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Knife Play

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The bell rings. I look through our bedroom window. Isabelle, a small and beautiful woman, my wife Anne’s best friend, is standing in the rain. I run downstairs and open the front door. “Come in, come in,” and I make an invitational gesture, not realizing that I’m still holding a knife in my hand. “My God,” Isabelle gasps, “what’s that big knife for? Cutting meat or something?”

I’m taken aback a little. “Oh… no, sorry about that”, I answer a little embarrassed, “Just practicing.” It’s out of my mouth before I realize.

“Practicing?” Isabelle says frowning and looking up at me with a curious squint in her eyes. “Are you applying for a job in that circus?”

I laugh a little sheepish. The circus she’s referring to has left town long ago. Anne, me and Isabelle, who happened to be with us, had witnessed there an incredible knife throwing act involving a girl shackled to a target board. I grin at Isabelle’s mentioning of it and hand her a clean kitchen towel to dry her hair with.

“So what’s the practicing?” she persists, raising an eye brow. I hesitate, but she’s such a close friend I guess I can tell her. “Well, you know, Anne wants me to learn the trade.”

Now it’s Isabelle’s turn to laugh. “You? You learn to throw knifes at girls? You’re not joking are you?”

“No,” I try to laugh, “not at girls.” What do I care, it’s not really a lie. We enter the kitchen and I put he knife down next to the sink. “Coffee?”

“Is Anne at home?”

“No, I’m sorry, she’s out attending another one of those unexpected planning meetings from her office.”

“Shit,” Isabelle says and, with an elegant sway of her body to signal her acceptance of my invitation, sits down, watching me rinse the coffee pot. “Wanted to do some shopping with her. Will she be home soon?” “I’m afraid not,” I answer. It might be quite late tonight. The meeting is supposed to extend into a meal in a restaurant.”

Isabelle sighs, then looks up and, noticing the knife again, says: “So tell me, if it’s not for throwing knifes at helpless girls what are you teaching yourself?” She takes a sip from her coffee and without waiting for my answer says: “That was really something, that act. You know, I went back to the circus the next evening, just to see that feat again. Gave me such a terrible thrill.”

I laugh, more honestly now. “I’ll tell you something, Isabelle,” I say, “we did too. We went back even twice. Anne’s idea. She was absolutely crazy about it.”

“Yeah,” Isabelle agreed with another sigh, “Still sticks in my mind as if it was yesterday.”

It really had been quite a scene indeed. I too still remember every single detail of the event.

We had been sitting all evening high up on those hard wooden benches, looking down into the circus arena. For almost two hours we had watched jumping horses, dancing elephants, roaring lions, and clowns playing with their life high on trapezes. And then the circus master had announced the final performance of the evening, a “breathtaking knife throwing act.”

And breathtaking it was. A big bare chested man, with an outfit that made him look quite silly, like something in between a gladiator and Tarzan, stepped into the sand below. He waved to the public with his muscular arms and, while he was welcomed with applause, two sturdy helpers rolled an enormous wooden disk into the arena, erecting it upright, some five or six meters away from where the man stood. It was painted with red, blue and white concentric rings, like a huge archery target. Close to its rims four short pieces of leather were fixed to the wood, forming a square. The men disappeared, only to reappear carrying a table. They placed it next to the Tarzan. On it they lied out in a neat row a series of large long butcher knifes, their blades glittering in the lime lights.

When they had gone, the man straightened his back and, viewing his audience, began to speak. “Ladies and gentlemen, you are going to watch a very dangerous act. If you are too afraid to look, please close your eyes. No yelling or screaming please. And no applause. I need absolute silence to concentrate.” He stopped a moment to let his words sink in and then continued: “But first welcome my lovely assistant, a warm applause please.” Upon a summoning sway of his arm, a lean brisk woman ran towards him from behind the back stage curtains. She looked like a fairy queen, dressed in long flamboyant draperies waving around her as she moved, her hair flowing around her shoulders like a gypsy in an opera, and her eyes sparkling. She took the man’s hand, kissed it, and then both of them bowed to their public. “Ladies and gentleman,” the man continued to speak, “I will now ask to bring into the arena the little jewel on which I will focus my attention. I’m afraid she’s not a willing participant, but she’ll do fine for the purpose.” And with a loud voice he called: “Bring her in!”

Immediately screams were heard from behind the curtains. A moment later, the two helpers reappeared again, now dragging between them a young woman, struggling and fighting to get free. Scarcely dressed in a daringly small bikini that covered only the most spectacular parts of her body, she was stunningly beautiful. Looking around wild eyed, seeing all those people gawking at her, she gave another scream and tried to jerk her arms free from her captor’s strong grips. But she was no match and soon they had her fine struggling body attached spread eagle to the wooden target board, wrists and ankles securely shackled with those four pieces of leather that turned out to be sturdy cuffs.

The girl seemed desperate now, crying and shaking with her whole body, her head banging wildly against the board. “Be quiet!” the man called out loud, “I can’t concentrate like this.” And addressing his two helpers, he added: “Close her mouth, I need silence!”

Immediately one of the men unwrapped a large scarf from around his loins, and together the two of them strapped it over the poor girl’s mouth, rolling the material several times around her head, and knotting it tight behind her slender neck. It was quite an erotic sight and I took a stealthy look at my wife and her friend, to see their reaction. They were as fascinated as I was and gazed at the girl’s squirming body as if in trance. I noticed Anne’s face was blushed, and realized that the sight of that pitiful girl so erotically exposed, must have fired her own masochistic sexual feelings, which I so often enjoy in bed. In fact, my own lust for cruelty awakened as well from watching that helpless semi-nude girl pulling in such frenzy at the bonds that held her young body so nicely stretched against the wooden board.

With a broad smile the gypsy fairy queen now handed one of the knifes to her partner. He took it by the tip of the blade, stretched his arm and quietly took aim, pointing the knife’s handle towards the girl on the board. And she, seeing what was going to happen, panicked and began to shake her head violently jerking her imprisoned spread out arms and legs in their bonds. A hushed silence descended on the public.

But the man slowly let his arm down and called out loud: “Don’t move girl! Keep your body still and don’t move your head, or you’ll die!” In response the girl suddenly froze in her bonds, her eyes grown wide in fear.

Now, turning to his audience, the man raised a finger to his mouth. “Absolute silence please!”

Slowly he stretched his arm again, aiming, and suddenly the knife flew, hitting the wood with a loud knock. The blade stuck in, millimeters below the girl’s left armpit. She gave a muffled cry, but kept her body rigid in fear, like a beautiful marble sculpture.

A loud applause rose from the audience.

“Silence!” the man called out, raising his hands. “No applause please. I need to concentrate!”

With another smile his assistant handed him another knife. And when total silence had returned, it was thrown like a bullet towards the girl. It bit into the wood with another dry knock just below the armpit of her other extended arm. Anne grabbed my hand, pressing it strongly with a hot moist palm. I looked at her and she glanced back at me with large gleaming eyes, her cheeks quite red, betraying her arousal. I bent over to see how Isabelle was doing. She looked straight ahead, her face flushed too, and one hand pressed into her lap.

Knock… knock! Two more knives stuck out from the wood on both sides of the girl’s frightened face, imprisoning locks of hair so close to her head that it looked like they had cut her ears. But no blood showed, and the girl, with terror in her eyes, watched another knife flying towards her. It settled almost scraping the skin of her slender neck. The next blade hit the wood symmetrically on the other side of her throat. Anne breathed heavily now, heat radiating from her body. “Jesus,” I heard her gasp.

More knifes sailed through the air. Soon the girl’s was completely framed by blades embedded in the wood narrowly close to the sexy curves of her body.

In the end only one knife was left on the table, and the assistant slowly and rather ceremoniously handed it over. This time she didn’t smile. The shackled girl, obviously realizing this was going to be the prime blade to be thrown at her, squeezed her eyes closed tight, biting her lip and holding her breath.

The man aimed very carefully, taking an unusual long time. And threw!

The blade cut into the wood at the only place not covered yet by the other blades: high in the apex of the girls spread out thighs, grazing the little triangular material between her legs, it seemed to have just kissed her womanhood.

But apparently it had not hurt her. The girl did not scream behind her gag. Ostensibly greatly relieved that she had remained unhurt, she sagged in silence and hung trembling in her bonds. Amid a thunderous applause the fairy queen walked over to her and pulled out the knifes, one after the other. The show was over. The man turned around and bowed deep, again and again. The fairy queen embraced him and they kissed each other, bowed and kissed again. In the mean time, the girl was taken off the target board by the two helpers. Her limp body first collapsed on the floor and then tried to get free again of the men’s groping hands. Tarzan and his lady did not care. They were now holding hands and kept bowing to the long lasting applause. In the background the struggling girl was dragged behind the curtains, the scarf still over her mouth.

The lights went on and we got up. My two woman companions had a somewhat embarrassed look on their blushed faces, as in fact most of the people around us had. It was clear that this had not been just a circus act like any other, but something that had touched a hidden very private place deep inside all of us. We didn’t speak. But in the end, after we found our way downstairs through the pushing crowd and stood on solid ground, Anne finally opened her mouth and asked: “Do you think that girl was really… I mean… not volunteering?” I smiled. “Of course she was acting. It’s just for the benefit of the audience.” Isabelle looked at me still with a blush on her face. “You think so?” she asked in an uncertain voice. “Sure,” I answered, “want to check it out?”

It took a while before we succeeded in finding our way behind the stage. But we found the knife thrower. He was sitting on a wooden bench, wearing a house coat and sipping tea with his lady assistant. He smiled politely to a throng of people who, like us, were standing around them in obvious admiration. We pushed ourselves through and when close enough to catch his eyes, complemented him on his extraordinary skills. “Liked it?” he asked, and turned to introduce his companion. “Please meet my wife Aliza.” While we shook hands, the victim girl suddenly appeared from nowhere, happily smiling and still dressed in her bikini. “And this is our daughter Sylvia,” Aliza said, kissing her on both cheeks. “Good performance, girl” she complimented her, “I’m sure the audience again fell steeply for your acting.” And addressing us again she said, “It was her idea, you know, to tickle that little sadistic muscle we all seem to have.” Then, noticing Anne’s still flushed face, she smiled knowingly and added, “or touch some hidden masochistic nerve of course. Did it work like that?”

It did. Anne had been horny like hell. That night she gave herself over to me like prey to be devoured. The next morning after she woke up with her violated body still aching, she even took a day off from work. It had been quite a memorable night.

“Yes that was really a remarkable show,” I say to Isabelle, “That’s what started it.” I am silent for a moment, maybe I should stop talking about this. It feels a bit awkward speaking about such private things with my wife’s best friend. But Isabelle keeps looking at me, expecting more. I hesitate, but then think ‘What the heck, they are such close friends, I’m sure that at some point in time Anne will tell Isabelle anyway.’ So I continue and tell. “Ever since we saw that show Anne has been fascinated and haunted by that knife act. Wanted me to learn to throw knifes as well, became adamant I do. It gives her an enormous kick to imagine the fear of seeing a knife fly at her while she’s helplessly fixed to a target board.”

“I think I know what you mean Alex,” Isabelle said, “she’s told me she likes the feel of fear and forced submission. It arouses her sexually.”

“I didn’t know you are that close.”

“You would be surprised,” Isabelle says with a smile, “if you knew what we tell each other about our private lives.”

I look her closely in the eyes, trying to read her mind. Her face reddens a little and she hastily takes a sip from her coffee. I hesitate. “You’re not shocked?” I ask a little worried, “I mean me telling you this all? It’s rather a personal thing between Anne and me.”

But she ignores the question. Instead she looks up at me for quite a while, and then asks: “How good are you at throwing those knives?” I notice a slight tremor in her voice

“Pretty good by now, seldom miss a throw.”

“How long have you practiced?”

“Couple of months.”

“How… where?”

“Upstairs. Want to see?” I’m startled by my own boldness.

“You don’t mind?”, she asks in a thin voice, and blushes.

“Well… no,” I say, “as long as you’re not really shocked. You might find it, what shall I say, a little upsetting.” But she follows me up the stairs saying she’s not easily shocked. Nevertheless, when I show her into our large bedroom, her mouth falls open. “My God,” she exclaims, seeing Anne’s life size photo on the wall, perforated with a multitude of little clean knife cuts.

It portrays Anne in splendid nudity, shining brightly in her blossoming thirty two years, her posture suggesting innocent purity. One arm is folded across her desirable breasts, the other hand modestly cups the curly bush of her love mound. But it’s her smile and the teasingly inviting glance in her eyes, that look straight into the camera, which makes the photo most erotic. Two real knifes stick into the picture, close to her loins.

“My God,” Isabelle gasps, “That’s Anne!”

“Sure,” I say, “good guess.”

“You… you throw your knifes at that?”

I smile. “Its good for practicing and doesn’t hurt anybody.” I say. “Look I’m really good at it. I’ll show you. Where do you want me to throw?” I take one of the knives that lie on the covers of our large matrimonial bed at the opposite end of the room.

Isabelle gives no answer. Just stares at me with her flushed face.


“Next to her head,” she whispers.

TACK! The knife sticks half a centimeter aside Anne’s face on the photo.

“Jesus,” Isabelle gasps. She trembles. “Maybe you should sit down,” I say a little worried. “Are you OK?” She hesitates, but then sinks down on the bed, folding her legs and pulling her skirt modestly over her knees. Then she looks up at me again with those blushed cheeks. I retrieve the knife. We are both silent for a long time. I realize how attractive she is.

“Are you…” she hesitates and seems to search for the right words, “Is this… I mean, are you planning on… I mean… doing it real… with Anne?”

“Well, yes, maybe. At least that’s what Anne says. One day she’d like to try.”

“Like in that circus…”

“Yes, more or less. Anne gets all sexually hyped up from the idea. And to be honest, I find the thought very erotic too.

Isabelle does not react, just blushes a bit more.

“Isabelle,” I ask carefully, “am I upsetting you?”

“No, Alex, you don’t.” she whispers.

I smile and stare long into her large dark eyes. She’s really very attractive as she sits there with that small frail body of hers. I let myself down to sit next to her. We are quite close. Warm radiance emanates from her body, but I don’t touch her. She’s very, very pretty. Her perfume is the same as Anne’s, but she smells differently, and no less arousing.

She looks at me, her eyes near mine. “When are you eh… ready?” she asks. Her voice is hoarse.

I hesitate. “I think I’m ready. Pretty well skilled by now. But Anne doesn’t. She’s thinks I’m still far from being the crack expert I should be. But I believe I am.”

Again we are quiet. Isabelle keeps looking alternatively at me and at the far wall where Anne’s picture is stuck up, her shape encircled nicely by the many cuts from my knives.

Finally, she opens her mouth and very softly says: “Mind if I ask you something?”


“Won’t you need an assistant?” Her cheeks flush crimson.

Now I too feel blood rise to my cheeks. “Maybe that’s not a bad idea,” I say, looking intensely into her dark beautiful eyes, “not at all, actually.” I can see she’s aroused too. “You want to eh… to apply?”

She confirms without words, keeping her eyes on me.

For a moment I hesitate, but then I take a deep breath. “Isabelle, dear, I would certainly like that. I really would. But, you know… I don’t think Anne would want you around. This is a very private thing.”

“But Alex,” Isabelle protests, her breathing accelerating and moving closer to me, “wouldn’t that just make it more thrilling? Like in that circus. If Anne is not cooperating willfully, shouldn’t that make it even more exciting.”

She’s right. What she says puts me on fire. “I never thought of that,” I confess, smiling back at her with a beating heart.

“Yes,” she says softly, “She should be unwilling.”

I don’t know what to say. But Isabelle goes on talking, like in a fever. “I have another idea,” she says. “Afterwards, I mean after the performance… we should also… like those two in the circus…” she doesn’t finish her sentence.

I feel very hot now. “You mean… kiss…?”

Isabelle speaks in a whisper now. “Yes… we should kiss… shouldn’t we? And… you know… Anne would have to watch us.”

“You little creep,” I say, “Is that what you want?”

“You bet I do,” she says, her face now red like a lobster.

“Isabelle,” I say very softly: “I like you very much and I would… I mean… eh… not mind at all to kiss you… and even… you know… But you are my wife’s best friend, and I’m her husband. That makes it different, I mean difficult.”

“Difficult or different?”

“Both,” I say, breathing much too hard.

She takes my head in her hands and draws my face to hers. “It’s not so difficult,” she whisper, “I’ll show you… just for practice.”

She kisses me.

Her lips are soft and her mouth is wet and warm. Soon we suck each other’s tongues. She’s as hot as I am and begins to fumble on my belt. But I break the embrace. “Wait, wait, Isabelle. Don’t run too fast. Let’s talk about these things first. Why don’t you stay for dinner? I make a good spaghetti and we can talk.”

So it’s not only Anne who has an unexpected planning meeting over dinner. When we’ve done our talking and taken decisions, Isabelle leaves to buy the CD before the shops close. I carry our sound system with its two enormous loudspeakers up into our bedroom, then get my power drill. Soon Anne’s photograph is taken down and four sturdy steel hooks, adorned with the leather cuffs, retrieved from the secret drawer that holds our kinky play things, are securely anchored in the thick wood paneling of our bedroom.

Close to ten that evening Anne comes home, entering through the kitchen door. She is surprised to see Isabelle sitting next to me, sipping tea. “That’s an unexpected pleasure. What brings you here this hour of the day?” She puts her loaded briefcase on the floor and sets herself on a chair next to us.

“We have a surprise for you, Anne,” Isabelle answers, “Have some tea first, and we’ll tell you.” While I poor her tea, Anne looks at me with a questioning face. “A surprise for me? And from the two of you?”

“Yes dear,” I say. “I’ve been telling Isabelle about your little fondness for knives.”

“No! You’re not serious, Alex!” Her face drains of color.

“Oh yes, he is serious, Anne,” Isabelle says, faking a sweet smile, “and I’ll be his cute little assistant.”

“You’re what?! Alex, what’s going on?”

“I’m afraid she’s right dear,” I say trying to remain calm at least in appearance. “You are going to undress for us, and then Isabelle and I, we’ll tie you up naked, and….” But Anne jumps like bitten by a dog, kicking over both her tea and her chair, yelling at me: “I don’t believe this! Isabelle is my best friend, Alex, you’re crazy! Raving mad! This is absurd! How can you think…”

But I quickly grab her wrists, pin them behind her back, and hold her steady while Isabelle, still smiling, gets off her chair. Anne now fights me, cursing me, almost frothing at the mouth, while Isabelle approaches her up front. “Stop screaming!” she says calmly. But Anne ignores her and screeches in a shrill voice, “Let me go! Let me loose! This is not happening! Help! Let me go!”

“Stop it!”, Isabelle shouts and slaps Anne straight in her face. That helps. She begins to shake all over her body and in a faint voice she stammers: “I don’t understand, Alex, Isabelle, please don’t make me do this, please!”

“Let’s get her upstairs,” I say to Isabelle. Anne gasps and at once attempts to wrench herself free again. “Nooo! Please! Stop it!” But we drag her to the stairs. She begins to scream and yell, struggling fiercely. We need all our efforts to tow her up, slowly one step after another. In the upstairs couloir she tries to kick our legs with her pointed boots. But it’s all in vain. Although Anne is much bigger and more fleshy than her small friend, Isabelle is younger, leaner and stronger. Together we finally succeed in pushing our victim into the bedroom, where she sags through her knees and falls on the floor in a sorry heap, whimpering and sobbing.

Right away I kneel down on the floor next to her and use the opportunity to quickly tie her wrists behind her. When I’m done, Isabelle pushes Anne with a foot and cruelly rolls her over onto her back. Smiling down sadistically on Anne’s now terror-stricken face, she slowly lifts one of her graceful legs, and carefully plants a high heeled shoe on her best friend’s throat. “Listen carefully, Anne, dear” she says, “Alex and I have decided it’s time for that knife show you’ve been craving for so long. So don’t complain. You should be enjoying this.”

“Nooo! Please noooo!” Anne whines from under Isabelle’s heel. “Alex, do something! That woman is mad! Let me go!” But Isabelle slowly presses down her shoe and Anne’s words become gargling sounds. “Be careful!” I shout, “She’s my wife, she’s not supposed to die! Alarmed Isabelle takes her foot off Anne’s throat, scared she went too far. Still kneeling down I wait until Anne’s voice comes rasping back. “Sorry about that love,” I say, “my lady assistant seems to be a bit overexcited. But you better stop fighting, resisting us only excites us more. You just found out how dangerous that can be.”

My words frighten Anne into a plaintive wailing. “Please Alex, don’t do this,” she pleads between sobs, “please, please!”

“Calm down love, nothing is going to happen. I’m just going to throw some knives at you. That’s what you should like, shouldn’t you?”

But Anne, trying to swallow, whimpers: “No, Alex please, I don’t. I don’t want it. I’m scared. You’ll hurt me. You’re not good enough. It’s all just a fantasy.” And to Isabelle she suddenly cries out: “Isabelle, I don’t know what he told you, but he can’t do it, can’t aim properly! Not yet! Believe me, I’ve seen it. You must believe me Isabelle! Please stop him. He’ll hurt me terribly! I’ll be cut, maybe killed! Please Isabelle, help!”

“Shss, darling,” I try to calm her, taking her face in my hands and looking into her eyes. “Don’t be so afraid. I love you. Nothing bad will happen. I won’t kill you and I won’t hurt you.” I try to kiss her. But she abruptly turns her head away. “Look at me!” I say. She hesitates but then reluctantly does. And now I kiss her gently. It seems to sooth her a little. “Please Anne, try to relax and just do as we say. I’ll release your hands and you will stand up and undress for us, won’t you?”

“No, I won’t, I can’t. Alex, please I’m so afraid,” she sniffles. “I’ll do anything for you, but not that… and certainly not with Isabelle here…” her words almost choke her. “And don’t do the knives… if you miss… you’ll hurt me horribly… I’m sure you secretly want to! You’re a sadist, you would enjoy it.” Suddenly her eyes grow big in fear. “If I’m killed, what will you do, run off with her?” She begins to cry in huge wails.

Now Isabelle also kneels down, next to me. “Anne,” she says softly, “Don’t be silly. I won’t run away with your husband. I’m your best friend. And Alex won’t run away with me either. He loves you. I know. Don’t be ridiculous. We’ll just play with you. He’ll throw and I’ll help him, be his assistant, just like that woman in the circus, hand him his knives. It’ll be fun. For you too.” And carefully she wipes Anne’s tears.

It looks like Isabelle’s words do have some consoling influence. For the first time Anne seems to regain a little control over herself, although her words are still drowned in some remaining tears. Looking her friend in the eyes, she says “Why Isabelle, why you?” The question seems a capitulation of sorts. “I’ll tell you, dear,” Anne replies with a smile that betrays more than a trace of licentious cruelty, “I just like to watch. Want to see you naked and helpless and tied to the wall, and Alex throwing his knives at you. It’ll give me the highest sexual kick of my life. And Alex too. I would love to see him getting hot. It’ll add to my kick. I like him, you see, just as I like you.” She waits a moment and then, in a warm, almost whispering voice, she adds: “And shouldn’t you get high on this also, if only from the terrible fright and humiliation you’ll have to endure?”

Oddly enough those words seem to have effect. Maybe Anne realizes she has no choice. Her breath grows less ragged. “But he’s no good at his knives. I’m so afraid. He’ll hit me,” she whimpers. But Isabelle shakes her head, assuring her repeatedly I’ve practiced long enough and that I’m really skilled. In the end Anne seems to surrender. She closes her eyes and rests her head on the floor, breathing fitfully.

“Well then Anne, my love” I say, trying to speak to her as kind and reassuringly as Isabelle did, “I’ll release your hands, and you’ll get up and strip for us, OK?” And to prove my trust in her I don’t wait for a reply and untie the rope at her wrists.

With a small motion of my head I gesture Isabelle to retreat, sit and wait on the bed. Then I help Anne stand up shakily on her legs. “Now, dear,” I say, kissing her still wet face, “show us that lovely body of yours. And try to enjoy it yourself.” With a soft pat on her shoulder I let go of her, and step back to join Isabelle on the bed.

But Anne does nothing. Just stands there and stares at us. “Alex,” she says to me, “I can’t… not with Isabelle and you together watching me like that. I just can’t. It’s too much.”

“Come on, you’ll do it,” I say, “Isabelle and I, we are a couple tonight. You have no choice. We both want to see you naked and to humiliate you. Want me to ask Isabelle to hit your face again? She’d love it.”

So Anne, seeing no way out, finally does as she’s told. Slowly she opens the zippers of her boots, steps out of them, and then stands on bare feet. I look at her encouragingly. But, seeing us watch her with such eager anticipation, the blood drains from her face. Yet, after some hesitation and with obvious reluctance, she begins to fumble with the buttons of her blouse, her fingers trembling. Soon it drops to the floor exposing two very well filled cups of her bra. Embarrassment and shame make Anne downcast her eyes and, I’m glad to see, cause her pale face to blush again. She’s got a big firm body, not thick or fat in an way, but just as I like it: lustful curves, good meat to bite into. I get up quietly and step behind her. She trembles as I open the little clip at her back, baring her luscious breasts. “Like them, Isabelle?” I ask over Anne’s shoulder, and from behind I grasp those big nippled full breasts in my hands and knead them.

A moan escapes Anne.

Isabelle’s face now flushes too. I can see how much the sight arouses her. “Wow.. they’re big,” is all she says.

Slowly I unclasp Anne’s jeans at her hip and pull the piece of clothing down to around her feet. Anne gives another moan and shivers as her beautiful thighs are unveiled. They are as juicy as her breasts. Together with her rounded belly and the small white slip, which still covers her most intimate part, Anne’s lush body is desirable as ever.

“Look at that,” Isabelle gasps, “she’s bloody wet between her legs!” I turn around to see, and indeed the slip shows a large damp stain. “Nice eh?” I laugh at Isabelle, “she really gets horny being humiliated.” And, returning to join Isabelle on the bed, I now order my trembling wife to pull that slip off.

She bends over and slowly obeys. “Jesus,” Isabelle says with a big sigh. What a fabulous fuck hole you have, Anne.” And, as we both watch a tear trickling down Anne’s face, she adds, “We should shave her, Alex. Without all that hair between her legs you could aim your knives even closer.” “Good idea,” I say, “that would make a beautiful bulls eye.” Those words are too much for Anne, and sagging through her knees, she falls down on the floor, crying again. I give Isabelle a sign. We both grab into the flesh of Anne body and drag her towards the target wall. She begins again to struggle and it takes a very strenuous effort to secure her flinging arms and her thrashing ankles to the wall. Once we’re finished, we step back, panting but satisfied. Anne shakes in her bonds and now cries like a lost girl. I just love to see her like this, helplessly spread eagled on the wall in voluptuous nudity and sobbing. It’s a very arousing sight and I’m getting hard under my belt. Isabelle seems to be no less excited. She gets up and for a long time stands close before Anne’s defenselessly exposed nakedness, drinking in how her friend jerks at her bonds, her breasts wobbling, her hips undulating and her head rolling from left to right against the wood behind it.

I leave the two of them to get my shaving stuff. When I return, Isabelle is stroking Anne’s loins with a cruel expression on her face. And Anne is so frightened that she has stopped crying and just trembles under Isabelle’s hands. “Alex, look,” Isabelle calls out at me, a big happy smile on her face, “See how wet she is?” and she runs her hand through Anne’s crotch, showing me her glistening fingers. “The bitch is in heat. When we shave her we could use her own juices in stead of water.”

I laugh, but nonetheless hand her a bowl of warm water, together with my razor, my brush and a tube of shaving cream. “Go ahead,” I say, “amuse yourself, but be careful, I want her clean and soft between those legs. No scratches, no blood.” Isabelle looks closely into Anne’s very frightened face and with a callous smile says, “No, I won’t damage her there, I’ll leave that to your knives,” causing Anne to panic and scream again.

I take a wet towel to tap Anne’s perspiring face in an attempt to alleviate her terror. “She’s joking love, don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.” I smile at her, trying to show I really do love her. “Please calm down and let Isabelle shave you.” I kiss her tears. “You must try to be still, I add, “stop shaking and you’ll see it’s over before you know.”

It works. Gradually Anne’s uncontrolled shivering stops, and she closes her eyes in surrender. Her cheeks are blushed a deep red. I think she’s finally letting go and submits to her own feelings of growing heat.

Soon Anne’s crotch is covered in thick foam. Isabelle expertly handles the razor. Thick wads of wet hair fall into the bowl. When she’s finished she dabs Anne’s now hairless mound with water. It actually heats Anne up, causing her breathing to accelerate and making the fleshy nipples of her breasts grow big and hard. Fresh moisture even begins to glistens between the swollen lips of her bald slit. “That’s enough, stop touching her!” I call out at Isabelle, “We don’t want her spent already, don’t we?”

Anne shivers like in a hot fever, gives off a strong moan of frustration and opens her eyes. “Please…” she says, in a barely audible whisper.

Isabelle steps back. “She certainly looks to me ready now to play target for your knives,” she says, stepping backwards across the distance of the room. Having reached the little night stand at my side of the bed, she opens its drawer and takes out my seven gleaming long bladed knives, then places them in a row next to each other on the bed.

I watch Anne closely for her reaction to what is going to happen. And I’m not disappointed. She begins again to shake uncontrollably in her bonds and shouts: “Noooo!! Don’t! Don’t do it! Nooooo!! Alex! Alex don’t!!” It is highly arousing to watch her in such panic. My member stirs inside my pants.

“Isabelle,” I say, “Please make her shut her mouth. I need to concentrate.” She smiles at my aping the words of that circus guy and gets out the silk shawl, which I had given her before. And while Anne shakes her head in vain attempts to evade her friend’s hands, the cloth is tightly wrapped and securely tied across her mouth. But Anne’s cries are still coming through quite strongly. “Maybe we should put something into her mouth as well,” Isabelle proposes, “How about her slip?” I look at the small piece of Anne’s underwear, still lying crumpled where it had been dropped on the floor. “Too small,” I say, “it won’t fill her mouth enough.” But Isabelle smiles wickedly. “Don’t worry, we have another one,” she says. She steps out of her shoes and lifts her dress, then pulls down a bright red slip, allowing me a stealthy peek at two dazzling thighs and a furry shadow high between them.

Anne wildly shakes her head and produces shrieks that pierce through the cloth over her mouth. But when Isabelle unwraps it from her face, Anne immediately presses her jaws firmly closed. I have to pinch her nose and Isabelle must clasp Anne’s jowl with great force, to pry her mouth open. Together we push both panties inside. I notice that Isabelle’s red one is quite moist too. Quickly we rewind the silk around her filled mouth, and now Anne’s screams come through only like muffled noise.

“Alex, we forgot something,” Isabelle suddenly says.


“Dressing up!”

I completely forgot. Immediately I face my beloved wife and elevate my arms like an airport traveler about to be searched for weapons. Anne watches me with puzzled eyes. Isabelle places herself behind my back and then wraps her arms around my rib cage. Slowly she starts to unbutton my shirt in full view of Anne’s astonished eyes. Pulling it off my shoulders she bares my upper body, just like that guy in the circus. She caresses my nipples, getting them hard. “See Anne, how I arouse your husband?” she asks and continues to stroke my chest and then the muscles of my stomach. Her hands are really heaven. My heart is pumping and below my belt my member has grown to full bloom. Then a hand descends and slips inside the waistband of my pants. She finds my flag pole and wraps her fingers around it. I begin to pant. Anne, breathing erratically, now stares with disbelieving eyes at the scene before her.

“That’s enough, love,” I say to Isabelle, seeing Anne suddenly close her eyes and moan. I take her hand away. “Let me find you a fitting dress.” I leave and when I return with Anne’s blue velvet bathrobe, I find Isabelle playing with Anne’s breasts, caressing their fleshy sides and nipples. Anne’s eyes are frightened wide and her head shakes in anguished refusal. “But Anne,” I hear Isabelle say, “They’re beautiful. I would love to see Alex’s knifes cut into…” “Stop it!” I shout, “don’t say stupid things. I won’t hurt her,” and I hand her Anne’s robe. “Go get your ass out of here and put this on.

Anne closes her eyes and gives a sigh of relief.

When Isabelle comes back she has loosened her hair, which falls down in flowing waves to just below her shoulders. She wears Anne’s much too wide bathrobe like a small girl dressed in a grown up’s gown. It’s obvious she’s nude below it. Very provocative. I have to restrain myself not to throw her on the bed and fuck her.

In stead I walk over to the far end of the room. Standing next to the bed I now address my poor wife, hanging and trembling breathtakingly sexy before our eyes. “My dear Anne,” I say, “This is the hour of our truth. I’m your Tarzan and this girl is my Jane. Keep that fine body of yours still and try to enjoy!”

But Anne’s eyes grow large in panic and I see beads of perspiration on her face. However, she wisely keeps her body, although still slightly trembling, as motionless as she can.

Isabelle now silently hands me my first knife, her eyes bright and sparkling. I take he blade by its tip, balance it between finger and thumb and then, teasingly slow, point its handle towards my lovely wife’s defencess body, taking aim carefully. My heart beats in overdrive. This is no photograph of Anne. This is her real flesh and blood body. I must be more careful than ever. It takes me a long time before I dare to throw. As I fold back my arm, Anne produces a muffled cry, then squeezes her eyes closed tight and holds her breath. The transpiration on her face has become profuse.


The blade sticks in the wall, but far below Anne’s tautly stretched arm. Bad throw.

“Jesus!” I hear Isabelle behind me.

“Be quiet Isabelle,” I say. When I look at her, she stands trembling, red faced, at my side.

I hold out my hand. “Next one, please.”

Slowly she hands it to me.

“Anne begins to shake her head again “Nnnngggg!”

“Silence!” I bark at her. “Hold still!” This time I try to be less nervous and to exert more control over the muscles in my arm. Again Anne’s eyes close tightly.


That’s much better.

The knife has hit the wood, the flat side of its blade almost touching the inside flesh of Anne’s thigh, just above her knee.

When Anne opens her eyes during the short reprieve before my next throw, a long extended wail muffles through her gagged mouth. Her face shines with sweat. But I also notice a drop of gleaming moisture that slowly descends down a thigh. She’s in high arousal.

“Where would you like me to throw the next one, Isabelle,” I ask. She answers in a hoarse voice. “Her throat, Alex, her throat.” Immediately Anne shakes her head in refusal and disbelief. “NNNNGGG!” Tears sprout from her wide open eyes and she begins to tremble violently.

“Right,” I say, “the throat.”

And again I aim a knife at my wife. But her trembling bothers me. I have to be careful. “Control yourself Anne,” I say, “you don’t want to have that lovely throat of yours cut.” But it takes minutes before she is able to regain control of her shaking body. In the end, however, she succeeds to hold herself reasonably still. She closes her eyes again and waits, holding her breath.

The knife flies.


A gasp from Isabelle.

The steel sticks in the wood so close to Anne’s throat that it almost razes the skin. Good throw. Anne’s gives a muffled groan and sags in her bonds. She opens her eyes. But, seeing that I already aim another knife at her, she quickly closes them again and freezes in panic.


The knife symmetrically sticks in the wood at the opposite side of her throat, and as close to the delicate skin as its predecessor.

Anne now jerks her body uncontrollably, spittle leaking from a corner of her gagged mouth.

“Holy shit!” Isabelle cries out, “she’s really scared to death. Isn’t that lovely!” Her hands move suggestively between the lower folds of the blue bathrobe.

I take a small washcloth and carefully wipe the now abundant love juice from Anne’s widely spread thighs and crotch. Immediately she climbs up the wall again, panting heavily from my touching her most sensitive nook. When her moans become loud and her body begins to shake, I stop. I want her on the brink, but not over it. That would spoil the fun. A long gagged wail of frustration passes through the soaked panties in her mouth.

When I return to Isabelle, and see her half dazed eyes, I pull her hands away from inside her robe. “Come on girl,” I say, “you can do that later. Give me another knife.”

She does.

“Where do you want it?”

Isabelle answer is barely audible. “A breast,” she whispers.

I aim carefully. Then throw!


The knife bites into the wood almost shaving the delicate skin that covers the ribs of Anne’s chest, and very close to one of her full breasts. Feeling the cold nearness of the steel, Anne immediately starts shivering again, her face in an expression of horrid fright.

“Hold still!”


The next knife cuts the wood near Anne’s other inner thigh, half way her crotch.

Anne is now breathing very fast, like a runner nearing the finish.

One last knife.

But I’m too excited. I need to regulate my breathing. Only gradually I am able to. ‘Just be careful,’ I silently tell myself, ‘very, very careful.’

Isabelle looks at me, her face distorted by sexual hunger. “Do it!” she breaths hoarsely, “I mean… hit the bull’s eye!”

I take a deep breath. “Right,” I say.

Anne, well aware of that final target I will be aiming for, immediately begins to make raucous noises barely dampened by the cloths pressing against her tongue and throat, shaking her head again more fiercely than ever. New tears burst from her eyes and whole sheets of sweat appear on her face. Her eyes have grown as large as saucers. It’s clear that a totally overwhelming panic now swamps her mind. She begins to jerk her legs, violently pulling on the shackles that hold her feet. It’s a fruitless attempt to close her thighs. She just frantically tries to protect that helplessly exposed entrance into her body, from being knifed.

And to be honest, I am also nervous. I don’t want to injure her, don’t want to hurt that yummy slit of hers, which I still hope to fuck for so many, many years to come.

To calm myself as well as Anne, I walk up to her shaking naked body as it is suspended so vulnerably on the wall of our bedroom. And as tenderly as I can I caress her loins, her breasts and her belly. Then I bend over and carefully put a soft kiss on her bald trembling cunt. “Listen my love,” I say, “It’s going to be OK. Just keep your haunches still and don’t breath. This is going to be the biggest thrill in your life. Believe me.” Softly I caress her smooth mound. Her crotch is sopping wet again and almost spasming against my fingers. “You’re getting nicely hot on this, dear, and so am I,” I say with a smile, “and so is our dear little friend over there.” Then I kiss her on both her hot cheeks. “I love you, I love you,” I whisper in her ear, “we both love you, trust me.”

When I am back at the other end of the room, I turn to Isabelle. “Lets go for it!”

While aiming the knife for the final throw, I see how Anne freezes stiff in her bonds, stretching her legs as much as she can, and again she forcefully squeezes her eyes shut.

“Open your eyes, Anne! I want you to see it coming!”

She does.

Fresh beads of moisture appear between her swollen labia.

The knife darts out…!



The blade has embedded itself vertically in the wood, its upper edge just barely touching Anne’s hairless femininity.

Absolutely perfect!

A shock wave runs through Anne’s suspended body, and animal like sounds well up from the gag that throttles her mouth. Her eyes roll up, showing white, and a huge orgasmic spasm ripples through her delectable body so beautifully hung before us. She comes with a force I didn’t know she possessed. And it seems to last for minutes, making her shake, jerk and tremble deliciously in her bonds. Isabelle and I are transfixed, fascinated and enthralled by the sight of it.

Finally a semblance of peace seems to return to Anne’s mind. She lets herself hang exhausted from the leather cuffs at her wrists, allowing the edge of the knife between her legs to precariously penetrate slightly into the succulent crease of her glistening cunt.

“Quick, put the CD on!” I say to Isabelle.

She presses a button and suddenly the room is filled with the noise of a huge applause. Now Isabelle takes my hand and the two of us bow deep to an imaginary public. A weak surprise wakes up Anne’s face. She’s still half gone from the world. But then she sees how Isabelle and I embrace and kiss each other long and deeply, and her eyes grow large. I press Anne’s body to me, inhaling her scent and tasting her tongue again. She’s all sex to me now, producing soft guttural moans and chewing my lips. Her smell is overwhelming and her body and breasts press into me, soft like butter. When I finally break the embrace I float sky high and Anne looks extremely distressed.

“Go put the CD off and get those knifes out of harms way.” I whisper. The applause dies and silence descends on the room. Teasingly slow, but very carefully, Isabelle now wrenches that last knife from its dangerous place between Anne’s legs, and then pulls out each of the other ones around her perspiring body. But if Anne believes she’ll be freed now, as the show is over, she’s mistaken. There is still a final act.

Smiling wickedly Isabelle walks behind me, and makes me face Anne again. Then she begins to move her pretty little hands erotically across my chest. Soon they lower themselves and massage my stomach. And finally, tantalizingly slow, her fingers slip once more below the waist band of my jeans. This time I don’t resist and right in front of Anne’s astonished face I myself open the buckle of my belt. The jeans drop down revealing to my anguished wife how one hand of her best friend has disappeared inside my briefs, moving the material suggestively. Then, slowly still, Isabelle peels down those pants and shows Anne my big standing member in all its splendor, her fingers closely wrapped around its steely shaft.

Anne’s expression changes from anguish to abhorrent horror. Now it’s my turn to move Isabelle around and push her in front of me. Thus I force my dear wife to see with growing alarm how I loosen the blue robe from her friend’s shoulders, exhibiting her small, naked and extremely sexy body.

“NNNNGGGG…. NNNNGGGG….” Again she shakes her head violently and tears reappear on her face. She knows what’s coming.

I turn around, gently lift Isabelle into my arms and carry her with me to the bed. Her body smells like a sea of flowers, her skin is soft as that of a young girl in the spring, her love mound is fresh and wet as thaw on a grassy mountain slope.

Slowly I lay her down, caressing her face, her throat, her breasts, her belly, her thighs and between her thighs. She moans loudly. I lick the small nipples of her tender breasts, then suck them until both our bodies melt in heat. She begins to squirm below me in incredibly lustful movements.

From the corner of my eyes I see how Anne hangs in her bonds like a defeated wife, silent tears flowing from her eyes.

Isabelle begins to cry: “Alex! Fuck me! Fuck me… please, please Alex!”

I spread her legs with both my hands and lower my loins between them. And then, greatly enjoying how my wife is forced to watch us fornicate, I enter her, enter that delicious body of her dear friend, thrusting myself all the way into the tight entrance she holds up for me between her heaving legs. Yelping in pleasure she wraps her legs around my haunches and, hooking her feet behind my back, lifts her hips high to press me still deeper into her. “Alex, I love you,” she screams, “I love you! I love you!” And she locks me in her arms and kisses my face all over.

Lost in feverish pleasure I now mirror her words, crying out “I love you too my lovely, my Isabelle, I love you too!” And thus begins our frenzy dance of passion, our hips meeting, retreating again, meeting again, in ever faster waves, until the fireworks explode, and I jettison my seed in long spurts into her, while she cries out in a waves and waves of orgasmic spasms, clamping my body like a vice grip and digging her nails into my back.

It takes a long while before we both have stopped panting and I, sliding wet out of her, lie myself besides her on my back. Anne, opposite us, still hangs in her bonds. Tears flowing, her eyes in horrid revolt at the sight of her husband and her best friend having gratified themselves with such delight in each other.

“Isabelle,” I now say, “don’t you think we should take Anne off that wall. She’s earned a reward, don’t you think?” Isabelle smiles at me, “Yes, let’s put her here between us. I’d certainly like another round.” Her eyes laugh twinkling and coyly she asks: “Do you think you can bring that lovely prick of yours up again?” I smile and kiss her. “Of course I can, dear Isabelle.”

So we both get up, unclasp the leather cuffs at Ann’s wrists and feet, and slowly let her sink down on the floor. She is still crying soundlessly. “Listen Anne, dear wife of mine,” I say softly, “Don’t yell at us when I take that gag off.” She nods between her tears, and I free her mouth, pulling the two wet panties out, soaked and drooling with spittle. She retches, coughs and swallows several times, then lets us help her stumble to the bed to be gently put down on her back. She doesn’t speak.

Anne and I lie down on each side of her and begin to caress her over her whole body, providing her with a soothing slow massage, gliding our fingers sensually over all the hills and valleys of her voluptuous body. And indeed, little by little it makes her stop crying. She closes her eyes and gradually her breathing accelerates. Soon I am getting hard again, kissing her nipples while Isabelle sucks her mouth. I stroke her thighs and calves, Isabelle licks her throat. I sniff her arm pits, Isabelle kisses the nape of her neck. I put my hand low behind her and knead an ass cheek, Isabelle takes the other one. “We love you, Anne, we love you.” Isabelle breaths. “Yes, my precious,” I add kissing Anne’s breasts, “we both love you. Please give yourself to us, embrace us and send us high into the sky.”

Soon Anne is as much back in heat as we are. Isabelle crouches up, seats herself across Anne and rubs her wet cunt against Anne’s breasts. I settle myself between the lush thighs Anne obligingly spreads for me, and take hold of Isabelle around her middle like a duo rider on a galloping horse. Isabelle now shifts her hips beyond Anne’s breasts and places her crotch over Anne’s mouth. Suddenly she cries out: “Oh Anne, Anne! Your tongue! It kills me! Yes! Suck me! Like that! Yesss… harder! HARDER!!”

The words make me lose all restraint. I push Isabelle down foreward, make her frail body fall over Anne’s face, arch my back and enter my wife with sudden brutal force, mercilessly impaling her the way she loves so much. The firm flesh of her body begins to squirm and twist below the two of us, like a storm at sea. Loosing all control she cries, half smothered from under Isabelle: “Yes… fuck me! Fuck me! Alex, don’t stop! Don’t stop! FILL ME! KILL ME!”

Within minutes the three of us convulse together in one huge orgasmic frenzy. Isabelle screams “I’m cumming! I’m cumming!” Anne, gasping for air below the agile squiggling body of her friend, which I still embrace from behind like a drowning man, breaks into a huge orgasm herself, twisting and writhing like her life depends on it. And I, still deep inside Anne’s shuddering body, bite into Isabelle’s side, and spurt into Anne’s belly, filling her with a huge eruption of gushing seed, my spear wedged firmly between the spasming muscles of her cunt.

Thus we finally end up on the crumpled sheets of our martial bed, a tangled heap of arms, legs and warped bodies, panting and exhaustively satisfied.

After we have lazily freed ourselves from each other’s sweating bodies, my cherished wife gently takes Isabelle’s face in her hands and kisses her on her mouth, then turning to me she kisses me too. “Thank you,” she whispers, “thank you so much Isabelle and you too, Alex, you’re such a nice couple, and so wonderfully cruel.” And after a deep sigh she adds, “I love you, both of you, I’ll never forget this night, it’s been heaven.” Then she curls her body cozily up between the two of us,

Soon we are all peacefully asleep in each other’s arms.

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