by Alex M. Quinlan
"Eyes closed."
Deeper than usual, his voice triggered the response that had been lurking since the night before, when he sent me off to work with the feel of his blade against my ears, my throat, my bare nipples, my midriff echoing along my nerves, and "Wake me when you come home. Wear clothes to be sliced." echoing in my head.
"Eyes closed."
Having heard him come clunking down the stairs, and realizing he *was* heading into my room, I had turned to say hello. Before I knew it, I faced forward, eyes closed, and knew the clunky sound was his spreader bars. And realized that I was damn close to hyperventilating.
Trying to control my breathing, I started to smile. I often play games with myself like this, closing my eyes in a public place and trying to identify everything by sound. He stood still, with rustling sounds. Soft, material... rope, I concluded, really trying not to grin. I opened my mouth to ask him cattily when he had had the opportunity to replace his rope supply, but the urge fled when he blindfolded me. I shivered - I am seldom that wrong. I consoled myself; he *had* mentioned something, as I was saying goodnight - *trying* to go to work - about tying me to my bed, when I told him - between gasps of air - that the edge of the blade was sending me into that same headspace produced by being tied. "But you didn't react this way last time." "I *know* that *this* blade is sharp. Besides, you didn't tie me down last time." "Well, then, I suppose doing both would reinforce it, hmmmm?" I had swayed, a roaring in my ears, and shivered.
And shivered again as he leaned over and kissed me quickly, his lips all strength where they are usually caressing. He finished stepping over me to the other side of the bed, and I could hear him manipulating one of the spreader bars, and something soft rubbing on the underside of the bed. Occasionally, his hands would brush my body - my calves, my shoulder, my back - no explicitly sexual areas. Sometimes a soft lick on an earlobe. Fiery rushes of nerves would radiate from wherever he touched, waking my entire body, my skin quivering, my ears roaring. All without words, without a sense of body position, spacing out, losing touch. Much less cocksure, I guessed at rope, at the bar being tied to the bed, and my hands to the bar.
"Where are your cuffs?"
I jumped slightly at his voice... that deep voice again, deep in too many ways, hooking in to something deep in me. I made an effort, reminded myself of words. "In my pack, where you told me to keep them." He left the room and returned shortly, little clicking noises in his hands.
This has always been a ritual for us, since the very first time - my cuffs, made by me, for another - he buckles one on my wrist, checks with me for tightness, and then takes the lock and threads it through. Holding it not quite latched shut, we lock gazes. The very first time, he said "Are you quite sure you want to do this?" and I said "No. But it doesn't make a difference." And the world - my soul - rocked as he clicked it home. And the same happened, that first time, 3am in a dark hotel room, with the second cuff. Each time is a replay of that, with no words needed. The world doesn't shift quite so forcefully on its foundations anymore, but I can still feel things settle differently inside whenever our gazes lock and those locks click shut.
And now I was blindfolded, and could not watch his hands, long fingers wrapping black leather around my wrist, could not see his eyes, could not offer myself through my own, and feel his taking of me. I couldn't even open my eyes, the cloth of the blindfold held them shut. Lost, I was lost, lost to headspace, lost to body sensations - I might have been moaning, swaying, but I just don't know - lost to all but that thin link that is always there.
He took my head in his hands and kissed me, taking my mouth thoroughly but not brutally. He tapped my hip, and I scootched over to where he wanted me on the bed, and lay back as he pushed on my chest. The karabiners on the ends of the spreader bar linked through the locks on the cuffs - but I got no delight over having known they would, I had forgotten that detail until now, writing this. "Scoot down." He looped something over my foot, tightening it onto my ankle. "Too tight," I said, as loud as I could, hearing it come out in a hoarse whisper. He loosened it, saying "You will have to be careful - they are slip knots." I shivered - the intangibles always bind more forcefully than rope itself.
Silence - even the sounds of his motion were gone. He might have been sitting next to me, but the intermittent roaring in my ears interfered with hearing things as subtle as breathing. A light touch on my cheek. On my breast. On my stomach. The sound of metal sliding on metal CLICK - loud, crisp, clear, right next to my ear. I gasped, and moaned, and then even my breathing froze as the blade touched me under the ear, slid down my throat, past the scar where I was knifed, around to the other ear, and off my skin. I gulped for air, panting, shivering, whimpering.
I felt the blade poking at my t-shirt under my arm, making a hole to work with. RIIIIIP near the armpit, and it was inside my shirt, brushing flat across my breasts over my bra, bumping over my nipples, wide awake and up hard. Hyperventilating for real now, I froze so solid with the blade on bare skin that I couldn't breathe... I knew I was shaking and tried to control it when the blade was near. Of course, this only made it worse. He pulled the blade out, and poked at my left nipple, finally catching the point in my shirt and RRIIPPing a small hole. He smoothed the cloth around my nipple, chuckled, and did the same to the right.
RIIIIP pulling upwards from my armpit again. Silence again, and then a long, slow SNIIIIIIIICK. Scissors. My breath came easier, all in a rush - and the little voice in the back of my head woke up and said "Why in hell are *scissors* safe????" "Conditioning." said the rest of me, as I took the opportunity to breathe, and think for a bit. My sleeves came off, slow snick by snick, and he sat back on his heels, down near my feet.
SNIK The scissors didn't cut easily through the hem of my jeans. Motion, and then RRRRIIIIIIP - the sound of the knife shredding my clothing, so much rougher, deeper, more raw. My breathing stuttered to a halt again, as he cut part of the left pants leg off - up to my ankle. I quickly gasped for air as he reached for my right leg, only to have the tension deflate when I heard scissors wrestling with the multiple layers of the hem. He used only the scissors, cutting the pants off up to my calf. I smiled as he muttered something about getting things even, but lost it in the RRRIIIIPP of the blade.
He played with me like this, with the tension of the knife versus the scissors, played with getting the "shorts" even, all the way up to my hips. The scissors sliced along my crotch, not quite catching in the myriad folds of skin. "You know, you would look really good in cut-offs." "Cut-off what, bikini???" RRRRIIIP *gasp* up over my abdomen and a final SNICK as he used the scissors to cut through the waistband.
He sat, not doing anything for a while; I let my breathing even out and my heart slow, shivering occasionally in reaction. I felt him lean over me, and a sudden RRRRRIIIIPPP up the front of my shirt stole my breath, my mind, my calm. Again, he let me get my breath back as he moved to my side, and took it completely as he edged the blade under the lycra of my bra-cup and tried to cut it, relying on the sharpness of the blade. It wasn't enough - I gasped as the point dug in during his manipulations. He finally used two hands, and cut the left cup away.
For some reason, I hadn't been cold up till now. Once my breast was exposed, my entire body got goosebumps - which only made my nipples stand up harder. He ran the blade across my breast, poking the point lightly at my nipple, slapping it hard with the flat of the blade as if the knife were a very thin paddle, letting me breathe occasionally between gasps of pain and tension. I could feel my nipples crinkling up harder all the time. He moved to the other breast, slid the blade under the cloth, and tugged.
This time the point dug in and held. I screamed softly, and flinched. He pulled the knife away, and stilled me with a touch. Peering through the hole he had made in the bra-cup, he said "No damage." I whimpered, gasping, as he quickly - roughly - cut the rest of the cloth away.
"Hmmm. Yes, damage. Sorry, lover." He leaned over me and licked at the cut with the very tip of his tongue. It should sting, I thought, as the roaring in my ears drowned out even my own heart. At my gasped moan, he licked again, tongue flattened against my breast, long and slow. It really should sting, I thought. I shuddered, and hissed "Yessss", and he began to suck lightly at the wound. It was so intense, I "whited-out" - not blacked out, I didn't lose consciousness, but I lost most of my "record-keeping" functions, lost time, lost self, deep into headspace...
Tug, tug, RRRIIIIIPPPP I came back very quickly as he sliced my underwear off, yanking hard through the elastic, that shuddery shredding sound down the sides and across my crotch. He moved so he was kneeling by my shoulders, and I felt his cock on my lips. I took him in, sucking him into me, running my tongue across the head as he pinned my upper body with his and started running the blade, edge and tip, along my thighs, my cunt lips, my clit. My leg quivered as he ran the blade from my knee to my crotch, edge first, as if he was shaving me; turned the back of the blade to me, and dragged the point across my lips, stopping to poke my clit idly with the point, pumping his cock into my mouth as I lost suction in the pain white-out, whimpering; idly drawing patterns on my legs with the point, leaving white lines on my skin. He rolled his upper body to one side and extended his canvas to my abdomen, drawing along my hip joint, my navel, my waist. Goose bumps rose all over my body, and the nerves in my joints were fire, exploding rushes of tingling up and down my body, but only on the same side as the knife. There was a sharp demarcation down the center, the knife on my left side would have everything else on my left side tingling and shaking, but my right side would be unaffected. Back and forth, side to side, he played with my body, evoking quivers, goose bumps, and moans.
"Suck, slave. Or do you have to be reminded how to do so?"
I froze, it had been so long since he had talked. In *that* tone of voice. I was so far into my own space that it took noticeable time for me to parse his meaning. Too late. He got up from me, said "I will be right back. Don't go anywhere." and was gone from the room before I could even smile. He was back in moments; I heard a SWISH through the air, and my head spun from the scent of leather - almost a pheromone, for me... I moaned.
"Roll over. Or do you want this" SWISH breeze on my chest "across your tits?"
He had to help me move the spreader bars, but I did most of it myself. Quickly. And lay there, waiting. Wondering, feeling him standing over me on the bed, smelling the leather, getting dizzy from it. I felt him move, I tensed in response, and the cat came down softly, across my shoulder, across my neck, across my face turned to the side, lingering, tails pooled near my face where I can get the scent, take it deep and hold it like an inhaled drug, getting stoned on the scent of leather. As if I wasn't flying enough as it was. Twice, three times, the cat was laid softly on my body and stroked along, to pool in front of me. By the last I am moaning constantly, only aware of it now in memory, so concentrated on the feeling of the suede on my back, on the scent filling my head, on the sheer sexual response that leather always brings to me, my cunt tingling, the juices beginning to flow.
He began slowly, letting gravity do most of the work at first, just letting the tails fall across the tops of my shoulders. Working down onto my shoulder blades, falling into a figure 8 pattern of stronger strikes, he moved the focus here and there across my back. Somewhere around the second increase in strength I blissed out, lost myself to the sensation, lost even the automatic counting that goes on in my head even when I can't talk. My body started responding sexually, my hips bucking down into the bed.
He would change his pattern every so often, hit repeatedly in the same place, repeated stinging drawing my attention, focussing it, breaking into the space where it is not pain but sensation, forcing my body to notice that this was, indeed, at the extreme limits, till I cried out. And then he would return to his pattern, pain sloping back down to raw intensity, with my sexual response increased by that much. My shoulders, my back, down the slope of my ribs, and onto my ass he moved the point of focus, me squirming until I was still flat on the bed mainly cause I was tied to it. My cunt was spasming like I had come, hard. I kept trying to thrust my ass into the air, to catch the whip, to catch his attention. He stopped.
"Roll over."
Deep, hoarse, out of breath with more than exertion, his voice made me shiver and moan as if struck again. I started to roll over, and he quickly flipped the spreader bar at my head, and not-quite-fumbled the slip knots on my ankles. I landed on my back, and shrieked at the feeling of the sheet on my whipped back, and shrieked again as he hit my tits with the cat, once, twice, catching my nipples, catching the knife wound. Starting my orgasm. He dropped the cat, dropped to his knees, grabbed my legs, and drove his cock into me - and I came, hard, feeling his cock all the way inside me, feeling my orgasm change nature, heading straight into full heart-stopping convulsive "little death". He held still as I came around him, jerking against the restraint, crying out with the sensation of his cock inside me, the fire on my tits, the scrape of my back against the sheet. As my body slowed he started moving, pumping strongly, in much the same rhythm he had used to whip me. Holding my knees apart, he took his pleasure, faster and harder, with me coming, yelling, till he cried out and came inside me. I was so sensitized I could feel him pulsing, stroking hard into me with each jet, each pulse causing me to come again.
I remembered to say "Thank you, my lord." before we fell asleep, entangled in the sheets, the rope, the cat.
© Copyright September 26, 1992
