Trigger Warning: This writing contains fear play, knife play, minor blood play, minor cutting, face slapping, and degradation. The narrator takes on an ominous and heartless tone that could be triggering.
She must wonder how I can seem so kind as I kneel beside her, tracing her naked body with the tip of a large hunting knife. The metal is cold and the point is sharp. A twitch of my muscle could break her skin. “Do you know how beautiful I think you are?” My voice is gentle. I don’t say it often enough. But in this moment, with her body trembling – with her unable to look at me, I feel more connected to her than ever before.
The point of the knife travels over her collarbone and down her arm. I watch as her skin yields to the pressure. I become aware of every bump and freckle. Her breasts heave as she tries to inhale. Her mouth must be dry because when she swallows she winces. I hear the gulp in the back of her throat. I take a deep breath. The fear that’s flooded the room fills my lungs. I become lighter. I could float.
“Don’t get so excited,” I say, reaching for her face. She pulls away. “Shh, it’s OK. I’m here.” I pet her hair. The knife travels back up her arm, pressing a little harder into her this time. I let the blade linger on her throat before I lean down and make her look at me. Her eyes are circles. Her pupils cover almost all the white. I see my shimmering reflection in them. In the space between us, my rage turns into her fear. Her fear turns into my arousal. I press my lips to hers but she’s frozen. She doesn’t return my kiss.
I sit up and let the knife fall to her breasts. Circling each areola, a hint of a smile creeps across my mouth. “I think you believe I won’t hurt you. But your body doesn’t know that, does it?” I press the point into her raised nipple. She gasps. “I sharpened it before I came over. I used a 6000 grit wet stone. I took my time making sure every centimeter was sharpened at a perfect fifteen-degree angle. Then I used the 1000 grit.” I hold my arm up to her face. “Do you see that bald spot? 1000 grit isn’t good enough to do that. I used my leather belt and ran the blade over it, again and again, to make sure it’s like a razor.”
I’m not sure she hears anything I’ve said. I keep circling one breast and then the other. “Here. I’ll show you.” I flatten the blade out and run it across her stomach, down past her belly button. I stop near the small patch of hair above her clit. “Feel how slow I’m going, now. Watch.” She raises her head and looks down. The blade cuts clear through the patch of hair. I pinch the shavings between my fingers and hold them up to her. “Do you see?”
She looks at what I’m showing her but she doesn’t react. The hint of a smile fades from my face and I scream, “DO YOU FUCKING SEE?”
Her eyes shut tight and she nods. A single tear rolls down her cheek. I let the hair drop and the tension leaves me. “Good,” I speak calmly. “I wanted you to know how much time I took for you. I sat in my garage thinking about this moment for over an hour, making sure the blade was perfect. I pictured your naked body just like it is now, sinking into your comforter. Not everyone can get a blade this precise. It takes practice and skill.”
Her eyes open. When she speaks her voice cracks. “I really can tell. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I respond, flattered she appreciated my effort. I returned the knife to her breasts circling around and around. I admire how soft her flesh is, how the shine of the knife looks against her white skin. “You see, this is hand-forged. You can’t get a blade this sharp when it’s stamped. You have to take care of it. It can rust if you leave it wet. I love the patina on this one. It shows its age. It gives the knife a personality. Don’t you think?”
By now she’s trembling so hard it’s like she’s shivering. I run the tip down her stomach, along her thigh to her knee, and then back up. “One thing I like about this knife is the handle weight. It has a hefty tang. I feel it in my grip.” I take the heel of the knife and I run it between her legs. She shudders when I press it against her pussy.
“I feel how wet you are.” Her body must be confused. How can she be so afraid and so turned on at the same time? I imagine it must be like her insides are being pulled in every direction. I have to admit, I enjoy this moment. I enjoy the feel of the knife as I use it to part her lips. “I know you want this. You wouldn’t be dripping like you are if you didn’t.”
She moans and I push the handle deeper. “You had to understand this was going to happen the moment I showed you what I brought. It was only a matter of time before I fucked you with it. I picked this knife especially because the handle has brass fittings and it’s made of antler. I wanted you to feel the grooves and contours when eased it into you. I wanted you to feel the contrast between the two materials.”
Slowly in and slowly out; each time I push deeper. Watching her, it seems like she’s trying to fight it. This strange object is inside her and she’s so scared, but her hips grind against it like she’s begging to get fucked harder. I love creating this turmoil; witnessing the chaos of her mind. She’s lost. She has no control over her thoughts. She’s reacting to the sensations and my voice. This is how it would be the rest of her life if I had it my way. Her purpose would be to experience whatever sadistic scene my brain can create. I’d strip away her agency. I’d peel off the parts of her mind from the inside out until all that’s left is an empty shell. In these moments she can be an object without will or self-determination.
“Do you like how that feels?” The knife is so deep inside her. It’s covered in her juices. I hold it there and rub her clit around and around with my thumb. “I have complete control over you. How terrifying that must be, knowing that I can do anything I want.” Her body lifts off the bed. Tears roll down her cheeks. “I know other men have dominated your body. That isn’t enough for a girl like you. Your body is easy. I’m here for the part of you that no one else gets.” My thumb rubs faster. The bolster is the only part of the handle that isn’t inside her.
“The real fear isn’t this knife. It isn’t my questionable morality. The real fear comes from being seen. I see you. I know what you are.” Her body grinds against me, raising and lowering. Her eyes are closed. She’s moaning through tears. “Who owns you?”
“You do!” She cries out.
“That’s right. I own you. Me. The man who’s fucking your cunt with the handle of his large hunting knife. It feels good, doesn’t it? It feels wrong that you like this so much. Or maybe it feels wrong that you don’t think it’s wrong.” I ease the knife out of her and slide the heel up along her body, leaving a trail of her juices on her skin. Over her breasts and across her chest, I hold it in front of her. “Look. See how wet the handle is. I like the person you are. I like knowing that you are the kind of slut who gets off on being terrified by a sadistic fuck like me.”
She opens her mouth. “Do you want to taste?”
Looking right into me she bites her lip and nods, “yes.”
I rub the heel around her lips and over her tongue. She opens wider. I slide it in. Closing her mouth, she keeps staring at me. It’s the deepest kind of intimacy I can think of. It’s like she’s telling me the more I hate her the more she’ll love me. She gags but I don’t pull the knife out. I leave it there and make her gag harder. When her throat finally rejects it she quickly tries to swallow it again.
Her hand massages the bulge in my pants. “You’re so transparent, do you know that? All you can think about is sucking my cock, am I right?”
She nods. I let go of the knife and she holds it between her lips. Lifting my shirt up over my head I toss it behind me. I unbuckle my belt and unzip my fly. Pushing my jeans and boxers down, she can’t take her eyes off my half-hard exposed cock. “You’d rather have this in your mouth?” I ask slowly stoking it.
With my other hand, I pull the knife out. I glide the blade along her pretty face. She whimpers. “I want you to suck my cock as if your life depends on it,” I tell her. Leaning towards me she wraps her hand around it. She takes me in her mouth. I hold the blade to her throat. “Like your fucking life depends on it.”
We stare at one another. She drools a gob of spit onto my head. She strokes it slow and easy working me up to full staff. “That’s it,” I say, resting my free hand on the back of her head. “Show me the whore you really are.”
All her fear has made her laser-focused. The knife against her neck means her mind can’t wander. She can’t think about work or the doctor’s appointment she has in the morning. Whether or not her life actually depends on it, she’s convinced herself it does. Every twist of the tongue, every change in grip, it is this well-orchestrated march towards survival. Please me or risk me being unhappy. For a woman like her, there is no greater death than that. There is no bigger fear than causing my disappointment. So she sucks. She takes me deep down her throat. She covers every inch of my cock with saliva. “That’s it,” I encourage her, running my fingers through her hair and gripping her by the roots.
Holding her face against my body I push her all the way down. She tries to pull away but I don’t let go. Her gags soothe me. Her drool dripping down my balls makes me calm. “That’s it. Stay down like a good whore. There you go. You got it.” She’s fighting against her instincts. Her body says get this out of me. Her mind says keep it in. I grind my hips so my head rubs deep inside her, and finally, her body wins. She coughs me out and gasps for air. Letting go of her hair I slap her hard across her face. She dives back on my cock and tries to take me deeper. With the knife still on her throat, I fuck her face like I want to see the head of my cock pop out the other side.
“LOOK AT ME!” I scream. Her eyes shoot up and I see it. She loves me. She’d walk barefoot across a mile of sharp rocks to be near me. All of the things we’ve been through have turned our edges into jagged shards loosely hanging on. When we’re this close, they seem to fit perfectly. They lock us into place, but we aren’t trapped. We’re no more trapped than someone tightly cocooned in a warm blanket on a cold night. This is what happens when people are born into disorder. Our minds feel at home in the mayhem. The madness is like a lullaby petting our heads. It’s the peace that drives us insane.
I throw her off me and I climb on top. The edge is already back on her throat. “You’re mine. I own you.” We kiss. Our mouths open so wide. Our tongues can’t get enough of one another. I ease my cock inside her dripping wet pussy, her pussy that has already been stretched by a cold ridged object. Even still, she’s incredibly tight. I can picture her lips wrapped around me. I can see them flexing as I push in and pull out. The veins in my shaft disappear and reappear. They pulse and contract with each thrust.
Bit by bit I consume more of her. Bit by bit she gets closer to nothing. My cock isn’t an organ. It’s another knife. I’d gladly rip her apart with it just so I can roll around in the destruction. I thrust with all my strength and all my weight. I want to break the bed. I want her neighbors to feel the vibrations of what I am doing. I want them to hear her scream and call the police. I want them to come charging in to try and save her only to fall into the chasm I created with my sadism.
We both know there is no saving her. There is no saving me. We’re two lost people wandering towards nothing, wandering away from nothing. In these moments together we find a kind of peace. We’ve found a balance where the chaos in our minds is equal to the chaos in our life. I don’t realize it until I feel her warmth dripping on me. I’ve nicked her neck. Blood is rolling down the blade and falling onto my hand. Her nails rip into my back and her legs are wrap tight around me. Letting go of the knife, I wipe my knuckle on her face, smearing crimson across her lips. I grip her cheeks and we kiss.
She’s crying and moaning and screaming. I’m grunting and snarling. Tremors ripple out from her center. Her cunt clenches around my cock. I couldn’t pull out even if I wanted. “You’re mine! Do you know that? Mine!” Words shoot out my mouth like a stabbing blade. I can’t control them. “You fucking slut-whore. Give it to me. Show me who owns you.” She cums so hard. “Dirty cunt. Cum on my dick. Now. Cum like this is your only purpose in life.”
I unload into her body. Blood trickles down onto her breasts. It mixes with our sweat and soaks my chest hair. I slap her face. She smiles. I slap her again. Her smile grows. Cum shoots into her. Load after load of warm spunk fills her emptiness. I collapse. All my weight covers her. She hugs me close. She whispers, “Thank you.”
I whisper back, “No one gave you permission to speak.”
We lay there embracing one another. Our minds are blank. We float in the void, our hearts still pounding in our chests. The last of my cum drains into her. I don’t know how long we will stay still. For people like us, stillness doesn’t come easy. We need to grip it with both hands. We need to climb on top of it and wrap our legs around It’s only a matter of time before our muscles give out and we come crashing back down into the frenzy.