Guest blog: Knife play

Image by the brilliant Stuart F Taylor

This week’s guest blog tackles something super-intense: knife play. It also does something that I adore, in that it tells the story from two perspectives, giving an insight into what each partner is thinking during the session…

As with anything sharp and shiny, safety comes first.If you’re interested in knife play, then check out this safety guide and, of course, negotiate and communicate with your partner.

The author wanted me to add a particular note to this post: “My partner and I play without a safeword. It’s something we’ve both discussed at length and have agreed upon together. He is a medic, is trained in and trains others in martial arts and we have both had extensive training in body language and the subtle nuances of human behaviour and the human body. Whilst this works for us, I’m not suggesting this kind of practice for others – it’s all about knowing and trusting yourself, your partner and your relationship.”

Please welcome Alice and the Wolf.

Knife play: My Side

It started off with me talking about caging his cock of all things! You see, there’s a real test of wills between us, a battle for power between us and we switch between who’s dominant and who’s submissive quite easily and quickly.

So I’m there talking about caging his cock and he mentions some household item. A lightbulb moment later and I’m looking through the kitchen drawer to see what I’ve got and whilst there’s various things, they’re all too small for his cock. I was about to close the drawer when he spotted and took out a knife. This is where things get a little hazy for me…

I panicked a little but I was relatively calm and actually quite amused because I thought he was just going to tease, just to see my reaction and feel the power of knife play for himself. He didn’t just tease though.

He started to trace the knife across my neck and down my chest. I knew he wasn’t cutting my skin but I could feel the knife scratching it. I had so many instincts – to stay completely still, to move away, to jump at the touch, to moan – that I think I overloaded my brain and it shutdown, and as a result I only remember snippets:

He gently kissed the skin where he had traced the knife.

He cut my hair to show how sharp the knife was. I bristled a little bit and thought how dare he cut my hair, but it made me realise I was his and he owned every bit of me.

He talked. He demonstrated. Martial arts, knife training, how to kill someone… I don’t really know, I can’t remember. All I remember was how turned on I was, how hot it was on the most primal level. I melted hearing him talk about his craft, about his skills, all while he’s holding a knife to parts of my body.

He moved down towards my cunt…

I wish I could remember even half of it. It was pure fear, trust and a weird sense of calm. It was just us in the moment. I couldn’t have broken out of it if I’d tried. I couldn’t have safeworded. He had me. Completely.

Towards the end I could barely stand. I couldn’t think or speak and he sensed it. He placed the knife down and carried me upstairs, laid me on the bed and pulled me up into him. It took me a long time to come around and when I did, I couldn’t really remember what we’d just done but I felt safe, warm and content in my confusion and with him.

Knife play: His Side

I laugh to myself at the idea of her trying to cage and restrain me. Has she not realised what I’m capable of?! Have the talks not indicated in a gentle way how bad I can be, how close to the surface the beast really is? Caging my cock though? Yeah, I guess I haven’t been trained to escape that – that WOULD be a bit more difficult and she’s smart enough to talk me into it; her hold on me is strong.

As I follow her into the kitchen I can smell her. Her cunt is wet and the air about her has changed. She’s turned on. She’s trying to focus on the task in hand, but her body. Her body wants me. Her sweat has changed and her breathing rate enhanced. I can feel her pulse through the air. And I want her.

She opens the drawer looking for things, which will be able to house my cock before it goes hard. Ha! She’ll have a job. Everything she picks up is tiny, and let’s face it, if a woman as beautiful as her held it then it wouldn’t be flacid for long, even if I had just come. As she’s closing the drawer my eyes are drawn to it – the blade shining, a handle asking for my hand. I pick it up and she nervously giggles trying not to make eye contact. Her heart rate increases slightly as a flash of fantasy presents itself to me via her pupils, and I push the knife to her throat.

She’s terrified and makes a slight murmur of panic. She’s unaware. It’s real, this fear. She’s never fantasised about this. I’ve gone past her limits. Pushed past her imagination. Gone too far, and this time, she’s truly mine. No more is she exploring her own boundaries. There’s safety in that. But there’s safety in me. I can take her on a journey, she can see where the real monsters reside….

She’s relaxed slightly. Tonic immobility – the definition of to freeze in the presence of real life threatening and inescapable danger, to reside in defeat, animalistic instinct and ultimate taboo of survival. She’s not breathing. Terror, her eyes vacant. I have complete control here. She’s gone too far in and needs me to be in control. I speak, and she breathes again.

The knife against her throat, I press it firmly against her skin so as to part the upper most parts of her flesh, but not enough to draw blood. If she bleeds I won’t be able to control myself. Her smell. Her taste. It’d be in the air. I’d be animal, not man. It’s been a heavy day, and although she’s brought me back from it once before I’m afraid she won’t be able to today….

I bring the knife across her flesh from the front of her throat to the side of her neck. Slowly it slides. Slowly I move, and slowly she breathes, her heart slow and steady, waiting for my decision. A white line of broken cells is left as I trace. I stop at her jugular allowing her pulse to push the knife further to the beat of her life. It’s steady and the knife pulsates like my cock does. It wants to break into her as much as my cock does. As much as I want to break her…

I whisper into her ear what I intend to do, but it’s wasted. She’s gone. I tell her she’s safe and she nods, but it’s clear she’s not here. I change my grip and bring the knife back across her throat and slowly down to her chest. Her heart is slow but I can feel it vibrate up the shaft of the knife. She’s alive. The knife ricochets off a few strands of her golden hair as I work my way downwards. Her tits are firm and proud and I can’t take my eyes off them as I slide the knife down her body. I want them – to suck on them and squeeze them but later. The knife meets her navel and her skin becomes more tender. The trace line is now red and she winces slightly.

The knife now at her lips I turn the blade sideways and press the tip against her clit. She tenses for a split second and again her breathing stops. And again, she’s unaware of any of this. I own her. Her body and soul. It’s mine and I’m aware as I gently bring the blade further down her cunt and to the entrance of the place my fingers know all so well….


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