the light and glints up into my eye. I am mesmerised. I want this. I need this. I was made for this.
Spinning me round he slides the blindfold over my face. The loss of vision only intensifies the thrill and anticipation of what might be about to happen. I wonder for a moment if smallest of movement on my part really could be as dangerous as they seem? Surely if I twist or flinch at just the wrong moment, then what was designed as a game could turn into a blood bath. Now I am scared and I twist and turn beneath my wrists, whirling and spinning, hoping that my erratic movements will keep him at bay. I call out to him, telling him I don’t want this, this is a mistake, this is too dangerous, this is not me, but there is no reply. My cries are greeted with silence. I pause and listen, straining my ears to hear any sound he makes, searching for the noise of just his breathing but there is nothing. Anger flows through my veins and I rage at the quiet, calling his name and demanding him to my side.
The swish of the flogger silences me, it barely touches my skin but it calms me instantly and the anger is gone. The moment I am still his arm snakes round my bare waist and I can feel his body pressing into my back. He whispers words of reassurance into my ear and then it starts. The ice-cold blade meets my burning skin and the fear is cut from inside me as he carves his passion into my tender flesh and finally I am no longer wondering about the knife on my skin, about the marks it will leave or the warm drops of blood as they run down my body. My curiosity for this moment has led us both here and the questions that rage inside my head and leave my body aching for answers are about to be met.
My mind wanders as I write this, my imagination is fuelled by the mysteries of the knife, the very questions that make me crave this are also the ones that make the fear leap round my body like an electric charge. I know this is a game, a mind fuck to twist my darkest desires back in on me. I want to look down at my body and be able to see the welts on my skin, the red angry scratches crisscrossed over my flesh and just maybe I want to see some tiny little pinpricks of blood too.
Ps… I have written this piece for The 30 Days Of Kink Project in response to; Day 15: Post a BDSM/kink activity you’re curious about and would like to try.
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