A blade in the moonlight

Another entirely non hypnotic microfiction. This one is... A two-fer of some fairly hard kinks (personally speaking), those being knifeplay, and one other that I can't mention on patreon. I hope I've done them both well enough.

CW: knife play, threatening/violent imagery.

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Your breath comes in short gasps. Peering into dark corners. You could have sworn that you heard something. But nothing leaps out at you. No further sound. You lay back down, adrenaline starting to settle down. And that’s when you see it.

Impossibly still. A figure next to your bed. You go to scramble away, but a hand that produces a knife, seemingly without moving, tells you that that might be a bad idea. You freeze. Eyes focused on the blade, glinting in the moonlight that is cast through the window.

You feel a something, grab your wrist on the side away from the figure. You think about looking, but that blade holds you attention, as it gently moves, catching the light. Focused entirely on it. Your wrist is in a cuff by now. Held down. The thing has moved onto your ankle.

The blade still glints. So pretty. Such a sweet blend. Danger and beauty. Somewhere… Something speaks. The voice seems to be inside your mind and all around the room. “You’re doing well. Not moving. Just focusing.” The knife comes closer, hanging above your eyes.

You dare not look away. Not for a second. You can see the tip of the blade, sharp. Transfixing you with the point that could so easily tear into your skin. Mark you. Hurt you. No. You dare not look away. If it’s going to happen, you want to see it.

As you’re looking up, all attention on the blade, you can’t see what’s binding your other arm and leg. But you can feel it. “Don’t move. Don’t think about moving. Don’t think.” The blade is closer now. Your brain is paralysed. Fear and arousal mix within you.

“Close your eyes. Don’t open them until I say.” You feel the blade at your throat. Gently pressing. A simple threat. Your eyes shut. You feel something climb atop you. The knife doesn’t move. You feel yourself being fucked. Your body reacting to the fear. To the pleasure.

One wrong move. That’s all it would take. You can almost feel it. Blood, the sensation of the knife pricking your skin. Cutting into you. You can feel your body grow hotter at that image. The danger fanning your arousal. But you keep as still as you can. Better to be safe.

The voice keeps talking to you. The knife is still at your throat. You feel whatever, whoever, was on top of you shudder, feel their orgasm. You’re left. Needy. Desperate. But still unwilling to speak. They climb off of you, and quickly release your cuffs.

The knife is removed from your throat. “Open your eyes. Was that okay?” Your partner moves close. Tucking the knife away. You nod, the arousal still burning within you. “Good. You did well. Now… Want to cum?” You meet their eyes, and nod once more.