Straight Edge

It came in a black leather slip case. And even before he showed her what was inside, Kim noticed that the case was worn, frayed at the edges.

“It belonged to my father,” Denis told her, “but I never saw him use it. My guess is that it belonged to his father. That would make it at least 80 years old.”

Kimberly was sitting at the edge of the bed as Denis explained this to her. As usual, she was naked, and as usual he was fully clothed. It was always like that when they played their little games.

She didn’t know yet what he had planned for today. But whatever it was, the best she could hope for was that at the end, he would reduce her to a mass of quivering, whimpering flesh. He would bring her to the brink of orgasm several times, make her beg to be allowed to cum, and then finally grant her release.

When the trembling had finally subsided, without having to be asked, Kim would willingly get down on her knees before her lover. Then he would unzip his trousers. He would brush the crown of his penis across her cheek, and then she would be allowed to kiss and taste his smoothness. Finally, he would stuff his erect penis into her waiting mouth.

He brought with him the leather strap. It was about two feet long, and Kim was familiar with it’s workings. It had a chrome plated squeeze clamp at one end. The loose end would go through the clamp and the belt would be pulled tight; it would be impossible for her to open.

“Your wrists, please, cross them in front of you.” Like all good submissives, Kimberly obeyed her lover’s instruction. He put the leather loop around her wrists and pulled it tight. Then he opened the slip case and showed her the straight razor.

“It’s probably not as sharp as it should be, so I’ll have to be extra careful.”

That’s what Kim had always been told, that a dull knife was always the most dangerous. She wondered if that was also true of a straight edge razor.

“Your hands, please, in back of your neck.”

In that position, her breasts were thrust forward. Her nipples were already hard, from fear of the blade, and from arousal. Slowly her lover caressed the top slope of her breast, and then her sensitive nipple, with the flat of the blade. Then he caressed the underside of her heavy breast. His hand moved so slowly, teasing her, tormenting her. Finally, he turned the blade over and moved his hand slowly upward, back towards her nipple.

“Just the feel of the blade against your tit, and the fear of being cut, and my guess is that your cunt is like a lake right now.” How could he know she was that easy? All he had to say is she might get cut, as he moved the sharp edge of the blade across her nipple, and she was like a lake. “So if you lay back on the bed and open your legs, I’ll be able to see how wet you really are.”

Denis helped her lean back on the bed, and Kimberly quickly pulled up her feet to the edge of the bed. When she was comfortable, Kim opened her legs wide.

“Kiss me, Denis, please, kiss me on the lips, before you do anything else to me,” Kim whispered softly.

Fear. The razor brought back so many memories. The knife against her throat, the terror she felt, and then the guilty pleasure, masturbating over and over again, thinking of the faceless man holding a knife against her throat.

This was different. The first time she explained the fantasy, Denis suggested and explanation.

"I have a face, and you know I would never cut you," he told her in an e-mail, “unless you specifically asked me to," he added as an afterthought. Those six words at the end of the sentence brought a gush of wetness between her legs.

Did she want him to cut her? Or was it only the fear factor, the fear of the unknown, the fear of not being in control. All of this was fairly plausible, and at the same time terribly exciting, as Denis lowered her to the bed, and then gently kissed her on the lips.

G-d, she wanted him so badly, wanted to taste his tongue in her mouth, wanted to feel his penis in her vagina, wanted to feel his razor on the insides of her thighs or against her clit.

"Please, don't torture me, she begged," put your tongue in my mouth, "please," she whispered. But Kim knew torture was what he did best, and torture was exactly what she craved.

"You look very pretty like this, such a pretty face." Then Denis caressed her cheek with the blade of the razor. "In the Clint Eastwood movie 'Unforgiven' the whore had such a pretty face before someone cut her. She was a big, buxom girl like you, with such a pretty face. It was such a shame someone had to cut her."

Then Denis held the cut throat razor against her cheek one more time, as he looked deep into her eyes.

Her cunt was dripping wet, both from fear, and from desire. Words could not express how badly she wanted this man who had taken control of her life.

In her mind's eye, days after the event, the image of the razor was very vivid. The handle was black, of plastic, or perhaps hard rubber if the razor was really 80 years old. But it was the blade that fascinated Kimberly, fascinated her, and terrified her.

When she first told Denis about her knife fantasies, about her edge fantasies, she told him about the boss who had terrorized her with a folding pocket knife. But this was different. This wasn't a knife with a curved blade. The razor blade was a short, stubby, mean looking thing, less than three inches long, and only a half inch wide.. You couldn't use it to carve a whistle, and it wouldn't be much good if you were stranded in the woods. And unless you knew what you were doing, it would almost impossible to shave with.

If you were careless, Kimberly thought in horror, you could slice off a woman's nipple, especially if she was squirming and wriggling on the bed as her lover pressed the flat of the blade very close to the sensitive little nub.

So many thoughts - so many things to consider. Kimberly had started something, but it had somehow gotten out of hand. She really didn't think that Denis would bring the razor, it was just a joke, something he had made up. That was what she thought, that her lover was making it up, that the razor was something he told her about as an excuse to write another story.

Then they met at the familiar motel, and after she undressed, he showed her the worn leather case and told her what he knew of the blade’s history.

“We don’t know much about the old man, except that he was from Northern Italy. One cousin told me that my grandfather was a drunk and a wife beater – and I suspect I may have inherited his degenerate genes.”

Without waiting for a reply, Denis unfolded the razor, and started to tease her with the blade, caressing her stiff nipples, looking into her eyes, studying her reaction, looking for the fear in her eyes. Then Denis put the leather strap on her wrists, and asked her to put her hands behind her neck.

"This is about trust," he told her. "You do trust me, don't you?"

Kimberly knew the answer to that question, knew that Denis would never really hurt her more than she wanted. That in itself was a confession, that she loved the pain she inflicted upon herself, that she loved putting the clips on her nipples and then squeezing them harder and harder as she masturbated, thinking of Denis, hoping that one day he would torture her like the ways she tortured herself.

After he helped her lay back on the bed, Denis kissed her on the lips, then each stiff nipple, and then her lips again.

"Your arms, please, over your head, stretch them out." Kim was lying across the bed. Denis brought the familiar leather strap, the one he used to bind her wrists tightly together. Then he went to his case, and brought back the luggage straps. Each was about 8 feet long, black with a red strip down the center, and a bright chrome buckle.

Denis used the first strap on her wrists, tying her arms over her head and then down to the bed frame. Then he started with her left ankle. He formed a loop, and the loop went around her ankle, and then Denis pulled it tight.

"Bend you knee, I want your ankle tight against your thigh."

Quickly the strap went twice around her thigh and ankle, and then Denis tied the end tight to her ankle. Then he pulled the free end to the one side, opening her wide, and finally tying the end to the underside of the bed frame.

Denis looked down at her, caressed the inside of her thigh with the razor, and then secured her other leg and ankle in the same fashion. The gash of her shaved pussy was clearly visible. Her labia were wet and puffy with arousal.

"You look very pretty, Kimberly. Pretty and open and vulnerable. Such pretty tits, such sensitive nipples." Then Denis pressed the sharp edge against her nipple. She didn't want to move – no, it was more than that, she was afraid to move. Dear G-d, please, please don't let him cut me, Kim prayed to herself.

After her tits, Denis stroked the blade against her belly, and then on the inside of one thigh.

"I want you to think about something, dearest Kimberly," Denis began. "In some parts of Africa, it is the custom to circumcise little girls."

At first Kimberly had no idea what he was talking about. Circumcision was something you did to a little boy, something you did to the tip of his penis, something someone had done to the tip of her lover’s penis when he was a little baby. Then Denis went on to explain.

"Usually, the child is five or six years old, and the operation is performed by the older women of the village. The little girl is undressed, and held down, with her legs spread wide apart. I'm not sure what kind of knife they use, but what I'm sure of is that they cut or scrape away the clitoris and part of the inner and outer labia. They don’t use an anesthetic. I’m sure the operation is both bloody and painful."

That was terrible - mutilating and torturing an innocent child.

"But why?"

"So that as she grows up, she won't touch herself, and as an adult, she'll never receive any pleasure from sex, so she'll never have a reason to cheat on her husband."

Kimberly was mortified, that men could be so cruel to take away a woman's pleasure. She couldn’t imagine a society were women never had any sexual pleasure. It seemed barbaric that in some countries women were only objects to receive their husbands’ cocks, that women were nothing more then their father or husband’s property.

"You wouldn't want me to do that to you, my love? You wouldn’t want me to cut away your clit, to deny you all sexual pleasure?"

Oh my G-d! Would Denis do that to her? She struggled in her bounds.

"Please, Denis, you must be joking?"

Denis didn't reply. Instead, he moved down to the edge of the bed. Kim tried to close her legs, but the straps were too tight.

Then she felt the razor again, caressing the inside of her thigh, starting from her knee, but slowly working its way down towards her vagina.

"I could easily cut away your clit right now.” Kim struggled against the straps. “Or do you prefer this instead." Then he kissed her on the inside of her thigh, teasing her with his tongue, tormenting her arousing her.

"Please, Denis, please don't make jokes about this."

"Maybe that's what you need, to make you a more faithful wife."

This was madness. Her lover was talking about making her a more faithful wife - but there was no way she could explain Denis's mutilation to her husband.

"Your cunt is so pretty, when you're shaved and arouse ..." Then the kissed her thigh again, and again caressed her with the razor.

It took forever for him to reach her pussy - with his kisses and the caresses of the razor. She thought she would die when he finally kissed her there, at the top of her legs. She was so wet, so aroused. He held her open with two fingers, used his tongue on her clit, used his tongue to push back the hood, to get at her slippery little pearl.

Excitement turned to fear when she felt the cold steel of the razor. He brushed it back and forth against her labia, from left to right and then back again, over and over again. Kim was sure the short stubby blade was coated with her cunt juice, was coated with her arousal.

"I want to do something now something just for us two."

"Yes, my love?" Kim was terrified to ask the question.

"I want to cut you, to mark you, in a way nobody will know."

"Please, Denis, please don't hurt me."

"It will only hurt for a moment."

Then his tongue was in her again, deep in her cunt, and then he raised his head and was again sucking on her clitoris."

Kim struggled in her bonds. She was about to cum at any moment.

"Please, Denis, don't cut me, please not there."

He held her open, pressed the razor against her skin, very high up, in the groove made by her inner and outer labia. Kim couldn't see the edge, but she was sure it was very close to her clitoris.

"Hold very still – please don't move."

Kim tried to relax - but terror gripped her. Then the pain, the burning pain, the searing pain as he broke the skin. The cut was very small, not more than a quarter of an inch in length, and not very deep. But in that sensitive place it burned as hot as the fires of hell.

Kim tried not to cry out. She couldn’t close her legs, and Denis only needed to use two fingers to hold her cunt open for his inspection. He watched in fascination as the drop of blood started to form. Then he lowered his head to taste his lover one more time, first the sweetness of her cunt, and then the sweetness of her blood. He covered the cut, and her clit, with his lips, and the tastes intermingled. Kim cried out, and then sobbed his name, as the orgasm claimed her.