Creative Writing – knife play

Written some time ago, I present this is semi-fictional, a collection of things I’ve done with sharp pointy things, but not all together with the same person, as presented here. The term tanto, along with other interesting knife terms can be found at one of my favorite knife sites:
Knife Anatomy by Jay Fisher

Edge Play
A semi-fictional story by Xtac (pronounced Ecstasy)
There was something undeniably irresistible about him from the very first time she saw him. Where other men had tried to rule her life, he just did; as if it was his birthright. He commanded her as easily as breathing, grasping her firmly, taking her breath away, and then dismissing her, as a “vanilla”.

He was infuriating and insufferable but mysterious and so she stayed, probing, asking questions until at last he explained about the life he lead, and how she could not be a part of it.

Dark secrets, both hers and his were exchanged, each bringing them closer to a world that both could share. It was all new to her and yet the excitement she felt to be in his command, to have the pain she needed, to have it administered by another, to have this burden of guilty painful pleasure lifted and placed in the hands of another; placed in the hands of this man which she now trusted completely with all her being and soul, was too delicious, too incredibly powerful a force to deny.

He brought his bag of “toys” in from the car, with her in tow. A small group of friends they had made at the local munch, gathered in the living room, anxious for the show, for the scene they would offer. He walked her to the center of the room and took the “scene collar” he always wore, from around his neck offering it to her. They had played out this scene before, she knew it well.

Will you, he asked, take this collar for the duration of this scene, and to the best of your abilities, strive to be my slave as long as you wear it? Will you obey my commands, attempt to anticipate my wants, and will you trust me to act in your best interests and needs? Yes Sir, she answered meekly, eyes down. She held her hair up, as the coldness of the precious metal encircled her neck. Precious; yes precious, she thought. Not because it is silver, but because he gives it to me, even if only temporarily for this scene, because he wants me, and offers me this chance to be his. As long as I wear this, I get to call him Master instead of Sir. Yes, this is precious, she thought.

He finished clasping the toggle of the scene collar and placed a hand at her chest, between her breasts, pushing her back silently up against the bed room door which was closed. He left her there, ignoring her while he laid out his toys in neat rows. She watched, nervously, wanting to fidget, but wasn’t sure what to do with her hands. She wanted to finger the collar, touch it but decided it was better to do nothing until ordered, so she watched and waited for him to finish. She stole a glance around the room. Doms and subs sat comfortably, silently watching this scene play out. She swallowed nervously. He knew that she used to cut herself. She had professed to be turned on by the idea of edge play. Hell when he talked about it, she had turned soaking wet, but this, now it was happening, this was real.

Out of the toy bag came floggers and rope, leather restraints and metal hardware, and now, a particularly nasty collection of knives. One was curved like an eagle’s talons. Another was oddly shaped, like a small samurai sword. Sir had shown this one to her before. He called it a tanto knife. All gleamed with the steel of razors. She found her knees going weak, and a tremble shook her body, a wake of fear, doubt, and the undeniable wetness of excitement flooded her being.

He pulled her forward away from the door, opened it, threw a pair of temporary suspension hooks over the top and then closed they door. He placed his hand again to her chest, fingered the silver collar and smiled, then pushed her back into the door. The wood was firm, hard against her back. He placed his hands on either shoulder, fingers up the sides of her neck, thumbs under her chin.

Cupping her face in his hands, he looked deeply into her in the eyes, and smiled saying, “It’s going to be OK”. She forced a weak smile, but her stomach turned in flip-flops and her panties soaked. So odd, she thought, how he commands me, how I respond, how I stay. She closed her eyes and waves of red hot sexual energy coursed over her clit and up her spine. His hands traveled slowly down again. She tremble again, under his touch. He stopped at her cleavage, and turned to the toys. It was like a break in continuity, to not have him touch her. It was an absence, a longing, she wished he would continue.

He fastened a leather shackle around her wrist, pulling it tightly until encircled and squeezed. The leather squeaked, that familiar pleasant sound that leather makes when it moves. As he placed the tongue of the buckle into its hole, the pressure released ever so slightly. He commanded her to take off her shirt and she did so hesitantly, not used to doing so with others in the room. She handed him the shirt and he folded it neatly and placed it with the toys, then guided her shackled wrist up, over her head and snapped it into the restraint at the top of the door.

She wanted to bring her free hand over her breasts, but he grabbed this one now, and after placing a shackle on it as well, bound her second wrist up over her head. She stood there, exposed, deep breaths making her chest rise and fall. She wanted to cover, to fidget, and a half dozen other things she could not while bound like this. She felt panic, at the fringes of her being, a reaction, that she suppressed. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply and slowly.

He reached over to his toys and selected a rectangle piece of stone, a whetstone, used for sharpening knives, and placed it in her right hand. Hold that, is all he said. She looked out over the room, attempting to keep her calm. The stone was heavy and rough, with hard corners. She turned it slowly in her hand, being very, very careful not to drop it.

Next he selected a small but wicked looking knife and raised it slowly, holding it directly in front of her face. See how sharp this is, my pet, he cooed in a low voice? Yes Master, she replied simply. I want you, he said, to hold this in your hand, by the blade, and be very, very careful not to run your finger over the edge. Do not squeeze it too hard or you will cut yourself. Yes Master she replied again.

He turned the knife and placed the flat of blade against the palm of her opened left hand. He paused, the steel lightly touching, as he placed his other hand at her chin, looking deeply into her eyes with a wicked smile, and said. If there is any cutting, I’ll do it, is that understood? Yes Master, again she intoned, but in her mind, the message was clear, he was testing her. By giving her the blade to hold, he was risking that she might cut herself, and daring her, taunting her, challenging her, not to do it. Her finger closed slowly, carefully around the razor edges, as she stared back into his eyes. His smile disappeared for a fraction of a second and his voice was a thousand whips, cutting his command into her, “Don’t disappoint me” is all he said.

While she carefully held the two objects her master had entrusted to her, he turned back to the guests and their host, completely ignoring her. I need something with ice in it, he said, preferably a bucket or small saucepan. Do you think we can rustle up such an item? Oh!, and everyone? He said, Now would be a great time to get a drink.

The group got up, milled around and he disappeared into the kitchen with the host. They came back with a small metal saucepan, filled with ice cubes and placed it next to the toys. She felt his intent, to put her on display, to give her time with the knife in her hand. She closed her eyes, and the room went away. If guests were staring at her, that was easy to block out, but the knife, damn the knife was there. The weight of it pressed against the pad of her thumb, against her fingers. If she moved it to a better balance so it wouldn’t be so heavy. But how could she move it without cutting herself. I must not let it cut me, I must not let it cut me, she thought over and over.

Time dragged on. Slow torturous time. Less pressure, lighter grip, don’t let the knife fall, over and over, until time stood still and it was only her and the knife, eyes closed, focused on this one task. She barely noticed as the guests filtered back into their seats, drinks in hands, and all eyes were on her, the slave, chained to the door, eyes tightly closed, holding the knife by its sinister sharp blade.

She was suddenly aware of his return, as he gently grasped her wrist. First, I’ll take this, he said. He grasped the handle and very carefully, slowly unwrapped her fingers from it. He thrust the knife into the ice bucket, and left it there. He took her hand and carefully inspected it for cuts, but she had been very careful, very delicate with the long grip on the blade. He kissed her hand, and then trailed his touch down her arm to her ear, well done my pet, he cooed.

Next he took a small blindfold from his toy bag, and approached her. Panic welled up in her throat, and she squeezed the whetstone hard. Ready? Is all he asked. “yes Master” she weakly replied. The blindfold slid over her head, and darkness fell. The room disappeared. She felt the blackness engulf her, and she clung now to the sounds of the room.

At first, she heard only the whispering of guests, but as she adjusted, she began to notice the sounds of traffic outside, and the occasional odd noises that we never notice, usually. He stepped close, very close and the smell of him was wonderful. He grasped her right arm, unhooking and lowering it. His breath was on her neck, his body so close, then came his deep voice at her ear. Edge play, my pet, is all he said.

The whetstone was still in her free hand as he took hold of this arm, pushing her elbow back into the door. I want you, he said, to keep your elbow at the door, and your arm against your side. He grasp her hand with the stone. Hold it like this, he said, and positioned her fingers in a circle around the stone. Now, he said in a low voice, don’t move. Hold the stone perfectly still. I am going to sharpen this knife, and I don’t want you to lose a finger.

She could feel the stone heavy in her hand and now it felt that much heavier. She heard the rustle of ice as he took the knife from the bucket. He placed his hand under hers. His knee slid between her legs and braced both of them against the door. His arm was just under her breasts, as he laid the knife against the stone. He slid the knife against the stone, the scary sound of steel against something harder. It scraped and the sound went through her. He leaned close. The edge can slide against your fingers, he said, but only one side cuts. As if to make the point a cold edge came in contact with her first finger. Now, he said, if I slide this against your finger fast, you won’t feel anything until the sting sets in, or he added with an evil chuckle, doesn’t sting, depending on what side I use.

Her mind reeled. Yes Master escaped her lips like a gasp. She wished now, that both hands were tied again so that she could collapse. The tremble in her knees gently shook her whole body. She struggled to hold the stone steady, to stop the trembling. Fast, he said simply. and then, before she could prepare herself, completely without warning it was over before she realize it started. He drew the blade quickly, lightly, over her upturned finger. By the time she realized what was happening, it was already over. He took the finger quickly and sucked on it, then bit her so hard she winced. Pain from the bite made it hard to tell if he had cut her or if he had teased her. Her senses stretched to every nerve in her finger, but still, from the darkness of her blindfold, she wasn’t sure.

He began to draw the blade slowly over the stone again, going back and forth, the sick sound of scraping, filling her ears. Her finger throbbed and still she could not be sure what had happened. She felt it then again, this thing she felt for this man, the man that did these things to her. She felt it like a need, like love, but somehow deeper, stronger, more powerful a pull than she had ever know a man could make her feel. It didn’t fit with anything she ever knew, but it was there, this need for him use her.

You have three more perfectly good finger tips sticking up, he chuckled, as he worked with the stone. Yes Master, again she found herself saying. What more could she say? What more should she say? Should she tell him that he owned her? That he could take her body however he pleased? Should she beg him to mark her, claim her? What more could she say, that he did not already know? He knew that he owned her. He had know that he would from the first day she met him.

He finished sharpening the knife without further incident, or so she assumed when the sound of scrapping stopped and she heard him place it in the ice. She took a deep breath, and realized that she been barely breathing. The sound of sloshing and ice bumping around the knife told her that, for now, the steel was sheathed. He took the stone from her hand, and she realized that her hand was trembling, or at least it was, until he took hold of it, and kissed it.

Slowly, deliberately, he kissed each finger tip, sucking it, and then placed his teeth at the root of her cuticle, that tender pressure point that he loved to tease in public, and bit hard, sending wave after wave of pain up her arm. Wave followed wave, one for each finger, until he reached the one in question. This finger he simple kissed and then curled back, closing her hand into a fist.

He grabbed her suddenly, by both hips and spun her, facing the door. A spank at her bottom sent a warm red tingle through her, and was following by the familiar sound of leather whistling through the air. He draped the flogger over her shoulder and trailed it slowly down her back, letting her feel the leather before it sang. It was soft, warm, and sent shivers down her back as she anticipated the pain to come.

The whistle again, this time near her ears, he was teasing her, tensing her up for the first blow and when it came, full of heavy thunk, slapping down on her shoulder blades, it was almost a relief. The first was followed by another and another, and another, coming harder and faster so that the pain spread over her, and through her. She ceased to be, she became. She was alive and the sound retreated as master applied the leather that colored her back in pink, then deeper hues. He alternate left, then right, the leather flailing over skin that grew ever more sensitive, and occasionally he threw in a wicked and skillfully designed shot that sent the tails wrapping around her ribcage to kiss the sides of her breasts and tease her nipples. He drove her deeper and deeper, her mind retreating into that place where pain turns to sparks. The sparks all collected with evil glee on her clit; a weird, warm, sexual pleasure that she could not deny.

It stopped suddenly, and she fought like someone who has jumped into deep water, looking for the surface. Without the constant stimulus, there was nothing, no room, no Master, nothing. She struggled to remember what it was she was doing. Before she could come up, he yanked her bra up over her breasts. The touch, the firmness, was familiar. Sir! She felt she must cry, not for pain, but for his touch.

Her pendulant breasts fell free. The fact that there was an audience did not exist in her mind. There was only Sir and she, whoever she was. No, she existed, yes! She existed because of Sir. His hands were on her breasts, but then came pain. He applied one, then two nipple clamps. She sucked in, the pain sending new bolts down her spine. A metal chain between them dangle near her rib cage. She trembled, with only one hand still tied, strapped overhead.

Perhaps sensing she could take little more, he turn her around again slowly, and took her free hand, the one that had held the stone, back over her head. She was grateful now for the support and let some of her weight down, let herself hang a bit by her arms. He stood close, his knee once again between her legs again. She wiggle a bit, enjoying the feeling of her pussy slide against Sir, now her Master. She wanted, so much to cum. For Sir, her orgasm was a gift given to him. She wanted this, to give Sir her sign of pleasure, to cum, to feel the release, the explosion of the passion and energy that he was frothing into her. As if reading her mind, or maybe because she was practically dry humping him, he said in a low whisper in her ear, You will NOT cum without permission my pet. Yes Master, she replied, but the pleading in her voice was unmistakable.

She heard the rustle of ice as the blade was once again lifted free, her pulse quickened; she reached out with her senses, trying to feel where he was. A single cold droplet of water splashed suddenly against chest and dribbled slowly down into her cleavage. He leaned up against her, his chest, near hers, his breath on her neck, and he whispered again.. Only I can cut. The knife was again in his hands, the words themselves cut.

She started to say Yes S….. But was cut short. A searing feeling stung against her left breast. Unexpected; it was like a burn, then a pain, then cold as her mind rolled though possibilities, trying to pin down what was happening. She realized he had pressed the flat of that ice chilled blade against her and she breathed again.

She had stopped breathing. Inside her blindfold, it was dark but the feeling of this flat, cold pressure on her breast was clear. As she processed these thoughts she could feel him turn the blade in his grasp, slowly, from flat side to edge. The edge of the blade was now against her breast, his hot breath on her neck, and he said it again: Only I can cut.

A feeling not quite panic or fear washed, a feeling strong and exciting swept over her and her knees buckled. She began to buck against the knee between her legs. She wanted something inside her. The desire to cum welled up as he pulled the knife to a point and drew it slowly down her front, scratching her as he went. She felt its tip, its malevolent edge, run slowly over her exposed breast. He lightly traced the nipples. She could feel everything so clearly thanks to the extreme cold of the blade. He turned the flat to her once more and brought it under the clamps. She had nearly forgotten the clamps and it sent new courses through her as she rediscovered the pain in her nipples.

With the flat of the blade he pulled back the blade and every so lightly slapped her breast with the flat of the blade. The clamps bounced, tugging at her nipple. She bit her lower lip, relishing the fear, the pain, the feeling. He took the blade from under the clamp and slapped her breasts again and again with the flat of the blade, each a small pain, a small terror, and a delicious torment. She wondered if the edge could cut this way? As of to answer her thoughts, he turned the blade to its edge again, and then to the point. With his other hand, he took the chain from the nipple clamps and put it to her lips. Understanding instantly, she opened her mouth and accepted the reigns to her pain.

Her bra up over her breasts, her nipples pulled high by the chain in her mouth, the tip of the knife at her breast, she leaned her head back, pulling her nipples up. As she pulled her breasts up, they slid up from under the tip of the knife. Very well done my pet, he said in approving tones. The pain of the nipples, and the thought of the knife, sent more shivers though her and she bucked uncontrollably, wanting so very much to cum. She pressed her clit against his knee. I would be so easy to cum now, with just a few rubs. Only master’s command kept her at bay. The torment was delicious, then painful, an aching need that could not be denied, but must be, but couldn’t.

But Sir was not done tormenting her yet. He trailed the scratching edge of the blade over one breast then the other. He scratched down, down, over her belly to her snapped jeans. He pulled the knife away and then something hard, maybe the handle, maybe the blade itself pressed up into the folds of her jeans. She rubbed against it anyway, not caring. She needed release. “Pleassssee Master”, escaped her lips.

He tucked the handle of the knife into her panties and she no longer cared what he cut. Sir unfastened her belt and pulled it through the loops of her jeans, then began to whip her thighs with it. She danced under the blows, the knife bouncing and jiggling against her. He pulled the knife back out from where he had tucked it, and unsnapped her jeans. The invasion caused only a moments panic but was driven away quickly by another repeat of the belt whippings.

Her body screamed to orgasm, for something to buck up against, something inside her, something, something. Something snapped inside her. He was there then, with the knife, and his body, pressed against hers. He trailed the knife down her body again, and whispered once more in her ear. “I want you”, he said, “to cum for me”. “Yes Master, OH God, yes please Master” she begged.

He turned the knife and pressed against her jeans, against her clit. As if her body had a mind of its own, without regard for safety, she began to buck, humping the hard object, and as soon as she did, it was pulled away quickly, a cold thin metal line at her neck, and a whisper in her ear. Slowly my pet, he said , Slowly. Give our hosts a good show.

Yes Master, oh God, yes Master, let me cum she begged. He pressed the handle against her again and she began to move her hips, sliding her clit back and forth over it. It was cruel to ask her to hold back, driven to the edge as she was, but she did her best to obey.

Slowly, deliberately, she rolled her clit back and forth over the handle. Her body screamed for release. Her spine was a river of sexual energy coursing through her. Her knees buckled but the sturdy straps held her, pulling at her arms. She convulsed; wild uncontrolled undulations that shook her whole body. Oh Master! She screamed, as waves became violent vibrations. Like a jack-hammer she vibrated, a long low guttural scream escaping the lips of a woman cuming as she had never cum before. Oh! Oh! Oh! She ejaculated against the knife, hot wet stickiness that flooded her panties and ran down her legs. Oh God Sir, OH! Master! She bucked uncontrollably and now Sir was there, holding her, keeping her upright, riding out the waves with her. The room was silent for a very long time.

Can I get a hand here? He asked and instantly there was a Dom at either side of her, unfastening her arms. Freed, she wrapped them around him, still quivering with the after-shocks and minor tremors of her orgasm in retreat. With help from the others, she was lead to a place on the floor, at the feet of her beloved Sir, and she hugged his legs, thankful for this man. The thought came to her, in due time and she timidly checked. Yes, he was as hard as a rock still. The excitement was still in him.


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