I look back at many people I have watched that grew to their own shell. To be able to know someone when they had to ask what does BDSM stand for, then to watch how they become the teachers, trainers and the go to people. Its amazing.

Anyway back to my friend, knife play. I have never been turned on so much by the look of cold steel running against the flesh. I have explored a few times with knife play, but not to the extent that I was watching. I felt the energy of each blade that he picked up. There was a powerful current of energy. This energy happened to be extremely exaggerated by an individual who was funneling that energy and seriously projecting it out. It became a little too overwhelming for me at some points.

Which  is interesting because it led to a purge of a story that I gave my friend in the car. One in which lead to the complete uneasiness and spooked out state. But not going to go there on that one..

I never did knife play on my own to that extent. There is a mind fuck aspect to the knife, but the way he described the care and maintenance of the blades. The respect and control one has to have with the blade, and just the energetic transfer. The blade Is an extension of someone, you as the knife weilder control the blade, where as the victim can involuntarily jump, contract, move. I know myself I tend to be a tickly type person. I would not be able to stay still at all. I would like to know how to control that movements not only for myself, but for the victims that I choose to have under me.

I have to admit I got so wet when some of those blades came out.  I wonder can I induced the same reaction to men if I were to glide a blade across their skin and mind fuck them that I am going to cut, shread and stab them?

Very exciting, very tempting. The power of the knife can draw me in.

The flight was long, almost twenty hours in total and being confined in that closed airless cabin with so many people made me long for open space, fresh non-recycled air and clean light. I stared at my phone at we taxied to the gate and watched the flickering screen, waiting for it to kick back into life with a rising sensation of panic. I’d booked nothing, arranged nothing, simply followed your instructions to get myself on a flight and now I have to follow through with the next step. Now I have to text you to tell you I’ve landed. I have to wait for further instructions and hope you reply.

God, what if you don’t reply? Where will I stay? What will I do? The weight of my flippant decision is starting to sink in as I walk down down the gangway and step on to US soil, my heart thudding in my chest and the sound of my own pulse pounding in my ears. I’ve barely even brought any clothes with me. Just a small carry on as you instructed. You told me I wouldn’t be needing clothes as I’d be spending most of the weekend naked.

I make my way through customs, holding my breath, hoping they won’t notice but they do. I turn crimson as a member of the security team raises his eyebrow at the scanning monitor and then looks at me. He nudges a colleague and they smile at each other and laugh. You forced me to carry this dildo for the shame of it, the humiliation. I can’t wait to get out of here. I need to get away from this embarrassment that’s turning my stomach. I want to leave the luggage and just run but I steel myself and collect my bag. I walk briskly to the door, desperate to get away, I can feel them still watching me, I can hear them laughing. I daren’t stop to reach for my phone, not until I’m out of their sight.

I step outside into the sun and I can breathe again, my hands are still shaking but at least the blood is fading from my cheeks and I no longer look like I’ve been slapped. My nervous hands fumble in the clutter of my bag for that damned phone. With one trial over the next begins.

I hastily type “I’m here” and send the text, glaring at the screen, fidgeting with my bag, picking my nails, chewing my lip. When the response comes back and my phone bleets at me, I jump and nearly drop it.

The screen simply says “go to parking garage”

I can feel my throat tightening in panic but I swallow it down, stub out the cigarette I foolishly lit to try and calm my nerves and stride out towards the garage. This is it, the culimnation of months of preparation, “it’ll be fine” I tell myself. My breathing is so rapid I have to focus on slowing it down so as not to allow the panic to overwhelm me.

When I reach the garage it’s cool and shady, I feel calmer for a moment in the darkness. This garage is empty, there’s no one around and I wonder how I’ll find him. I can hear my footseps echoing around this place. I wore my favourite boots. It was stupid really, they’re so uncomfortable but I wanted to please him and the black patent shine on my calves always make me smile. There were other instructions too. I normally travel in comfortable clothes but I wanted to be good. I wanted to be good for him so I painstakingly picked the outfit he demanded, the black thigh high stockings, the tight fitting pencil skirt, the sheer blouse.

A black car comes around the corner and my phone bleets at me again.

“get in”

This must be it, this must be him. Oh god, don’t panic now, whatever you do don’t panic now. The car stops and the driver gets out to open the door. I fix what I think to be a confidant smile on my face, thank him and start to climb in but as I lower my head I’m smothered by a sudden rush of cloying darkness. It’s a hood roughly thrown over me. I start to panic and I’m off balance in these heels, there’s a hard shove from behind as I’m pushed forward into the car. My head hits the far door and spins as I’m  dazed with the impact. I feel the sudden pinch of zip ties pulling my hands together behind my back while my face is pressed into the corner against the door. Hands grab me by the waist lifting me onto my knees. It’s happening so quickly, there’s no time to fight back, I can’t breathe as the panic takes over.

There’s a moment’s pause and I think I might dare to cry out, kneeling there with my ass in the air. The skirt is tight on me at this angle and I feel vulnerable but then my heart stops with the cold metal of a blade moving slowly up my inner thigh. I mistook the pause to be a relent but it was nothing more than your composure. I feel the sharp point of the blade slide up my inner thigh and begin to poke at my cunt. I wore underwear even though I knew you wouldn’t approve, they were more comfotable for the flight. I couldn’t bring myself to travel completely bare in this skirt and these boots. What if I slipped and fell over? What if someone had seen? What if I’d slept on the flight and my relaxed legs had fallen apart to show anyone walking down the aisle? No, I couldn’t take that risk, that shame. And I had hoped that I would have time to get them off before we met.

The blade moves from my cunt, to the crack of my ass with the sharp edge facing out, pressing against the skirt. I hear the first tear of the blade against the material and gasp a little as you cut into the skirt. The skirt was new, bought for this trip, for your instructions and is already my new favorite. But it’s not the defiling of the skirt that makes me gasp, it’s the ease with which you do it. And that sound, I’d felt the pressure you applied on the knife and for a moment when I heard the sound I thought the material being sliced into was my flesh. Your fingers push into the hole created by the knife and tear at it, widening it until my ass and pussy are exposed and vulnerable. I can feel the cool air and your hot breath on my skin as you smell me. You roughly cut off the offending panties and blood beads in thin lines where the knife was drawn across my skin. I can’t help but scream in shock, pain and horror. It’s an assault that I wasn’t anticipating. All of this is new and frightening. All of it is unexpected. Your hand grabs my long hair through the bag, yanking it at the roots and pulling my head back.

“Shut the fuck up!” You growl in my ear

My cries turn to whimpers but though I’m biting my lip and desperately trying not to enrage you further, I can’t quiet muffle the sound entirely. I no longer have control over my reactions and the tears are quietly streaming down my cheeks. Your hand starts pulling at my cunt, opening it, looking at it, inspecting the prize that flew across the ocean to be used. The soft, smooth skin from my recent wax parts under your fingers and hidden beneath it I’m soaked, dripping wet, it runs down your wrist making it sticky and filling the air with my smell as you investigate further. The hot breath of my heavy breathing makes the hood wet and claustraphobic, as suffocating as my shame at being so exposed and to be examined in such detail. To be laid bare for you to pick and pore over.

One finger, then two are shoved inside me, they curve and press hard on my G-spot they don’t move but the urge to pee rises and my panic builds afresh. I don’t understand what you’re doing, I don’t know what you want from me, I can’t hear your breathing beyond my own rasping breaths in this dark, damp hood. Side to side they start moving slowly, still pressing hard on me. I’m breathing heavier. Your fingers begin to move in a circling motion while still keeping the pressure up. It’s building and it’s too much for me.

“may I come?” I plead

I hear you laugh in derision but there’s no answer and you start moving the fingers in and out of my sopping cunt. A shiver runs through my body and my skin goosepimples. Faster and faster the fingers plunge into me.

“please, sir”

I know I’m starting to sound desparate but this is the least of my shame and with my face in the darkness I’d be willing to beg of you just about anything right now. You lift my ass higher into the air by the fingers in my cunt and I feel like a puppet, skewered on your hand and those god damned fingers. My neck still jammed into the corner by the door, is stiff, cramped and aching but I’m beyond this pain now. The dull trobbing means nothing.

Your hands turn me, gripping at the soft parts of my body, manhandling me, so that my weight is now on my shoulders with my hooded face up. There’s a knee beneath me forcing me to hold my cunt up, awkwardly exposed. A tongue licks at my clit and the sharp unexpected sensation shoots ribbons of pleasure through my body. I’m empty now without those fingers pulsing inside me, the emptiness grows as you lick, it expands within me until it reaches the edges of my skin and I feel completely hollow. I crave to be filled, to wrap my cunt around something and squeeze tightly. The wet juices dribble out of me, running down over my ass and dripping onto the floor.

Suddenly I feel something press against the lips of my cunt, it’s cold and hard and I stretch my legs wider to encourage it in. I don’t know what it is at first and I don’t care, I’m beyond shame and guilt, I’m beyond disgust or disgrace, I just want to be crammed full. You shove the object into me and I realise from the texture and cold that it’s the handle of the knife. I’m appalled and thrilled at the same time, the horror of the object is enough to bring me to the edge, but then you start fucking me with the knife handle and rubbing my clit. I swear I can see stars in the darkness, bright brilliant sparks and flashes of light, I’m so close, I’m going to cum I know I am as the shooting fingers of pleasure expand into every nerve.

“Don’t you fucking dare cum!”

It wasn’t a request, it was a command but I don’t know how I’ll obey it. I’m so very close that it feels impossible not to cum but I put everything into it. I bite down on my lip, I tense my whole body, I squeeze my cunt and hold my breath, begging my body to hold on, pleading with it to resist. I try with every fibre of my being to not come but it feels futile, my mind is black and blank as I push every desire, every sensation, every thought as far away from me as I can. It’s a rising tide and I’m so exhausted from fighting. I know I can’t hold back any longer, the tears stream down my face in desperation.

“please….” I beg

The fingers on my clit move faster and faster. There’s still no answer to my pleading but my body can’t hold on any longer and I start screaming as the tide takes me. Blinding flashes of screaming pleasure, it feels so close to pain at this point that I find it indistinguishable. My body shudders and convulses in your hands as I spasm like a fish on land, gasping at the air, you pull the hood off my head because the screaming is going to make me pass out and watch my tear stained face as I cum on the floor of your car. Finally the thrashing begins to subside and my screaming turns to heavy sobs.

You carefully lift my body and using the knife cut my hands free, I’m limp in your arms as you lift me onto the back seat of the car, sit next to me and place my head in your lap, the sobbing starts to ease as you stroke my hair and the tears are almost gone. I close my eyes and feel myself begin to drift away. The last thing I hear is your voice.

“Welcome to Chicago.”

I was really excited when we first met and you told me you had some “kinks,” but if I had known you were into KNIFE PLAY when we first started dating, I would have peaced out ages ago! You’re a freakin’ sadist!

… if I wasn’t so completely terrified of you, I’d leave this kitchen tonight and never look back. Also, unrelated question: where do you keep your rolling pin in here, anyway?