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The Edge

Category: BDMS
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I never head him coming up behind me.

By the time James had his hands on my wrists, had my arms twisted up behind my back, it was too late – I was in his control. It was all I could do to keep the smile from my lips when I felt his breath hot against my ear.

“You’re mine, little one . . . MY little fucktoy”

My teeth bit into my bottom lip to stifle a moan. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, his masculine scent filling my head.

“Yes, Sir. Your’s Sir,” I managed to stammer.

He shoved me down the hall to the bedroom, my toes barely touching the ground. His every motion was barely controlled lust, his touch insistent, his grip so tight on my wrists I knew I would be wearing long sleeves for a week.

The bedroom door kicked open, the room behind dimly lit with candles placed around. Whatever James was planning, it was clearly nothing spur-of-the-moment. I barely had time to take it the scene when he slammed me face down to the bed. His hand snaked into my hair, jerking my head back.

“I’m going to take you….use you… make you beg for it”

This time the moan spilled unbidden from my lips, “yessss . . . please Sir . . . ”

He flipped me to my back, his knees pushing my legs wide. I waited for him to tear my clothes off, watching his eyes, so dark, so filled with an almost angry need.

To my surprise he guided my hands to leather cuffs, snugging the cool black leather against my wrists. He smiled ferally down at me, drawing my arms tight, shortening the straps on the cuffs until my shoulders ached.

He moved down the bed to my legs. His hands were firm, warm even through my jeans. My spread thighs quivered under his touch. I felt him remove my sandals, gasping as his hands brushed over my bare skin, feeling an almost electric spark jump from him to me.

He slipped rope loops around my ankles, tensioning them, forcing my legs wide.

“But sir I’m still dress-”

His hand closed around my throat, jerking my gaze to his.

“Silence. I will NOT tell you again. Do you understand?” His eyes were dark, glittering shards of obsidian as he looked down.

“Yes Sir,” I swallowed another protest.

James stood from the bed . . . blowing out a few of the candles, lowering the already dim light in the room. He pressed a button on the CD player, filling the room with a low, smoky saxophone solo. The volume was just loud enough that the music filled my ears, and tied as I was I couldn’t quite see what he was doing off to the side of the bed. I felt the bed shift under his weight again, saw his hands move over my face, snugging the blindfold in place – and plunging me into darkness. He ran fingers over the edges of the black velvet, ensuring it would stay in place and then got up from the bed.

The blindfold and the music left me completely cut off. I was lost in a tiny black bubble, my universe drawn down to a tiny sphere. I moved my head back and forth, straining for any hint of where he was. I ached for his touch, his presence. Tugging experimentally against the leather confirmed that the cuffs were tight and not likely to release me. I was completely under his control, and I wasn’t even sure where he was.

And I loved it. My body was alive, every nerve tuned like a taut wire, my pussy so wet I could feel the hot flow of my juices against my shaven skin.

The music dipped low, the sax trailing off as one song ended and another began. For a moment I thought I heard him breathing, thought I could feel him close but dismissed it as an over active imagination brought on by my sensory deprivation.

Then I heard the low, cold metallic “click” in my ear.

It was so close, so sudden, I tensed against my bonds. My mind raced to identify the sound. What was it? What toy do we have that sounds like that? What was he planning? It was only when I felt the cold metal flat against my cheek that I recognized the sound, one I had heard many times – just never in the bedroom.

His cherished Swiss Army Knife.

I could barely breathe. I didn’t want to move a muscle, wanted to deny the fear I felt racing through my body, cold tendrils coiling in my gut.

The metal slid down along my throat, trailing a line of chill over my skin. Involuntarily, I swallowed hard, the edge shifting against me. My mind was a whirlwind. He’s not cutting me . . . not yet. My god what is he planning? I knew he took great pride in his boyhood knife, still carried it in his back pocket. But mostly what was filling my mind at that moment was how he always made sure its edge was keen. I had a flash to just the day before when he had honed the blade and checked its sharpness by slashing cuts through the edge of a piece of paper.

The tip of the blade pressed against the hollow of my throat, a pinprick on my skin. The blade turned in his hand . . . the edge . . . my god where was he going to use the edge?

The fabric of my T-shirt parted like a whisper cutting through silence. I sagged against the bed, suddenly aware of the tension in my arms and legs. He worked deftly, almost surgically, slitting the shirt from my body, leaving only my bra. My nipples were chips of stone, hard, begging for his touch, his mouth, the smooth fabric of my bra feeling like a prison for them, but he moved on.

The tip of the knife dimpled my skin again, tracing tiny circles. It’s sharp enough that I might not even feel it if he cuts me. He slid the blade flat against my stomach, the tip pushing under the waistband of my jeans.

“No, baby these are my good-“ My protest was cut short by his hand on my mouth, gripping my face roughly. I felt the bed shift, his mouth pressed to my ear.

“I warned you. Now I am telling you. The next time you open your mouth, I’m going to smack your pretty face. If you understand, then you will nod. Don’t speak even to answer me. Clear?” My cunt throbbed and I nodded as best I could in his grip.

He put his hand back on the handle of the knife, twisting it suddenly, jerking the metal against my skin. The denim tore under his attack, but not nearly as easily as my thin shirt. He slit my jeans all the way down one slender leg, then back up the other. His hands finished the job, ripping the fabric from my body, casting it aside.

The warm air of the room caressed my bare skin and I flushed when I realized how wet I was. I was sure he could see the effect he had on me, knew that the thin white cotton panties I was wearing were no doubt slick with my heat, almost transparent against wet flesh. I twisted as best I could against my restraints, wanting his touch, any touch against my sex. My body craved him in a way I had never felt before, made all the worse for the way he seemingly ignored my need.

He lay the open knife on my stomach and got up from the bed. Again, I was lost, adrift. I wanted to know where he was, but the music and the blindfold stymied my efforts. All I could feel was a burning, growing lust in the centre of my being like a burning coal. I could catch snippets of activity, a half-heard movement on the hardwood, a rustle of something moving, but other than that I was alone.

His hand closed over the handle of the knife and I felt his warmth near me again. As his legs touched mine I realized he had stripped and was lying with me, naked. His cock brushed against my leg and I bit my lip to stifle the low, shuddering moan that filled my throat. He was hard, so hard, slick with precum, and obviously as aching with need as I was.

James moved again, the bed rocking under his weight. Suddenly I felt his knees on either side of my head, and his cock against my cheek, slicking my skin with his precum. I leaned my head back towards him, lips parted, tongue seeking his manhood. My lips closed over the swollen head, filling my mouth with the taste of him.

“Jessusssssss. . . .” he hissed.

His hand cupped the back of my head, and he slid his hips forward, forcing more of his cock into my mouth. I moaned hungrily around him, straining My head back to take more of his erection. I was a wanton, drooling slut, aching to be used, needing him inside me. My pussy contracted with each thrust of his hips, each grunt of pleasure echoed by my own body. He drove forward and I felt my throat bulge as his cock speared deeper. I swallowed obediently around the thrusting head, needing him deeper, wanting him to fuck my throat. Every motion of his hips drove me closer to cumming, the slick feel of my pussy rubbing against itself driving me insane.

With a low groan, he drew back from my mouth, withdrawing his cock. I almost cried in frustration as he moved away from me, leaving me with his taste filling me mouth, his scent in my nose.

He slid the blade up between my ample breasts, the metal now warmed from contact with my skin. I felt my bra part like a cloud, the thin lace offering no resistance. He teased the blade against my nipples, and this time no force on earth could have stopped the groan from escaping me. I felt him move suddenly as I gasped, then a prick of sudden pain, the warm up welling against my skin as a single drop of blood spilled over my flesh. My pussy convulsed at this sensation. My god . . . if he keeps this up, I’ll cum before he touches me.

His hand against my panties was warm, almost hot on my flushed skin. He traced the outline of my shaven folds with his fingertip, my hips bucking against his touch. His hand lay flat on my tummy, pressure holding me in place down on the covers.

“Be still, pet. I don’t want to cut you again.”

The knife edge under the waistband of the cotton panties was almost too much to bear. The moan that spilled from my mouth was an agonized, choking sob of animal need. The back of the blade pressed against my hard clit as he turned the knife to cut my panties from my body. The air was cool on my bare folds, exposed at last. Again, the sudden sensation brought my body to the edge of the precipice. My head swam, overwhelmed by him, by his assault on my senses.

I was laid bare before him, physically and mentally, all defences stripped as surely as my clothes. Great wracking sobs escaped my throat, wanting to beg, knowing he’d punish me if I did.

He cut the ropes holding my legs, leaving the loops tight on my ankles. I though he was going to release me, but instead his hands were on my thighs, pushing them wide. My hips lifted into the air, offering my body to him. I felt his cock, hot . . . hard . . . slick, pushing into my sex.He entered me slowly, my god so slowly. I marvelled at his self control; by this point I was a wreck. I bit my lip hard, straining against every impulse to release, to let the orgasm overtake me.

The CD spun to a stop, the sudden silence of the room filled only with our breathing. He had barely moved after entering me, my pussy pulsing and gripping his invading erection, his hands gripping my thighs. He drew back slowly, his cock moving easily in my dripping folds.

“Cum for me.”

Even before he drove forward, slamming my body to the covers, as soon as his words penetrated the haze of desire overwhelming my thoughts – my body reacted. The glowing ball of need at my core became an explosion, orgasms rippling through me as he took me. His motions became more frantic, hammering into me savagely. He ripped the blindfold from my eyes, my unfocussed gaze meeting his at the moment his own control slipped away, the civilized veneer over the animal beneath torn aside. I was his toy, possessed as surely as if his name were emblazoned on me. I watched his eyes close, felt his body tense against mine, felt his muscles tighten, and came around him again in anticipation of his release.

With a low, ragged growl of pleasure, he came explosively, hot cum erupting deep inside my quivering walls. His body pistoned back and forth a few final times, forcing tiny mewls of pleasure from me. Finally, his body sagging against me, he rested his head against my breasts, slick with our commingled sweat, marked with my lifeblood. My legs wrapped around his, drawing him tighter against me.

The last candle gave a sputter, a hiss and died, plunging the room again in darkness, leaving James and I alone in a world of murmured pleasures.

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