Scintillectually Yours

A cold fear immobilizes me at the sight of the finely honed blade. Knives, nee sharp objects of any kind, have been a long-standing phobia of mine—surpassing even my rampant arachnophobia perhaps. The steel throws off a golden sheen, reflecting the candlelight that surrounds the bed. I have trusted you, as I have trusted no other, to bring this instrument of utmost torture into my sanctuary. My safety zone. My womb.

You have a penchant for all things sharp and cutting. Your walls adorned with ceremonial swords, your drawers hiding secret weapons. This, the one you brought along tonight, is a favorite of yours. A switchblade with a pearl handle. Long. Dangerous.

I have trusted you with much. I trust you with my life. I trust you not to hurt me beyond that which I can stand. I enter into this dark night with trepidation. You stroke my face silently, run your thumb across my trembling bottom lip. My hands are tightly bound above my head, my feet splayed out wide and anchored to each bedpost. I am utterly helpless. Completely at your mercy. I am scared.

You ask if I am ready. I pause. A fleeting moment passes as I waver, unsure. I muster up the courage of my convictions and nod, licking my lips, swallowing hard.

You raise the blade so that it is directly in front of my face and then you pull my blindfold down. Trust. trust. trust. trust. I repeat my mantra over and over and over again. I know you dare not hurt me. My body shivers and I feel the first touch of the ice cold steel as you run the back of the blade along my cheek, replacing the warmth of your hand. I tense. I have no idea where you intend to go next.

And then I feel the back side of the blade slide up along my torso and you pull my camisole taught against it. The flimsy silk falls away (like a knife through butter) and I gasp. My back arches and I feel my own wetness pour forth in a thoroughly unexpected rush.

I buck up against you, my bravery in the face of my fear turning instantly to eager anticipation. The feel of the steel against my soft flesh, the complete knowledge that although you would never cross the line and draw blood, accidents do happen. In an instant you slice through the sides of my panties and leave me completely exposed to you and that razor sharp blade tracing the contours of my body.

Oh, how I never knew I wanted this.