Fun With Knives

Some people only wear fetish gear in the privacy of their own bedrooms, leaving their desires and "perverse" habits for no one to see but themselves. Not me. I love the feel of cool slippery vinyl on my skin, and the smell of a hot leather corset pushing up my large breasts, proudly displaying them for anyone who might want a peek. Many people mistake me for "goth," but I like to think, that I'm more simply an uninhibited, free spirit. I don't dress like this for sex; I dress like this because I love to.

It's not that I'm not used to being looked at, but there was a man on the bus LOOKING at me. It was not the way a man looks at a woman, it was the way a wolf looks at prey. I got off the bus, and didn't think much of it after that.

For three days, the same man was on the bus. He was tall and muscular, with long dark hair, and striking green eyes. Every time I moved, I could feel those eyes on me, until the fourth day. He wasn't on the bus. I was relieved, but disappointed, though I couldn't tell you why.

I got home and slid the key into the lock, and turned. The door swung on the well-oiled hinges into the house. I turned on the light, and threw my bag down on the large waterbed that is the centerpiece of my apartment. I unlaced my tall black boots, and flung them into a dark corner of the closet. I sat down and started to undo the garters on my knee-high fish net stockings when I felt someone behind me. As I started to turn I felt the coldness of steel against the skin of my neck.

"Don't move a fucking muscle." Came from the deep, raspy voice behind me. "If you try and fight me in any way, I'll cut you up so bad that no one will ever glance at that pretty face of yours again."

Being the belligerent, and smart-ass I am, I simply responded "Can't get a date, eh?"

I felt the sting of the slap to my face before I realized he had moved in front of me and hit me. I looked up with defiant eyes, and saw the man from the bus. He was holding a large knife that glinted in the light. It had obviously been well cared for. He trailed the tip down my cheek, and I felt the sting of cut flesh, and the small beads of blood began to form and slide down my face. It suddenly occurred to me that I would not be able to talk my way out of something like this.

He slid the blade down to my neck, being careful this time, not to break the skin. He hooked the tip of the knife on the vinyl corset I was wearing and slashed downwards, going through the shiny fabric like a hot knife through butter. The bra snapped in two with an expert flick of his wrist.

"Please don't…" I said, one tear trailing down the corner of my eye, already beginning to swell from the blow he'd dealt me.

If he had heard me, he didn't show any indication of it, while he almost gently rolled the fishnets down my long, alabaster white legs. He moved back up, and stopped, while he was kneeling between my legs, his hungry eyes, level with my breasts. Moving the tip of the knife back up to my throat he started licking one, then the other. Flicking the ring on my left nipple so gently that I moaned in pleasure. He grabbed my hair hard with his other hand, and pulled my head back, so my neck was straining, and he moved forward and nipped at my collar bone, while the hand with the knife slowly traced bloodied lines down my back. The combination of the small cuts, and the pleasure from his bites was getting me wet.

In a sudden rage he ripped off my skirt, and cut the sides of the thong I was wearing, and I was naked before him. "Lie down." He said, motioning with the knife. I moved backwards until I was lying on my back, with my legs hanging off the edge of the bed, and I could feel his gaze on me like something physical. I heard him remove his pants, and the head of his cock pushing against my small, wet cunt. "Put your hands above your head." He whispered, and I did. He held both my wrists with one hand, and put the knife down. Once the knife was a safe distance away, his hands were roaming my body, leaving trails of molten fire everywhere they grazed, and caressed.

He started pushing forward with his hips, so slowly I thought my body was going to burst with the ache of wanting him inside me. I writhed beneath him, but he held me down, and when he was buried to the hilt, he shuddered. He started sliding in and out of me faster and faster, I could feel my breasts bounce with each thrust up, and in time, I started thrusting back. I didn't care that I didn't know this man, that I didn't know this man, that for all intensive purposes he was raping me. It was my body, wanting that final release from all the tension. He bit my nipple hard, and thrust into me one last time, and I clenched around him hard, and we both came.

I think my orgasm surprised him as much as it surprised me. He moved back, quickly got dressed, and went to the door. He looked back, and I said, "You could have just asked, you know."

With a wry grin he replied, "Yeah, but it wouldn't have been nearly as fun…or memorable." And he left.

I never saw him again, but I still have small, even scars on my back…as a reminder…