Knife

Go get your knife..go get your knife…and come in…”

The butterflies in my stomach have a flutter of smug as I wait, basking in the sun. I’ve completed all my tasks like a good girl. I’d sent him a daily photo, my courage and imagination growing  as I became more comfortable with photographing my own cunt. Every day for two weeks, occasionally employing the help of my friends to provide a variety; the more obscene, the more I please him.

Dressed as requested, I am entirely ruinable from my outside layers to internal desires.
He’ll be here soon.

Nervous excitement reaches a peak as I hear him knock. Bounding down the stairs, I attempt normal pleasantries as I open the door. Polite greetings and kisses that are rendered redundant as he drops his bag and seizes hold of me.

With unfathomable speed he grabs me from behind and pushes a knife against my throat

Are you going to be a good girl?”

Yes” I confirm, my voice high and wavering. I barely hear it over the mantra screaming in my mind.

Keep the fuck still, keep the fuck still, keep the fuck still

His other hand pulls my top down, exposing my breasts.
I can hear him breathing in my ear as he holds me there; time slowing down as I try to process what just happened. The whole atmosphere changes, adrenaline surging through me, heart racing.

The sharp blade that is pushed up under chin starts to trace down my body, running over my chest and down my stomach. Pausing, pressing against my nipples heightening my fear response and increasing the volume of my desperate internal plea.

Keep the fuck still!

Holding my head in place I flick my eyes downwards to see a small silver blade. It’s how I’d imagine a hunting knife to look. It gleams in the afternoon sunshine; pushed firm against me, indenting my skin.

Keep the fuck still!

I’m taking short, shallow breaths and trying everything I can to not move an inch. I know the blade is sharp and that he’d have no problem cutting me simply for the thrill, to see the fear in my eyes as the blood starts running.

Keep the fuck still!

Even my internal monologue sounds panicked, begging me not to move, not to taunt him.
This is my house; he doesn’t give a fuck if he spills my blood here.

IMG_6086

Concentrating on breathing without moving, on answering his questions, on being good, it all takes overwhelming concentration. A focus that is a challenge when there’s fear coursing cold through my veins, making my stomach clench and my cunt wet. I am genuinely scared and genuinely turned on.

He pushes me against the wall, turning me to face him. The impact is hard enough to wind me but I have no chance to catch my breath before he’s kissing me hard. His hand quickly moving between my thighs, into my underwear and quickly inside me, moving with expert precision. The noise from my lips is a feeble whimper, my usual rampant growls swallowed up by fear.

The knife is still in his hand. I put my arms up, a position of surrender, fingers pathetically curled under. His sadistic smile of satisfaction tells me I must look terrified. He smirks down at me, angling the knife as if to stab.

Keep the fuck still, no sudden movements, whatever he wants, let him take it.

He roughly grabs a handful of black material. It’s really too short to be a dress anyway but I thought he’d like it. It doesn’t last long. He cuts down the middle with short sharp movements. I brace myself for the knife to slip but his expert precision splits the dress exactly in two, open all the way down the front. I feel all the more vulnerable as I’m stripped. Aware of how easily his knife could pierce my naked skin.

My underwear is black and lacy, carefully chosen to be revealed at the right moment but he takes those too. Pulling them painfully upwards until they wedge themselves into my cunt. I squeal from the pressure and he smiles, pulling them harder, chuckling at my objections.

The knife makes quick work of the delicate lace, one deft slice reducing my underwear to a useless scrap of material that slips down onto the floor.

The knife is still close. I can hear my heart beating in my ears as he kisses me. I cautiously reach to touch him but quickly jerk my hands away. I’m afraid of getting it wrong; he hasn’t told me I can touch him yet.

Keep the fuck still, until you’re told otherwise.

He reassures me “Good girl, you did the right thing” and moves my hands back onto him, to run all over him, to feel how hard he is beneath his jeans. I close my eyes and kiss him, all the while aware that he’s still armed. My danger response engaged, but not acting on either the flight or fight instinct, just feeling it, revelling in it. I want this; I’m thriving on the fear, the way each of my senses are heightened as a result.

He flips me over and pushes me onto the stairs. I stay as instructed, good puppy, knees down on the carpeted steps, supporting my weight onto my hands. I’m spread  wide apart, my glistening cunt ready for him. I keep facing forward, listening with building anticipation to the sound of his belt buckle being released.

He enters me, forcing himself deep and hard and making me gasp. I lean against my hands to keep from launching head first into the stairs but he takes that support away, roughly tugging the scraps of my former dress and using them to secure my hands behind me.

With the make-shift restraints secured I have no choice but to rest my head on one of the steps, feeling the rough carpet against the soft skin of my face as he pounds into me. I’m afraid of burns from the friction, worried about how I might explain them. My heart and mind still racing from the speed in which he’s come into my house and violated me.

Pulling out and grabbing my restraints with one hand he yanks me up to speak in my ear. “Show me to your bedroom…” His other hand wraps painfully in my hair. I am completely under his control, as if there was any question.

My ruined dress acts as a handle to guide me up the stairs for more abuse. My mind still screaming at me, responding to the fear of the blade, knowing that it can be at my throat again in seconds. Knowing that he can and will cut me if he chooses. Knowing that this is everything I wanted.

My internal voice still imploring with fevered insistence…Be a good girl, let him take what he wants, he will cut you, he will hurt you….fucking behave. When the blade’s at your throat, keep the fuck still!

This entry was posted in Dirty Diary, My Journey and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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