The edge on submission
Last Sunday at the request of a local submissive friend I went to a seminar on knife play and other pointy things supported by the NLA group here in Columbus, Ohio.
Knife play is listed as a hard limit of mine. It's non negotiable. This blade could hurt me beyond repair, I could die.
And then he grabbed her by her hair, his visage buried within the soft folds of her neck, exposed. Her pulse erratic she wanted to fuck the threat glinting there before us all a silhouette of instant submission.
I've since changed my views. This woman before me brutally subjected to a quietus torture. Such primal art maintaining existence through fear, by subdividing it into a thousand perceived deaths, by achieving before life in that moment ceases the most exquisite agonies and re birth is born.
The hunter and his prey locked together within a spiritual realm.
I want this, that edge skimming along my skin. The fear of life and death surging through me, his hands empowered.
~d~
