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Eyes Closed
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
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"Eyes closed."
Deeper than usual, his voice triggered the response that had been
lurking since the morning, when he sent me off with the feel of his blade
echoing along my nerves - against my ears, my throat, my bare nipples, my
midriff - and "Wake me when you come home. Wear clothes to be sliced."
echoing in my head.
"Eyes closed."
Having heard him come clunking down the stairs, and realizing he *was*
heading into my room, I had turned to say hello. Before I knew it, I faced
forward, eyes closed, and knew the clunky sound was his spreader bars. And
realized that I was damn close to hyperventilating.
Trying to control my breathing, I started to smile. I often play games
with myself like this, closing my eyes in a public place and trying to
identify everything by sound. He stood still, with rustling sounds. Soft,
material... rope, I concluded, really trying not to grin. I opened my mouth
to ask him cattily when he had had the opportunity to replace his rope
supply, but the urge fled when he blindfolded me. I shivered - I am seldom
that wrong. I consoled myself; he *had* mentioned something, as I was
saying goodbye - *trying* to leave - about tying me to my bed, when I told
him - between gasps of air - that the edge of the blade was sending me into
that same headspace produced by being tied. "But you didn't react this way
last time." "I *know* that *this* blade is sharp. Besides, you didn't tie
me down last time." "Well, then, I suppose doing both would reinforce it,
hmmmm?" I had swayed, a roaring in my ears, and shivered.
And shivered again as he leaned over and kissed me quickly, his lips
all strength where they are usually caressing. He finished stepping over me
to the other side of the bed, and I could hear him manipulating one of the
spreader bars, and something soft rubbing on the underside of the bed.
Occasionally, his hands would brush my body - my calves, my shoulder, my
back - no explicitly sexual areas. Sometimes a soft lick on an earlobe.
Fiery rushes of nerves would radiate from wherever he touched, waking my
entire body, my skin quivering, my ears roaring. All without words, without
a sense of body position, spacing out, losing touch. Much less cocksure, I
guessed at rope, at the bar being tied to the bed, and my hands to the bar.
"Where are your cuffs?"
I jumped slightly at his voice... that deep voice again, deep in too
many ways, hooking in to something deep in me. I made an effort, reminded
myself of words. "In my pack, where you told me to keep them." He left the
room and returned shortly, little clicking noises in his hands.
This has always been a ritual for us, since the very first time - my
cuffs, made by me, for another - he buckles one on my wrist, checks with me
for tightness, and then takes the lock and threads it through. Holding it
not quite latched shut, we lock gazes. The very first time, he said "Are
you quite sure you want to do this?" and I said "No. But it doesn't make a
difference." And the world - my soul - rocked as he clicked it home. And
the same happened, that first time, 3am in a dark hotel room, with the
second cuff. Each time is a replay of that, with no words needed. The world
doesn't shift quite so forcefully on its foundations anymore, but I can
still feel things settle differently inside whenever our gazes lock and
those locks click shut.
And now I was blindfolded, and could not watch his hands, long fingers
wrapping black leather around my wrist, could not see his eyes, could not
offer myself through my own, and feel his taking of me. I couldn't even
open my eyes, the cloth of the blindfold held them shut. Lost, I was lost,
lost to headspace, lost to body sensations - I might have been moaning,
swaying, but I just don't know - lost to all but that thin link that is
always there.
He took my head in his hands and kissed me, taking my mouth thoroughly
but not brutally. He tapped my hip, and I scootched over to where he wanted
me on the bed, and lay back as he pushed on my chest. The karabiners on the
ends of the spreader bar linked through the locks on the cuffs - but I got
no delight over having known they would, I had forgotten that detail until
now, writing this. "Scoot down." He looped something over my foot,
tightening it onto my ankle. "Too tight," I said, as loud as I could,
hearing it come out in a hoarse whisper. He loosened it, saying "You will
have to be careful - they are slip knots." I shivered - the intangibles
always bind more forcefully than rope itself.
Silence - even the sounds of his motion were gone. He might have been
sitting next to me, but the intermittent roaring in my ears interfered with
hearing things as subtle as breathing. A light touch on my cheek. On my
breast. On my stomach. The sound of metal sliding on metal CLICK - loud,
crisp, clear, right next to my ear. I gasped, and moaned, and then even my
breathing froze as the blade touched me under the ear, slid down my throat,
past the scar of a rapist's blade, around to the other ear, and off my
skin. I gulped for air, panting, shivering, whimpering.
I felt the blade poking at my t-shirt under my arm, making a hole to
work with. RIIIIIP near the armpit, and it was inside my shirt, brushing
flat across my breasts over my bra, bumping over my nipples, wide awake and
up hard. Hyperventilating for real now, I froze so solid with the blade on
bare skin that I couldn't breathe... He pulled the blade out, and poked at
my left nipple, finally catching the point in my shirt and RRIIPPing a
small hole. He smoothed the cloth around my nipple, chuckled, and did the
same to the right. I knew I was shaking and tried to control it when the
blade was near. Of course, this only made it worse.
RIIIIP pulling upwards from my armpit again. Silence again, and then a
long, slow SNIIIIIIIICK. Scissors. My breath came easier, all in a rush -
and the little voice in the back of my head woke up and said "Why in hell
are *scissors* safe????" "Conditioning," said the rest of me, as I took the
opportunity to breathe, and think for a bit. My sleeves came off, slow
snick by snick, and he sat back on his heels, down near my feet.
SNIK The scissors didn't cut easily through the hem of my jeans.
Movement, and then RRRRIIIIIIP - the sound of the knife shredding my
clothing, so much rougher, deeper, more raw. My breathing stuttered to a
halt again, as he cut part of the left pants leg off - up to my ankle. I
quickly gasped for air as he reached for my right leg, only to have the
tension deflate when I heard scissors wrestling with the multiple layers of
the hem. He used only the scissors, cutting the pants off up to my calf. I
smiled as he muttered something about making things even, but lost it in
the RRRIIIIPP of the blade.
He played with me like this, with the tension of the knife versus the
scissors, played with getting the "shorts" even, all the way up to my hips.
The scissors sliced along my crotch, not quite catching in the myriad folds
of skin. "You know, you would look really good in cut-offs." "Cut-off what,
bikini???" RRRRIIIP *gasp* up over my abdomen and a final SNICK as he used
the scissors to cut through the waistband.
He sat, not doing anything for a while; my breathing evened out and my
heart slowed, even thought I was shivering occasionally in reaction. I felt
him lean over me, and a sudden RRRRRIIIIPPP up the front of my shirt stole
my breath, my mind, my calm. Again, he let me get my breath back as he
moved to my side, and took it away completely as he edged the blade under
the lycra of my bra-cup and tried to cut it, relying on the sharpness of
the blade. It wasn't enough - I gasped as the point dug in during his
manipulations. He finally used two hands, and cut the left cup away.
For some reason, I hadn't been cold up till now. Once my breast was
exposed, my entire body got goosebumps - which only made my nipples stand
up harder. He ran the blade across my breast, poking the point lightly at
my nipple, slapping it hard with the flat of the blade as if the knife were
a very thin paddle, letting me breathe occasionally between gasps of pain
and tension. I could feel my nipples crinkling up harder all the time. He
moved to the other breast, slid the blade under the cloth, and tugged.
This time the point dug in and held. I screamed softly, and flinched.
He pulled the knife away, and stilled me with a touch. Peering through the
hole he had made in the bra-cup, he said "No damage." I whimpered, gasping,
as he quickly - roughly - cut the rest of the cloth away.
"Hmmm. Yes, damage. Sorry, lover." He leaned over me and licked at the
cut with the very tip of his tongue. It should sting, I thought, as the
roaring in my ears drowned out even my own heart. At my gasped moan, he
licked again, tongue flattened against my breast, long and slow. It really
should sting, I thought, shuddering, and hissed "Yessss" as he began to
suck lightly at the wound. I "whited-out" with the intensity - not blacked
out, I didn't lose consciousness, but I lost most of my "record-keeping"
functions, lost time, lost self, deep into headspace...
Tug, tug, RRRIIIIIPPPP I came crashing back as he sliced my underwear
off, yanking hard through the elastic, that shuddery shredding sound down
the sides and across my crotch. He moved so he was kneeling by my
shoulders, and I felt his cock on my lips. I took him in, sucking him into
me, running my tongue across the head as he pinned my upper body with his
and started running the blade, edge and tip, along my thighs, my cunt lips,
my clit. My leg quivered as he ran the blade from my knee to my crotch,
edge first, as if he was shaving me; turned the back of the blade to me,
and dragged the point across my lips, stopping to poke my clit idly with
the point, pumping his cock into my mouth as I lost suction in the pain
white-out, whimpering; idly drawing patterns on my legs with the point,
leaving white lines on my skin. He rolled his upper body to one side and
extended his canvas to my abdomen, drawing along my hip joint, my navel, my
waist. Goose bumps rose all over my body, and the nerves in my joints were
fire, exploding rushes of tingling up and down my body, but only on the
same side as the knife. There was a sharp demarcation down the center, the
knife on my left side would have everything else on my left side tingling
and shaking, but my right side would be unaffected. Back and forth, side to
side, he played with my body, evoking quivers, goose bumps, and moans.
"Suck, slave. Or do you have to be reminded how to do so?"
I froze, it had been so long since he had talked. In *that* tone of
voice. I was so far into my own space that it took noticeable time for me
to parse his meaning. Too late. He got up from me, said "I will be right
back. Don't go anywhere." and was gone from the room before I could even
smile. He was back in moments; I heard a SWISH through the air, and my head
spun from the scent of leather - almost a pheromone, for me... I moaned.
"Roll over. Or do you want this" SWISH breeze on my chest "across your
tits?"
He had to help me move the spreader bars, but I did most of it myself.
Quickly. And lay there, waiting. Wondering, feeling him standing over me on
the bed, smelling the leather, getting dizzy from it. I felt him move, I
tensed in response, and the cat came down softly, across my shoulder,
across my neck, across my face turned to the side, lingering, tails pooled
near my face where I could get the scent, take it deep and hold it like an
inhaled drug, getting stoned on the scent of leather. As if I wasn't flying
enough as it was. Twice, three times, the cat was laid softly on my body
and stroked along, to pool in front of me. By the last I am moaning
constantly, only aware of it now in memory, so concentrated on the feeling
of the suede on my back, on the scent filling my head, on the sheer sexual
response that leather always brings to me, my cunt tingling, the juices
beginning to flow.
He began slowly, letting gravity do most of the work at first, just
letting the tails fall across the tops of my shoulders. Working down onto
my shoulder blades, falling into a figure 8 pattern of stronger strikes, he
moved the focus here and there across my back. Somewhere around the second
increase in strength I blissed out, lost myself to the sensation, lost even
the automatic counting that goes on in my head even when I can't talk. My
body started responding sexually, my hips bucking down into the bed.
He would change his pattern every so often, hit repeatedly in the same
place, repeated stinging drawing my attention, focussing it, breaking into
the space where it is not pain but sensation, forcing my body to notice
that this was, indeed, at the extreme limits, till I cried out. And then he
would return to his pattern, pain sloping back down to raw intensity, with
my sexual response increased by that much. My shoulders, my back, down the
slope of my ribs, and onto my ass he moved the point of focus, me squirming
until I was still flat on the bed mainly cause I was tied to it. My cunt
was spasming like I had come, hard. I kept trying to thrust my ass into the
air, to catch the whip, to catch his attention. He stopped.
"Roll over."
Deep, hoarse, out of breath with more than exertion, his voice made me
shiver and moan as if struck again. I started to roll over, and he quickly
flipped the spreader bar at my head, and not-quite-fumbled the slip knots
on my ankles. I landed on my back, and shrieked at the feeling of the sheet
on my whipped back, and shrieked again as he hit my tits with the cat,
once, twice, catching my nipples, catching the knife wound. Starting my
orgasm. He dropped the cat, dropped to his knees, grabbed my legs, and
drove his cock into me - and I came, hard, feeling his cock all the way
inside me, feeling my orgasm change nature, heading straight into full
heart-stopping convulsive "little death". He held still as I came around
him, jerking against the restraint, crying out with the sensation of his
cock inside me, the fire on my tits, the scrape of my back against the
sheet. As my body slowed he started moving, pumping strongly, in much the
same rhythm he had used to whip me. Holding my knees apart, he took his
pleasure, faster and harder, with me coming, yelling, till he cried out and
came inside me. I was so sensitized I could feel him pulsing, stroking hard
into me with each jet, each pulse causing me to come again.
I remembered to say "Thank you, my lord." before we fell asleep,
entangled in the sheets, the rope, the cat.
9/26/92
DayTripper
p.s. He came back from a business trip recently. He bought another knife.
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