Curious about edgier kinds of play?
Turned on by blood?
Then, check out this riveting video by Evie Lupine!
Curious about edgier kinds of play?
Turned on by blood?
Then, check out this riveting video by Evie Lupine!
I don’t pretend to be an expert on knife play. Sure, I’ve seen and watched a half-dozen demos, and I’ve been grilled and indocrtinated into the basics and essentials by the best, the safeties as well as the do’s and don’ts, but I suspect there are a great many out there who’re bigger “experts” on what makes knife play a thing, as well as the magical-mystical secrets of the naked blade.
Me, I’ve just been doing it for quite a while, in my own way. I’ve thrilled, excited, tantalized, and simply freaked-out a lot of gals. So here, I’ll briefly pass on what’s worked for me as well as what may work for you.
A quick disclaimer: If you’re a submissive who’s thinking they may want to experience the thrill of the naked blade, I recommend not reading any further. There’s more than a little bit of a psychological aspect involved and, like with any good magic trick, knowing how it works takes away most of the fun.
Still reading? Good! So here’s the thing…
Really, you don’t want to read any further if you’re a sub. You’re just going to regret knowing the reality, and a potentially thrilling scene or three is going to be taken away from you. Really.
Still with me? Okay, here we go…
The secret is that you simply use the back of the blade, the dull side. That’s it.
Oh sure, you make a big show of pulling out these elaborate, scary looking knives. I’ve seen several Doms who have these gorgeous, seven-inch curved monstrosities, with elaborate dragon handles and embossed runes working their way down the blade. Some have demons fornicating erotically with curvaceous babes tooled into them, with a wicked looking double-edged blade that looks like the tool of a maniacal serial killer. But here’s the thing…
… they never use them.
It’s just a show, mere window dressing, artistic license to get a sub in the right frame of mind, that maybe, just maybe, this crazy muthafukka (whom they’ve negotiated with, vetted, and trust implicitly) will do some serious damage, maybe.
Myself, I tend to start our by running the tip up-and-down her back, her legs, her inner arms, any place that’s particularly sensitive. Honestly, this is the riskiest, most dangerous part, as I have scraped and slightly cut a few gals. Never anything serious of course; my cat routinely scratches me considerably worse, and she hasn’t had her claws sterilized like my blade. It’s of course good to have some medi wipes handy for after care as well.
Anyway… wait, I forgot the most important part…
For all that window dressing, the knife I use is the one clipped to my belt. I pull it off, lean in close so my breath is on her ear, then open it with a very distinctive “click”.
If you’ve done your job right, this is where you literally take her breath away, her pulse increases, and her level of potential terror is exposed (even as she trusts that you’ll never hurt her).
So anyway, you do that other stuff I mentioned, getting her used to the idea that this is a sharp pointy thing, it’s dangerous, it could kill her.
Now comes the fun part.
You start bringing it about her sensitive bits, her nethers, her nipples, her throat. I’m fond of pressing it hard against the latter and getting her high up on her toes. At this point her breath’s coming in desparate gasps and tears are coming out of her eyes.
Except I’m using the back of the blade, the dull part. Hell, if you’re nervous, switch out for a butter knife, or a spoon. It’s all going to feel the same. Because you’ve established that psychological bond, that it’s all real, and very dangerous.
If you do everything correctly, you’ll reduce your girl to a blubbering mess, snotty and tearful (a gag isn’t recommended, as you need her to breathe). Certainly, if she safewords, you absolutely need to stop. But in thirteen years, I’ve never had that happen.
Typically, I wind up with an emotionally wrung out girl who needs lots of aftercare, but who’s eventually ecstatic and ready for more of the same.
So the thing you really need to take away here is that knife play is all psychological, all pretend, make believe, mind fuckery. It only works because you’ve gotten someone into that place where they make themselves believe that you’ll hurt them, even as they know you won’t.
Sort of like a magic trick. You know someone doesn’t have mystical powers, but it’s fun to believe that they do. But when you see how the trick’s actually done, the fun’s no longer there.
And let’s retiterate; it’s not about cutting or actually hurting someone. That would be blood play, in which the knife’s often incidental. Knife play, when done correctly, is actually pretty safe. It’s not necessarily recommended for your first scene with a new girl. But it can be just the thing for someone who’s ready for the next level.
And if you’re a sub who’s read all this and now knows the secret to the magic trick, and will never be able to experience a knife play scene, well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.
PirateStan has been involved in his local BDSM community since 2007, after having had a lifelong inclination towards it. He currently lives a contented life in Southeastern Virginia with his girl, zeirah, while working by day for a Major Metropolitan Publication.
Tonight I want to fear you. That’s not entirely true. I could never fear you Sir. What I really want, is to taste fear. I want to feel the hole in my stomach, the prickling on my skin, and my heart racing. I want the blood to pound in my head and my chest to rise and fall rapidly. I want to be disoriented and scared, and pushed to my limit.
I trust you Sir.
I’ve given You the liberties to my body, my mind, and my soul
I’ve let you love me in the most depraved ways.
Because that’s how we are.
Tonight, I want you to love me with fear. I want to shake and sob because I don’t know what’s going to happen. I want the lines between our decisions and our limits to be blurred.
I’m cold, Sir. My body is shaking ever so slightly. My muscles are tensing trying to hold position. I’ve been here around ten minutes I’d guess.
But, you know what happens when I’m cold.
It starts small. I feel the ache in my hands and feet as the skin starts to stretch and swell. Then I feel the irritation in my knees. The cold causes them to itch and welt. Then the goosebumps start. They run the length of my arms and up my spine. They cause my muscles to contract painfully. Then, the longer I hold it, the more violent my trembling. The harder it is to breathe.
You’ve kept it cold on purpose.
I know this. Because, when I’m struggling to hold myself still, I cannot sink into oblivion. I cannot regulate the pain of play by breathing and counting and disassociating. I cannot simply close my eyes and bite down and bear it.
I’m too distracted.
I’ve spread my legs wider than I’m supposed to at this point. My forehead is resting on the bed, an allowable position if my arms weren’t hanging loosely at my side and my ass wasn’t sitting on my heels.
Every time I breathe in, it’s like breathing menthol. There’s a spot, right between my brows, that feels like ice with each inhale. As I exhale, I can hear the tremble of my breath. I’ve given up fidgeting. I’ve lost track of time. I’ve given in to my body before we’ve even started.
Just as you planned.
Because the greatest way to start the fear, is to put me in a position where my only outcome will lead to disappointment.
We both know that my body has more limits in the cold. We both know, leaving me naked and waiting is going to wear me down. But I haven’t spoken. And you haven’t even started yet.
I missed the sound of the door opening. You always walk so silently but I’m usually much more in tune with your movements.
I feel sluggish. Like everything is in slow motion.
I feel the point of your knife against my spine. I inhale sharply as you drag it up my sensitive skin. It burns Sir. It burns like it’s been heated. You trail it up and down with purpose, but you haven’t spoken yet. Other than the slow torture, you don’t seem to acknowledge i’m even here.
You yank my hair and pull my head back hard. It tightens my airway and I feel the point of your knife right below my chin. You drag it so slowly. I’m trying not to move and in desperately trying to meet your eyes but you won’t look at me. Your eyes are focused on my chest.
What are you looking for? Why won’t you meet my eyes? Is it to make me panic? Is it to stop me from finding my center?
I’m beginning to wonder if I am ready for what I’ve asked for.
You kicked my legs farther apart. My thighs are straining with the effort. You slid the knife between my knees, laying it on the floor a hairsbreadth away from my crotch. I know better than to rest against it. Not only is it bad form, but then I would be dirtying your shine. I don’t need that punishment right now.
You’ve moved behind me now. My eyes slide closed as the blindfold goes on. I’m surprised when a knotted rope slips between my teeth, pulling tight against my cheeks. Then, the hood.
How I hate that hood with a passion. You know how much I panic when I feel alone and vulnerable.
The fabric pulls against my nostrils and mouth as my breathing increases. I’m straining to hear you. I’m tempted to move but you’ve fixed that issue.
The rope is threaded through my D-ring and wrapped from elbow to wrist. It pulls at my shoulders and brings my back straight.
I know with certainty why you bound me. It’s not something you normally do. You did it solely to make me vulnerable. You know I would fight the urge to reach for you. You love seeing the beads of sweat down my brow as I’m trying to hold myself together for you.
Today, you are testing me. You have taken my number one fear, silence, and amplified it.
You’ve left me cold, my nerves on fire, and my senses taken.
You’ve left me in a state of shock.
You’ve left me…
I’m convinced you’ve left me down here alone Sir.
It’s so cold and so dark.
When I asked you to make me afraid, I had a very different vision than this. I imagined being thrown around like a rag doll. I imagined harsh words and an audience to humiliate me. I even imagined you might let someone else touch me.
But, I never imagined it would all be in my head.
My eyes are burning. I’m afraid you’ve left me alone down here and the silence is deafening.
I finally dropped. My head fell forward, my chin to my chest, and I’m shifting on my knees. I’m restless and scared and desperate to find you.
I screamed in both shock and pain at the intensity of the hit. If I was in a state to guess, I’m betting I was kissed by your snake whip.
I’m trying to curl back. You’ve hit each breast and my stomach. Every time you strike me, I move. Every time I move, you strike me.
Over and over again, you kiss my skin. It hurts and I’m crying. I’m hiccupping around the gag.
I can’t breathe. That’s exactly what your aim is, I’m sure of it. Pain is much harder to enjoy when I can’t sink into it.
I don’t remember the strikes stopping. But I remember the hood being yanked from my head and your fist in my hair.
I remember your hand slapping me and you letting me fall sideways to the floor.
I can still feel the rubber of your boot against my reddened cheek. I remember the pressure and the pain in my ass as you smacked it, over and over again. I’m not even sure what you used.
I’m begging for mercy in my head. But I’m not ready to give in. When you move back, I’m trying desperately to bring my knees back under me. I’m trying to be good and give you access to my body.
My legs are wobbling so bad. I’m trying to hear you through the rushing in my ears. I know you are talking. I’m convinced it’s about how much I’m failing.
Rule number one: if you have not been told to move, you stay in position.
You’ve told me often enough that you get such Sadistic pleasure watching me fall out of position and having to out myself back into place. That’s why you rarely bind me. Because good girls know how to stay put.
I’m afraid I’ll never be good enough. I’m afraid I’ll never be enough.I’m afraid I’ll always be too…
I don’t remember much Sir. I’m having trouble remembering what happened after I struggled to kneel up.
The next thing I remember is being laid out across the floor, free of restraints, with my head in your lap and your palm against the back of my neck.
As the sounds of water cleared from my ears, I can hear you talking. My eyes are closed, they feel so heavy. I’m shivering but sweating profusely.
“I’m so proud of you”. That’s the first thing I hear.
And I sob.
Your hand rubs up and down my back and I can hear you encourage me to let go. That you’re here for me and you love me and it’s going to be ok.
I don’t know how long you held me before I opened my eyes. I looked up at yours, still feeling dazed. You meet them and give me three kisses to my forehead.
“You did so good, my little piggie. Such a good pain slut”. Even after all of that, you know just how to make me smile.
I asked you to make me afraid.
You did that. Even if I don’t remember all of it.
But, as you stood up, and I moved to kiss your boots, all I felt was peace.
Even in the darkest moments of play and the depths of a panicking mind, I will never fear you Sir.
That’s a promise.
Erotic fiction on Kink Weekly is for entertainment purposes only. It is not intended as a guide for how to do BDSM yourself. Always obtain explicit, enthusiastic consent from your partner before incorporating any element in your BDSM sessions, and maintain the ability for them to withdraw consent at any time during the scene, using a safeword or similar.