To Cut

woman bound and waiting to be cut

The tip of my sharpened blade trailed down the smooth, white skin of her stomach. Her skin was young, supple, completely unmarked from age or childbirth or fat; it was without flaw. As the knife passed her belly button, it curved closely around, causing her to have a sharp intake of breath, pulling her stomach downward and away from the knife.

“Do that again and I will leave.”

I reached up and tightened the rope that bound her two hands tightly together at the wrists. Her eyes were wide with fear. She looked like a caged rabbit that knew it was to be slaughtered, and her fear excited me.

“Do you understand?”

She nodded quickly.

I placed the tip of the knife back onto her skin and pressed down evenly, just barely breaking the skin on the inside of her thigh. A small trickle of blood colored the silvery blade. I picked up the knife, the blood coming with it, and wiped it on the top of her thigh. The smear of red didn’t ruin her perfect skin as it faded to pink and then to nothing; it added to her perfection. It looked like art to me; art created by the two of us.

Glancing at her face, I saw that she had passed out. I guess some girls do that at the sight of blood.

I slapped her awake.

“You will watch me.”

Placing the knife onto her other thigh, I pressed again and drew downwards. It was deep this time. She moaned, her eyes rolling backwards, and tried to draw her knees up.

Those moans…

I pressed her legs back down, and slid her knees apart so I could sit between them. Her blood was dripping slowly from the cuts; it was pooling under one leg. I took the bloody knife and raised it to her eye level.

“Look at it. See how fragile you are?”

She couldn’t even nod at this point. I pulled her underwear from her mouth and tossed it aside. She immediately closed her mouth and licked her lips moist again. I had to remember to give her water.

“Open your mouth.”

Her eyes pleaded with me to stop. She knew better than to scream for help. Her mouth opened hesitantly.

“Show me your tongue.”

Her soft, pink tongue slid from her mouth. Its wetness beckoned me. No… it beckoned for…

Placing the blade of the knife onto her tongue, I made her taste the blood that stained her leg and my table; I made her lick the coppery weakness that I controlled.

Her tears were silent, and the blade went back to her skin.

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