Steel is like ice, cold and unused. Bared in play, at the ready, it warms to the skin, as the flat is revealed and warmed by an expert.
She laid the blade on his shoulder with the air and practice of years of knowledge.
His pulse thumped in response to the knife. Inches from his neck, it bit with cold.
"Can you feel how sharp it is?" She pulled the blade backward so the steel dragged along his skin. "The nip of its frost."
His breath caught.
Lifting the blade, she put it back where it began.
He could feel the thick warmth reaching up for the knife. The thud as it surged, fighting its way up his blood stream.
A horn blared outside.
Startled him, and he jerked.
The blade shifted.
But his skin tried to reach for it, to lay itself open, the raw edge of razor sharp.
"Easy, pet." Her voice was thick like syrup.
The hammer of his heart didn't care, would not be still. The knife, cold and hard was warming, drawing the heat from his skin and he wanted it, that heat in him. His pulse sounded time with his need.
She touched a finger to his cheek. Caught a drop of his sweat and brought it to her mouth. "Mmm, luscious." The blade stroked backward again, lifted and was reset. "I enjoy it when your emotion trickles in lickable lines." Leaning forward, she tongued him from jaw to temple, scoring the whiskers and making him shiver.
He wanted it. Needed it. His cock so desperate it jutted pain that fairly split his control in two.
Brushed her fingers over him. Looked intently into his eyes and she traced those same delectable caresses over her corset.
He closed his eyes. Could barely stand it. He'd hardened, the minute she pulled the knife. Freed the stiletto. Tiny, barely two inches, set in a sheath sewn into her corset. Snuggled between her breasts and those nails dipped in blood-red polish had reached between Double Ds and freed a bona fide piece of hardcore delight. The stiletto's name was Honey. He practically came when she laid it against flesh, but she wouldn't allow it. Made him wait for it. Want it. Give her more.
"Look at me." The command in her voice made his eyes fly open. She was angry, and the syrupy sound was strained.
* * *
Hell! He understood. He wanted it - this - the blade. But for a word, and the possibility of a new mark, each a sweet memory of deliverance, he would be doubly good, anything she wanted.
Heat bellowed like a furnace through his body. Made his muscles need to move and pump. Push that warmth out and find the cool. The blade was hot, catching every rise in his temperature.
The flat moved closer to his neck. The steel rubbed and teased his flesh.
He sucked in breath between clenched teeth: Short, airy pants.
It was drawn down his body. The blade lingered over sweet spots: heart, nipples, stomach and navel.
When it reached the groin, he could barely breathe. His gut was sucked so far into his lungs, he dared not move.
It was there. Right at the spot! The head of his cock, it shivered and swelled. How he wanted to spew!
A trickle of cum pushed from the head. Gentle. Mindful. Yet still in control.
"Mark me," a bare whisper of his voice.
"You're not ready. You don't get it." She teased him, her voice as thick as his, that syrupy sound gaining heaviness.
"I am. Please."
Eyes bored into his. "As Mistress, I will say when, and if the time happens."
Instantly, the knife was at shoulder. He resisted the urge to lean, to push it toward his throat and let the knife slice so deep there was no return. But he could not, never would, allow himself to lose everything for one second of sensation; so much better to have more, many more experiences of pure rush.
Realization hit his consciousness like a ton of bricks: No return vs. the rush! He wasn't really thinking this.
Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. Fuck! What was he doing? His nuts drew higher and tighter. Until pain and killer control gave his mouth a bitter wash.
"Yes," she said. "That's it! Taste it: want and fear mingled. Fulfilled or denied." Her lips drew the words out slowly. "To mark you, or not, what shall I do?"
"Please-" Heat laid a sheen on his body. Sweat a layer as thick as silk. It oozed up and out every pore and clothed the naked husk of his body.
"Please what? Give me the craving..."
Dry mouth made his tongue work. Swallowing did something to the vibration of his throat and he coughed. His body jerked, as he caught himself.
She smiled. Fingers flexed. Knife slid, and set the slice.
Mouth opened. Cum spurted.
Covered her corset in a wash of wet.
He watched. Saw the red line of drip seek its way down his body. Fear chilled him as desire pulsed.
They leapt together, did their dance of sanctity, before ripping apart in a second spasm of disarray.
Red lips, the color of his blood, smiled at him. She wiped the edges of the blade with expertise, against the bone farthest left on her corset. The smear was picturesque against the white backdrop. Honey in all its sharp glory was sheathed between those glorious double-Ds. Fingers sought his skin, where the stiletto had made its mark.
His eyes rose to hers, the well of emotion too great to communicate. "Mistress. My gratitude."
She stroked a finger down the trail on his skin. "Sweetly said, my slave. An expert knows how to deliver."
Note: "This story was written for reader gratification." I am fascinated with mindset and what speaks to the individual. This story is FICTION and knife play is neither being advocated nor encouraged. Knifeplay is a vast topic, and information is available from experts, lectures, books, workshops, and guides for the person who wants to delve further. Please be thoughtful and aware.
