knife – Page 3

After the whole awkward walking through the kitchen debacle, Craftsmate wound up trying out a bunch of floggers on me while I was tied down on his bed, ballgagged, and blindfolded with one of his ties. (Yeah, yeah, I know. Casual.)

At one point, he took out his knife and ran it over the line of the back of my knee. It’s been a really long time since I’ve enjoyed any knifeplay and my hand squeezed into a hard fist around the bedsheets. I heard Craftsmate chuckle and realized I’m one of the most transparent people ever.

Last night, we tried it again. I almost jumped out of my skin when I heard him flick it open. It’s a massively satisfying and anxiety-producing noise at the same time. He somehow was using it in a way that I was actually convinced he was cutting my arms, legs and stomach. He wasn’t, but I had gotten high with some people before then and marijuana always makes me really hypersensitive.

At one point, he reached under my shirt, which had been rolled up under my breasts, and tucked the knife into my bra. “You need to hold still,” he said, “or you’ll hurt yourself and it’ll be all your fault.”

In other news, having a kinky friend is kiiiind of awesome.

I love that feeling when that very last piece of clothing is cut from your body and it flutters to the ground. There’s such brutal finality to it, it’s almost poetic. It’s the point of no return, the crossing of the Rubicon, a thousand different clichés of that nature rolled into one experience.

Because, of course, the only reason a cliché is a cliché is for the harsh obviousness of its truth.

My whole life.

Thank you, montecervesa, for this hilarious gif.

I don’t actually like being scared. I can’t sit through most horror movies, I can’t handle “death-defying” roller coasters. I jump about ten feet in the air if someone sneaks up on me. But, for some reason, some of the sexual situations I enjoy are probably about five times more risky and fear-driven than any of these things. And, oddly enough, I can handle them just fine.

You tease.

montecervesa:

Why, hello there.

myanonymouslair:

I have to admit that every time I see knives, I think of Ivy.

Funny, every time I see sexy ladies in dinosaur masks, I think of you. But that doesn’t happen nearly as much as it should.

Hello, old friends.

Although I don’t watch Archer, this reminds me of my friend sansshame, who tirelessly tries to convince me to.

How do you feel about turtlenecks? Because you know how I feel about knives.

indisdesk:

“Daddy, there’s Russian acid burning through my suit, I have to cut it off!”

Ever since I let Brunette Little start watching Archer, everything we do has to be a “spy mission” that turns pervy. And I hate turtlenecks.

Sometimes, she’ll find her breakfast and a list of tasks when she wakes up. It’s never so much chores as preparation. Most times, it’s as simple as a pair of handcuffs or a collar. Others, it’s a bit more complicated. It’s a process, a set of steps up to preparing herself for a day to come.

She knows better than to do anything else but follow the list. Even when she doesn’t like its contents. Especially when she doesn’t like its contents.

The alternative is always worse. And obedience is always rewarding.

“Buy the ticket, take the ride." – Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.