Warning: Sharp Objects = New Edges

It had been two months since my abdominal surgery. Two long months of trying to find my way back to normal through pain and daunting obstacles. His patience and sympathetic nature was the one thing that made it bearable. Our recent trip to Vegas was a welcome change to the cold of the East Coast and a glimpse that a feeling of normal may not be that far off. A couple of weeks after our return is when the phone call came. The minute he reminded me it all came flooding back. That day at the airport, the last minute ditch of his knife in my truck because he knew it wasn't allowed through security. I remember thinking ooh a knife, how sexy, how yummy *shiver*. Of course then I thought eeeekkkk knowing what that knife could do in his hands.

I had completely forgot it there, way in the back of my truck, tucked away, until he mentioned it and said he would need to retrieve it. Trying to be a good slave, I told him I would drop it by his place the next day. I suddenly realized that my bringing it meant I would have to touch it. Thankfully it was nice and secure in its nylon holder so I convinced myself out of sight out of mind as I picked it up and dropped it into my purse.

As I walked to his door all I could think was this could be a big mistake! He opened the door and I tried to make small talk as I entered, even said off the cuff, "your thing is in my purse" as I pointed to my bag. He walked to my purse as I turned to look in the backyard, trying not pay attention. Yea right! I could hear him, opening the case, that sound of metal on metal as he accessed the blade.

At first I thought he was just leaving it there open on the counter for me to see, to make me nervous. I should know better by now! The cold steel on my skin, the sharp tip digging in just a bit every so often, making me squirm though I dare NOT move. The way he traced the outline of my bra, the line of my jaw, it made me insanely hot. As the blade slid across my skin I could feel my body betray me; walking that tight rope between fear and ecstasy.

After a bit, he put the blade down, but the teasing and torturing continued. That familiar feeling as he grabbed a handful of my hair, letting me know without a word just how screwed I was. Making it known that things will be getting back to normal. There was no mistake my recovery time had come to an end and the past 2 months of him being sympathetic were over.

Out of nowhere I found myself staring straight at that blade! It was the only thing taking up the narrow space between his eyes and mine. He took great pleasure in telling me just how sharp the edge was and how it had barely been used. He was sure to point out, while holding it up to my eyes, the variance in the color of the metal that highlights the edges and nuances of the blade.

Once again I could feel the sharp edge on my skin, hear him warning me not to move. I could feel my body quivering, pulsating, and unable to control it. Breathing was becoming less and less of an option as he grabbed my hair and pulled my head back. He thought it would be such a shame if I needed stitches, but reveled in delight as he imagined me having to explain why I was cut in such a precarious place. That's when it happened. I could feel the tip of the blade on the edge of my breast. I could feel him putting just enough pressure so I knew my fate was in his hands. It took everything in me to override the thoughts, the urges that came next as I felt the firestorm in my body intensify, felt the wetness from my pussy soaking through my ribbons that were tied tightly on my trembling body.

In that instant I felt myself wanting to push ever so slightly toward that tip of the blade, almost begged for him to press the tip of it just deep enough on my skin to draw a drop of blood. I know if he ever reads this I will be in deep, deep trouble for holding back in that moment and not sharing that fact!

Moral of the story...sharp objects lead to new edges ;)