Playing with Scissors

It's your first evening together and it's been wonderful so far. He's more handsome than his profile picture — well-dressed, very polite, attentive and a good conversationalist, which you enjoyed as much during dinner as the meal — and now you're back at his place and you see a gift-wrapped box tied with a bow on the coffee table in the living room. He hands it to you and you carefully unwrap it and see that it's a La Perla box and, opening it, that he's bought you beautiful silk lingerie; not red, as most men would, but light blue to complement your blonde hair and accentuate your blue eyes. It's a turn-on. He asks you to put it on while he makes you both a drink and you walk to the bedroom with the box.

You place the it on the bed and undress, laying your clothes neatly on the bed next to the box, and remove the lingerie. You hold it up and admire it, enjoying the feel of the silk between your fingers and anticipating how it will feel against your body. You pull on the lingerie and arrange it just so and pose in front of the full-length closet mirror, admiring yourself. The anticipation of his reaction when he sees you wearing it is even more of a turn-on than his thoughtfulness in buying it for you. You're feeling very sexy.

You walk to the living room and find him standing, holding the drinks, next to a chair he's placed in the middle of the living room. It strikes you as odd until you notice the lengths of sturdy-looking, red velvet ribbon he's placed on the coffee table. He smiles and looks you up and down and tells you that you look very sexy. You thank him for the compliment but feel a bit uneasy about what's going to happen next. You'd listed light restraints as one of your interests in your profile so the sight of the lengths of ribbon doesn't surprise you. What surprises you is his eagerness to restrain you. You've only just arrived at his apartment a short time ago. Well, you think, why beat around the bush? That's why you're here, right?

He hands you your drink and you both sip, looking at each other's eyes over the rims of your glasses. He takes your glass and puts it and his on the coffee table and guides you to the chair and sits you down. You're nervous and a little apprehensive but you said in your profile that you were adventurous and open to exploring new things, anything, really, and feel a little foolish about the idea of being timid now. As reluctant as you are, you place your hands behind the chair and watch him pick up the lengths of ribbon from the coffee table and walk behind you. You feel the ribbon being wrapped around your wrists, not too tightly, just tightly enough, and then tied to the chair.

You watch him kneel in front of you place your feet against the legs of the chair. You feel him wrap first one ankle just tightly enough and then secure it to the chair leg and then the other. You take a deep breath and hold it. You're vulnerable. At this point, anything could happen and you'd be powerless to prevent it.

He seems like a very nice man but who knows what other sides there might be to his personality. For all you know he's a sadist or a rapist or worse. The thought crosses your mind that you might never leave his apartment alive. You try to force the thought from your mind as he stands and walks behind you.

You feel him move your hair aside and then his kisses behind your ear and then on your neck, working his way down. You start as you feel something sharp touch the skin of your neck. Is it a knife? Is he going to slit your throat? Whatever it is, you feel it moving down your neck toward your chest and you see it's a pair of very long and sharp-looking scissors. You watch the closed blades move toward your right breast and their tips disappear under the bra, continuing toward your nipple. Both of your nipples are hard now and you feel the tips of the blades comes to rest against your right nipple and press, harder and then harder still, until you squirm and don't think you can take it anymore. He removes the scissors from under the bra and reaches around with his other hand and gathers up the material covering your nipple and cuts a hole in the bra and does the same to the other side.

You look down at your nipples and know he's admiring them, as you are. They look pretty hot, so rosy and erect. You watch the blades open and see them placed on either side of your right nipple and there's the uncomfortable feeling again that if he wanted to hurt you, really hurt you, he could and you're powerless to stop him. You see the blades begin closing and feel their sharp edges, pressing against the sides of your nipple, biting into them, tighter and tighter still. It's increasingly painful and you half-expect to see blood begin oozing from your nipple but you see the blades open and the scissors taken away.

You watch as he walks around in front of you and places the scissors on the coffee table and picks something up and kneels in front of you. You see it's a screw clamp. You hadn't noticed it before. He smiles and places it on your right nipple and begins tightening it and asks you to tell him when to stop. You still feel the sharp pain from the point of the scissors and, as he continues tightening the clamp, it's replaced by a different pain, this one a dull one that grows more intense as the clamp squeezes your nipple. You watch your nipple flatten and elongate almost impossibly. You didn't think you could bear this much pain but you do until you're certain the clamp is about to tear your flesh and you tell him to stop. He does and nods and takes the other clamp from the coffee table and places it on your left breast and tightens it until you tell him to stop.

You look at your nipples, flattened and elongated by the clamps, and realize you enjoy the way they look and the pain and that both are turning you on and you feel moist between your legs and squirm. You see him notice and smile and watch him reach back and pick up the scissors and place the point between your legs and stroke you with it.

You can see he can see this is turning you on even more. You watch him pull the fabric in the crotch area away from your skin and cut it off. You thrill but, at the same time, have the unsettling feeling again that things could go terribly, horribly wrong at any moment. After all, you're bound and there's a man — when all is said and done a stranger — kneeling in front of you with very sharp scissors in his hand. You try to imagine how it would feel to have the blades inside you. Sharp and cool, at first, but you imagine you'd warm them up pretty quickly. Thinking about it makes you squirm. You watch the points of the blades moving toward your opening and feel it pressing gently against it and know they're going to enter you and you close your eyes.

If you felt vulnerable before, you feel completely at his mercy know. It's an entirely different feeling. You feel him spreading your lips with his fingers and working the point slowly and carefully inside you and then your muscles contracting involuntarily, resisting the insertion of this foreign object. The fact that the walls of your vagina are now engorged with blood and swollen and are wrapped tightly around the blades makes the sensation all the more pleasurable.

You feel the blades moving deeper inside you and know, without knowing how or why, that they're seeking that place you thought only you knew, that place you stimulate when you want to come vaginally, using "Black Beauty", your long thick vibrator. You feel their points come to rest against it and the blades opening and you're sure you're going to be injured but the blades begin moving slowly and gently back and forth.

You rock your pelvis upward and strain to part your legs as wide as you can, to give him better access, and you picture the way you look — like a wanton slut, inviting the blades of a pair of scissors to have their way with you. You move yourself against them, until you're thrusting and hope you're not injuring yourself, although you no longer really care.

You open your eyes a bit and see him smiling at you and you know by his expression that, although he's a perfect stranger, he knows exactly who you really are and want you really want.

• • •

You wake and glance at the alarm clock. It's the middle of the night. You realize you've been dreaming and that you've enjoyed it and want to remember it but know from experience that you have to try hard now; otherwise it'll escape you. It's flitting away, like a fish in the shallows, back toward your subconscious but you grab hold of it and pull it back into your conscious mind.

The scissors are the first thing you remember, then being tied up and then the rest of the dream fills in. It's wonderful and you wish it had really happened but now you're left filled with pent up desire and sexual energy and you know the only way you're going to get back to sleep is to take care of yourself.

You slide out from beneath the covers as carefully and quietly as you can, so as not to wake your husband. He's turned on his side, with his back to you, which is the way he always sleeps and has for years now, ever since intimacy ceased between the two of you.

You pad from the bedroom to the bathroom and take the scissors you keep there to trim your hair. Its blades are long and slender and very sharp.

You came to associate the guest bedroom with your husband frequently sleeping there, back when discussions about why the marriage was failing would become heated and erupt into arguments. You don't have bad feelings about it now. On the contrary, it's just where you want to be, feeling as if you're in a stranger's bed, and tiptoe toward it, filled with excitement and anticipation, with the scissors cradled lovingly in your hands.